Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: The Phantom Quarter

Morden growled at that, his eyes narrowing on his target. His temper was always his weakness and he didn't know how to control it. He was done waiting and jumped out of the shadows. He raised a dark lemeux grey blade, intending to split Savien in two. Morden's eyes were wide, bloodshot and red as he lept from the upper level descending down towards his opponent.
 
He heard the shift of Mordred's feet on the floor as he tensed, the subtle echo of his pounce. Perfect.

Lemeux grey met bright Ivaran steel - the blades sparking together as Savien wheeled to face the traitor. He offered to strokes - quick swipes for his head and arm - before leaping backwards, blade poised ahead of him.

"It's over, Morden," the paladin said, "stand down and face the Council, or die."

By all accounts - Savien was fighting at a disadvantage. His left arm was in a sling. Still, he poised himself the grace of a trained swordsman, evidently undeterred from fighting the former knight to the best of his ability.
 
Morden met each swing of Savien's sword with a resounding clad that reverberated against the walls. Morden had an advantage given the fact that Savien could only use one arm, but he wasn't going to let his guard down because of that. He knew how skilled Savien was with a sword, and Morden made up for lack of skill with swift reflexes. He lept back into the darkness, facing Savien with a sharp toothed frown.

"I refuse to face the order's judgement. If I die today, I die on my own terms."
 
He backhanded his sword, letting the blade rest against his forearm while his fingers went to his belt. They procured a small metal vial filled with yellow liquid. Sunray. One of the Order's many potions. When applied to a metal, it would glow with a bright light and burn anything nonmetallic.

Savien lifted the vial to his teeth, uncorked it, and put it in the fingers of his casted arm.

"Did your brother die on his terms?" He retorted. "Did any of the men you killed die on their terms?" His fingers tipped the vial onto his blade, coating the metal in the liquid. It began to glow with a faint, golden light - illuminating many of the dark areas of the warehouse.

"You'll live or die on my terms, Morden. No one else's."
 
Morden glared and growled lowly at Savien as the light from his blade left him with no places to hide. Well two could play that game. From his pocket Morden grabbed a vial with a black liquid in it. Uncorking it with his sharp teeth he emptied the bottle into his mouth and swallowed. He felt a tensing sensation in his muscles and his red eyes became more blood shot as he focused forward on his opponent. In a moment of anger, Morden lept forward towards Savien in a charging attack. He moved more swiftly than before and was almost a blur.
 
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Their blades met once again, flecks of shining gold sparking off Savien's sword with each parry. He'd seen the potion just before Morden had swallowed it whole - murky black and bubbling as it passed between his lips. Onyx. An old Monastic potion, used primarily in the days when Paladins lacked power armor. It briefly enhanced strength and speed at the cost of cognition. Highly toxic. Highly addictive. In other words, just the sort of potion Morden would drink.

He played to the defensive now - backstepping and leading Morden in a wide circle. He wasted no effort in meeting his blows with exact parries; Morden's strength was too great. Instead, he let his blade guide Morden's as it whipped towards his body, redirecting it before it could make contact.

He led Morden back into the halls of the warehouse into a room strewn with fragments of broken glass - the remnants of the building's old product, no doubt. The bits crunched beneath their boots and were slippery to step on. They would need to be careful to keep their balance.

"Not looking so good, Morden," he snarled, "having trouble keeping up?"

His voice masked his worry; he had barely managed to deflect Morden's last strike.
 
Morden simply growled in response, having given over to rage. The swings of his blade came faster with each attack as he barraged Savien relentlessly. Frustration build as non of his swings could land a blow. He was aiming to injure Savien's only good arm, then he would be defenseless. Morden was dexterous by nature and now made even more so by the onyx he needn't worry about the chance of slipping on the glass. Savien on the other hand was more at risk. Morden had enough of being led through this warehouse as Savien retreated and so he swung for his opponent's feet.
 
"Ugh!" Savien grunted. He managed to mitigate the blow with his sword, but the force still swept him off his feet and clattering to the ground on his back.

The moment the broken glass came in contact with Savien's sword, it began to melt. Thinking quickly, Savien scooped a bit of it on the flat of his blade and flung the molten glass at Morden's face before he could step forward to finish him off.
 
Morden grinned, barring his sharp teeth. He thought he had the upper hand and stepped forward to make the final, killing blow. As he raised his sword above his head to attack, he left himself open and was stopped as the molten glass hit his face.

"Ahhhh!"

Morden screamed and groaned in pain as he raised one hand to his face, attempting to get the molten glass off before it caused serious damage. One side of his face took the brunt of the damage but left him with only one functional eye as he couldn't open the other. He looked back to Savien, growling in absolute fury.
 
Savien didn't waste his moment. He rushed to his feet and began moving around Morden towards the burned side of his face where he had the least visibility. He attempted two cuts - the first for the joint at Morden's knee, between the plates of his armor, the second a follow-up slash for his shoulder. There was no way he was going to overpower the traitor whilst he was using onyx - he needed to cripple him.
 
Morden screamed again as the back of his knee was struck, causing him to fall to one knee. He turned his head to face Savien, just in time to raise his sword, prevent the second attack on his shoulder. With a low growl Morden pushed back on Savien's blade to get him off balance and he forced himself back to his feet. With his leg badly injured Morden knew he couldn't move as well as he would want to, but he was going to push through the pain with rage even if it was the end of him. Morden took staggered steps forward towards Savien and swung to attack his good arm.
 
Savien tried to deflect, but the onyx had made Morden too strong. Morden's sword drove the flat of his own blade into his arm, his pauldron crushing against the nanofoam protecting his shoulder. Once again he tumbled to the ground, sprawling out amid the glass. The paladin attempted to rise on shaky feet, using his blade as a crutch... vulnerable...
 
A wide wicked smile broke through Morden's rage as he saw this. He faced Savien directly and took one shaky step towards him before raising his sword.

"Hehe, do me a favor would you? Say hello to Mistigun for me."

Morden raised and sword and made a wide swing at Savien, aiming for a fatal blow.
 
KLING. The paladin's blade caught Morden's sword at the last possible moment. Unable to stop the swing, it instead redirected the attack away from Savien's head, guiding the edge towards his armored back. The force tremored through his body, his plate denting... but he did not falter.

"Did that," he glared up at the traitor, teeth grit. Then, without any warning, Savien's broken arm ripped out of its cast. It blurred to his belt and unholstering the lawkeeper at his side in the expanse of a blink. He leveled the weapon between Morden's eyes.

"He told me to give you this."

BBZZAT! A blue shock round streaked out of Savien's gun, blurring straight for Morden's exposed face. If connected, it would render him unconscious immediately.
 
Morden's expression shifted from pride, to surprise, then shock. He was too taken aback by Savien's sudden recovery to even react to the lawkeeper being drawn. As he saw you getting ready to pull the trigger, he attempted to raise his arm and deflect the blast, but even with onyx enhancing his speed he was just moments too slow. Half way through his attack Morden halted and convulsed for a brief moment as the shock went through his boy. He let out a chocked scream of pain before his eyes rolled back. His sword clanged as it hit the ground as did his armor when he fell.
 
Savien, in fact, had not recovered. The treatment he had received thus far had provided only small relief to his bones and neuromuscular functions. He was able to move his limb (at great pain), but nothing behind gripping, lower and raising. His little stunt may have ruined even that much. Already a fresh wave of pain shot through his limb, his nerves crying out in agony against even the smallest movement. He had likely stunted his recover by several weeks...

Savien looked down at the unconscious traitor at his feet. Worth it.

"Control, this is Savien," he grumbled into his radio. "I'm bringing him in."
 
A gentle snow was falling over the Phantom Quarter as Arty slunk through the alleyways of the slum, hands stuffed in his pockets. The cold posed little in the way of discomfort to him - after all, he was already cold as the grave. The dark-haired youth slipped around a corner, sniffing the air briefly. The scent was faint, but he could still smell blood on the air. He kept going, leaving a trail of footprints in the murky slush.

He stepped out into one of the broader streets, scanning the area. His eyes locked onto a shape slumped against the side of one of the buildings. The snow around it was stained crimson. Arty walked closer, eyeing them for any sign of movement. There was none. He approached, crouching by the figure's side. This close, he could tell that they were a boy of around fifteen, blonde and pale. A knife wound in his side was the source of the blood, but at this rate the cold would kill him before the blood loss would. He was unconscious, and his breathing was shallow and his lips blue.

Arty grimaced, tsking under his breath and straightening. He reached into his pocket for his phone, and dialled Ghast's number. There would be no nursing this kid back to health. His only chance of anything close to resembling survival would be if he was turned.

"Hey. You anywhere near the old chop shop?" Arty glanced across the road at the abandoned store - 'Jean's Autos'. It was half collapsed and the garage door had all but disintegrated into rust, but it made a good enough landmark. "Got a kid here about twenty minutes from freezing to death... Yeah. Unconscious. Can't ask him, but I figured ... yeah. See you in ten, then."

He hung up, and propped himself up against the wall to wait. The boy's shallow breathing was the only sound that disturbed the quiet.
 
Art would wait for a time before the cold brick at his back began to hum with a rising vibration. A beastly rumble growled from a not-so-distant block, bass-deep and tinged in iron, in fire. The ground beneath him trembled, bits of debris and filth shaking on the concrete. Anywhere else, it could have been the heralding of a dragon or the premonitions of an impending earthquake. But this was Lutetia City. It meant one thing.

The destrier turned onto the abandoned street, huge and ugly, snorting exhaust in the whipping snow like an angered bull. The mounted knight who rode it looked no less menacing, tall, broad-shouldered and armed in plates of close-knit steel. His helmet and visor covered most of his face, but his mouth and jaw sported several long, paling scars which stretched down his chin and disappeared into his cuirass.

He was headed straight for Arty.
 
Arty's scowl deepened at the sound of the approaching destrier. He turned to leer in the paladin's direction as he approached, but didn't move from his spot. He didn't look obviously inhuman, and fleeing at this point would only draw suspicion. He tapped in a quick text to Ghast. 'Canhead here. Play it safe.'

Beyond that, he avoided reacting obviously, continuing to simply glare in the paladin's direction.
 
The destrier parked in the middle of the street, not far from Arty. The engine cut, but the lights stayed on as the paladin dismounted and walked over to the dead and almost-dead boys, armor clinking with each step.

He stopped before them, towering. His visor moved between the two, the blood on the ground, the slow rise-and-fall of the wounded kid's chest.

"What happened to him?"

There wasn't an ounce of warmth or sympathy in his voice.
 
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