Raid #81

Now this was a place he could get used to. Not some mud-flopping hamlet, but a full blown city. Xande wasn’t in town to stay, but he was thoroughly impressed with the architecture and near-clockwork nature of the metropolis. Being engulfed by dark tides did nothing to curb that.

Even now the Shadows and brighter, more impressive Heartless scurried about, cleaning up what remained of the population. Which was actually fairly sizeable, despite all that had happened to the place. The industrious invaders were working to change that though. From his position farther up the slope of urbanization Xande could see the ebony specks clambering about chaotically. It would not be unreasonable to compare them to frenzied ants, albeit with more fires and screams than was typical of the imperial insects. However, it soon became apparent that something was different. Tufts of umbral matter sprang up from the raging mob, as though something was rending the dark beings apart. When prompted to look, it did not take long for the sorcerer’s eyes to narrow out the odd flash of color amid the frenzy. As usual, some white knight had taken it upon himself to do some cleaning up.

With an irritated snort Xande stepped over the railing of his vantage point, allowing gravity to guide him to the battlefield below. His cape whipped up with the rushing air as he descended, substituting for the trail he could not visibly blaze through the empty space. He did not have far to travel; the fighting was going on maybe two or three levels below his point of origin. The hard part had been finding a place to drop from that didn’t guide him into a wall like some idiot. But this layered city structure was handy for getting around, even if the original inhabitants likely never used it that way. He supposed that was what stairs were for. With a clap the ebon spellslinger connected with the cobblestone. On impact he dropped into a kneeling position, with both hands (including the stave held in one) pressed to the surface and head bowed slightly. Then, with deliberate motions, he climbed back to a full stance.

As he rose his eyes fell to the lone combatant, who was now in better view. There were certain....parallels to another that he could not help but make. Similarities to a particular child who could not resist the urge to trifle with his business. Xande’s nostrils flared, though his face was still stone at this time. The rush that inevitably came with beating someone to a pulp had not yet taken him, even if it was lingering on the metaphorical doorstep. Tweaking his neck both to the left and right, producing a “crack” with either motion, the visitor made his approach. He did not want to get too close to this young challenger, but wanted to make no mistake as to whom he intended to do business with. “Well now...” His voice dripped with the hunger of a hunting cat, its meal in sight. “...for one so young, you are quite bold at heart.” A small smile escaped him as he brought up his free hand, clenching the fingers as though to grip something in the palm. “Shall I rip it out of you, then?”

As was tradition, the small-statured youth had a few words for Xande. He wouldn’t have it any other way. There would be plenty of time for trading blows in the near future. Still, he had to wonder what this kid’s stake in all this was. He seemed vaguely strong enough to be one of the many door-to-door heroes who seemed so keen on dropping in and cleaning out Heartless. On the other, his attire looked like something that might actually fit in here. Considering the bizarre outfits people got away with wearing while world-hopping it almost seemed more likely that this was just a particularly talented local. Not that it made him any less threatening now that his fangs were barred.

He had to wonder though; was he the leader? He deemed it fair to say he was the most powerful individual in the immediate area. So in the sense that the warlock stood between this simian-tailed swashbuckler and a counterattack against the occupying Heartless he supposed he might be. Still, this was more of a sightseeing expedition than anything. “Kuja, you say?” He stroked his hairless chin at this, the grin growing ever wider as the seconds passed. “I cannot claim familiarity with that name.” Then, with something like a sigh, he spread his arms wide in invitation. “Is one of me not more than enough, child?”

It was getting to him. The similarities between this person and that damnable brat from the Floating Continent. Try as he might he could not restrain the raw flow of emotions overflowing at the sight of his blond opposition. If he could just bring his fists to his flesh. If he could feel the splintering of bone, the tearing of muscle, it would delight him so! They had not met for longer than a minute and already Xande wanted to grind him to dust! Truly this would be a most cathartic encounter. With every shred of his power, he would pour out the last ounces of rage that had built up over a multitude of encounters.

Quite the mouthy one, wasn’t he? If appearances meant anything this boy acted about as confident as Xande felt; which was to say greatly so. And it was true that he at least handled himself well against those inferior beings of darkness and hunger. What he was faced against was no mere Shadow though. Such simple beings fell with a casual stroke of the sword, but Xande was far from their equal. Furthermore, in his observations he had sensed not an ounce of magic from this youthful combatant. He was athletic and skilled, but strength of body was something this wizard could match point-for-point. This swordsmanship had finally hit its wall, and said barrier was more than happy to crush the upstart under its terrifying girth.

That was when he moved.

The sorcerer brought his staff to bear, so that its shaft crossed before his body defensively. The theory was simple enough: guard against the assault, strike back before the little pissant could make his next move. It was simple enough, and it had the added bonus of trying to cave the guy’s skull in with his bare knuckles. Problems arose when the attack never quite arrived. The euphoria of battle decorating Xande’s countenance dulled in surprise when his attacker dipped below his range of vision, and then vanished completely as pain shot through his legs. His vision went skyward as his legs bent in, teeth clenched in a surprised grimace at the back attack. Even as he fell he saw the shape, his golden hair standing out at vision’s edge. Such extraordinary speed....so this is your strength!

Falling to his knees, with hands on the cobblestone for support, Xande let out a snarl. With the reality firmly set before him, the shock of the attack was once again replaced with raw, unrefined fury. He cast a gaze over his broad shoulder, ebony hands gripping the street, he let flow the magic that had been taught to him so many years ago. From beneath the feet of agile teen he channeled a cold chill most intense, solidifying it into Blizzaga. He shaped two individual spires of ice, both right below the soles of the boy in the hope of disrupting his footing. Then, while they were still rising, he reached back and thrust the butt of his stave like a spear. If the spell missed he might at least get a strike in, and if both attacks failed he could hopefully regain some distance.

Considering the speed behind the ruse that got the urchin at his back, Xande was more than satisfied that any one part of his attack landed. He would have much preferred if his spell tore the youth’s feet into twine, but he would take what he got. His assessment of this lightweight adversary as a close-range combatant seemed correct so far, so now that he had gained some distance it was his turn to retake the field and demonstrate his vast powers. Noah may have proven to be an old fool, but this was one true gift that had been passed down! Rising from his crippled haunch, he did his best to support his weight on his staff while dealing with the pain in his wounded calves.

It seemed that the sorcerer had not received any grievous injuries. That he was able to keep himself upright with or without aid was a sign that no tendons had been severed, and that he had merely received a superficial injury with a particularly large bite. That it was in such vital limbs was horrendous luck, but not something he couldn’t overcome. As the blood trickled down to his heels he rotated himself as best he could, posture slightly skewed by his need of a sidearm as a makeshift leg. Xande made it about halfway before he took notice of the tailed boy’s recovery. At best he had only left a bruise, and there were likely mere seconds before this devolved into a blow-for-blow brawl. In his condition that wouldn’t be ideal, even with magical support at his disposal. Best keep the dual-wielder at arms length, and then some.

Xande thought he might have to contend with another game of “where’s the thief”, but fortune smiled on him. Indeed there was a dip involved as before, but before he was even out of sight it turned into a head-on confrontation. It was by no means slow, but he thought he could deal with this situation. What REALLY benefited him was that he had chosen to go skyward for this assault. That you can take to the air so nimbly is impressive. However.... He activated his telekinetic link to his staff, using it to lift the weapon before him in defense. He then used this mystical suspension so that he was more hanging by the shaft than resting upon it. It was awkward, it increased the pain of standing tenfold and it left him with the worst footing imaginable. It also prevented him from receiving a notably more serious wound. Blade met with treated wood, producing a dull “thnk!” on contact and stopping it cold.

....your fancy footwork is useless if you cannot touch ground! Die for your recklessness! Though he did not speak aloud, the warlock’s broad display of teeth communicated enough for three. He gathered yet another round of arcane power, this time completely opposite to the first. Before the inertia from the blocked attack could wear off he called for a burning tower of flame to rise up and roast this foolhardy child before he might touch down again. It was with relatively little effort that his Firaga sprang into existence, positioned so that its hungry mass would be just shy of Xande’s outstretched arm.