there is no god in heaven; you need to run for cover

[respired]

CHARACTERS: Koltira + a lot of you I am very sorry
DATE: Oct 10 - onwards
WARNINGS: violence; blood; gore; general depraved thoughts i can't believe y'all are threading this with me
SUMMARY: FRENZY.



[ CLOSED STARTERS BELOW.

QUICK NOTES FOR ALL THREADS (EXCEPT AFTERMATH, WHERE ONLY THE FIRST THING IS TRUE):

KOLTIRA IS: COVERED IN CHAINS AND INJURIES

LARGELY INCOHERENT

DEFINITELY GOING TO FIGHT YOU ]

Comments

KEATS

[respired]

[ He's drawing closer to the town. The buildings are no longer mere pinpricks; the people no longer distant silhouettes. His eyes—keen when not clouded with a fresh volley of pain—make out details, his ears catch indistinct shouts and chatter. He is not quite to the limits yet, but he isn't far. The chains dangling from his wrists and throat clank together as he walks forward; the chains on his ankles drag in the dirt, leaving blood in their wake. He's beaten, but by no means defeated. By no means satisfied.

Koltira hears footsteps. Long strides—someone tall. A heartbeat rushes into his ears, strong as a riptide.

He stops, hyperalert. Pain twists and spikes in his muscles, sharp enough that he can't speak. He can only stare ahead, sword raised, knuckles pale on the hilt. Waiting for whoever it is to come and see what they've found. ]

[headlining]

Koltira?

[He recognizes the elf right away - how could he not? He sticks out so well that even a man half blind would be able to identify him from far off. Keats approaches and stands in place a few feet in front of the other, hands buried in his coat pockets, and stares him down. He doesn't know exactly what he's seeing - what's with the chains? The blood? (And how concerning, especially since he knows just what that blood can do.)]

[He wouldn't consider himself Koltira's friend, not by a long shot, but he hardly wishes him to be in any pain. What he's seeing isw orrisome, for sure, so Keats raises his voice, glasses shining in the low light.]

What's going on with you?

[respired]

[ Conversely, Koltira does not seem to recognize Keats at all. To him, Keats is a shimmering blur; a fount of life and magic. He can see the latter even more clearly now, reduced as he is to a primal state. He wants it all for himself--the magic, the blood, the soft meat. He wants to feel it hot and slippery in his throat, he wants to feel Keats struggle to stop him, to beg and plead. He wants to hear that lilting voice moan.

So he lunges. He's fast--unnaturally so, like a shot of unholy lightning. His sword's drawn, and he's striking at Keats's legs, intending to slice across his ankles, to bring the other man to his knees. ]

[headlining]

[He's not expecting it, which is really just naive of him - he's expecting the other to speak, to reply, and this is nothing like that.]

[He may consider his own powers with some amount of self-conscious bitterness, but it's times like these that they're practically a blessing. He's learned how to react quickly from numerous fights at home, trading blows with monsters and creatures of horn and spikes and lightning, and it's not that different here - as Koltira rushes at him, Keats swipes up his hand, eyes suddenly blazing with purple light, and a purple shield-like aura suddenly appears around him.]

[Koltira's sword meets it with a loud crack, and the shield shatters - Keats stumbles back, grimacing.]

What the hell is wrong with you?! I'm not your enemy, idiot!

[Is all that Keats cries out, before he makes the next step and throws a hand down, something vaguely elephant-like shimmering in the air as ice crystals suddenly jut out of the ground, aiming to capture and freeze Koltira by the legs as he moves.]

[respired]

[ Even if he did have his right mind, Koltira would probably disagree on that point. He doesn't hate Keats with the same intensity as Achilles (yet), but even on good days he finds the man barely tolerable. Largely because holy hell that's a lot of magic, rushing towards him suddenly with all the force and breadth of a crashing ocean wave. How could such a man--who, Koltira realizes very dimly in the back of his addled mind, must surely not even be a man--live in this deep denial? But that's a question to sort out another day.

For the moment, Koltira understands only the sudden ice grabbing at his legs. He laughs--a manic, desperate, rankling noise. Ice! Against him. Honestly. The laughter turns to snarling a second later as he breaks free, shattering the crystals into so many shards. He returns with his own frosty power, the runes on his sword aligning and shimmering cold blue. Rime-coated chains burst from the ground around Keats's feet, seeking to lash his wrists, his ankles, to draw him down to his knees. ]

[headlining]

[Keats doesn't like to curse. He doesn't see the point in it. Why should one sink to that level to just express dissatisfaction or anger in something?]

[But when he sees Koltira breaking through the ice so easily, his chains whipping out of the ground, thrashing and binding his hands and feet without giving him even a chance to respond, only one word comes out of his mouth:]

Shit.

[The chains harshly pull him down and he lets out a yelp as his knees hit the ground. Koltira is out of his mind. He has to be. And the only way out of this is...well, it's to fight. Keats isn't the type to lay back and let someone walk all over him, after all.]

[He bears his teeth, almost looking feral, and clenches his fist - something like a bizarre mixture of a tank and a spider appears momentarily, rumbling loudly as it shoots off several fireballs that cascade down upon Koltira and the patch of land around him.]

[Using that as a distraction, Keats will do his best to try to break his cuffs off with the help of quick spurts of fire - he really needs to hurry. He hardly think whatever he's got up his sleeve can truly stop Koltira. Not when he's like this.]