Low-Fantasy Occultist

"Ser, please!" Opal wept, raising his trembling hands in surrender. He looked from the man holding him to the girl guarding the door, and recognition lit his eyes despite their disguises. “You are… Of course, the Elpens! Rhea! You must listen to me! We are blood-sworn! I held you when you were babes! Your grandfather understood compromise; he would have—”

Gaelen's fist snapped forward, catching Opal flush in the jaw. A sickening crack of bone was heard as the lord was thrown to the floor, spitting a mouthful of blood and shattered teeth onto the expensive rug.

That seemed to be the signal for the guards.

Realizing their lord had been taken, they tried to pivot, one swinging to clear the vapor and the other rushing to reach Gaelen. But they were too late. The [Conceptual Steam] had done its work.

Throughout the fight, Nick had been attacking their armor. The intricate defensive runes carved into the steel had stymied him at first, but they now glowed a dangerous cherry-red. The enchantments hissed and whined, overwhelmed by the damage, and he knew it would only take a little push to overcome them.

Another wave of steam slammed into them, pushing them away from Gaelen and the lord. They rose in unison, preparing to counterattack, but were halted with a sharp crack as the magical matrices on both sets of armor shattered simultaneously. The steel dulled, becoming nothing more than mundane metal.

Nick grinned. He severed the vapor stream and instantly wove two spheres of red lightning at the Shard's tip. Before they could rebalance, he unleashed them back-to-back with terrifying speed.

The first blast caught the elite square in the chest, caving in the steel breastplate and the ribcage beneath it with a sickening crunch. The second struck his companion directly in the helm, snapping his neck backward and pulping the skull. Both men collapsed to the carpet, dead before their swords slipped from their grasp.