After getting out of the Castle's expansive corridors, the first thing Plamen notices is the pressure. Heavy and tight, oppressive almost like a noose closing around his neck or like a discharged current, it pulls him in, tightening the hold over his body.
Rationally, he knows it's just a side effect of the tensions running high, and he's more receptive to emotions than others - Yana has explained it to him many times - but it affects him all the same, even when he's aware of it.
A narrow valley, fit between two small forested hills and a rocky outcrop, is literally blanketed in faint fog. It almost seems corrosive from his standpoint, but he breathes through it and tastes twisted magic. Not a fog then.
A swift glance shows that all of the Armsguard officers are engaged in some sort of combat, so the trio is left to their own devices.
Vid and Zima stand to his right, shaking, but holding off the onslaught the eerie night offers. He realizes, faintly, a curious thought - he always positions them on his right side and wonders if that's because he wants to keep them safe. After all, his left side is the dominant one, limbs quicker to react and stronger to defend.
But that train of thought is broken by another terrifying snarl, and he sees the Unnatural leaping over three Armsguard soldiers, landing on an elevated rock just a scant distance away, stout legs kicking off to another jump right toward them.
"Together," Plamen instructs his companions, allowing the bright fire to engulf his left fist, summoning his magic from depts inside, and punches toward the noisy creature with his Flame of Conquest.
Flames leave his fist, rapidly decreasing distance to their target still sailing through the air, unable to dodge. Then thin, but deadly strips of ice follow, curling around the flame, caressing the orange tips with pale blue fingers, and the flame lets it, recognizing it as its comrade.
The Unnatural collides with a loud impact, artificial wind forms around it as the flame burns brighter for a second. The creature falls down to the ground, unresponsive, limbs spread out.
Instantly, all the eyes turn to three of them just as Plamen wants. He carefully observes, but he can't distinguish between friend and foe. He grits his teeth when he acknowledges that the plan didn't work out as he wanted.
"Watch out!" Vid yells.
Plamen jolts from the plan-making, eyes flashing over the valley, but nothing happens. There are still those five officers dealing with the Unnatural that seems larger than the others, one of the three officers that were fighting the knocked out Unnatural joining them. On the other side, a smaller Unnatural is swift on its feet, jumping left and right and making the job hard for two Armsguard tailing it. And, of course, the two Armsguard locked into the fight among themselves.
Plamen then looks at Vid and almost plants on his ass in surprise.
Vid's yellow iris gleams with blinding light. The other one is unfocused, and Plamen realizes Vid is seeing a vision. Vid suddenly shifts, focused on who knows what and his arms spread in front of him.
Right at that point, the smaller Unnatural twists and evades the swords, slipping between the two officers, and runs toward them.
Its nimble legs dash across the valley, too fast for Plamen to do anything, yet he tries but the flames are slow to respond to his call. It's closing in too fast, he won't make it--
With a crashing noise, it comes to a stop maybe two meters away, trapped by golden stands of magic, holding it down on the ground where a magic circle bubbles up from the earth.
Plamen detects a movement in his peripheral vision, turning toward it just to see the same golden strands falling from Vid's outstretched fingers and disappearing into the earth. Entrapment magic. Not only that but a high-skilled spell at that.
He wasn't aware Vid could do this spell. Heck, I wasn't aware Vid knew entrapment magic, he thinks, a bit hysterical and a whole lot surprised.
Vid flashes him a cocky grin, and he knows, he knows his face is showing the baffled daze curling around his mind. A quick look at Zima informs him he's not alone in his astonishment, though she does look a bit miffed on top of it.
"You hid all that?" she accuses indignantly, jabbing her finger at Vid.
Something briefly flashes through Vid's eyes, then his brow furrows. "You've never asked."
And it's true, they never have. They've naively assumed Vid's powers revolve around visions, and that two of them would do the fighting. Even Plamen, who is socially awkward, knows that's a shitty thing to do.
"Sorry," Plamen says almost bashfully. "I guess we should have. You did well."
A moment later Zima agrees with an apologetic, yet cheerful tone, "Yeah...though, you blew our expectations!"
Vid looks equally surprised to hear both apology and praise coming his way. When a smile spreads over his face a moment later, he looks truly happy. The emotion radiating from him makes it hard for the other two not to reply in kind.
Their carefree grinning comes to an end, and they turn to the creature still fighting its confines.
Plamen doesn't want to use his flames for this, but they have to get rid of it. As his thoughts shift to how unpleasant it would be to set something alive on fire, he barely muffles a shocked sound when Zima steps closer to the Unnatural, a dual blade sword forming in her hand, the bluish tint of ice almost fully see-through. She swings in a high arc and down through the creature's neck.
"I saw your face, Plamen," she says as Vid lets go of the spell, stepping back to their side. "You should really learn how to make a blade from your magic," she tells him cheekily.
His scowl is more playful than irate. He is silently grateful for what she did. His fire is fierce, but once he uses those really powerful flames, for the next few minutes, he can't summon them back as strong as before, not until his magic recuperates. Using a lesser flame to kill something or someone would be... an awful experience for everyone present.
"Hey! Kiddos!"
Plamen pivots toward Yana's voice and sees her jumping down the only rocky outcrop among the hills surrounding the valley. She's like a gazelle or something, leaping from one stone to another, throwing in a few somersaults while she descends to the flat ground. Her armor glints under the moonlight and the burning fire of her sword, making her seem like a shining star among the shadowy tresses of the night.
Following her, albeit less gracefully, are Zlatan, the Armsguard Commander Ognjen, and a few officers he doesn't recognize. Actually, everyone except the Commander looks more as if they're tumbling down in unorganized chaos. Since no one breaks a neck, or a limb or two, Plamen guesses it's normal for them.
The three officers he doesn't recognize seem to have a rank just under Yana because their insignias miss only the last curve to signify captainship. One is a tall, long-haired man and seems older than everyone. Next to him stands an equally tall woman with dark hair and dark skin, and the last officer, another woman, seems just a few years older than him and has bright, curious eyes and smaller stature.
"You should be inside your rooms. What are you doing here?" Zlatan asks with apparent anger, scowl set deep into his features.
"Mah, take it easy, goldilocks," Yana chides in a sing-song voice. "They got out to breathe some fresh air, right?"
"For once I agree with Zlatan," The Commander murmurs before clearing his throat and continuing in a louder volume. "What is done, is done. For now, we need to secure the perimeter and round up all the traitors."
It's not apparent at first. A sense of wrongness. A chill where it shouldn't be. Slowly, oh, so slowly, it tugs at the corner of his perception. A tiny set of doubt, a minuscule sensation, it pulls and pulls until he can't ignore it anymore. He's always respected his instinct, always listened to it.
Because something is amiss, because it sets deep into his bones with finality, he grabs at Zima and Vid, locking his hands to theirs. They give him looks filled with surprise at his actions when he yanks them behind his back. Something is wrong, and all his protective instincts are screaming at him to do something.
It explodes. Whatever it is, it explodes in the center of their circle with bright light and dynamic release of energy.
Once more being subjected to a force making him fall to unconsciousness, he wants to yell and rage, but he doesn't have a chance.
Goddamnit! Not again! Why do I always get knocked out? He doesn't know but he wonders.