Vincent Salvador

A perfectly executed slash sent a pretty spray of blood into the air. The spray was incidental to Vincent. But at that moment between heartbeats, he noted the form. As he breathed in, the blade came back to the same spot to cut deeper. His outward breath was like a laugh as the limb cut free. The scream of the Ratsin was distant, unimportant. The counterattack was important. A little at least, but easily pivoted away to freedom. The ragged claws flurried in the air in the manner of an enthusiastic wave. Grinning, Vincent thought it looked like a farewell.

The swordsman dived back in at an angle before feinting towards the missing hind leg. The animalistic instinct threw the monster into a panic. It moved to protect that vulnerability. He was already elsewhere. The Ratsin had lost Vincent as he came at the exposed flank. The sword plunged into the soft belly of the beast. The steel came out dripping and dyed crimson. The red thrill approved and he flushed at the bloody shine.

The young Ratsin shrieked and wriggled into a rolling ball. Absently frowning, his attention fading with the assumed victory. Vincent ended the monster with a shear through the neck. A better fight than the small ones, but not enough, decided the swordsman. What I want is the challenge of a mutated one. I do cheer for my students… still, how I wish I could have taken that one alone. Malachi is unlikely to be pleased with me challenging one alone.

The potential disturbance taken care of, he headed back towards his party. They were currently taking on one of the larger muscular Raisins. Vincent had volunteered to take out the trio of rats that had entered the cavern. His assistance had been unneeded and the swordsman had hoped that three on one would be fulfilling. The disappointment was deflating. He was already feeling lethargic about rejoining his party. His eyes scanned and saw the fight was a foregone conclusion. They had learned well how to work together.

Phelain was coming into his own, more confidence than bluster now. He was dipping and ducking while keeping the Ratsin close. His sword lashed out periodically to call down and hold that attention. The aspiring warrior looked boyishly handsome as he commanded the assault. There wasn’t any hesitation from the rest of the party in following those orders. Mutual respect had grown between them all. Out looking in, Vincent almost felt a little lonely.

The red thrill was dimming as he grew bored watching the fight. Hector had pinched the monster between Phelain and himself. Scorched out eyes by Allen saw the Ratsin blind and flailing. It was reacting more to pain than fighting back now. Vincent sighed and strolled. There was a burst of light as Kai put the monster on his back. The fight wasn’t over yet, but the rat thing was a corpse with an expiring heart. The swordsman lifted his blade to sheath it. He paused.

Something's attention burned into his back. Vincent almost didn't notice the chill running up his spine over the rising excitement. The thrill came back to life and he turned with a grin. His feet danced a fencer’s warm-up in gleeful anticipation. The swordsman lazily held the point ready in the direction of the bloodlust. Dull red eyes like dying embers hovered in the shadows. The approaching monster announced itself with a growl similar to rusty nails on a chalkboard. Emaciated claws broke the line of shadow first.

A hissing breath leaked from the crooked mouth of the starved-looking Ratsin. There was a creaking sound to the limbs as it partially left the shadows to stare down Vincent. A hush lay heavily between them for a beat. Then a flurry of movement. The rat thing leaped forward claws erratic and jaws snapping. His feet were already moving. Quick swordwork guided the claws away as he sidestepped out of the way. The monster landed with a clatter of limbs. It shifted, almost like a roll, back onto its feet facing Vincent.

Blanching, he stepped into his Form to dodge the next attack. A slam attack with both hands. The claws came down to impale and instead shattered holes into the ground. His Form brought the needs slowed perspective and quickened muscles to make the dodge. The swordsman moved forward and then to the right. The rat thing’s side was open. Vincent plunged the sword through the ribs. The counter came and he retreated. Claws slashed through the air to nip at his shirt.

He looked down at the blade to take a look at the blood. An expectation of crimson went unfulfilled. The tacky black blood was enough to make him grimace. A swipe of the sword cleaned some, but the tackiness defied him. Growling with annoyance for his sword, Vincent attacked. Wounds opened up across Ratsin that pooled slow blood-like sap. The rat thing showed no reaction. The insistent attacks never slowed. Seeing how little of an effect he was having, the swordsman tried to dive into the state to summon the glowing blade. Twice now the ability had been summoned, but he still was unsure how to do it on purpose.

Distracted by the frustration Vincent had to duck a claw awkwardly. While recovering, the tail swept his legs. He slapped a hand to the ground as he fell forward. Pivoting on the hand the momentum of the fall allowed him to twist around and turn the fall into a flip. The Ratsin came in close for a bite, fangs flashing. The swordsman thrust in midair to pierce through one of the eyes. It didn’t flinch. His feet never made it to the ground.

A crushing pain radiated from the shoulder. The fangs passed through the weak defensive field without pause. The gambeson held against the smaller fangs, but the longer ones punched holes all the way through. It whipped him into the air and the wounds began to tear. A mix of emotion roiled in Vincent. Shame, rage, and loathing twisted with the pain he was filling. Still, the swordsman grinned for the red light that rose from the blade. I believe I am almost there, thought Vincent. It is a trick of the mind. The right position of the mind is needed to call this at will.

With teeth gripping the shoulder of his sword arm, there wasn’t a great angle for him. Painfully he swung at the incoming claws. The angle was bad, but the light enhanced bladed sheared through the hand. Only two clawed fingers were left to tear at him. Snarling, the swordsman swung wildly, but after the first swing, the light faded. The right mindset had slipped away. Vincent roared with indigent anger and pain. His sword digging into any flesh it could. With the empty hand, he slammed, gouged, or ripped at anything he could reach. Vincent desperately tried to get free. Refusing to give up. Even when the Ratsin’s good hand began trying to rip off his leg.

A ball of flame detonated on the spine of the Ratsin. He felt the wave of heat before he began falling. The monster shrieked as its dry skin and hair caught aflame. Vincent rolled to safety once he slammed into the ground. Briskly, painfully, the swordsman rose to his feet ready to fight despite the slump of his form. He was taking a step towards the monster when something grabbed his collar from behind. It yanked backward with terrible strength.

Flung off his feet, the wounded swordsman landed into the arms of someone. Looking upwards he saw John Harken lower him carefully to the ground. Turning towards the Ratsin he saw Malachi standing in the way. In the background, the Ratsin rolled around on its back and screamed. It was the sword acolyte that held his eyes. Normally mild in expression, there was now an eruption of fury aimed directly at him. Vincent felt like squirming under the force of that willful stare.

“Fool,” growled Malachi. “You don’t get to do this. Be this reckless...Agh... Together! We do this together!” Before he could reply the bearded man stepped forward to bring their faces close together. “I expect better from you.” With the last word, their leader swiveled back to the Ratsin. Rage still radiated off Malachi when he stalked away. Vincent barely noted when others flowed past him to join the fight too. His thoughts turned inwards. His face flushed not just from blood loss, but embarrassment. He fought against the feeling with rationale and pride. To no avail in the end. Malachi’s words echoed in his head.

Harken recited a variation of Shepherd’s Restoration and golden light took the pain away. Vincent got to his feet silently. Still lost in thought. Pride still stoked arguments and he could see the path of bitterness that would lead him down. The embarrassment had already soaked into his bones. There was nothing, but to accept the rebuke. It was logical, but that didn’t sit right with him.

Interrupting the train of thought was Harken. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a scolded child,” frowned Vincent.

“Ahh, yes I could see that,” replied Harken thoughtfully. With a small smile, “Though I meant physically. I wanted to make sure the healing worked since you were just standing there. I expected you to try to jump back into the fight.”

Vincent turned to the priestly man after flinching at the word “expected.” He considered the other man as they patiently waited for a response. He's a little crazy, but there is something warm about him, thought the swordsman. Should I speak to him about this?

Behind him, the battle continued, but Vincent couldn’t allow himself to look. He could see that Harken was keeping an eye on the party. It didn’t help in the swordsman’s attempt to ignore the fight. Before Vincent would allow himself to join, he needed to take apart this tangle of emotions. The issue is the thrill I am feeling, considered Vincent. A whole life in pursuit of this sword life and I found it. Is there any wonder at the excitement I am feeling? No, the issue is I let it make me stupid.

“My pride tells me to ignore this,” began the swordsman. “I find it saying to me, “I want that recklessness! I want to put myself on that edge to risk myself. To see how far my skill can take me!” It speaks out because of that last aspect of being a swordsman I could never live out. To risk death. How could I really claim the title? Every bout was safe... Harm could never truly be a concern. Perhaps, I allowed myself too easily to follow the thrill I found here.”

“Living out a dream is never how you expect it,” remarked Harken. “No doubt in the dream you were alone. The risk was measured only to you sought. The Sixty rely upon your skills, swordsman.”

Vincent felt himself flush again. “I’m not alone… is that it?” he asked. “Is that why I angered Malachi so? I didn’t even think there was really anything that would destroy that man’s equilibrium.”

“As I understand it, he did ask you to teach everyone how to fight,” answered Harken. “We’ve done well today. How much of that is because of your students? Malachi included.”

It spun through his head, the last two days. The private lesson and the group ones he had given. Not everyone had been ready to come out into the dark, but he acknowledged a few that were worthy. The rest were waiting for him to continue the lessons. He hadn’t taken the teaching seriously. Even before, back on Earth, being paid to teach actors or other enthusiasts. It had all just been something adjacent, something to pass the time.

“I am being relied upon,” said Vincent with some confusion and distress. That had been true before in a lesser sense. Only for jobs and pastimes. Nothing serious. Nothing with lives on the line in both the short term and the long term. Laughing dryly he continued. “I don’t think I have ever felt like I needed to take anything serious before.” He looked at the priestly man with a wavering smile.

Harken looked back kindly and gripped his shoulder brotherly. “To be relied upon is not a terrible thing. It will give you more gifts than struggles. If there is fear that you have sinned against the Sixty, worry not. For though we have come to rely on you, we shall also support you. Rely on us to aid you. Malachi pulled you back before you went too far. Learn from this, and I don’t doubt he will forgive you.”

His words were assuring for Vincent. It was a scary notation to accept the weight of others. The desire to put it all on the line was still there. Still burning bright and red. The swordsman felt sure that he could hold it back. The Pit was a dangerous place. Desperate and risky moments would come sooner rather than later. “Aye, yeah, he’s a good sort,” agreed Vincent mildly. “I’ll just keep myself in line and stick with the group.”

“If he should send you back?” probed Harken.

Vincent paused in thought to allow the horror and shame of that wash over him. Shake it off, he said, “I guess I’ll listen. I was one of the people that put the man in charge. Even if I was indifferent to who wore the crown... Be odd not to listen to him, right?”

“Seems a good leader to me,” offered Harken. “Shame to not listen to a man you respect.”

“Shame indeed,” colored Vincent. “As if I didn’t make enough of a fool of myself today.” Taking a deep breath he turned to see how the fight with the dried-up Ratsin was going. His focus being what it was, when he turned to the battle it was like switching the channel. A sudden blast of noise and new sights. The party was holding its own against the monster, but it wasn’t decided yet. The swordsman pulled his sword free. He glanced back at Harken with a raised eyebrow.

“Go, go,” said the priestly man while waving him off. “I wasn’t told to stop you or anything. Join the battle.”

Vincent nodded in thanks. He limbered up to make sure his body was ready. No reason to jump in if I am going to slip up again, thought the swordsman. Feeling up to it, he deliberated on where and how to join up. By force of will, he tried to look at the battle from the perspective of group dynamics. Fighting alone has been his way for decades and it was hard to switch. The group tactics were known to him. It was just a matter of working with that mindset. Before this moment Vincent had looked solely for how he could finish the fight. The best time to change is now, never tomorrow, the swordsman warned himself. Fervently he added as a mental wish, Make this moment pivotal to me so it sticks.

His Form flowed over Vincent as he considered the options. Julia stood at the back of the Ratsin in the process of severing the tail. Damien and Malachi were launching spells that gouged chunks out of the monster. Clarissa had managed with her piercing arrows to disable the hind legs. It was unfazed and barely bled. The face of the Ratsin was torn apart with bleeding sockets where the eyes had been. The blindness didn’t slow the rat thing as it twisted to strike at Julia. Her shield came up and there was an explosion of blue Mana that tossed it a few feet away.

It was his moment. The Ratsin was disoriented from the counter. The party was in the middle of resetting their positions for another push. He could see what to do. The swordsman would rush ahead and slip through for the final blow. There was a good chance he could pull it off, but that wasn’t good thinking. It was risky and not working with the team. Vincent turned his attention to what the party was preparing. Where can I fit in with their plan, he asked himself.

He moved among them and shared a look with Malachi. The leader paused to look at him. A blink and then the bearded man nodded at the arm with two fingers. “Remove it,” explained Malachi. Vincent breathed out some anxiety he had been holding. Releasing the worry he would be turned away.

He narrowed his focus to the arm. Feeling it removed, seeing it severed. There would be some satisfaction in finishing off the arm he already started taking apart. The red light emanated from his sword. Before it had been crimson and violent. The light had turned lighter to become a shade of rose. Like the burnished sky of a red sunset.

Malach moved first to signal the rest of them. He cast a spell called Barrier: Shackles. Translucent chains sprouted from the ground and constricted the monster. It was strong enough to resist being held to the ground, but it was enough to constrain movement. Following this up was Damian using a modified Starfield to rain down explosions to delay. Vincent and Julia rushed forward to aim for an arm each. The clawed arms thrashed wildly, but in his Form, the swordsman didn’t hesitate. He leaped and the rose blade met no resistance. The arm fell to the ground behind him.

Julia’s aura changed and with a couple of vicious hacks completed her mission. Effectively limbless, the rat thing roared in hatred undying. It snapped rabidly at them with surprising accuracy until a line green flashed through the air. It passed by and left a hole on either side of the Ratsin’s skull. Its cries died, but it didn’t grow still. Slowly the monster turned to look at the archer. The mouth opened to roar again. Three streaks of green drilled holes lengthwise through the head. The dried horror collapsed. No one relaxed until the powdering took effect.

They gathered back up while Malachi surveyed how the other groups were doing. Using his plan they had cleansed over half of the cavern area. It started to get rougher the further they got. Vincent wondered what they could do if all of the Sixty had come. Better yet, when they did. When Vincent came over, their leader turned to him. A brief look at the rose sword before the attention was entirely on the swordsman’s face. Pride and embarrassment roiled again, but it was a distant thing. Those were outside his current concern. He waited to see what the sword acolyte would say.

“You look alright to continue,” said Malachi seriously. “Stick with us.”

The swordsman released a breath of relief. Ok, not quite fully forgiven, but I’m not damned. I can work with that. With a grin, he walked with the party.