>>6185771It's always so sad when we are about to reach the end of a thread...The <span class="mu-i">thing</span> that comes out of the shaft to the Temple’s core defies your ability to describe it. It’s a mass of molten copper, pieces of marble, shards of stone and other such materials, glinting under the setting sun, spreading its thousand hooks towards you.
You jump and slip past the first few swings it aims at you, even if they graze against your skin, cutting small flicks of pain. Without your armour, you can be sure these are going to hurt.
But you do not really care. Your hand is led by higher powers than a crumbling Magus, hiding at the bottom of a lost Temple, gnawing upon his own condemnation.
You will soon. see him shackled in the sarcophagus and carried away, the Temple cleaned… you will soon come back to your home.
This is all you see, and even as the mass swings metal and marble against you, you parry each strike with Carnaval’s feather, producing sharp metallic <span class="mu-i">clangs</span> each time you hit them with your weapon.
It’s harder to hold onto than your longsword, but the feather burns with a craving for battle and violence that makes your head abuzz with righteous determination.
Behind your eyes flash images of a tall and statuesque woman, her glass wings tinkling with vengeance, glowing crimson as she sweeps over the battlefield, piercing through the defences, sending men flying off in the air, their arquebuses and their cannons, their pikes and their machinery utterly useless before her spear of light and her fury.
“Begone!” You shout from the depths of your chest, feeling it rumble. You throw yourself up in the air, using the feather as the mother of all knives, and you hit the central sphere in the amalgamation, where eyes and mouths keep shifting on the copper surface, like a molten skull always reforming.
The feather hits the soft metal, bites through the marble, and then, once again, it breaks through some sort of invisible barrier, like you did with the summoned warrior. Whatever this Asterite’s power comes from, it seems to greatly vulnerable to incredible amounts of force applied at the end of sharp objects.
Perhaps there was some method to Carnaval’s madness.
[cont.]
