Fenris Arkwright
Battlefield
Saturday; 09:07
Before Fenris could think of something else to say, his good friend Alek the world-destroying manic robot comes striding towards them, immediately destroying the safety of their temporary hiding spot. There are very few people who’d be able to ignore that giant chrome-plated monstrosity. So much for biding his time and hiding until everyone finished killing each other. Seeing the robot approach, Edward stopped speaking.
"Again, I apologize for the intrusion.” Alek says, coming to a stop besides them, "But you do not look like you're combat ready. I need time to repair, so please keep an eye out.”
Edward acknowledges this, then turns back to Fenris. "Do you need a weapon?” The mechanic asks, "I don't want anyone else getting hurt.” He holds out the bloodstained metal spike in his hands, offering it. There’s something almost pleading in the boy’s eyes, as if he desperately wants everyone to just go back to being friends and stop stabbing each other to death.
Why is he even here? Someone with that sort of temperament shouldn’t be in a school like this.
Sighing, Fenris shakes his head and pushes the spike away. “It’s all right, you keep it.” He says, maintaining his reassuring smile, “Even if I did get into a fight, it’d be more of a burden than anything - these spindly arms of mine can’t carry much more than a few potions. Besides, you seem like you know how to use it - not everyone can take down ol’ Zombie here like that.”
Letting out a sigh, he sits down on the ground and overclocks his senses, forcing his body to take in and process every single minute shift in his surroundings. In their current state, the three of them would be ripe for ambush, so it’d be good to be on the lookout. Forcing all these stress-inducing hormones around his body and deliberately stimulating an intense fight or flight response isn’t exactly good for him, but it’s nothing that a few potions and some rest can’t fix.
And there it is - the soft sound of feet on the floor, the softer sound of wind whipping past a rapidly moving figure.
“Incoming!” He yells, attempting to jump to the side in order to dodge any incoming attack. As he does, he smashes a vial onto the ground, kicking up a small cloud of fine purple dust. It’s one of his most prized concoctions - an all-purpose defence potion. The dust would dull the effectiveness of magical attacks, lower visibility for ranged combatants, and cling to the skin of anyone who relies on stealth. But most importantly, it's flammable.
Acting as fast as he can, he pushes Edward to the side, and snaps his fingers, bringing a small flame into life within the palm of his hand. The dust immediately bursts into flame around him, hopefully deterring any attacker who’d attempt to close in.
However, he isn’t fast enough. Under normal circumstances with his body functioning at maximum capacity, he might have been able to barely avoid the attack, but right now, he’s sleep-deprived, tired, and what’s more, forcibly sustaining that temporary ‘kick’ would be incredibly hazardous to his health. Before he can react, he feels a pair of fangs sinking into the back of his exposed neck. The impact of the incoming attacker sends him staggering off balance, falling hard onto the ground on his left shoulder. Immediately, he feels his breathing go ragged and uneven, and the world seems to blur around him - some sort of toxin?
Grimacing in pain, he scatters a few spears of flame in the general direction he expects the attacker to be, then curls into a defensive position. He may be a manipulative ******* in every sense of the word, but he isn’t stupid - in a situation like this, trying to fight would be suicidal at worst and a very bad idea at best. Better to let those who are actually suited to it do the fighting, and just focus on trying not to die.
Using his left arm, he searches around in his pocket and takes a sip from a large bottle, containing a half-depleted supply of an antitoxin of sorts, designed to slow the spread of poisons until they could be dealt with properly. The attacker must have been going too fast to stop themselves from running into the flame shield, and ended up passing through it instead. That means that they must have at least sustained light burns, and that would make it disadvantageous for them to continue fighting, especially with the force of nature that’s Alek sitting right there within punching distance.
