Moonlight Sonata (Ruin)

[Vadim]

In that pivotal, unforgiving second that slowly dripped by Vadim had recognized finally the course of his predator. Hundreths of that that second were lost in recognition, and tenths were required to react. Suddenly by the time the second broke its course the man had only managed to swing his javelin to the appropriate position. The unwieldy throw of his movement had much applied force, but with no accurate direction would have naturally struck the thing nearest to Vadim at that particular time given the angle at which it had been held-- the skull. In this manner Ruin had eluded the reach of the blade, but still easily in this scenario could feel the blunt trauma of a hard cracking motion to the temple that would have thrown it to the ground with about the same effectiveness as if it had been thrown from the very same horse as Vadim.

Meanwhile, positioning dictated that the reach of Ruin's arms did not go without harm. Their claws did dig veritably into the shoulders of the man who offered no satisfying cry of pain but rather a grunt. His awareness became intensified, and his eyes widened as dark blood spilled from either arm, staining his white attire and spilling onto the ground. All around him the grass was still and melancholy. It bore the burden of his heavy blood upon the ground and sagged. The sudden shock intensified his already hard pumping chest and for the moment he felt no pain.

"I'll kill you!"

[Ruin]

Ruin felt the lengthy claws sink into the shoulders of the Drykas man. His lips curling into a wicked grin as he prematurely assumed victory, with such a wound, most humans would fall to the ground in pain, others (the weaker ones) would actually fall into unconsciousness to deal with such an attack, yet there was the occasional warrior that could shrug off said attack like it was nothing to worry about, Vadim, though felt it, did not give into the temptation to fall and lie still, he was a fighter, and Ruin did not catch onto this until the large weapon knocked him in the head, sending him sprawling to the side, tumbling across the ground, and in attempt to stand back up, fell again. He was dazed, a rather unfamiliar feeling, though not new. Ruin was accustomed to cuts and gashes, maybe even the infected wound or two, but blunt trauma was fairly uncommon, and the dazing effect was disorienting at the least. Ruin found himself, after several clumsy seconds, standing up again, his wings were flapping out of sync, and his body was not lifting from the ground. Ruin, however, was not trying to lift himself in the air, he was trying to keep his balance, his vision, although excellent at night, was blurred, out of focus, and he began to feel slightly nauseated. It didn't take too many seconds of this for Ruin to realize he was not in a good position.

Ruin had somehow forgotten that he got a pretty good gash on his prey, and thanks to the shot to his head, he was almost so distracted by the wavering ground, that he didn't realize that he just might have been winning the battle. This Zith was a survivor though, and instincts told him that it was time to go, prey here or not, he had to get back to safety before something bad really did happen. Not to mention that the Drykas camp wasn't too far, and thanks to their well known magic, they surely knew of their companion's situation, maybe even coming to the rescue that very moment. Perhaps Ruin could have taken on Vadim, but any more and he would have been dead.

The Zith did not respond to the man's words, even though they were simple enough that the Zith could comprehend the threat. The large wings picked teh Zith once more into the air. Vadim would probably assume, with good reason, that he was preparing for another attack, but Ruin was done. This fight would end like it was, a stalemate, neither combatant a victor or deceased. Ruin flew into the sky, once again hidden by the sun's absence and the clouds' presence, but instead of the familiar sounds of a Zith tearing through the wind to rip out your heart, Vadim would hear everything except that. Perhaps one of the best sounds he'd heard all night.

Ruin was gone, for now.

[Vadim]

A prelude to victory surged through Vadim's fingertips and emphasized it through the shuddering splinter of wood against the skull of his opponent. Uneasy vibrations translated into focused clarity. For the moment his deluded sense of things became rational and he realized that he could capitalize through a lethal finish. He meant every bit of what he said, and as he turned, albeit slowly to face his opponent his heaving chest and seething features repeated a perpetual fading phrase.

"I'll kill you. . I'll kill you... . I'll kill--" Vadim cried into the night as hard as he could; sauntering towards his dazed foe. His feet dragged lightly against the ground and though he felt to be making good pace he had been going no faster than his body would allow. The gap between them grew no longer, and he winced as he watched Ruin cast itself back into the darkness. There he sunk to his knees and the pain finally registered. He did not utter because weakness gripped him. In pain there was torturous paralysis that gripped him and caused his muscles to contract reflexively. He was a balled mass of bloody white that rocked back in forth against the lush grass and gripped at the gaping holes in his shoulders which bled even though he'd willed against it.

In the darkness there came a shimmer of light. The caressing neigh of a steed broke the maddening silence which surrounded Vadim and at once he grabbed for some solid thing. His fingertips lightly grasped the reins of Valdred, and by the grace of the gods he'd managed to pull himself onto the saddle of his horse in one final effort. There it was he collapsed, his heaving body sinking it lulled sleep, rocked gently by the gentle trot of his horse that above all else abandoned its hope for survival to rescue its owner. Still at its side remained the gash which bled steadily into the grass and it had no cloth to bind as its master had.

Forget not the small fox that invariably allowed the man, in all his pride to contest a beast in its own domain. Fetig lead the tract of the horse, scurrying forth on four legs. Its muzzle was tilted prominently in the direction of Endrykas, and if one did not know better there seemed to be a prideful, important gleam in its eyes as it marched through the moonswept Sea of Grass.

-- THREAD END