[color=f26522]Magnumus Agoston, Centurion.[/color]

Level 3 - (23/30) EXP 
Location: Ancestral Farmland, Land of Adventure
Word Count: 359

[i]Stress: 55/100[/i]

[hr]

	[color=f26522]"Careful, Franklin!"[/color] Agoston called out surprisingly cheerily after feeling the helmet clink from his ally's flaming machete. Fortunately he had been able to fit it back on his head after he shrank down a little bit. In the meantime, this Thing would not go down, and he only just managed to push himself out of the way of a horrific attack. The sheer terror this thing emmitted was unbelievable. Agoston had not felt fear like this since he was boy. In a way this was reassuring, as the logical part of his mind told him it was some kind of magical fear. Not true, cowardly fear, but one instilled upon him. Nothing more than the animalistic part of his brain being poked and prodded at by some kind of alien force.

	But this did little to calm his heart, and nor did it stop the idea of fleeing from pushing itself into his mind. Agoston once again attempted to steel himself, gritting his teeth and tightening the grip on his gladius.

	[color=f26522]"Keep up the pressure!"[/color] The Centurion commanded. He loudly slammed his gauntlet and blade together twice, creating a resounding clang that rose above the noise of battle. His allies beside him, Agoston surged forward. He went low, almost beneath The Thing from Stars. Since it seemed anatomy did not matter to this abomination, the Centurion decided he would simply attempt to seperate as much blood from the monster as possible. As much flesh as he could reap! He stabbed his gladius into the side of the beast and then slammed it with his left hand, trying to create a cavernous ravine of gore through the things body. Currently, the Centurion was too distracted to worry about crystals. He trusted his comrades to do something. Right now, the Thing from the Stars filled his vision and his ears, and  was all he could focus on. Perhaps if he disengaged from the thing he could take a moment to compose himself, but Agoston was working himself into a frenzy, slashing, stabbing, and gutting the creature as much as he could manage. And he could manage quite a lot.