The wind howled through the gorge tossing dust along with a sulfur-smelling hint of the demonic legion in Cassiathon's direction. He remained solitary clad in leather and shadowy metal amidst the surge of gleaming chitin and luminous weapons. Still solitude eluded him. The sharp discipline of his father's lessons served as an anchor, within his thoughts. The wild force Morgan had discovered pulsed in his veins a potent controlled source of energy.
General Raziel refrained from commanding a charge. Instead he. Entrusted the reins of his reptilian mount to a subordinate. This act was a sign of respect or, at the least part of a ritual.
"A leader who doesn't face the dangers, alongside his troops is not truly a leader " Raziel declared, lifting his lance. It buzzed with a eager power. ". You despite your… mixed lineage have come to the battlefield solo. That deserves a reply."
This was no rage, like that of the Annihilator. It was a contest. A challenge of skill equally matched by strength. Cassiathon tightened his hold on his blade.
Raziel acted initially. He was swift, though not so. His quickness resulted from thousands of years of battle embodying efficiency. The lance jab was a motion, directed not at Cassiathon's chest but, at his foremost knee—a crippling strategic blow.
Cassiathon deflected the blow the sound of metal striking an alloy ringing clearly in the sparse atmosphere. The force trembled through his arm. He maintained his grip spinning his sword to entangle the lance and counterattack, at Raziel's unguarded flank.
The General reclined, the sword's point touching his armor and tracing a streak of grey erosion, over the gleaming metal. He remained unfazed. His response was a fierce pommel blow aimed at Cassiathon's temple.
Cassiathon anticipated it—a teaching from his father about foreseeing an adversary's economy of movement. He bent low sweeping his leg to topple the General. Raziel jumped back regaining his stance, a flash of astonishment, in his icy gaze.
"You've undergone training " Raziel admitted. "Not, from fighters. From an expert."
"You don't even realize " Cassiathon exhaled, initiating his counterstrike. He intertwined threads into his sword movements not to unleash a burst but as a continuation. Every parried blow from Raziel's spear created an area of fragile substance. Each close strike drained vitality, from the atmosphere surrounding the General.
Raziel started to decelerate, almost unnoticed. His flawless shape exhibited pauses as he adapted to the localized corruption Cassiathon dispersed like a toxin.
However the General was a war fiend. He adjusted. He ceased attempting to block head-on employing parries and agile footwork to fend off Cassiathon's blade. He started probing, gauging Cassiathon's endurance, his composure.
"You battle with a heart " Raziel growled, parrying a strike and responding with a light slash, across Cassiathon's shoulder. The ache was initially cold, then searing. "You falter in delivering the strike. You cherish your life excessively."
It was factual. Cassiathon struggled to halt to protect. Raziel struggled to prevail.
The General noticed the gap. With a high strike he lowered himself swiftly his lance gliding across Cassiathon's legs knocking him down. Cassiathon crashed heavily to the ground breath stolen from him. Raziel loomed above the tip of his lance directed at Cassiathon's throat.
"A attempt " the General remarked. "However emotions are a privilege afforded in times of peace."
He thrust downward.