Distrust’s Wings [vs Tomyris]
There wasn’t much to say watching the professor tear into the wyvern except a quiet breath of gratitude. Obviously it wouldn’t last but the few of them that could take advantage of the attack were lucky. The stinging in his arm dulled as he thought, ignoring it as he thought of what to do.
tomyris’ roll: 1 (-2) = -1 (miss!)
The spell took a different form here than with what he was familiar with, but there was a certain welcome-ness to the warmth of it. In Elibe Erk would never have dreamed of trying it where he was, but here? It was a different story. Magic sprung to life and Nosferatu sprang forth, the light from the spell unexpectedly bright.
Perhaps if he had been more familiar with the spell, it may have done more damage; but as it stood that was not the case. It hit the wyvern, thankfully for his fleeting sense of pride, but didn’t seem to do much. At this point something was better than nothing. That was ignoring that it hardly did enough to encourage the effects of the spell to come to his aid, maybe it was better that way. Surely next time he would know how it worked more and that would be beneficial.
Sidestepping the wyvern was much easier this time, and its blind thrashing was slightly concerning with regards to the others in the vicinity but a bridge is best crossed when arrived to.
Several things happened at once.
The clouds in the sky rolled with a fury not their own, the soft dawn light turning sinister as the Sword of the Creator glowed a bright, fiery red and then orange, yet Byleth’s hands remained unscathed despite the blistering energy it radiated. The sky, for a moment, turned a darker, bloodier red to match her sword above them, and with a war cry she swung.
Roll for Ruptured Heaven: 12, critical! Roll for Crest: 4, success! Damage to Tomyris, 4, Crest healing, .5
The Sword of the Creator usually assisted more than led, snapping like a chain or whip to her command, lending itself to her will. This was different. She slashed at the creature and the sword shot out like a projectile, vertebrae extending beyond what seemed possible to the physical eye as it lashed out in a frenzy, flashes of light snapping all around as parts of the blade dug into Tomyris’s back, limbs, torso, even a couple scrapes in the head as it screamed and tugged. Byleth braced herself against the ground as though it was a tug of war- not just with her and Tomyris, but with the spirit of her weapon itself until the Sword of the Creator had expended all of its energy, returning to her hilt.
The sky settled and as the blade reformed like a stabilized, yielding familiar in her hands fortune smiled upon her again, the Crest she barely understood healing her from within.
The great wyvern reacted with all the fury of a frightened, pained, vicious animal, as it exactly was.
Roll 1d2: 2, physical, Roll to Attack: 20-2= 18, crit!
She’d been hoping it would only writhe in a blind rage, but Tomyris found its mark with deadly precision. Byleth shouted in surprise as its head darted toward her and it bit. Sharpened canines meant for ripping into prey pierced her side, snapping at least one bone as it shook its head with agony and threw her through the air.
She was free from the world and gravity itself, spinning and unable to even see.
Byleth rolled with the collision not by will, sharing it across her entire body, finally resting with her palms against the gritty earth, Sword of the Creator still loosely held in her right hand as she coughed, left hand clutching her side, groaning as she felt blood and heavens knew what else under her fingers, bruises of the landing irrelevant.
She grasped the sword and hauled herself up as though the pommel was the hook of a cane, bloodied and glaring at the monster with wild hair blowing into determined, cold eyes.
Byleth was named for a demon, after all.
