Elemental OCL - Paliskobengar: Unraveled, Unrivaled - Round 3

Silence. Stillness. Suspended in time, sound, and space. One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three heartbeats. Four—

A downburst of wind smacked him back into reality. Hardly a moment later, a countering updraft snatched his body and tossed him back up, the sudden violent changes in direction making him spin and flip like a leaf in a windstorm.

Rather than battling this force of nature, he let himself be taken along for the ride. After that first round with Apirka’s cyclone construct, this was almost a breeze.

The wind shifted again as he entered another column of downwards moving air. He adjusted his crystal armor accordingly, streamlining his shape. Almost there, zeroed in on the ledge where the last stage would take place, hoping the winds would take him near enough.

Fortunately, Sir Marte had left him alone for this portion, preoccupied with navigating his own rock spheres through the treacherous, fickle windstorm. Paiko noticed the rabbitfolk was sailing ahead, somewhat shakily but certainly unaffected by the blasts of wind. 

Sir Marte had used up his Sky Core. There was still hope for Paiko.

If he didn’t unravel from the stress before then.

-

Sir Marte touched ground with an immense sigh of relief, letting his rocky spheres return to the earth. His fiery red mohawk looked every bit as wild as a solar flare, and his spectacles had barely hung on throughout the windy ordeal. 

A keening wail came from the maelstrom.

“What’s that? Disappointed you lost your quarry? I’m not your plaything anymore!” he shouted at the stormy wall.

The cry got louder, bordering on articulate words. He swiveled his tall ears, listening harder. No, that wasn’t the wind. It was a voice.

“My word, is he still up there?” He squinted into the churning clouds, picking out a speck that was rapidly getting larger and closer. 

“aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAHHHHHH WATCH OUT WATCH OUT— INCOMING!!” 

Sir Marte leapt backwards and gave the falling drakon adequate room to crashland - but what was he thinking? Who could survive a fall like that? Just as he moved to try to somehow catch Paiko, the ground in front of him exploded in a purple crystal impact. 

He coughed and waved his hand to clear the dust. “You okay, lad?”

“ . . . Just fine.” At least he responded, though it sounded raspy and pained. Paiko’s shed crystal armor lay in scattered shards, while larger stalagmites of amethyst quartz framed the impact crater.

“You have reached the final stage. There are two ways to win: force your opponent to surrender, or be in possession of all four Cores. Only one Earth Core is hidden in this stage.”

“Do I get my Mithral Blade back?” Sir Marte shouted at whoever was addressing them from wherever they were watching from.

“No.”

“. . . Alright, rude and cryptic instruction-provider,” the rabbitfolk muttered as he walked among the crystal shards. His fingers skimmed a long protrusion of quartz. “This will do. Mind if I borrow this, Paiko?”

The drakon didn’t respond. Sir Marte peered over the crystals to see if his opponent was still in fighting shape.

Sandblasted, scalded, scorched, shaken; Paiko bore all the evidence of having been dragged forwards and backwards through several natural catastrophes. His fists were clenched tightly, but as he took a deep breath in and out, he released his grip, revealing palms scratched and seared from the molten ground of the fire stage.

The rabbitfolk recalled his amazement with how expertly the drakon leapt from ledge to ledge, knowing exactly when to jump, where to land, which paths to run.

He also noticed something else: not once during this entire round had Paiko gone on the offensive. He was incredibly hard to catch, always a step ahead, defensive reflexes tuned to precision and perfection.

But when it came to close combat, the drakon seemed to lack the ability to hit back. Paiko likely banked on the second path to victory, except for a small issue: neither of them had the full set of Cores.

Sir Marte had dropped his Fire Core earlier, and he’d just spent the Sky. Paiko had used his Water Core at the start— who knew if he even had the other two. The single copy of the Earth Core was yet to be found.

He could just end it now. Force the exhausted drakon to surrender, quick and easy. A somewhat anticlimactic end, but catastrophic destruction waited for no one.

Picking his way carefully through the crystalline debris, he brought his weapon next to the drakon’s neck, flat-side, of course, but with enough intention to show he meant to finish this.

Victory was just within reach. . .

The island split with a deafening crack and an abrupt lurch downwards, throwing everything off balance. Sir Marte stumbled, sliding on dust and shards. His hand slipped and struck Paiko on the back of the head.

One blazing topaz eye open, glowing, glaring. The drakon snarled, an expression twisted more by shock than pain or anger.

Sir Marte grinned. “Ah, there you are. Let’s settle this with a good old fashioned fight.”

-

Paiko was in the middle of a fight, but not against Sir Marte. Rather, against the awakened beast inside him, spinning out of control like a rapidly unraveling spool. He wrestled to keep his mind focused.

“I need—” he growled, his voice low and strained, “—your Cores.”

“Hah! Only got one.” Sir Marte brandished his sword. “So fight me for it, fair and square.” He lunged toward the drakon, swinging his weapon.

Paiko punched the ground, gathering a crystal plating on his arm to block the blow. The rabbitfolk was skilled and relentless; close-combat was clearly his forte. While Paiko tried to move out of the sword’s reach, Sir Marte kept driving him back, giving no time for the drakon to collect more crystals.

“Stop!” Paiko yelled. His mental hold was slipping. “I. . . I will surrender! Just stop, please!”

But Sir Marte couldn’t hear him, for a dramatic and ill-timed thundercrash drowned out Paiko’s words. 

Blow after blow, hit after hit, Paiko knew it was a matter of time before the last threads keeping him together would—

SNAP.

-

Sir Marte abruptly found himself fighting empty air. Where did Paiko. . .

“Oof!” A force from behind knocked him onto his face. He felt the crunch of glass and knew his spectacles had suffered the impact. Quickly flipping over onto his back, he scrabbled for his sword. Paiko likewise rolled over, rising to a tense crouching stance.

There was something different in the drakon’s gaze. Something wild. Something. . . dangerous.

Sir Marte spotted a violet flash racing towards him; he barely had time to grab his sword and spring out of the way before crystals shot out of the ground where he once sat. 

What he had thought was going to be a friendly rivalry was turning into a fight for his life. The thrill of excitement he felt was now tinged with a dose of prickly fear as the drakon tore up the ground; too close for Marte to use his rock spheres, too far for him to fight back with his sword.

A glimmer of green caught his attention just behind him, stuck in a crevice. The Earth Core! He scratched desperately at the dirt. Maybe he could still turn this fight around—

Suddenly, his ankles were stuck, held fast by crystal shackles. He yanked his arms up before they were trapped as well, inadvertently slicing his sword upwards where it nicked the drakon’s looming face.

“Aah! I-I surrender!” Sir Marte cried out, shrinking away from those bared teeth, those blazing eyes. “You hear me? I surrender!”

The drakon growled, wrenching the crystal sword from Sir Marte’s grasp and tossing it to the side. He lowered his head even closer, seething, chest heaving, absolutely unable to be reasoned with. 

The rabbitfolk squeezed his eyes shut and hoped they would call the match soon.

-

This round was about to be very finished. His opponent cowered behind shattered spectacles. Retaliation and victory; here at the mercy of his claws.

Angry golden eyes glared at him, and he paused, startled by the intensity of the expression, the feral fury reflected in them.

No. . . that can’t be. . . me?

Paiko pulled back, seeing more of his reflection in Sir Marte’s cracked glasses. He didn’t like what he saw. He was. . . terrified at what he saw.

The wild, chaotic instinct that had taken over him for the last few minutes subsided as he sat in the aftermath of shame and remorse. 

I am sorry. I am so, so sorry, he wanted to say. But he couldn’t force the words past his raw vocal cords, and there was no time to apologize while the world was still unraveling.

His eyes slid to the blue Water Core attached to Sir Marte’s belt. Perhaps he could still partially atone for his actions.

-

A pulse of light flashed behind Sir Marte’s closed eyelids, followed by silence, then the clang of a bell. The rabbitfolk cracked open one eye, astonished to find peaceful stillness as the destruction was frozen in time. 

There was no sign of Paiko anywhere. But on the ground, next to his freed ankles, the four elemental Cores were joined together as a complete relic, glowing with a pastel radiance. 

“Well, what do you know— he did have the other two.” He picked it up, musing, “Why did he just leave this here? Where did he go?”

Ah, whatever. He would bring this back to the Scholar and ask for his Mithral Blade back.

He’d track down the drakon and thank him another day.

 

1595 words