Rynth: Four Beats

| 7th of Teryusin — Year 362 of the Cycle of Synthesis, Grand Cycle ??? |

Whenever possible, Avil indulged in the physical side of combat.

Among the four of them, he still ranked second-last in terms of actual strength. Cali soared higher thanks to her years of training and natural reflexiveness and dexterity that was often put toward her maidly duties rather than battle. Much higher than even her was Idri—who with the amplification property of Kranstor, was easily able to perform superhuman feats of grit with nothing more than a smile on her face.

But in technique—that, he could confidently say he was comparable to Cali in. Being the son and heir to perhaps one of the richest families on Manlifax, if not the world, he had access to liberties in his personal growth and training that most didn’t. If there existed a practice he exhibited a keen interest in, all Avil had to do was swipe his credit card and have his next year’s worth of tuition paid for. To that effect, he lavished on the art of hand-to-hand combat, the Pesdavil-hailing martial art of Kutsatsu, staff fighting, and even fencing. Not to mention his studies in magic, which he had not at all slacked in despite his dismal state a few days prior—malnutrition, a lack of practice and sleep being the prime mover as to why he lost to Raoul.

Still, Avil was more analytical than practical. Keeping to the back had its perks. The girls were much more attuned to melee, and he was more than glad to let them have that. Ending battles with a well-placed Fire Bolt or Ice Shard provided much pleasure in its own right the same way knocking someone down with a roundhouse kick did. When a battle truly needed to be ended immediately, Time Stop was always accessible.

The monk’s warning drew the attention of the cultists in their direction.

“Hah! A child?” one scoffed, directing the tipped end of his spear toward Avil as he rushed forward. “This’ll be a cakewalk.”

The hooded one barked out an order. “Don’t be a show-off and just kill the two kids. The bear’s getting slower, but still rushing to me. Something’s impeding it.”

Another, a blondie with a coif, ignored Avil and charged Raoul. Pleased grin on his face, he twirled the staff in his hands and began chanting. A small fiery bolt of flame shot outward from the tip.

Said grin was immediately wiped away once Raoul held out his prosthetic and absorbed the spell into his palm. With his free hand, he launched a thin Ice Shard straight toward the center of mass. The blonde attempted to dodge out of the way—and he was successful, but had unwittingly put him in the direction of a Fire Bolt shot right where he dodged into. It hissed, lighting the edge of his robes with a quickly spreading flame.

“Shit, shit!” he cursed, frantically slapping away the flames. In his distraction, he was unable to dodge the next shard of ice that pierced his head square through the temple. His body quickly fell to the ground lifeless with a thud.

Meanwhile, Avil was playing with his food. With nothing more than his bare fists, he easily weaved around each of the stabs directed at his body. As one got closer than the others, he merely smacked the shaft away and kicked it out of the cultist’s hand. Gasping, the cultist flourished a smaller side dagger and began cutting away at the air as he got closer.

Balling his left fist, Avil leaned under the next slash and unfurled his hand.

“Heads up, buddy.”

A Fire Bolt spewed outward and crashed onto the cultist’s face. His hair, an unkempt mess of bush, caught fire. Avil went in for the kill, twisting his torso to send a roundhouse kick straight for his side. It sent him hurtling to the floor, clutching it with both hands. Without hearing his final plea, he raised a finger and fired off three Jati Missiles that struck the ground that were their targets behind him, going through his eyes and boring a hole out of the other side.

Pulling himself up, Avil flashed a thumbs up to Raoul, who trotted over to join him. The latter did the same, but pointed over to the monk in the wash basin who had lifted the hooded cultist off the ground with one massive hand. He clenched his grip around his neck, squeezing while his legs flailed about, until the strength left his body and the scimitar dropped down to the water with a splash.

“Hmph.” the monk jeered. “You misery are all the same. Cut from the same cloth. Taking all and harming as you see fit. But you will not do the same for this holy site. I am its guardian, and you have trespassed on not only this place, but also on my patience. Begone!”

At those words, he slammed his pewter staff down. The water that had gathered at the brass rings pulled off, gathering into a single floating condensed ball. It raged into a powerful torrent and poured out like a pressure washer at his face, ripping off skin and bleeding him dry as the innards spilled forth and onto the basin at his feet. Grunting, the monk hurled the body out and kicked the brain with it onto the grass.

“Abhorrent whelp. Now I’ve made a mess out of Il-Lancasta’s site.” he breathed a sigh of relief, holding a hand out to his chest while he mouthed a prayer. “I pray for your mercy.”

In response, the residual water from the ball calmed down and slid back down to join the rest below. It coiled around his ankles gently, a stark contrast to the force it had laid out on the now-dead cultist.

Finally, the monk laid his eyes on Raoul and Avil, who had been watching the half-minute display of killing with their mouths agape. He brought a hand to scratch the back of his head in mild embarrassment and approached, stepping out of the water. Compared to the two of them, he was considerably taller, and was blocking much of the sunlight with his beastly frame.

“I am sorry you had to see that, my children,” he apologized, bending his head down to meet the ground.” My temper tends to get out of hand when people disrespect the deity I worship.”

“Right…” Avil trailed off, still processing.

While equally as taken aback, Raoul mustered a finger and pointed downward. “You’ve got blood on your feet.”

“Ah! Thank you.” the monk responded. He bent his staff back and made a pulling motion. A small sip of water followed the movement and washed out, floating to his ankles to clean it self-autonomously. Once that was done, he raised his head slightly to meet their gazes. “Where are my manners? Well met, children. You may call me Teyrhar. I am what you might call an ascetic.”

Still eyeing the cleaning process, Raoul nodded. “Of Il-Lancasta, I suppose.”

“Oh? Are you familiar with the Heir of Waters?”

“Yes. Albeit, only textbook information. I know he is Mostarii’s eldest son and Seikalsi-Anglus’ brother. Beyond that… Well, we know his portfolio, too. I’m Raoul. Thank you for having us.”

“Avil here,” he raised a hand. “So you’re the protector of this site, sir Teyrhar?”

The monk turned, walking back to the wash basin. “Please, just Teyrhar will do. You two helped very much in ridding this place of Misericorde's presence, and so I cannot ask of you to address me like your better. But indeed. I have seen to Kilaantin Waterfall for nearly two decades now. My father was the guardian before me, as with his grandfather before him.”

He continued. “During that time, I have maintained the statue as best as I could, but I confess that even time will wear away most things. It is much older than us three combined. Would you like to offer a prayer? I am sure Il-Lancasta would be willing to grant you two a blessing for your assistance.”

It was only then that Raoul finally allowed himself a proper viewing of the statue. Looking ahead closely brought up newer points of interest. As with before, the statue still maintained an absolutely daunting height, being built directly into the side of the waterfall itself such that the flow landed directly on its hair. Cracks and holes had popped up, likely from the wear and tear of hundreds of years of water-based erosion. In one hand, the statue held a net almost as long as his hair.

The statue’s lower half was draped in a makeshift skirt of underwater greens and seaweed, but the bulging muscles and especially toned body was visible all throughout. Its feet were webbed, much like those of a duck’s or frog’s.

His observations were interrupted by a stream of continuous thuds and rumbles that were now getting increasingly closer as time passed.

Avil shrugged. “I’d love to. But we’re still not out of the storm, really. We’ve got a Mauler-Bear on our heels.”

Teyrhar raised an eyebrow and turned. “Oh, truly? The cultist did possess a string connecting into the forest. Yes… I do hear the sound you speak of. It’s coming this way.”

Not even a few seconds later, the figure of the bear broke through the darkness of the forest, slamming onto the ground. Its heavy paws skidded on the damp grass, turning toward the path it had crashed through right as Cali and Idri followed, landing on their feet.

“It’s already here. Good thing we took the cultists out.”

Raoul raised his left arm, already weaving a spell. Teyrhar raised a hand to stop him.

“Allow me, my child. This site is under my watch, after all. I will make quick work of this beast and put it out of its misery.”

His limb subconsciously lowered at the reassurance. He then shrugged and kept back, gesturing for Cali and Idri to come over.

Teyrhar stepped forward. His steps crashed against the grass, kicking up small bits of dirt with each movement. His arms bulged outward as he stretched, preparing to square off with the Mauler-Bear solo.