The sense of relief that washes over Azwel is... bizarre, to say the least. It's not every day one sees a person who's glad they're being attacked, but the other shoe has finally dropped and the tension is gone and he can simply concentrate on what he came out there to do.
The fire from Blaze's hammer only heightens that exultation and as soon as the flames tear their path through the enemy he charges, nerves singing. Spears and swords made of red and blue hard light arrow into their ranks as he runs forward and lest anyone think they are illusory the spray of gases and blood quickly prove otherwise. He pivots, throwing more momentum into a hail of spinning swords. A huge red greataxe leaves a pulpy mess where a Fallen once stood. He charges into their midst, mind spinning the manifestation numbers faster than he's probably ever done, and all the while he pivots and lunges and whirls, a sure-footed dance, clearing a path.
The magick that flashes from his gauntlets and forms these weapons is powerful, the essences of Order and Chaos themselves filtering through his mind and body and reshaping reality. A ringing sound fills the air between the screams and shouts and the motors and the wind, physics itself vibrating under the assault of this magick, flawlessly wielded by a mind accelerated beyond realistic human capacity. It can be felt by everyone there on a primal, instinctive level, vibrating in the spine, leaving light-bruises on the retinas.
Magick thrums through Azwel's body, rushing through his mind, swirling Order and Chaos and astral energies into that beautiful, mind-opening spiral they always create, and he runs and dances along that path, the numbers of reality nothing more than strings to pluck and pull and rearrange as he sees fit. Time slows for him as he cuts down more and more of the enemy and yet....
It isn't enough. He has to push further if they're to survive this. Break that last barrier that he's only broken once or twice before. He pulls energy around him, a swirling storm of primal force and when it explodes, mowing down more Fallen in an almost desultory fashion, physics once again holds its breath.
The important thing isn't that half of Azwel's clothing is missing, displaying bright glowing white lines on the skin of his torso and face, or that his eyes glow a brilliant yellow. It isn't even that he appears to move almost too fast to see.
It's that, as soon as he finds what he assumes is their leader, the biggest and most heavily-armed of their captains, Azwel literally rises into the air, his arms engulfed in red and blue flame. At a gesture the ringing increases, rumbling in the earth and keening in the air, physics screaming in protest as his hands plunge into spacetime and pull out two giant glowing swords, one that crackles with unholy red flame, the other that freezes with terrible blue ice. They soar from his hands, strike the captain, and then spin, bending the spinning of atoms to their will, a horrible twisting of reality, rotating their target in the air until Azwel gestures again and reality closes in on the captain in a terrible blinding release of energy.
There's nothing left of the Fallen captain after that.
And Azwel drops to the snowy ground to re-join the fight.
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The sense of relief that washes over Azwel is... bizarre, to say the least. It's not every day one sees a person who's glad they're being attacked, but the other shoe has finally dropped and the tension is gone and he can simply concentrate on what he came out there to do.
The fire from Blaze's hammer only heightens that exultation and as soon as the flames tear their path through the enemy he charges, nerves singing. Spears and swords made of red and blue hard light arrow into their ranks as he runs forward and lest anyone think they are illusory the spray of gases and blood quickly prove otherwise. He pivots, throwing more momentum into a hail of spinning swords. A huge red greataxe leaves a pulpy mess where a Fallen once stood. He charges into their midst, mind spinning the manifestation numbers faster than he's probably ever done, and all the while he pivots and lunges and whirls, a sure-footed dance, clearing a path.
The magick that flashes from his gauntlets and forms these weapons is powerful, the essences of Order and Chaos themselves filtering through his mind and body and reshaping reality. A ringing sound fills the air between the screams and shouts and the motors and the wind, physics itself vibrating under the assault of this magick, flawlessly wielded by a mind accelerated beyond realistic human capacity. It can be felt by everyone there on a primal, instinctive level, vibrating in the spine, leaving light-bruises on the retinas.
Magick thrums through Azwel's body, rushing through his mind, swirling Order and Chaos and astral energies into that beautiful, mind-opening spiral they always create, and he runs and dances along that path, the numbers of reality nothing more than strings to pluck and pull and rearrange as he sees fit. Time slows for him as he cuts down more and more of the enemy and yet....
It isn't enough. He has to push further if they're to survive this. Break that last barrier that he's only broken once or twice before. He pulls energy around him, a swirling storm of primal force and when it explodes, mowing down more Fallen in an almost desultory fashion, physics once again holds its breath.
The important thing isn't that half of Azwel's clothing is missing, displaying bright glowing white lines on the skin of his torso and face, or that his eyes glow a brilliant yellow. It isn't even that he appears to move almost too fast to see.
It's that, as soon as he finds what he assumes is their leader, the biggest and most heavily-armed of their captains, Azwel literally rises into the air, his arms engulfed in red and blue flame. At a gesture the ringing increases, rumbling in the earth and keening in the air, physics screaming in protest as his hands plunge into spacetime and pull out two giant glowing swords, one that crackles with unholy red flame, the other that freezes with terrible blue ice. They soar from his hands, strike the captain, and then spin, bending the spinning of atoms to their will, a horrible twisting of reality, rotating their target in the air until Azwel gestures again and reality closes in on the captain in a terrible blinding release of energy.
There's nothing left of the Fallen captain after that.
And Azwel drops to the snowy ground to re-join the fight.