Oh, The Darkness Got A Hold On Me

Khavur's plan seemed to begin to work. The lifeblood of one Master Vargas exposed, proving that he, too, was mortal. It was almost a distraction. It was almost disbelief-inducing. But Khavur didn't have time to gawk or ponder.

GET AWAY! Its insides screamed, louder and louder as the Leviathan lunged for it. But Khavur didn't see a way how. For the two brains of the beast, it felt more sensible to calculate every move. It was no behemoth, no berserking fiend. Perhaps if it had been better suited to stealth-- TOO LATE!

Six clawed hands, razor sharp, empowered by musculature that lacked imperfection, barreled into the Reaver with all the cruelty and viciousness of an unfeeling hunter. When Master Vargas fought, he was not Master Vargas. Or perhaps this was the most "Master Vargas" he ever was. An identity forged in blood -- one Khavur could likely never have. It couldn't withstand this barrage -- the pain was building further and further, the ruthlessness of the attack coming as a surprise -- nor could it avoid it, so what to do?

IMITATE. DESTROY. When in Draco, do as Draconians do. Khavur reached forward with its own limbs, reaching for magic in a panic, attempting to tear back into the Leviathan. To weaken him, or stop him, or just make him hurt. Khavur couldn't mirror his brutality, but he also couldn't mirror his pain. Perhaps that was its key to outlasting...

In the rush, the Reaver didn't notice its own blood springing from its body in swaths, nor did it notice the unnatural cold building in its hands.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

The physical damage was not as great. That much, Vargas's mind noted, distantly, as Khavur's claws began to tear at him. But there was something else, something that ticked a little button marked ALARM in Vargas's mind, that he noted as he turned to meet this new attack.

Magic, he thought, with dull surprise, as the cold imbued in the strikes registered. Frostbitten scratches, nothing terrible, nothing serious, nothing like his own--but would it kill the flesh? Would it numb the pain, so that he was unaware of the true severity of the damage? What if they were not shallow scratches, but deep and deadly-?

And he had no time to turn and look.

With a huff he pulled back one massive arm, closing the six fingers into a fist, and then plunged it for the Reaver's ribs. It was not a strike from a good enough position to snap a rib or the like, but if he were lucky it would knock the wind from the Reaver's lungs.

To stagger him.

To wear him down, as was Vargas's intent.

He did not know how much it would take to beat Khavur into exhaustion, but he would try his best to find out.

That was part of this lesson. And if it withstood such damage-? Well, perhaps that would be a lesson for him, instead.

Khavur's own flurry of frosted blows was DISAPPOINTING in comparison to the embittered strikes of its Master. It could barely smell or feel the trickling crimson over its hide, to which its hide responded by turning a vibrant shade of blue-- and yet, it managed to make itself aware of the open wounds. 'Why is he being this wrathful? Did I do something wrong by coming here? Is my lesson a punishment?' It couldn't help the wonderings that flashed through its minds. It could ignore them however, for now.

Black spots threatened to conquer its sight, and limbs slowed in sustaining Khavur's power -- that's how it could tell its own injury. Even if it couldn't feel the effects with the power of pain, it could see them, experience them. Although, pain must be nice. More often than not, the Reaver only noticed injuries when it was too late. Like now.

A punch to its side served a similar function to a first-time at Pegasus. Now it was winded and struggling to move, just as the Master had intended. Still, it would not give up. Not like this. This was sad. If Khavur was going to yield, it wanted something to rip from the jaws of the bloody fight. Strategy, something learned, something gained -- there were questions to be answered, even in and perhaps especially by the heat of battle!

So Khavur would try to get away now -- gather itself and wriggle off, just far enough to-- to--

- THE LEVIATHAN -

His flanks were heaving with heavy breaths, but Khavur was... downed. Dragging itself off--or trying, and failing to; weakened, injured, gasping.

Good. There was no satisfaction in it, only a cold note of its state, and then Vargas strode swiftly for it. He aimed savage blows for its flank, ribs, a brief but rough battering.

"ARE YOU FINISHED ALREADY-?" he boomed, his tone demanding. "WOUNDED? -WEAKENED? Do you GIVE UP?"

He paused, as if to wait for an answer, and if Khavur spoke quickly enough it might get one in. But he didn't wait more than a few seconds, either way. "And now you lie on the rock, injured. Weak! Perhaps I will punish you for it. You value Chaos-Two, do you not-? Perhaps I will kill it, to teach you a LESSON!" he roared. "OR WILL YOU STOP ME?"

The Leviathan paced up alongside Khavur--within striking distance, if it so wished--leering down with a savage glare. His words were a taunt, but his hide dripped with acid blood, and his claws scraped at the rock as he came.

ARE YOU FINISHED ALREADY-?

It must be a punishment. What had it done wrong?

WOUNDED? -WEAKENED? Do you GIVE UP?

Stopped in its feeble attempt at escape, Khavur was forced to listen, forced to hear:

You value Chaos-Two, do you not-? Perhaps I will kill it, to teach you a LESSON!

That didn't sound facetious. That didn't sound conniving. There was no lie in that statement, Khavur decided, because that roar has broken the replay button and that threat had cut through meat and bone like no tooth or nail ever could.

OR WILL YOU STOP ME?

The Reaver didn't scream. It roared. ERUPTION -- two throats in tandem, playing off of each other and raising the volume, ablaze with fury. It had tried creation, risked what could be its life on test and idea. Now it was time to BURN it -- TO DESTROY CREATION ENTIRELY.

No more creators. No more FAILED ATTEMPTS. It had wasted too much time, and now either IT was going to pay, or HE was.

Khavur attempted to get up, steady itself, and charge at Vargas, spreading out its wings and LEAPING to catch the air, wicked claws extended.

Maybe it couldn't outmatch his speed, or his strength. Maybe it was falling directly into his trap. But you know what? It didn't matter anymore. No more dancing, no more tricks. Khavur was going to be exactly as chaos had intended. A monster that tore things apart and ATE them.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

It reacted as he had thought it would: with renewed strength. With fury. Vargas was on the defensive at once--he'd had no real desire to harm Khavur, and the lesson was now given. What was left was to explain this lesson: but Khavur was all white-hot rage and violence, coming at him with the chaos boiling in its veins.

The Leviathan stumbled backward, rapidly losing ground, raising his forelimbs in a swift attempt to block the worst of the Reaver's impact. Still, he felt the claws hit home, felt flesh torn, felt blood spill forth afresh. "ENOUGH!" he boomed, and there was command--but satisfaction--in his tone. "ENOUGH, Khavur! Stop! You have won. I will not harm Chaos-Two. HEAR ME," he roared, backpedalling across the floor in plumes of black dust. "This lesson is yet to be taught you." Would it listen--or would he need to allow it to wear itself out, again? Could he? Or had he unleashed, quite accidentally, a thing he could not so easily control-?

DARN THIS LEVIATHAN AND HIS TRICKS-- IF HE WAS TRULY A CREATURE OF CHAOS, WHY DID HE EVADE THE BURN HE SO DESERVED?! TO THREATEN THE CULLING OF SOMETHING THAT HAD PROVED ITS STRENGTHS WAS WEAKNESS ON HIS PART-- KHAVUR, THE REAVER, WHO COULD NEVER WIN, WHO COULD THREATEN AND THREATEN TO BURN TO NO AVAIL, THE FOOL, ITS CREATION WAS A WEAKNESS ON HIS PART--

Khavur saw perfection shatter unabashedly now, crooked little fragments to bathe and prickle its skin. Khavur saw hypocrisy, a creator who sought perfection that he never seemed to reach. He never blamed himself for. Khavur saw itself in the dull shards of that perfect imperfect mirror, that paradox, that family tree. All of it was shielded by a haze, like the air was boiling and bubbling, forming rashes on reality. The landscape shrouded in orange and embers. Blood was the viscous fire, the oil to bring the purge.

Khavur only wished ~~she~~ he it could draw more of it.

But alas...

He had not invested cycles into the creation and taming of this beast for nothing. The influence of the Master was a yolk most likely to never be removed, never born by or passed onto another. Khavur smoldered like a blue star, then choked every one of its cells out with the radiation in Master Vargas' eyes. Claws relented, limbs dropped, and wings folded once more to its sides. ENOUGH! ENOUGH, Khavur! It had cast its spark into the woods...

It had WON.

Now, it had to hear. Observing its destruction with one set of eyes ~~(satisfied)~~, Khavur labored to reign in its heart and mind, to HEAR as was commanded. Chaos-Two was SAFE. So this was not the punishment, but the lesson...?

Khavur's eyes narrowed for a moment at Master Vargas as it registered, letting him back away without a fight. It hears, it hears. It speaks not, for it fears what it might say.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

It heard--and it obeyed; and he noted this with approval not for its obedience but for its self-control, even in the midst of its very obvious rage.

Cautiously, he stepped back. Carefully, he lowered himself to his haunches: non-threatening. Conversational. Yes, his flanks were still heaving; yes, streaks of acid blood dribbled glowing and hissing down his hide, dropping to the rock with little sizzles. But his gaze was unflinching, serious and intent, as he peered at Khavur, as he spoke.

"I know that you are angry: but hear me, for this is perhaps the most important lesson of your life." A breath, deep, and he felt the rasp of it; and his eyes travelled over the Reaver's body, wondering how badly it was wounded. It should be nothing particularly dangerous--but it might take days to heal, without the aid of a medic of some form. "First--before this lesson--let me say, I would never harm one of you to punish another. That is not my way. I will never," and why was this so important to him, to emphasize? Perhaps Khavur would neither notice, nor care--"punish one of you for a failing not your fault." Did he count Orthoclase-Alpha in this-? Or was it that such a wound had not, in Vargas's mind, not been punishment at all? He did not say, and his pause was only one of serious intensity as he stared at Khavur, for a moment.

"Now: your lesson. We all have that which we fight for. I know not why you are bound to V-Chaos-Two. Why you hold this... social link that I did not form you with. But it is there. Moments ago you were on the ground--helpless, your energy gone, wounded. Perhaps afraid. Did you feel as though you had nothing left-? Did you feel that your fight was over?" He gestured off at the place where Khavur had been dragging itself, and then looked back to it. "But the mention of Chaos-Two sparked something else in you. I want you to remember that moment, Khavur."

The Leviathan sat back a little, a faint twist of pain crossing his rigid features. The claws had torn him. He was lucky it was not worse. "Think of when you gave up: you had reserves left within you. Do not be so quick to lie down and die to those who would take your life. Stand! Fight! Second! -Know what it is that you fight for. I fight for my duties, my responsibilities, the goals of this nest. But you--you fight for this bond you share, it seems. Hold this close, then: your motivation. Remember it!" and he was vehement. Staring. "If you find yourself lying on the rock, the blood pouring from your throat, and you imagine it to be over--remember V-Chaos-Two, in that moment, and imagine it is under threat. If this is what you fight for, then you will find reserves you had never imagined."

He paused, and studied it. "A harsh lesson--but I think an important one; do you? You fought well, incidentally. We ought to spar more often... but not quite as harshly, perhaps." He turned, tone taking on a bit of a sourly humorous note, to look over his own wounds.

"You can use your magic to mend the worst of it, if you can direct it to do so," he advised--and then attempted to take his own advice.

The information scalded and bit. Khavur drank it in like molten stone, used it to fortify its own fortress, to forge and sharpen its own arsenal. When it came to lectures from the big purple nimbus cloud, everything revolved around the work, the production, the war of minds. He understood not the heart but... based on his speech here, he seemed to respect it. And Khavur could understand his words upon finally hearing them.

V-Chaos-Two -- some day to be Maximus -- was its spark. Master Vargas seemed to have a similar connection to work, which actually seemed less like a connection and more like a lifeline. Like how a bridge might cling to the ropes that tether it to the ground. Khavur did not cling to V-Chaos-Two for dear life, but rather for dear lov-a, ahem. More to ingest. More questions it barely felt like it could answer, either out of not having the right, the space, or the blood left...

It nodded solemnly with the big-horned head nonetheless, the only answer it could provide at the time. Reflection... that came after trial. So reflect on this it would -- all of it, from no harm to punish all the way to magic to mend -- once it could get its woozy heads together... oh-

Focus was hard when all the beast wished to do was sleep for a while, but nevertheless it attempted. Focused the magic in on itself... only for chaos to throttle its necks when the Reaver hadn't the strength to fight it.

Whatever chaos had done to it (which didn't appear to be anything by the way) only made it sleepier. "Don't have... can't... um." Khavur slowly lowered to the ground, closing its eyes and letting down its chins. Now that the threat was gone (why had Master Vargas let it leave? Just like that!) the adrenaline had nowhere to go, and it was rather uncomfortable. Khavur just wanted to hibernate it away. The exhaustion dampened even the threat of chrysalizing against its will yet again. What kind of strength did it take, to push beyond the limits of life and health? Was that a spark... was that lo--

Mm.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas grunted at Khavur's slow collapse.

Well, it wasn't... giving up, at least. Blood loss would do this to one. "GET A DRINK," he demanded, loud, abrupt; "drink your water" was his refrain, a warning against dehydration. Bleeding would indeed do that.

A grimace twitched his hard-skinned face, and he reached rather vehemently for his magic. Answer me, this time, he thought, with fierce command, though it was annoyance rather than desperation in it. What came was a spear of agony wrenched through his gut, and his limbs--not something that would help to guide blood flow in Khavur away from his wounds, but magic that instead tore at Vargas's own. He swore, quietly and under his breath, and--half-hunching over in pain--bellowed instead: "V-CHAOS-TWO?"

Was it here? Had it learned enough of healing to do something worthwhile for Khavur's injuries? He didn't think them quite bad enough for a chrysalis, but he didn't like the way it was collapsing on the floor, either. "THE REAVER REQUIRES AID."

Never mind his own acid splatters across the floor--he could handle that himself.

...Soon. Probably.