Lord of Owls

Hector An-Alein brandished his glimmering blade fiercely.

"Come on, then!" He shouted, rushing towards the remaining corrupted warriors that tried to block his path.

Each was a Formis, forged for the sole purpose of battle. Their metal forms clamored across the ground, cracking the stone pavement with their sheer weight. Armed with hammers, maces, and shields bigger than his entire body, the Lord of Kalmer blocked blow after blow, his body glowing with a dozen runes all active at once.

He felt guilty. He had told his allies that he would hold them off, that they might reach the palace. But that was only a half truth. He struck a Formis across the wrist, slicing the steel cables that held it's body together with all the strength he could summon. He could not help himself. He let out a vicious laugh, slamming his gauntlet into the vision-ports of his foe.

Another sweeped in, slamming a hammer down across his exposed fist, shattering his armor and the bones that were beneath it. He let loose, screaming at the top of his lungs. What came out were not words, but the wild battle-cry of a warrior. For the truth of the matter is that Hector remained behind so that he could have a real battle. He was confident he had found one.

He whistled sharply, and the white Griffon Rekus swooped down, picking him up by it's Talons. He clenched his brutalized hand, holy energy flowing through it and repairing the wound in an instant. He let go of his steed, landing on top of the one that struck him, his boot pressing it's bronze head against the ground.

Sliding back and facing the first warrior once more, he drew a rune in the air with prodigious skill, the fruits of his training with Aximand, in what felt like an eternity ago to him. The sigil surged forward to the Formis' chest, where it's Eidolon Core laid, causing the metal armor that protected it to rip apart and expose the heart of the metal soldier. Another Rune was cast, and the Core came flying outwards, landing in his hand.

"Fret not. When this is over, you will be reborn again." He said, meaning every word. Perhaps one day he could fight these enemies again, on friendlier terms.

Suddenly, a blanket of void ripped open in the center of the courtyard, as the golden Formis Commander that had been banished returned to it's place on the battlefield. These Mark Six Formis were something the white-clad warrior had never encountered before, but he relished the idea of facing one, especially a battle hardened captain like the one he stood before now.

It whipped it's Sword around, steel glimmering in the purple light that shined from above. Hector saw that it was clad in the scales of a blue Dragon, a cape like the one Tavius once wore. In fact, as he approached he realized that it was more than similar. It was the very same cape, adorned with gold and silver. He smiled. This would be a fight to remember.

"Ei'Shar, Formis!" He said, pointing his sword at the enemy before him. The ancient call to arms of his House had been spoken in countless battles, and he would use it to memorialize this one, too. The corrupted warrior said nothing, utterly silent save for the sound of pulsating dark energy within it. Their blades clashed, razor sharp steel shrieking across glimmering mythril. Hector grabbed the shield of the Formis Commander, as the forked rune of Fire erupted across it, forcing the Gilded Fighter to drop it.

Hector heard a noise from the west, like a wave of thunderous energy surging out. He looked up, and saw a person flying above. In that moment of distraction, his opponent shot forward, piercing the orange core that surged at the center of Hectors armor. It cracked like broken glass, black shards falling onto the city streets, and red blood soon following it. It was not a shallow cut, but if he had any hope of healing it, he would have to strike now.

The blade still embedded in him, he lopped off the arm of the Formis Commander, the bright metal of his sword illuminating the courtyard with a divine glow. Leaving the blade where it was, he drew up another Rune, pointing it at his enemy as it reached towards the sword with it's spare arm.

"Yar'Kalor!" He spoke, the word echoing off his lips with pure energy. The ground shook, and from it erupted six blades, as long as the Formis was tall. They pierced through it's Armor, through it's cables, and through it's Eidolon Core, shattering it. It's body fell to the ground with a loud thud, as Hector removed the sword from his chest and healed himself once more.

"You were mighty… Indeed." He sputtered, exhausted from the battle. He looked to the north-east. His armor would need to be repaired, before he fought again. He could feel it's weight bearing down on his body, making his movement sluggish and heavy. Blood still dripped from his chest, for what little healing he could do had been spent already. Still, he would survive. He called down Rekus, and climbed onto his saddle, just barely.

"You did well, my friend. Thank you. Take us-" He stopped himself, eyes turning to the palace once again. He could see a wave of energy surging out, blasting across the city at unbelievable speeds. Something had happened. Something bad. He sighed, and redirected his Griffon towards the source of that power. He was weakened, but he had to do something.

Before he could make it, he felt another sensation. His movements slowly grew even more sluggish, and Rekus stopped moving entirely, lingering in the air like he was frozen. Hectors eyes widened, feeling fear for the first time in over a decade of service. He drew out just enough willpower to whisper one final word.

"Mat'Riam."

He looked around to see that the city around him still stood frozen. He whispered thanks to Aximand, grateful that he was taught such a secret word. Though Etreidies was halted, the Lord of Owls was not.