Purge(4)

Edith maintained her silent vigil as Alaric regarded her with an amused glint in his eyes, his gaze flitting between her and her two familiars. From the periphery of their confrontation, one of her lackeys attempted a surprise attack, a desperate bid to gain the upper hand. But Alaric's reaction was swift and decisive—a single, devastating blow to the throat that sent the assailant crumpling to the ground in a heap. What unnerved Edith was not the efficiency of his counterattack, but the fact that his eyes remained fixed on her throughout the entire ordeal.

As Alaric's form blurred once more, the Umbral Panther dissolved into the shadows, leaving Edith beneath the protective bulk of her titanic carapace. She felt the familiar stirrings of her other familiar as it emerged from the nearby shadows, jaws agape and poised to strike at Alaric's exposed neck from behind. Meanwhile, the carapace launched its own offensive, its front leg curving into a deadly scimitar-like blade aimed squarely at their adversary.

With lightning reflexes, Alaric raised his sword to intercept the deadly blow from the carapace, his free hand deftly retrieving a short dagger from his belt. The clash of metal against chitin echoed through the air as their strikes met in a deadly clash, each manoeuvre executed with lethal precision. In a swift motion, Alaric redirected the Carapace's attack toward the ground, while his dagger found its mark in the maw of Edith's shadow panther as it tried to clamp down on his throat.

A pained growl echoed from the depths of her creature's maw as it retreated once more into the shadows, wounded but not defeated. The exchange of blows continued unabated, Edith's fierce carapace matching Alaric blow for blow with its overwhelming strength and multiple limbs. Despite her best efforts, her panther's attempts at shadowy ambushes were met with staunch resistance, leaving them locked in a stalemate of relentless aggression.

As the battle wore on, Edith could feel her reserves dwindling, her strength waning with each passing moment. The prospect of a protracted conflict favoured Alaric, and panic began to gnaw at the edges of her composure. With each passing moment, the odds seemed to tip further in his favour, and Edith knew that she would need to act swiftly if she was to turn the tide of battle in her favour.

Amidst the chaos surrounding her, Edith momentarily shifted her attention and observed with growing dismay as her subordinates were gradually overwhelmed on all fronts. From her vantage point, she could see the tide of battle turning against them, her own forces—comprising both loyal employees and dubious visitors—struggling to hold their ground against the relentless onslaught. It was evident that they were outmatched and outclassed, their valiant efforts quickly proving insufficient against their formidable adversaries.

A sudden, pained howl pierced through the clamour of battle, drawing Edith's attention back to the immediate threat before her. Her Umbral Panther had suffered a grievous injury, its left front limb severed cleanly at the joint, rendering it temporarily incapacitated as it dissolved once more into the safety of the shadows.

"Yes, run away," he jeered. "This is no fight for an assassin... Coward." Alaric's mocking taunt only added insult to injury, his derisive words echoing in the midst of their deadly confrontation.

With her remaining familiar—the formidable carapace—assuming a defensive stance before her, Edith found herself at a loss for viable options. The creature launched a valiant assault against Alaric, its lightning-fast strikes spoke volumes of its uncanny reflexes and raw power. Yet, despite its best efforts and superior number of limbs, victory remained elusive, and Edith's thoughts raced as she grappled with the grim reality of their situation.

Time was of the essence, she realized, her mind racing through the limited array of choices available to her. With her forces on the brink of collapse, Edith knew that a decisive course of action was imperative if she hoped to stave off impending defeat. Yet, the hostile principality looming overhead posed a formidable obstacle, its oppressive presence casting a shadow of uncertainty over her next move.

Using her own abilities was also out of the question. To do so would mean facing the hostile principality that was in effect, a risk she was unwilling to take. She was unsure if her own powers were strong enough to overcome it, and the consequences of failure were too dire to contemplate.

But time was running out, and she knew that she could not afford to hesitate any longer. With her forces dwindling and a combined attack looming on the horizon, she had to make a choice. She had to act, and she had to act now and take down the adversary in front of her.

With a heavy heart, Edith raised her hands and began to chant the incantation, calling upon the power of her own principality. "Origin Manifestation, Sinister Veil," she whispered, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

As the shadows coalesced around her, Edith's familiars sprang into action, buying her precious time and distracting Alaric from his relentless pursuit. But her moment of defiance was met with a chilling response from her adversary—a wicked cackle that sent shivers down her spine.

"Finally," Alaric taunted, his voice dripping with malice. "I was starting to think you'd never bite." With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Edith realized the true extent of her predicament. A chilling realization dawned upon her—the true extent of Alaric's cunning and ruthlessness had yet to reveal itself, and she stood on the precipice of defeat. The shadows that surrounded her were not her own—they were Alaric's, a manifestation of her imminent defeat. At that moment, she knew that she had lost. She had played right into his hands. 

°°°°

As Edith commenced the manifestation of her principality, Alaric recognized the decisive moment he had been waiting for. With practised precision, he invoked his own ability, the Shroud of Shadows, surrounding them in an impenetrable dome of darkness. Within this ephemeral construct, he alone retained clarity of purpose, his senses honed to a razor's edge as he moved swiftly to execute his adversary.

He had held back from using his ability earlier because it would have exposed a weak point in the Mosiac Bastion. The trade-off for being allowed to use one's ability inside of an alien Principality was a certain level of understanding of the inner workings of said Principality. To do so in front of Edith without her initiating a battle of wills with Oberon would have been severely consequential.

This was not always the case, however, a lot of factors came into play, for instance, one's control over environmental Cosmic energy and their understanding of the process of Origin manifestation as a whole. Alaric knew Edith was more skilled than he had made her seem, that was thanks to the foundations he had laid in preparation for this battle. She would have been able to locate its vulnerabilities by observing with her senses, how Alaric's cosmic energy interacted with the arcane atmosphere in the principality. It was a shame she was a criminal, she was an excellent talent.

His movements were swift and purposeful, driven by the urgency of their mission and the dwindling reserves of his own energy. With a decisive strike, his blade found its mark, meeting Edith's neck with inexorable finality. In that fleeting instant, he acknowledged the duality of her existence—the vulnerable facade of a frightened girl masking the ruthless criminal responsible for countless deaths. Any semblance of remorse was swiftly cast aside, replaced by the cold pragmatism of the task at hand. At that moment, he silenced the last vestiges of resistance, his resolve unshaken by the gravity of his actions.

As the dome of darkness dissipated, revealing the aftermath of his swift judgment, Alaric surveyed the scene before him with a steely gaze. Edith's lifeless form lay sprawled on the floor, her severed head a grim exemplification of the ruthlessness of their conflict. Even as her familiars dissolved into the air, he felt a subtle resonance echoing through the depths of his consciousness—a fleeting connection to the universe's boundless awareness, a sensation he dismissed in favour of the task at hand.

Despite the toll exacted by the battle—his arms ached, and his head throbbed from the exertion of channelling both lightning and aether to combat Edith's formidable familiars. There was little time for rest, however, as he knew that their mission was far from over. With one adversary vanquished, his attention turned to the remaining Lords of the underworld, their fates inexorably intertwined with the unfolding events of the night.

Addressing his troops with commanding authority, Alaric issued orders to secure the prisoners and press onward with their mission. The night, still in its adolescence, demanded swiftness and resolve, and he was determined to see their task through to its conclusion. With the echoes of battle fading into the darkness, they forged ahead, their path illuminated by the flickering torchlight of destiny.