What would have killed a normal creature didn’t.
Of course not.
Why would it on Scalvoris, let alone on the Immortal’s Tongue? Should he have expected anything less? No.
What would have stopped even a larger, living man did little other than just, for lack of a better word, creatively change the position in which Pash found himself fighting. Not only did his dagger in the moss zombie do little to slow it down, but the cursed creature had unexpected physiological advantages that allowed it to claw and slash at him when no humanoid would have otherwise been able to—he’d tossed it face-down. By Faldrun’s fiery ass, this whole place was cursed. Tio clearly had the right idea. Burning the whole Island and starting over was perhaps the only course of action that would be successful to-trial.
And so the ugly, moss-covered thing raked his back and tore at his clothes and struggled with a strength that rivaled what he had been gifted with by Zanik and the tall Biqaj gurgled and growled appropriately in expected reaction to further pain. The sensation of physical suffering wasn’t new anymore or strange, but what seared its way into his tangle at the same time was unusual in its intensity and suddenness, the ravaging heat of unfiltered anger an uncommon thread within the quilt of his every day existence—
“Havakda!” Fuck off!
—He hadn’t just survived Naer stealing Tunawa from their homes in Magani, watched those same shadow women snuff out the life of Kali’rial’s last surviving family, and promised the entirety of his sorry-assed existence to the dark-haired huntress who he loved to have some twisted, broken island slash up his life into small silvery pieces. Everything had already been shredded into small enough pieces from the moment he’d set foot in Desnind this season and now that he was back in Scalvoris, this damned place wasn’t winning a second time.
Instead of leaping up and away, he shifted over the clawing, struggling creature, moving to bind the two of them closer together, not less, entwining their legs and applying pressure with his hips, releasing his weapon to also get his hands involved in the task of pinning the cursed thing that tore at him as if he was wrestling his bulkier, stronger cousin. Tio shouted fire, a warmth washed over him and out of the corner of his eye he saw that one of their other attackers—no, two—quickly caught flame with the blonde’s explosion. Their screeches of pain told him that at least something worked and as he began to reposition himself, uncaring if he gave it more places to claw at him, uncaring that the burning of whatever Immortals' forsaken disease the moss monster had was most likely faster, more painful, and even more fatal than Burning Stomach as it now entered his stardust-filled bloodstream. Pash simply snarled with the sensation of hurt and the vibrant threads of untamed anger and tensed to make his move—
But there was the glint of metal and bare feet, the seafaring musician unable to crane his head further to see more. His lover didn’t use a blade, so even as he hissed in pain, he came to the conclusion that it was the other Sev’ryn, Qit’ria,
“No! MOVE!”
Pash growled in Xanthean before attempting to throw his entire weight against the moss zombie under him, aware that the strength granted him through Empowerment would wane sooner rather than later, wanting to literally roll them both toward whatever was burning—the grass, the moss-dog, the other moss-zombie, all of them or none of them—and catch whatever part or entirety of his attacker in the flames as he possibly, leaving his dagger with the desperate hope of kicking and shoving himself away before accidentally also rolling his own body into the fire. If he could scramble away at the last minute, he’d do everything in his limited power to do so.
Not that it mattered. It would be just his luck to find himself burned in an attempt to do some actual damage to the moss-covered monster. Maybe cauterizing his wounds would be necessary, after all.
Of course not.
Why would it on Scalvoris, let alone on the Immortal’s Tongue? Should he have expected anything less? No.
What would have stopped even a larger, living man did little other than just, for lack of a better word, creatively change the position in which Pash found himself fighting. Not only did his dagger in the moss zombie do little to slow it down, but the cursed creature had unexpected physiological advantages that allowed it to claw and slash at him when no humanoid would have otherwise been able to—he’d tossed it face-down. By Faldrun’s fiery ass, this whole place was cursed. Tio clearly had the right idea. Burning the whole Island and starting over was perhaps the only course of action that would be successful to-trial.
And so the ugly, moss-covered thing raked his back and tore at his clothes and struggled with a strength that rivaled what he had been gifted with by Zanik and the tall Biqaj gurgled and growled appropriately in expected reaction to further pain. The sensation of physical suffering wasn’t new anymore or strange, but what seared its way into his tangle at the same time was unusual in its intensity and suddenness, the ravaging heat of unfiltered anger an uncommon thread within the quilt of his every day existence—
“Havakda!” Fuck off!
—He hadn’t just survived Naer stealing Tunawa from their homes in Magani, watched those same shadow women snuff out the life of Kali’rial’s last surviving family, and promised the entirety of his sorry-assed existence to the dark-haired huntress who he loved to have some twisted, broken island slash up his life into small silvery pieces. Everything had already been shredded into small enough pieces from the moment he’d set foot in Desnind this season and now that he was back in Scalvoris, this damned place wasn’t winning a second time.
Instead of leaping up and away, he shifted over the clawing, struggling creature, moving to bind the two of them closer together, not less, entwining their legs and applying pressure with his hips, releasing his weapon to also get his hands involved in the task of pinning the cursed thing that tore at him as if he was wrestling his bulkier, stronger cousin. Tio shouted fire, a warmth washed over him and out of the corner of his eye he saw that one of their other attackers—no, two—quickly caught flame with the blonde’s explosion. Their screeches of pain told him that at least something worked and as he began to reposition himself, uncaring if he gave it more places to claw at him, uncaring that the burning of whatever Immortals' forsaken disease the moss monster had was most likely faster, more painful, and even more fatal than Burning Stomach as it now entered his stardust-filled bloodstream. Pash simply snarled with the sensation of hurt and the vibrant threads of untamed anger and tensed to make his move—
But there was the glint of metal and bare feet, the seafaring musician unable to crane his head further to see more. His lover didn’t use a blade, so even as he hissed in pain, he came to the conclusion that it was the other Sev’ryn, Qit’ria,
“No! MOVE!”
Pash growled in Xanthean before attempting to throw his entire weight against the moss zombie under him, aware that the strength granted him through Empowerment would wane sooner rather than later, wanting to literally roll them both toward whatever was burning—the grass, the moss-dog, the other moss-zombie, all of them or none of them—and catch whatever part or entirety of his attacker in the flames as he possibly, leaving his dagger with the desperate hope of kicking and shoving himself away before accidentally also rolling his own body into the fire. If he could scramble away at the last minute, he’d do everything in his limited power to do so.
Not that it mattered. It would be just his luck to find himself burned in an attempt to do some actual damage to the moss-covered monster. Maybe cauterizing his wounds would be necessary, after all.
R.O.U.S.
“Rodents of Unusual Size? I don’t think they exist.”
