FAMFRIT vs. Party Two: Theo/Div.
The noises grew louder in his ears, pounding, like the sound of war drums, the boot march of an army come to conquer, a choir of ancient voices singing for battle. Blood eeked out from a cut above his brow, and Theo watched in reddening, blurred vision as Divina made for her assault. Even at a distance, he could feel the vague tendrils of the Dark, ever hungry.
Like a wounded hound he struggled on his hands and knees, crawling toward his sword. Sword of Conquerors, something said in ancient tongue, Blade of Kings. Seeker of Power, the voice named him, his bloodied hand reaching for the handle of the blade.
Flames danced in his vision. Soaked down to the bone, half-drowned by magick, the heat of the fire warmed his skin, steeled his strength. Theo rose to his feet, Ragnarok held before him in both hands.
Fire amassed around it, a beacon in the dark of Mist. Again, he charged, an oath escaping his lips, screaming over and over in a language unknown to humes of the current age. Over and over he swung, sparks spreading wide and bouncing off the cobbles. Theo felt his hands slick with blood.