The split-second imposition and reversal of light and dark upon Famfrit's field of view proved to be, for all he and Chisato had basically drawn it up on the fly, about as effective an opening salvo as they could have realistically hoped for given how these fights always seemed to go— Izayoi and Galahad's synchronized strikes to the golem's base and head connecting uninterrupted and undefended in those split seconds of total visual scramble. The water spirit stumbled and teetered away, only barely catching itself and forced to abandon the aether it had been swirling into a massive spell. They had the momentum. All it needed was just a little more help, and it'd topple completely...
Below, Rudolf reached for the pouch at his hip, intent on leveraging the materia within so that their foe would not only fall— but never rise again, either. Keeping it pinned for the crucial seconds they needed to deliver a coup de grace, bypassing what could otherwise be an energy-sucking, time-wasting affair with Valheim
on the way—
"GRAVIGA!"
A wrenching feeling in his gut, markedly different from fear, closer to vertigo than anything else. His footing slipped
inward rather than out, like you would expect from the slick surface of the grotto's stone floor, as if pulled by an unseen force. By now, with all the times he himself had leveraged his materia, familiar enough. Only... even when he put it into his attacks, he had never quite done so
this directly.
It was less like his weight had tripled to pull him down, and more like the world had gripped him in an immense fist. Even as the spheres were beginning to visibly be drawn upon the space around the Kirins, Rudolf could already feel the squeeze. Ice ran through his veins, the spheres of raw gravity crumpling inward, inexorably, around them all, the arcane energy pressing them down from every angle, to close toward a single point— he felt like he was trapped in a pestle and mortar.
He grit his teeth, attempting to channel his blackened aether through the purple orb in his palm once he realized what was happening. Burning this resource here stung, but it beat trying to free himself the hard way. If he could just negate the point of attraction—
Maybe it was the fact that weight moved differently than he was used to, within the sphere of the Graviga.
Maybe it was the climate. Hot, humid, and in the midst of a tense battle— creating slick palms that he couldn't count on for manipulating a marble-smooth surface that resulted when you compressed and refined aether into structure.
Maybe it was simply the price of admission, for all that he'd burned to make it this far.
1In the moment, it was impossible to say, impossible to know. There was only the concrete reality of the result— that Rudolf's heart all but stopped, as in the act of pulling free his gravity materia... he felt it slip through his fingers, and rocket along the swirling eddies of that selfsame gravity magic and dash itself along the stone, with a deafeningly quiet clatter. His words slipped out of his mouth unbidden, warped and strangely reverbed by the twisting of space around his body.
"You're shitting me."Another ten kilos to the vicegrip upon him eked out a grunt
2, and his mind raced for a second solution. Ahead of him, Izayoi and Miina had already freed themselves; the latter by way of her training in White Magic, dispelling the effects of Famfrit's attack, and the former...
We can cut through it? he asked, tightening his grip on the blade in his right arm without waiting for confirmation. He had to try no matter the answer.
We can. came the reply, as a line of burning ink ran through the veins of his arm and into the steel of the sword, the voice already moving mana after feeling the spike of intent.
That second you burned away fumbling with the Gravity Materia gave the magic enough time to coalesce into a sterner structure than you could break without me. No choice but to put this one on your tab.The blaze burned to life, and the young swordsman wrenched its unreadable weight into the inner boundaries of his would-be prison. There was a moment of war in that contact, as the umbral flames clashed with the shifting of space, but in the end... the scourging dissolution burned its way through the bounds of the current, and the steel wedged through the gap as he forced it along. A gash, bordered by licking tongues of blackflame, was torn through the side, wide enough that he could just about force his body across.
He leapt through, a grimace on his face, and dashed to the side as a massive orb of water flew by, one that would have pulverized him if not for being Slowed just in the nick of time. Good old Miina, always there to crack open the tight spots they'd found themselves in, one way or another. Were they not
so pressed by all this, he'd have found it remarkable how often the many magics she'd picked up made that crucial second's difference.
Invaluable versatility. Something to remember. Remembering could be done later, though— execution ruled the Now.
He thrust his palm into the materia pouch again, and raced forth, cutting through the gap between him and the statuesque cannoneer, even as he weaved past the net of projectiles from that massive gourd it carried. He would find the lost orb of purple before they were out of here, come hell or high water
3, but those seconds it'd take were precious enough as it was.
When he had a way he could cut the attacks off at the source, scrambling for it was downright untenable. Grip full-palmed and white-knuckled this time, he channeled his aether again, into his most ill-conceived idea for disguising the abilities he had been so haphazardly flinging around at this point, cooking down his own connection to the god, to the world. Perhaps it was the dim light from when he'd last seen the orb of polished emerald, but... in the instant he held it aloft, he could swear it was more lustrous when he'd thrown it Arton's way.
Maybe... No, don't worry about it.
4He skidded to a stop, a mere ten feet from the hulking guardian, and projected his will along his gaze, into the mouth of that immense ewer. A new light cast itself upon the bronze that lined Famfrit and its weapon; the next shot it fired, if it didn't catch what he had done in time, would be surely plugged right at the mouth, as the impenetrable white-gold barrier of Shield placed a lid on the jug.
- 1. You'll notice, dear reader, that there's nothing mutually exclusive about any of these. Fate abandons you all sorts of ways when the chips are down.
- 2. Don't be a baby, most of that's just explosion soreness.
- 3. Heh.
- 4. There are a few ideas that buzzed across my face in that pensive 'maybe', but I'll address one of them clearly. Rudolf's memory isn't failing him. Neither regarding the hue nor how materia tends to not concern itself with any Blight Infections the person who's been recently carrying it suffers from.