Closed First Impressions...Well...Don't Matter

[Tyrek]

Day 61 of Winter in the Year 513 AV

A hooded figure stood leaning against a doorway opening up to the cool breeze that came off the lake. Twilight was just beginning to approach as the city began to settle down for the night. Store owners locked their doors and merchants gathered up their wares as they began closing down shop.

All that could be seen of the man’s face was an unshaven jaw line. The mouth was set in a firm line as he focused on the objects in his hands. A twelve inch dagger was held loosely in one hand and in the other was a stone. He methodically dragged the wet stone from the hilt of the blade, up towards the tip of the knife at an angle. He passed the stone across the steel a few more times before rotating the dirk and starting on the other side.

The sun had just set as the form seemed satisfied with the quality of the edge. He gently ran his finger over the razor sharp steel. Having taken care of the knicks and scratches in the material, Tyrek sheathed the blade at his side and covered it with his well-worn coat. The Svefra leaned down and pulled out a concealed stiletto from its scabbard in his boot. He checked to make sure it was still in good shape. Satisfied with it, he flipped it around and placed it back in its home.

Tyrek sighed and moved back into his apartment. He stepped across the room to a small table that sat beside his bedframe and set the wet stone on it. Glancing around the room, he made sure he had everything he would need. Reaching inside his coat, he felt for the thin metal probes securely fastened in a small pocket he had made. Feeling their reassuring weight, Tyrek readjusted his hood over his blue eyes and headed for the door.

Locking it behind, him he turned and faced the narrow road. Asides from roaming the streets, he had a relatively unproductive day. It was time to change that. Tyrek hunched his shoulders and joined the few people on the streets heading to their destinations. He hadn’t quite decided where he wanted to go yet, so he let the people around him decide for him.

He might live in an apartment in the Docks, but the masses of people was where he considered home. Amidst the chaos of a crowd, there was a certain beauty in its order. The constant change in the movement of people, it was a writhing beast never to be tamed. There was an art in how one moves among the turmoil of bodies as each forced its way forward.

“It’s like the ocean, if you don’t respect the power it possesses, it will consume you,” Tyrek mused to himself as he weaved his way through the crowd, contorting his body to move seamlessly through the mass. He lost track of time as he moved from street to street crossing bridges, canals and small alleyways.

Tyrek finally tilted his head upwards, recognizing the area he was in. The Southern Trading Post was a place he hadn’t spent much time in but he had passed through it a couple times. He spotted a small, run-down looking shack off to the side where the merchant caravans would gather during the day. Rickety wood planks seemed held together with rusty wooden nails in a shed looking structure. Tyrek recalled the locals referred to it as Malfasar’s Beer Hut. It didn’t look like much but the Svefra wasn’t one to judge.

Tyrek, having nothing else in mind, headed towards the building, a warm light glowing from the windows near the door. The hooded figure wrapped one hand around the handle and pulled the door open. Stepping inside, he was greeted with the familiar stench of body odor and alcohol. While it wasn’t his favorite smell in the world, he didn’t mind.

He strode past the tables and chairs lining the small hut towards the bar in the back. He leaned on the counter, arms crossed. Tyrek flicked a few fingers up, catching the attention of the bartender. “I’ll have your premium beer.” The bartender nodded and a few short minutes later returned with a frothing mug. Tyrek picked it up and sniffed the brew before taking a sip. The taste of roasted hops exploded in his mouth as he took a drink.

Tyrek turned and rested his back on the counter, one hand holding the mug, the other resting lightly on the bar top. His penetrating blue eyes swept the room, surveying the atmosphere, leaving nothing to chance. His status as a non-resident gave him very few opportunities to let his guard down and he wasn’t about to do it now.

[Venser Rush]

Another long day at the workplace. Venser enjoyed the quiet peace within Mikayas' Emporium, though eventually, even the silence began to gnaw at him, the engraving that he had been working on half completed as the engraver's mind began to wander. Desire. Contact. The... rush. Despite his best wishes, he found himself wanting the trouble that had injured him, he enjoyed the feeling of the danger, the raw sensation that was so alluring. The way the heart hammered in the chest, the buzz in the skull that was the influence of drink calming his nerves . The stare of the beautiful maiden who had orchestrated the madness of it all. Closed off as his early life had bee, perhaps it was an innate desire to discover and know, but Venser felt unrestrained. Verin was busy working nights at the Malt House, leaving Venser to his own devices most of the time. Verin has other things to do. That just means you need to find your own priorities. Live out your own life a bit. A nod moved the young man's shoulders as he raised his engraver's pick, noting the half-completed letter "e" that was the third letter to the name he was bestowing a beautifully rendered, two-foot tall sculptured, one of Mikayas' works. The sooner this is completed, the sooner you can leave and get this... restlessness out of your system. Again, the young engraver agreed with himself, pressing his pick to the surface of the wood and continuing on with his work. Slow, stead. This was the nature of his work as Venser peeled the wood away, steering the pick to complete the letter "e", first. The next two letters were, by far, more difficult. The letter "s." If he wasn't careful, they would be too straight, rendering them more akin to a reversed letter "z", if done with too much of a curve, the shape was lost altogether. Time was his ally in this, and rather than make mistakes, he preferred to simply let the chimes pass him by. And so he did, fifteen chimes passed him by, the sun traveling its path through the sky, a plethora of colour produced in the atmospheric conditions of sunset as Venser imposed the last "s" upon the wood. Aless Two letters more, and his work was to be complete, his other chores having been completed bells before. The last two letters were simpler than the first, Venser quickly peeling away wood to form the letter "i", the "a" taking quite a time longer, but when he was finished, the name was presented in what Venser saw as, at the very least, livable. By no means was he a master at the craft, but seeing as no one else was able (untrue, but Mikayas was quite unwilling to "waste" his time on engraving) When he was finished, he blew off the saw dust from his work, the name fully visible in its, at the least, presentable glory. Alessia Venser grinned down at the work, rather proud of himself in the moment as he packed his things. Now, I can go about and enjoy the night. I think a drink will do me some good. Leaving his toolbox in the shop, Venser closed the door behind him, leaving Mikayas to do... whatever it was the old man does when he was alone. With the work day left behind him, the young engraver's task now was to decide where he was heading. The Malt House was out of the question, given that Verin was likely still mad at Venser for getting into the fight that had injured him earlier in the season, and Grayson had likely heard about it and not yet forgotten. The Silver Sliver was even less likely, the young man's fight happening within its walls. Jeb had threatened his life the last time he was there, and Venser was not so keen on returning just yet. Is there anywhere else? The young man was unsure. He thought he'd heard of a place, but walking down the pathways leading from the merchant's quarter, Venser was drawing blanks. Crystalline eyes cast their gaze about in search of a place to go, fruitless in his endeavor until he found the shoddy looking sign attached to an equally dilapidated location. Malfasar's? Never been there before. Hell, why not? Entering the Beer Hut, Venser cast his gaze about again, this time in search of a place to sit, finding place next to a rather scruffy looking young man, one that was likely his age, perhaps older. He could never tell when facial hair was put into question. As he sat down, he looked to the male, muttering, "Good evening," before turning his attention to the bartenders. Both Malfasar and his lively young barmaiden were working tonight, Venser catching the pretty young thing's attention, calling her over as he placed his order with her, instead, "If you'd serve me a mug of ale, I'd be grateful, love. Long day, it's been." Venser flashed the woman a brief smile before she turned away, a nod followed by the softest of giggles escaping her lips as the engraver collected his thoughts. Venser did not notice it, for he was not paying attention, but on the other side of the bar, several older men began to whisper, pointing in his direction with a sort of angered familiarity.

[Tyrek]

Day 61 of Winter in the Year 513 AV

Tyrek lifted the mug to his lips. He stood quietly by himself, eyes shifting from person to person, casually watching their interactions. He saw people as an intricate web. Each person was somehow connected to another through different kinds of relationships. Whether friendships, lovers, business partners, family, it didn’t matter everyone was somehow tied to another. It took a keen eye, but if one paid close enough attention, an observer could see what kind of emotions a person felt for another. Anger, love, irritation, each person was betrayed by their own bodies. Every person was a little different, some were easier than others to read. But eventually, everyone betrayed themselves. The subtle furrow of a brow, the angle of a person’s body towards another or the way words were spoken, each spoke volumes about the person. It was a game he liked it play, but it was also a skill that kept him alive when things took a turn for the worst.

Which is why the Svefra was intrigued when the door opened and the atmosphere in the bar shifted. Eyes narrowed, the sound of voices lowered momentarily before resuming their boisterous conversations. A young man walked in, blond hair, seeming relatively confident in himself. He wandered over to the bar beside him. Tyrek shifted slightly, watching him from the corner of his eye. The well-built man began speaking to one of the barmaids, flirting with her. Tyrek nodded briefly as the man turned and greeted him. But he was distracted as a few men caught his eye at the other end of the bar. They began whispering fervently amongst themselves casting withering looks down their way. Seeing the glares, it didn’t take a magic user to figure out they were angry.

Tyrek raised an eyebrow and looked appraisingly at the young man whom the scowls seemed to be directed towards. Tyrek drummed his fingers along the counter, the man seemed to have pissed off the wrong people. Tyrek could appreciate that, more often than not he found himself in tight spots. He was interested to see how this played out. Even more so, he was intrigued to see how the newcomer would handle a rapidly approaching threat.

It looked like the night might be a productive one after all.

[Venser Rush]

The grin that materialized upon the engraver's expression was wide as the barmaid seemed to be distracted by him to the extent of no longer working. She had begun to polish a glass after serving the younger Rush his ale, Venser engaging her in conversation. "I wonder... why does a pretty young thing stay at a place like Malfazar's? Is it for the mizas? Or the odd, attractive blondes that cross your path?" Confidence was always a plus, right? He wasn't the most experienced flirt... in fact, he had failed far more than once in his sorry attempts, his face and form picking up far more attention than his words ever did. Though, despite his hesitance, the maiden giggled at him, a coy shrug moving her shoulders before she turned around to stack the glass on a shelf behind the bar, moving to begin on another. It was only when the girl, who's name he didn't and probably wouldn't learn, turned away from him that Venser cast his gaze towards the man sitting next to him. He seemed to be fixated on something, focused, even. Was something going on? It was only when he followed his gaze that he noted that the man, at least he seemed to be a man; he was obviously a foreigner, at the least, was listening to a group of rather angry sounding older men. Likely in their early thirties. Venser tilted his head as he turned around fully, noting that he recognized one of the faces.Oh, petch. Is that...? That is one of the friends of that... man that so graciously donated his teeth to the cause, isn't it? They look rather pissed off. The engraver clenched his fists, glad that there was only the barest of pain in his ribs, nothing that would interrupt his ability to flee, or fight, if necessary. In truth, Venser preferred to ignore direct conflict, the last time having been on his own terms. This... is not going to go well, was the first thing Venser thought to himself as he watched the larger of the men step towards the door, blocking off Venser's only escape route as the other two began to step towards the boy. "You there, wheat hair! Yer one of 'dem Rush twins, right?" The man, a fellow several inches taller than Venser, but a great deal thinner, looked over to his companion, a barrel-shaped man, with arms as thick as Venser's neck. "Which 'un are we lookin' for? Veeran? Vurnon? Vonsel? That don' sound right..." The larger of the two shook his head, a fat, meaty hand striking the other at the back of the head as he replied, "No, yeh idiot! It's Venter! Oh wait... Venser, stupid. Yeh gotta learn te read, yeh petching fool. Venser, you ruddy vagik! Get on yer feet so we can knock ye down." Gods damn it. Why the bloody petch do they have to be so stupid? They can't even speak properly. I didn't get a word of that... At the very least, the Rush twin understood that he was being challenged, the man reaching, for a moment, for the daggers at his sides before he decided that it was better to just duke it out if he could. Drawing weapons on citizens was illegal.

[Tyrek]

Day 61 of Winter in the Year 513 AV

A small smirk crossed Tyrek’s grizzled face from under his hood. He lifted the mug of liquid to his lips, watching the scene that was slowly playing out beside him.


“Huh, that kid really seemed to piss off some angry thugs. Probably had his way with one of their wenches.”


He made an educated guess as he remembered how the blonde haired man had flirted with the barmaid. Hardly mattered. Either way the man was going to get his arse handed to him. Tyrek eyed the men up and down. This, Venser Rush, as the men had struggled to call him, was about to have his hands full. Tyrek didn’t know how well the man could handle himself but three against one weren’t good odds. He drummed his fingers along his mug as he listened to their conversation.


The Svefra watched as one of the larger men stomped across the room and stood, arms crossed in front of the tavern door.


“Well that’s one down. Now he’s just got to deal with two. Maybe he’s got a chance…”


Tyrek was still skeptical and he wasn’t about to put money on the kid. He realized if a fight broke out, he was close enough to potentially get involved. He scowled, daring the soon to be violent party to get close.


“I’m not about to get involved. But if they as much as spill my ale…”

[Venser Rush]

How tragic... Why is it that I can never finish a drink in a bar? The young engraver did not bother to answer the two men, who by their tones and ignorance, were likely drunk. You don't know that. They could just be incredibly stupid. Or both. It is a bar. An exaggeration, to be sure, but it seemed that the young man could never fully enjoy the drink. He'd only actually been drunk without Verin three times in his life: the first a rather tragic, hazy encounter with a Symenestra, the second a passionate night of pleasure with a woman whose face he could not quite recall, and the last a brazen, reckless journey through the city with the intent of leaving a permanent mark. Of course, in the last, he'd been too intoxicated to remember his purpose, and passed out on the wooden logs of a bridge, damp and cold from nighttime exposure. Any other time the young man had set foot in a bar, numerous times for Ravok lacked anything else to do for those who did not set their entire life's purpose in Rhysol's camp, he was distracted before the drinking could progress. A frown creased his lips, furrowing his eyebrows as he raised a hand to his temple, attempting to figure a way out of this situation. The door was blocked, so he had to fight. Or... he could do something else. Venser moved his gaze from the two men approaching him and towards the hooded figure next to him. Able to just see his face at the angle he was at, he saw the scowl that was plastered upon his features, an already angry expression. He knew not of the man's intentions, but he could safely assume that he was probably temperamental. Venser stood up from his seat, turning to face his attackers as he put on a show, an act that could serve his purpose later on in the evening. "Why do you want to 'knock me down?' I've done you no wrong." Technically, the young man was right, the vermin that was in his presence was not the Source, they had not been beaten to near-death in Venser's djed-driven rage. Venser neither regretted the incident, nor complained of the injuries he had suffered. Even now, the dull ache still plagued his ribs, but it was by no means debilitating. If I play my cards right, history will not repeat itself. Just one... injury. The two men were closing in on the Rush twin now, either one taking place seven feet away from his bar stool, the larger one stepping forward. "Liar!" The brute's shout was punctuated with a flying fist, the meaty rock of a thing catching Venser square in the jaw. Venser had expected the motion, but took no action to avoid it, the man halfway into a flinch before the contact was made. The impact sent him sailing backwards, the engraver quickly losing his balance as his lower body collapsed against the bar. Here, he made his move. Dazed from the punch's impact, Venser did his utmost to tip his body weight backwards, the entirety of his upper body sliding over the wooden surface of the bar. The shift in weight made it easy for him to simply let go of the ground, Venser's body crumbling to the ground behind the bar with a loud thud, a groan escaping his lips. The two advanced further, the thinner of the two, his position closest to the hooded figure that was sitting next to Venser, grabbed the man by the shoulders, attempting to hoist him from his seat, "You his fren, hood guy? Gunna knock ye' down, too!" The larger looked over the bar, heckling Venser as he looked upon the Rush twin's body crumpled up on the ground, "Not s'tough now, eh pretty boy? Yer not gettin' off so easy."

[Tyrek]

Day 61 of Winter in the Year 513 AV

As soon as the thug’s hand came down on his shoulder, Tyrek knew he should have gotten out of the way when he had the chance. He knew that one way or another he would have gotten involved. But deep down he stayed to have an excuse. Whether it was by accident or on purpose, he was drawn into the conflict.


A small smile flickered across his face when the smaller of the two men spoke to him. He looked at the hand that roughly grabbed his shoulder lazily.


“You his fren, hood guy?” Tyrek set his mug down gently and pushed it slowly back across the countertop. The mug scrapped along the wood, marring the surface.“Gunna knock ye’ down, too!”


Before the thug had the chance to make good on that threat, Tyrek slammed his elbow straight back and up with as much force as he could muster. The blow landed straight into the brute’s chest. The man gasped as the sharp elbow sunk into his chest cavity and stumbled backwards, startled by the swiftness of the blow and the power behind it.


Tyrek spun around and stood to his feet as the attack slowly registered in the second man’s brain. Tyrek could almost see the light bulb flicker on as the thug saw his companion get hurt. The Svefra looked back and forth between the two.


“All I did was come here for a drink. I would appreciate it if you would leave me out of this. I promise you, if you come at me again, things will go unpleasantly for you…”


Tyrek cracked his neck to emphasis his point. He was partially bluffing. Brawling was not a skill he possessed to any great degree. But they didn’t know that. The last fight he had gotten into, one was killed, the other was seriously injured and the third had escaped. He had gotten incredibly lucky and he sure as shyke didn’t want to try his luck again.


He quickly looked around the bar, noting the individuals in the room. None seemed to pay much attention to what was happening. Bar fights seemed to be quite common in Ravok. As long as no blades were drawn, that is.


“I don’t want to try my luck. Not being a citizen has gotten me into trouble before. There were no witnesses though. But this time, if word gets out, I could be in a load of trouble. People don’t take too kindly to my sort. Especially if I go around injuring actual citizens.”


The larger of the two men finally got his bearings back and his face turned red, blood vessels standing out in his face.


“Why ye’ petching som of dem hoes!” He charged Tyrek, fist swinging towards the Svefra’s head. Tyrek jerked backwards, trying to avoid the savage punch. He was a split second too slow and the blow grazed his jaw, knocking him sideways against the bar.He threw out a hand to catch himself before he crashed into the wooden structure. Tyrek rubbed the stubble on his face, eyes hardening.


“Shyke that hurt. Alright, that’s it.”


“Hey Rush, maybe you want to come lend me a hand? I believe I’m caught up in this because of you…”


He spoke to Venser but before he could look around to see where the blond haired man was, the larger thug growled and advanced towards Tyrek again, fists cocked and ready to fight.


“Alright, well. I seem to have found my productivity for the day…”


Tyrek mirrored the thug and raised his balled fists by his face. He thumbed the side of his chin and brought his fist back in front of his face, swaying side to side slightly.


“Let’s see what you got.”

[Venser Rush]

The young man had been prepared to take a single hit and rise up. Part of his intention in the thing was in a faint hope that in taking the hit, that his attackers would be satisfied and simply leave, but their vendetta was obviously not satisfied by this. It was a weak hope, a plea, for their sake, that they would simply leave it at that. Venser, according to his own experience with fights, was not one who knew how to just... stop. It's the Flux, isn't it? The magic is powerful... It feels... good. I feel unstoppable when I use it, and I just can't stop afterwards. But, they deserve it. Anyone on the receiving end of my attack deserves it. Combat is... unsavoury, but at times, necessary. The first fight had been necessary. He needed to know how it felt to fight. To feel pain. To inflict pain. On a human, It was completely different to attack an animal, the fact that it did not feel as a human did, did not think as intensely as a man made it far simpler to do. And what made it easiest of all was that their screams of pain did not deter him. It didn't... matter. Venser could no longer truly identify with his brother's close bond with and love for animals. Yes, when he was younger, he had bonded with an animal, connected with it, but that very same bond was what taught him that those bonds were fleeting. They imposed their changes upon the mind, wiring connections and pulling upon the heart's strings, but when it was over, those very bonds left nothing more than a hole, a deep, bloody hole in the heart that did not heal. And slowly, but surely, the same bond with humans was beginning to fade. Venser did not feel averse to injuring his fellow man. He avoided violent situations if possible, but if all else failed, then there was no hesitation... That moment is now. Venser rose from the floor, clicking his jaw as the pain registered through his mind, anger welling in the young man's mind as his fists clenched. Again, he reached for his daggers, but he rejected the notion once again. It was far more... effective to do this by hand. More... pleasurable. The Fluxist's posture was erect, his fingers unflexing, then doing so again as he took a deep breath. He repeated the motion, visualizing it as the djed pathways within his body slowly opening in the nerves as djed pooled, siphoned from the soul itself and filling his nervous system, channeling the strength within him upwards from his legs and into the arms. The process took a total of thirty seven ticks. He counted it in his mind as his ears processed the larger man's uncouth drawl. How pathetic. The djed flooded his left arm as Venser moved forward, clumsily climbing over the bar. He managed it, but the speed of the motion burned at his right leg, his knee colliding into the surface of the bar. The pain was felt, but for the moment, ignored as Venser approached the larger of the men. He was distracted by the hooded figure, a gloating expression plastered upon his features as he reveled in his victorious attacks over both the hooded figure and Venser, himself. The victory would not last for long. As the larger of the men closed in on the hooded man, Venser closed his own approach. Tyrek had stood from the ground, nearby a now broken table close to a wall, the brute of a man that the hooded figure was fighting closer to the wall then he, back to Venser and the bar. It was in this situation that Venser struck. A fair fight is stupid, it only gets people hurt. The Flux is not meant for long, drawn out fist fights, which is what the hooded man seems to be prepared for. No... I'll end this man quickly. The thoughts struck his mind just as his hand flew out to grab a half-full mug, presumably one of the attackers' beverages. Venser clutched at it by the handle, his arm quickly raising it and sending the hard glass straight at the brute's head. His djed accelerated his swing, and by extension, the glass mug quickly. The material shattered upon impact with the side of the man's skull. Venser could see it as the brute's neck jerked rapidly, cricking from the motion but not quite breaking, glass shards embedding into his jaw and cheek. Blood flowed down his face, two smaller shards from the handle itself wedging into the Fluxist's palm, shallow cuts registering pain into his system, but it was not felt, Venser's body numbed by magic and adrenal response. I am... alive. The larger of the men crumpled to the floor with nary a sound emitted from his lips, caught utterly off guard by Venser's strike, "One... more?" Venser's tongue was almost numb at this point, making words strained, difficult as the combination of djed and adrenaline flooded him. He loved this feeling. It was... glorious.

[Tyrek]

Day 61 of Winter in the Year 513 AV

The smaller of the three men sneered at Tyrek as the two circled one another. Tyrek held up his fist in a defensive manner, mimicking what he’d seen in other fights.


This is going to go so poorly for me. Ugh, I just want to pull out my blade and finish this guy off. He’ll back off pretty quick as soon as I bring a knife into play. But that’ll get me locked up pretty quick.


Tyrek brushed his hood off of his head, allowing for better peripherals. Just as he raised his hand, the other man leaped into action. He swung his fist towards the side of the Svefra’s head. Startled, Tyrek stumbled backwards, but not fast enough to avoid the blow. It smashed into his face, sending him reeling backwards.


Tyrek ‘s world spun as the blow left him disoriented. Before he could react, the gruff man advanced menacingly and landed three punches. The first two almost doubled him over as they smashed into his abdomen. But the final blow caught him in the jaw sending him flying backwards into a wooden table.


Tyrek smacked into, lost his footing, slid across the table and landing on the other side of the floor in a heap. He grumbled and heaved himself upright, using the table as leverage. The world continued to spin and his body ached all over. He grunted, “You hit hard for a little guy. Let’s try that again…”


He moved around the table and charged. The ruffian swung again but this time Tyrek was ready for it and ducked under the punch, bringing his balled hand upwards, connecting with the man’s chin. His head snapped backwards and he stumbled back into the bar.


Tyrek took advantage of his stunned opponent and laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. He punched him twice in the face before swinging his fist around driving it into his foe’s stomach.


The man gasped and jerked forwards, bent in half.


The Svefra smirked. He grabbed the man’s head in both of his hands and brought it down as he swiftly brought his knee up. The head connected with the knee with a sickening crunch. Blood spurted out of the man’s nose and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Tyrek stepped back and let the figure slowly topple over to the ground.


Tyrek shook out his hand, wincing.


Man that really hurts. I don’t know how people can get into fights all the time. This is brutally painful.


Tyrek looked around the room, trying to see what else was going on. It seemed like Venser had his opponent taken care of. All that remained was the third man by the door.


All in all, it looked like they would come out on top.

[Venser Rush]

Djed. It filled his arm, the bones creaking weakly under the pressure of his swing. The action had been fast, a powerful swing that had shattered the glass, fragmenting it into the stocky man's skull. Grievously injured, caught by surprise, he had fallen almost immediately, the world lost to him as his brain rattled in the skull. Concussions, to be sure, but Venser had no way of verifying it, but a last look at the man's collapsed form clearly showed signs of breathing. The attacker's body was convulsing out of shock, shaking wildly before stilling completely. Eyes were open, rolled back and bloodshot from the harsh strike, but he would live. Scum. Weakling. He does not deserve the life that he clings to. Magic had its way of twisting his mindset, creating an elitist personality, the sense of invincibility that the Flux instilled into the body fueling the change. But, it mattered little. As Venser reveled in his victory, the tallest of the three men, a lean, powerful man, pushed forward, his arms uncrossing as he swung a heavy fist. It rocked Venser's entire body, making direct contact with his stomach, the pain heavy in his mind as his focus on the Flux collapsed. Djed spiked in his arm, muscle spasms shaking the limb wildly, tearing the musculature. As little djed had been invested in the action, the reaction was not severe, but his arm was now numb, only his right able to fling out as the Rush twin fell to the floor. His stomach convulsed, his lungs expelling air as the force of the punch shook him. It was devastating, but the Flux numbed him, Venser raising his head to look up at his attacker, his lips curled into a feral-looking snarl, though heavy, debilitating coughs escaped his lips as his brain forced him to inhale. The Fluxist heard the largest of the men as he mocked the twin on the floor, chuckling as he extended his foot to kick the blonde to the floor. A mistake. As the man raised his foot, Venser focused within, turning his focus inward once again as he visualized the strength from his limb siphoning itself from the left, dominant, though injured arm and through his pathways. How power and strength literally flowed from parts of the body and augmented others for a time was glorious. What was unable to be used, for now; his left arm, was now to be ignored and the djed re-directed. The process took a total of fourty-five ticks, which his opponent had spent mocking him, poking at him with his foot before he applied force, Venser's body shifted to his left side as the hulk of a man directed his body downward. He was trying to force Venser to the floor? NO! The Fluxist's eyes widened, the concept of 'groveling' at another's feet crippling to his pride. Just as his right arm began to bend from the weight being imposed on him, it strung out, instead. Venser was forced to the ground, pain registering in his sore ribs, but he ignored it, his right arm reaching out and clutching the large man's calf. Force was applied, nails digging through his trousers, puncturing the material. The larger man's eyes widened, cringing as pain expressed itself. Fingers pierced through flesh, nails digging into the musculature of the giant's hamstring, tearing at the material before the young Fluxist pulled backwards harshly. The sudden imbalance of the giant's weight sent him crashing to the floor, head colliding with the hard wood flooring. Dazed, the large man made little effort to rise, Venser clenching his fists, slowly forcing himself up. He was half-way to a standing position, his upper body hunched forward as Venser coughed out again, a small quantity of blood spurting onto the attacker as Venser clenched his fists. Feeling gathered in his left arm again, the other fist clenched as beads of sweat seeped into the bleeding gash on his left hand. The beads also dribbled down his face and stained his shirt, exertion and pain having forced adrenaline to pump through his body and raise his internal body temperature. What to do with him next... In all honesty, he wanted the man to die for his attempt to humiliate the blonde, his arrogance certainly deserving of the end, but that would only lead to his own, later when arrested for murder. Venser was still rational enough to know what not to do, even if... in the back of his mind, there were sweet nothings telling him that he should.