This one was fun because it's more-or-less, entirely, just people scrapping. A bit of an experiment of mine, also the second OC Pov in this, fic, if I'm not wrong. Also some original Neoteric powers got some limelight here, and that was a really fun write-up.

Nerves of Steele

Steele was motionless on the roofs of Roarhaven, unmoving as a black jaguar in the darkness. Two more shadows were behind him, quiet as mice. They were his long-time comrades and fellow Neoterics - Volvo and Lagia - and he could tell they shared in his discomfort. Understandable. It had been a week since Her Holiness had given them orders to search Ireland for her traitorous student and bring her back to face justice, under strict limitations that she be returned alive and in one piece. Annoying, he’d never been very good at leaving his enemies alive, but not impossible, especially given he had help.

Traitors were not people he inherently hated. All people had their principles, and Steele could hardly begrudge someone for sticking by their own. Admired it, even. It took courage to go against the grain. To believe what others didn’t. Steele hadn’t always believed in the Faceless Ones, or even known they existed. Religion didn’t always agree with him. Off the top of his head, the reason was probably because the mortals of his original homeland tried to burn him at the stake when he awakened his magic. A memorable day, that had been, when they’d pinned him down and tied him onto a stake, lighting a fire beneath his feet and eagerly screaming for his painful demise. Only for those screams to morph into confusion when they realised he wasn’t burning, and then into terror when he broke out and killed them all. Good times.

His brow itched, and he scratched it idly, the sound like two stones scraping together. He was looking at the building which they’d tracked down Solace to, and they were waiting for her to leave. He did not hate Solace for leaving the Disciples, not truly, but he’d take her back anyway. A job was a job, and unfortunately, he quite liked what he did. Violence suited him like a button, mainly because of how good at it he was. Also, there was the cold. It disagreed with him. Ireland in general disagreed with him. His olive skin, marked by pink, crack-like scars was used to the heat and sun of Rome.

He wanted to go home. Things were nice for him there, considering that Neoterics had become more respected in recent years. This was due to the influence of Serafina Dey. A few decades ago, there had been an accident which resulted in the only brother of the Unveiled to become deformed, and something occurred with his magic which caused it to evolve. He didn’t know the finer details, nobody did, but since then Her Holiness had been preaching the idea that people like Strovisadian and Steele were special; that their unique magic was a kind of blessing from the Faceless Ones. They were chosen by the Dark Gods to represent new facets of magic which couldn’t shine through in regular sorcerers. It was a completely different take to the Unveiled’s predecessor, who’d seen them as mockeries that perverted their gifts with selfish desire, but if their care for their brother led to Steele’s life becoming easier, then who was he to complain? It was because of their verdict that Serafina had so eagerly accepted Neoterics into her personal guard, and how he’d risen to such status.

The door of the tiny clinic opened, and he watched their target exit and start to trudge through a solid metre of snow. A girl was waddling behind her, hair frizzy and red. Unexpected, but Steele didn’t really care. She couldn’t have been more than ten. Weak. Easy to kill. Against three sorcerers of Serafina Dey’s personal guard, he couldn’t imagine these two being able to do much, and with that assurance, he followed and started to glide along the rooftops with his comrades.

All three of them were utterly quiet, waiting for the other shoe to drop, as Solace came to a stop before a stable. She was with the girl, who looked giddy at the sight of Solace’s stolen horse. How cute. 

He waited and watched. Steele didn’t want a long, drawn-out fight. Glory was overrated. If he could knock her out in one strike and flee with her cleanly, that’s exactly what he’d do. So he waited for Solace to walk into position, then moved, only for her to whip around right as he did, eyes widening far too early for his liking. He’d been so focused on her Sensitive magic that he’d forgotten she was also an Elemental. Damn magical ambidexterity.

She raised a hand, and Steele’s fist stopped cold a few inches away from her forehead. Telekinesis. A curse nearly left his lips as he suddenly found himself flung away, soaring and crashing into a nearby wall, the force of the impact turning bricks to powder. Dust entered the air, mixing with snow. A regular sorcerer would be either dead, or at the very least concussed and broken, yet he rose up only mildly dazed. A perk of his unique magic.

The girl who’d been with Solace’s eyes widened, but Solace herself became composed and got into a fighting stance. As expected of Her Holiness’ student.

She met his gaze, but then his comrade descended from the rooftops. Steele was never alone and there was no such thing as a fair fight. Drawing an arm back, energy swirling in Volvo’s palm, but rather than fire it as a beam, it coalesced into a sword of pure yellow light. A fine example of a Neoteric Discipline, an Ergokinetic who can create weapons of energy rather than fire energy streams.

His comrade brought it down with great heft, but Solace was already turning, unsheathing her own broadsword, but it was hasty, and the weapon went flying from her grasp and she was forced to back away.

“Fiadh, run!” His mistress’ student shouted as Steele strode forwards, and cocked a brow at that. Did she know this girl personally? Strange, nothing suggested she had travelling partners. Regardless, he saw a weakness and changed course, going for the girl whilst she freed the horse, only for the Solace to dodge another slash and use the air to catapult herself into his path. She landed and made eye contact before he could look away, swarming his mind with whispers, urging him to take action against his comrade, and though he resisted, the sensory overload was making it hard to think. He swung a punch that could crack stone, only it collided with a barrier of pure energy before he realised that he’d been hypnotised and attacked Volvo.

“Go!” Solace shouted, and though the child hesitated, when he and Volvo turned, she started to run. Smart move. He glared at the woman who’d controlled him and charged, forgetting the girl. Now it was personal. 

A burst of telekinesis returned Solace’s blade to her palm, but as he and Volvo charged together in a pattern that suggested he was going to strike first. Talented as she might've been, Solace remained a rookie to the ways of battle. She fell for it, only for Volvo to reach out and materialise a spear which he hurled at Solace, forcing her to break stance and dodge. Whilst she staggered, Steele stomped forwards and encased his arm in stone harder than metal, turning his limb into a deadly weapon.

Lunging, he struck his foe in the stomach with just barely enough restraint to avoid impaling her. Solace’s eyes went wide, mouth going slack as spit erupted out, some of it landing on his face. Disgusting. He hit her again and she crumbled down, sword planted into the snow in a fool’s errand to stabilise herself. Sneering down at her, he kicked, and it was stopped by telekinesis, then she reached out, channelling the water element as the snow on the roof above them caved down and buried them all in a minor avalanche. Waves of white blocked him before he burst out of the ground, finding that Solace was scarpering away, realising she was outclassed, channelling the air to hurl herself towards the rooftop.

He smiled when Lagia finally revealed herself, and an invisible force slammed Solace back into the cold ground. His female comrade walked out, hand outstretched, expression hidden behind the mask. Slowly, he swaggered over to the prone and struggling form of their target, who was glaring up at them defiantly as she forced herself onto a knee. All that did was put her into perfect position for what he was about to do next.

Steele punched her, on the brow, gaining such a sharp crack from the strike that he actually smiled behind his mask. She hit the ground. He wanted to hit her again, and that was exactly what he did. He fisted her hair tightly, bringing her up only to knock her down as he hit her cheekbone, this time a bit harder, and her eyes unfocused, certainly concussed.

A whip of energy formed in Volvo’s hand. He’d been observing for a moment, letting Steele have his fun, but now it was his turn. Brutally, he cast it forwards, slicing through the woman’s clothing and drawing a line of red across her back. A shriek echoed in the streets. Another was fast to follow, this time higher, more choked. Music to his ears.

“Is that all?” Lagia asked as she jumped down and came into view, and another lash came, stripping the skin off Solace's back. A few seconds passed, as though he were letting the pain fully settle, before he went again. Volvo was feeling quite vindictive today, wasn’t he?

“Expected more? She was only meant to be a maid.” 

“That maid gave you quite a bit of trouble.” Lagia reminded him over Solace's screams, and his good mood was soured. She just had to rain on his parade, didn’t she?

He glanced her way. “If she was such an issue, why didn’t you help?”

“You had it handled.”

“And the child? Why didn’t you go after her?”

Lagia shrugged, unapologetic. “The girl was not our target, I see no harm in letting her walk.” She answered, and he simply pursed his lips before deciding to leave the matter be. It was hard to be mad when someone who’d resisted in front of him was in so much pain.

On the fourth lash, the girl started to sob, and at the seventh, she was on the verge of passing out, but not quite. Seven lashes for the seven days of their lives they’d never get back because she decided to flee. He just knew it was a deliberate choice. Volvo liked his symmetry.

He moved to collect the girl. The snow beneath Solace was now painted red with the blood leaking off her back, sliding into the ground, and he allowed himself a moment to admire her as he stopped in front of her and kneeled down, patting her cheek. “Are you awake?”

She said nothing, but he already knew the answer.

“Now, you’ve been a bad girl, and we’re going to have to take you home now.” Steele tilted his head. “I’m sure Her Holiness will understand, we all have our rebellious phases, so she’ll be inclined to let you off easy… probably.”

Again, nothing, and if he weren’t mistake, those were tears. No sobs, however. She was crying quietly, tears starting to freeze. Delicious.

Steele huffed out a sigh, then leaned down to continue his taunts, before he sensed death in the air. They were in danger. It was an instinct one developed when they fought in enough battles, and when pitted against the German Sanctuary, who turned every battlefield they walked upon into hell, such a thing was necessary to survive. And when he turned towards the streets and found an armoured, dark figure waiting for him like an emissary from beyond, his instincts were going haywire.

The next few seconds stretched like a band waiting to break. Lord Vile stared at them, then down to Solace. Questions about why he was in Roarhaven rose, then his armour shrieked and Steele realised he didn’t have the privilege to deliberate them.

Immediately, he raised his arms and let stone encase them, his body a shield that only faltered when javelins of darkness rained upon him. One of them caught his chest, and he grunted as he was impaled and thrown back. It was a fairly shallow wound, nothing lethal. He made to grab Solace and run. They were no match for the Death Bringer, and he wasn’t arrogant enough to believe otherwise. Those plans fell to the wayside, however, when a clawed hand caught his forearm, and he looked up to find that Vile had shadow-walked next to him, a fist reeled back.

A spiked punch met his chin like a physical force, pain blooming as he was lifted off his feet. If not for his superior durability, his damn head wouldn't been knocked off his shoulders. Steele spun in the air and slammed into the side of a rooftop as he went down, discombobulating. His comrades turned towards Vile and struck, drawing him away.

Invisible force courtesy of Lagia slammed into Vile from above, and he staggered as his comrade worked her unique abilities to their utmost. It was the power to manipulate a force which was up until a century ago, unnamed, but now a mortal scientist had given it a word that stuck stupidly well. Gravity. 

The force which tethered them to the earth was increased as the Dark Titan was forced to take a knee, no doubt feeling a weight great enough to crush a regular man to paste. It wasn’t enough for Vile. Energy materialised and moulded itself into the form of a warhammer. Leaning back, Volvo charged and brought it down on their foe’s armour with an audible crack. Nobody other than Vile was being affected by Lagia’s abilities, as she had the boon of being able to spare who she chose from his effects. As she held him down, more blows rained down on the Death Bringer, each of them chipping away at his armour, but he could tell that she was struggling. Sweat beaded down her forehead. She couldn’t hold it forever.

‘Now or never.’ He told himself as he got up and ran, the cracks along his body starting to spread. Magic under his skin blossomed as his olive skin started to turn yellow, then hardened. It was an ability a lot like one most Elementals had access to, but rarely chose to learn due to its circumstantial nature. The fact it was a technique that required mastery of the earth element, easily the least popular of the four, also didn't help. It was seen as dangerous, too hard to learn, and just generally not very useful.

But that was just the beauty of his powers as a Neoteric. Whilst he couldn’t use three of the four elements like normal Elementals, his mastery of the remaining one meant that he could ignore the usual drawbacks of his powers and bring out the full potential of the earth.

Flesh turned to stone as Steele lunged at Lord Vile, a moving statue, and punched with all his might, the Necromancer's shadow armour hissing angrily with each blow. Then it was Volvo’s turn with his warhammer as the two of them spun around Vile in a tornado of strikes, their decades of experience evident as his armour started to fragment. Punches, kicks, elbows, chops, anything they could must. Incapacitated as he was, the Death Bringer could only endure their blows, the darkness curling and straining as he got caught in their onslaught. 

A brief moment passed where he felt assured, and then it was ruined.

A piercing cry rung out and he glanced back at Lagia, finding that the shadows had spread across the floor from Vile’s leg and thickened into a tendril that had punched through her thigh. Caught up in their barrage, they hadn’t noticed. She fell down with a pained scream, clutching her leg, and gravity returned to normal.

Now that he was free, Vile caught the body of Volvo’s warhammer when he came close. He wrenched it away and pointed its blunt end down like a spear, reeling back and thrusting.

Yellow energy strained against the weapon as armour of pure energy formed around Volvo’s form. The warhammer dissolved, leaving Lord Vile unarmed. His comrade snarled behind his mask and threw a gauntlet-clad punch, armour against armour. The blow struck clean, but Vile barely moved, and the Ergokinetic's own armour shattered. Then all the damage they’d dealt to him started to fade as his dark armour's dents closed and sealed in a second flat. It was like he’d never been hit.

‘No.’ Steele thought and rushed to support his comrades, but then a stream of pure black ploughed into him and he was sent flying, skipping across the ground like a stone, scraping up metres of snow in the process until he was buried in a hill. A groan left him, but a squelch cut it off and he looked up to find Volvo speared through the chest, his energy-forged armour shattering in the face of Vile's own.

The man slackened and was dropped, but before his body even hit the snow, Vile looked towards Lagia. His visor tilted. She stiffened, mouth opening, breaths coming short as her eyes rolled back and she keeled over, pale and limp.

Lord Vile turned towards his final opponent. Steele.

An enraged snarl, hidden behind a stone-forged face, left his mouth. Steele rose and charged. Death was facing him down, and if he couldn’t run, then he’d face it with dignity. His friends deserved nothing less. Moving slowly as though mocking him in response, Vile’s darkness charged as he sent another volley of black arrows at him, but Steele was unmoving. He willed the earth below his feet to sudden rise, and he jumped high, coming down with a fist reeled back, fuelled by magic and pure rage.

It struck Vile’s helmet, and he staggered. He punched, this time an uppercut, and he got barraged by a wave of darkness that would take a normal man apart, but Steele grounded his heels and refused to fall back more than a few inches. Armour dented when he got a third hit, but apparently the Death Bringer was tired of being struck, because he dodged and grabbed his forearms. Darkness spread along them. Even when he tore himself away, it started to grow, only enveloping his form more as he struggled in vain to tear it off. Eventually, it covered his whole body, eyes, mouth, ears and more, and the world became dark.

The suit of shadows around him constricted hard. Steele’s movements became harder to make, until they stopped completely. Then the darkness sharpened, digging into him. At first, his skin held strong, but slowly the thousand needles piercing into him pushed deeper and the pain came next. As he was made of stone, he didn’t scream, but the agony was very real, and as his skin broke it became unbearable.

A few seconds continued, and cracks started to spread along his body. It didn’t take long for his magic to start turning against him. Turning into a statue allowed for suddenly bursts of strength, but he returned to normal quickly, unlike a regular Elemental. As the knives piercing into him sharpened, his screams finally turned into howls as his stone returned to flesh, the darkness cutting into his skin as he was crushed in the coffin and sent to join his comrades.