[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]

[@VitaVitaAR]

A crimson glow before him, and the smell of burning copper, burning blood, filling the air. The magus lifted her arms, one projecting and arcane shield that stopped the path of his heavy knife through the air, whilst the other—

He was between strides. A stroke of luck for her, perhaps? Or was it keen timing? Either way, he could only twist his torso to try and wrench himself to the side, if enough time even existed. The next instant would determine it all— so long as he could close range and get ahold of her, he could certainly take her out of the fight. But just the same, if she loosed a bolt straight into his chest...

Storms set blazes. Melted metal. The fist of the gods would strike his chest. He, who could not even supply himself a cuirass, would take it against mere cloth. Merely escaping from the blast itself with his life would be nothing short of miraculous. It came down, then, to this instant. Would his speed surpass hers? Would his strategy? Would his raw luck?

The point of crimson light, casting the woman's face in deathly, pulsing reds— concentrated itself at the tip of her finger.

He did not dive wildly. It would arrest his momentum. He'd give her time to reposition. Regain her footing.

Unallowable. Without his base, however, he could barely shift at all, let alone with nuance. A sitting duck. No. Dead meat, waiting to be fried. On a set path, at a set velocity, with no way to escape it. There wasn't even a breath left to be taken. If he could just get one foot on the ground before that cannon of the skies was launched..!

The thud of boot upon stone, chased by the ripping of the world, echoing through the cavernous mausoleum like a roar from heaven itself.

A scarlet burst, bright enough to blind all who beheld it and turning the air itself the color of blood and rubies.

Heat that pulled wind from lungs, singed hairs, cooked alive everything within its path.

...

And he drove forward, ears ringing and right eye forced shut, yet still unerringly affixed upon his quarry. The space between them was closed in an instant. He knew not the method by which she had missed. Maybe his knife had distracted her from that crucial moment she needed to judge the distance. Maybe he had managed to pull himself free from the line of death she'd traced. Maybe Lady Reon smiled upon him for his faith. He had no way of knowing.

He only knew that this was an opening he'd never get again. Shifting to a grip upon the blade rather than hilt, sword became warhammer as the knight swung.

His strike, overhead and aimed for the woman's collarbone, met a wall of force before it could render the shoulder girdle a dozen shards. That shield again. He couldn't hook her off her feet, yank her head forward, or empty her lungs with his crossguard and pommel until he found a way around that. He could not yet capture his hastily scampering foe, trying to regain some space between them.

In that case, let her scramble. He just needed to steer her into a wall. Nowhere to run.

Do not let up on this pressure.

Do not abate the attack.

[color=goldenrod][i]Keep moving forward![/i][/color]