All that had transpired since his arrival in San d'Oria had the Dark Knight delving even deeper into his contemplations whilst he darted for the city gates. His suspicions of Rosalyn and the Zilart had not quite been assuaged, even with the arrival of the army, with one of their allies caught up in the fray. Odine knew all too well that webs of deceit could be woven with untold complexity. Little by little, it did seem that their benevolent intentions very well could be genuine, however. He would allow no hypothesized conclusions to drive his own intent, though, as doing so in either direction could prove to be a fatal mistake. Adaptability was key to survival and one could do this by remaining ever willing to alter their perception when necessary. All these thoughts were flushed away quickly, however, as Odine drew closer to the gates. The scent of blood mingled with charred wood on the air whilst cries of horror and agony filled his ears faintly from beyond the city walls. Odine's step became swifter now, his yearning for combat driving him onward with even more resolve now that the taste of mayhem was just beyond his tongue. Clasping at his Tredecim Scythe, Odine drew the weapon, anticipation welling within him as he erupted through the gates into the fray.
Chaos consumed his senses, a symphony of death being orchestrated all for him in his own mind. It was his nature to fight, to be the dark messenger for those living on borrowed time. It had been sheer will that had harnessed this power, focused it into a weapon. A force to be reckoned with, Odine used this power and lust for battle to serve rather than abolish. In truth, he did abolish and took pleasure in it, yet in service to those in need. Could such a balance exist? Harnessing destructive natures to for the better of others? Odine did not know for sure, but he would damn sure try, no matter what it cost him, even his own soul.
The first poor schmuck to advance upon him seemed too weak of a challenge for the veteran adventurer, a Dark Knight, no less. The scythe was brought forward quickly to intercept his first opponent's initial thrust with a longsword. Alloys clashed but for a moment, quick, dexterous movements of Odine's hands upon the scythe causing the blade to slide along the shaft of the weapon whilst it rotated in the air, parrying the blade away. Moving in close for the kill, Odine's speed was surprising for a knight bearing seemingly heavy armor. Yet this was not the case, the materials and synthesis of the finely fashioned Abyss Cuirass providing him decent protection, at little cost in weight. Now before his opponent, with the scythe brought to bare on high, Odine would launch his arms downward, bringing the scythe along with them to cleave through the mithra. His momentum would again accelerate at speeds that would surprise many as he darted with his scythe lowered by his side through the miasma like substance that was left behind in the dissipation of his felled enemy. Three more mithra had just arrived to the gates to fend him off, taken a bit aback by the ferocity with which their ally had been cut down.
Hesitation, more often than not, meant death on the field of battle and such was the case with the three. Not bothering to stop, Odine threw his weight into an upward, diagonal slice aimed to cleave the three in half at an angle. The first two were unable to ready themselves in time, and found themselves writhing in agony within their last moments as the razor, curved edge of the blade ripped through their bodies before returning to oblivion. The last, wielding a great katana, was able to ready her weapon before her comrades were slain. She clashed with the curved blade of the scythe, quickly darting inward with her own momentum whilst she pushed against Odine's weapon to drive it away and throw him off balance. Her elbow darted out quickly to meet with his face, causing the Dark Knight to stumble backward. The mithra thought to take advantage of this and ready her blade at her side to strike at the seemingly defenseless adventurer. Yet Odine would not be felled so easily and by a mere peon, no less. The blow had done nothing to stun him, yet served only as a means for him to withdraw. Quickly gaining his composure and thus the upper hand, Odine stepped forward to move directly in front of the mithra, making her horizontal slashing stance ineffective. Quickly reaching out with his left, armored hand, his fingers would clutch at the significantly smaller mithra's neck. Lifting her into the air, he would toss her backward, into a row of several other approaching mithra. "Is this is?! The best you have to offer?!" A malicious scowl erupted upon his visage as he roared, monstrous tones echoing across the battlefield.
"Last Resort!!" Adrenaline pumped throughout him as he drew upon his inner reserves, calling forth a savage strength and unparalleled aggression. Barreling forward like raving battering ram, Odine would strike with his scythe as he ran through the horde, leaving explosions of black mist in his wake from those that were unable to defend themselves. Those that had managed to bring their weapons and shields in to block, unable to anything else from the sheer ferocity and haste of the desperate blows, were sent flailing across the ground, bashing into one another from the sheer power of blows. Odine was desperate, indeed. Not for survival, but for a true challenge. He wanted a battle, not a slaughter. These peons were nothing to him and as such, they would be regarded as so.
The Dark Knight that had just gone loose cannon on the hordes, carved a swathe through the enemy, unknowing of his allies positions for the time being or even the overall state of the conflict anywhere else. These fodder served only to empower his resolve even more, something he would reserve and unleash at the appropriate moment. When he found that challenge, that struggle for victory. It was the only thing that drove him now, nothing else. Not even the mass destruction he was reigning upon the poor souls of the enemy army that were unlucky enough to be in his way.
..A wounded man shall say to his assailant, "If I live, I will kill you. If I die, you are forgiven." Such is the rule of honor.
Thanks for the sig Yamoto!