Mother Death immediately moves to disintegrate my leg, or maybe dice it into millimeter inch even cubes, or maybe turning it into a small animal that will run far away from me.
I cast Dispel. It snuffs the flames from her hands.
Mother Death reels backwards, staggering multiple steps. Swiftblade catches her, balancing her on her shoulder. She draws her rapier, wrapping her arm around Mother Death's waist, placing a hand on her hip. "I'll just poke the kid and this'll be over." Mother Death places her hands on Swiftblade's chest, "No, no. There's no need. I want you to go and find Sir Kahlin, his death is still very important to me. I'm more than enough for this fledgling and... and old hen." She looks MM up and down, "That is you MM isn't it? I can see raising this brat up has aged you, hmmm? Well don't mind it, that little 'Dispel' of her's is proof enough." Mother Death then takes Swiftblade's hand off her hip, "Now, go on." Swiftblade runs off into the forest.
Meanwhile, MM nervously reattaches my leg. It's on, but most of the connections in my veins and nerves need a more focused touch. At most, I'll be able to limp, putting as little pressure as I possibly can on it. It's an allowance we won't be able to count on again. Mother Death's gaze honing in, directly on me.
She casually begins to stride to the side, circling us. MM tries to fly but with the snap of two unbelievably elegant fingers her spell is broken.
“Now how could a small little beetle manage to damn my river?”
MM braces against me and I feel the flow of our magic begin to intertwine. She looks back, "This is an intermediate technique at it's worst but we have no choice."
Mother Death stops widening her stance, opening her arms. She's embracing the fight, welcoming it. Once thrown off her game by a mere Dispel from a novice, she's begun to taste the thrill she used to live for. Once again the beat of her heart quickens. How long has it been? Even through the conquest of my kingdom, I never faced the front lines like this. My face meant retreat, my presence, victory. She screams, "Bring your worst, fiends. I'll make you deathless and we'll fight until the Altuor bleeds!"
I'm not alone anymore. There's no need to fear, even with great storms billowing through the skies, lightning crackling down around us. We are the eye. The calm. The storm circles us, never touching, never embracing. A bolt of jagged electricity breaks the illusion, tearing across my cheek, ripping at my flesh. Blood trickles down and across my lips, bringing a strong irony taste to my tongue. I feel MM tense up and I see her left hand is a mess of charred flesh and missing fingers. Damn, did she catch that shit? Or maybe she just isn't used to having a full grown body, there's a lot more to defend.
But our counterattack is ready. A red flaming dragon crawls out of MM's wounds, suckling and devouring the rest of her mangled hand. It grows and grows now wrapping itself around us in tight coils. The wind stops, the thunder silent, the lightning no longer illuminating the surroundings. MM grabs onto a thick jagged horn and we are launched into the air. Circling high in the sky, darting between thick storm clouds, is an unbelievably massive blue dragon. Mother Death is casually laid upon it's back, her feet crossed and her arms behind her head. She lazily looks down unfolding her legs and sitting up.
"Damn bitch" MM rages. We're constantly being buffeted by massive gusts of wind as Mother seems to be playing with us, testing our strength. Lightning flashes by but our trusted scaly steed is simply too good, dodging left, right, up, down wrapping through the field of electricity.
"How's he doing that?"
"She. But it's because she can smell the electromagnetic field."
"That's cool as hells. My bad girl." I give her a pet behind the ear, it's hot but she seems to nuzzle into my hand.
"Shut up and watch this then."
We lose all the altitude we've been desperately fighting for all at once. We enter into a death spiral shooting directly towards the ground. At the last moment, the dragon weaves rightening it's descent just before impact. Now we're gliding in between trees, but the danger has actually gone down. The trees make for a perfect shield against the ever expansive web of lightning. I glance upwards and see Mother Death and her large blue dragon slowly following us, and then she ascends into the thunderclouds, disappearing. The lightning stops.
"Why did she stop attacking?" I ask.
"Probably bored, almost certainly going to unleash hell whenever she shows back up, so don't be too relieved. But this is perfect. We need to use this time to plan. We don't have long. The farm girls won't be able to stand against Swiftblade."
"So what can we even do against Mother Death?"
"There's something not quite right about her, and I mean more than her desire to capture you alive. She seems... weaker."
This is her WEAKER??? Fuck. I desperately try to rally myself. "Weaker or not, MM, we can't stand against her, not without something she isn't expecting."
"You seem to have something in mind."
Swiftblade sees broken branches, deep heavy clustered footsteps, and most importantly, she smells fear. She's closing in on Sir Kahlin. Soon, soon. She quells her mind with thoughts of grotesque violence. Ahead there's a clearing. Her strength surges. Breaking through into the opening she's met with a clumsy ambush. Fireballs, slung by 3 novice casters. She dances her way through them, spinning and twirling, her steps measured, calculated. A dance with the devil of ember. Moves she was taught by her Father.
She pities the women, but they can't be left alive.
Noticing their ambush completely failed, chaos erupts. They scramble to regroup but it's too little, too late.
Swiftblade is among them now, knowing proximity is the greatest way to dissassemble a collected group of mages. Be the rock that cuts through the river. Who told her that? It doesn't matter now. Swiftblade prepares to cut them down.
Every sensation screams at her. Swiftblade finds herself flipping through the air, landing dozens of feet away from the wizards. They stand dazed, confused. She lands, sliding on her feet before stopping by stomping her feet into a tree. Bouncing off she flies towards the group again. What the hells was that? Something there, it-it would've killed me if I stayed. My body knows it. M-My body knows it.
Swiftblade finds her feet slowing, her demeanor growing cautious as she approaches. The farm women have regrouped now and are firing Missiles at her. She side steps several, then begins to weave in between trees letting their dense bark shield her. At last, she finds herself within range again, and lunges, deflecting one last Missile with the tip of her rapier. There it is again. My hands are clammy. My knees weak. Swiftblade desperately scans. She sees it. A body fully wrapped in bandages has been gently hidden within some bushes. Just looking at it makes her mouth go dry. That must be Sir Kahlin. Good. He's still in a coma from my curse. B-but, how the hells can he be emanating such a strong presence. Is it a trap?
Several Missiles graze against Swiftblade, her attention having been lost on Sir Kahlin, failing to accurately assess the very real threat still lurking around her. The women have each retreated, separating from each other, but reducing their proximity to Swiftblade. A Missile strikes her dead in the thigh, waking her to reality. She grunts in pain, feeling the strength in her injured leg leave.
Looking around, Swiftblade determines that chasing down each wizard won't serve her goal. Her goal, lies defenseless before her. Carefully stepping towards Sir Kahlin's body, she evades the remaining Missiles, without a single glance. When Swiftblade has purpose, when her blade is true, she finds her abilities manifest exponentially. She stabs downwards, hard. Swiftblade will savor the feeling of her rapier sinking into Sir Kahlin's body. This time, without that brat MM to remove the curse. He'll die surely.
PING, SKRRRRRSH
Sir Kahlin's bandages fly through the air. His sword is drawn, but his eyes remain closed. Sparks fly through the air as Swiftblade exchanges blows with him.
Is this motherfucker flexing on me, or is he actually still just unconscious? Regardless, it's pissing me off so much I might start foaming at the fucking mouth.
Swiftblade retreats 10 feet. She glares at Sir Kahlin, but all he does is sway around. He looks like he can hardly stand, his feet jerk, struggling to maintain his uprightness. He steadies, raising and then pointing his blade directly at Swiftblade. This irritates her to no end, but she remains cognizant, taking into account the wizards who surround her. She quickly takes out a glowing yellow flask and douses her leg in the viscous fluid. Her thigh pulses and spasms, she muffles a scream, biting down on her cheek. Swiftblade feels blood start to mix with her saliva, intertwining itself in her teeth and dripping out of her mouth. Whoever made 'healing' potions so insufferably painful will see my wrath in the 3rd Hell.
Swiftblade hears the whistle of Missiles flying at her from all directions, she kicks off the ground flying in the air and up onto a tree. From there, she begins to launch herself from tree to tree. Carefully eyeing the position of each freshly disoriented wizard. Seizing the moment of opportunity she falls hard and fast on the nearest wizard.
CLATTER
Foiled again, by some sleepwalker. Swiftblade knows the time for play is long over, she changes her stance. Embracing a new fuel, a new finite strength. Her fuse has been lit. Feathers begin to grow all over her arm and legs, small flightless wings sprout on her back. Her quads double in size, her vision sharpening like a chef's favorite knife on her trusty whetstone.
Swiftblade was made anew in her undeath. Her body was combined with that of an ostrich. At first, she spent many sleepless nights cursing her fate. It wasn't until that moonless night, when Mother Death visited her personally, that she begun to see the potential of who she could now become. Still, it's a transformation she only uses in the most dire circumstance. Due to her own lingering embarrassment.
"Run." The single word uttered from Sir Kahlin's dry lips frees the captured wizards. They all dart off.
Swiftblade won't let them. Her now two toed foot slams the ground pushing her at unimaginable speeds. Yet there he is again, blocking her path. Fine, I'll let those losers go, if you so insist on hastening your own death.
She flicks her rapier downward.
WHOOOSH
"So... you're awake now, aren't you? Don't stonewall me." Swiftblade finds herself sounding exceptionally clingy and needy, but she pushes past that. It's all for revenge.
She's met with nothing but silence. But then... she sees it. Sir Kahlin begins to show her a transformation of his very own.