Swords and sorcery
The alley was dark and slick with recent rain, the occasional flicker of a distant streetlamp casting long shadows over the cracked pavement. Scribe moved quietly, his mechanical eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of movement. His cloak billowed behind him, the silver threads woven into the fabric glinting faintly where it caught the light. He knew Miasma was here; he could feel it.
Suddenly, a voice broke the silence. "Good evening, Scribe." Miasma's smooth, almost charming tone echoed through the alley. "I see you've finally managed to track me down."
Scribe paused as his grip tightened on his staff, Its ornate metallic casing was engraved with various arcane symbols that allowed the staffs function to be changed at a moment. "So it would seem. Though I must say, it wasn't too difficult, perhaps your getting predictable in your old age."
A shadow rose from the alleyway as it slowly took shape as Miasma's form solidified in the dim light, his plague doctor's mask may have hid his expression, but the amusement in his voice was unmistakable. "Perhaps." He chuckled as his hands raised before his chest and seemed to pantomime drawing a sword from its scabbard his nanites slowly materialized into the shape of a bastard sword with the action. "Or perhaps I merely wished to catch up with my favourite student?."
Scribe didn't respond. Instead, he lunged forward, his staff glowing with a soft blue light. Miasma deftly dodged, but Scribe was relentless, his attacks precise and powerful. An overhead swing of the staff was effortlessly deflected by Miasma's blade causing it to strike the floor, shattered concrete shrapnel flew between them ignored as Scribe ducked and spun beneath Miasma's retaliatory swing.
The two almost seemed to dance in the dimly lit alley, strike and counter, block and pivot each calculated move intending to instantly end the conflict. Yet neither able to get the upper hand and land the winning strike.
"Come now, old boy. Is this the best you can do?"
Scribe would have smiled if his mechanical features still allowed it "If my skill is lacking you can take it up with my teacher." Scribe teased. "True, a Teacher must challenge their students, lest h find them, Wanting." as Miasma spoke these words he gestured with his off hand and from the walls beside him arose a second and third Miasma each taking a step into the alley a perfect copy of the first.
"You never did play fair old man." Scribe muttered as he twirled his staff in anticipation. His eyes narrowed as the two additional copies performed the same motion as the first, creating a bastard sword from their nanite swarms before taking up position to block any possible escape, . The air was thick with tension, the silence broken only by the distant hum of city life.
The clones advanced in unison, swords raised high. Scribe expertly parried the first strike, his staff ringing out as it met the metal blade. He twirled, deflecting another blow, then ducked under a sweeping slash. The clones were relentless, their movements almost synchronized, but Scribe remained calm, adjusting his staff's rune configuration with deft hands.
Seeing as Scribe was focusing purely on defence the copies shifted tactics. The bastard swords dissolved into swirling clouds of nanites that extended from their bodies like deadly tentacles, each tipped with razor-sharp blades. Scribe's eyes widened momentarily, recognizing the new threat, but he quickly regained his composure.
With a flick of his wrist, Scribe triggered a hidden mechanism in his staff. "Pyro Blast!" He announces as jet of flame erupted from the end, scorching the nearest clone. The nanites sizzled and hissed, recoiling from the heat forcing the nanite copy to retreat and solidify lest they burn, but the other two clones pressed their attack. Bladed tentacles solidifying as they lashed out, slicing through the air with lethal precision.
Scribe dodged and weaved, his movements a blend of inhuman agility and careful strategy. He swung his staff in a wide arc, deflecting a tentacle strike and using the momentary pause in their attacks to activate a tazer grenade from his belt. "HOLD PERSON!" He called tossing it at the second clone, the device emitting a loud cracking noise as it electrocuted everything within a radius of its detonation followed by a high-frequency pulse that caused the nanites to flicker and glitch. The clone stumbled as its leg could not hold its proper shape, its form destabilizing momentarily as the swarm tried to hold its form.
He looked from his opponent to his staff and saw that only 3 of the 5 charge runes where lit. Scribe knew he needed more time. The EMP wave would not be effective against the swarms without a full charge. He activated another hidden feature in his staff, this time unleashing a burst of sonic energy that disrupted the nanites control modules causing the clones to become sluggish and jarred as they continued their unrelenting assault.
Taking advantage of the brief respite, Scribe pressed the fifth rune on his staff, initiating the final countdown for the EMP wave. The clones, recovering from the sonic assault, converged on him with renewed ferocity their forms ceased to mimic anything close to a humans, they shifted growing distended limbs that split and spread their bodies morphing into little more then a pile of tentacles.
The bladed limbs lashed out, a myriad of knives, swords and spears assaulting the mage, forcing Scribe to prioritize the damage, using all his skill to parry and dodge what he could, while suffering what ever wounds he determined would not cause catastrophic failure in his mechanical body.
Desperate to buy more time, he countered with a spray of incendiary gel from his staff, "Modified Fireball!" Scribe proclaimed as the flames engulfed the third clone and causing it to disintegrate as the nanites attempted to separate from their doomed comrades who turned slowly into into a pile of molten metal slag. But the remaining two clones were undeterred, their bladed tentacles slicing through the air with deadly intent.
Finally, the EMP wave was ready. Scribe leaped back, raising his staff high. With a triumphant shout of "ANTI MAGIC FIELD!", he slammed it into the ground. A blinding pulse of energy radiated outward, the EMP wave sweeping through the alley. The clones convulsed, their nanites short-circuiting their forms no longer capable of holding shape, collapsing into inert piles of metallic dust.
Falling to a knee as his systems took a moment to asses the damage, Scribe surveyed the aftermath. His shielding has prevented a total shut down and destruction of his systems but he would still need a moment to be back to full operational capacity. The alley was littered with the remains of the Miasma clones, the danger momentarily averted. He adjusted his staff back to its default configuration as he pulled himself to his feet. He would have smiled if his features still allowed it.
The feeling of victory soon passed as he noted his pedagog had not materialized when their nanites had been destroyed. Scribe turned as he scanned the alley but his search was interrupted by the sound of someone slowly clapping. Scribe turned to the end of the alley and there upon the edge of its roof sat Miasma His usual mask was missing and his silver hair splayed on the wind the pale skin on his face stretched into a wicked grin as smoke lazily drifted from were his eyes should have resided. "Well played old boy."
A soft beeping noise emanated from Miasma's wrist and he turned to look at it momentarily before sighing as he stood brushing off his knees as he did so. "Sadly though my dear student, it seems. You're out of time."
"What have you-" Scribe was interrupted by the distant roar of explosions. He turned and could see the flash of light and heat, his optics identifying several smoke clouds rising as his system were flooded with alerts of reported explosions and several PRT facilities where requesting immediate assistance.
"Done?" Miasma seemed to mock "Oh nothing too special, I am sure you will figure it out once you get there, but it seems your going to have to wait until your systems come back online." Miasma seemed to tut shaking his head. "You really should be more careful with those toy's of yours. Now. You will have to excuse me" He turned to look to the floating structure that hovered over the bay.
"I have a business opportunity to attend to." he turned to leave but paused , a mocking smile crept along his face he turned to look down his nose at his old protégé "Seems the score is now 5 to 7. Better luck next time old boy" his form blurred as Miasma began to laugh the nanites that formed his body separated as they became dispersed on the wind until Scribe stood alone in the rain slicked alley.
Scribe moved to follow taking a single step before stopping, his propulsion systems were scrambled by the EMP and would not be usable for another 15 minutes making pursuit impractical.
"Shit" Scribe muttered to himself as he turned in the direction of the nearest blast and began to run.