Milae vs Orskaf

#REDIRECT SplitThe Judge carved his way through the battlefield, his ironclad boots sinking into the soft, snow covered earth as his blade slashed back and forth.  The assailant trailed behind him in his solo charge, other Valhallan soldiers splitting off from their groups to join their leader. 
Orsakf wound his way through the groups of fighting men. He picked off the fractured members of the rebellion units so they couldn’t reform for an attack. He fixated himself beside his comrades to help push an area back, or take down a superior foe. But mostly he was just…there…present…and fighting. The small strike force had entered an area of the woods where a small stream snaked around the trees and Orskaf’s feet came to a halt. His eyes narrowed as he held up a hand to his men, and then suddenly there were arrows. 
Rebel archers fired upon the group from around the trees and over the crest of small hills, and Orskaf had to dive off to the side to avoid the deadly projectiles. Growling, he shot back up to charge a rebels he had just seen fire, and sliced his bow in half with a mighty swing of his sword, nearly cutting the rebel in half in turn. 
A young soldier next to the assailant was struck in the chest with an arrow, and as his eyes rolled, the sharp nosed man grabbed him and used him as a shield as he barreled towards another small cluster of archers. Two more arrows struck the corpse, and then it was flung aside as the assailant plowed into the group, his knife slashing this way and that. Orskaf turn the splash of blood and then subsequent ripping noses as the assailant fell over with the three men he had entangled himself with. 
Gritting his teeth, he clashed a few more times with the rebels, who had now drawn their sword, before driving them away. He panted, now dirty and smeared with mud. His head tilted at a sound, and then he saw the assailant slowly walked after an injured rebel who was attempting to crawl away. The man’s long fingers twirled the knife he held softly, and Orskaf gave a growling sigh. The Judge stalked over as the soldier was just reached down for the rebel, and ran the grounded victim through crisply, ending is life in a flash. The assailant paused, his hand still outstretched, and then slowly looked up at Orskaf. His eyes were devoid of anything. 
Orskaf’s lips peeled back from his teeth from under his mask. “Sorry…” He said darkly. “Were you intending something other than an efficient death for that warrior?”
“You tell me…” The assailant crooned lowly. “Did you want me to do anything else before hand?”
Orskaf’s eyes flared and he drew back his sword. The assailant looked as though he had no intention of avoiding the blade when the two of them paused.
Something was coming…
Orskaf’s head jerked over his shoulder, and then he rapidly turned back to finish swinging the blade. But at that point the assailant had already stepped back enough paces to avoid it, and was now slinking away into the brush. He met Orskaf’s eyes with the ghost of a smile on his face, and then disappeared into the thicket, leaving the Judge on his own. 
An arrow appeared in the tree behind Orskaf’s head, quivering in the wood. In the direction it had been fired from, a small half-breed quaked in his rusted, mossy armor, covered in a thick navy cloak that seemed too big for his narrow shoulders. The young goat, a gangly, nervous thing, lowered his bow and held still, shocked that he had missed so blatantly, and now fearing for his life. His wide green eyes traced frantically over the forest floor, looking at the other rebels’ corpses bleeding out over the frozen ground. He had held back, and they had paid the price. He had to do something.
Hissing through his nostrils, Orskaf abandoned the detestable man skulking away from him and took great, long strides to over take the rebels. He swung his blade again, aiming to sever the bow and archer alike in the attack.
Panicking, Milae lurched backwards, and as the wood of his bow caught on the soldier’s blade, it was ripped out of his hooves and he fell back, managing to roll to the side and fumble for one of the fallen weapons behind him, a long iron-and-oak staff with a curved blade taking up a third of its length. He pointed the blade at the old man, but he was shaking even more profusely now. His eyes were clouded with tears. “P-please…”
Fórna… The familiar string of words began pounding in his ears like a thick pulse. Endurreisn…
“Please? Please?!” Orskaf grabbed the shaft of the weapon and hauled the rebel to his feet with it, spinning off to the side to send him stumbling from the momentum. “There will be no begging on this battlefield. Not from my men and not from my enemy! Now you hold that weapon with both hands, and stand, and, fight.”
Fórna. Endurreisn.
“I d-did not ask to be here!” Milae choked, unable to hold back tears. “I want to go home…” He fixated on the soldier’s long blade, holding his weapon defensively, futilely, trembling all over. In his vision, bright streaks of light were flashing around them, up the roots of the trees to their branches, across the man’s Valhallan armor, but there was no future he could see in the blinding colors. Only the distant roar of war and the creak and scrape of armor as he slowly backed away, hooves stumbling on the bloodstained leaves. It was difficult to breathe.
Fórna.
Endurreisn.
“Child!” Orskaf snarled. “No one has! No one would!” He stomped towards him. “We share something in common though. We both want to go home. But I, unlike you, won’t abide  by sniveling and actually fight for it!”
With he swung the blade again, his movements already posed for a follow up attack.
“No–!!”
The sword hissed through the air and though Milae tried to block it, the blade easily carved its way diagonally through Milae’s gut and upwards through the front of his ribcage in a flash of searingly cold pain. The force of it threw the half-breed’s shoulder back and sent him tumbling to the ground, hacking and clutching his front as blood crept through the damage in his armor and spread between the fingers of his hoof. He could only feel shock, numb shock spreading through him from his core. He tried to keep himself propped upright with an elbow, and he saw a shadow fall across him as he lay on the ground, feeling the energy drain out of him. 
His body jerked as Orskaf’s blade pierced through him once more, this time all the way through to the ground below his belly, and he opened his mouth in a wordless cry, digging his hooves into the ground, unable to draw any more air into his lungs.
“You have finally come to me.”
Somehow, though, the darkness was not closing in on him. The light of his vision was getting brighter, more intense, and he blinked, frozen from fear and from the knowledge that he was surely about to die. He heard soft footsteps, pacing through the trees, and then two boots covered in the grunge of war stepped up to him and knelt in front of him.
“Your time has arrived. But it does not have to be this way, little goat.”
Milae was bewildered, but still didn’t have the energy to speak. He gagged up blood and wearily craned his neck up to meet the solid white gaze of a beautiful, terrible woman, her figure framed by two massive wings stained scarlet in the smoky sunlight. She wore armor shining with whites and bronzes and golds, nearly blinding him with her splendor, despite how war-torn she appeared.
“Hush. All you need do is agree to pledge yourself to me.” She extended a hand, marred by gore but still welcoming, beckoning. “Better at my side than a pawn of the false king.”
Milae’s eyesight was fading. He was lost, and confused, and terrified. But she seemed to offer him something, and he could feel the intensity of her power pressing in on him like the heat of a wildfire. He reached out a hoof…and took her hand. “Please…help me…” he rasped.
The lady squeezed her hand around his; it was burning hot, almost painfully so. Then he blinked and sucked in a breath, gripping his chest. There was no blood or pain. Orskaf’s sword was buried in the earth beside his chest, the blade seeming to have narrowly missed piercing his flesh.
“Rise, my seiðkonur.”
Orskaf stared down at his blade, his mind running quiet for a second. He slowly looked up, facing Milae again. “By…Odin’s…blood…” 
The Judge yanked his sword back up to his side. He could feel it. He knew that kind of energy, that tingle it caused in ones spine and the chill it sent through veins. Normally this was only felt in the fields of Valhalla, meaning that if he felt it here on earth…
A Valkyrie! 
Orskaf didn’t know how, or why, but there was no denying it. A Valkyrie was involved in this some way. And if it was helping his enemy, that meant it was surely fallen, which put him in great peril. 
End it! Now!
Wordlessly Orskaf lunged with his sword, intent on driving it through the goat’s heart.
Orskaf kicks Milae in the throat and sends him skidding.
Orskaf swings his blade overhead and cleaves Milae in the shoulder.
Orskaf lunges with his blade and pierces Milae through the heart. 
Orskaf lunges with his blade, and his sword is turned aside by the strike of a metal staff.
That one.
Milae blinked and came to, and as he rolled over, he saw the old man grip his sword, and begin to move. The lights, instead of being formless and erratic, cleared like crystal and the sharp streaks of energy all drove inward to a certain point in his field of vision, directly in front of him, and as easily as skipping, he swung his arms up and used the staff to block his blade at that central glowing point, making it skitter to the side. He felt a deep humming within the weapon that nearly made his fingers go numb, but it felt good. It felt really, really good. He stared with wide eyes at Orskaf, through their crossed weapons, almost as shocked as he was.
Orskaf lurched slightly against him as he felt his footing shift from the unexpected parry. He grunted and looked Milae in the eye, even though his face remained hidden to the rebel. 
Frustrated by the thwarted attack, and the rebel seemingly unaware of what he himself was doing, Orskaf shoved him back and sent a series of rapid, twisting, horizontal strikes at his head.  
Left. Right. Left. Upper left, low right. Left.
He felt like he was in training again. As if the steady hand of a teacher was pointing out every maneuver, he saw the end of each path of Orskaf’s blade, and used his staff to meet it, every time. Everything felt expected. Measured. He changed from defending to attacking and found a slight opening, enough to jam the butt of his staff into his collar and immediately spin it to jab him in the knee, putting space between them and getting a moment to breathe.
“Let me go,” Milae panted. “Let me go, and we can walk away from this.”
“The Judge of the first regiment of Odin…letting the pawn of a fallen Valkyrie fester in my first battle. I’d sooner die than allow such a dishonor!” 
I’ll just have to outsmart this creature! 
Orskaf moved in again, stumbling only once in his movements to palm a stone up off the ground. His blade struck out again, only his eyes were open this time, he watched to evaluate how this half breed was moving. What had happened to allow him this dexterity? He had to find out.
The lights danced and streaked, and Milae didn’t even see the man scrape a stone up from the ground, he just knew it was there. He met him halfway, darting forward lightly on his hooves and using his momentum to swing the staff around in a full rotation to crack against the sword and stop its path, following through with his body to step up close to Orskaf, pinning the sword hilt between their chests, and his left hand snatched out and grabbed him by the armored wrist to keep him from trying anything. It felt like there was another blazing hand closed over his own, squeezing around the soldier’s arm as though it were encircled in fire. Milae was still terrified; he couldn’t see a hint of expression or humanity in the cold metal face mask of the helmet above him.
He heard a low, feminine chuckle. “What a foolish Judge.”
Orskaf pressed against the resistance, grunting in anger with a note of uncertainty. He had been stopped cold. He had been trained to combat demons…when there were enough men. He knew the general weakness of his foe…but knew not any specific way to deal with them. He strained further as his hands shook in the effort to push through Milae’s suddenly indomitable grip.
The Judge heaved a few breaths, willing his strength to gather. If he could just give a stout shove while shifting his weight…he could cut the goat. It wouldn’t be clean, and the weapons that were locked against one another would move dangerously for both men as a result. But he had made a mark.
I have too! He can’t treat me this way! They can’t speak to me this way! I am Judge! I will put a stop to this!
Yelling once with the effort, Orskaf laid into Milae and let his weight shift off to the side. He willed the blades between them to get shoved diagonally across the half breeds form, he could only hope this maneuver would work. 
Milae gasped and dipped his head back, his hocks touching the ground with how far he leaned away from their locked weapons. The haft of his spear came up around the Valhallan’s shoulderblade and back, using his momentum from trying to hurt Milae to push him away once more, stumbling back and holding his weapon up to chest height.
“One more chance.” Milae felt the heat and power of a being much greater than him speaking behind his mouth and it scared him.
Orskaf’s very presence seemed to inflate as his eyes widened behind his helmet. His mind screamed at him to submit, and reasonably withdraw. This was a higher being, he was out of his element.
But his heart betrayed him. Every fiber of his being went to war against the notion of taking orders from this goat.
“One more chance? One more chance!?” He grabbed the pole shaft as he loomed over Milae, his voice darkening as it will filled with a terrible rage. “There are no more chances! Not for you!”
His fist jutted out to punch Milae in his throat, and then shoved into him again as his sword leveled to run him through. The lights blurred in front of Milae into a wide circle, a rotating wheel of shooting stars, and with a flick of his wrist and a few turns of his spear, he pushed Orskaf’s fist to harmlessly box his ear, used the blade to send the sword astray with a flash, and then, with a wordless shout, swept the blade up and behind his head and brought it down with a ring of metal against the leering helmet before him. Sparks scattered between them as the blade bit into the cold steel, digging in like the claws of a determined dragon. 
Orskaf staggered back, his air leaving him from the sheer shock of the attack. He reached up and tore off his helmet as he placed a hand over his eye. Panting heavily, he lowered the hand, seeing that there was no blood. Shoulders heaving, he turned to face Milae, his eyes wild. He let out a bellow of fury, the mere idea that he had almost been injured flooding his veins with hot anger. He strode towards him, his sword slashing to and fro. The blade of the staff crashed into Orskaf’s sword, slid down to the hilt and locked it in place, and Milae stood there, arms trembling, expression shifting quickly through shock and terror and determination as he truly saw his opponent face-to-face.
A shadow fell over both of them like a predator circling a decaying corpse, a pair of feathered wings as wide as a dragon’s, and both of them saw the full form of a white-haired armored valkyrie hovering behind Milae, with a single hand stretched forth, palm facing the sky and glowing amber. Her black eyes met Orskaf’s and a tiny smile spread across her dark lips, and her hand twisted into a single pointed finger, directed at his chest. 
“Please go,” Milae said in a small voice.
Shit…
Orskaf’s gaze flickered between the awe inspiring form, and the half breed in front of him. He didn't want to retreat. He wanted to finish this.
You’re not scared…this is practical…
Orskaf blinked at his own thought, and then his body flung itself backwards. “Shit!” He yelled audibly this time, and dove away.
He scrambled low to the ground for a second, and then straightened up to run. After a brief sprint that carried him a good distance, he dove to roll over an earthen ledge for cover. He panted there for a moment, and allowed himself a moment to recover and think about what had just happened. What the hel even was all that?!
His stomach curled again. He could sense something…something powerful. But it wasn’t the Valkyrie…the Judge pressed himself further against the earth, his breathing tight against the inside of his damaged helmet. His exposed eye rolled over, and he saw the assailant. The angular man was quietly making his way through the woods ahead of him.
There was a crash as earth rolled over itself like water in the ocean, and Orakaf glanced to see a dust cloud in the distance. The results of a recent attack by Odin.
The other being was still coming…he could sense it. Was it for him? It was coming fast…His eye fell on the assailant again. No…maybe…for him.
Orskaf had to get out of there, so he rolled onto his stomach, kept low, and crawled away from where he saw his own soldier, towards the dust cloud, and out of the way of whatever it was that was closing in…
The short goat half-breed sagged in place, the blade of his weapon dropping to the frozen grass, followed shortly by the haft, and then his hands and knees as he slowly lost strength, taking in deep, haggard breaths. He was still flushed with leftover fear and somehow extremely, massively exhausted despite the short tussle.
“You are safe now, Yun Milae. You are safer than you have ever been.”
Milae glanced up, struggling to stay conscious. “How…did you…”
“We will speak later. Someone is coming to save you. When you wake, follow your visions back to me.”
The goat collapsed on the ground, and his sight slowly went dark as he heard the heavy footfalls of a large body approach.
Silence rested on the assailant’s ears, only interrupted by the occasional high pitched keening noise. He turned around slowly in the woods, his brown robed soaked darkly with blood. 
The roar of the battle didn’t register with his senses as he let himself be lost in his own mind. He gazes up at the smoke and dust filled sky with his dead eyes. He thought of people…places…and desires passively in the forest.
There was a slight whistle as something traveled at high speed towards the man, and with a sudden high-pitched ring of metal, a white sword flew through the trees and buried itself in the man’s neck and collar, spraying blood across the snow. Quickly following behind it was a massive synthetic female figure, splattered in gore and muck and soot, and she dismissively looked over the robed man before searching outwards for the disturbance she had felt. Her scarlet eyes landed on an unconscious half-breed, surrounded by corpses, and she quickly knelt and scooped him up from the ground, and after a second of hesitation, grabbed his weapon as well and started to make her way back to the back lines to deliver him to someone who could look after him. She yanked her sword out of the soldier as she passed by him and slid it upwards into her ribcage. The earth shook beneath them and she tilted her head to the east, seeing the massive ruptures in the ground and forest, and she held the tiny body closer to her chest and began to run.
The assailant gurgled as he collapsed to the snow covered ground, his eyes flickering in confusion at the strike that had suddenly taken him. His vision was blurred as the burning feeling filled his body. He felt himself seizing up and his eyes bulged. 
I don’t like fire!
I DON’T LIKE FIRE!
Where was the flame? He couldn’t see it, couldn’t roll it out as he struggled on the ground. Of course, there would be no flame to put out, not on account of his pain originating from a white hot blade. His swimming vision caught sight of a halfbreed being carried past him, and could smell his own blood sizzling on the blade of the one who carried him. 
Defiance swelled in the man’s mind, and just as the figure started to run, he lunged upwards and into its way, his last usable arm plunging his knife into the figure’s tall form.
This figure was not tall…this figure was gigantic. 
And it didn’t bleed…
The assailant paused, his addled mind slow to comprehend what he had just decided to tackle as thick blood dribbled out of his mouth. He attempted to swallow once, but just gave a coughing choke instead as he tilted his head up to look at the Warden’s face. He blinked blearily as his face paled. “Um…”
Nalaagura looked coldly down at him and kicked upwards, connecting her foot with the underside of his chin and punting him back into one of the trees, turning away from him. The assailant’s jaw bone shattered to the point of powder from the kick as his body was sent upwards. The top of his head connected with a tree branch, and stuck into his skull with a crunch. His body held in the air for a moment, and then the sides of his head slid away from the branch, and his body fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
You are no match for a demon. Any of you.