Morgan furrowed her eyebrows, not exactly satisfied with Hubert’s answer. Morgan believed the man only because he cut himself off, as if he caught himself before saying something probably super secret and fun.
Morgan turned to look at the Professor as he flew near and when Hubert attempted to warn her she turned around, just a second too late. The other Professor’s Sword flew its way towards her, burying itself in her right shoulder.
((Edelgard: 15 but warded so it’s a “Barely Hit.))
Morgan yelped in surprise, feeling the jagged bone like blade rip into her. She didn’t know how to react after though. On one hand, a immense pain dully spread through her arm. On the other, she was angry. She was absolutely infuriated that a creature and thing so vile, insolent, and insignificant had actually harmed her. A pathetic little worm like this had the gal to attack?
Electricity coursed through her left hand as she matched the swords trajectory, and shot a massive beam up towards Edelgard’s wrist, hoping to make her drop the weapon.
((9 to hit with Thoron. Edelgard healed. 2.5 damage so new total 11.5 Health))
The creature screeched in surprise, the wrist going limp for a second before the broken and cracked exterior started healing. But it dropped the handle of the sword. The sword then snaked back into itself, landing not too far in front of Morgan and shlorping out of her shoulder.
Morgan, while not seriously injured, fell to her knees from the blade shlopring out of her. Morgan didn’t respond beyond that, still somewhat in shock from the attack. She held her hand against the wound, her jaw clenched tight. She had been hurt worse, had she? She had? She had. This was nothing. Was it nothing? It was something? It had to be? What was this disgusting blade?
For a moment, she knelt there shocked, thinking. Why was her body reacting so violently to such a wound?
The tide is turning, he can feel it. They are so few, a handful of students thrust into a battle in their home that’s not home, backed up by a slightly larger handful of knights who can barely offer support except for keeping the rest of the Imperial forces off them. It should be impossible, but it isn’t, they’re winning.
But he thought too soon. Leo’s flames follow his own spells, striking hard and sure. But the creature turns, hurling yet another of those awful, nausea-inducing sphere’s at him, and from afar, Sylvain watches with a yell in his throat as the professor falls to the ground, his pained cry all that tells him he’s still alive.
It turns to Morgan soon after, but the beast stands between him and the young strategist, can’t tell if the lash of the blade it sends in her direction hits her or not, nor how badly. Jaw clenched, a growl equal parts anger and frustration rises from his chest. Mad as it looks, the beast must not have completely lost its mind. It knows what he’s trying to do, has to know. A regular monster would watch his every move with all the noise he makes, not to mention the spells he sets loose.
Sylvain pulls on the reins, urges Chastity into a canter to find a new position, hit it from a weakened point and get its gaze back on him. But movement in the distance catches his eye, and as they manuever around, he can pick out a blue-ish shape, topped with gold that he eventually recognises as Constance. She’s alright! But her movements are slow, unsurprising with the injury she sustained, stubbornly marching back to the battlefield.
Change of plan. With a sharp cry and tap of his heel, Chastity swerves around and changes course, right as the Husk turns towards him.
Hegemon Husk attacks. Roll: 3. Miss.
Without its weapon in its hand, the beast lunges at him, clawed hands cleaving the air as they descend towards him. But Sylvain flattens himself over Chastity’s neck, wicked talons passing over him easily. But he keeps going, doesn’t stop as the distance between him and Constance closes under Chastity’s powerful strides.
He doesn’t slow her down even as he reaches the other student, tipping over in the saddle with an arm extended. As soon as he’s in range, he wraps that arm around her waist, hoisting her up to sit in front of him, despite her protests.
“I’ve got you. Trust me, okay?” He tries for reassuring, but with his own strength waning, it falls a little wide of the mark. With his passenger secure, he calls upon another wind spell, wisps of green between his fingertips. If he can’t keep the husk’s attention on him, he can keep an injured comrade safe.
The spell takes shape in his palm, longer than he’d like, and he’s not sure if that’s due to exhaustion or Constance’s squirming. Finally, he takes aim, “Back me up, Constance.” He says, and lets the spell fly.
Sylvain casts wind! Roll: 13 (9+4) Hit! 1.5 Damage. Hegemon Husk: HP 10
The blast collides with the monster’s face once again, and Sylvain lets out a whoop, fist punching the air. They can do this. They’re winning.
And then, all hell breaks loose.
The beak, bone or whatever it might be, shatters, and the face under it is unmistakably Edelgard. He’d half entertained the idea, with what he’d learned of his brother’s fate in this reality, the princess’s disappearance, Hubert’s injury... But seeing it, in all of its undeniable horror, is something else entirely.
Dark magic gathers again, and he has half a second to recognise what’s happening. He won’t let it go the same way.
But Chastity is built for speed in combat, not for carrying the weight of more than one, and she’s tiring. He could urge her into a gallop, get them out of there, but they’ll never make it.
Sylvain looks over his shoulder to Constance, sees her once again sprawled on the ground, barely conscious. Sees her now, still battered and combat-worn. He looks back at the hu- at Edelgard, and knows what needs to be done.
He leans down, a hand on Chastity’s cheek, face close to her ear, “get her out of here, girl,” he tells her. The whinny she lets out is a mournful one, stomping her foot once in protest as he slides out of the saddle and onto the ground, wrapping the reins around Constance’s wrist. Chastity tosses her head, neighing loudly as he steps back, then gives a sharp slap to the horse’s rear, “go! Get out of here!”
Hegemon Husk attacks with an AoE: 20. Critical.
Ever faithful, despite that he’s sure she’ll be at his side even until the bitter end, she follows the command, turning to gallop away as the dark energy gathered finally bursts free. Sylvain stands, a deep breath held within his chest as he braces, ducks his head down and covers it with his arms as the wave collides with him.
He can’t make a sound, there’s no cry of agony or even a grunt as he’s sent sailing backward, litter more than a gasp as all the air is knocked from his lungs. He collides heavily with a tree, hearing a sickening crack as something breaks. He lifts his head, vision blurry, and something drips into his eyes to further obscure it. Blood, he thinks? It’s hard to tell when everything gets so... dark.
“I won’t... Not here...” Sylvain whispers, the hand at his side curling into a shaking fist. “P...Promised, I-”
The world spins, and goes dark as he collapses.
Sylvain’s condition: Critical.
