Dare So. Come Here Often?

[Xenovia]

Fry it, cut it, survive. Xen's to-do list was getting longer by the second. Swinging her blade, the Deva scythed through tentacles and lashing limbs, seeking the heart of the monstrosity currently garnering her attention. Without potions, without a means to combat the malignant magic coating it, her odds of getting close enough to land the killing blow were looking quite scant.

But that was okay. She didn't need to be the one to kill it. Unlike Vincent.

The man was brave, she would give him that. Nimble, too. Fast because being slow meant being dead. Mercy was different, bigger, nigh as monstrous as the entity he was fighting. He did not Shift the way she did. Where hers was instantaneous, his took time. Precious seconds, when dancing the knife's edge between life and death.

Whirling her greatsword, Xen struck out at the black mass. Ichor splashed and sprayed. Pustulant skin oozed and shivered, contorting, so as to escape the kiss of her heated blade. A sac of something foul burst as the flame ate its way through the burbling body.

Turning, twisting, Xen threw herself clear as a half-decomposed leg shot out like an arrow to shatter against the wall.

 

[Vincent Brezat]

Where the blade struck, the thicker outer layer sizzled and charred, the cuts releasing the liquified slimy rot. Less lifesblood from a wound, or sap from a tree - it seeped like steam from a crack, fading in volume as it contacted the pustulent air, then thickened with a backdrop of susurrous squelches and bubbles in the slashed crevices of that horrendous primordial soup.

A moment came, a realization that the ooze was no uniform. And while it digested fast - it did so within thickening nodes of different composition, one of which Xenovia had just burst, moving its volume around to pull the consumed parts toward them.
The acid did not only spray outward - it rooted through the creature, branched into its liquid form in a splotchy pattern of dissolution.

It was moving slower, now. The arrows raining from above were staggering it, charred the outer layer that hindered the giant's maneuvers. But it was them, here, that were figuring it out - that could reach its globulous stomachs and rip them open. End it from within.

Mercy's transformation was, indeed, delayed. Delayed at the middling stage, where he was still bipedal, with opposing thumbs, but bulkier, with a layer of thick, coarse fur covering the skin and thick fat layered beneath it to soften the blows.

A glass vial crashed on the floor just before the black mold, and a bright yellow liquid snaked up into the cut left by a glass shard, as if magnetized to the necrotic energies. The monstrous oogloy attained an underlayer of color, murky greenish as the liquid spread all over it in swaths. But it seemed to not react with acid, the globule burst by Xen and other similar ones becoming much more visible.

There wasn't time to talk. The leader mercenary's sword pierced into the other of about three stomachs, ripped out the wound.

And then, though it was the worst time for talk, a voice came from far above.
"Captain! Incoming from street!"
"Mer'cee, fetch!" Vincent barked, seemingly without missing a beat.

He wagered the man's hands, even with cutting edge outlines of weave that made them more like katars, would do much better punching through living flesh.

 

[Xenovia]

The accent was beginning to grate on her nearly as much as the stench. Putrescent, the oggloy at least had an excuse. Black ichor wept from openings in the creature's form as the blades and bolts took their toll. Xenovia had to remind herself that they were winning, even as the entity reacted to hers and Vincent's swordwork.

Of course, all it would take was a glancing blow for the tables to turn. The thing Xen feared most was making a mistake.

A shout came down from above. Trouble attracting trouble, as it had been with the four of them. Guards or goons, it mattered little to Xen, whose attention was locked fully on the oggloy.

'Why won't this thing die?' A cruel crosscut lopped off a tentacle. The devahni followed through with a thrust, backing up hastily as the boil she had targeted burst, spewing filth, and a foul liquid as yet unidentified, though not by the likes of the Dogs. It was one of their toys, after all. Still. Whatever worked.

'Hey, Mercy!' Xen called out to her fellow Deva, half-goading. 'Stop standing around with a thumb up your arse and do some work!' Her greatsword found another bloated sac, ran it through.

 

[Vincent Brezat]

'Fetch' seemed to have sufficed - the stance shifted, and Mercy repositioned to the severely precarious, floorboard and bodypart-littered tamp where the stairs to the basement must have been.
The captain called out, in a rustic Altalusian, between swings, and Omar responded with cover fire for the horned man to leap out and crash into the men backing from the entrance. Screams and the violent rending of flesh spilled out onto the street, though not for long, as the deva dove into cover again.

"Ze nodes! It's ze..." He slashed, turned away from the heavy blow that only grazed the shoulder, tattering the armor with a corrosive trail. "It's 'ow eet moves!"
Was too long to explain that the thing has absorbed and crushed what it could eat inside, metabolized it very quickly to move and attack and get more food, and this could spill out of control very easily, very fast if it kept eating. More nodes, harder to reach, harder to carve...

But it was coming down. On its oily hide, dry craters spouted flaking ash from Omar's explosive bolts, charred embers of Xenovia's carves, slashes and stabs died down and scarred sections that could no longer extend into pedipalds or spikes, nor contract and roll its body toward the assailants. Liquid was escaping from the oggloy, too, less acidic than the concentration of what could pass as it's 'stomach' juices. Its volume diminished, and while it seemed to try and pull its stomachs closer to the center, the two swords found them, one by one, by threads of luminescent yellow that effectively outlined them.

Was not long now before it reached a critical state.
And then, with a last sputter of movement, start liquefying in a steaming mess that threatened to drench the basement level ankle-deep.[/COLOR]

 

[Xenovia]

'Not for long!' Xen shouted back, working the sword's edge back and forth, through blubber and boil and liquidised biomass. Smoke coiled about her wrists and arms as she dragged the greatsword up and out, severing yet another node in the process. Within the oggloy, the wildfire continued to spread, intertwining and igniting the oils trapped inside the creature's body.

A last-ditch attempt ended in failure as Xen drove aside a spike aimed at her chest. Answering with her blade, she matched Vincent blow for blow, until no more were required. Only then did she retreat, chest heaving, towards the stairs.

An inky pool spread about the basement as she mounted the bottom steps. Tortured wood groaned beneath her weight, and as she clambered up to the ground floor, she felt a few bow and give way. Shooting a glance over her shoulder, Xen grimaced, the pervasive stench filling her sinuses like that of a mass grave. Worse, given the nature of the thing they had just fought. Triumphed over.

Had they?

Shouts and screams drew her attention towards the tavern entrance. Unabsorbed bodies littered the space there. Blood stained the lintel, drip-drip-dripping as shadows danced in the street outside. Xen knew a death curtsy when she saw one.

'Goddamn it, Mercy! What the fuck're we doing here?' Down in the basement, the ground had turned to mush and mess. Fires blazed amongst the ruin left behind by the oggloy. Even diminished, it still posed a threat. To them, and any fool dumb enough or unlucky enough to stumble across its path.

Driving the point of her blade through the boards at her feet, Xen closed her eyes, hands tightening about the hilt and pommel of her sword. Slowly, as if manifesting her will upon the world around her, the runes etched into her steel began to grow brighter, warming in unison with the flames below. The faded scars marking her palms throbbed as the Shroud surged around them, growing taut as a bowstring. A heartbeat. Two.

The basement exploded in one huge fireball, shaking the building to its bones. Planting her feet, Xen rode the wave, lips parted slightly to keep the overpressure from bursting her eardrums. It was only then she realised she hadn't warned the Dogs of her intent.

Fuck 'em. They were no friends of hers.