Her head throbbed, a sharp, piercing ache behind the eyes. A voice, familiar and imperious, within her skull.
The Master: "GIRL! Do NOT let them take anything! You hear me?!"
The phantom of her mentor strode into her mind's eye, a figure of pure, furious will.
The Master: "What are you waiting for?! Haven't you realized that, in absorbing my essence, you've gained more than just a ghost to haunt you...? Do not let my death be in vain!"
A strange power answered the call, a tingling current that flowed down Mola's arm. Faint, violet sparks, like captive fireflies, began to dance around her fingertips.
Xayn did not move a muscle, his posture a study in unnatural calm. Bazren shot him a sharp, incredulous look from the corner of her eye.
Bazren (muttering): "Xayn... what're you waiting for?!"
The bandit leader, emboldened by their seeming inaction, swaggered forward. He shoved Xayn aside, a dismissive gesture that Xayn absorbed without a hint of resistance.
Bandit: "Seems you chose a poor excuse of a man to guide you through these treacherous roads... but that's alright."
He approached Bazren, his scarred lips peeling back in a leering grin.
Bandit: "I can show you the things a real man can do."
His grimy hand reached for her. He froze.
Bazren's gaze, the otherwordly pink of her wind rose irises, pierced him. It was not a look of fear or anger. It was a look of profound, absolute loathing. An aura of pure, murderous intent rolled off her in palpable waves, so heavy and suffocating that the air grew thick and cold. Beads of sweat, sudden and icy, sprang from the bandit's brow.
Bazren: "Don't. Touch. Me."
Her voice was a low growl, the sound of a predator promising a slow, painful death. The bandit stumbled back, his bravado evaporating like mist in a furnace.
Bandit: "H-hey, what's taking you back there?! Hurry up!"
His shout was answered by a wet, gurgling gasp. The bandit holding Mola went rigid, his eyes wide with disbelief, before collapsing to the ground in a boneless heap. A dark, rapidly spreading pool of blood blossomed beneath him. His jugular had been sliced clean through.
Blood dripped from Mola's hand, now wreathed in a spectral claw of shimmering, violet energy.
Bandit: "O-oy... OY!"
The archer, startled from his post, swung his bow towards Mola and loosed an arrow. The shot was fast, but Xayn was faster. His hand blurred, snatching the projectile from the air with an alien grace.
Bandit: "The fuck...?!"
In that moment of stunned confusion, Mola moved. She didn't run; she flowed forward, a gliding, silent specter of vengeance, her hand still glowing with the violet claw.
Mola: "TOO FUCKING SLOW!"
She darted towards the archer, but the leader, recovering his nerve, drew a rusted longsword and lunged to intercept her.
Bandit: "Your streak ends before it starts, missy...!"
As his blade slashed down, a second spectral claw erupted around Mola's other hand. The violet energy surged, hardening along her forearms, forming ethereal bracers. The sword met them with a deafening clang and a shower of sparks.
Mola: "... No. I think I'm going for seconds."
The magical bracer exploded outwards on impact, a concussive blast of force that sent the bandit stumbling back, his sword arm numb and tingling. Before he could recover, Mola struck. Her two extended fingers, sheathed in the phantom claws, plunged into his eye sockets. The sound was a sickening, wet pop. He screamed, a high, thin wail of pure agony as he fell, clutching his ruined face.
Xayn approached the trembling archer, the captured arrow held delicately between his fingers.
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Xayn: "Call that a *bow*?"
The bandit stared, his face ashen with terror.
Xayn: "THIS..."
Blue flames erupted from his outstretched palm, coalescing into the elegant, menacing form of his own demonic longbow.
Xayn: "... this is a bow."
Shaking Bandit: "W-wizards... they're wizards!"
Xayn planted the cruel spike at the bottom of his bow into the dirt, then calmly snatched the crude wooden weapon from the bandit's nerveless grasp.
Xayn: "You have a fifteen-second head start. Better start running."
Terror overriding all other instincts, the man dropped his quiver and fled, sprinting blindly down the road.
The third bandit, the one with the dagger, stood his ground, his face a mask of defiant rage.
Angry Bandit: "You damn cowards... Where'd you be without your fancy spells, huh?! FIGHT US LIKE REAL MEN!"
Bazren cracked the knuckles of her new hands, the sound sharp and menacing as she slowly advanced on him.
Bazren: "Real *men*...?"
He lunged, his dagger slicing through the air. Bazren's hand shot out, catching his wrist in an iron grip.
Bazren: "Well sorry, but I'm no man. In fact..."
With a casual, brutal twist, she shattered the bones in his forearm. The dagger clattered uselessly to the path.
Angry Bandit: "AGHH...!"
Bazren: "... I'm not even human."
Her other hand clamped onto his skull. His eyes bulged with terror.
Angry Bandit: "BASTARD --"
Crunch.
The sound was sickeningly final. His skull caved in under her grip, his body slumping to the ground.
From across the clearing, Xayn's voice was calm, a death knell on the wind.
Xayn: "Five..."
He nocked the stolen bow with an ethereal arrow, the string groaning in protest.
Xayn: "Four..."
He drew it back, his inhuman strength pushing the simple wood to its absolute limit.
Xayn: "Three..."
Cracks spiderwebbed along the bow's limbs, the wood creaking, threatening to explode.
Xayn: "Two..."
He held the strain for a final, terrible second.
Xayn: "One."
He released.
The bow shattered, the explosive force of its destruction slingshotting the arrow forward with incredible velocity. It flew true, a blue streak that crossed the distance in a heartbeat, piercing the fleeing bandit's skull from back to front. He tumbled to the ground, a still, silent heap.
Xayn tossed the splintered remains of the bow aside. Mola, her violet claws fading, rounded on him, her voice shrill with fury and residual terror.
Mola: "You...! WHAT THE HELL WAS YOUR PLAN?! TO LET THEM ROB ME AND ALL I HAD?!"
Xayn: "Not yet, Mola."
He calmly yanked his own bow from the earth, aiming straight at the sky.
Mola: "YES YET! If I didn't have my Master's magic to save me, I'd-"
Another loosed arrow, this one vanishing into the blue expanse.
Mola: "... ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?!"
He dematerialized his bow, the blue flames winking out of existence, and finally gave her his full attention.
Xayn: "Sure. Now I am."
Mola: "W-why'd you fire that arrow for?!"
Bazren's voice, laced with amusement, drifted from across the clearing.
Bazren: "Because we only got four of 'em!"
Thud.
A heavy sound from deep within the foliage.
Xayn: "... And that makes five."
Mola's eyes widened. She ran to the edge of the road, pushing aside a thick fern to reveal the last bandit, an arrow driven through the top of his skull, pinning him to the forest floor.
Bazren: "A 'real man'... huh!"
She knelt beside the blinded leader, who was still moaning in agony, and grabbed a fistful of his greasy collar.
Bazren: "Guess I should take some lessons from you... Seems no matter how hard you try, you can't even cry now!"
She shoved a bloody finger into one of his empty eye sockets, digging it deeper into his skull.
Bazren: "HAHAHAH!"
The man's wails intensified, a sound of pure, abject torment. Xayn sighed.
Xayn: "... Let's stop Bazren before she gets too carried away."
Mola stared, a knot of revulsion and a strange, thrilling fear tightening in her stomach. She wondered if even she, in her darkest moments, could be capable of such deliberate, joyful cruelty.
Bazren: "SQUEAL, PIGGY! Tell me why you're out ambushing innocents on these roads, and I'll put you out of your misery..."
Bandit: "T-TRAVELLERS! Outsiders... all wantin' to see the tournament! They think these roads are the best way there...!"
Bazren: "All that for a tournament, huh..."
Bandit: "Y-yes! Yes..."
He fumbled inside his tunic, pulling out a folded, sweat-stained pamphlet.
Bandit: "You know it, surely?!"
She snatched it from his trembling hand.
Bazren: "Of course I do, you fool! Why'd you think we're crossing here?!"
The man screamed, a sound of pure terror.
Bandit: "S-SORRY! I'M SORRY, OF COURSE YOU ALREADY KNEW...!"
Xayn laid a hand on her shoulder.
Xayn: "Playtime's over. We've made enough of a mess."
Bazren's murderous gaze met Xayn's, and the fire within them banked, her frenzy receding. She looked around at the blood-soaked dirt, the mangled corpses.
Bazren: "Aw... already?"
Xayn: "Save some of that for the Grand Melee. C'mon, finish up and let's see if these guys have anything of worth."
Bazren sighed, a sound of theatrical disappointment.
Bazren: "Fiiine..."
She rose to her feet. Then, with all her strength, she stomped down on the man's head.
Splat.
His brains sprayed across the road in a grotesque fan. She felt a presence at the edge of her vision and her head snapped around.
Mola.
The sorceress flinched, jumping back in fright.
Bazren's new face split into a wide, unsettlingly friendly grin.
Bazren: "Oh. Didn't notice you were there. Good job, you didn't lose control and kill us all!"
Xayn, wiping imaginary dust from his hands, allowed himself a faint smile.
Xayn: "Indeed. I'd say this was a pretty good test, wasn't it...?"