Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead

Running one finger over the slash left upon her skull, Tilmiel was impressed by that living's stealth and speed, from beneath the wooden mask the glow of a yellow eye showed itself, Alintair held a blade in one hand, her bow in the other.

'To have gotten here so quickly… She must have been ready to fight since even before I landed that attack…' turning her body to completely face the living, Tilmiel dwarfed the woman completely, casting a wide shadow, the skeleton's blade so long that it was already well within reach to carve right through Alintair.

One thing that caught the corvid's attention, was that unlike the others, this westerner's sword was not one made from bones, it was a blade forged from steel and augmented by a pyromancer's lively flame too, clearly not originating from this region, a gift given by the south and north.

"I would have expected your king to carry such a weapon, favouritism much?" casually nearing her sword to the living's neck "You must have hoped for more than a little nick…"

Alintair was unfazed by the undead's word, moving out of the way as the still blade erupted with strength and momentum, causing sand to move.

Indeed, she would have preferred if that initial strike had done more damage than this, but having targeted the supposed leader of the undead troop, she had pointed her blade toward Tilmiel, whose skeletal physique could have carried her far as a heavily armoured warrior, all of the nightbird's bones were ironically enough, much thicker and tough than regular, far from the hollow ones that would be expected from someone who based themselves after a feathered volatile.

In fact, when it came to the four limbs, it almost looked like she had double the bones than there should be, still, Alintair had gone for Tilmiel, an evident disparity in strength and reach.

Rapidly bringing her blade to the shoulder, the assassin blocked an attack from behind, the archer moving around like being airborne meant nothing, dashing around with swiftness that rivalled that of the hummingbird, the corvid ended up right behind Alintair, their positions reversed in a mere moment.

Not wishing to experience firsthand what the sort of power her opponent could exert, the living dodged out of the way, moving back with a series of backflips, each time landing higher into the air, there was an odd, weightlessness to some of Alintair's movements that Tilmiel instantly noticed.

'Somewhat similar to how Topi can reduce her weight to the point of falling incredibly slowly…' making that comparison, she realised why Loimos had wanted the nightbirds to face the westerners, it was not just because their numbers were low enough for them to tackle.

'As I thought, you truly meant for us to fight them head-on, didn't you, My General?' she would have shown a small smile were not deprived of all means to do so.

The westerners were very similar to the nightbirds, the way they fought, and especially the special power that had been developed in these lands, the corvid could not see right through the secrets of transplantation by just taking one look at it, but what her opponent was demonstrating was enough.

Loimos was intending for this particular side of transplantation to become a staple of the nightbirds, this perfected aerial movements was simply something that fitted them perfectly, and what better way to familiarise themselves with it, than being on the receiving end of its prowesses?

'In that case… I won't hesitate to force you to show me everything you can do!' without the slightest of changes to her disposition, Tilmiel steeled her already unbreakable resolve, not only feeling deeply loyal to Loimos, but as of currently, very much grateful for the opportunities he was gifting to herself and her girls.

To Tilmiel, there truly was no kinder undead than the empire's champion.

Disappearing from where she stood, the corvid appeared out of a burst of black feathers above Alintair, bringing her sword down with higher speed than before, considering that the living was already weaker in terms of brute force, the nightbird focused on enhancing her overall speed with battle arts.

Blades clashed, Alintair forced to allow herself to plummet downward as she couldn't resist a head-on strike whilst maintaining footing in the air, landing upon the sand, a burst of black feathers immediately showing up in the corner of her eye, but only for nothing to emerge from it, Tilmiel instead crashing down like normal, thrusting into the ground and flinging a great deal of sand forward.

'She's fast…' dryly mentioning this fact to herself, Alintair remained alert, the mask she wore shielding her from the classic sand-in-the-eyes tactics that all westerners were familiar with, as nearly everything, including themselves, did it on the regular.

As she expected a follow-up attack, the living knew that she couldn't approach this fight whilst trying to conserve energy, putting Tilmiel hors de combat would require Alintair to give her all, and whatever she would have left after this would have to do to help Jaral and the others.

The follow-up came directly from the front, just a bit off to the side as the undead did an odd movement, seemingly going for a wide arc before suddenly braking directly for the living, slicing through the air and sand with a horizontal slash, which was evaded by crouching down.

An advantage when facing a much taller and larger opponent, was that their attacks tended to be high enough to duck under, and when they went for especially low strikes, it was easy to tell as they really needed to get into position for such things, this remained true even with an undead, there were no muscle twitches, gaze to follow or expression to read, but Tilmiel swinging a sword required the same type of motions whether dead or alive.

Quickly ending all momentum, the assassin thrusted over her shoulder, Alintair stepping onto the air as sand cleared and visibility was regained, only for Tilmiel to turn around many star-shaped objects held in her offhand, throwing them in quick succession.

Deflecting the first and evading the rest, Alintair saw as her enemy leapt straight for her, without letting go of the sword, she fired multiple arrows, using some of the power granted by the yellow eye to empower all, except for the very first one.

The initial projectiles harmless broke against the nightbird, the following one's managing to leave small indentations before Tilmiel changed her course, avoiding the rest of them, arriving up to her opponent's level, the skeleton erupted with a plethora of black feather, blade carving through them instantly, slashing a strand of hair.

'That was odd…'

As the feathers dispersed, the nightbird was revealed to be standing on a crow, which had allowed her to deliver a strike as though she stood on the ground, quickly leaping off the rotten bird, the living realised that an entire murder of them had appeared out of nowhere, Tilmiel leaping from one to the other as they offered themselves as platforms for her to step upon, their fragile bones audibly cracking every single time.

Not understanding the scope of the undead's abilities, Alintair moved quickly, evading more shurikens, one of them striking a crow right next to her, making the poor thing explode into a cloud of feathers, at the same time, Tilmiel jumped back with a stylish backflip, disappearing from view as a congress of crows flew in between the two of them.

'Is she going to teleport again?' at least, that was how the living saw that trick the skeleton had done earlier, manifesting from a burst of feathers.

Looking everywhere for the undead or a sign of those feathers, Alintair ignored those that had already been there beforehand.

Caught off guard as Tilmiel concealed the explosions of feather within that of the crow she had struck moments earlier, appearing right next to her, blade already in movement, slicing her mask into two equal parts, a small cut forming along the tip of the nose.

At the same time, as Alintair hurriedly tried creating some distance, one of the rotten birds charged beak first against her back, the assassin swooping in, falsely going for a sword strike that took all of the living's attention, as she knew that one direct hit would mean death, but the true strike came from Tilmiel's fist, directed directly at the enemy's stomach. Enjoy more content from My Virtual Library Empire

'That's going to hurt-!' realising that she had been successfully feinted, Alintair braced for the impact.

"Huh?"

It never arrived, Tilmiel stopped her punch barely a centimeter away from its mark.

"...My bad, just noticed something…" many crows gathered under the nightbird's feet, holding her up even as she stood still.

"...I would advise you to surrender… For its sake, at least…"