[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/180428/81179b260873ea5d7d2bb904afb80c77.png[/img][/center][hr] [i][color=#ffff66]Two, six o'clock.[/color][/i] A guard caught in battle whipped around and slashed at a cultist behind him. There was no reasonable way he could have seen the foe approaching behind him, nor strike back with such speed. [i][color=#ffff66]One, three o'clock.[/color][/i] Another guard took advantage of a scuffle to dig his polearm into a cultist's ribs. The man's movements were uncanny, a rabid sprint towards his sudden target that had more in common with a dancing puppet than a human's organic movements. As Octavio's experiences in battle grew against his will, he found himself refining what it meant to fight effectively. He assumed a more administrative role now, developing a steadier hand when it came to directing his illusions. No longer simple disposable peons, he was beginning to see the use in preserving them, using them to surveil each other and take advantage of every blind spot and moment of weakness he could carve out with their eyes. [i][color=#ffff66]Two, 4 o'clock, form flank.[/color][/i] From the thick of battle a familiar in the shape of a lynx hopped from body to body, mentally sending commands to the man who was technically, begrudgingly, his owner. No sooner than he finished the thought a guard joined a loose group of people who were uncertain about whether or not to engage. His appearance and charge bolstered them into doing the same, flanking the opponent before anyone changed their mind. Octavio himself took to the shadows. It was an overwhelming amount of information and stimuli, a deluge of sight and sensation. More than once he found himself nearly curling into a ball so he could focus entirely on the illusions. It was a strange, new way of battling. Gone was the scrappy rogue that threw everything at an opponent until it stopped moving. In his place was a more tired man, one who had more in common with a shepherd or a puppeteer. [color=dde0c7]"Get up!"[/color] shouted one of his guards to a younger man whose entire body shook. He yanked the hammer the man had been wielding and handed him a short sword. [color=dde0c7]"Something like that's too heavy for you to use right. Take this and aim for the wounded."[/color] The young man nodded with a twitch and took off. [i][color=#ffff66]Hmph. Employment of social skills. Excellent work taking notice of that boy.[/color][/i] [i][color=dde0c7]Th...anks.[/color][/i] Octavio's eyes slammed shut. Too much happening, too much being taken in. For every piece on the board that had been meddled with two more required his influence. [hr] The board had shifted. The pieces that hadn't been trampled followed suit at the mercy of it. Rot and death followed and entrapped them within its squares, depraved simulacra of plant and flesh enveloping land and choking air. It was as if a nightmare had torn through the veil of the mind and began to devour the world around it. There was no storybook or grimoire in existence that neared this... [i]being's[/i] description. It was the board and it was the piece, the king and every pawn held together through bone, bark, and wet ligament. And then the tendrils struck. [i][color=#ffff66]One, three o'clock! Two, four and seven o'clock! One, three! Three, nine![/color][/i] With a slam towards the ground Octavio commanded his illusions to dodge their newest threat, only just avoiding collision with one aimed towards him. His new strategies were still tentative, still prone to failings, and now Lynx was struggling to keep up verbally. In the past they'd taken advantage of his illusions and the blank space they occupied to the sightless. It'd be harder to employ that strategy here, he knew. Space was in short supply and tendrils could break through at any given moment. He needed something more aggressive. He hacked at the tendril with a calm precision that surprised him. He needed to employ a level of self-preservation he'd never felt before. [color=dde0c7]"I've got the numbers to try a couple of tricks with. Perhaps with an even spread we can see where this rancid thing's vulnerabilities lie."[/color] Chres had his own suggestions, more on the defensive side. [color=dde0c7]"I'll distract if distracting's what we need, though it'd be best to pair it with some solid firepower. Pairing up an attacker with an illusion to counter any surprise tendrils."[/color] Then Týfurkh mentioned a bomb. [color=dde0c7]"Good luck."[/color] A bead of sweat trailed down his forehead. He couldn't tell whether it was because the word triggered a sudden rush of adrenaline within him, or whether it had been caused by their fleshy surroundings. He positioned himself and his illusions far away from the man, forming a quick formation in which they could cover each other's backs. It looked humorous from any perspective other than a bird's eye view, but he wasn't thinking as an individual body anymore. [color=ff9900]"Cover!"[/color] The game board. Once again, it shifted.