Fire combined with the holy magic, winding together into a furnace-like blast of heat which collided with the brainpan. But then, incensed, the monster retaliated with another blast of Darkra that rippled across them, quickly followed by a wave of water that caught up the three combatants and flung them backwards, rolling end-over-end.
Thankfully, the Shell dented some of the impact; the quivering shield managed to protect the bard’s instrument from getting wet, at least.
The holy knight rose dripping and angry, metal of his sword scraping along the ground as Rictor hefted it back up. It was a good, distracting anger: it kept him focused on this beast, rather than wondering and fretting what his other two companions were thinking. There was a mage and a bard to be protected, and he’d be damned if he didn’t do his job (no matter what they thought of him).
That Rictor said nothing suited Ari just fine; she didn’t really want to talk to him anyway, and for the moment she was busy trying not to panic as she spat out water (only a spell, not a tidal wave -- she wasn’t drowning, not today). Coughing, spluttering, she dragged herself to her feet, grateful for the moment that her hip had gone numb. Something to worry about later. Regen was healing the damage from the water spell already, surely it would be all right, and the sooner they got this stone head out of the way, the sooner she could go.
Her eyes narrowed, and she channeled her rare anger into the dramatic first chords of Requiem.
The white light rose quickly, and though the monster seemed to be stone, it also seemed to react, shuddering as it began to glow. Holy magic, was it? Well, Rictor wasn’t the only one who could do something useful here. Swooping in and treating them like they were helpless indeed! (That this was a perception far removed from reality hardly mattered; the anger felt good, so she played and sang and seethed.)
Merri, unfortunately, had been less lucky with the next wave of spells; not only had he been swept off his feet but crashed into a nearby building. While Ari’s spell helped to relieve some of the pain and his fatigue, he still bled and he still hurt and he had trouble focusing, his head swimming in more thoughts than his own, but the loudest and clearest remained: Let me help.
Once his vision evened out, he saw clearly Rictor and Ari still fighting, still standing strong, and a pang of guilt crossed his heart. He couldn’t be selfish anymore.
Okay.
Before Merri could ask how, there was a burst of light -- one Merri hoped in vain no one else would notice -- and the familiar green creature emerged almost as though from thin air. Swiftly, he scurried in between the holy knight and the bard, casting Reflect upon them, before finally returning to Merri, staring up at him as though in encouragement. Then, he vanished in another flash of light.
Merri took to his feet, still exhausted, but with Carbuncle’s voice now removed, his thoughts were clearer, and slowly, he began to chant for Thundara.
Rictor was distracted by the blur of movement, on the verge of taking a swipe at the small green animal as it ran back between his legs—the knight’s head swung to follow its path, but lost sight of it on the field. The fuck was that? he wondered, but his attention was then caught by the ghoulish stone face once more.
The mage wasn’t in good shape, but Ari’s music (and it sounded different, something harder in the chords, her fingers strumming with a fervour that he wasn’t accustomed to from her) held his condition in check. Which freed the Silver Blade to unleash an offensive assault on the monster, delivering a barrage of holy magic alongside Merri’s.
But then a stray attack clipped Rictor in the shoulder.
He kept moving, kept hacking away at the monster’s side with his claymore, but Rictor felt his movements growing more sluggish, heavy and leaden, as if…
As if he were stone, exactly like the brainpan above them, as if Rictor’s grim statue-like countenance was becoming an actual sculpture.