Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius always thought of the Elven Blade dance as... the most perplexing of combat arts.

Pathfinder Quay stepped forward... though he didn't seem to step with his feet. The elf's form shifted and swayed like a breeze... and his swords sang like a... whimsical song.

A Cultist's severed hands fell to the road, followed by his head. Then the jaws of two humans were sliced off. Another sprouted a fountain of blood from the top of his forehead.

Quay was moving far too quickly for the blood to reach him. He weaved through the poorly armored Snake Cultists, like he had choreographed a dance with them beforehand. The group pushed and pulled rhythmically to the left and right until...

Until Dragan's building exploded. Again.

"OHHHH, YEAHHHHH!!!"

Tycon noted the addition of two still-bleeding human heads, tied to his belt. It appeared the heads weren't severed with a blade... but had been forcibly torn off of their bodies.

It was suitably intimidating, if slightly unhygienic. He planned to ask Dragan to wash his hands with soap and water upon finishing the current round of enemies.

The Titanblood sprinted towards Quay... leapt into the air and thrust out both legs, slamming his boots into one of the few remaining cultists. That fellow flew a dozen fulms away-- and with such force that the man was decapitated on a sharp corner of a section of wall.

Quay was so stunned that he allowed a splash of blood upon his armor. Poor form, "D... DRAGANNN!!!!!"

"NA-HA-HA-HIIIIIICE!!!!!" Dragan was laughing as he ran, laughing with his leaping double-kick, and was still laughing as he got to his feet, "Did you guys see that?! His FREAKIN' HEAD flew off!! Ahaha! HAHA! Hahhhhh... What?"

"Nicely done," Tycon shrugged. He'd grant credit where it was due.

"You screwed up my steps!" Quay cried.

"Come on, bud!" Dragan pat Quay on his back... with bloody hands that stealthily (and purposely) smeared more blood onto the elf's normally pristine armor, "Dancing's all about improvisation, anyroad!"

"The BLADE DANCE!!" Quay shouted, "Is a sacred and graceful display of swordsmanship! A celebration of combat!! Not-- not, whatever the seven hecks you just did!!"

"I'm thinkin' to call it... 'The Dragan Dropkick.'" The Titanblood raised a clenched fist, "I'm gonna make it my signature move. Whaddya think? Nice, right?"

Tycon recalled no such thing.

"So... cool..." The small half-elf whispered in awe.

The Titanblood's bold (albeit reckless) display had momentarily ceased the young lady's tears. Nice.

"See?" Dragan grinned, "The whelpling gets it."

"WhaAAAAtttt iSSSSSss THISSSSSSSSSSS??!?!!" A dark echo reverberated off of the walls of the building.

A spellcaster had arrived.

In a gout of green flame, a hunched over pepper-haired man appeared behind the cultists, "Elvvesssss... I... HAaaAAAAaTE.... you POiNtyyy EarRRred fffREAKS..."

"NICE! Geek the mage?" Dragan asked, still grinning like a fool.

"Let me go first, Tycon," Quay asked, his seriousness returning.

"Hold a moment," Tycon shook his head, having already sensed Indrazeal Zuko's movement.

The human Warlock pointed his palms forward, the Snake Cultists scrambling to his side and rear. A sickening and dirty green flame surged from his form, sheathing him in corrupted power.

Before he could attack, a magical flash of gold appeared at his side. There, stood Elven Sorcerer Zuko, his elegant red and gold sword strapped to his back, "Who the hells are you?"

It was a sudden burst of heat, controlled perfectly... exhibiting a mastery high above that of the Warlock's. The tall elf grabbed one of the human's wrists and twisted it... snapping the fool's fragile bones in a single, smooth motion.

Chantless casting. Flawless execution of martial techniques combined with elemental spellcasting. Zuko belonged to the Legendary Phoenix Hidden Sect. Such a straightforward name was... terrifically arrogant, but the gentle-elf was a peerless practitioner of his art.

...As powerful as he seemed, Zuko was a mana-construct constrained by the limitations of Ananta's Shadow Realm. In the real, he had surpassed Iron-Rank well over a century prior.

All at once, the green flames retracted as the Warlock fell to a knee in agony, "Y-youuu... I... I am... PyRAXxis... SSss...LaAAYerr... of--"

Zuko pulled the Warlock up by his broken wrist and planted a merciless fist into his abdomen.

Two cultists were hiding behind the spellcaster... likely for safety's sake. They were immediately engulfed by super-heated, bone-cracking flames. They didn't even have time to scream before they were burnt to charred meat... the fires extinguishing completely, a mere second afterward.

Zuko narrowed his eyes at the dying Warlock, "I didn't say you could talk..."

The Warlock returned the glare... his gaze trembling... his teeth clenched... struggling to keep conscious through his suffering.

"...Actually--" Dragan's voice interrupted the deathly silence, "You asked him a question, bud. It made a whole lotta sense for him to answer."

Zuko angrily half-turned back to the Titanblood, "Did I *ask* for your opinion, Dragan?"

"It's not an opinion!" Dragan argued. "When you ask a question, the other guy's gotta answer! It's science!"

The elf turned away...

"I forgot," He muttered under his breath.

A loud, booming explosion resounded from nearby... and the Warlock's head burst like a melon struck by a hammer. Three more shots rang out... and the remaining cultists fell, their heads cracked open just the same.

Tycon glanced up to a rooftop, some three or four hundred yalms away, where Sharpshooter Gobsuke was aiming down the sights of his Turathi rifle. The tiny speck of a goblin was performing a hand signal... pumping his fist up in the air.

[Hurry up.]

Zuko growled low to himself. In another quick flash of magic, fire sheathed his form for a split second, purging the blood from his face and clothing... "So everyone gets to mess around-- and when I finally do something, that's when we have to hurry up? Typical of you guys."

Tycon shook his head. He wanted no part of that argument.

He knelt down to face the half-elf child that Quay had saved, "Young lady..."

"M-my name is Fortuna," She muttered... tears again beginning to form in her overly large eyes.