Despite Xerxes’ shocking display of brutality and power, those that still remained steadfast in their crusade of conquest attempted to challenge him. Three such individuals, all of them armed with pure black swords, stepped forward to confront him. “Only three? That’s all?” The Desiertian says with a slight hint of overconfidence. The three swordsmen encircle the man, their swords gripped tightly in their hands and at the ready. Xerxes could only smile as he spreads his arms wide open, daring any of them to approach. The one to the left takes the first opportunity, charging towards the man with rage in his eyes. His blade drawn and his aim true as he moves towards the man’s jugular. Effortlessly, Xerxes evades the initial attack and jabs Jotunn’s Fang deep within the man’s abdomen. Blood drips from his mouth as his eyes begin to roll in the back of his head, slowly trying to etch of his last words. With an expression of pure disappointment, Xerxes removes the weapon from the now deceased man’s body and returns his gaze towards the other two. The body slumps down towards the ground after which Xerxes places his foot on this back. Blood lightly trickles down the bladed end of Jotunn’s Fang. “One down. Which of you would like to be next? I’d like to wrap this up soon and go to bed.”
The Desiertian could see the rage boiling within them but was pleasantly surprised when they did not give into their anger. In unison, they charged towards Xerxes in an attempt to overwhelm him. Their speed was impressive, even slightly catching the man off guard. Their swords clash with Jotunn’s Fang, their combined might slowly pushing Xerxes backwards. Their quiet rage at their comrade’s death fueled their power, their hatred slowly beginning to overcome their reasoning. The stalemate only lasted for a brief moment before they all took a short hop backwards. As they landed, the two men held their hands out as red and yellow magical energy respectively crackled around their hands. Yellow and red beams of magical energy rocket from their hands, thundering through the early morning sky. As the beams near its intended target, they merge into an orange beam which threatened to overtake the Desiertian. “Oh…shit.” Xerxes says as the blast engulfs him, creating a torrent of energy around him. The two men drop to their knees, both of them out of breath and nearly depleted of energy from the combined assault. “You know…that one actually hurt. If that dick with the white hair had the same level of power you guys do, I might have been in trouble.” Xerxes says as he walks towards them. His shirt had been evaporated by the blast and his upper body was covered in burns and cuts. Every bit of his body hurt but he continued to move towards the men, dragging the bladed edge of Jotunn’s Fang in the ground in an effort to piss off Ikazuchi later on when he inevitably have to perform maintenance on their items.
He takes off once more, using the peaks of his speed to close the gap on the men before they could react. Taking advantage of their fatigued state, Xerxes quickly two arching swipes with his weapon, inflicting deep cuts on their chests. The two men crumple towards the ground as Xerxes moves forward, deciding to hurry things up and end it. He scans around with his Millennium Eye and spots the one that he saw at the beginning, the one with the highest stats. “Take out the leader and the rest will fall.” He mutters as he begins to head towards it. Suddenly, a booming voice rings throughout the battlefield. The sheer force behind the voice brings the Desiertian down to the ground in pain as blood begins to trickle out of his ears. A debilitating pain shoots across the left side of his body, an unfortunate side effect of having the metallic eye implanted in his eye socket. Xerxes could not hear and could not move, finding himself on the ground convulsing. Like vultures, the remaining invaders swarm his body, kicking and striking him repeatedly. Xerxes struggled to get his barring, reacclimate himself so he could get back up and finish this. Only one thing ran in his mind; this was all Ikazuchi’s fault. “I hate him…” Â
WC: 726
TWC: 3,074