Possessed of a Warrior's Spirit

luinnaur‌:

toextinguishtheflame‌:

Vitomir’s frustration only grew as the little cadre of interlopers proved themselves more and more formidable, and he was baffled by how the longer bookworm he knew had managed to dupe a group that would fight so fiercely for his sake. It just didn’t make sense to him that so many people would be willing to risk their lives for his, and that inability to comprehend it only served to further fuel his rage. With each strike of his blade that was parried away with a shield or sword, the more furiously Vitomir struck back to attempt to overpower it. He picked up his speed and power and found Ciaran infuriatingly ready to match. Before long they  both had become little more than streams of energy, clashing and breaking apart at insane speeds, with Vitomir noting he was beginning to lose ground.

At first things had seemed so serious and dire, but as his incantation from earlier continued to do its work and he gained ground on Vitomir-with no small amount to help from Trevor making his father so damn proud-he found himself grinning from just being able to take part in such a good fight. He took his time and landed several blows past Vitomir’s defense, leaving his mark but not yet eager to go in for the kill and end it all. For just a moment he was able to step outside of himself; away from the horribly twisted thing that had become of he and Vitomir’s relationship, away from the terrible creature that had been manifested in that hatred, away from his kids struggling and scraping by. For just a moment he was power and it felt good to ride that high again for the first time in centuries. He’d known it was a risky move to completely do away with the barrier between soul and body; to multiply his power by several more times than he truly had the capacity to hold anymore, but it didn’t matter. In that moment, he was free, he was alive, but only for a moment.

Then, like a balloon popping when filled with too much air, all at once the fires of his power burned themselves out, and he went from moving at breakneck speeds with perfect control to barely being conscious and his power evaporating as though never there at all. This sudden ceasing to be rippled through what he’d shared with Adrian and Trevor, and it did not go unnoticed as Ciaran felt icy cold and searing pain pierce his abdomen and work its way up his torso. His gaze dropped down and he found himself impaled on Vitomir’s blade, the initial area of impact frozen over with the ice quickly spreading. Then he was being thrust at the ground and slammed into it, leaving a small crater in his wake as he looked up to see Vitomir standing above him with cuts all over him but an all too satisfied grin on his face. 

It was hard to focus, harder just to stay awake, but his thoughts immediately went to worrying about what would happen to his kids if he couldn’t stand to defend them. 

Miranda managed to punt the thing into the side of the crater, giving her enough time to inhale and for floating shields to pop up around her as it came back with a barrage. Thanks, Trev. His work was high quality and her enemy’s aim was… dwindling in its accuracy, even as it launched towards her. 

“Little annoyance,” she hissed, voice cutting through the air like a razor through porcelain. She gathered herself, drinking in power until she could feel her atoms, and opened a hole in her array of shields to let it in, the shadows around her growing and meet it head on. She caught it like a web, surrounded it completely, feeling it batter against her insides… and crushed it, ripping with claws and teeth until there was nothing left but fullness in what should have been her stomach.

And… lacking. But that wasn’t here; it was on the surface world. Something was very wrong. Where there should have been the bright blue light of her teacher stood a dwindling glow, flickering as it shrank.  

She ripped herself out of her shadow, heavy black mist trailing after her. No… Her feet launched her forward, trailing black and gold and orange ichor from her mouth and hands, midnight blue and black veins and shadows creeping over her skin, but then she shot upwards instinctively. Something was falling, and it needed to not hit the ground. Arms outstretched, swooping down to lessen the force, the weight sending her back the ground, landing in a cloud of dark fog that shot up and billowed outward.

Trevor’s teeth were grit so hard he couldn’t feel the pain in his jaw anymore. He hadn’t blinked in what felt like full minutes, but in the end he just couldn’t keep up with the two duelists. Even with the extra magic in him, even with everything he pulled in from the air around him, his eyes were only human and they were moving like gods.

But his eyes were wide open to see the killblow and he screamed. A word vaguely like “no” but with a few extra vowels, extended into something shrieking, disbelieving. Leela gave a protesting yowl of her own as she was ripped disjointedly backward into the warlock’s arm as Trevor scrambled up, fell to his knees, crawled a few feet, and staggered back to his feet, running straight for his impaled father and the man standing over him. Not knowing what he was going to do when he got there, but feeling like every line of ink on him had caught on fire and he just didn’t care.

Adrian felt the power leave him like a solid gutpunch in a barfight, and almost immediately began to plummet back to earth. It was strangely peaceful, freefalling. In the rush of survival instincts and panic fear, his higher-brained functions had no time to register. He couldn’t lock anything into his memory, couldn’t draw conclusions from the sudden withdrawing that felt like the end of his da’s hugs for some reason. He was just falling. Chaotic and tumbling. Screaming. 

By lunch he’d realized it was Ciarán. An hour later, after much varying intensity, the feeling had escalated from discomfort to a rush of panicked adrenaline—the kind that only came from life or death situations. The kind that big brothers felt when their little brothers were doing something incredibly stupid.

He’d bolted from his fight club without a word, barely slowing long enough to focus and create a portal to the nearest vicinity of this feeling. He’d never been good at aiming with his emotions—or aiming in general. But at least Ciarán had stopped moving now. And started being a dumbass.

Áedán tumbled out of his portal ten feet off the ground, swearing as he wobbled his landing, trying to orient himself on the globe and locate his brother. There was going to be extra hell to pay after the initial scolding for making him travel this way. Now, at least, he was close enough to shift into a golden eagle—massive, deadly, and most importantly: fast.

He’d been so close, he’d think later, numbly.

He could see them. The crater, the frozen shell over the aching desert. The remnants of a battle. Miranda. A few other bright spots of light. His idiot brother. And that dark child who was even more of an idiot, somehow. In the midst of gathering himself to land, he felt it. Ciarán’s light flicker almost to nothing. Like a candle in a harsh wind, sputtering and then barely embers.

Foregoing a normal safe landing, he shifted back to human form in midair and dove for the earth. A lightning bolt pulled toward him from the overcast skies, like it was drawn to his anxiety, and he absorbed the power to launch himself at the ground like he’d been launched from a cannon, landing hard enough in a half-crouch that he created his own, brand new crater, shattering through the several feet of ice, turning it to powder and tinkling crystal that hovered briefly in the air as if confused, before rocketing out away from the epicenter.

He locked eyes on the sword protruding from his brother’s gut and the hand holding it, gaze tracking up to the pasty face staring back at him. He’d never done subtle very well. Entrances least of all. He hadn’t expected to sneak up on this guy. He didn’t want to.

Much like the kinds he still made as an adult, with far greater proficiency, he made one that gave a clear view into the other side. Aedan, in his curiosity and brashness, decided it was his brother who should take the first foray into the uncharted territory with some very enthusiastic encouragement. Cairan felt his brother’s hands on his back, and then he was tumbling into the portal into lands unknown.

It seemed like everything had stopped growing. He looked around cautiously and could find no signs of life; wild, civilized, or other. After a few minutes of exploration he turned to the portal and gestured for Aedan to join him. After exploring the expanse, and being certain that nothing else was there, the two brothers claimed it for their own. If no one else was going to use it, they would. It would be their little secret. no one would know, not even their younger brother. No, this was just for the two of them. From that point forward, whenever they needed a chance to talk privately, to get away, that was their go to spot. Ciarán more often than not in later years would retreat to the mansion he built on teh site of their childhood home, but every now and again he’d get a call from Aedan, or Aedan himself in teh flesh, and they would meet and visit their spot and have a chat.

Ciarán took to calling the castle An Tearmann. There was evidence that the place had once been inhabited by many powerful beings at some point in the past , but they had since seemed to have moved on. Perhaps they found another place, perhaps they’d made one. Either way,the castle was theirs.

They were grown now and though Ciarán was still better with portals, Áedán saw no issue with stepping through first. As familiar as entering a home. He was about to complain that Ciarán had forgotten the most important part until the amber liquid appeared. The elder warlock's eyes lit up. It had been a long time. Both for visiting this place and tasting The Scotch. He took it gladly, draining a few long gulps with a satisfied exhale afterward.

“When the earth quakes, you go where ground is solid,” he stated with a decisive nod.

Even though his world had not been the one tipped on its axis, Áedán still felt the comfort of this place like a tangible thing. Rather than approach the issue head-on, he scanned the room and grinned a little, pacing a short distance.

He could practically smell the magic leaking off of her. In his experience humans her age couldn’t build up that much in the way of stores. But that didn’t mean much in the ring, other than maybe increased strength and stamina. Both of which were only half the battle. And he was confident Liv had the training and skill to make up the difference. Not to mention, Miranda’s reluctance would be a serious blow against her chances. Of course, Liv was already one bout in, and though it might’ve been nothing but a warm-up, it’d still siphoned off energy. Not to mention, Liv hadn’t met this girl let alone seen how she moved. What a perfect teaching moment.

Áedán covered a sudden grin with his hand, turning to look back at the ring with a long, exaggerated hum of thought, stroking at the scruff along his jaw in contemplation. Inside the impromptu cage, his protege had already finished her brief celebration, focusing past cheering fellow students to search for her teacher. Soon they’d all be looking to him to set up the regular bracket. 

“Alright, little brother,” he said at last, turning to face Ciarán again. “I’ll bet you dinner. My apprentice against yours. Loser buys for everyone.”

Obviously they were all going out after this to get to know one another better. You didn’t just drop by the dojo and then skip off again after shedding a little blood on the mats. Especially if you were Ciarán’s prize pupil. Grin unhidden now, Áedán moved closer to Miranda, slightly blocking Ciarán out of the conversation. Completely on purpose.

“Up to you. But if you step into that ring, it’s pure physical prowess. Any magic you use, it stays inside, understand?” He tapped her sternum twice to clarify his point. The lightest touch and it’d still resonate through her bones. “That means use it to stay on your feet as long as you like, drive your fists harder and faster, whatever you need to do. But any attack I deem weaponized, match forfeited. You set fire to any part of my dojo and you’re buying dinner.”

He glanced between his two guests again, the seriousness that’d grown in his moment of firmness devolving back into a boyish competitive smirk as the idea really settled into his mind. Then back to Miranda with a jerk of his head:

“You think you can handle that, follow me.”

“Well, as impressions go, it's better than dragging mats back to storage and mopping up bodily fluids,” he answered his little brother with a wry smile.

Which, typically, was how most evenings ended up when they closed at normal hours. A crowd jostling for a better view and the students expending a little energy was more exciting. He'd always said expressions of violence were good for the soul. Repression only led to ulcers and serial killers. Sometimes both. The elder immortal went from proud to bursting when Miranda noticed Liv. Hard not to, but still.

He crossed his arms and turned to stand on the other side of his brother's student, facing the ring once more.

I started going to the dojo when I was in sixth grade. It was a very masculine environment; there weren’t a lot of other girls there but the male senseis who ran the place were great guys and they genuinely loved having female students because we were such a rarity.

Now back in sixth grade I was tinier even than what I am now, and now I’m only 5’2. Then I was probably even under 5’0. I mean I was a squirt of a kid. But I loved to fight; I loved to be in the ring, I loved the adrenaline rush and I loved having punches hurled at me. It was fun for me. Our dojo did full-contact sparring, which was pretty brutal. These were the only rules:

you must wear a mouth guard and gloves

no hits below the belt

That’s pretty much it.

Anyway every Thursday was Fight Night, where all we did was spar each other. And on my First Night Sensei Diven—who has since passed, bless his soul—paired me up with this really cocky and assholish brown belt to show me the ropes a little. This brown belt kid was bigger than me by a lot; he must have been at least six feet and twice my weight. But man was I excited to get into the ring! I had a fight boiling in my blood.

Now, Sensei Diven was not a stupid man and he hated high-ranking kids that showed a bad attitude. This kid had a bad attitude. So he must have seen the evil gleam in my eye from a mile away and decided it was time for a little improvisation.

Anyway, Sensei yelled, “Start!” and I leapt into fight stance and the other kid didn’t even put his hands up. He was laughing at me, sneering, the whole nine yards. “I’ll give you a free one.” he joked, and he slapped his side. “You barely weigh 100 pounds and you’re a girl. So go ahead, little girl. Hit me.”

And I hit him. I cocked my leg up as high as it would go and roundhouse kicked him right in the ribs with all of my might and all of the contempt I felt for his stupid cocky face which was covered in ugly-ass freckles and his nasty-ass braces. And I heard a crack. Like a real snap! sound. And the kid has a look of surprise on his face like it was nobody’s business, and then he goes right to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Now, Sensei Diven leisurely strolls over from the group of black belts who are laughing their asses off at me, the tiny little white belt, sending my Goliath to the floor. I mean they’re laughing so hard they look like they’re about to pee themselves. They think it’s a game. And in his great booming voice he hollers:

“Brown Belt! Why are you on the floor? Do you not see this white belt has been assigned to fight you?”

And meanwhile he is just crying. I broke one of his ribs.

"First: We're going to get a drink. Then you're going to open a portal and we're going to spend the whole day in that world you tripped into when we were children."

Of course, he hadn't exactly tripped so much as Áedán had pushed him, which was why he said it with a half-grin. It faded back to a neutral sort of smile as they walked on.

He hadn’t had to take care of his little brother in a very long time.

Drawing back enough to look him in the eyes, study the sad, sad blue for a moment, Áedán clapped Ciarán’s shoulder gently, and drew back further and said a soft: “Come on.” He turned to yell for Liv to find the tiny woman already standing a dozen respectful feet away, waiting. “Watch things for me?”

"It came back."

He knew that no further explanation would be needed, at least not immediately. Áedán had been the first person Ciarán went to seen the last time Abaddon had made a muck of things. Even so, there was more that needed to be said. Another oddity for him  was the fact that, this time,  he had news that would actually impact his brother personally.

"…Sean is dead."

In one long inhale, Áedán’s entire stance changed, widening, tensing. Ready to fight. Ready for anything. Everything. And just as quickly, it all deflated. Sean? The magical-born brother? The one with the big manic grin and talented fingers? The one who’d laughed so hard he’d tipped straight off his chair and landed with his guitar cradled to defend it from impact like it was his child?

Áedán flinched into a frown, almost as if he’d been smacked without understanding why. He hadn’t gotten a chance to love the boy. Had hardly known him. Somehow having only that slim glimpse made the pain of absence all the more intense. But this was one of Ciarán’s children. Taken from him by a beast.

“Ó, deartháir, tá mé mar sin leithscéal.”

He pulled his little brother in by one arm, the other coming around an instant after. Embracing him there for a moment, he spoke his next priority over Ciarán’s shoulder.