The pain was dizzying, sharp and throbbing and burning all at once, but eventually, Labradorite Five-Four-Six could see again. Or, at least, he could see more than the stinging tears in his eyes and blurriness seeping into his vision. He saw a flash of golden-brown hitting the almost-black figure of the vulture and peeled away just a bit from the scene.
"Thank you," he murmured to his brother. The words, and the gratitude beneath them, were far from hollow-- but wavering, shocked, and weak. Five-Four-Six himself didn't like how it sounded, how every fibre of his being was screaming that he was going to die a failure.
He took a deep, shuddering breath. Huge ears pinned back to his skull as he extended his neck outwards and gently nudged the hollow of Thirty-Five's chin with his forehead. A brief, but affectionate touch later, and the blue fox-dragon was sitting back in his own space again.
A moment to breathe was all he needed. The gathering smoke made it difficult to see, but Five-Four-Six was shutting his eyes anyway. The rain helped to soothe the bone-deep rends across his body, but it did nothing to stop the bleeding.
With another trembling breath, he began to cast. Fire, red and angry, flashed across his left shoulder. This time, somehow, this hurt more than the damage the vulture had done, but Five-Four-Six only just managed to contain the wails of agony as the fire licking his skin began to seal over the open wounds. It was over in a matter of a few seconds, but it had certainly left it's mark, and Five-Four-Six was left hunched over and gasping for breath.
A few beats passed before he spoke again-- again, to his brother. "Thank you," he repeated in a whisper, before he pushed himself up to walk.
Each step was worse than the last, it seemed; Labradorite picked his way through the smoke flooding the mesa to pluck a few feathers off the Matriarch, holding them in his mouth quietly as he turned to step back towards Desert Rose Thirty-Five.
Shango stood half-crouched as the matriarch crashed into the rock ahead of him, skidding over what looked like a dark slick of oil--the eel-thing's doing? His ghostlight eyes flicked from one to the other, eel to matriarch--then to Imp and Asimona above it.
Trophy. They'd been told to get a trophy.
He paced over, looking her over--then shoved his head forward, grabbing a mouthful of feathers and twisting them free with a shake of his head. There was no malice in the act; he was content, oblivious in his scattering of rain and the fading rumbles of thunder.
The vultures, though--they were still screeching overhead, and so as Shango pushed the few, slightly-bloodied feathers into his own scale-feathered mane, he decided not to hang around.
He didn't rush ahead, though; he felt no real urgency. Instead he glanced to those he was near to: the little lizard, the yeti-like creature, and the tall bird... thing. None of them seemed too badly-harmed--one was tired out, one scratched up, but neither near death. Shango turned away, heading at an easy trot for the cliff's edge, his lithe body swift and elegant in his motions. His feet clattered over stone.
Imp was calling out, and Shango peered out into the distance. The creatures at the far edge were unfamiliar to him--well, the Merchant was, but the rest he didn't know. He watched them for a long moment, and was conscious abruptly that he had only two wisps orbitting him. He focused on summoning up a third, bringing it in a cold phosphoresent glow to join the other two, spitting out a few stray bits of feather that had lingered in his jaws.
Somehow, he didn't like the looks of the distant gathering.
The shrieking was growing louder, but not for the reasons it had quite expected: the Matriarch had been slain, blood spattering all over the mesa and mixing with the downpour (at least one Gembound, it supposed, had a bit of intelligence, though it was the one whose vocabulary was entirely composed of the word "storm.") Large ears poked up first, wary of any others in its immediate vicinity. When all seemed clear, it stood, shook itself, and casually hopped closer to the mesa's edge (hey, was that an Overseer?), overlooking the labyrinth leading out to the dead marsh.
If it was left unhindered, it would shake itself again and tumble over the edge with slightly spread wings, intending only to glide from ledge to ledge, until it reached the bottom.
And, of course, as Garnet Five-Seven-Nine went, it conjured up a billowing plume of smoke in its wake, fully intending to turn the passage into a dark, damp mess. Let them all take a leap of faith. Nothing was supposed to come easy in life.
Garnet Five-Seven-Nine is advancing with a smoke trail.
As Labradorite Five-Four-Six stepped back to his brother, he offered him a gentle nod. The pain was beginning to die down now, at least-- shifting from a wracking, unbearable pain all at once to a constant throbbing. It was better than before, at least-- even if each step felt like he was making it worse.
They were almost done, at least.
As he began to set himself back down, Five-Four-Six felt himself getting hoisted back up again. He furrowed his brow, at first confused, and then angry, as he was being lifted over the ledge. It wasn't a sheer drop from what he could see from here, though-- and in one quick movement, he reached out and grasped the ledge.
Ahh, there goes the pain again. It turned out that freshly-cauterized wounds didn't like to be bothered thirty seconds after acquisition, but he bore through it with gritted teeth. He fell, but not particularly far-- a mere three feet or so before he grabbed the ledge below the plateau. No less than five seconds after he dipped below the edge, he was pulling himself back up onto the ledge with a painful grunt.
"Absolute gemless bastards," he swore, padding painfully back to Thirty-five. "Rock-for-brains. I hope the Overseer eats whatever piss-stick thought that was funny." He lay on his gut next to Desert Rose, half-shutting his eyes and turning his head to lick his blood-matted fur.
He did, of course, suspect the lizard he'd attacked not-five minutes ago-- but he had no proof of such. Not that it mattered much to him, of course, but still, keeping up appearances that he was completely innocent and had done nothing wrong, ever, in his life, was key.
Ru felt sheer relief as the vulture attacking it's hide suddenly lifted off with a screech. He looked up, just in time to watch the corpse of the Matriarch fall back to the plateau with a plume of dust, headless and still. Asimona hovered above, the Matriarch's head in her jaws.
Pride welled in it's heart, though weary and bloodied. It shook out it's neck, blood splattering, and approached the corpse. Ru grasped the Matriarch's wing finger in its jaws, and tore, taking the talon and finger with it.
"Well done, Asimona!" It said. Ru twisted it's neck around to look at its hide. Claw marks crisscrossed what it could see of its back, but most didn't seem too deep, to it's relief. They were painful, however. It flexed the sail on it's back, wincing a bit. "I will be fine, I suppose."
Ru adjusted the finger in its mouth, and looked around, taking in it's surroundings. It noticed the Merchant, with a band of creatures following. It's blood turned to ice. The overseer. It shook itself out. They were not here, not yet. The crocodillian had spotted them as well, Ru heard its cries. The gembound present seemed to be mostly alright, though a few seemed injured. It noted that a few did not seem to be injured by the matriarch. The smell of burning flesh was thick in the air.
Someone sabotaging? A champion perhaphs, it felt these new gembound were too naive to try. It would have to stay vigilant. It spotted the Agate giving them a wary stare. It was either brave or foolish.
It did not know which it preffered. But it would rather have either than something cowardly. Good Ally, it noted. Self sacrificial, may come in handy later. Ru approached.
"You are a decent Ally, Agate." It nodded it's head, then cocked it head when it noticed their missing tail feathers. "I hope you are not too injured. We should move. I will not wait for the Overseer to catch up."
He gave a nervous glance behind him at the approaching Merchant, and the large creature beside it. It's memory was still hard to come by, but something about it cast fear into Ru. He turned to scamper after Asimona, and that's when it noticed the smoke.
It felt anger boil in it's heart at the thought of someone making things more difficult for it's team. It could not watch after all of them with this smoke in the way. The creature who caused the smoke was most likely the one who had injured the others with fire. Were Ru to find what creature did this, it would kill them. Not a creature worth having around. But Ru had more pressing matters to attend to. With a nervous glance behind it, Ru went after the route down, terror in its heart.
Ru is taking a wing finger as a trophy and catching up to Asimona
BLACK OPAL now is the climax the story that gives the demons and angels purpose
Well, it seems the slime wasn't need.
The Opal watched, unmoved by the shear violence the dragon used to dispatch the Matriarch. He sighed, wiping away some of the blood that spurted on his face. How disappointing, he hoped she would have went down in a more unique way, a little something new to take his mind off the possibility of death. These trials could get dreadfully tiresome.
The eel-thing trudge up to Matriarchs body and plucked a feather from her back. No fuss required. It hung, impaled on one of his pointy teeth The Opal paused a moment, thankful for the light rainfall, although he wondered if would eventually spell trouble. Imp's call drew his attention to the figures off in the distance, ones he knew too well. "That big thing would be Overseer Vargas." He told the them. "We best get a move on or he'll eat us." The Opal squinted at the other shapes. "And I see the Masters have come to observe us as well." He added.
The Opal looked back at Agate's group. The cockatrice sure knew how to put a team together. These new gembound-- the fresh meat, they seemed.. different than ones before. Perhaps it would not be such a bad idea to pair up with this lot. Maybe they would save his slimy hide if he needed it. The dragon reminded him a lot of himself when he was younger.. and more gullible. Strangely, he liked that, even envied her way of thinking a little. He decided to hang back a bit and wait for the others to catch up before moving on to the Dead Marshes. "Don't mind me, just tagging along." He croaked at them.
Yoosung paused, wheezing for each breath as he listened, hoping that the vulture had been struck. It seemed that it had, as there was a screech, the sound fading as though becoming further and further away. He brought his paw up, wiping at the blood on his eyes with his foreleg, squinting as he used what vision he had. The wound, thankfully, seemed to be clotting some, allowing him to see.
There were sounds, then, loud raucous shrieks. The dog shook his head again, panting, and looked, able to just make out the Matriarch's carcass. It was dead, oh Caves, it was dead. All that was left was to take a trophy and run like hell.
So he approached the vulture's carcass, hesitating fearfully, dropping to his belly in terror and crawling the last few feet. The wing was near his face, and so he lunged forward, taking the tip in his mouth, jerking his head to tug his mouthful free, before leaping to his feet and bounding away, stopping only long enough to cast another Will o the Wisp as he remembered the first had, likely, saved his life.
I've been on a lonely trip
dragging along a lonely shadow
Yoosung is: taking a mouthful sized tip of the wing as a trophy, and casting a Will o' the Wisp
A gob of blood arced through the air as Thirty-Five spat the remainder of his kill from his mouth, fast-drying blood splattering his lips and teeth. An ear flicked to the soft gratitude from Five-Four-Six and he nodded, probably imperceptible by his brother.
They should have a moment. The creature that awoke them didn’t seem to be as violent as the previous Overseer. Perhaps, just maybe, they could have a moment to catch their breath. Thirty-Five clutched the feather to his chest as he soared back down to the ground, smoke curling around his wings and beginning to dissipate into the air.
The dragon was soon to hop over to Five-Four-Six on his three free legs, wings held close as he watched the other gembounds around them through the smog. It seemed they were keeping away. Good. A rough purr was offered back to his brother as he neared, raising his head carefully so his antlers didn’t press into his brother- he had more to worry about.
Thirty-Five watched patiently as his brother retreated. The dragon took a deep breath and coughed- the smoke was beginning to be a bit too much. A quick few flaps should deal with that. Rolling his wing joints Thirty-Five gave off a few powerful thrusts of his wings, dispelling some of the smoke curling between the brothers. “There,” he offered, sitting down side-saddle with care towards the antlers decorating his hindquarters. His long tail flicked as he craned his neck towards Five-Four-Six.
Wide nostrils flared as Thirty-Five looked over Five-Four-Six’s wound. His tail flicked anxiously- neither of them had scars before. Would this current Overseer be kinder than Vargas? The injury looked like it was getting worse as crimson blood spilled over blue fur.
Thirty-Five grit his teeth as a sense of magic hit him, electric blue eyes watching as fire flashed out against the rain. An anxious huff pressed past his lips as he stepped forward. Was Five-Four-Six healing himself? Thirty-Five’s closest wing reached out tentatively to his brother in empathy, his eyes wide as he watched his brother put himself through pain.
The dragon was silent as his brother panted. He didn’t want to push him. Five-Four-Six could have all the time in the world, as far as he cared.
Thirty-Five sighed as his brother left to retrieve his trophy. The rain was soothing, but left him feeling naked as dust stripped off his scales. Hopefully it wouldn’t last. Distracted, Thirty-Five did a small assessment- it looked like people were pushing ahead. Let them go. However, movement from the desert, from beyond the Crucible caught his eye.
There was a particularly familiar purple shape, only confirmed by one of the Gembound in another group. Overseer Vargas was awake.
Thirty-Five’s pupils went as thin as a sheet of paper as his scales and mane rose in fear. Was he actually the Overseer for this trial? They had to move, now.
When he whipped back his head to watch his brother, he was already over the ledge. Thirty-Five would naturally assume that he was moving on, but by the expression on his face, panic arced through the dragon’s nerves. Was someone else using magic? Thirty-Five reached up quick and grabbed the feather with his teeth before leaping forward, moving to offer a claw to Five-Four-Six. It seemed the fox could handle it, though.
Thirty-Five hissed with frustration and agreeance at the cussing, his tail-tip twitching as his brother sat. He had mind to say something, but without seeing anyone in particular who could’ve done it, Thirty-Five only watched as his brother rested. The dragon’s large lungs took a breath as he let his brother lick out the blood. The rain would wash off some, but that wound was too deep for mere water.
Thirty-Five paced for a moment or so before turning to Five-Four-Six, one eye on the approaching troupe of Overseers. “We should move. Vargas is awake,” Thirty-Five growled out, his blunt snout offering a nod towards the forms in the distance. “I can fly us out of the Crucible while your shoulder heals.” The desert dragon snuffled as he paced back towards Five-Four-Six, sniffing at the cauterized wound. He needed rest- he needed it to heal. Hopefully the fox knew some spells to bring himself back into the competition while he rode on Thirty-Five’s back. If he took the offer, that is.
Desert Rose Thirty-Five will be staying with Labradorite Five-Four-Six
The dog sat for a moment, shaking his head--he was still rattled, but he needed to get gone. Get his trophy and move, so he ignored his throbbing ribs, hopping up from the ledge he had landed on and back onto the main mesa. He moved stiffly as he trotted up to the vulture's corpse, taking a talon in his mouth and bracing his paws, digging in and pulling until it tore free, leaving him holding a talon.
That done, he trotted into the smog, following the others into the smoke.
The vulture on top of him was flung away, skull shattered and neck twisted, and the fossa felt some sort of grim satisfaction. A misplaced revenge, perhaps, for Vinnie? He wasn't quite sure.
But he staggered to his feet, wheezing and whimpering and in pain, wanting nothing more than to curl into a ball. His leg was in agony, and the gouges down his beg were throbbing. But he hobbled forward, taking a clump of feathers from the matriarch, tucking them up inside his mask to keep from losing them.
And then he was staggering into the smoke, glad for his mask that kept the smoke from choking him.