Only for the second amulet to detonated in a sphere of pure force, its shockwave carving a crater into the snow. Splinters of ice and dirt hung suspended for a heartbeat before raining down. The explosion sent Arieus skidding backward, his ears ringing, blood trickling from his nose. The Weaver panted now, sweat beading on his brow, his once-pristine robes now torn and stained with dirt and flecks of blood.
The twin amulets hanging from his chest pulsed weakly, their glow dimmed, it's finite power, dwindling with each expenditure.
Arieus didn't waste time. The snow erupted beneath his feet as he surged forward again, his cleaver gleaming with fresh hunger.
With a roar, the Krag war-chief swung his cleaver in a brutal horizontal arc, aiming to bisect the mage at the waist. The Weaver barely managed to throw himself backward, tumbling from his horse in an undignified heap. The beast, a prized Courser of the Southern Marches, screamed as the cleaver carved through the air where its rider had been, the displaced wind itself seeming to howl in protest.
The horse, panicked by the near-decapitation of its rider, reared up with a terrified whinny, only for Arieus to pivot mid-swing and bring the cleaver back in an upward slash. The blade sheared through the beast's chest, ribs splintering, blood spraying in a crimson geyser, that painted the snow in grotesque artistry. The horse collapsed, its dying thrash nearly crushing the Weaver as he scrambled to his feet.
"Welcome to the ground below," Arieus smirked as he gaze upon the human's pathetic form "Let's see how well you fight on your feet."
The Weaver's lips curled into a snarl. His fingers danced, and power seemed to gather around his chest pulsing and hazy.
"Kürõß- Måñïpúlåtïøñ-
A storm of ember-hot projectiles erupted from his outstretched palms, each no larger than a coin but burning with the fury of a forge. They streaked toward Arieus like a volley of miniature meteors. The Krag warlord didn't dodge. Instead, he twisted his body, letting the first few projectiles glance off his armored pauldrons, sending molten droplets hissing into the snow. Then, with *a speed that defied his massive frame, he swung his cleaver in a wide, sweeping arc.
The blade caught the remaining firebolts mid-air, the sheer force of his swing dispersing them like scattered coals, their heat dissipating into the frigid wind. The Weaver's eyes widened in disbelief, no one had ever cut through his manipulations before.
Arieus didn't give him time to recover. He lunged, his cleaver descending in a brutal overhead strike, the edge filled with lethal intent. The Weaver barely managed to raise a hand, his amulet flaring as a translucent barrier of wind solidified between them.
CRACK!
The cleaver struck the barrier with enough force to send shockwaves rippling through the air. The ground beneath them trembled, frozen roots hidden below snapped, snow vaporized from the sheer kinetic energy. For a heartbeat, the two forces held—then, with a sound like shattering glass, the barrier broke.
The Weaver stumbled back, his robes fluttering like the wings of a wounded bird, his face paling as Arieus pressed forward, his cleaver already rising for another strike.
------
Elsewhere on the battlefield, the Krags and knights clashed in a frenzied melee. Steel meeting steel in a cacophony of battle. Banners bearing the sigil of their lord, lay trampled in the snow, their once-proud colors now stained with gore.
Gurok, locked in combat with the Kuros-wielding knight, parried a vicious slash before countering with a brutal shoulder-check, his pauldron biting into the knight's breastplate. The human took just a single step back, his boots sliding through the churned slush of blood and snow. The knight recovered swiftly, his blackened greatsword humming with dark aura as he retaliated with a series of rapid cuts, each one trailing shadows that seemed to cling to the air. Gurok growled as he gave ground, his arms burning under the onslaught.
"You're strong, beast," the knight sneered. "But strength alone won't save you."
After saying this, the Knight Commander eyes flickered toward the fight between Arieus and the Weaver. A momentary distraction.
Gurok spat blood, his tusks flecked with crimson. His body aching under the relentless assault. The knight's enchantment was sapping his stamina, draining him like a leaky wineskin. The weight of each of his movement growing heavier.
thunk!
Suddenly, out of nowhere an arrow with black fletching punched through the gap in the knight's armor and buried itself into his back, the impact making him gasp, his stance faltering for just a second.
Gurok laughed, a deep, as he swung his battle-axe in a devastating uppercut. The knight barely managed to raise his sword in time, the sheer strength granted by Kuros the only thing keeping him from being split in two, but the force still sent him stumbling back.
"Yes, strength isn't enough," Gurok growled, hefting his axe high. "But with a little help from a cunning fox… then even blessed men like you can die."
The knight bared his teeth, ripping the arrow out and tossing it to the ground. His gauntleted fingers tightening around his sword's grip. "Then come, beast. Let me dispatch you properly."
------
Arieus pressed his assault relentlessly. The Weaver, now bleeding from a gash on his cheek and another on his arm, his robes now shredded and slick with blood, was rapidly exhausting his stamina. His breath came in ragged gasps as he backpedaled, his boots slipping on the ice-glazed stones. His fingers twitched as he reached out to weave.
"Kürõß- Måñïpúlåtïøñ-<ãír>- Rüptūrê!"
A thunderclap of force exploded outward, hurling snow, blood, and broken bodies aside.
Arieus braced, his boots digging deep furrows into the snow as the shockwave threatened to fling him back. Yet he did not yield. He leaned into it, his muscles straining, his cleaver planted in the ground like an anchor, his tusks bared in a feral grin.
When the winds died, he grinned, mocking the Weaves's attempt
"Is that all?" he taunted, wrenching his blade free. "I've seen better use of Kuros before, but all a see now is a mess. You're just a child playing with fire."
The Weaver's eyes narrowed. "You speak as if you understand the arcane, beast."
Arieus lunged, his cleaver a blur. The Weaver barely twisted aside,
Arieus lunged again, his cleaver a blur of motion. The Weaver barely twisted aside, his robes fluttering as he manipulated the wind to propel himself further, putting distance between them.
"Ha! I understand enough," Arieus said, pivoting into a backhanded slash that forced the Weaver to leap away once more.
"Weavers and shamans are known to control the wild energy of creation, Kuros with ease and grace."
The Weaver landed lightly, his robes billowing as his fingers danced.
"But you...you lack grace and treat it like a hammer to a nail."
"Kürõß- Måñïpúlåtïøñ-
A lash of flame, searing white-hot, snapped toward Arieus. The Krag war-chief didn't dodge, he met it. His cleaver swept up in a brutal arc, the sheer force of his swing splitting the fire whip apart, the flames dissipating into embers.
"Predictable," Arieus sneered. "You have the ability to weave Kuros like a craftsman, to mold it, command it even, but still you lack imagination..."
"A slave to your own mind really."
The Weaver's face darkened. "What do you mean by that, beast?" He tried to steady his breathing, his fingers trembling as he gauged the remaining charge in his amulets.
"What is the price of manipulation," Arieus continued, feinting before suddenly reversing into a spinning slash. The Weaver's amulet barely managed to summon a gust to deflect the blow, but the force still sent him skidding back, his heels dragging through the snow.
Arieus laughed. "How many charges do you have left, weaver?
"You weave Kuros to create phenomenal displays of power," Arieus continued, his voice calm and measured. "Maybe that made you think you were indestructible, above it all. But you seem to forget, for every power, there is a price to be paid."
"Your stamina is the coin. And you're running out."
He charged again, his cleaver became a black crescent of a series of relentless crushing blows. The Weaver was about to be sliced into pieces, but a knight lunged from the fray, his sword slashing at Arieus's side. The Krag war-chief blocked with a contemptuous flick of his wrist, and sent the man flying with a single backhanded blow.
But it gave the weaver time to expend another desperate defense.
"Kürõß- Måñïpúlåtïøñ-<ãír>- Wïñd Bärrïër!"
A wall of screaming wind erupted between them, but Arieus didn't stop. He slammed into it, his cleaver carving through the gale like a ship's prow through storm-waves. The Weaver's eyes widened as the Krag warlord forced his way through, step by brutal step.
"You are not..." the Weaver gasped. "You cannot be...."
Arieus's cleaver came down in a devastating overhead strike. The Weaver barely rolled aside, the blade embedding itself deep into the frozen earth. Before he could recover, Arieus wrenched it free and then stopped.
The Weaver clapped his hands together.
"Kürõß- Måñïpúlåtïøñ-<ãír>- Vøïd Slïcë!"
An invisible blade of compressed air slashed toward Arieus's throat. At the last instant, the Krag warchief twisted, letting it graze his cheek instead of decapitating him. Blood welled from the cut, a single crimson line tracing his jaw, but his grin never faded.
"Close," he admitted. "But still quite limited."
The Weaver's breath was ragged now, his amulets flickering, their stored power already spent.
You can't kill me," he rasped, his voice cracking. "I am a Sage of the Lord of these lands. He will not forgive this." His eyes locked onto Arieus, terror finally setting in his gaze.
Arieus stood by, a smile still across his face, "you a Sage?" He barked a laugh. "Don't make me laugh. If you were a true Sage, I'd already be dead." His voice laced with amusement.
The Weaver began to shake, his fingers clutching at empty air as if searching for a weapon that wasn't there.
"Your amulet is drained, and I'm sure you can no longer chant."
"Please," he begged, his voice breaking, tears freely flowing "Don't kill me. I have...I have so much left to do."
Arieus's smile never wavered. "Who said anything about me killing you?"
The Weaver blinked, confusion etching lines into his bloodied face.
An arrow burst through one side of his skull and out the other, punching through bone and brain with surgical precision. The snow beneath him turned crimson, a dark halo spreading beneath his fallen body.
"You are already someone else's prey."he finished.
Arius's gaze pierced through the chaos of the battlefield, his eyes narrowing as he tracked the shot's origin...there, amidst the chaos Dana lowered her bow, her form already melting back into the fray.
"Pity," Arieus mused, looking down at the corpse. "We were having such a lovely conversation."
Then he turned, his cleaver rising like a executioner's blade, cutting down any knight that got in his way. As he strode toward the battle between Gurok and the Kuros-wielding knight. The sound of clashing steel and the scent of blood filled the air
"Time to end this farce."