Nacht turns and sees the construct, a disgusting mass of flesh that radiates an aura of wrongness, as though the gods themselves saw this being and decided it was unnatural. At that moment he panicked, lost in the anxiety of the moment. Surely, the few combat animals he knew would not be enough to stop something of that size. Everyone was counting on him and Byanka to save Braemar from the fate the construct seemed set on giving the knight. How, though, was the question. With Saskia already trying her hardest and Jarro gone, he was just...just dead weight. No, that was despair speaking, or so he tried to convince himself.
A good way to escape despair was to look at things logically. What did he need to route the construct? A big attack, bigger than bites and pecks. Even that would probably not be enough, but it would work better. What was the biggest thing he thought he could reliably create. A giant would be great, but he had never seen one of those before, not well enough to remember, and he probably couldn't even handle it anyway. More recent, then. Suddenly, an idea came to him. In the heat of the moment, he remembered when
Skull-Hammer had found their way to the monastery, but more specifically, how they held onto their hammer with such strength.
Nacht had made so many things before, fully formed and capable of moving on their own. Of course, replicating the hand of an Ogre would be a tricky task. Placing himself next to Braemar, he gathered as much shadow as he could, more than he usually mustered. This caused a pain he had not yet experienced since realizing his magic. A splitting headache almost broke his focus and spikes of pain everywhere on his body began erupting surreptitiously. His knees began to shake, weakening. This continued as he formed it into a fist, remembering the log-like fingers and small-roof sized palm, the remaining shadow snaking around his arms. Suddenly, everything stopped.
All that was left was a strange chill, as though the universe was making a vow to punish his insolence. Suddenly, even that retreated, and he heard a voice he hadn't heard since that day he found the Monastery. No, not a voice, THE Voice.
For this shortcut, you'll pay a price, but....I'm proud of your potential. You'll make a lovely vessel one day. With that, everything returned at once, causing him to whimper but remain standing, watching as by his side a single fist almost two feet tall and two feet wide finished forming, the last strands of shadow falling into place. The construct lumbered ever closer to the pair, not yet close enough. Finally, it was time. Nacht gritted his teeth and swung, feeling his body suffer the recoil of a direct hit.
The fist had hit the construct, now blinded by the loss of it's orb (not that Nacht knows that ofc) directly in the chest, dissipating after delivering the force of an adrenaline fueled punch. Nacht's entire body felt like it had exploded, and the pain was so searing his body fell unconscious in order to negate the feeling. He fainted where he stood, tipping over and landing in the snow. Luckily, he had managed to make a difference. The construct, as it turned out, had more than survived the hit. However, it lost its balance and also fell backwards. Even deep in forced sleep, Nacht hoped that whatever impact he had made, Braemar found the footing to run and that eventually he would wake.
(I wanted to do a giant fist thing so hopefully he doesn't die after this but whatever it was badass so I'm pretty happy with it. Also, thanks Frank!)
