Headed by a Snake

Haelvia held her hand out as she ran, Gaheris matching the motion. She wasn't going to make it in time.

But then... Lancelot dropped low, planting a flaming elbow into the bear's gut. In a smooth motion, he grabbed hold of the red and white armor's wrist and pulled its arm close.

Haelvia watched in disbelief as the smaller armor shifted its weight... and rolled the massive bear over its shoulder, sending it into the ground with a thunderous crash.

A soft, but deep chuckling came out of Gaheris' interface. Tychon-- he... he was fine.

"Hm. Haha..." The handsome youth smiled, "I very much like the way you call my name. I'd like to hear it much more tonight."

As he was speaking, Lancelot straddled the fallen bear's chest and began to hammer down onto its snout and chest with fiery fists.

Gaheris slowed his steps as Haelvia breathed a deep-- if exasperated sigh of relief...

"Your answer, Elle?" Tychon asked.

That criminal.... he wasn't even breathing hard.

Haelvia rolled her eyes.

This person was... difficult to deal with.

She would have loved to respond back with the same brazenness and bravado... but she had a sudden realization.

The Duplicarius... was he being serious? His flirtations had been so over-the-top, she hadn't stopped to consider whether or not he... was actually attracted to her.

From his insistence... it didn't sound like he was joking.

Her heart was pounding out of her chest... and partly from only-just escaping a near-death situation. But... she and him-- they hadn't even met properly.

Haelvia was... a little scared. She was more than hopeful.

But... the golden-eyed Duplicarius was waiting for an answer...

She averted her gaze and squeaked a shy response... "I... I think I'd like that."

...

"Excellent," Tycondrius smirked at the blonde woman in the image, "I shall hold you to that."

"I..." She smiled, "A-alright."

"I'll meet you back at the fortress, Elle," Tycon grinned. "My companions and I won't take long."

"R-right," Elle's face fell, her voice adopting a worried tone. "Business before pleasure, then... Be careful, Tychon."

"Until then," Tychon responded with a meaningful wink.

« System, close the visual connection, please. »

⟬ System response: Visual connection closed. ⟭

« I'd like you to turn down the flames, little one. »

⊰ yes ⊱

In an instant, the flames protecting Tycon and Talks-With-Fire were extinguished.

Beatrice had spent several suns requesting to burn various persons and objects. She was a good girl-- just a bit impatient. Once she'd been allowed to channel her mana towards thoroughly embarrassing an enemy Divine Armor, she became far more agreeable to his requests.

Tycon's victory over the enemy Divine Armor was mostly effortless due to the young fire elemental's... enthusiasm.

He smashed a heavy kick against the inside of Talks-With-Fire's red-heated metal chest plate. The impact dislodged it from its hinges, dropping it down, where it ricocheted noisily off the metallic creature below.

Leaping down onto the defeated Divine Armor, Tycon channeled mana into his hands. With his mana-empowered grip, he twisted and tore the mana-constructed metal coverings that protected the enemy pilot.

A hatchet chopped forward, wielded by a masked elf... but such an attack was predictable. Tycon grabbed the gentleman's closed fist and squeezed until he heard the crack of bone... not releasing until the weapon fell harmlessly out of his broken hand.

He reached down to grab the elf's throat, dragged him out of his metal shell, and pinned him against the Bear Armor's still-glowing chest. The defeated warrior loosed a groan of pain as his back sizzled against the heated metal, clearly felt despite the light armor he wore.

"(I... cannot die,)" The pilot spat in Elven, both hands gripping Tycon's forearm, "(I am... Growling-Bear!! First Warrior of the Ebon Mask tribe!!)"

"Is that so?" Tycon raised an eyebrow.

He looked at the broken fist of the elf known as 'Growling-Bear'. It had only been seconds since, but it seemed the bones had already reset and were in the process of healing.

As the elf didn't seem to belong to a bloodline known for physical regeneration, Tycon made a quick assessment for magical items.

...He reasoned it was probably the most obvious.

Grabbing the elf's bone mask, Tycon drew his finger on its surface with his opposite hands. After deactivating the spell circle keeping it on his face, he picked it up and casually tossed it aside.

Without his enchanted mask, the confidence in the elf's face waned...

His dark, sweat-matted hair covered his bruised face. His left arm was purple and swollen, having recently been broken. Dark blood streamed down his mouth from internal injuries.

His eyes, however... they were still alive. They still burned-- but with indignation and fury.

Tycon stared back, undaunted.

It was no wonder Guild Metal Wolf could not contend with the Ebon Mask Tribe. If each of their warriors could defy death, then even a small force was not disadvantaged against a full Tyrion century.

He wore a solemn, respectful face as he spoke, "(Tell me, then, Growling-Bear, First Warrior of the Ebon Mask tribe... For what reason do you hate?)"

Growling-Bear glared back, baring his teeth, "(Your tribe... they took an elf... a slave. We... would not allow it.)"

"(You hide something from me,)" Tycon pursed his lips.

That was a plausible reason, but the pure, unadulterated hatred in Growling-Bear's eyes did not merely speak of injustice on the behalf of others, "(Tell me... is it your shame?)"

The broken elf's body convulsed as he began to spasm and cough. He hacked out a gob of dark blood that stained Tycon's shirt.

While unpleasant, Tycon decided not to wipe it away... out of respect, perhaps.

"(You...)" The elf growled, "(you *killed* Chases-Butterfly.)"

Tycon grimaced as he released the musclebound fellow... "(Unfortunately, that is not the case.)"

"(YOU!!)" Growling-Bear roared as he struggled to stand, "(You MOCK me!!!)"

"(I speak the truth, Growling-Bear,)" Tychon sighed. "(This sun is the first we have clashed.)"

Color immediately drained from the elf's face.

It should have been obvious. Tycon had no issues defeating him, whereas, according to Guild Metal Wolf's reports, the previous 'Lancelot' had fallen after a single exchange.

The elf trembled, coughing weakly... before his eyes refocused and he grit his teeth, "(Wh... where...?)"

He seemed to be asking for the person responsible.

Tycon merely shook his head.