Illegalist Insurrection: An Unofficial TwoSet Adventure

Aileana's Sacrifice

Neither of them noticed the storm clouds gathering above the inferno.

Neither of them heard the soft footsteps nearby.

They hardly exchanged moves this time—no, now was no time for flashy moves. Now was a standoff, a direct confrontation of their rowest power, and the victor would be the last one standing. Charged beam met charged beam. Sparks fell to the ground. The humming buzz in the air lifted both of them off their feet, the fast bolts of energy pulsating like a quasar. The magma-streaked Hammer seemed to have a kind of power of its own, spiking against the Banishields with terrible, terrible shards of lamentation.

Legalist, ever persistent, still fought with all his might. Even so, any onlooker would be able to tell how exhausted he truly was from all of the fighting—his reflexes slowing, his shields less effective, Illegalist's power slowly overwhelming him.

I don't remember him being this strong back there, Legalist muttered to himself, squinting against the dust. His coat tails were shredded to pieces now, outfit singed, hat crooked on his perspiring head. What did he do? What could he have done? The handbook didn't say... anything... about this...

His magic was wearing so thin now, he realized. So thin, the sacrilege seeped into his blood. A sharp prick of agony pierced his skin as one of the dark shards got stuck into his shields. As the cost of the battle wore down on his aching body, the scene got even dirtier with little hope of victory.

No, not now. He couldn't crack apart yet. No, just a little more, a little more. He just needed to concentrate on the final remedy. If only he could figure out why it was so hard to hold his ground, though.

And then his mind flashed to the one passage in the book which he'd glossed over.

"In combat against the blobbish creature, one must be prepared lest it dth draw strength from the very Sacrilegious Emperor, supreme Musical Anti-Master; for when it does draw from the Emperor doth thus blob become an undefeatable force of nature with yet the pow'r to annihilate the face of the stars."

The Sacrilegious Emperor... gave him more power, Legalist realized, his terror spiking. The Sacrilege Himself—

Unfortunately for our dear Legalist, he failed to notice his Banishields faltering.

Illegalist seized the moment immediately, and down he sent a torrent of attacks, his laugh crescendoing into the voids of space. Legalist helplessly tried to counteract—but alas, his attempt was futile, and his shields broke apart, his supply of magic completely drained.

"Now you see, don't you?" Illegalist chuckled, sneering violently.

"You can't do anything against me."

He sent a quick blast of roaring smoke toward the other, and Legalist plummeted out of the sky into the roaring inferno below.

He crashed through the thicket to the ground and rolled the dust, blindly scrabbling at the dirt for a hold. A barrage of branches held him like a prison cell, burning so fiercely he could feel himself physically shriveling in the heat. With a pained grunt, he raised his head and squinted through the flames at the lightning-streaked sky.

Illegalist was headed straight for him, like a falling cannonball, the almighty Ban Hammer crackling ready to deliver the final blow.

Legalist tried to move, but his limbs were too tired. He could barely lift his head.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and braced for impact.

It never happened.

Because at that moment, someone had stepped in front of Legalist. Someone had interfered with the battle, and had stopped the Ban Hammer's mark. Someone had called down a storm upon the battle, and had taken the weight of the blow.

A massive lightning strike broke through the sky.

Legalist couldn't even hear the thunder, its volume was so deafening.

And then it was quiet. Even Illegalist. The rain began to fall, a drop at a time, dousing the flames little by little.

And then he felt a strange glow in his chest, and suddenly his limbs didn't feel quite as tired anymore.

He groggily raised his head, bewildered beyond belief, wondering what had just happened. That's funny, I didn't realize there would be a thunderstorm today, he thought to himself, squinting in the strange, blinding column of light before him.

He peered at his savior.

The cloak's edges were tattered, the shoes worn down. The figure had a hood on, their silhouette flickering in the pulsating beam of beacon light. The cloak was a soft glowing blue, illuminated by the same soft blue of the light. And it matched the glow he felt internally—like a warm, healing, gentle blue.

The figure turned towards him, stumbling slightly, and removed her hood.