[centre][h3]ZIMA the ZIMMER[/h3] & [h1][sub]Mish-Cheechel the Avenger[/sub][/h1] [img]https://i.imgur.com/LDRtUBd.gif[/img] -v.- [h1][sub]The Dread Wehniek of the Northlands[/sub][/h1] [img]https://i.imgur.com/U4YoqJP.jpeg[/img][/centre] [hr] [indent][sub]Time: Present[/sub][/indent] Mish-Cheechel gripped his spear wordlessly and charged. He did not think, only charged. He did not pay much heed to the voice at the back of his mind that screamed at him to turn tail and get the flying fuck out of there - he only charged. He did not even bother to give off some brave warcry or wail promises or spit curses. Mish-Cheechel the Avenger only charged. Though a choice had stood before him, he had not seen it - he did not charge because he chose, he did not charge because he thought, he only charged. Past the breaking zimmer’s form he charged, spear in hand, teeth set - he charged - silently he charged, with white breath painting the frozen air - he charged, he charged! And with all the force his speed could grant him, with all the might of his giant bjork form, he plunged the spear into the deer-horror’s black face - threw all himself into that great leap, and all his fury and all his madness - he only charged, like madness charged. Mad, perhaps, was that Mish-Cheechel - but not as mad, nowhere as mad, as the clan of the gods. And as his spear plunged into the dead deer’s face he knew that whatever had made this thing was madder - the gods were mad, the world was mad, everything was mad. And, by all things, it made Mish-Cheechel [i]mad[/i]. It was only right that he be mad! The demon stumbled back, allowing the Zima’s body of ice to fall to its knees, and it threw Mish-Cheechel off as it pulled at the spear planted firmly in its face. The manbjork landed next to the icey zimmer. She looked up at him with a blank face, blue swirling within and leaking from the cracks. “Mish!” Zima’s voice emanated from her new form, tired but full of joy. “You are alive! Good to see. Now… run.” Her icy gaze fell upon the deer demon and they watched as it wrenched the spear free and flung it to the ground. The crazed creature was wounded beyond repair, or at least it looked that way. Most of its body was held together only by the same glowing fire that lit up its one eye. It screamed at them, then lunged upon Mish-Cheechel. Zima flung herself in front of him and the two titans fell to the earth fighting and punching for dominance. The manbjork swept his spear from the ground then leapt forth, ignoring Zima’s order - or rather, he had not heard it at all. Even as he looked at Zima, he saw through her and into the wailing eye of the beast. Rushing forth, he jumped onto Zima’s back, leapt further up - balanced himself with his tail - then found himself atop what passed for her head. Steadying himself as she wrestled with the monster, he took one glance down, held his spear firmly, and fell upon the monster’s antlered head and rammed the spear at the top of its skull. Time froze for the briefest second and the manbjork hung in the air, his spear a whisker’s span from its mark. There came a mighty crack as the beast pushed down upon Zima’s torso, shattering it and pushing them both down. Mish-Cheechel grazed the top of the creature's head and flew over it. Zima grunted, then punched the deer in the face, snapping an antler as it fell off her. Landing with a grunt, Mish-Cheechel pushed off awkwardly with his tail, leapt - stumbled - and turned, then continued his steel-eyed charge. When he was less than a few feet from the creature’s back, he leapt - adding extra push with a slap of his tail against the earth - and so swept up towards the demon’s bared back, spear drawn for the strike. It landed with a splurge of viscera and grimy ink at the base of the neck before the creature buckled and flung him off with a terrible shudder. Even without a lower half, Zima managed to grapple the creature again and stab it repeatedly with an icy spear arm in its side. Her assault was ferocious but uncalculated and soon after her icy form broke down in its entirety. Zima became formless once again and rushed over to Mish-Cheechel as the demon deer lay silent, black ink, rancid guts and other unsavory bits leaking from it like a small stream. “M-Mish.” Zima gasped. “You do not listen well.” The manbjork, breathing heavily and somewhat battered, but elsewise unharmed, kept his eyes on the deer demon. “Is it dead?” He asked, even as he began to stride forward. “Best put it down for good before it gets back up.” “No!” Zima shouted at him, rushing to obscure his vision. “It plays tricks! It does not die! I know this!” She took a raspy breath, despite not needing to breathe. She hovered before of Mish-Cheechel again. “Look at me! We must leave! Now!” There was fear in her voice. The manbjork paused and at last looked into Zima’s ethereal form. After a second of thought he almost turned, but something stopped him, and his eyes of oak - once warm and joyous - stared like ice darts at the creature. “And has running from it done you any good until now, Zima?” He strode forth towards the demon once more. “Think how many others a creature such as this has killed - think how many it will kill after it’s done with us. Leave, Zima? I won’t leave until it lies on the ground for good!” He gripped his spear in two strong hands, took two swift strides, then leapt with a thunderous crack of his tail against the frozen earth and plunged towards the demon again. Zima only shouted, trying to stop him in vain but it was too late. His spear landed true, piercing the creature in the torso. It did not move, however, and it seemed that for once Zima’s fears had been unfounded. Tentatively she approached. “Is-is really dead?” she asked, never taking her eyes off it. Mish-Cheechel only shrugged and continued to thrust the sharpened point of his spear into the deer’s form - now into what passed for its torso, now in its skull, its neck, its stomach. It squelched in and sent sprays of ink and gore over his form. At last, when the putrid stench had grown too much for either of them, he retreated, wiping his feet on the ground to get what passed for its blood and the stomach-churning odour off his feet. Before he could take one step more, however, something - a clawed hand - grabbed his tail. Zima screamed. Something echoed her scream right back, but dark and twisted, and the next thing Mish-Cheechel knew he was flying. Flying straight for a tree. The manbjork rolled and twisted in the air and just about managed to brace himself and protect his head. His great form cracked against the tree and air whooshed out of him. He landed stunned. It was only brief, however, and with one quick gasp his breath had returned. His back had received the worst of the blow, but still he rose - with a grimace - and clutched at his fallen spear. “Let’s kill this fucker, Zima.” He growled, beating his tail against the ground and hopping lithely forward. But Zima did not respond. She kept shifting her form between a bjork kit and a small mink. She was paralyzed with fear as the corpse demon shambled on broken limbs towards her. Sickly green vapor drifted where bone and flesh should have been. It was propelled by this unnatural force, moving as if it no longer knew how to walk. It mimicked her scream, with a deeper, more sinister laugh, and its head twisted in half circles that no living creature could have managed; its wide mouth dripped black ink. Before it reached Zima, however, a great shadow rose up behind the morphing nishi and a great growl was loosed. Bear, eyes wide with fear and fury, leapt over its paralysed friend and, rearing on its hind legs, swept its great claws across the demon deer’s head with strikes that would fell trees and bites that would crush rock. The deer demon was flung into oblivion with each crushing blow. Like a twig being bent in a great wind, it was pummeled into the earth. Zima was finally shaken out of her daze and began to cheer Bear on as the demon was dashed into a growing cloud of dust. Bear was relentless, stomping the demon into black vileness, then obscurity. When the air grew silent, Zima blew it away with a gust of wind, sending the aroma of decay and death away from them. Bear stood over a visceral pile of mush, one that would have made any with a weak stomach gag. The giant began to meander over them, with deep ragged breaths and the sound of exhaustion. But it was a relieved exhaustion, the exhaustion of victory well-earned. The relief of- Bear bellowed, then a dark spike tore through his chest and up towards the tree canopy and the dark heavens above. It sent the saddle flying up in the air, an inky, green tendril, like a foul weed rearing its ugly head. The demon deer, or what was left of the skull- a simple bone plate with an eye socket, peered down upon them as it sloughed flesh and blood. It smacked Bear in the head with its own, and a giant crack rang out to affirm with a finality that [i]now[/i] it was over. Bear was dead. But it was only [i]over[/i] for Bear. The demon was an abomination, and before Bear’s blood was cold- before he had even fallen over with a great thud, the demon dropped its mortal guise and revealed to them its true form. A flaming green mass of darkness that laughed terribly before sinking into their friend like water soaking into mud. Bear stilled, then his bones began to break with sickening cracks and pops as Zima wailed something terrible. Something mournful. Then Mish-Cheechel was beside her, his brown eyes verging on red and his pupils as pinpricks. He watched without a hint of emotion as the bear’s form rose and slowly turned on them. Mish-Cheechel’s teeth scraped against each other, his visage contorted with a terrible fury and his grip on his spear caused the wood to groan and cry out for mercy. His throat was parched and thirsted now for revenge, his red eyes did not [i]seem[/i] red - they [i]were[/i] red, for the fires of vengeance were alight within them. “Zima!” His voice was thunder. “On me!” And he took one step, one step only, and hefted his spear above his head as what once was Bear - but was no more - took a shambling step towards them. Zima however, was unmoving. Like before she was paralyzed now with fear. Her form had settled upon the bjork kit and her small hands gripped either side of her head, eyes wide with terror as she trembled uncontrollably. "B-Bear…? N-No no no no." She said over and over again, shaking her head back and forth, eyes tightly squeezed shut. "Bear'll wake up now. Bear'll wake up. Zima is afraid. Bear is brave." Her breath quickened. "P-Papa please save Bear. Please." She gasped with fright and did not see one of Mish-Cheechel’s flame eyes fall on the image of his son. The fire in them vanished. His brown eyes were as black coals and there was silence. The bear demon reared up before him, liquid ink painting the coldness of dusk and a great sweeping arm tipped with obsidian claws savaging the air. The black eyes of Mish-Cheechel fell on the now-green eyes of the white bear, and even as it swept its arm he too swept. A terrible explosion of heat rippled through the world around him as he moved, and what flames had darted in his eyes before were suddenly on his arm, his spear, his face. His form had become half firestorm, and the demon had no escape from his rage. The spear’s collision with paw brought silence, then an explosion of fire caused the bear to burst alight. It screamed in a voice at once like that of Zima and Bear, and it was terrible to behold. And then a great inferno swept it up and the demon turned and fled, screaming in agony as it went, and long after they could see it no more they could hear it going still until the only sounds were Zima’s sobs. Mish-Cheechel watched the darkness where the demon had been with his extinguished coal eyes, the right side of his form still smoking and burns lining his face and body. He did not turn even when the sound of the creature was long out of earshot, and he seemed set on following it. But something about Zima’s sobbing gave him pause, and he dropped his spear and turned to her at last. He did not say anything, but picked up the saddle in one hand, gritting his teeth as leather rubbed fresh burn. He tried to take the small kit that was Zima in the other but his grasp passed right through her. She sobbed some more, blinking open her eyes to gaze upon Mish-Cheechel, then took in his burns. There was silence and peace, as though she had closed her eyes on one world and opened them on another. Wordlessly, then, she darted to the discarded ice chunks she had worn earlier and formed up into a small shape, roughly the size of a kit. “For…” She sniffled in a small voice, "for your burns." Mish-Cheechel shifted the saddle onto his good shoulder, the burns sighing with relief as the leather was lifted. He picked her up then, her form bringing an icy chill to his hot wounds as he brought her close to his chest, tucking her in the small of his arm like a mother would a newborn. He glanced at her peaceful kit’s face, took in a long breath, then walked silently from that wrestling pit and its odours and memories of death. [list][*][hider=Summary]Mish-Cheechel and Zima fight the Wehniek champion. It is a hard fought battle, and unfortunately one of the squad members is slain and possessed by the demon. Eventually, however, a firestorm of vengeance is unleashed and the Wehniek runs away. Beaten, burned, and battered, the survivors pick themselves up and continue their journey.[/hider] [*][hider=Spirit] Zima started with 10 spirit [indent]+1 for featuring +0 for main character of post +0 for collab (both Zima & Wehniek Zee-controlled) +1 for 10+ paragraphs +1 for 25+ paragraphs =13[/indent] Mish-Cheechel started with 4 spirit [indent]-2 for VENGEANCE FLAME STYLE: SPEAR OF THE VENGEFUL FIRESTORM JUTSU! +1 for featuring +0 for main character of post +1 for collab +1 for 10+ paragraphs +1 for 25+ paragraphs =6 spirit[/indent] Wehniek Champion started with 4 spirit [indent]+1 for featuring +0 for main character of post +1 for collab +1 for 10+ paragraphs +1 for 25+ paragraphs =8 spirit[/indent][/hider][/list]