[ The command comes soft, breathy, almost a whisper. A far cry from the furious snarls that he'd hurled Abel's way the last time they'd clashed. But perhaps loud words aren't necessary when his surroundings speak for him.
The next step he takes sends a shiver through the ground, and when Gen lunges forth to stomp his boot down, the floor before him fractures. Abel's put enough of a distance between them that Gen's area of influence doesn't extend to him, but that doesn't protect him from the flying shrapnel and crystal shards of when Gen tears up the ground around his feet. And the quick start he got certainly won't be enough to shield him when Gen gives a wide swipe of his hand -- sending a fist-sized chunk of the ground tearing from the floor by his feet, hurtling towards Abel's head.
Maybe Abel can consider it a blessing amidst these wretched circumstances that Gen had already expended himself somewhat while landing the initial blow on Dokja, and as a fledgling magic-user, his control is poor -- his aim is unsteady and there's no way he can sustain this level of ferocity for long. Even now, as he continues to trudge forward in slow but steady pursuit of Abel, ironically forced to limp across the uneven terrain that he wrought himself, it's clear he's starting to flag. Sweat drips from the point of his chin, his breaths coming whistling and ragged, and he's suddenly far more aware of the chill lingering at his fingertips as blood continues to pulse slowly from that stab wound.
... whatever. It's fine. Just a little more. He'll push himself just a little more, and end this whole affair. Add two more graves to the landscape of his nightmares. He has to, right? ]
no subject
[ The command comes soft, breathy, almost a whisper. A far cry from the furious snarls that he'd hurled Abel's way the last time they'd clashed. But perhaps loud words aren't necessary when his surroundings speak for him.
The next step he takes sends a shiver through the ground, and when Gen lunges forth to stomp his boot down, the floor before him fractures. Abel's put enough of a distance between them that Gen's area of influence doesn't extend to him, but that doesn't protect him from the flying shrapnel and crystal shards of when Gen tears up the ground around his feet. And the quick start he got certainly won't be enough to shield him when Gen gives a wide swipe of his hand -- sending a fist-sized chunk of the ground tearing from the floor by his feet, hurtling towards Abel's head.
Maybe Abel can consider it a blessing amidst these wretched circumstances that Gen had already expended himself somewhat while landing the initial blow on Dokja, and as a fledgling magic-user, his control is poor -- his aim is unsteady and there's no way he can sustain this level of ferocity for long. Even now, as he continues to trudge forward in slow but steady pursuit of Abel, ironically forced to limp across the uneven terrain that he wrought himself, it's clear he's starting to flag. Sweat drips from the point of his chin, his breaths coming whistling and ragged, and he's suddenly far more aware of the chill lingering at his fingertips as blood continues to pulse slowly from that stab wound.
... whatever. It's fine. Just a little more. He'll push himself just a little more, and end this whole affair. Add two more graves to the landscape of his nightmares. He has to, right? ]