This was a bad idea. He could tell that much from the way his throat burned, from the way his mouth dried up, from the way his stomach churned. This was definitely a bad idea. His mind scattered to the snow sleet winds with a million other paths that he could be taking. Could just call it off. Could just cancel the contract. Could just do anything other than plunge headfirst into this treacherous white death, where it wasn’t even guaranteed that he would be able to reach the summit and meet the great foe that sat there. But they called it White Winged, Storm Dancer, the Deva of Frozen Lightning. The great avian that roosted at the peaks of the Hylands only when the most powerful of storms would hold at bay the foolish hunters that desired its flesh. A force of nature made sentient, the divine symbol of the God of Lightning and Ice. And with knowledge of such a grandiose beast, why wouldn’t any red blooded adventurer seek out such an encounter, to test their mettle against the Emperor Over the Clouds? So the midnight haired muse struggled against the strangling rope as much as he struggled against the blizzard itself, his eyelashes frozen over, his cheeks burning red, a dozen different status afflictions upon his body as he stomped upwards, steadfast in his tenacity. He had fought against this Affliction before, had felt the weight of the world on the other hand, and knew that there was always a limit. Once he pulled hard enough, once it became impossible to get off the path he chose to pursue, that rope would snap. Snap and launch him forwards, into the greatness that awaited. He stumbled, a leg giving away to the slick ice beneath. Snow consumed him entirely as the muse faceplanted, and for a moment, a frightening moment, Cain that it was warm, not cold. He lurched up immediately, spitting out the half-melted ice, shaking up his whole body in an attempt to chase feeling into his body. Cold. So fucking cold that he couldn’t feel his feet anymore. Where the hell was his partner anyways? In zero visibility snow, he couldn’t even make out where the scarred huntress, Gwyn ap Herne had gone. Was she lost to the trial of snow and storm? Should he fall back, knowing he was alone in this venture? The rope slackened. “FUCK OFF!” Magic roared in imaginary veins, arcane power sending his heart rate through the roof as Cain grit his teeth, a tooth cracking under the pressure as the vicious symphony of a demon child pounded in his skull. Within the storm. He was within the storm right now, and everything was falling apart. So before his strength failed him, he’ll just have to ascend! Blackened hands grasped at snow as he pushed and climbed and broke and cried and choked and hiked until the sensation of gravity alone was what gave him a direction within the white expanse that drowned all else out in howling monotony. And then, it all fell to blue brilliance. Above him, the azure sky blinded him with its beauty, the warmth of the winter sun soaking into frosted bones. Below him, the storm raged, unable to touch him ever again. And finally, the searing noose broke, leaving nothing but a phantom bruise. Elation filled his lungs as the Flagbearer of Miracles let out a roar that would rival a god of war.
Gwyn did her best to keep one ear to the ground for rumors and tales of problem beasts, fantastical monsters, and those with ill intent. There was no joy, no glee, no passion in a fight against something that didn't rage back after all and she lived for such a clashing of powers. The challenge was life. It was a burning moment of chance and choice culminating in a defeat. In a victory. For every bone broken, a stronger mend was formed. For every failure, a lesson learned. @Cain Darlite in all his unfamiliar-familiar swagger, for lack of a better all-encompassing term, had been regaling his tales when a chord was struck. She was sure he'd said more as to why he was set on facing such a beast, but she had lost her focus at some point. Everything had blurred and drifted away in that moment as she imagined the creature his words were weaving. It was beautiful. She wanted to clash- to crash against it like the waves on the shore- and see her measure in light of its own. And so when the bard had left, she was on his heels. The bracing chill of the mountains wouldn't have bothered her hounds, considering the thick coats of the Kangals, but an enemy on the wing wasn't one they could sink their teeth into. And both her serpents would have fallen into a hibernation from the freezing winds. So they were alone, two frail humans facing a nearly-god atop the body of one of the few gods she worshipped. The mountains were strong and their roots deep and their eyes old and all-seeing. This peak stood taller, younger, but no less majestic in her eyes. Despite the heavy blanket of white all around, her sharp eyes lit by the white glow of her Investigation Mode offered her a scant extra few feet. As the pair passed beside a wall of rock, she paused. Gwyn could hear him soldier on, but there was a perfect crack running up the cliff-face. Just wide enough for an arm to brace in. The huntress stepped closer with an awed expression. It kept on up and up and up. Perfect for a climb. She didn't even bother eyeing it for holds with a sundered mark like that. Her hands were stiff from the cold, but opened the game's menu without too much fuss. A few clicks and she had the location marked. She'd be back when the storm slept. She'd be back when she had finished her work here with Cai- Cain? The woman swirled around with wide eyes before snarling, biting out a curse against the howling wind still gnawing at her bones even through the fur-lined cloak thrown over her armor. Her eyes flared back to an unearthly white as she sought out his trail. The snow was falling too quickly in the gales of the ferocious weather, but it wasn't needed. Gwyn's head snapped up to the direction of the shout carried to her over the din and she was off. The wild currents of air fought back like a living obstacle, but she broke through the bank of the eye and squinted against the light. The sky was blinding and she hauled up an arm to brace herself as she quickly disengaged the Investigation Mode. Her eyes would need a second to adjust after so swift a shift. Gwyn snorted at the man's theatrics, "You trying to start an avalanche? Or get in a shouting match with a, apparently, magical roc?" She righted her armor and knocked away ice crystals clinging to metal buckles and powdery snow trying its best to melt into her skin below. "Maybe screamo's just your mood music for a good fight. No judgment. For the most part..." Her nose wrinkled at the thought. She'd never cared for it. Or most genres of music, to be fair. Radios on the trail got rather shit options.
Well, someone certainly wasn’t a fan of celebrating. Laced with his roar was the harmonic magic that began the process of removing frostbite and regaining lost HP, the healing magic quickly making him combat ready once more. It didn’t remove the snow that had basically frozen his cloak into a stiff board, of course, but Cain could work with that easily enough. His eyebrows were also dappled with ice, an uncomfortable sensation at best, while his eyelashes felt almost unbearably heavy. Still, without snow and wind constantly bashing the frigid temperatures into his skin, he was regaining sensation in his body once again, his accelerated heart rate warming up his body almost as well as fire. “Gee,” the midnight haired muse laughed, “Are you not an adventurer, Gwyn of the Wild Hunt? Does climbing up to the summit of a mountain in the middle of a winter storm not immerse your heart in a special feeling? Some feelings can’t just be smothered within our bodies, after all.” Not that Cain was particularly afraid of an avalanche to begin with. Pulling out his Ivory Reminiscence, the beloved flagpole carved with a master’s hand, he surveyed the area already them, squinting at how bright everything was. This was going to be a problem, for sure, but he had dealt with vision difficulties before. “And if we are to trespass the domain of a god, it stands as an example of good manners to both announce our presence and intentions, no? I doubt the White Winged Storm Dancer of Frozen Lightning is a beast that can be slain with a quick ambush, after all.” There was a hint of sarcasm in that overtly long title, but he was still very much genuine as he gently brushed the frost off the nightscape banner of his flagpole. They would have to be in tip top shape if they were going to challenge what constituted as an area boss by themselves, after all. He blinked. What a surprisingly negative evaluation of what they were going to do. “We’re here to slay a phantasmal beast that few have even laid eyes upon, friend,” the muse spoke, eyes merry as he brought his gaze up to the peak, so starkly contrasted and devoid of color compared to the sky above, “Working oneself to a battle frenzy is only the natural thing to do, no?”
The ranger hissed out an exhale as the magic hung for a moment in air, echoing in the space around him. With the fading of his voice, the spell followed. It lessened the bite of the cold and the burning pain of the chill burrowing through skin to assault nerves and joints and bone. It was a feeling she was used to in part from so many trips to higher altitudes, but never to the point of facing down a veritable blizzard. Gwyn wondered for a moment if the storm would fade when the beast fell. Surely such a powerful storm was the work of the creature? Or perhaps the mountains could really give rise to that great a fury. Neither option was a great comfort. Instead of letting her thoughts linger on it, she pulled her bow from her back and gave the bard an amused look. "Climbing is a way of life I've dedicated two lives to now," she laughed lightly, "and so I know you don't fight a mountain. Gods though? Gods you can fight." Her hounds weren't present, but she could feel the need to sink her teeth into something rise. They weren't here to go skiing down an avalanche with a pole and bow for boards. Gwyn plucked at the string of her longbow, the gilded designs catching in the bright light threatening to make them snowblind, as @Cain Darlite carried on. He did have a fair point. Gods deserved some respect. At least this one didn't promise anything in payment to prayer. No one suffered needlessly while dreaming of the day a great bird snatched up their problems or their soul in its talons to carry away to the heavens. This god she would respect in the only way there was. For those beasts not willing to join her pack of sorts, her host of hunters, she had only the option to offer them a fight in the place of companionship. Nature was a cruel, but loving law. It would be honored. The cycle of life and death would move ever onwards. They would strike down its creation or they would be struck down themselves. No more death in the name of man and his politics. Her eyes followed the path of his own up to the peak above them. "Well said," her words a half-whisper. Gwyn balled her hands into fists, her old weapon would have creaked from the strain of it, and moved. Without the force of the gales, it was easier to move. The snow still offered a challenge, but it wasn't too awfully deep. It should have been by all rights. Even without active snowfall, the high altitude and chilly temperatures should have fought off most attempts by the sunlight to melt it away. She didn't see streams of snowmelt like veins down the slopes either. She stepped forward anyway, eyes once again lighting up at her sharp vision adjusted slowly to the brilliant light reflecting off the powdered ice. There were no tracks to be seen and no loose feathers. There were no carcasses from meals or nesting materials tossed aside. It would make sense to hide away a nest as an added precaution higher up, but most avians discarded materials they deemed unfit nearby in the event they'd come to need them. They rarely allowed foods to fester near their nests either unless they intended to eat them quickly. Then again, the cold would keep the rot away. She hummed under her breath and popped the knuckles on her free hand as she thought. No sign of it. Out hunting? No, if it used the presence of the storms as a chance to rest then it wouldn't waste the time. Hiding? It was supposed to be a massive size and she saw no obvious cave mouths or rubble-filled areas scattered about the empty slopes around them. There was only the rocky spire of the peak itself, cutting a jagged silhouette against the sky. The brilliant, azure sky. Gwyn paused and glanced at the bard over her shoulder before looking up. She caught the end of a wing slide seamlessly into the wall of the storm and froze in place. It had been watching from above, the sun casting its shadow back against the storm so as to not give it away. For how long? Had it known before they stepped out of the storm that something sought it? Was it running? No, no predators did not run. They hunted. The silence of the snow and the contained storm was shattered all at once from the bank of the blizzard, a sinuous body sliding from it at remarkable speeds with a scream that rocked the heavens. For a second she doubted it an avian from the snout, but the tooth-studded and leathery lips pulled over a jet black beak hidden beneath and set the doubt to rest. Four feathered wings. A pair of scaled legs with wicked talons. Sparking spittle and shards of ice were flung from its jaws as it roared at the pair. The so-called Deva flared four powerful wings that blasted away the snow at their feet and sent Gwyn stumbling back away from it in a desperate attempt to keep her footing. That answered the lack of snow question. She opened her mouth to speak and could only sigh out a breath at the sight. Awesome. Marvelous. Divinity in flesh and feather. The huntress snarled and pulled an arrow to pull across the string, diving to the side as another beat of its wings kept it aloft and sent a flurry of snow rolling by like a wave. "You a god-fearing man, Darlite?" She laughed wildly as it shrieked once more.
It was a thing of terror. A divine abomination, crafted by the claws of a non human god, forged in ice and fury until it became the awe inspiring beast that it was today, silhouetted against the blinding sun, the beauty of its multicolored wing displayed for all to see. For the first time in a while, Cain felt a tremor of fear that was not brought forth by the stigma of the noose. When was it that he felt such thing before? Not since he slew the forest troll within the Adecus Forest, amongst the dead and dying, the putrid stench and the malignant intents. But there was no revulsion here, nothing that churned his stomach’s contents. No disgusting sadism spawned from the depths of the monster’s heart. No, the Deva of Frozen Lightning was not a crass savage. It was Nature’s Divinity, a natural disaster disinterested in good and evil, unveiling itself solely to those of a similar soul. So of course he’d be excited. Of course he’d work himself into a battle frenzy! Of course the fear would be there, to remind him that between flight and fight, they’d always choose fight! A sheer wall of wind, summoned forth by mere wing flaps, sent the midnight haired muse flying backwards. Somersaulting and landing with acrobatic grace, he braced himself with the Ivory Reminiscence, mirroring Gwyn’s wild laugh with a feral smirk of his own. His heart beat of war, his blood burst for battle, his lungs filled itself with the crystalline air as his mind recalled the words of power granted to him ever since his genesis. “I’m the Flagbearer of Miracles,” he roared in response, the nightscape banner unfurling in the blustering wind, “The Double Blessed of Idna and Iedi! I’ll pay respects to all others with the magnificence of my songcraft!” Imaginary veins fired up, amethyst magic burning up within him as the Deva took off once more, feathered wings crackling with electrical might. Another onslaught was coming, one of storm instead of gale, but the flagbearer danced in response, an aurora brought to life over the azure sky. Lightning sparked and sputtered, yet failed to manifest as a mortal and a god struggled for dominion over the heavens, Cain’s revelry holding the sinuous beast’s might at bay. “Draw your arrow, Gwyn! Make a god bleed!” Harmonic power fused with the Gilded Longbow, finding another instrument to channel itself through.
The wind tore at the fur-lined cloak thrown over her armor as she took a steady-footed stance after her roll. She cut her gaze across to the bard to make sure he'd managed to stay on his feet and out of trouble with the gusts and snow filling the space between them. His words were more a comfort than his appearance, she'd put good money that he was like her in at least that way. It took a lot of a beating to put them down, but it'd take a hell of a lot more to unsettle their resolves. It was time to see if a godling had enough to throw at them to do so. She turned back to eye her mark with the closest she had to devotion in her eyes. The sound of Cain's flag snapped with a sound like the beast's lightning crack with each upbeat of the fourfold wings. The magic humming its way to life in the air matched the drone of the deva's whistling breaths. Once upon a time, she would have been blind to the struggle between the two beings. The threads pulled taut as they both demanded all the world to bend to their will. Now, her hunter's senses were keener. It was more than flesh and blood locked in her sights. Between the eerie white of her Investigation Mode and the tuned senses of Spellbane... she would pry every secret from the jaws of her foe. But first, she needed breathing room and the tempest busied itself lining up an assault. The chances the dispel effect would break under the creature's sheer might was too great a risk to play with. She needed to be a better bead on it before she wasted energy or a good footing, playing sacrifice to such a foe for what little information she would get. For now, it was time to strike. The tremble of magic crawled from the grain of the bow and heated the golden designs in her hand. The archer pulled an arrow, a thirsty thing with jagged thorn-like protrusions, to settle against the string of her weapon. Perhaps Cain had taught it to play like an instrument for all that it sang in her hand like one. The gentle vibrations didn't dare upset her aim. Bleeding Shot Her mark circled back around with a furious shriek, baleful eyes locked on the mage that dared to steal away its rightful rule. Gwyn held her breath as the wings beat down. Exhaled as the upbeat began again, a trail of sparks following the primaries upwards toward the heavens. As the wings met the level of the shoulders and continued up, she fired. The bolt of wood and metal and zealous hunger flew into the meaty muscle beneath the first set of wings. Its body jerked slightly, more in surprise than actual damage she would hazard a guess. The screech it made for her ears was rife with an even deeper ire. Its eyes didn't judge them a threat yet. A nuisance, insubordinate and courageous fools. They would teach it to think better of them. "We'll paint this mountain red, friend, with your help," she grinned as it reared back and trembled in a new effort. It flew backward in an attempt to be free of Cain's chorus that was still trying to drown it out, a dot of vivid teal growing in size between its open beak. Mana peaked in the high altitude around them, but a grounded shot to stun it out of casting was brushed aside by whirling wings. Her companion's ability to right the world in the face of magic was stronger than her own. She couldn't cull it's ability herself, it looked like. Gwyn bore her teeth. She had been struck down by lightning before. You didn't dodge lightning. You grounded it. "If you get rid of that or ground it, I'll have enough time to get a better read on this bastard godling of ours. And maybe make it think twice about drifting into the prime distance for a critical shot." The hair on the back of her next stood on end as the orb of crackling energy began to stabilize where it was held high above. That was going to suck without a little edge taken off.
It stole his breath away, the sheer disdain and indignation that the avian’s too sentient eyes bore, and as seconds of struggling turned into infinity, his vision began blackening around the corners. Oh, this cheeky little bastard. As grand of a display its command over the most destructive natural element was, the Deva was perfectly fine with thinning out the air around him to suffocate Cain as well, wasn’t it? Well, if they were going to play the double casting game… Sharpening his focus until it could slice the fabric of the universe itself, the midnight haired muse projected the very depths of his power skywards, hidden amongst the complex melodies he crafted to steal the lightning from the Storm Dancer’s wings. Farther, farther, farther, beyond the realm where gods can fly, beyond the realm where white wings could grace! His heart pounded in his ears as more of his vision turned to black, sparks firing off as his senses began to shut down in this cosmic struggle for dominance. One of them would have to break. One of them would have to falter. And unlike the lone king of the sky, Cain had an ally! A bolt streaked through the blue abyss, puncturing feather and flesh, the iron willed dominance that Cain had fought against this entire time slackening, then conceding, delicious air filling his lungs as the Deva flew higher up, rising above the harmonic wards cast by his dance. Coughing out in relief, Cain flashed a grateful smile towards Gwyn, shaking out the last bits of oxygen deprivation from his system. He could relax now. Bring his full attention on the grand magic evocation he called out from the deep wells of his magical power. “Get rid of that?” the muse replied, amusement and challenge swirling in his dark eyes, “Have you never hunted lightning before, Gwyn? How ‘bout shooting its bolt down?” A joke, but he too could feel the spark of a blessing within the scarred hunter’s arrow. Perhaps not now, perhaps in the future, but a feat like that…it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Not that he would cede his own specialty to a newcomer yet. Dark eyes set themselves upon the god on high, a turquoise star birthed from its peak as it exuded the defiance and arrogance that only a truly mighty being could have. The amount of power Cain felt in his bones made it clear that it already far surpassed the limits of humanity, an all obliterating beam that would coat the peak with godfire. His legs, for a moment, shook. And then he locked them in place, pulling back dark memories of more painful struggles. What was the point, if he faltered now? “I’ll hammer it down, so you shut it up.” A deep breath. The winds, abandoned by their master, sang for him. The storm below, untouched by the divinity so high up, roared for him. The mountain, the counterforce to the wildness of storm, rumbled for him. Each strike of his staff against stone and snow caused another ripple in both the physical and the metaphysical world, and the air he sang became the essence of the world itself. Above, the teal star outshone the sun, and below, the amethyst song reached its apex. Before the Deva’s Astrasphere could be unleashed upon the worms below, the heavens opened up in accordance to the Flagbearer’s offering, the blue sky dimming into magenta as an arcane pillar slammed into the proud wings of the godling.
Gwyn's eyes widened when she caught sight of Cain's face. He looked haggard in that moment, half throttled to death by the altitude but recovering quickly. It hadn't been long enough to set into his mind then. She knew the dangers of climbing beyond the limits of your heart and lungs. The great avian knew too. She forced herself to relax though. One danger gone. For now. Shame that Terrasphere didn't have oxygen tanks. She had climbed few mountains in the real world that required them, but was no stranger to the demands of some ranges. They were spoken of like gods in her circles. Her arrow had found a sturdy home, luckily. It hadn't fallen out and so she was left to assume it had made it deep enough past the quills of its feathers where the barbs would hold tight. The placement grew a grin on her face. So wedged between the two wings, every beat would flex it out and dig it back in. Their foe would bleed across the mountain snow, leaving cursive trails and bleeding ink, with every second it was forced to hold itself aloft. She ignored Cain's goading and let the man focus on his casting while she focused her own work. The thought of hunting something as raw as lightning echoed in the back of skull for just a moment. Later, she would entertain such a fanciful thought. For the time being, she would scour the flesh off its bones with her gaze alone. Investigation Mode Immediately the combination of her talents in Hunting and her growing skill as a Spellbane narrowed in on the growing spell held holy and gentle in its dangerous maw. Ball Lightning was a naturally occurring phenomenon she was distantly aware existed. It was rare to the point of having to be caught on camera before generations and generations of sightings were believed. It was grotesquely fitting to be summoned by the beast before her. The tremble in her bones to wrench the world back right was ignored. She already knew it was beyond her and would have to trust that the growing tension in the air was the bard's response. Instead, she moved to the beast itself. The lines of its body were laid out for her and she could see in perfect detail from the distance what felt like the minute cracks of the skin that covered its beak at rest to the individual barbules of its wings. The primary set of wings were sturdy. The heavy bones would be a miracle to break. The secondary wings were lighter, using the smallest movements to completely change how the creature flew. They were the rudder a normal bird's tail would act as. A good target to kill of its airborne domination. The tail would likely be dangerous. The base possessed incredible muscle that would no doubt turn the lower half into a stinging whip that could cut open rock as easily as flesh. The end however pinged as being more fragile than it appeared. It looked like a cattle prod. Perhaps rather than whipping just to slash, it did so to paralyze prey. Gwyn couldn't imagine another flying creature daring to take it on when she hadn't the slightest doubt that it could shock them from the skies. A perfect fall from grace to assert its own dominion of the heavens. It would need to be dealt with before it got much use. Finding an opening would be difficult considering how much it lashed in flight. Something changed in the space around them. Gwyn quickly skimmed over the rest. The talons were sturdy, they would not fall prey to their attacks. The legs looked thin, but the bones would have to be strong enough to hold its weight on the ground. Not an easy break, much like the first set of wings. She could hear Cain begin to speak. The chest was open and full of a pulsing magic like the beat of a heart. She couldn't see past it to tell if there was soft flesh ripe for reaping below. The outside of it was scaled flesh, it would have to be a damn good shot to get past the ribbing. The throat was long, but covered more securely by the scales. She could feel the magic streaming behind it up to the glowing mouth. Small eyes. Tough, but doable at her skill level. The glowing would help mark her target. The mountain quieted her, eyes snapping down to the ground below her feet that hid behind a white blanket before she shook herself from it. Right. Cain had told her to ready herself to strike. The song was so tempting to let herself go and drift into the sway, the rock that provided the foundation of both her lives sounded so alive that she almost didn't care it would be an unnatural magic to fall into it. Focus. It fell instead. Slammed flat into the earth so quick a blink could nearly miss it. The beam from the heavens was awe-inspiring, but she had a task. Shut it up indeed. The jaws of the creature had slammed shut around its own spell. Much of the mana leaked wild into the air and the smell of ozone became nearly overwhelming. It was still there. Still a lethal pearl of power she could hear reality rending around. Shut it up. Normally she pinned to the earth, and while it was tempting to lay low the god like the king, she quieted the hymn. All the ways the world should be ordered into place she whispered to the arrow she drew and lined up from a quiet place in her mind. The one that squirmed in discomfort when magic users twisted words and runes and music in their hands to create. Dangerous. It would be quelled. Pinning Shot It lifted its head from the snow and she let it fly. She didn't know how long the arrow that punctured through the keratin of the beak and through to the other side would hold its mouth together. But it wouldn't be singing its spells nor screaming its pain. Of which she intended to bring to it as an offering. "Shhhh," she whispered quietly in exhale as she met its eyes across the field of blinding white. Its faux jaws curled around the cracked and sealed beak in a loathing snarl.
Even being flattened against the peak from hundreds of meters away wasn’t sufficient to break the Deva, as the stone beneath its heavenly form cracked from the impact. Already, the brilliance of the Eye of Heaven was fading, arcane energy dissipating against the scales and feathers of the giant, magical wind sending fallen snow up into a flurry once more. Not nearly enough, and his great spells were draining him faster up in this high altitude. Up close, it really was massive, wasn’t it? Easily the size of a building, each wing the length of a trailer truck. Cain swallowed the saliva building up in his mouth as he held onto the last vestiges of the spell, before it was all blown away by a hateful snarl, loud enough to rattle the bones. For a moment, the Ivory Reminiscence flared gold, glory and valor personified. But the crack of an arrow puncturing through the beak of the beast made it clear that it wasn’t time yet. The radiance of sunlight dimmed back to moonlight, Cain allowing himself a moment’s relief. The Deva’s arrogance had cost it, and now it was laid low, onto the same platform as the rest, its Astrasphere sealed and its body battered. They c- Too soon. Even tossed like a meteor upon the ground, even silenced by an arrow through its mouth, the White Winged Disaster still held within it the fury of the gods of storm and ice. Its blood was lightning, its heart the roar of the storm, its immaculate musculature enough to put the might of all those mud crawlers to shame. Divine blessings alone were not sufficient for ruling the skies, and it was merely the ignorance of mankind to look down upon a bird of prey, even grounded and wounded. Beneath its feathered form, the mountain cracked further, adamantine talons digging into it for purchase. And it flew. A white blur drove into Cain, an avalanche of force barreling down onto him in the breath of an instant. Before he could even register what had happened, he was facing the broiling storm below, body tumbling erratically as a dozen pains wracked his body. Godspeed. With its magic sealed momentarily, the Deva of Frozen Lightning had turned back to the savage strength that it wielded before its enlightenment to elemental mastery, a white streak against the azure. A violent aftershock rocked the vacuum it left in its wake, spiralling upwards to claim its reign once more. Even with its beak sealed, it could still scream, a high pitched cry of indignant furor carrying far beyond the mountain ranges as the mortal that challenged its dominance of the magical realm fell and fell and fell…
Their eyes had locked for a moment, but her muzzle hadn't been the more insulting of the actions in the eyes of the beast it appeared. To be fair, she had likely done less damage so far than being magically dropkicked from a few stories up by a creature smaller than its down feathers. It set its sights back on Cain and she barely had the time to fill her longs to shout a warning before it moved. Four wings were meant for long flights and precision maneuvers. On land, however, they provided explosive momentum like that of burning engines and the odd thorn-shaped ridges on the wrist joint made they purpose clear when it dug them into the rock below for leverage. It hauled itself forward and tore past the archer, who could only throw up an arm as shards of rock, stray snow still left on the battlefield, and ember-small sparks were tossed her way. Gwyn looked back up, scanning for her support before she caught sight of his clothing. She had been worried the bird of tempest and sleet would pin him and make a meal of the mortal, but no. No, he was so much farther out of reach. She still ran as soon as she saw his body helplessly cast up into the air and kept an arrow pulled against the string to remain ready. There was no way she'd make it. She couldn't catch him from above while he plummeted over the side of a fucking mountain. The huntress ran all the same and spared a singular shot into the exposed back of the beast returning to the skies. Now that it was turning its belly up, she could see the burned expanse from the magical impact of Cain's spell. No wonder it had been pissed. The bright white expanse of its back with bands of orange bleeding from the backs of the wings was a mess of black blood leaking from the otherwise charred spot. Power Shot It writhed in the air as the arrow slammed solidly into her target. The mean piece of work was a heavy-hitting attack. It rarely stunned. It never critted. But it always ached to the bone like a hammer's blow. The blonde didn't bother watching to see what the masterpiece of a response it had, she simply kept an ear on the sound of beating wings and a muffled dragon-loud hawk-shrill scream. Instead, she jumped. Luckily for her, she had no godling throw her from the mountain and she rolled to her feet on a lower portion of the opposing side of the mountain. The next arrow flew without a plan. Without thought. She simply knew that it did not end this way for the man who made music of maladies and mercy. He wouldn't break on the rocks like Gwyn had nearing a year previous in the search for treasures. Their fight was much more noble, much more worthy, neither of them deserves this death. It was at the strike of a storm's bolt or between talon or beak. No other option would be acceptable. So she fired the lifeline she had no other choice but to forge. Grappling Shot The arrow listening to the way she willed. It obeyed, the metal curving into talons turned away from another as soon as she let go of it. It arched at a slight angle and she could see the perfect flight path to knock into and swing around the bard's waist in her mind's eye. The shot followed it in crooked zig-zag as she struggled to control it. A rope slithered into being around the base of the metal and snaked up to her waiting hand. She coiled it around her arm once, twice, trice. Hooked it around a protruding rock once, twice. Her boots were hooked as best she could manage against the divots of the stone. This was going to hurt for both of them. Momentum and gravity and sudden, lurching stops, nor dizzying swinging held just barely within the eye of a storm? No, none of those things were kind, she thought, as she felt the line go taut. God of anything but lightning, she hoped the bird was too busy circling above in pain or licking its wounds to curve back around and see her dangling bait from the edge of a sloping cliffside. She focused on readying herself to haul the flightless, flying bard up instead of their probably imminent death.
He was falling, plummeting into the storm below, and as his stomach lurched and flipped within, it was all Cain could do to suppress his scream. If he was to have any chance of surviving at all, it would have to be with a spell cast before or after the bone shattering impact. He couldn’t waste air yet. It was much too precious. So he smiled instead, baring his fangs at the rushing wind, ready to roar out in defiance to the laws of nature that bound mortals to her jagged embrace. All teeth, all threat, the midnight haired muse dove down the mountain until suddenly…he wasn’t. Rope dug into his bruised body, agony reminding him that he wasn’t so dead after all. Momentum followed through while the blood in his body was pushed down into his feet, lightheadedness almost costing him his beautiful face as the arc of the rope swung into him the sheer face of the mountain. Another spark of pain resonated through his body, arms brought up just in time to protect the gentler parts of his body, before he laid there, suspended above the storm clouds with nothing but the might of the Huntress and twisted cord. Holy shit. He was still alive. Holy shit. It was coming back. The small mercy was that the Deva, white wings against the blinding sun, had not yet managed to pry its jaws open. The large concern, though, was that it didn’t even need to. Folding its wings into its body, it transformed itself into a warhead of godlike strength, spiralling with a death scree that sent excited shivers down Cain’s spine. Gods above, THIS was the sort of pinch he loved! No earth to brace himself against, no grand array of magical spells prepared, just his wits, his allies, and his brass fucking balls! “Gwyn, pull up when it hits!” That was all the air he could spare as Cain narrowed his focus into increments of microseconds, his brain overclocking as virtual power filled his electronic mind. Air was precious, and it was for this reason that he saved it. The avalanche of force ran at him diagonally, and at the last possible moment, he lifted his feet up, body lurching at the same time. It was just enough to clear the stone piercing peak of the beast, just enough to provide the muse with a ‘platform’ as that heavy mass grazed the soles of his feet. Arcane beams shot out the soles of his shoes, twin beams slamming into the beak of the Deva and sending Cain upwards due to the close range explosion. A toe broke, but the muse was pumped up in way too much adrenaline, laughing like a maniac all the while as he displayed the breadth of his acrobatic talents. Whumpf went the snow, and crack went his legs, as Cain ha ha’d at how he was even alive at all. “Nice play!” he grinned, thumbs up for the scarred huntress, “Now, I’ll give it two seconds before our demi-god flies back up with its beak freed and ready to blast us into oblivion, so how bout we try to ride it during that time?” There was no jest in his tone despite the wide smiles. In his dark eyes, such a high risk plan was only natural.
Being correct was usually a rather uplifting feeling, but this time it was a very physical haul downwards. Her knees hit the rough ground as the rope jerked tight around the rock she'd used for an anchor. As soon as she was sure it wouldn't pull any further on her, she hauled it up and off to give herself the freedom to begin reeling him in. Her breath clouded in front of her with every exhale in the chilly air, but the friction managed to keep her fingers warm where the adrenaline couldn't reach. Cain's demands from below strangled a weak laugh out of her. He sure did think it was that easy to haul dead weight up. What did he weigh? She was happy he was rather... thin, not weak necessarily, at least compared to her. She couldn't imagine having to pull up a suit of heavy armor with a muscley asshole riding shotgun inside of it. Either way, when she saw the beast swooping in to attack it settled the matter. It wasn't about how difficult it was. It wasn't about the burn in her muscles or the grind in her shoulders and wrists. There was only that it must be done. She felt him do something below that lessened the dead weight on the line just enough for her to suddenly reach down and yank up. The tremble of magic hummed below and the mountain shook with the collision of their quarry. "Not very bright for a so-called god," she muttered lowly to herself. The strain of the rope went slack as she witnessed an odder sight than a bard getting football tackled off a mountain. A bard magically launching off a godly avian back onto said mountain. Gwyn stared blankly back at the man who seemed both entirely and not at all worse for wear. "Anyone ever told you that you're out of your fucking mind?" The huntress grabbed her partner and hauled him to his feet with little effort on her part, but tried her best to settle him to his feet with some form of tact. Just in the case that resting his weight revealed some new pains. At least he hadn't broken his hip and shattered his femur. Yet. Been there, done that. Gwyn didn't recommend it. And then he said the stupidest thing she'd heard in years. "Correction, anyone ever tell you you're a mad genius?" It was also possibly the best thing she'd heard in years. Was she meant to turn that down? She pointedly looped her arm through the string of her longbow. "Alright. Let's do this." And then she jumped. Kyupin was going to strangle her with her apron springs. Gwyn slammed into the impossibly cold body of the beast and found herself oddly surprised that it didn't have the heat of the living. She could hear the pounding beat of its heart, feel the bellow of great lungs beneath her, and saw the tacky black blood seeping from its back. Living or not, it was one with the ice and lightning and wrapped itself in a cloak of winter that sunk through feather and flesh. One they were going to tear through to the very bone of it. She didn't spare time checking on her partner, the back of the beast more than wide enough with the addition of spread wings to provide a large target for their landing. Instead, she bolted forward away from the base of neck where she had landed. It twisted with another ear-splitting screech to try and snap at her, but the beating of its wings prevented it. From here, the burnt back of the creature was on display as well as the two secondary wings it used to dominate the skies and the land below. "Afraid I don't know how to drive a plane, but I think we can figure out how to land one for good between the two of us." She called over her shoulder. The back already damaged from Cain's earlier spell, but she wasn't sure she could do enough martial damage with fist alone to get through to the spine. If they could, the beast's health bar would mean nothing. It was done for if it could be crippled. Gwyn moved as quick and careful as she could, but resorted to using one hand to grip the quills of the feathers for sturdy footing and the other to cover her nose. Heightened senses, it turns out, suck to high heavens when confronted with the awful smell of burned feathers. The smell of the singed meat was nothing compared to the cloying scent mixing with the ozone at the creature charged up something below them. She didn't make it to either target before it bent its spine awkwardly in flight, slinging its tail up and over its side on a downbeat of the wings to lash at them. Gwyn reeled one fist back in an instant and struck at the keratin prongs of the tail with the thought of the order of things shouting like a war drum in her mind. Her Spellbane still wasn't strong enough to deny the fury of the shrieking deva, but there was still a crack from the collision of her martial arts strike that wasn't the lightning. The tail whirled away with another whistling scream, but Gwyn didn't have the chance to see if she had managed to break one of the tazer-like prongs. What tempest magic she hadn't managed to ground with her Spellbane's denial shot through her dominant arm. The entire limb was bitten through by what felt like a thousand burning cold needles from skin down to the bone. Her arm tensed without her say, hand stuck curled into a fist from the locking muscle, and the painful burn a cramp heated through it. Gwyn snarled as her heart jumped and skin burned. Not too deep. Her heart was still pounding in her ears. Not grounded through her. High enough frequency of a current not to drop her dead. But it could have been. Gwyn gasped as the muscles unlocked all at once and the throbbing pain that had whittled away at her health bar turned into a flood of adrenaline. She had never once felt so alive, so aware of every cell and second.
“I only have the bestest strats,” the midnight haired muse laughed in response, the wind whipping his clothes to a fury as the Deva screeched below. There was no doubt in his mind, then, that Gwyn and himself were indeed the same type of monster, absolute adrenaline junkies with a death wish and a lust for something greater. Tendrils of magic righted his broken toe, soothing the splotchy bruises and breathing life into his body once more as he charged alongside the scarred huntress. Apparently, not even the Deva of Frozen Lightning, terrible in its power and great in its wrath, had forseen that the two trespassers of its domain were quite that foolish. Shnnk went the flagpole as it slid between feather and fat, digging into the beautiful, ravaged back of the avian as Cain landed on all fours, wondering why on earth he was so fucking stupid. A laugh bubbled beneath, before he let out a hearty chortle. The world dissolved around them, reduced to a blur as it picked up speed, Gwyn fighting off its back bending retaliation while the muse himself just enjoyed the ride. The wind became a wall, air turning into a force to fight, powerful enough to drive him flat against the smouldering flesh and charred blood, while the blue expanse before him suddenly appeared oh-so close. His hand reached out and it felt as if the Sun was just a fruit, something that could be plucked out from low hanging branches of the azure garden. And below, the clouds that had watched over him for so long was now nothing but a sea of stormy white. In the heavens, he was not beholden to the whims of the land, and that…that made him laugh a lot. Alive! He was alive! After Death bore its scythe down upon him over and over again, he was ALIVE! Lightning crackled as Gwyn reared back in pain, and already, the words were in his mouth, harmonic magic interacting with the very feathers of the Deva to repair the scorched flesh whilst the melodic undertones forming a shimmering aura around the huntress, bolstering her defenses further. In this close of a range, his own Arcanamancy was useless, much too destructive and much too slow in this high speed duel. So there was only one thing Cain could offer her. “It’s all you, Gwyn! Tear it apart!” And then, the Deva barrel rolled.
In passing, she entertained the thought of being furious at the bard for soothing the burning gnawing pain of the electricity still clinging to her flesh, but decided it was for the better. Her health bar inched up some and her passive defenses against magic were enough together to shrug it off. She'd been through worse. None of it had felt so alive though, like for that second she had experienced a connection to magic that she didn't loathe. Perhaps it was a ghost of the avian's glory, its love for itself and its magic, its savage pride, and its ever-swelling power. When it left, she let it go and clung to her own kind of magic. Adrenaline worked its own wonders and she'd snuff out every drop of mana in its veins and blood and bone and meat and feather with her lethal intent. It had a divine right, but she would stake her own claim with no backing but her teeth bared against it. Nature lent itself to gods, but they were nothing without the sprawling domain that welcomed them. Her calling was to something that went beyond the thrones of kinds and mantles of divinity. With the bard's words rocketing through the clean air that whipped past them in a rage, Gwyn eyed the wing as her target until the battlefield changed. The wind shifted. Immediately she dropped to her knees and dug both hands into the charred mass of bloody meat across the back of the bird. The huntress' weight was suddenly tossed to the side and it was only her white-knuckled grip anchoring around a chunk of intact muscle that kept her from a third fall. From the cliff on the west coast. Shattered hip, broken leg. From the mountaintop. A sea of clouds and a gleaming chest. For the third, she refused. Not yet. Not yet. Not ever until she deemed it an acceptable defeat. She hadn't tasted enough victory flowing from the blood of the deva! She clung to it in desperation, feeling the tug of the connective tissues in her grip. The feeling of freefall embraced her as the terrific, terrible bird folded its wings after curving from the startling roll. There was no time to check for her compatriot, sure she would hear his triumphant voice echoing over the peaks soon enough. It was diving and she didn't trust that in the least, a low din of magic beginning to hum in the air around them. Tear it apart, he'd said. Gwyn gagged on the scent of the ruined communion beneath her hands and knees, but tore in as bade. She couldn't reach the wing like this. It was too wild of a flyer, the four wings working in perfect harmony to devastate their attempts at sabotage. It couldn't protect from this, only with a lashing tail and mad movements through the air like Nathair at war in the waters. Gwyn carved out fistfuls of dead and dying and living god. With fist and nail and shredding fistfuls, prying out the quills still buried and using the sharp barbs of them to dig deeper into it. The shrieking was horrendous and she'd hear it in her nightmares with everything else and she laughed madly back at it. This is what it had wanted! A fight between a man and a god was something for holy scripture. This was not that. It was only a fight between two animals. That was her right.
Terrible, beautiful savagery. The vicious, natural cruelty that neither heroes nor villains partook in. The addictive madness that he had witness once, in the eyes of the Lunatic Princess, and twice, in the fiend wolf that devoured her heart shortly after. It was mad. The bestial nature that lingered within the hearts of men, the ease in which this virtual game drew them all out. It was mad, and it was exhilarating. Even as he tumbled through the air once more, his grip strength insufficient to holding on any longer to the damaged feathers of the four winged Deva, Cain still laughed. The barrel roll had sent him not downwards, but upwards, and the force enough had been enough to shoot him high, high above. For a single moment, he had the pleasure of looking down on the God Winged, as a mere mortal tore into its back with tooth and nail, each shriek louder than the last. He wished he was closer. He wished he wasn’t going to plummet to his death again like the flightless worm he was. He wished and he wished and he wished. And the skin over his knuckles split, raw, angry flesh pulsating beneath as he grasped at the miracle that would enable his further survival. Push, push, push, to the utmost of his limits and then past them! The precedence was always there! The ability had always been there. He just had to reach it again! Dark blood splattered white feathers, ozone stench tickling his nostrils as the world stretched out before him, composed solely of a battle fought that held no reward other than personal glory. That would be his target. Time slowed, droplets of condensing water clear in his hyper-enhanced senses. Mana raced through impossible veins, burning brightly as the nightscape banner of the flagpole unfurled. As many threads as there were stars in the sky, now all burning up as fuel for his descent. The pole itself was shaking, its phantasmal material absolutely revelling its wielder’s decision. Each beautiful engraving burned with raw power, filled to the brim as a three dimensional magical array burst to life, ancient script filling the crisp blue air. And, like the rockets of the modern world, the arrows of the fantasy world, the bolts of the divine world, the flagpole ignited, six magenta jets blasting outwards, sending wielder and wielded flying back into the bloody fray. Cain scarcely had the chance to shout out a warning before the butt of the pole drove deep into fat and muscle, a grisly ‘squish’ soundly as the jets continued to burn. The shrieking became agony, and agony turned into instinctual violence as the Deva of Frozen Lightning thrashed, its flight stolen from it as the horn of a phantasmal beast continued to shake aggressively. The three descended rapidly, bursting into the storm clouds, the icy sleet slicing open exposed skin. Cold. So cold and brutal and WARM! Just maintaining the spell was burning up the last reserves of Cain’s energy, his skin turning bloodless from the exertion. The jets sputtered, died, rain and sleet pounding them as cloudy vespers clung onto their bodies. Lightning crackled. The Storm Dancer, infuriated and in its natural environment, cawed out and grasped control of natural fury above. A bolt. It just had to call a single bolt to itself, and the pests that trespassed upon its body would become naught but ash. But it was too late. The stake had been driven in too deep. “ONE MORE BLOW!” A final surge, a star that exploded instead of collapsed, the fumes of his harmonics timing itself to the raging heart of the Wild Huntress, the throbbing pain of her first and the creaking of her bones. He had nothing left. This was nothing like that forest troll. Finish it.