[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]
[@VitaVitaAR][@PigeonOfAstora][@ERode][@Raineh Daze]

The wind pushed his face back, pulling at the skin. His eyes risked going dry in the surge of motion— but his gaze wouldn't err, nor would he blink. If he did, he would miss the opportunity, and sail into the void. Where the golden disks once blazed with all the fury of Reon's mighty chariot, instead it was pure, dutiful purpose that breathed into them this life.

Beneath the gloves of black leather, stained with the blood and viscera of the once-and-again living, his grip had not shifted, even with the sudden shock of watching the Hero turn aside the strike, and with it, him. Indeed, they felt, if anything, more sure than even the white-knuckled, frenetic hold that accompanied his previous rushes.

He soared. The vertigo was familiar by now. It would no longer affect his judgement— though he had little sense for truly aerial combat, a [i]third[/i] goddamn ride as this ad-hoc simulation of a catapult's payload left him old hand enough at managing. He'd manage. Hell with all of it. He could do it.

[b][i]Finish this.[/i][/b]

His bones shivered with the pulse of intent. His muscles tightened. His mind grew sharp as any blade that had taken the field— even the Hero's own. Beneath it, he felt, comprehended, in spite of an uneducated, simple mind that knew not its possibility. Two words, laced with a legend that spanned a lifetime. With the command, dignity, and trust that made it hard-pressed for any knight that came up within his wake to turn against. With the full life that had once lived, and the soul's unspoken request that it return to beyond. Through them, came simple clarity.

He could see it all clearly. Nothing left to do but grit the teeth, and execute.

[color=goldenrod][i]Watch me.[/i][/color]

Ever the dutiful soldier, Gerard let the arc of his launch carry him to the zenith, past the horde, past the captain, past the Nem hostage—

And brought the morning star crashing down onto the still-writhing, handless necromancer, behind it all the speed, weight, and commitment he could muster.

Erich Cazt himself had put him on the job—

He would see it done.