Battle! Not so easy to write combat scenes, and that's something I'm going to have to find a way to deal with because there are going to be some epic battles by the time this whole thing is complete.
Zoba looked out over the hoard and was struck by how dissimilar they looked to the rest of the denizens of Alycia. Where Zoba was tall, thickly muscled with skin that looked too smooth to have ever known combat, coloring too golden to seem worldly, these creatures before him looked desperate. Hunger vibrated in the air around them. At first glance they might be called skinny, but that would be a deadly misunderstanding. Wiry, dangerous, their movement alternated easily between standing, coiled, and crawling, like creatures well used to finding hiding spaces quickly. But there was no cowering, no fear. This lot wanted blood.
Taking a breath, he centered himself so quickly one not trained to look for it would have no idea, but these Velchurians were well familiar with the martial approach of the rest of Alycia. They attacked.
As with any overwhelming combat situation, Zoba had no option but to move, and move fast. He worked towards spaces and moved in circles, his focus on clearing space rather than striking. Until he could reach Calibos there was nothing to do but try and survive this furious onslaught. He was denied a direct line however, unless he wanted to meet death head on. But despite the overwhelming odds he did have some advantages. Only so many bodies could get near him at one time, so he only had to deal with those closest to him. The ever present crush also made striking him full force difficult, so while the Velchurians searched for a killing stroke, he had an easier time using evasion to slowly work his way closer and closer to his weapon.
If any of the masters of martial arts across The Split watched Zoba spin his way through this terrifying press of bodies they would recognize his movement as similar to the principles of Baguazhang. However, to Zoba he thought of it merely as Turning. He kept moving, kept evading, occasionally striking. He had no idea if he had laid any of his opponents down or not, but knew that while his conditioning was sustaining him for now, it was not inexhaustible against a force like this.
But then he saw it, a glimpse of the cool blue blade that felt as much a part of him as his own hand. With renewed vigor he continued his bloody journey, circling, sweeping, finding the brief window between two attackers, or spinning his way around, but always with his attention fixed to the spot where he could retrieve his weapon.
And then he was there, a Velchurian attempting to wield Calibos, but in truth less than 5 beings in Alycia possessed the strength to lift the behemoth. With a quickness that would seem cruel or kind depending on the viewers prejudice, Zoba dispatched the would be sword stealer with a blow to the neck and finally felt complete. Ready for true battle.
In the first few seconds after Calibos returned to his hand Zoba had cut down 20 Velchurians. The hoard continued to press and within the space of minutes the land that had been so dusty when he crashed was now muted with blood. He had carved himself some breathing room, his attackers realizing that a direct assault on him was sure to end in twice as many bodies, all half their original size. Seizing the opportunity Zoba looked for high ground and made his way toward a nearby hilltop.
He ascended, his muscles primed, Calibos glowing in the approaching moonlight. As his feet found purchase at the top he felt a surge of power, ready and able to face whatever this band of scavengers had at the ready. Until he looked out across the plains.
Zoba saw not hundreds ,not thousands, but tens of thousands of Velchurians, all focused on him. As far as the eye could see, the land undulated with bodies and bloodlust. He saw inevitability. He saw death. He knew that for the first time in his existence he had failed.
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