RP:Outmatched, Beaten

Part of the A Dream of Tyranny Arc

Blood Fountain

Lefty perches on the edge of the fountain, dipping carefully to get a drink. Stupid necromancers and their dead, so greedy with their bones. The bat-winged eyeball hadn't managed to steal anything, and communication was still wrought with crippling difficulties.

Desparrow wandered through the streets of Vailkrin with not a care in the world, like he had absolutely nothing to weigh him down. This was partially true as he let go of all the stresses in his life pretty easily, and was oblivious to any ill nature towards him. The elven lycanthrope made his way towards the fountain of blood with its rich iron scent assaulting his nostrils and awakening in him a slumbering hunger. At the edge he gazed down, clothed in suede shoes, leather pants and a rolled-sleeved button up shirt. He was covered in scars, the top half of his left ear missing for one, and a line running down from his temple to his jaw on the same side of his face. The majority of others remained hidden. It was only after a moment he noticed the eyeball with wings, which for one thing was something he had never come across and so he would just watch with vague interest through azure hues.

Kasyr had gotten a rather frantic carrier crow pecking at his head when he'd endeavourered to cross the bridge into Cenril, the note bearing bird beating down on his skull ina frenzy until he finally managed to shoo it away and snag the note attached to it's foot off. The contents of the message were simple enough, being a quickly scrawled report of things that had occured in Cenril recently, an iteration of the existing bounty, and the fact that Desparrow had recently been seen waltzing into the city. Essentially, a prime opportunity to further fill Vailkrins coffers. It also had a firm but pressing reminder that the Nathali hideout in the desert was not going to explore itself, and that whilst the cultists -still- seemed content to be camped out there, sitting on top of vital information is what led to the last disaster. “Shouldn't have volunteered.” Kasyr, for his part, just hunches down and re-adjusts the sleeping ex-matron he's effectively allowing to piggy back him down to the ground long enough to write a note, stick it to the crow- and send the damnable thing fluttering after Jesen alongside a few harsh words. And with that done, the Kensai made his way to the city, the only stop he made -before- reaching the hanging corpse, being to briefly leave Laezila in the Hanging Corpse. Which, left Kasyr free to lazily intrude on the fountain a bit after Desparrow, to casually offer up a, 'Hey.'

Lefty peeks up at the sudden greeting, even though it's not directed at him. He peers from lycan to vampire, expecting violence. In his experience, lycans are always violent and everyone wants to punch Kasyr in the face. He licks the sanguine driblets off his iris to clear his vision and focuses his evergy, causing him to glow a bright red. However, he merely waits. If one should maim the other, the eye could steal the arm, the leg, possibly a skull. Who knows. Weeks and months of wandering Lithrydel, starving half the time. He'd finally had to devour his own sister, not that it was ny loss. Stupid cow would have tried to eat a block of wood if you sat it in front of her. In fact, that's what she was doing when Lefty had nommed her. It'd been days since that feed, and the resulting indigestion had faded. Mistress had liked the taste of vampire, maybe her eye could acquire the same. Then again, he didn't have the reservations against eating lycan either. Several possibilities, none of the quite viable. So for now, just waiting and focusing his energies to laser anyone to get too close.

Desparrow continued to watch Lefty as he lit up and paid more attention to him and Kasyr, even as Kasyr spoke up. When he heard his voice his lips curled into a grin before parting to reveal all his pretty, numerous incisors. Left eye bursting into eldritch flame granting greater magical control and sight between the planes of reality he turned to face the vampire. Words at first could not come to him, only this giddiness in the form of small childish laughter which grew, a crescendo into manic. When it had settled did he level his gaze on the man and offer a slight bow, however never removing his sight from him, “Hey there.” Even now Desparrow had no idea about the bounty on his head, and couldn’t care less, this was far more exciting anyways, especially since he had looked forward to it for such a long time. The lycan was ecstatic, overjoyed, and not yet feeling a shred of animosity.

Kasyr , when viewed on more than just the mundane plane, would potentially be noteworthy for a few moments. On one hand, he still contained a vast reserve of power, and held a certain electrical affinity which would almost seem to exude off him- tinging the air around him with the faint scent of ozone. On the other hand, there was a rather -dire- lack of almost anything dark within the supposed revenant, mere dredges of tenebrous energies left in the wake of what might have once been a wellspring. Both those remnants, and a more luminous set, trail behind the Kensai- though each seems to lead in a vastly different direction. Kasyr, for his part, doesn'te really seem to notice any of this, given the animate manner in which he's falling into a partial bow- nor the peculiar way in which his motions seem to leave spectral trails in his wake, all of them seemingly disjointed from the shape of his flesh, “So, I believe I owed you a bit of a sword lesson. Still up for learning a few pointers... et how have you fared, anyways?” The revenant straightens from his bow, and casually moves his right hand over towards his waist, fingers coming to rest atop one of the three swords sheathed, “I suppose, beyond that, I might be inclined to offer you both a bit of advice, maybe even a brief moment of mixed respite.” The revenant pauses, then casually adds, “Though, I'll be honest- I'm quite curious if all the rumours flying about you are true.”

Lefty takes the glow of Desparrow's eye as a challenge and glows to match the intensity. Perhaps the show of power is unwise, but appearances are important. He is unaware of how he looks on the spectral plane: waves of heat and ravenous hunger that cannot be sated, a soul-sucking need to devour blood, flesh, and all that life has to give. Do those caustic desires have colors, or do they even seek to consume the colors that would seek to define them? Regardless of what is seen or not, the eye holds his position for a time. He dips to drink once more, but a peculiar thought occurs to him. Splash. Once inside the fountain he flash-coagulates the blood and rises from the steaming fluid, having formed a cyclopian head. And stuck dead center is the glowing red eye. "Yesssss, kill each other." Smoke and the faint stench of burning sulphur flows upward out of the makeshift mouth. The construct won't last long, but it had served its purpose.

Desparrow had a hard time making sense of what he was witnessing, the many different aspects of the same man. It was different from Xersom who simply existed as the entity he was on many planes at once, to this one who had many different sides that could be seen across several. Just another reminder at how large of a gap in power there was between them and with that there was a spark of frustration, but directed inward at him. A chuckle was given in response to the offer of a sword lesson, knowing that he would be outmatched in that but perhaps he could glean a tactic or two from it. “I am a vessel for knowledge, so impart upon me what you will Kasyr, though I must ask what rumors you have been hearing. I can’t exactly say one way or the other if I am unsure myself.” With that he only grinned wider. His thirst for power, that greed surfaced up then with his unwavering confidence at its side. Lefty’s words are heard and his attention was grasped for a fleeting moment, a brow raised at the creature’s insinuation of bloodshed. Beyond that he could see the strange nature through the being and it was certainly something to behold and although it wasn’t his current prime concern he would come back for it.

Kasyr 's head tilts off to one side, a look of curiosity flickering across his features as he gets the distinct sense he's being scrutinized. The Kensai, for his part, just grins in that peculiarily boyish and disarming manner he can muster, calico ears fidgeted in tandem to finish the picture of harmlessness. That is, until that eye speaks up and ...oh. Son of a bi- That sense of familiarity grows stronger than before, and Kasyr can actually place where he's seen the damnable thing before, given it was a rather unique sight. Thus, it's gleeful bit of carnage cheering only earns it a scowl, “ Really? Try subtlety next time, or you'll wind up a shiskebab.” And then Kasyr's attention flickers back to Desparrow, “Attack on a city, bloodshed et misery on a wide scale. I mean, sloppy work, but at least effective to a point for briefly destabalizing a city. -If- that was you. It could just be hearsay.” The Kensai casually draws the Katana clear of it's sheathe and flicks it down towards the ground in a single smooth motion that makes it difficult to track, the very edge of the blade seeming to distort the air around it. “I pray you have a sword. Offensive or defensive, monsieur?”

Lefty is consuming the construct on multiple levels. The heat generation is vaporizing the blood, and he's chewing on the bits that haven't ignited. More and more flames and smokerise from inside until nothign is left but thick brimstone laced fugue. Somewhere in the collapse, Lefty had wandered off. So much talking going on, and he can't join in. Maybe a visit to the Red Queen is in order. Surely she can spare a head that won't wear out so fast.

Desparrow turned his gaze back to Kasyr, that grin and air of confidence still present, perhaps even laced with pride. “A city in utter turmoil, wrecked over a single night. Sounds familiar.” Though the look in his eye was intentional, and gave off the exact meaning he meant to convey without words. It was him, fully intended and successful. At the same time he vented a bit of ether into the air as a fine mist which upon silent command and a slight push through willpower it condensed in his hand into a long tube like structure. Seconds would pass before it flashed into life as a bright spectral sword with predetermined properties: as heavy as a normal blade, sharp like a scalpel but strong to the point where it wouldn’t break as easily much like Damascus steel. It hummed, a faint crackling of power around it, contained by the warlock’s will to have it exist and altered to his desires at will when he needed it. “Take your pick.”

Kasyr 's left foot slides back for just a moment, before the whole of his body launches forward, entering into a sprint that would seem to push the boundaries of what is humanly possible. Even as the distance between himself and Desparrow is rapidly reduced, the Kensai's already in the process of drawing the sword up into a ready position, that same distortion about the weapon seeming to only intensify with the haste of the motion, and coming to a pique when he lunges in to skewer the Lycanthropes upper shoulder, specifically that of his sword wielding arm. The trick here being, that the Kensai would retract his blade midway through the lunge, in a gesture that could be mistaken for a lunge, were it not for the manner in which the distortion which had priorly clung to the sword continues to travel forward. A distortion which, if not evaded, would reveal itself to be a blade of solidified wind energy essentially made to mirror the blade of the revenants sword, and poised now to impact into Desparrows shoulder, even as the Kensai's -actual- sword is instead sent arcing towards the lycanthropes lower torso, specifically poised to slice into the side -opposite- of his sword wielding arm, in an attempt to shepherd him into the false feint.

Desparrow was not a skilled swordsman, having the abilities enough to be dangerous. When Kasyr went into motion with his supernatural physical prowess the lycan whom could not match merely moved to meet him. While the distance was closed a surge of magic engulfed his blade, that crackling aura around the weapon grew as it charged up with more energy before he thrust forward, turned sideways and instead took the blade of wind across his back. Pain erupted in his mind and could be noted, the slip of focus in a sudden instability in his weapon before it snapped back into place. His wrist twisted and what would have originally been a thrust was a swipe for the man’s lower left side just above the hip. Should the weapon make contact energy would arc up the blade to the revenant’s form and viciously attack armor and flesh like a serrated blade sawing around him, chewing through him wherever it could. His tactic was filled with reckless abandon, intent to fell his opponent before he sustained the injuries that would do the same to him. The blow to his torso was then blocked by a surge of magic ejected from the palm which turned the blade into a blunt blow which although still dealing damage and causing him to back away, was far less deadly. His back told a different story, the meat pushed away in a grievous wound that drenched his shirt in blood while leaking mana into the open air. It was several moments before it was stopped by his regeneration and several more until the wound began to knit itself back together but all in all it did little to deter him from the fight. In fact it brought out in him the excitement of battle, and to one sensitive, they would sense from him a lover’s passion, for to Des the fight was just as potent a manner to express how one feels, where fist was as powerful as the caress of a significant other.

Kasyr 's own emotions are more controlled, his heart beat relatively level, save for the faint skips which accompany every fresh wound. With a fluidity befitting a dancer, the swordsman's body begins to shift away from the including thrust, one half twisting in closer towards the lycanthrope, Kasyr's expression a mask which betrays little save determination, and a will to succeed. And then the revenant's flesh and armour begin to fray and come apart at their seams, that wicked weapon managing a glancing blow with the Kensai's body and sending entropic energies scything through flesh, preklek armour, and mithril mesh alike. Flesh and leather alike peel away beneath those vicious energies, the mortal instead distorting unnatural as Kasyr forces his momentum forward. Moving forward as he is, it's not hard for the Kensai to redirect his sword strike forward- just moments after Desparrow launched it back, spitefully moving to slam the blade into the same region once more. The difference this time would be a minute detail, an almost indistinguishable flicker of electrical energy that cause a small palm sized portion of flesh on the Kensai's arm to flake away into sparks – which served as the price for converting what would have merely been a sharp blow, into a thunderous burst of kinetic force which would threaten to crunch even supernaturally strong bones. Really, it's a controlled strike that begins and ends at Desparrows ribcage should it strike, not meant to bisect the man, but rather to impact heavily, impede him- and knock both him and Kasyr apart by virtue of the sheer physical force being unleashed between them.

Desparrow accepted the onslaught with absolute unfettered glee. “You know Kasyr!” he spoke in between instances of physical exertion, “I had every desire for so long to destroy you!” Bearing witness to the reaction of the energy he released upon the revenant brought up memories of his hatred, that burning ferocity upon which he based the entire plan for power upon. That spark of anger rose up, blossomed into a wildfire of emotions which distracted him for a moment though not entirely. That spark which most would have not noticed flared up on a different plane of existence which was caught by the warlock’s left eye and he knew there was something off about this next attack so in preparation the sword he wielded dispersed into a small disc which intercepted the blade and shattered on contact reducing the destructive capacity of the attack when it made contact. The kinetic blast went off and Des was thrown back several yards before tumbling across the ground only to quickly jump back on his feet seemingly unharmed. This was untrue however, feeling the vibrations rattle in his very bones, perhaps a rib was fractured, but not yet fully broken, or maybe he was bruised across several. Those flames in him, that sea of fury became a swirling mixture of sorrow, determination and excitement. “I wanted you dead, for reasons you can’t possibly imagine, the enmity towards you, in fact you probably don’t even remember.” With that he launched forward without weapon but the magic in his body which materialized this time as several projectiles, lances that fired off that contained the kinetic force of a battering ram each at a point as small as a bolt fired from a crossbow aimed at critical crippling spots: elbows, knees, shoulders. In each one also was projected a memory and the accompanying emotions: the death of his mother Sephrene by Redovian at the order of Satoshi, and then Slintora at Kasyr’s own hand, and with it all his sorrow, hate and rage that followed. For some reason he no longer felt that animosity, but instead a burning determination to gain power and one day equal, then ascend beyond that of the man before him. His right hand began to glow, a concentration of magic engulfing it which was surging with his sadness and with it he pressed forward with every intent to launch a psychic attack upon the man, letting that sea of emotion wash over him under his grip.

Kasyr , though launched back as well, had managed to land neatly upon the balls of his feet, managing to maintain that curious sense of balance even as he finished skidding to a halt. Thus, even as Desparrow's in the process of focusing his will and his emotions into those arcane amalgamations, Kasyr's already in the process of erratically darting off to the side, well and clear the first. The empathic resonances each one give off are distracting to a degree, each one hinting at something familiar which lays just beneath the surface of this conflict, and yet which remains ultimately meaningless in the face of their destructive potential. It's with the first time one impacts into the cobblestones and sends bits of debris spraying up that the Kensai's mind clamps down and focuses on the man- the underlying message in those missiles suppressed. Focused as he is, that intuitive understanding of emotional energy turns into an innate edge, both the conjuration and trajectory of those items painting themselves vividly in the Swordsman's mind as he bears down upon Desparrows position once more. For a brief moment, it might even seem like the Lycanthrope would be on the verge of striking the Kensai with one- were it not for the abrupt manner in which the Kensai arches his body back, and comes to a forward slide on his knees, that particular dart arching over his head. For a brief moment, it might even appear like Kasyr is vulnerable, but attention to detail would reveal two particular things: the first being that with his slide and backwards tilt of his body, he's able to slide free of the trenchcoat he's wearing- and the second being the brief flicker of light which signals a burst of electrical energy, the revenant using all the metal in his coat as an improvised launching point. Effectively Desparrow will find himself in one moment staring at a ground borne Kasyr, and the next his field of vision will almost be overtaken by the sight of the Kensai's katana as he bursts forward in a jolt of electricity- the Kensai's weapon seemingly posed to carve the top of his skull clear off his head. And, it's not quite entirely inaccurate- as the Kensai does intend to drive that weapon home- the only difference is he intends to lodge the weapon -into- Desperils skull, rather than through it, to give him an altogether unpleasent, but controlled headache- and a looming threat of brain damage if he so much as moves the wrong way. ...Plus, pretty liable to get blood in his eyes. That's always annoying.

Kasyr said, "Not ringing any bells, you know."

Desparrow found that his grasp did not land and found a bit of disappointment, “No? I’ll give you a direct reminder then.” The entirety of his flesh was saturated, every atom bonded with extra components of which were pure magic and it was this combination of his existence that allowed him control over it all when he applied all his focus on it. In a second he had released his excess magic causing it to explode outwards from his flesh, expelled in a thick rapidly expanding cloud of raw ether. At the same time he was focusing inwards on himself, and in his mind’s eye he saw his body down at the very base elements and ripped himself apart molecule by molecule and rearranged the structure within seconds. Toes first and then working towards the top the blade had managed to sink into his head, even breach the skull but that was where the damage ended. Sure the look of surprise and agony were plastered on his features but that lasted only as long as his suddenly shimmery form lasted in a humanoid shape. In this mercurial form he could last only a few moments or lose all sense of self and no longer able to attain his elven state so in several liquid streams he leaped around Kasyr to splash against himself. From the puddle he began to rapidly reconstruct his original form before he stood once more as himself naked and with a scar where the blade has punctured his skull. The moment he had a fleshy body blood poured from his nostrils, the exertion placing considerable strain on his brain, causing hemorrhaging. The lycan thought he had a grasp on this fight, that he could win but instead so early he was overtaken, the trauma causing him to stagger back even nearly fall. Vision went in and out of focus, the damage more severe than he initially anticipated before he was overcome with a lack equilibrium and landed on his backside. “Damn it.”

Kasyr doesn't get to see his handiwork immediately, considering he's briefly blinded by the burst of burning energy. It's not so much that it's intended as caustic, so much as the sheer volume of excess ether expanding and igniting serves to sear the Kensai even as it enables Desparrow to cheat death. Kasyr, for his part, had relinquished his blade- since the Intention hadn't been to -remove- the lyncanthropes head, an action which allows him to bring one hand up to his face to press the spots from his eyes, even as he hits the ground in a roll, if only for his other hand to push him to a stand. “Heh. Nice trick. You might want to rely more on swords. You bleed magic -everywhere-.” Kasyr, still unable to do much save blink spots from his eyes, simply decides on keeping them shut and perking his ears up. With a nod to himself, he then promptly turns to face Desparrow- reaching out with all his senses as best as he can, even as his left hand falls upon the sheathe of one of his still sheathed katana's, and his right hand resumes it's place upon the pommel of the sword, “It really was a nice trick though. I'm glad I didn't just riddle you with Mithril. I did say I'd give you a sword lesson, though~” The worst part is, whilst Desparrow may be feeling some degree of exhaustion/strain due to tapping into his abilities, the Kensai seems -more- at ease, perhaps due to having shed the weight of his armoured coat. There's a sort of weird energy exuding from the swordsman in fact, that gives the air a peculiar sort of tingle, a sense of pins and needles, ..and a sort of barely distinguishable static charge which makes faintly popping sparks visible in the air about Kasyr.

Desparrow wasn’t about to leave his magic to just sit in the air while his opponent seemed unfazed. The moment he could get his bearings it was a reflex to rejoin with his mana. In streams it rushed to his form before getting reabsorbed in its entirety. “I have a lot of tricks; it’s just a matter of what I can conceive of at the time. The more intricate ones are more costly.” The regeneration kicked in and like the night with Xersom he tried something new. Looking into himself he expended more mana in order to rapidly accelerate the process of mitosis cellular regeneration, the cells multiplying at a dizzying rate and cannibalizing the damaged ones to circumvent burning out all his energy. In seconds even the wound on his back had been healed, and the brain damage had ceased but he was left nearly spent. Walking over to his clothing he left behind he withdrew a small crystal, the way it was fractured giving rise that it might have been at some point part of a larger portion. In its entirety it was swallowed and once within him it would start to break down into pure mana to be absorbed by his flesh. It was after all his mana condensed into a physical state, an infinite growing storage which housed his excess so that it wouldn’t stagnate and toxify in his body. “You and your woman are the reason I’m the last Ryder, you killed my brother, and she ordered my mother’s death. I hated you and her for it, wanted to get strong enough to shatter you both. This just proves I’m nowhere near that state. I’m not angry with you, they brought it on themselves, but I don’t forgive either of you. No.” he looked up to the sky, “I will continue to find ways to make myself stronger until the day comes I can beat you.”

Kasyr 's head tilts off to one side, and he risks opening an eye to actually peer at Desparrow, his comments actually earning him scrutiny, despite the spots still blinking in his vision, “I don't see the family resemblance.” Or...really care enough to have him stick out as 'Definitely the sibling of that guy you murdered'. “But hey, no, fair enough. Shoot for the stairs, monsieur. I'm just saying, honest advice- since this was sword training? Get something physical to rely on. If I keep pressing in close, you fall back on the defensive, et that seems to stop you from doing much than flailing around, or getting stabbed in the face.” The Kensai casually gestures towards the Katana he'd discarded near Desparrows body, “Like that, or something like it.” Kasyr pauses then, if only to allow his posture to relax, “If you'd like to call it quits for now, we can. Just know that I'm of the mind that when we next meet- well, I'll not be restraining myself. So, do get better.”

Desparrow wasn’t about to explain the racial differences to someone who wasn’t aware of their familial attributes. Still naked he turned to face his adversary, “I will, though you haven’t seen me at my best yet. I can’t conjure my absolute strongest right now, but I can certainly turn it up a notch. If you must know, weapons aren’t really my thing but we can see.” With that he closed his eyes and pictured in his mind his body once again. At certain points it could be seen that his flesh dipped in, above the ankles, the back of the shins, bottom of the feet like someone was pressing a finger there and holding it. From each of these points he vented out a concentrated stream of ether that manifested as a jet of flame. The bottom of his feet became engulfed in what could only be described as ice skates composed of fire and by altering the force of the jets in various areas he could manipulate his speed, and precisely control direction. This was one manner of transportation he had worked on, and successfully managed to master to the point that it was almost second nature to control. The lycan began to skate across the ground with increasing velocity until the skates switched to more jets allowing him to take to the air. Now he was darting back and forth picking up speed until he was breaking the speed limits that he could manage on a physical level and with that he rushed towards his opponent, knee bent, becoming an aerial pirouette before that leg shot out. Lupine strength enhanced by the immense gains of speed would allow him to deliver a crushing blow similar to a charging bull, a force not so easily deterred and ultimately destructive upon contact.

Kasyr has an uncanny sense of perception even when not attuned to that primal source of lightning- and currently, there was a small field of electrical energy crackling in the air around him, enabling him to take in the sight of the advancing lycan with a clinical detachment. Desparrow's blindingly fast, enough so that the Kensai would be required to invoke his affinity to evade the oncoming onslaught, given that his physical limitations weren't quite up to par. Were he to chose to dodge. Instead, the Kensai's spirit tugs on one of those two aetherial cords attached to him- that shimmering lifeline which connects him to his phylactery, Requiem, and in turn serves as his literal connection to Daedria drawn upon. Kasyr, after all, was the Ascendi's chosen paladin, and it's in this moment that the Kensai requests her blessing. Even as Desparrow's body twists and arcs through the air, a gleaming shimmer of radiant light overtakes the swordsman's form, before snapping into solidity around his as of yet undrawn blade. Kasyr's thumb flicks up against the hilt of the blade, a spark bursts into light- and then Desparrows foot impacts solidly. The difference being, that the surface Desparrow impacts into his not the swordsman’s flesh, but rather the flat of Kasyr's katana- shot clear of it's sheath in a lightning charged blur into the path of the sword, That hand which had never strayed too far from it's hilt now grasping it firmly. Desparrows blow would have normally made short work of the otherwise mundane blade, but now it sings- steel ringing forth a joyous sound as that divine luminescence reinforces it's shape, granting it the durability to survive that impact, , and therefore turn a portion of of the lycanthropes' own kinetic force against Desparrow's lower leg. Still, it's not quite able to absorb the whole of that attack, as the Kensai finds grip loosening on the blade, the damanble weapon flinging up in the air as his right arm gives an unfortunate wrenching noise.

Desparrow witnessed everything happening, sharp eyes trained to focus on the minute details but even at these speeds it was difficult. Everything was mostly a blur until he was halted suddenly with the impact on his blade. The impact which he had hoped would have sent his adversary flailing didn’t make him budge an inch, instead disarming him and making some weird noise which could only be assumed was some sort of injury to the vampire’s arm. At the same time he felt some of his attack reverberate, striking back into his body and before it could destroy his leg he broke contact. The vibrations did however end up disturbing his ankle to the point it was as if he had almost twisted it, weakening it for a bit, creating pain when it supported his weight. At this point the rush of battle, and the overwhelming passion was taken him and pain was registered as merely a byproduct of the battle and therefore every modicum of it was relished. The moment he had both feet on the ground he activated those jets again and went for a spinning heal kick with his strong leg for Kasyr’s mid-chest right where the sternum would be. The difference in this attack was where he had a lack of velocity, his heel shimmered and became like a rock before humming, which was actually produced by the acute vibrations charged in the atomic structure. When he made contact his magic would release in the form of a direct seismic burst confined to a small area which could wreak havoc on that small of a area, if the vibrations weren’t properly dispersed.

Kasyr 's own motion is simply a continuation of what had been set in motion. Even as his right arm reeled back, shifting out of place from its socket, he allows that momentum to take hold of his body, twisting him sideways. Desparrows foot would go arcing through the air with deadly purpose, the Kensai's contorting form setting itself up perfectly for the moment the Lyncanthropes foot would meet flesh, shallower than intended, perhaps, but unavoidable. There might even be a brief moment of feeling elated, as Kasyr's shirt simply caves inwards under the impact of the blow, a spray of colour rippling through the air. Except that it's all wrong, a blue-white reminiscent of the electrical energies sparking in the air around Kasyr. As Desparrow's foot collides into flesh, and the muscle, bone, and tissue begin to give way beneath it's force, and that of the invasive magic contained within- that region of flesh simply ionizes- flaking away into electrical energy to rob the force of the blow, and hinder the spread of what the Kensai had assumed were entropic energies. Thus, that burst of seismic energy is instead released through electrical particles rather than flesh, and Desparrow is left unimpeded to continue the Arc of his kick. “HRK.” Rage, irritation, pain- the revenant's flesh may as well be on fire, but for a few brief moments, his speed is without peer- that final katana that was sheathed at his hip drawn clear in a singularily fluid motion meant to draw it up through Desparrow's spine as his body continued to twist through the air, and then back down through it- to seperate vertebrae in several sections of his back, before the Kensai draws it back and thrusts it forward with enough force to plunge the mundane weapon through a dragon's scales, it's intended trajectory meant to send it skewering into the Lycanthropes kidneys, and slam his body out of the air and pin it into the ground. Simple, vicious, violent. And hopefully enough to take his mind off the fact that he essentially just disintegrated a portion of his own ribcage.

Desparrow didn’t like the results of his blow, even though he had made contact he didn’t get the sense of satisfaction that would have come with the release of such potent magical concoctions. The shower of sparks was enough of a sight to know that something was wrong and with a sudden spike of alarm he released an explosive burst of energy from his foot which although consuming his foot granted him the propulsive forces to send him flailing away. The blade managed to strike his back but did not go as deep, or devastate the spine, though it did leave deep scores in the bone as he flung away. When the man landed, having in his hastily casting avoided the thrust, he appeared mangled. His foot was missing large chunks of flesh and was burned in some spots past the nerves, while he suffered burns half way up that leg. At the same time it looked like his arm in the flailing had been dislocated, and fractured in the forearm. His back too was a mess, it would be some time before that healed, and the blood loss from previous wounds was getting to him. “I think.. we can call it a day..” he laughed then, the man certainly out of his league. Des would have to be more creative to overtake this foe, but he was glad to know some of his abilities. “I think I might just have to… rest here as it is kind of hard to move.” He sighed then, knowing he couldn’t pass out, it was too dangerous.

Kasyr simply finishes his motions- the katana flicked forward one last time to rid it of any blood before it'ssheathed, moments before he engages in a calculated but short forward dash, which enables him to catch the other Katana now that it's finished it's upward spin and begun it's descent. This item too, is sheathed, and it's only then that he allows himself to get a particularily sour look on his face, awkwardly clearing out his throat for a few moments, before then spitting up a wad of phleghm and blood. His chest ached, his right arm was being a royal prick, and his right hand was not in the best of shape- but, well, there was a certain degree of satisfaction in the outcome. “You know, if I was of a mind, I could probably take in the bounty on your head right now. You might want to remember that I didn't.” Kasyr casually adjusts the mithril mesh gloves on his hands, before stuffing his hands into his pockets, and starting to walk away, towards the hanging Corpse Tavern, “You might want to get a room at the Corpse. They don't ask questions- and you might be able to find someone willing to tend to you. You're not discreet, so you'll need to get moving soon..” Kasyr, for his part, his own own priorities in this exchange, one of which who, whilst left relatively well guarded- still shouldn't be left alone for too long, especially since she's a sound sleeper.

Desparrow had to spare any magic he had left for the day to come in case anything were to happen. Sure he generated it at a constant rate but how much he could store to the amount he generated was like a faucet trickle trying to fill a large pool. At a nearly empty state it could take a month, or longer to fill him up to the point he was in danger of becoming toxic to himself. “A bounty?” he was oblivious as to there being one, but now that he did know he surely couldn’t defend himself in this state. His one foot was damaged, the other ankle near twisted, his back in disrepair and all he could think to do was fall asleep. The lycan couldn’t muster another healing miracle, he didn’t have the energy and he would probably have an aneurism. In its place he would slowly get to his feet and somehow make his way to the tavern how he was and promptly get a room so that he could rest and heal.