ORIGIN

Oh, smoldering shit.

He'd really overestimated the advantage that distance could afford him. Not once in his quick strategizing had Fahl accounted for the possibility this Saran'zol could simply close the gap in a single rage-fueled bound. No sooner than he could indulge in a measure of satisfaction, tempered by mild disappointment, that his magic had clearly taken hold of the staff, the searing heat which clung to its handle grew threateningly closer to his scales than he'd ever anticipated.

Plasma's white intensity gleamed off the staff's untouched blades as one of them whisked through the air. If his run continued along its current course, the wicked edge would surely find little resistance as it slashed through scales completely bleached by sudden terror. In an eye's blink, Saran'zol wouldn't have to exert too much effort in his lash out at the iguana; his much smaller opponent could end up spearing himself on the end of his staff, an easy defeat in the midst of battle.

His heart hammered. Each beat of it inched the blade nearer and nearer. He could hear his breath, heavy and labored, and the scrabble of his claws while back legs desperately tried to brake before meeting a brutal and bloody end. His body was failing him, so dedicated had he been to hurtling around the arena. Once more all hope rested in his greatest of strengths: magic would have to wrest him free from the awful situation he'd plunged into.

Operating on pure instinct, Fahl reached out for a spell that granted him a better form of retreat than his current pitiful attempt. Mind frenzied by fear, he fumbled for instead of seized that which would become his salvation. Shafts of light, feathery soft, spilled out from shoulder blades in a rough approximation of wings. So insubstantial and shimmering were they that their utility could be scarcely believed until a downward flap of them pushed their owner backward.

"Fuck," he stammered, jaw quavering, as the blade missed. "Son of a fried and fuckfaced fish."

The wings kept flapping, frantic in pace, as the next devastating attack radiated out from Saran'zol. Invisible though it was, gathering dust tipped Fahl off to it, and experience provided a strong idea of what this force might be. He braced himself for the pain of pulverized bones, even while his magic continued to drag him away. For the sake of Pisces, his beloved native Pisces, may his power allow him to just manage to cross the threshold into momentary safety.

Who was he kidding? He was probably screwed.