Tanniok, the Rotting Man

He is waiting.

The jungle air is uncharacteristically dry tonight, and the chilling ocean wind rustles his green hair, as he stands on the beach. In the distance, a lone tiger roars, and birds are chirping. However, in the immediate area of the troll on the beach, there is not a sound. His black steel armour reflects the light of the moon in deep shadows, and his calm demeanor seems out of place in the wild jungle.

His armour is made up of a black breastplate, lined with what seems to be panther fur. He wears a loincloth of panther fur aswell, and his legs are bare, except for freyed pieces of cloth that hang from his belt and loincloth, some of which are fastened to metal rings that pierce his skin around his feet and ankles. His skin seems sickly, and is covered in oozing sores, and on his right hand, a bulbous, knotty growth, obviously a tumor of some kind. The little punctures on his skin ooze a blood-like liquid, which reeks omminously. His eyes are dull and white, and he is apparently blind. His face is wrinkled and old, to the point that it seems almost shrivelled like a corpse. His eyes sink deep into his skull, giving him a deathly appearance, and both his nose and ears seem to be rotting away, due to what might look like leprousy.
And dispite his rotten visage, the world itself is holding it’s breath in anticipation of his power. He is Tanniok, The Rotting Man, of the Unclean Caste.

…

“Dread father, lay upon me your every blessing, that I might descend to your side. For each blessing I call upon, may you let my flesh wither away, that I might grow closer to your realm and your servants. For in the shambling of the reanimate and the gleaming glare of the bones, is the wisdom you seek to impart upon us, and it is this wisdom I seek, that I might better serve you, in ending all things that yet live.

Death to creation, death to Dambalah and, most of all, death to Mueh’zala, the glorious firstborne!”

…

Tanniok continues to stand there for a few minutes, the wind causing his thin, green hair to move ever so slightly. Then, finally, he moves. He takes a few steps, down to the water, before muttering a few words, and bowing down, bringing his hand in contact with the water. As he stands there, the darkness around him grows deeper and solidifies, as tendrils of it extends down into the water, causing it to blacken. After ten or so seconds, he takes a step onto it. At first, his foot sinks in, slowly, but then the black water solidifies, keeping him above the surface of the water. As he takes another step, the black water moves to keep him on the surface at all times, spreading like ink in the water, and dissipating when he passes by.

An hour passes, in which he slowly distances himself from the coast. In the distance, an island is approaching. Not a very large one, however, large enough that, as he approaches, he can see what looks like a village on it. There are a few boats in the vicinity of the island, clearly fishing boats, to supply the village with food. The sound of trolls shouting is heard, increasingly loudly. Tanniok eventually reaches the island, and walks towards it’s center, and towards the village itself.
His blind eyes scan the village as he passes through it, earning the distrustful glares of a tribe that wants nothing, other than to be left alone. A few trolls yell rude things at him, but he ignores them, and smilingly draws on his knowledge of how their deaths will be. It calms him down, knowing that they will starve, after eating their friends and families.
In the center of the village, he found his goal. He approaches the female troll, who fearfully averts her eyes, trying to avoid looking at the Rotting Man.
“You’re Dexha. Are you not?”
The woman, Dexha, nods uncertainly. Tanniok continues, without much pause.
“I am Tanniok, the Rotting Man, of the Unclean Caste, and I come to take you with me. Mueh’zala wishes for you to join his Deaths Guard, that you might be as myself, the scourge of all things everlasting.”
Dexha blinks, clearly not fully comprehending what’s going on. After a minute she speaks. “Ah can’t be walkin’ wit ya, right now. Ah’s got dis ‘ere village ta, an’ mah family an’ tribe.”
Tanniok nods slowly. “I understand.” He says. He slowly sits down, and closes his eyes. He begins to chant what seems like gibberish, yet somehow chills Dexha to the bone. As he does so, she notices that the plants in his vicinity begin to wither and die, and in the sky above, dark clouds gather. Tanniok’s face is covered in an expression of pain, and he begins to growl, as he suppresses it, concentrating on continuing his chanting.
…

So, Tanniok. You want the gifts I hold. And I will grant them to you. But, know that should you move against my plan for you, you will know my punishment. To protect or create life is to go against my will. To answer to your name in life, unless to renounce it, is to do a crime against my will. To battle with others of your kind, is to do a crime against my will. And know that the only way to regain my favour, is to suffer my punishment. It will be a blight that will only extend from you when you choose to invoke my punishment, or when your crimes are such that I cannot ignore them. The things your tried to create and protect shall rot away, and the life you loved shall be taken from you. Food shall sour and water shall be tainted. Fires will die, and unborn children will remain unborn. The sky will darken and lives will crack.

And amidst it all, I will watch and smile, as you are punished.

…

Tanniok’s screams of pain were not alone, now. He had given up his chanting, as the burning pain in his body subdued even his indomitable will. Around the village, trolls noticing the unnatural weather, the reeking of the water, the rotting of their food. Children and old trolls collapsed, as their lives were snuffed out by the dark presence in the village. Tanniok’s eyes seemed to be pitch black now, and he was laughing.

Slowly, but surely he came back. Dexha had crawled back, meanwhile, leaning up against a tree, with fear in her eyes. He stood up again, and said simply:
“Now you don’t have a village here. Nor do your have a tribe. Nor a family. You are alone. Come.”
He turned around, and slowly walked out of the village, the way he had come.

She followed him.

Chakuya chuckled slightly, as he sat there beside Tanniok, in warm remembrance of the past.
"Now, enough of this. You had a reason for bringing this...girl to me, yes?" Chakuya asked. Tanniok glanced out from the hut they were sitting in, down the hill at Dexha, curled up by a campfire.
"I need a favour. I am intending to make a fellow disciple out of that girl down there."
Chakuya looked down, chuckling again. "A little younger than you usually like them. I had no idea you wanted them so...Nubile, these days. Missing the beauty that rot doesn't allow?" He grinned for a few moments, before continuing. "What do you need, though? As you know, I have my hands full at the moment."
"It's nothing huge. I just need a shipment of soulsteel. She needs armour, weapons. And a focus." Tanniok watched Chakuya for few moments before continuing. "You're one of the few of our order that has a steady supply. Most of us lack the...Network of resources and political authority that you enjoy."
Chakuya watches him carefully. "How far have you gone with her?"
"Well, I killed her village and tribe. She's not been under too much pressure yet."
"Hm. Good, I suppose. And yet. From what I gather, she's not the most strongwilled troll. She might go the way of the Shattered Mirror if you're not careful. He's always looking to recruit, and the insane are, as you know, more than willing to answer. You're sure she can handle the pressure?"
"You're one to talk, Deathless One. When I recruited you, you were much like her. Weak of mind, and soft around the heart. You turned out to be an asset, though, didn't you?"
Chakuya growls in sudden anger. "Don't equate me with that lump of flesh down there, Rotting Man. This is my domain. As is the law, you will show respect while a guest here. Is that understood, Tanniok?"
Tanniok nods, hardly capable of keeping his amused hidden. "Ofcourse, I spoke out of turn. My apologies, Deathless One."
"Make sure it doesn't happen again." He straightens his face out, the folds of anger disappearing as quick as they came. "You intend to make her of the Unclean caste, yes?"
"I don't intend to make her of the Death Guard just yet, Chakuya. First off, she'll be my servant and cultist. If she turns out to be worthy, then I'll recruit her into the guard. But yes. Most likely as one of us."
"Hm. I see. So, the armour and weaponry is not needed just yet." He nods to himself, before continuing. "I wonder though. Such a pretty little thing, and you didn't bring her to the Hawk Clad in Feathers of Obsidian? She's as large a network as I, perhaps even larger. Plus, she would never say no to helping a girl like that one. You could have gotten it done, without any need to return the favour." He goes silent for a moment, before finishing. "Or the Shattered Mirror. His cult of insanity would love a chance to craft for this girl. She'd probably go mad, but. That'd be their preference anyway. Why come before this most humble one?"
Tanniok shrugged, his rotten face curling into a smirk. "Me and the Hawk...She's so distasteful. Always occupied with flesh and beauty. She'd never help me, knowing that I'd take that girl down the path of Rot. And the Shattered Mirror is totally unpredictable. He's a personfication of insanity afterall. With you, it's just a favour for a favour."
"Ah. Do i sense a past involvement with the Hawk Clad in Feathers of Obsidian?"
"Well. It's no secret that she recruited me. She never really forgave me for twisting her cult of deathly beauty, into what I am now. Again, I prefer owing you a favour to dealing with that hag."
"And a favour you shall owe me." Chakuya grinned, before getting up. "You can stay here. I'll probably not be back soon, but my followers will bring you the soulsteel, once it's been harvested." He turned and began to walk out the hut, his black armour groaning characteristically.
Tanniok stayed where he was, watching Dexha sleep down at the campfire. A fine servant she would make.

Dexha was lying by the campfire, acting as if she was asleep. In truth, she didn't dare to actually rest. She had been watching the hut up on the hill that Tanniok disappeared into. The other troll had left a little while ago, and walked past her. He probably didn't notice she wasn't sleeping.
She thought of her family. Remembered their faces, and their voices. And then she remembered that they were dead. It was strange, she'd expected to cry, but for some reason she didn't, or couldn't. Ever since she'd started walking with Tanniok, she'd found herself having a hard time showing emotion. She should have been angry with or afraid of Tanniok, but she wasn't. In fact, she felt safer when he was there than she ever had with anyone else.
They hadn't spoken much, so far. He mostly only spoke when commanding her to eat the food he gave her, and afterwards when he told her to continue following him. She didn't know who he was. She'd heard his name and title, but she didn't understand what he is.

"You shouldn't care about them, little one."

She looked around, to see where the voice came from, but there were none there, only the shadows of the jungle, deeper and blacker than a pit of tar. She closed her eyes, and curled together a bit more, in hopes it would go away if she didn't acknowledge it.
A few moments went by, the only sound being the wind in the trees. She felt cold. Her bones had begun to ache, but she still didn't move. Her eyes suddenly opened with horror, as she realized something. She couldn't hear the ocean, dispite lying on the beach.
The aching in her bones, began to grow. She bit her teeth together, hard, in an attempt to stay silent, in vain, as she silently began to sob as the pain and coldness spread throughout her.

"Do not fear, Dexha. I wont hurt you. I want to give you a gift, but only if you want to receive it."

She could hear more voices now. They were talking to eachother, muttering in silent astonishment. Not to her, and without understanding them, she somehow knew they were talking about her.
She slowly stood up, her entirely body trembling visibly. She looked around, and saw trolls. Some were huge and muscled, yet seemed in her eyes to be frail creatures, beatable with but a breath of her mind. Others resembled swirling vortexxes of shadows, yet simoultaniously were in some fundamental and uncanny way, fundamentally troll-like. Others again, were clad in robes, a mishmash of trollish skins and bodyparts, embroidered with skulls, and studded with bone. Some were pierced with needles, some were rotting away before her eyes, without ever diminishing, some had their faces peeled back, held in place by metal and will.
And yet, one being stood out among all these. They were all horrifying and mighty, but all but one were obviously still trolls at their core.
The one that stood out, was a being of completely still shadow. It stood against the darkness, and while the darkness looked exactly like this shadow, it stood out as obviously as a bonfire to the eyes. The air that was thick with the power of the gathered beings, somehow seemed to all be permeated with this one beings power, emmanating from it in the darkness. Dispite the movements of the other spirits, it all seemed to stagnate and freeze in the presence of this darkness. Dexha was filled with a crushing sense of despair and hopelessness, and her bones were no longer just aching, they felt like daggers trying to cut themselves out of her flesh.

"Shhh. Calm yourself, girl." She felt a hand on her cheek, caressing softly, the sickly and cold feeling chilling her to her core. She began sobbing, and her sobbing turned into proper crying. "It's alright. You're mine now. You'll serve under the Rotting Man, Dexha. You'll train and learn, clad in steel forged from the souls of ones who died insane. You'll be the blade coated in poison and rot, the mind wrapped in insanity, the child that slays her parent. You'll be of my Death Guard." The shadow seemed to be smiling. She felt herself stiffen as it embraced her, wrapping itself around her. First, she felt cold and scared. She was convinced it would kill her. But, with every passing moment, she calmed down, until she began to welcome it's presence.

She breathed in, and while she knew it was just air, she felt that this mouthful of air changed her. She felt the shadow dissipate into her bones and flesh and sinew. She felt it seat itself in her mind. Her entire body convulsed in confusion as her soul merged with the shadow, flesh exhausting itself in moments, just as bones aged years in seconds.

And then the turmoil in her subsided. She found that she was still lying by the campfire, curled up and fearful, the sound of the wind in the trees, and the waves crashing against the shore. And in the distance Tanniok was approaching her.

She thought for a moment she had hallucinated, but the presence of the shadow inside her was still strong, and it's will boomed silently through her mind, resonating inside her skull cage.

"Don't worry. You will grow accustomed to it eventually." Tanniok remarked to Dexha. She looked really uncomfortable as she equipped her new soulsteel armor, piece for piece. It rippled slightly as she touched it, as if the souls that made it up were trying to flee her. And on top of that, the pained groans. Sometimes, the smooth black surface was broken, and pained faces emerged, only to quickly dissipate again, torn apart by the other souls that made up the armor.

It had been a few months. They had been training most of the time. She wasn't completely worthless with a weapon anymore. Tanniok wasn't a master swordsman himself, but his...well, friend wasn't the proper word, but his colleague, 'Chakuya' was rather skilled, and willing to teach. He'd left a few days ago.
Tanniok was more skilled at channeling the powers of their dark master, however. And he had taught Dexha what she was. She remembered it well. Tanniok had just explained who their master was.

...

"So, he's our lord then...What's our task, Tanniok? What are we to create?" She watched him with interested eyes.
"Ours is not to create, Dexha. The living value strength, creativity and beauty. They believe that creation is sacred. We, on the other hand, are not living. Neither are we dead, exactly. But, we take the side of the dead, nonetheless." His expression was rather grim. It always was. "Of value to us is disease, stagnation and rot. Where the living create, we bring decay. We are the end, given form."

...

He'd reprimanded her countless times already, for showing compassion and for thinking constructively. Optimistically as well. She was trying her best to live up to his expectations of her. But it was difficult, as it required her to turn her entire world view around.

She still had a hard time accepting what she was. It seemed to fantastical to her, and thinking of what she had gone through, it wasn't completely impropable that she was just going insane.
And yet, she knew she hadn't gone insane yet. Speaking to Tanniok, she'd been able to understand that he wasn't either. He was surprisingly bright, despite his rotten frame. He'd told stories of another of their kind, The Shattered Mirror, who was, however. Where Tanniok and his apprentices would slowly rot away, the Shattered Mirror's curse was a little more subtle. He and his followers minds continually descended into insanity, growing ever more paranoid and fractured with age. She thought to herself, as she inspected the first few infected scratches that had emerged on her hands, that she was lucky. Atleast her mind wouldn't rot away, even if her body did.

Finally, she finished donning her armor. Tanniok began walking, and as she had grown accustomed to, she just followed him. He never told her where they went, before they arrived. At first it was a little frustrating, but she had accepted it by now. It was as if he didn't trust her enough to give her their destination. But, it wasn't li-

"We're heading to a village in the jungle. They are under the control of the Firstborne and we've reason to believe that our supremacy is threatened there."
"So...What kind of threat?"
"Hrhm. You'll see. My apprentices usually die fighting these creatures."

She watched him with a rather nervous look, but quickly forced her face into neutral folds. In truth, she was rather scared. But, she knew Tanniok wouldn't pit her against anything she didn't have at least a chance to defeat.

Did he?

Her mind was fearfully boiling with questions, as they made their way towards the village. Tanniok had not made it clear exactly what they were fighting, only that it opposed everything they stood for.
As she walked, she clenched her bandaged hand into a fist. It still felt sore from the days of training she'd been subjected to. He'd been trying to teach her his personal favourite martial art, the Fight Without Sight Style. Apparently he'd been taught it by an allied organization of his, called the Ebon Bat.
The style wasn't known for it's kicks, punches or clinches. It was a style meant for a single hook sword, like the one she wielded. It was a style meant mainly for defense, but it's function wasn't it's hallmark. The strange thing about it was that it was practiced only while blindfolded. The honing of hearing and intuition to supernatural points is what the style prides itself on. It is said that a master of the Fight Without Sight Style, can hear the strikes of eight foes, while placing fifty musical notes in system by their sound. However, even this style had it's offensive sides, as her bandaged hands were evidence of.

Eventually, they arrived at a rather large opening in the forest. The clearing is obviously troll-made and about a hundred in radius. At the center, is the small village, Ze'kure, that they were bound for. As they made their way towards the town, Tanniok glanced at Dexha, who had clenched her fists, and generally assumed a stance speaking of determination to succeed.

"Our enemy is a God Blood like ourselves. He's slain a gathering of our kind in this place, and we are to retaliate. Now, for some advice..." He taps his forehead with a finger as he thinks, his eyes more serious than she'd ever seen them, "First off, keep on your toes. This foe of ours is a trickster, bending fate to his will. Never go for an attack, if it looks too good to be true. And once we take him down...Confirm the kill, don't give him a chance to get back about."
She nods grimly at him. "I'll remember."

Bends fate? How can she fight an enemy that controls fate? Then again...How can he fight an enemy that controls death?

Slightly reassured, she draws her hook sword, the soulsteel groaning in pain as her fingers grasp it.

They arrive at the village, and begin to slowly and silently sneak their way through the seemingly empty place, running from hut to hut, briefly checking the windows for signs of life. Nothing, it seemed.

Then a voice rang throughout the area, like a whip down the back.

"Veil-Piercing Eyes Method! Pristine Sky of Starsight!"

As the words were spoken, the sky above darkened to black, the sun disappearing entirely. However, the darkness didn't last long, as the constellations of stars began to grow forth on the sky, only brighter than she had ever seen them before. They shone so strong, that after a moment she could see almost as well as in the sun's light. The sky looked like a perfect cloudless night, except the moon was absent and the stars were supernaturally bright.

Dexha froze and frantically searched for the source of the sound, eventually turning around, and setting eyes on her enemy.

He was a troll. Or, looked like one, atleast. He looked old, his face wrinkled and his hair a silvery white. His frail form was clad in a white robe, embroidered with golden thread, in forms that resembled bats.
His stance radiated a silent majesty and confidence, that seemed supernatural. His movements betrayed a mastery of martial techniques only held by the most ancient beings. Dexha's eyes rebelled against her, refusing to look directly at this vision of divinity.

He grinned as he ran towards her, both hands raised in readiness for the coming fight. Distantly she heard him yell another set of words.

"Fight Without Sight Style! Bat Strikes The Prey!"

She could do nothing but watch, as the silvery vision came closer.

The troll was approaching fast, running towards the paralyzed girl. Dexha stood there weakly, arms hanging at her sides, weakly grasping the grasp of her hooked sword. He would be at her in ten second, striking her down. She had to act. But what could she do? This enemy radiated power with his very presence. What chance did she have?
Five seconds left. She didn’t have time to dodge. He would strike her, and she had no doubt it would be fatal. The silvery-white troll screamed loudly as he neared his victim.

“Veil-Piercing Eyes Method! Radiant Swords of the Fate Slayer!”

As the words were spoken, two hooked swords composed of blinding starlight materialized in his hands. The weapons of the Fight Without Sight Style. She was facing a master of her own style.
Three seconds until impact.
She could see his eyes now. They were solid white, and seemed to look into her very soul. It was hopeless. She was going to die.
Two seconds until impact.
Perhaps she should try to defend herself, even if it was a doomed effort. She began to lift her sword, hoping to defend against his attack. She steeled herself for the impact.
One second until impact. This was it. She closed her eyes, accepting her fate.

And then nothing.

In the distance she could hear Tanniok shouting.

“Ebon Circle Necromancy! Bone Controlling Technique!”

Slowly, she dared to open her eyes, shocked to find herself still breathing. The two blades had been stopped just inches off from her face, by two skeletal arms reaching up from the ground. The bones had trollish letters etched into their surface, and held the silvery troll’s swords in a strong grip.

“Dexha! Don’t just stand there! Attack it!” Tanniok shouted from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at him. It seemed like his arms had shed their skin and extended forth into the ground, only to emerge in front of her to save her.

And give her a clear strike at the enemy. She tightened her grip on the sword, and shouted as she swung it at the silvery one.

“Meditation Of the Ebon Soul! Spirit-Cutting Strike!”

Her sword glowed red for a moment, before returning to normal. Now, this spirit would face the wrath of the god-bloods of Mueh’zala!
Her blade seemed to split the air as it cut through it; the half closest to the white one solidifying into blinding light, while the half on her side melted into a crushing darkness.

The white one’s eyes widened as the sword approached his head, swearing under his breath as he let go of his weapons and jumped backwards, escaping the soul splitting blade. The sword missed and continued into the ground, followed by a wave of blood red energy that continued into a hut.
After a moment, the hut crumbled to the ground, cut in two as it was by Dexha’s attack.

She stood up and assumed a proper fighting stance, sword held above her head and her other hand extended towards her foe.
Both their auras were now shining forth, his forming into a great silvery bat that extended from him, bathing him in white light. Hers, a black ghostly form, veined with what looked like blood, flowing freely in the darkness that extended from her.
She grinned.
Perhaps this fight wouldn’t be over that quick.

Dexha and the white-clad troll stood in front of each other, their auras burning forth brightly. She was grimly grasping the handle of her sword, while her foes had assumed a defensive position. He was grinning widely.
Alright. She’d have to push her advantage, or he could go on the offensive. Keeping him on the defensive would let Tanniok strike out at him. She glanced towards Tanniok, who was busy restructuring the bones of his arms after the desperate, but successful, attempt at saving her life.
She was on her own for now. Time to show some of necromancy. She prepared herself, cutting down across the palm of her hand. Just then she locked her eyes onto her foes’.
The enemy acted first however, speaking in a clear voice.

“Veil-Piercing Eyes Method! Fate Anticipating Precognition!”

After that, he followed her example, pulling a dagger from his belt and cutting across his own palm. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him. She resolved to finish her charm.

Holding her cut palm straight ahead, the drops of blood that dripped down seemed to expand and form themselves into the form of a troll. More disturbing, however, was that he was doing the exact same thing. And then they roared out in unison.

“Ebon Circle Necromancy! Bloodforged Automaton!”

As she screamed the words, the statue of blood in front of her came alive, inspecting its hands, before locking its eyes on her enemy.
But what shocked her was that the enemy had formed a blood golem of his own. How? Only God Bloods of Mueh’zala could practice necromancy, and only God Bloods of Hir’eek could use the Veil-Piercing Eyes Method. How could he use both?

No matter. She’d show him that her necromancy could beat his. Narrowing her eyes, she directed her blood golem to attack, and like clockwork he did the exact same thing.

The golems stormed forth, clashing into each other, their attacks and blocks perfectly balanced. Dexha gritted her teeth, finding the White-Clad troll’s golem to be a perfect match for her own.

So, he could imitate her style. How could she use that against him?

___________________________

The girl was hopelessly outmatched. He grinned to himself. Tanniok’s disciples were usually helpless like this, and this one was no different. With his mastery of the Veil-Piercing Eyes Method, nothing she did could surprise him. And on top of that, his ability allowed him to not only foresee her actions, but to give him a temporary understanding of the technique, allowing him to use it himself. He’d already seen the end of this fight.
And her next move. His grin widened, as he moved to imitate her movements. The two synchronized trolls both slammed their bleeding palms into the ground, before yelling out.

“Ebon Circle Necromancy! Creeping Bloodspear!”

From both their hands, a steady stream of blood rushed towards the enemy, before lifting itself off the ground, and solidifying into a spear and thrusting towards their respective enemies. He grinned, anticipating the movement of her spear, sidestepping it. She was not as lucky, however. She almost managed to dodge it, but the spear impaled her thigh, blood and bone splinters exploding from the hind-side of the leg.

She screamed in pain as she collapsed. He stopped imitating her, and slowly moved towards her, while keeping an eye on Tanniok. The fight was over. She was dead.

He grinned widely.

He continued his approach. She was lying there in a pool of her own blood, gasping for breath. Tanniok was desperately trying to return the bones in his arm to normal, to help his apprentice, but he was well aware she was a lost cause. The white troll took one of his blades from the ground, and lifted it over her head to strike her down. He took the last step, placing his foot right in the pool of blood she lying in. Her blood.

Just then she lifted her head and he met her eyes. They spoke of a burning determination, and her face had a strange smirk on it. He grinned down at her, before swinging his sword. Her smirk turned into an all-out grin, and she shouted out.

“Ebon Circle Necromancy! Blood Boil!”

A surge of spirit energy moved through the pool of blood she was lying in, and the blade stopped mid-air. He groaned in pain for a moment, before losing grip of his sword and collapsing to the ground.

“How did you…?”

She forced herself to stand, unwilling to give away her exhaustion. Between her massive expenditure of spirit energy, blood loss and shattered thigh, she needed to finish this fight fast, or her foe would recover and kill her. She wouldn’t last much longer.
She smirked at the troll lying at her feet. Moments ago he had seemed so majestic, and now he looked so painfully mortal. It was funny somehow. How pain reduces even the strongest opponent to a cripple. She was silly to have thought he was divine in any way. He was just a troll.

“Easy. Your hand is bleeding, from imitating my Bloodforged Automaton. I wasn't intending to actually kill you then. Just make you vulnerable to this attack.”

His eyes went wide, as he looked down himself, seeing the small trail of blood that had run down his robe from his hand, and from the robe onto his foot. His foot which was firmly placed in that pool of blood which was her apparent domain of power.

“Heh...You're good, girl. What's your name?"
"Dexha. The Burning Blood."
"I see. I am...Yurasjá, the Flawless Imitator. You intend to kill me?"
“I’m afraid so, old one."
"Good. It's a better end than most. To think that you outwitted me..."
"I'm ending this now, Yurasjá the Flawless Imitator."

Placing her hand on the forehead of the old troll, who was immobilized by the pain running through his body, his blood boiling inside him, she closed her eyes and uttered silently:

“Ebon Circle Necromancy! Corpse Elemental Combo!” She opened her eyes as she continued, spirit energy visibly forming around her. “Blood! Flesh! Exploding Corpse Technique!”

His eyes widened as all the spirit energy that had formed around her, surged into him, filling his cells beyond their capacity, his already boiling blood bursting forth from him nose, eyes, ears and mouth. A second passed, and his flesh began to compress itself around his skeleton, breaking it in several places, before it finally burst.
After a quick spray of blood, flesh and splintered bones, all that remained was his tattered robes. She smiled, before falling over, exhausted.

In the distance, Tanniok smiled to himself. He’d gotten a worthwhile apprentice this time.