"Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow.
Don't walk behind me, I may not lead.
Just walk beside me and be my friend."
-Albert Camus

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Hideout in Carmina Gadelica was a deposit of routine for the Heavy Blade that lounged in its common room, a place that reminded him that things hardly ever change for the better. If not the same, it's a worse scenario that creeps upon him, something that always adds unnecessary weight to his already-overspent shoulders. That knowledge, that dark realization used to be something Zan had been able to handle, had been able to look towards without fear or desolation. Now that...she was gone, The World wasn't the same place any longer. The threat of the Elites, the threat of Administrative deletion, and the constant inner war between his Self and his Beast now seemed looming and monstrous like the screaming masks of peril. Without her to hold up his head, to hold onto his heart, the light that usually blazed with a fierce ferocity of loyalty to the Freedom Fighters had become a flickering ember against the gales of fear and doubt. He couldn't do this alone. Everything was too hard now, too unsteady, and too much. Zan found himself yearning for the days of his inexperience, days that had seen a quest with Domini through a field of sand and oversized seashells. That was friendship. That was simplicity and the ever-rare normality that the lycanthrope now sought for...yearned for.

In the other room sat Raquar. For him, being back in the hideout was a relief. He was safe from danger. At least for the moment. His goal of a quick nap being achieved, he decided to wander the hideout, mainly for a lack of anything better to do. He started off from the barracks, gradually moving toward the kitchen and into the common room where there was perched none other than Zan himself. However, something was different about his demeanor. He seemed gloomy and contemplative, a look that didn't really fit him in the eye of the Long Arm. "Hey, you alright man?"

Zan had been aware of Raq's movements, his idle path throughout the Hideout. However, it wasn't until his question was spoken that the Long Arm was granted any heed. With a look like a broken daydream now bruising over the Heavy Blade's face, he looked away...silent. It continued like this for a minute or so before, perhaps just when Raquar might have considered the cause lost, Zan finally spoke up. "Do you...do you want to get out of here?" That bruise turned into a blossom of insight. "Go on a quest? Fight some normal monsters? Traverse a normal field, a normal dungeon?" He looked away once more, as if Raquar was no longer necessarily required for his plan. "I think that'd be just fantastic."

He looked at the Heavy Blade strangely, wondering what was on the man's mind. "Sure. Why not. Let's get out of this place for a bit. Any particular areas in mind?"

The Heavy Blade turned to Raquar then, almost surprised the random invitation had been accepted. "No. Just...normal. Normal is good. I just need to distract myself with a reminder that world isn't all drama and Elites and death and love." He paused. "To Theta then." And, not looking to see if the Long Arm followed, he made his way to the Chaos Gate. That Raquar had so easily joined him, no ounce of hesitation in his words, meant more to the lycanthrope than could be expressed. Than ever would be expressed.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The change from artificially lit underground edifice to the open air and blowing wind of Dun Loireag was greeting with a small smile and the metaphorical open arms. Despite the trauma Zan had endured during his temporary trip to the real world, despite the loss he had suffered, the lycanthrope was determined to wipe it from his mind - if only for this one quest. A single outing with someone he hardly knew from the Freedom Fighters would be more valuable than any therapy or any sit-down discussion he could possibly have. It was with this confident knowledge that he waited, that he watched the Long Arm's arrival in the fall of golden rings. Zan gave but a nod of his head in greeting before he took an advancing step towards the Chaos Gate and opened up the mid-air menu, only needing to hit the 'Random' option a few times before a suitable field made itself known. The Heavy Blade knew his companion was fond of darkness, of Ani, and made his choice with that in mind. It would, at the very least, put Raquar at ease (hopefully) around someone who was otherwise constantly scowling and scolding his comrades. The sting the Lycan had carried around as a natural defense mechanism, a process through which he almost seemed to demand respect, had been lost. He was changed in a way that, though potentially temporary, could very well carry on with him through the rest of his time in The World and beyond. A silver lining in her death? Maybe. Such a feeble consolation.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Level 26 Darkness Field, Θ Writhing Emerald Sipping Bug, was truly something to behold. The still air complimented the night that clung around him. The rich soil at their feet was dispersed with small patches of grass and half-sprouted vegetation, the trees that seemed spread and (for the most part) rare standing stunted and blackened. Zan didn't mind the gloom of that peculiarity, nor the collection of skulls that hung from strings from the leafless, dead branches. All that mattered to him was that the field was normal, that no sign of Hub Guardians or Marionette or the Elites was to be found. The dark sky was filled with the shimmer of stars and the blanket of a digital aurora borealis. Amidst an already-beautiful atmosphere shone the light of a full moon, the silver luminescence bathing one of its children in a soft glow. The wolf in him was howling, but no such sound passed his lips. For all intents and purposes, Raquar would only catch the look of tranquility, of solace that enraptured his partner when the lycanthrope stared forth into the sky. In the moment before he eventually turned to face the Long Arm, Zan stood as the epitome of peace. In that same moment Zan's partner would also be privy to another unfamiliarity on the other man's face; a blossoming smile. Though it was a fleeting, temperamental thing, the smile was true just the same.

Sound came to Zan then as he gestured towards the open space of the field, a signal to simply wander, crickets or cicadas or whatever the audio was taken from chirping around the both of them as they walked. It was clear that, for right then, the Lycan wanted only quiet. Whether Raquar was intuitive and receptive or simply lost in his own thoughts, that quiet was granted and the two walked with only the insects and the occasional, passing cry of, "La Pumpkin!" breaking the otherwise perfect silence. The lycanthrope found himself realizing how little he knew about the player beside him, how little he knew about his story and his time in The World. It seemed almost trivial in the big picture, but at the same time...almost something Zan needed. This need was noted and stashed away, temporarily blindsided by the earthy beauty of the far-off canyon backdrops. It made the field seem even more open, the space contained more limitless. There was almost an underlying promise that the two of them could simply run off and never find an end, run off to flee The World and its harsh truths and cumbersome realities. If only...if only. Though the Heavy Blade's sense of duty to the Freedom Fighters had been damaged because of recent events in the real world, he knew that Raquar wouldn't fail him, that the Long Arm would restore that very thing during this outing. With loyalty instilled, he wouldn't be able to flee from those truths or those realities. They would, once again, be a strict part of his world.

Before Zan could dwell on that and completely toss aside the entire purpose of escape from his thoughts that the field had been meant for, the meaty thump of some wandering monsters focused his eyes and stopped his walk. Two creatures, labeled 'Baby Worms', were making their way to the duo with centipede-like bodies (contradictory to their names) and clacking, red-insect legs. Their green bodies were covered in sparse, large black dots with a ring of orange at their centers. A quick check to their element revealed a Vak affinity that Zan found a little odd for a darkness field. For a moment he was worried about Raquar's ability, being only Level 17, to handle them, but that same worry was gone the next second. If he could stand up to fiends like Devil and Angel, a simple worm/centipede thing wouldn't trouble him much. Rather than draw out his strongest weapon, Zan found himself calling out the Adventurer from deep within his inventory. Though it wasn't technically one and the same, the same kind of weapon had been his first when he joined The World and would serve to make the unbalanced fight between him and the monster fairer. Being Level 1, the Adventurer seemed perfect and almost poetically necessary. Without another thought, the fight was on.

Charging to the left of the two Baby Worms, Zan arched it behind his back and launched himself into the air. For a brief lapse of time he realized Nulus' silence and in that same lapse knew he was doing it to help and suddenly the second had passed and the blade cut down through the air to find only that. Despite its rather abundant girth, the giant worm-like fiend took advantage of his distraction and had slithered to the side. Rather than fill with annoyance, the werewolf was only grinning, a battle cry passing his lips before he turned on the balls of his feet, twisting to the side with a horizontal slice of six-foot steel. Digital goop that represented the creature's blood splattered onto the rich earth as the weapon cut a wide wound into the Baby Worm, its pained and defiant screeches piercing the air and quieting the crickets' calls. It hadn't killed it, the weapon's level and the creature's defenses making sure of that, but it was apparent that the suffered damage had been hefty enough. Rather than run away, the monster suddenly lifted up into the air like a horse standing on its back two feet, only to come crashing down in an attack that was obviously crafted to flatten him. Though its meat did overwhelm him, its body stopped mid-way down, halted by the lofting of Zan's left arm and the preternatural strength backing it. There was a pause, an unsure stop in time, and then the sound of punctured flesh was proceeding but equally wet and sloppy tearing.

From its middle to the top of its head, the Baby Worm was split open, the Adventurer freed from the mess and the monster shoved aside with the same jerk of the weapon. Cleaning off the blade on the corpse of the monster a few seconds before it dissipated into code, Zan turned to watch the rest of Raquar's own struggle, not seeing it fit to rush in and help him. The player might find it insulting; Zan knew he would have. When it was over, when the Long Arm stood triumphant over what was statistically a superior foe, Zan spoke the first of their words upon the field.

"Good job." Said, of course, with sincerity.

Rather than wait for a response or any sort of thanks, the werewolf simply turned and found himself walking once more, coming to stop only the banks of a Spring of Myst. The circle of water was alight with a blue glow and instead of tossing in a weapon, Zan sat down near its edge with one leg laid straight out and the other pulled to a bend towards him. Calling the Adventurer back into his inventory, he lofted one of his arms to rest comfortably on his knee, inviting Raquar without words to join him. They could rest for a while, soothed by the light of the Spring, and simply enjoy each other’s company.

It was exactly what Zan needed.

Extraneous physical activity was draining. Minutes after arriving at the Hideout he had found a bed and collapsed in it, allowing his worn body some small time from recuperation. He slept hard and heavy, dreaming about something he would not remember when he woke up. When he finally did wake up, suffering from that first essence of extreme exhaustion experienced after a small nap, he stretched idly and wondered exactly how long he had been asleep. Determining that it really didn’t matter, he decided that going back to sleep would probably not be the best of ideas. If he allowed himself to do so, it would be quite likely that he would be out for days. Instead he decided to remove himself from the cramped barracks. It seemed that some meandering was in order.

His steps were hesitant at first, walking on legs that still felt somewhat leaden from the cancellation of rest that they had slowly just been becoming accustomed too. He passed through the barracks and for a time, simply wandered around through the halls. The cool stone was refreshing, at least for now, it was home. He didn’t have to worry about deletion here, hackers, or even that Marionette fellow. At least here, he could be forgetful, be lost with these people, who were at the moment, probably the closest thing to a “family” he would have in quite some time. His mind wandered toward the individuals of the Freedom Fighters. Some he knew, some he didn’t. But there was something about family. He would kill, or get killed for the ones he didn’t know. It was how a family worked the boy supposed.

His wanderings brought him through the makeshift kitchen, and the Long Arm eventually found himself pacing into the common room, the meeting room, whatever you wanted to call it. It was mostly empty at the moment, save for a single soul. The lycanthropic Heavyblade seemed strangely detached, depressed almost. If nothing else, he was severely contemplative. Something about it troubled the boy, but he wasn’t sure exactly what. Seeing as no one else was around however, the task lay up to him to voice anything resembling concern. The Heavyblade’s eyes almost seem to yearn at him as the question was voiced. He didn’t think it was pleading, but something was most definitely wrong. The response he gave was driven by concern, curiosity, and if nothing, a familial feeling. The man seemed eager to get out, and moved away quite briskly, Raq having to almost jog to warp into Theta right behind the wolf.

He warped in among the spires to notice Zan busy with the Gate, probably randoming a set of Key Words that would take them to a place, where at least at the moment, they could escape to a place where things could be put behind them. Where they could escape the day to day terrors, and maybe, for just a small time, be normal players again. It was a thought that the boy was not sure what to do with. He shrugged as his partner selected a field and warped in on his heels. The first thing about the field was that it was dark. The night sang to him, the shadows called, he felt revitalized almost immediately. Sure, everybody knew he liked Ani but, this . . . This took it to another level. He reached out with his mind, the corners of it responding to the calls. He settled in almost immediately, comfortable among the shattered trees and excuse for flora.

Patterns of blotted white objects, on closer inspection revealed to be skulls, hung from the trees almost as a ward, or a symbol. It didn’t faze him. He spun idly, soaking in the energy of the place, letting it wash over him. He caught a glimpse of the elder, face intent on the luminous circular orb in the sky, a strange smile plastered on his face. The boy’s own mouth twisted into a wry grin, it must have taken quite a bit of self-control to not be howling his head off. At least he was happy. The Long Arm’s attention was caught by a flickering of lights, and his gaze was shifted over, to where a masterful recreation of the Northern Lights danced across the sky. Something deep within him twanged. A recollection, a memory, a shred, of a life that seemed so far away, of a life that seemed just beyond his grasp.

It was quite late and he yawned idly into his father’s lap. He wasn’t quite sure they were perched outside on a chair this late at night, but an excuse for not having to go to bed was an excuse for not having to go to bed. Something in the sky flickered, it was as if the curtain of dull grayness had been lifted, this rare opportunity to see the play of one of the world’s beauties. The lights shifted, and for a while, the young one was lost in their dance, to see the colors in sway to the music, to yield so effortlessly to one another, to see such flawless execution and compassion. Something stirred within his young chest as his eyes searched the sky. Beauty did exist in the world.

He turned his head quickly, swiftly brushing the remnants of liquid from his eyes. What was he thinking? That was another time, another place, another lifetime. But still, if only for a moment, he had escaped, and he had remembered that beauty did exist in the world, and it was something to hold on to. His eyes turned toward the quickly retreating Heavyblade’s back, and he hastened his stride until he was once again side by side with the man. The air around them, hummed with its own life, the nature of it all would be best sought after if not disturbed by synthetic voice. There was nothing necessary to be said at the moment, and there were times, when the silence said more than enough. This was a time, when the presence was enough, when nothing more was needed then the simple step-step, step-step, their bodies doing more than enough to convey their peacefulness, at least for the moment.

As is the nature of life, the stillness, the peace never lasts forever, and at this time a pair of Baby Worms forced their way into the radiance of tranquility. This intrusion was not appreciated, and as Zan moved off toward the left, the Long Arm drew his weapon with a sense of hesitation. He didn’t really want to fight. But if there was one thing he had learned, Life didn’t recognize want, it threw shit at you, and if you prevailed? Then you became more powerful, stronger, a conqueror. It fed one of the basest instincts of humans. Power. He hummed softly as he swayed out of the way of the incoming Worm’s gaping maw. There was no particular tune, it simply felt right as his spear penetrated the flesh of the creature and spiraled upward, the digital blood splattering around. It was ironic, from when he had first been fighting, it was no longer digital blood. It was real, very real. But it provided a quality of clarity, something he wasn’t sure how to describe, but with the blood, came the clear-headedness, and therefore in his case, the ability to survive.

His Berserk Spear dipped in and took another chunk out of the beast as he laughed softly and the twisted nomenclature of these things. If this was a baby, he never, ever wanted to see what an adult looked like. He dodged the ensuing flick of the tail, but took the headbutt of the monstrosity in the side, grunting softly as his ribs strained, but thankfully didn’t break. That was another thing. His ribs were almost made of steel, the number of times they had been broken slowly strengthening them until they could withstand quite a fair bit of punishment. However, his guard was broken, and the Worm decided that smothering would be a good idea, and with striking quickness, it launched itself upward, intent on smashing him. It crashed downward, and the boy’s spear danced upward, the blade piercing through the things mouth and pushing out from between where its eyes were . . . or should have been at least. The calligraphy he had grown to love danced and flashed upon the air as the monster sagged weakly before vanishing completely.

The man’s commendations came shortly after, and the entire thing was somewhat exhilarating, the adrenaline seeming to give him a higher sense. Now that he could slow down a bit, he was aware of the humming in his own mind, the wisps having sprung up almost effortlessly from the overabundance of darkness around. He smiled softly, and hummed the tune with them, the same tune as before the boy realized, before he sent them to sleep, the air around him losing some of its thickness as the wisps stirred lazily before disappearing vanishing into the air. A few steps and he perched across the opposite side of the Spring from his companion, and gently scooped the water around.

”It feels so peaceful here. Makes me think. Recollect.” His voice slithered softly through the still air. There was no need for volume of harshness. That would disturb the peace.

"It feels so peaceful here. Makes me think. Recollect." The boys words disturbed the quiet, but not in a way Zan particularly minded.

Offering a nod, the lycanthrope spoke. "I don't mind the dark, myself. When you've stared into the heart of mindlessness, held someone you loved in your arms as they bled out, or slugged a man until his head turned into sticky fragments against the floor..." The werewolf didn't intend to be...gothic...but it came out that way. "You learn that the darkness is as natural as the light. The aurora too...it's nice. Though I prefer the full moon myself..."

Giving some shadow of a smile, Zan allowed the quiet to settle back in. The quiet was something that this place offered as a gift, something it gave to the two players as a sort of gift for simple visitation. How often did the field get attention? How often did the random set of keywords come together to craft this slice of digital paradise? It was almost a lonely thought, to consider just how barren this place must be most of the time despite the millions of players that populated 'The World.' As if comforting the land itself, the lycanthrope gave a simple pat to the ground. As lonely as the place seemed once he had allowed himself to mull over such trivial details, he still envied it. To not have to worry about the tampering of the Elites or their schemes, to not have to worry about being hounded by the Knights of War or the Administrators...what serenity. The werewolf was fairly certain he could just live out the rest of his days in this field, staring up at the stars and falling asleep to the steady chirp of the grasshoppers. It wasn't much, to some, but after the life had been forced to live the past few months because of a happenstance encounter with a group of comatose individuals...well, he'd take any ounce of paradise over the hell of the day-to-day. Losing her hadn't helped his view on things, sure, but it was an opinion he had sported for ages.

A look over at the Long Arm and he didn't feel his usual contempt for the Freedom Fighters and the noobies that had joined up for one reason or another. Something inside of him, something he couldn't immediately recognize, sympathized with Raquar. No, no, sympathy wasn't the word. It was more profound than that. It was...friendship. Friendship? The notion almost seemed ridiculous with someone he had just met, with someone he had only recently gotten to know through combat and trials with Angel. To say that not only did he consider him a friend, but that it ran even deeper than that? Well, the prospect of brotherhood with a stranger was beyond ridiculous. It wasn't something that had come with experience or time, but something Zan felt was forged through more...devious manners. Was it a spell? Was it a hack that the boy didn't know he had? It wouldn't be a shock. As far as he was aware, Raquar had only been infected full-on with the Virus for a little while now. It wasn't beyond reason that he had abilities he didn't know of. Really, the only thing the wolf had seen him use was those wisps of darkness that...wait. The darkness. Nulus, stashed away inside of the black metal cuffs at Zan's wrists, perked up at not only the mentioning of his favorite element, but at the thoughts that were coming along with it.

Maybe, just maybe, something about the darkness was calling to the lycanthrope. When Nulus had shown him the orb that allowed him to summon the God of the Dark Wave, Wryneck, the Ex-Sphere had reacted with his left hand. Pulled to it almost magnetically, contact had ridden his flesh with streaming Ani runes, something that was beyond new. It hinted at a connection to the darkness that, up until that point, Zan had just considered unimportant. Was it...was this some sort of orchestrated event? Though the Lycan was far from religious, he still begrudgingly believed in God. Had the Big Man put together the events that led to this point, that led to the lycanthrope's realization of another key person in his life? It was insane, really it was, that he was having this mental dialogue at all. They were only sitting, watching the glow of the Spring. They had come here to get away from the abnormal. It wasn't some big cosmic event that led to Zan's enlightenment or anything corny like that. Still, try as he might, he couldn't shake the feeling that Raquar was someone meant to be important to him. Much like Sekai had, almost immediately upon getting a second to talk to her, appealed to him as focal. For her, it was because she could so easily tame his Beast, her innocence some sort of beacon of hope that not all the world was gore and violence. Maybe Raquar was connected and empathetic to him in another way; the Long Arm the dark shroud while Zan was the thing that went bump in the night he cast. A crackpot theory, of course, but...it clicked as right.

Though unable to deny how out-of-the-blue the whole thing seemed, as completely batshit as it was, Zan knew more still that he had to make sure the boy stayed alive long enough for them to figure this out. Getting to his feet and removing his trenchcoat in one inhumanly graceful motion, Zan stared down at the curious face of his companion. Having moved like he had muscles other people didn't, and indeed that may have been the case, the werewolf was surprised that Raquar's look didn't hold anything else within it. Had being in the Freedom Fighters really made him so jaded? Not a shock. "Get up." This, of course, was followed by a voiced comment of confusion, but Zan only reiterated the comment with a 'please' capped off at the end this time. Clad in only his black combat boots, black pants, forest-green shirt and the silver full-moon necklace that hung just below the center of his collarbone, Zan knew he didn't look very threatening. Rather, he must have looked very relax, very calm as he made his way around the bend of the Spring. Raquar continued to look curious, unaware even as Zan's physical prowess - thanks to the Beast even in human form - allowed his punch to snap out like lightning. To say that he didn't enjoy the feeling of the boy's nose breaking beneath his knuckles as the player staggered back, that he didn't enjoy the first spatter of blood that shot from his nostrils would have been a lie. Still, that wasn't what they were here for.

Eyes teared up from the natural, unavoidable physical response, Raquar couldn't do much but stand there as Zan's torso curved around to his 'opponent's back, both hands coming to rest there for leverage as the Lycan's knee snapped up and sank into the Long Arm's gut. This pushed out all of the air in the boy's lungs in a single grunt, dropping him to his hands and his knees with only one arm curled and slung beneath his stomach. Standing above him, Zan didn't waste time explaining. "Lesson one: Never, ever let your guard down. I don't care how peaceful a situation seems, how harmless the atmosphere is with the people you're around. The Elites, the people we fight, have one amongst them that can control us. Dien, Zhao, and Canti? This Elite, Xenobia, made Rayo, Reinier and me kill them back in Mac Anu. We're the reasons they're comatose. We're the reasons they're stuck here." Zan allowed Raquar to get up, completely unaware of the tendril of inky shadow that was awaiting at the small of his back. Too shocked by the sudden sight of it, the werewolf could do little but watch as it shot forward and struck him the face, splitting his lip and jerking his head to the side. Smiling when his head came back to face the Long Arm, Zan offered some positive reinforcement, genuinely impressed. "Good job, ki--" In the short time it had taken for him to recover, however, the spearman had managed to surround himself with an army of the damn things, all of which were suddenly rocketing towards the Lycan with a scream that held both anger and something close to betrayal.

The force of it was enough to launch him backwards and send him rolling along the ground during the landing. When he came to stand again, hands brushing off the dirt, Zan couldn't help but laugh. "That was...damn. That was nice." It hadn't hurt much, but the force of it was still impressive. "So here me out. I only did that because I want to help you, to make you fit enough and aware enough for the things we face. Let me give you experience only someone who has been here as long as me can give. Drop your...weapon things." Despite the apparent urge to argue, Raquar still did as he was asked. Good. He wanted to learn. Lofting his hands up in a boxing pose, Zan again began to advance on the player, giving him time to set up his own defensive stance. It was a fight meant more for Fist Fighters, but you never knew when you'd be stripped of your Twilight abilities and your weapons. That it'd happen eventually when against the Elites was almost...undeniable. Inevitable. When the two were close enough to strike, it was Zan that went first, feigning a blow that let to the expected flinch. Rather than simply cower, however, the Long Arm's flinch was followed by a quick punch of his own. It wasn't a bad punch, at all, but it was obvious he was more accustomed to his class' actual weapon. Bringing up his forearm to slide the blow away, Zan's hand snapped forward and grasped his 'opponent' around the neck, sweeping out his feet from under him so only that grasp kept him aloft. "Lesson number two: balance is everything. In a fight, if you lose your balance, you lose." When Raquar nodded despite the fingers around his throat, Zan pressed on. "And, on the off chance you do lose your balance and still want a fighting chance, it's best to know the quickest way up. Your last lesson, for now."

And he simply dropped him, allowing the meaty thunk of his back hitting the ground to occur. When Raquar was back on his feet, Zan too busy staring off to see how he did it, he turned back to his traveling companion and gestured north. "Now let's go see how much attention you paid. See those four Metal Goblins over there? Let's go kick us some ass."

Offering another smirk, glad to see how well Raquar was rolling with the punches and the almost random pace, the werewolf was on his way to the appointed destination. Through it all, he hadn't been able to shake it, to shake the sensation that Raquar would come to play a very important role in his life. Had something as simple as an element brought two individuals together to become eventual friends?

Stranger things had happened.

--------------------------------------

(OOC:

x.x Sorry if that turned out shitty. I spent a good hour and some odd minutes on my last post, and I liked it, but then fucking invisionfree ate my post. I wrote this one in less than thirty minutes. I was surprised I still had the urge to write.

Again; sorry if it sucks.

:OOC))

Zan spoke, portrayed his acceptance of the darkness and the boy smiled. It was funny, he used to fear the darkness, it used to be something that would hold the horrors of the night within it. Now, now it was something that he wished would shelter him from everything. He sat there for a little longer, idly tracing trails in the water’s surface before a command from the other one made the boy rise. Well, once he add the please onto it anyway. Slightly confused, the boy stood and stared at the lycanthrope, wondering idly about why he was standing, when the fist crashing into his nose answered that question.

His eyes teared up from the blow to the face, and he had no time to react to the knee that followed immediately after. All the breath whooshed from his gut as the knee sank in, and he dropped like a sack of something wet and heavy. He groaned, and as a reaction to the pain, his mind struck up the hum. And that gave him a good idea. He waited until the man was finished with his lesson before he stood up shakily, and sent a single wisp flying away. Apparently it caught his partner off guard as he too the blow directly to the face. It wasn’t much of a blow, he still had work to do there, but it was something. And it meant that the man wouldn’t see this coming. He fired off all the wisps he could produce, a giant flood of darkness mauling the man over and onto his back. Good, that made the boy feel slightly better.

He complied grudgingly with the request, the wisps dropping out of sight and his brain going quiet once more, when the Heavyblade advanced on him like a Fist Fighter. It was funny, an all out fist fight could solve lots of problems. He ducked under the first telegraphed blow and sent one of his own, when suddenly he was no longer on the ground. A simple sweep had sent his legs out from under him as the man across from him held him squarely by the throat. Well that was just perfect. Understanding and comprehending what his companion stated about balance, he was released from his restraint, and fell to the ground once again. He hastened back up and looked off in the direction Zan was pointing. He couldn’t see anything, but it was highly likely there was still something there.

They set off at a brisk trot, covering the distance decently when a quartet of little stunted objects came into view. Tagged as Metal Goblins, they noticed their little entourage and quickly veered toward the duo. It was time to have some fun. The boy loosened his spear, sweeping it low as he charged by, the weapon clanking off the body of one of the creatures. He spun with the recoil, bringing the object down on to the head of a different of the creatures. He supposed that was unnecessary, their growth was already horribly stunted but it couldn’t hurt anything, right?

He danced lithely out of reach of their weapons before settling down. Balance. Right. He swatted an incoming blade out of reach before slicing his own into the thing’s neck. It rewarded him with a satisfying crunch before he snapped the thing out, the Metal Goblin staggering slightly. Whipping his polearm around, he used the shaft to thrust it backward, directly into another creature. When the two of those went down in a heap, he fired off a quick Gan Don, the boulder pinning the two creatures neatly for a moment before disappearing. He swept forward, allowing both monsters to get back on their feet before setting of a Vak Repulse. His swear crunched directly through the chest of one of the Goblins and he brought it upward, neatly cutting the thing’s head in two, and he whirled around bringing his flaming weapon down across the chest of the other. It sizzled lightly as it was forced backward.

As the flames expired, the agitated Goblin rushed forward with a grunt. The boy sidestepped, and thrust outward with his spear entangling the little creature’s feet with it. It sprawled face first into the dirt, and the stab that went through its back was accompanied with a little fancy calligraphy that ended the things life. Well, that worked out well. He dusted his hands off and put his spear up as he turned toward his partner. Knowing the man, he was probably already done and waiting on the boy. Heh, probably. The Long Arm chuckled slightly to himself. It had been a while since he had had fun, and he was having fun.

Metal Goblins: what a thing to fight. No, more importantly, what a thing to be mulling over fighting while you were fighting it. Clashing weapons with the armored midget, Zan couldn't help but be at complete and utter ease with the confrontation. It was so normal. It was so...lacking in Twilight abnormalities or Elites or real death or anything like that. The danger level was, really, laughable. If, someone, he managed to get killed by any of the creatures there - or vice versa - one or the other would be there to heal their companion. The werewolf had, rather purposefully, chosen a field that he himself could easily handle and Raquar would have a fun little challenge with. It would give them both time to get closer, to allow the thing that the Lycan had realized he would have to do. It was something he had only done once before, with Danielle (an AI that had bonded with Dien ), but he was sure it would word in this fashion as well. The reason he hadn't done it yet was, well, they simply didn't know each other yet. That was something the Heavy Blade was hoping to forge along the quest, the thing that drives all of humanity: friendship. Zan was privy to so little of it that he had learned to treat it like the precious commodity it really and truly is. Knocking the side of the Metal Goblin's helmet with the flat of his sword, he swung the pipsqueak to the mulched ground with a satisfying plunk.

"Aren't we just the cute little gobby gob? Yes we are! Oh yes we are!" The lycanthrope mocked, grin cracked wide as it huffed and rose to its feet.

Wait a minute. Didn't it have a frie- Zan found himself heaving to the side, sudden weight and impact tossing him to the dark ground in turn with a sound not quite as pleasing as the one he had heard with the other monster. It was like having a squirrel wriggling on his side, however, and it was as easy to remove as swatting it with the side of his hand. The extra, slightly superhuman strength his Beast gifted him with made something that should have only rolled the creature off of him turn into a slight slingshot that hurled it off and against the dead trunk of a tree that collapsed in wet pieces with the force of it. None of that would have been quite so dramatic, but the Metal Goblin's size made it like a rag doll in Zan's hand. A quick shot to Raquar proved that the kid was doing fine - great, even - and certainly didn't need any intrusion on the Lycan's behalf. Ghostdancer in hand, he watched as the not-tree-tossed goblin charged him, only to windmill it past him with a slam of his weapon's flat on the top of its head this time. The odd redirection of his momentum sent it in a roll off towards a decorative tree-skull, drawing a slight laugh from the player's lips. He...could laugh. That was good to know. Reasons began to pop up that told him he shouldn't be, that reminded him of what had happened that had made such a thing a rarity, but he forced them away. He had yet to really with the situation and knew, knew the moment he considered both Lowen's death and the cold butchering he had committed...something in him would snap a little.

Knowing that, knowing his Beast was eager to eat up his guilt, fear and anguish, Zan decided to hold off on the pity-party for a little while. Just as he was aware all of that was to be, he was also rather attuned to the fact that there was only one person who could keep him sane when he finally let the painful bubble in his chest pop. The little Archer, his lumen, would be able to anchor him from losing himself to the wolf within. It had been ages, ages since the Garou had taken over him because he had lost control and, quite frankly, he didn't want it to happen again. Sekai was the only one with the inner...something, peace?...that was able to keep that animal in him at bay just enough. The werewolf found himself wondering if she knew how oddly precious she was to him, how even having the slightest of anchors to his human half in a period where he thought the creature that stalked under his skin would finally win was having a drop of hope. Truly, she was 'light'. That's why he called her that. The whole Latin cover up was to prevent it from sounding too sappy or from being understood by too many people. After all, not a lot of good Catholic children or Latin scholars trolled the places in 'The World' that he himself often occupied.

Again his mental train found itself derailed, a rather shaken, recently bitch-slapped goblin 'screeeeeeeee'ing towards him with its little mini-sword flailing about. If he wasn't too seconds from feeling a blade bite into his skin, Zan would have laughed again. Rather than do that, however, he swatted the assault away (effectively knocking the weapon out of his foe's hands) and landed a heavy boot square in the center of the pot helmet that covered the features of the Metal Goblin's face. The muffled 'OOF' did bring that laugh rolling up his throat and into the air. The dent in its armor piece seemed to have disoriented what little vision the hunk of tin had offered, but it offered an amusing enough sight that even the screaming warning from Zan's heightened hearing, one that attempted to tell him he was about to be attacked, went on unconsciously ignored until it was too late. The Heavy Blade had barely a second to turn, to raise his forearm in defense, when the monster launched itself up and heaved the jagged weapon down. Like a serrated knife making quick work of a piece of meat, the lycanthrope howled out in pain as muscle and tendon both were ripped open and blood was splashed onto the ground. Glacial blue eyes flared to the amber of the wolf, glowed in the aurora-night sky and almost seemed to add an eerie light to his cheeks as he punted the shit away with a slam of his black combat boot into the underside of its chin.

It squealed as it spun and flipped about in the air, but Zan was too busy staring at his arm and hissing, watching as tendons replaced, muscles regenerated and flesh stitched back together. Wow. In the heat of battle with the Elites and their minions, the werewolf rarely had the time to watch how he healed like he used to. It only hit him then how much in power he had grown since he first gained Twilight's aid. Back then, when he had been in human form, it took enough time to work itself back that not using a Repth had been stupid. Now? Well, it hadn't increased a ridiculous degree, but he no longer had to worry about some cuts taking their sweet time to fix. In the back of his mind, he knew it wasn't actually the wounds themselves so much as it was the level of those wounding (say, being gutted by a cleave of a Level 1 Heavy Axemen would heal in fractions of time while being gutted by a Level 35 Heavy Axemen [doing the same visual damage] would take a hell of a lot longer), but pleasant the little realization remained. Just pulling his eyes from the healing, he found himself staring at a Long Arm who had apparently killed all of his already. Well, that taught the Heavy Blade to play with his 'food.' Both of Zan's were still breathing and, of course, that quickly needed to be remedied. Before that, however, he had to give Raquar's look (one that seemed to be directed at his now-healed arm...if he wasn't mistaken, anyway) some kind of response.

"Gotta love, uh, Twilight, huh?"

And he was suddenly off, mildly embarrassed that someone as removed in levels from Zan as he was had managed to so effectively - and so quickly - defeat his opponents before him. Choosing not to fool around anymore, Zan's face dimmed with concentration, the irrationality of the Beast fading from his eyes and leaving them a cold blue as the one he had sent rolling finally came after him once more. Their blades met, the angle a little awkward with the height difference, and the force of their collision stumbled the goblin back enough and gave the Lycan all the opening he needed to quickly raise the Ghostdancer above his head and bring it down in a vertical stroke, coupled of course with a grunted yell, that cleaved the little monster in two. Both of its...pieces...flopped to either side, but the victory wasn't meant to be savored. The one he had field kicked away had staggered its way back, telling full of how close it was to death. Rather than be brutal with his sword, Zan chose to will the equipment back into his inventory and put the thing out of its misery in a more traditional, bug exterminator kind of way. The moment it had managed to make its way within striking distance of the Heavy Blade, he used the toe of his boot to kick it upside the head in a fairly light tap that did little but knock it flat on its back. Before any retaliation could be given, the lycanthrope raised his boot over the things head, smiled down at it, and delivered a stomp that compressed steel and flattened both bone and flesh until the cracks in the pot helm were oozing with blood and darker pieces of matter.

With that accomplished, Zan turned to Raquar like he hadn't just stepped on a monster with a fairly relaxed curl of his lips dawning. "Where to next, l'obscurité de la nuit?" If Zan continued to toss out varying language phrases at people, they'd start to think him some kind of linguist. Cool. They didn't need to know he was just good at remembering poem phrases or other foreign word combos he found particularly pleasing to the ear. A little manipulative? Maybbbbe.

But it sure was fun.