Being the clearly visible leader she wanted to be, Sophia went first up the central path, feeling Sparrow branch off to her right, and Harley take the left, each of them supported by a few guardsmen. The bandits were thicker in the middle, several of them meeting her almost immediately as she entered. She met the first as he came, driving his longsword away from her throat and whipping Vesenia around and down, slicing into the back of his legs, throwing her knee guard up to catch him in the jaw as he fell to his knees. She felt the jawbone crack under the force, and he sprawled onto his back.
Her guardsmen rushed ahead to intercept the others before they could swarm her, tying them up effectively enough for Sophia to push on, but not before she was met with another fireball, this one better aimed. She dove to the side, covering her head, as it exploded where her feet had been moments ago, chunks of smoking rock raining down around her. She turned back over to see the young female bandit she'd heard about almost gleefully charging to attack her. Sophia blocked Sophie's strike into the sand from where she lay on the ground, before putting the sole of her boot into her attacker's gut, knocking her back a few paces and giving Sophia time to get back to her feet. She hoped Sparrow would be quick to get around the flank and handle that mage; he'd likely account for her movement much better the second time around.
The hapless bandit who'd been trying to knock his arrow collapsed in a heap, screeching like an injured dog. His shoulder had been crunched into his collarbone, jutting out in awkward angles. Sparrow hadn't held back at all, utilizing her fierce momentum to throw herself into another enemy, shoulder first. She felt the weight of the dagger in her hand, calloused grip tightening around the warm metal, dropped subtly from her sleeve. Effectively driving him backwards, Sparrow suddenly whipped to his right, dipping low to avoid having her own guts spilled over her shiny new boots. The blade pivoted in her palm, twisted up and under the man's boiled leathers and sunk into his belly. She'd already moved on before his innards slapped down his legs, before he'd even slumped down.
Occasionally, Sparrow glanced up the middle section where Sophia had charged, quickly gauging the distance between them. It would be more effective if she kept pace with her. Her mace swung once more, two-handed, and blood spattered the sands in thick rivulets, as if she were painting a Wounded canvas. She imagined the bandit's face crumbling. Bones shattering like old, fragile tea cups. Her fingers twitched, muscles contracting. Electrical itches rippled down her forearms, her elbows, her hands. She was there, scrabbling just beneath the surface, and screaming to be heard. Another bandit scrambled over the rocks, propelling himself off and sweeping his sword overhead in a downward swing. Her breath hitched, nostrils flaring. Sparrow managed to compose herself in time to bring her mace to her front, and they collided, meeting face-to-face. The clang of metal echoed in her ears, along with the grating of the sword nipping closer.
It will be fine, she lied to herself, while Rapture hissed and spat and threw her head back to laugh at such weak, pathetic words. Who would they comfort? For she was growing closer, almost close enough to through herself from the edge of their Fadespace. Her breathing calms, and her head feels dull and heavy, arms leaden. She sucked in a deep breath and shoved harder, hands summoning a much larger burst of energy. It crackled in the air, brightened considerably and ignited the man's vulnerable face. The smell of sizzling flesh and burnt hair assailed her nose. He clawing at his face, shlepping thick patches off. As she sidestepped around him, hurriedly avoiding his maddening screams and raking fingers, Sparrow moved ahead. Hadn't been for her momentary lapse, she might have been able to avoid a stray arrow, sailing through the air like a wingless, much more dangerous hawk. It sunk into her shoulder, sending her to the ground.
Whatever Little Sophie's intent was on building her bandit career by making fun of the name of the Viscount's daughter, she would never find out, as Sophia quickly overwhelmed her with fast and heavy strikes, swiftly removing her sword from her hands before plunging her bastard sword into the bandit woman's midsection. Looking up, she quite certainly saw her half elf friend using unconventional means of defense against arrow attacks, and the revelation that the woman who'd ridden on her horse to the Wounded Coast was a mage of all things was enough to give her pause, quite nearly knocking the breath out of her.
Her breath was quite literally knocked out of her when one of Viktor Longdeath's arrows hit her squarely in the stomach, sending her back a few paces and huffing for breath. A bandit attacked her from behind, having slipped by one of the other guards, but she turned and slipped Vesenia up under his axe, before throwing a kick to the man's groin, and plunging her sword cleanly through the lightly armored back, dropping him. Turning back again, she pushed forward, staying low, intent on not letting that murderer hit her again. The newly arisen issue of the fact that they had an apostate on their side would have to wait. Staying alive would take enough focus for now.
She reached their rear ranks just as Harley broke through from the left, engaging some of Viktor's own goons. Longdeath himself drew back and fired once more at Sophia, but a timely sidestep combined with the kicking in of the armor enchantment helped the arrow skim harmlessly off the edge of her breastplate. The bandit archer managed to pull a knife by the time Sophia reached him, but he was renowned for his arrow work, not his fist fighting. He'd be wishing he'd put the arrow through her skull soon enough.
Sophia caught his arm as he lunged for her throat, twisting it aside painfully to the left, while she plunged Vesenia up under his ribcage. Not one to waste more time than was necessary, she pulled the blade free and spun about in a whirl of golden hair and crimson skirts, her bloodied blade whistling sharply through the air until it cut clean through his neck, dropping the archer to the ground a head short. She glanced around. Most of Harley's men had made it, though she noted that one had fallen behind her, and one of Sophia's own guards had been killed coming up the main path behind her. She resisted the urge to sigh. Deaths made it seem otherwise, but with the odds these men and women had before, this was a victory. The majority of them would be going home, and that was certainly something that would not have happened had she not happened along.
There was a shaky, hardly audible, broken-record sound ringing in her ears, and it took her a moment to realize that she was the one making it. Sparrow released the breath she'd been holding. Her hands instinctively sought out the cause of her pain, which was blossoming in her shoulder. Fingertips snagged against the wooden shaft, then fell away. She could not simply pull it out. Instead, Sparrow teetered on the backs of her heels, pushing herself back to her feet. It took her a few breaths to conjure enough energy to raise an arcane shield around her own body, kindling visible warmth. Unfortunately, she was still quite useless when it came to healing. It was out of the question, and lay far beyond her capabilities. To anyone who asked, Sparrow was not a mage. She was, simply, Sparrow.
Finally, the half-breed broke through the left-sided ranks and reached who she presumed to be as Fell Orden. If the glowing balls of orange juggled in his palms were anything to go by. His name was ridiculous. She hardly swallowed the comment. He seemed to have taken notice of her, hands already swathed in growing flames. To this, Sparrow's teeth flashed in a grin. She did not shy away from mages, did not shrink back from the Fade's stink. Even if she were a mage, by anyone's standards, she still considered herself an opportunistic soldier, a warrior and one who almost always relied on brute force, rather than unconventional means. She leaned to the side, once, twice, then charged forward just as the fireball left Fell Orden's hands. Mages, it mostly seemed, were always vulnerable in close range. The fireball sizzled small hairs at the crown of her head as she ducked beneath it, hardly slowing to allow him to throw another. The man's eyes widened—
Her mace, riddled with blue flame, smashed into his ribcage. Soft, silky robes would do nothing to protect him. It ripped away in a blistering wave of black. She'd like to imagine that each and every bone were pulverized, sending splinters into his major organs. Especially for what he'd done to the others, even if he hadn't been the one to orchestrate everything—it didn't really matter. They were all scum if they preyed on other people. She spat distastefully on the ground, circling around Fell Orden's remains. Something was peeking out of his pocket. She hunkered down on her haunches, poking and prodding until she finally pulled it out. A letter? Creme-coloured. Nice paper, by all accords. For reasons unbeknownst to her, Sparrow mimicked another trick she'd seen Rilien perform by slipping the letter into another secret compartment on her person.
Fell Orden's fireballs had stopped, which meant Sparrow must have succeeded in getting around the right flank. Lowering her sword to the sand, but certainly not sheathing it, Sophia looked for the apostate, suddenly quite uncomfortable with the situation. It was reminiscent of when she'd learned that Aurora had been an apostate, years ago. But back then, it hadn't been the right situation to be able to do anything about it. The timing wasn't much better on this one, but she had the guard on her side, and seemingly no excuse to simply let Sparrow go free.
Other than the fact that she had just helped her rid the Free Marches of these despicable bandits, but Sophia was trying not to think of that right now.
One moment, Sparrow was looking at Fell Orden. Then, everything had gone black. Rapture had crept in, reaching her ethereal talons into her arm-holes. She took every piece of Sparrow into herself, shaking her legs into unwilling trousers. Her eyes changed completely, hardening into two sanguine orbs. And she laughed, throwing back her head in victory. “Now, this. This is quaint,” it sounded awfully like Sparrow, but there were higher, unfamiliar tones. The Fade grew heavier around them, drawing up like a foul wind and pooling around her feet like lewd blankets slipping from her shoulders. Finally, Rapture-Sparrow turned on her heels, and faced Sophia, ignoring all the others. “Little Sophia come to play the hero on unfamiliar grounds. Oh, and that unease. Tensing up your shoulders like that. You should see that crease,” She teased lightly, softly, then added in a far more sinister tone, tapping her chest, “This, is mine. Not yours. Not the Circle's.”
Everything about this mission to the coast had felt so right moments ago, but now, as Sophia was looking at a woman who she'd been ready to call friend, clearly controlled by something both otherworldly and malevolent, it felt wholly wrong. Harley and guards looked unsure, no doubt mirroring what Sophia was trying to keep from her face, and utterly failing. She had liked Sparrow, enjoyed her company, valued her assistance. She'd seen her for being a mage, but this was something else entirely. Was she only just possessed, in the course of the battle? Had she been an abomination from the beginning?
Abomination. Sophia knew full well what the Templars had to do when faced with one. She'd always imagined them as malformed horrors, twisted creatures, only mockeries of the person they had formerly been, but this woman still looked very much like Sparrow, apart from the eyes. But the way she moved, the way she spoke, only too clearly gave her away. Sophia didn't want to kill Sparrow, but this... this wasn't Sparrow, not anymore. Could control be returned? Sophia had never heard of a possessed mage returning to their former selves. She had thought that once a mage was possessed, whatever was left of them was gone. Was this not a mercy, then? To kill this demon using her friend's body like some costume, a means by which to experience mortality?
She would have to. The right thing to do was never easy, and this certainly fit into that category. Sophia raised her blade slowly towards the demon. Harley and... four guards remained to her. None of them had any experience fighting abominations, undoubtedly. No more than she had. They were with her, though, clearly. The demon's calling out of her tenseness was only too accurate; she felt none of the calm she could usually maintain in a fight, and little of the confidence. Even if she could best the demon, she wasn't sure she could make the killing blow.
The arrow still embedded in her armor twinged painfully when she took up a battle-ready stance, but there was no time to remove it properly. For now, she snapped off the majority of the shaft, trying to hold back a wince as she did. It would ensure it didn't get in the way of her arms or blade during combat. Dropping the feathered shaft to the sand, she looked to the enemy before her. "Relinquish your hold on her, demon, or we will force you out," she said, keeping her unease from her voice at least, if not her body language.
If the demon failed to comply, they would have no choice but to attack.
Now, this was precious. She ignored Sparrow's willful attempts to batter at her Fadecage. This was her time, her hour, her minutes. With gleeful anticipation, Rapture wondered how much damage she could do before releasing her grip. The demon appeared somewhat shocked by Sophia's righteous demand, mouth forming a melodramatic “o”. Simply asking a demon to leave its hard-earned residence like that. How many times had that been done before? Her shoulders slumped, raising slightly to indicate that this conversation bored her. “You'll have to do better than that,” She teased, coyly fluttering her eyelashes. A light laugh escaped her, airy and breathless. Living and breathing and stretching her arms over her head as if she'd always been born in Sparrow's body, Rapture nearly sighed in content. Every single demon dreamed of overtaking someone's fleshy husk, whether it was for ill-intentioned purposes or to simply have something that had been denied to them.
“Abomination, abomination. How insufferably rude,” Rapture whined, soft and low, as she toyed with the arrow still jutting from her shoulder. Her slender fingers tip-tapped across the wood, and sifted through the colourful feathers like hands running through her lover's hair. Every movement bespoke of lewdness. Her eyes roved across the ranks, daring them to make their first move. Each soldier had its own set of weaknesses, bubbling to the surface like emerging paper-boats flowing down a river, and she was like a child meticulously plucking them from the waters. Reading secrets and desires had always been a forte, but this was different. She would not have time to manipulate them with words. Already, Rapture spotted hands hesitatingly raising their blades, or nervously reaching for their scabbards. Fear resonated through them, thrumming like individual heartbeats. She licked her lips.
“Demon? I am fear. I am doubt. I am promises wrapped in silk. I am more, and you, dear, are less,” Rapture hissed, lidded eyes widening ever so slightly. Her hand wrapped around the arrow's shaft. She had an unexplainable need to terrorize, to completely deny Sparrow of what she wanted to do—which was to run far, far away. In one sudden, incisive motion, Rapture wrenched the arrow free from her shoulder and casually tossed it over her shoulder, hardly indicating that it had hurt at all. Pain, after all, was just another sort of pleasure. She assessed Sophia as well, with a hard, scrutinizing glare before spitting at her feet. “You'll regret hesitating so, Little Sophia.”
With this, Rapture hurtled forward, hands free of the burdensome mace Sparrow was so keen on carrying around. It clattered to the ground behind her, left laying across Fell Orden's rumpled body. Pure, rough energy rippled around her. This woman would not choose Sparrow's prison. The demon held her in an ethereal cage, a cell made up of Fade-magic. Filled with locked doors just as real as any material one, and she could not escape because it was inside of her. The greatest of prisons were often the ones created in the mind. What could the Circle do beyond shutting out her abilities? Just like what they'd done to Rilien. It was a cruelty that even she could recognize. They imprisoned themselves so, while demanding freedom. Before reaching the first of Sophia's band of soldiers, Rapture spun around, her hands sweeping out in an arc, wielding dangerous Force Magic. It was her next round of movements, swift and assured, that devastated.
Draining life from her enemies, drawing their strengths and vitality into herself. She cast the spell to the two guardsmen hunkered in front of Sophia, offering her a slight inclination of her head, and a gaudy wink. Her fingers waggled, then swept in front of her once more. Their eyes met, and Rapture's wrist flicked towards Harley, launching a thin, finger-proportioned ice-needle towards the vulnerable flesh of her neck. She did not turn, but only lifted her shoulders again, dropping them in a shrug. She revelled in their fears, in their pained shrieks. “Open those pretty little eyes of yours, darling. You cannot command me, when you've nothing to offer.”