Chapter 6: Spirit Fire

He watches Karma curiously as they stop at the center of the field. She brings out another fan for her other hand and inspects it carefully before she looks back up at him. Perhaps she wonders where his jade staff is? He thinks he could snap her in half like a twig with his bare hands, so slender and frail she looks in her black dress. He sometimes finds it hard to believe that the humans survive without the ability to change their skin to spell-drinking stone. He can only be thankful that his soul still remains connected the desert sands, even a world apart.

He smiles at Karma and reaches out a hand to the empty space beside him.

"Echa," he says, and the air thrums with the word as his staff appears in his hand, brilliantly green in the sunlight. The moment his fingers touch it the vibrations ceases, the deep note of his magic fading away into echoes and then silence. It is another few breaths before the birds resume their singing.

"Lovely," Karma says softly. "Was that your language, then?"

"I suppose you could call it that," he says, looking off into the distance as the echoes die out, at the green-gold light shining through the trees. He swallows down his thoughts until his throat stops burning.

"It means come," he says, turning back to her, "it is not so difficult a thing to ask of one's favorite weapon."

He hears Irelia laugh and Soraka hisses, "Shush! We all know you're special!" Humans. He doesn't think it was funny.

He readies himself as Karma flicks open her fans and with a short, shared nod he calls power to the head of his staff and lunges for her. A flick of his wrist sends his staff twirling to catch her on her side. He hopes he won't break all of her ribs, but he supposes that the Starchild can fix just about any injury.

Karma snaps one fan out to the side and the other towards him. His staff smashes into the thin handle of her fan and stops with a jolt that leaves his hand numb, and as he snarls and snatches it back to his side he hears a whistle. From her outstretched fan, between the folds of jet-colored paper, come a swarm of miniature knives, and he can barely jerk up his armored forearm fast enough to protect his eyes. There is a series of pings as her blades bounce off his armor, but a few find the same gap as Luxanna Crownguard and he grits his teeth against the wave of wracking energy that erupts when they pierce his skin. With a jerk of his own magic the blades drop from his arm and into the grass, and he growls as he shakes his head briskly. He raises his empty hand and pictures the grains of time, falling gently down on Karma's head as she pulls her fans back to her chest.

Slow.

The wind stirs the top of the grass and begins to swirl around Karma as she points her fans at him again. The glittering points of her knives have only just left her fans before sand surrounds her, whipping in a golden veil that catches her blades and leaves them hanging in midair. Her superhuman composure flickers and for a second he thinks he sees her mouth part in shock. A curl of her dark red hair escapes from the curling metal rings that hold it back from her face as she whips her fans around them, sudden gusts sending the sand flying. Her knives, released, drop to the ground. He grips the shaft of his staff with both hands and slashes at her with its pointed tip through the roaring wind. It catches her on the shoulder and he grits his teeth as he feels it tear through her skin. The air around her flickers as he brings his staff around for another blow and it smashes against a wall of force around her, the ruby teardrops painted under her eyes glowing as he feeds more energy into his staff and cracks it down on the barrier. Another wave of blades from her fans, passing through the shell without pause, forces him to draw back, the jeweled ankh on his chestplate glowing as it sends them spinning away.

Karma snaps her fans closed and points them at him, a brilliant white line extending from their tips to his chest. He stumbles, feeling the drain on his spirit as it is forced together with hers. He can see her will shining around her as he falters, holding his staff before him defensively as, unblinking, she stares at him and opens one fan to send yet more blades his way.

Her will is liquid silver, radiant in its purity and certainty, and its discipline is unbreakable. It batters against him and he finds himself unable to shield his eyes again. So inwards he looks, and his fur stands on end as stone covers him. The blades shatter on his cheeks and he smiles internally, focusing on their spiritual battle. He calls on experience rather than pure determination to fend her off, somewhat ashamed that his will is more fragile than that of a slip of a human female. He sends centuries of guardianship in an amber torrent and the bond shatters, leaving him gasping for breath, his muscles infinitely lightened, but filled with peculiar regret as he feels her essence slip away. It had been so beautiful.

He returns to flesh and watches the glowing teardrops on her face go dark. She smiles at him and tucks her extra fan back into her belt, bowing her head slightly. Her breathing is even, her clothes immaculate, her skin the same dark gold. Only the spreading wetness on her sleeve and the rip at her shoulder show any sign that she has been fighting.

"There is nothing I have ever seen that is as strong as your will," he says quietly.

"You are not without conviction," Karma replies, looking at him with a particular intensity, "but my duty to Ionia is my life. All of my life."

"Have you no room for anything else?" he asks, stumbling a little over the words. They are…blunt. He hopes she is not offended.

A shadow of something passes over her face and her mouth twists as she shakes her head.

He is…disappointed.

She walks away with her head held high and he follows silently, letting his staff slip through space back to his room as he goes. Irelia runs forwards to be the first to greet them, clasping her hands together as her sword spins giddily over her head.

"That was amazing! I've never seen anyone who could fight off her spirit bond the first time they experience it! You're quite something, aren't you?" she says merrily, but on her last words he thinks he catches a glimpse of the darkness he'd seen earlier in her. It didn't sound like a compliment.

She looks him up and down and he wonders what she thinks.

"He's a friend, Irelia," Soraka murmurs behind the little red-armored girl, and her cheeks darken.

"Just want to be prepared," she says shortly, then smiles at him again. He reaches out and cautiously grips her armored shoulder and squeezes it, hoping he gauged the pressure at friendly and not bone-breaking. She laughs and pats his hand.

Pressure was friendly! Good guess, there.

"I'm surprised you didn't use your spirit fire to get past her shield," the Ionian blademaster comments, scratching at his chin.

"I didn't want to set the meadow on fire by accident," he growls, and the monkey cackles.

"Hah! Didn't want to hurt the pretty lady, he means!"

He blinks in confusion as Karma ducks behind her fan. Soraka raises her sickle purposefully and the monkey flees as brilliant strips of violet light fall out of the sky on top of him, scorching him through his armor. His yelps fade into the distance as Nasus chuckles. The Starchild huffs and lays a hand on Karma's bleeding shoulder, which glows briefly before the bloodstains vanish and the rip knits itself back together.

He waves Soraka off when she tries to heal the pricks in his elbow.

"It's nothing," he insists after she puts her hands on her hips and glares at him.

"Men," she snorts.

He decides against reminding her that is not, in fact, a human male. He moderately certain it won't actually do him any good.

"I should go collect Wukong," the blademaster sighs, nodding politely at the females and clasping his hand briefly.

"And I think I'll be taking these two to lunch," Soraka says firmly. Irelia grins and her blade splits into a thousand fragments, whizzing around her like a deadly swarm of butterflies.

Karma holds out her hands to him and he takes them briefly, his thumb rubbing against the hard handle of her fan once again. It looks so deceptively fragile. Much like her.

He can feel her will now, an impenetrable shell around her that moves with her like a second skin, and out of curiosity he reaches out with his own mind and nudges against the silver veil. It ripples and he distantly hears her gasp.

She rips her hands out of his and runs after Soraka and Irelia.