RP:Be Careful What You Wish For

Summary: Dominic has been looking for ways to learn and improve at combat, even if that means seeking trouble. Instead, trouble finds him when he is waylaid by some would-be muggers in the streets of Cenril. Burnett and Xersom are in the right place at the right time to do some damage, and Dominic uses a previously undiscovered ability in a moment of life or death. Burnett attacks Xersom -- because he can?

West Arril Street

Dominic || At this late hour, the streets of Cenril were quiet and mostly deserted -- Arril Street more than most. The street lamps and the stars above cast a dim light over everything and created long, distorted shadows in the road. Dominic walked along it steadily, burdened by a bulky pack on his back and a bulkier one in his arms. It was large enough to block most of his vision straight ahead… and so he didn’t see anyone else lurking on the street with him until he ran straight into them, almost toppling over in the process. “S-sorry,” he mumbled to the stranger, peering around his burden, and only now noticing a knife in the man’s hands and a scowl on his stubbled face. ...Uh oh. Dominic wheeled around only to see three more behind him -- a female elf, and two human men -- and two more mage-y looking types in an adjacent alley. He was surrounded; it seemed like overkill for a robbery, assuming that was what this was. The man ahead of him spoke firmly, confirming: “You’re going to drop all of your gear, your goods, and your money. Quickly now, and nobody has to get hurt.” Such simple motivations, but who was Dominic to argue? He was surrounded. Trembling slightly, he slowly set the pack down to the ground and then maneuvered like he was going to empty his pockets -- though unbeknownst to these brigands, that was exactly where the closest thing he had to a weapon was.

Burnett was lost, horribly lost. He had rarely ventured into Cenril and never at night. He had only come because he had been baited by the promise of fresh spices shipped from overseas and he had spent the entirety of the day wandering aimlessly from street to street. By now, those spices were probably gone and Burnett had wasted a day that could have been otherwise used to impress some noble with his cuisine or maybe punching a t-rex in the eye. One day, tyrannosaurus. One day. Needless to say, Burnett's mood had become rather sour and the tobacco smoldering in his pipe did little to improve his mood. So when he stumbled the sight of this mugging in progress, Burnett was all too eager to throw himself into the fray. He was never the sort of man that one might call lawful good and he certainly was not a hero but four versus one was far too good an excuse to throw a few punches for Burnett to pass up. He shrugged his pack off and set it down on the ground as he took a few slow strides towards the four and their prey, making a show of cracking his knuckles as smoke billowed from his nostrils. "I'm no scholar but four on one seems a bit like overkill. You lot afraid of something?" He peered past the knife wielding man to stare their target down. "He looks a bit scrawny to me, to be honest." His voice held laughter within its tone despite the furrowed brow and sneer that he wore on his face.

Xersom hated Cenril. Hated it. Detested it completely. That it stood marked the failure of his purpose throughout all of time, and represented that failure in a very literal sense; it should have been destroyed. Razed utterly and completely, to allow the Nameless King and all the denizens of Hell that, geographically, lied beneath it. Often, X avoided it because of the infuriating reminder that it served, even with the amusement he had since found that came in the form of angry mermaids, seaborn, and the threat of the monument to his failure being swept away in the tide. Another reason he avoided it was because of how it physically affected him; Xersom did not exist on one plane. Simultaneously, he existed on two planes, that being the physical plane where reality was and Lithrydel and the current host of bandits trying to mug Dominic (and probably Burnett now), as well as the spiritual plane where everything was ethereal, the deceased roamed, and remnants of the past were most active. The ancient with many names, known mostly as an enigmatic 'X', was not a creature born of Lithrydel, or of the physical plane at all; no god created him. Instead, he was created by the Dark Immortals, and thus his very existence was somewhat of an affront to the world he resided in. He was created as a piece, a key, of the Nameless King, whom to date was the most powerful Dark Immortal ever to exist and eclipsed Khasad, Elazul, Xaen, and Arrecation all put together. Needless to say, it was imperative this creature not be let into the physical plane. Xersom was one of the keys to allow such to happen, but the others were destroyed. Still, however, the lock to which these 'keys' would go resided in Cenril. So as the great wyrm moved closer to its position, his planar identities -that being Xersom in the physical and Sacrilus in the spiritual- more and more merged together. This was made evident as Sacrilus moved within the city; the first sounds of his presence were methodical and haunting 'click' of blackened armor that was forged in the heat of the pits of Hell, each plate engraved and covered with scratchings of lines upon lines of, presumably, demonic script like a walking infernal litany. Upon his head was no helm, however, but rather a rubbery and clearly faux face of a mask, strung together around his skull like leather and revealing the apparent darkness of the black cloth that he wore over his entire head beneath it. From the West he approached the gathering of mortal men, his staggering seven feet of height by imperial standards becoming more apparent with every hauntingly slow step. But, at the edge of the proximity of the group, those six bandits, one chef, and one anxiety-afflicted boy, the demonic general halted. And waited, arms at his sides, and manifested darkness idly swirling around his feet.

Dominic || Burnett had approached the leader of the group, by the looks of it, because he was the only one who bothered speaking. The brigand stepped slightly to one side, allowing him to keep both Dominic and this new interloper in his vision, though his eyes narrowed at Burnett; he was clearly more physically intimidating than Dominic was. “Are you volunteering your things as well?” spat the leader, clearly peeved at the intrusion. He jerked his head toward Burnett and the would-be mugger’s allies closed in, weapons drawn. One knife-bearing man stood on either side and slightly behind Dominic, now. The two mages in the alley made themselves visible -- and were apparently the only ones to notice Xersom’s presence just yet, as they promptly positioned themselves the furthest away from him and his ominous shadows. Dominic, for his own part, took a long, deep, shuddering breath as Burnett and Xersom distracted the mob, considering his options. He didn’t know what side Xersom was on, so he avoided that direction. Instead, he ducked and rolled over to one side, in one motion dodging the men standing by him and pulling an ornate aquamarine stone out of his pocket. He leapt up onto a wagon parked up in front of one of the nearby shops and used the distance he’d gained to quickly study the runes on it. Drat -- how had Orange made this thing work again? As one of the men moved to follow him (the others presumably assailing Burnett and perhaps Xersom), he scrambled to come up with an answer to that. This was… an ill-conceived tactic, given that he was now cornered. With the man quickly approaching, Dominic went for broke and squeezed at several random runes on the stone at once. A ghost-like shadow creature erupted forth and sliced at Dominic’s assailant’s chest. The man staggered backwards as his clothes rapidly soaked with blood; the shadow creature vanished in a puff. Dominic simply stared, not quite believing his eyes. That was... not what he’d been expecting at all. But the man was approaching again…

Burnett was almost disappointed, to tell the truth. There was the distinct possibility that these attackers were not of a sort that would require Burnett to unleash his runic powers upon them. No, normal blows would likely be enough to floor these men and that would certainly leave Burnett just a bit wanting for more. "I'm afraid you'll find little use for my things. They wont sell for much and you look like you'd burn water if you tried to cook." Surely such an insult would fall flat against the mugger but for a man of Burnett's interests, it was as cruel a jape as they came. But talk was as cheap as day old fish and Burnett was ready to scrap. So, with no more witty commentary to be had, Burnett lunged himself forward. Boots scrapped the pavement as he charged forth, running shifting seamlessly into a slide as he moved himself into range of the ringleader; an elbow jutting forward to drill itself into the man's chest. The man would, of course, slash that knife in the general vicinity of Burnett's face. "Cutlery is to be used only as a means to prepare food." Burnett sneered as he swung his other arm upwards to catch the incoming blow against his forearm. His elbow met the man's solar plexus and the bone beneath. With his abilities, Burnett would have more than likely cracked that bone but since he had chosen to hold back, it only served to send is opponent stumbling backwards from the force of the strike. So far, so good. But Burnett made not of that knife. Ego aside, the only reason he was not bleeding was because his arms were clad in metal. He extended his arm to the mugger and gestured for the man to come closer. "Come on, pal. Show me your moves."

Xersom , in contrast to both Dominic and Burnett, did not move; his stance was at the proximity of the area where he stood still and on the herald of some thick smog at his feet, as if an otherworldly and certainly unholy testament to the presence of the black-armored fiend. The screams were horrible. Both mages were in the midst of their incantations, since they were the first to see the fallen general, of some assailant spells that they intended to place upon his towering form maliciously; it was first their screams that filled the air. Horrible, hideous, and haunting cries, the sort that nightmares feed from and traumatic stress takes its toll. Their flesh literally began to melt from their bodies, and not because of any heat. They lacked any smoke or even the redness, blistering, or scent of cooked meat; it was as if the skin had turned to some sort of quasi-liquid goo that could no longer hold to their musculature and skeleton, and, by sheer gravity, essentially skinned them alive. That is, before the very same happened to their muscles, then their nervous system, then digestive, until absent any sort of substantial support, their bare bones fell and clattered to the ground. This got the attention of the other two, both of who turned tail and began to run, known to neither Dominic's nor Burnett's assailants. 'X' did not let them flee; like water balloons they popped without the prelude of any inflation or sound. It was simply one moment they were running, and the next, blood caked far in copious, excessive amounts where they just were. Voice could be heard faintly, now, in the ambient air; whispers of many distorted tones all seemingly plucked out of context and demonic in tongue, only present audibly due to the foreboding man's presence.

Dominic, though he was alarmed by what the stone had produced last time, didn’t exactly have any other ways of fighting back available to him. His assailant looked more aggravated than he did mortally wounded. As intimidating as the shadowy creature had looked, it hadn’t struck a lethal blow. Maybe because he’d had no idea what to expect from his strange... weapon. Clenching it in his fist again, he tried visualizing a more effective strike on the mugger before him. And… a smoky figure appeared at the assailant’s back, far more realistic looking than the first one. Other than the fact that it was somewhat translucent, it looked like it could have actually been a real person. It appeared to be a lightly muscled human male with rusty blonde hair and piercing emerald eyes. Smirking at Dominic and maintaining eye contact with him through the whole thing, the figure arrested the brigand’s movement with one sturdy arm, and with the other sliced through his throat with a serrated dagger. As the man fell dead to the floor of the wagon, the shadow winked at Dominic and then vanished. Dominic picked himself up long enough to vomit over the side of the wagon -- and only then did he become aware of the happenings beyond it. Just in time to witness Xersom’s water-balloon-esque explosions of two of the other would-be muggers, he promptly retched again. And then a third time.

Burnett had seen a lot of weird things in his life and he was often the sort to meet the prospect of death with enthusiastic laughter but the sight of men melting into mush was enough to even given him a moment's pause just long enough for his own opponent to see it as an opportunity to escape what was clearly a losing battle. And Burnett was almost left the gawking onlooker long enough to allow that to happen. But his sense returned to him in time to see the ringleader turning tail and fleeing. No, that just would not do. Burnett had stepped into this fight to vent his frustrations and he certainly was not about to let his punching bag get off with little more than a nasty bruise on his chest. He willed his runes to life, his body feeling much like it were vibrating as the energies that they commanded bubbled to the surface. It was exhilarating at first, an intoxicating surge of raw power that surrounded him in an aura. Then came the pain. His nerves lit up as the runes strained his flesh and he clenched his teeth to bite back a desire to let out an anguished roar. No human was meant to wield the powers that he carried on his very skin and his body's lament viciously reminded him of that. The cobblestone beneath his feet cracked and some stones were even dislodged as an aura of kinetic energy surrounded him, first like a barely visible ethereal flame and then refined into the shape of a ghostly fist that clenched itself around Burnett's body. It took the span of only a few seconds for his gift to be unleashed around him and a moment later, he was a wrecking ball; his body accelerating faster than his legs could possibly carry him. Fueled by pure kinetic energy, he launched himself like a cannonball towards the fleeing man. The impact came upon that man in an instant, a cacophony of sickly cracks and pops erupting from within him as the giant disembodied fist that was Burnett collided with the mugger's back. The mugger hit the ground, a broken man, as Burnett's energy dispelled. His own nose was bleeding and he would probably cough up some blood but his opponent... well, that man would probably never walk again.

Xersom didn't move still; those otherworldly and distorted voices continued their audible whispering as that manifested shadow, like mercurial darkness, swirled about the armored feet of the demonic and towering figure. Then, his stillness was broken. It was broken by the slow lift of his foot and procession of his leg forward, as if about to step. Yet, before his foot hit the ground, something happened; an obscuring darkness was a trail from his position to just before Dominic, instantaneously, and just like that, Sacrilus was there. It was almost as if either he moved faster than the eye could handle, which was blatantly paradoxical considering his previously slow movements and towering size, or that single step teleported -like one long stride- to his new spot in front of the other. He was something that the shifter would not be able to take the form of, not because of any hampering power, but rather because his form was not natural -it was a duality of two planes converged, of which, unless the other also existed on those same two planes simultaneously, he'd simply be unable to mimic it. That, and why would he want to? The armored figure was clearly of demonic origin, wrought with despair, hatred, violence, and sin. One armored hand reached so slowly, in attempt, if Dominic was motionless, to grasp the collar of the man by armored fingers of his gauntlet and lift him from the ground to be face with the seven feet of general's odd mask. Burnett, for now, was left unassailed -sort of. The mugger that was broken began violently retching, before he quite literally began to vomit up his organs to splatter against the ground, all connected as if someone took hold of one end and pulled it all out of his body, before his heart -which became still as the man died.

Dominic was shaking something fierce, the adrenaline and the anxiety rampaging through him entirely unmanaged. His stomach was still busy doing somersaults when Sacrilus shifted before him, and his addled mind only dully registered the figure. Even if he’d been more aware, his muscles were feeling too weak and gelatinous for him to move much anyway; he tried, weakly, but it wasn’t far enough or fast enough. He rose up by the thing’s hand, lifted at the neck, and only when he was level with the face of the mask did Dominic fully seem to realize his predicament. Sweat-soaked black bangs hung over his eyes as he looked skyward, seemingly resigned to whatever fate was in store for him, for the moment. Or maybe he was just trying his best not to look too deeply at the thing before him -- sensing it would be much like staring into an abyss and going mad(der), perhaps -- while he tried to figure if there was a way out of this.

Burnett could have walked away. It would have been easy to just turn himself around and see himself right on out of that situation but for some braindead reason, Burnett felt that pesky feeling deep within him; a burning desire to prove to himself that he was as strong as they came. "Yep... tonight's as good a night to die as any." Burnett definitely was not in love with the idea of meeting his death but this guy seemed tough and he just had to have himself a go.. Again his runes thrummed to life, altering the laws of physics around him and demanding that momentum itself bend to his very will. This time though, he did not rush forward like a rampaging bull. Such tactics would likely fall short of providing meaningful results. Instead, He slammed that kinetic energy towards the ground. The street cratered beneath him as the force impacted, sending stone flying in every direction and lobbing Burnett high into the air. For a few moments, he soared. But even for someone who could manipulate momentum as expertly as Burnett could, what went up must come down. And down Burnett came indeed. Faster and faster, he descended down towards the armored monster; his leg swinging towards the thing's head like an axe. To aid in the force of the kick, he again imposed his will upon his own momentum - a resounding boom erupting through the air as a shockwave shot out in all directions, its epicenter being Burnett himself. For a brief moment, Burnett was faster than sound and while he would certainly immediately regret such a poor tactical choice... it would certainly be a painful experience for most people that got in his way. "Get dunked on!" would echo through the air a few moments after Burnett landed, having yelled it while he was still in the air.

Xersom 's head tilted, somewhat, almost as if curiously at Dominic; his eyes couldn't be seen beneath the veil of black cloth that covered his head beneath the leathery and poor imitation of a man's face, but still the present and nagging feeling that Sacrilus was not particularly looking for Dominic, or at him. Rather, through him, or into him, as if attempting to find someone... else. That is, before Burnett, in his ever-ambitious quest to prove himself mighty, flared his runes to life and by that signal alone drew the attention of the dark being. Dominic was, oddly enough, brought about by the armored glove of the towering figure and placed upon his feet behind him, almost as if the demonic general sought to put himself between shifter and assailant despite the latter's intention of attack him, and not the man that he had once lifted into the air. It proved a good thing, too; the impact of first the sudden shift in momentum was a very tangible force, and its outward wave was broken by the otherworldly figure, whose black cloth danced on the whipping slice of its power. Then, the second shift, the resounding boom that erupted through the air; the gauntlet of Sacrilus roughly shoved Dominic downward behind him, as much as he could feasibly without erratically and unnaturally twisting his arm, to keep the smaller form behind his own and the oncoming second wave of force. Again it broke on the dark figure, whose resistance against the tremendous energy forced it now to subtly slide his right foot backward and emit an ominous hiss -as if very slightly fatigued. And the third; that leg smashed into the thing's head with such force it was likely Burnett's own bones in the limb might shatter. It was such a resonating and hellish impact that even the demon general, who fought Sven, Hind, and Lore just before their ascension, had his head jerk to the side from the force of the impact and actually stumble a few steps in the opposite direction; the stumble, the jerk, the sound, it was all so fast as to have happened in the mere moments between the connection of the hit, and where, presumably, the brawling chef's form would be falling to the earth. Sacrilus actually -felt- the strike, here in this place where he was most powerful, in this form where he was most dangerous. The retribution was horrendous; a twist and reach -the aim to grasp hold of the falling mortal's leg and, with tremendous force, continue the whipping momentum of his arm. It was meant to fluidly catch and fling all in a single motion, but it was augmented by the dark power of the hellfiend; Burnett very well would be flung with such force northward, if it succeeded, that his tortured body would crash through the southern wall of a shop just north of them.

Dominic was feeling increasingly faint with every passing instant. The world had begun to feel as though he was interacting with it through the reflection of a thousand fogged up mirrors; nothing seemed real anymore and his senses were quickly going dim and hazy. The man gave no resistance whatsoever to Sacrilus’ actions, and furthermore he didn’t even seem to react or know what was happening anymore. He was in a daze, and utterly physically and mentally spent between discovering the strange magic of his rune stone, the stresses of combat, and the terror of being held aloft by Sacrilus. It was a wonder that he managed to move at all, really -- and even that was just to close his eyes and cover his ears from the sounds of the blasts, nothing more. When he was shoved down, he simply laid on the ground there, seemingly unconscious as the two forces nearby engaged with each other. It was after only a moment of this, just as Sacrilus began grasping for Burnett’s leg, that Dominic’s form flickered, twisted, and then, rippling and stirring wildly like the ocean in a terrible maelstrom, shifted -- quickly becoming a more fleshly doppleganger of the shadowy figure that had saved Dominic earlier. The person cracked open one eye, then both, and peered with one eyebrow lofted from his upside-down position on the ground up at the ongoing combat. Grunting, he lurched back into a standing position and lunged several paces away, gaining a better vantage point from which to decide either to join the fray, try to stop it, or simply watch.

Burnett trained his body to withstand these sort of impacts insofar as he could manage such feat of power without completely crippling himself in the process. That said, it was still not a pleasant experience. Burnett's leg felt like it was full of broken glass and the glass was covered in salt and the salt was on fire. In other words, it hurt a lot. So much so that Burnett lacked the wherewithall to react to his leg being grabbed, let alone resist being thrown away. Being thrown, however, was something that Burnett could handle. Being thrown meant that he was at the mercy of his body's own momentum and that meant he was in control of where his body went. The ethereal hand formed again, this time its opened palm materializing behind him as he tumbled headlong through the air. And as Burnett flew, that hand grasped itself around the fighting chef; pushing against him in the opposite direction. His body would slow in a steady enough fashion that there would be no abrupt stops to put unnecessary strain on an already ailing body. He directed his feet to the ground as the dueling momentums canceled each other and found himself sliding to a stop. His vision blurred and blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. How much longer could he use his runes before he started to completely fall apart? How much more kinetic force could he impose upon his own form before his insides were torn apart? Burnett was powerful for a human but it was an unnatural power and he always suffered for his use of them. It was probably time to reconsider his decision to attack this creature and perhaps do the live to fight another day sort of thing. "Well, seeing as you just took that..." He groaned, a mix of pain and irritation. And before he could finish that statement, the fist-shaped aura of kinetic energy pushed into the ground again. This time, however, he was not launching himself towards his opponent but rather, away from. His body sailed upwards over the rooftop of the building behind him. It was time to go find himself somewhere where he could collapse and recover.

Xersom was not the sort to give that much chase; his masked-helmeted head watched the propulsion of his opponent in retreat without advancing, made apparent by the tilt and angles of his features. For some long moments, filled with the perpetual ambience of those distorted and otherworldly whispers, Sacrilus remained still. Then, slowly, his head turned to imply casting his gaze over his shoulder toward the new figure. It was as if warning the other man -a foreboding sign that he would be killed if he tried to engage the dark general.

Dominic || Brand rolled his shoulders at Sacrilus in a shrug, regarding the figure as coolly as Dominic had previously regarded him anxiously. His arms were folded casually over his chest, the scars from previous burns and gashes marring the surface of them. “What?” he asked, returning the implied gaze evenly. “I don’t have beef with you as long as you don’t with me. Which you don’t, ‘less I’m sorely mistaken. Besides,” he added with a grunt and a jerk of his head in the direction of the fleeing Burnett, “I’m not -that- stupid. I know when I’m outmatched.” He turned as if to leave, heading calmly toward the pack that had been dropped and forgotten in the fray by Dominic earlier.