He couldn't let things go on like this. Desperately Aobaru looked inside for some scrap of insight, some Chosen-One spark that would lead him to victory in this dark hour.
There was nothing. No visions of glory, no hidden potential, no promise of power just waiting to be tapped... He was just, Aobaru, as he'd ever been.
The Voyaging Realm could have chosen anyone. Why had it chosen him? He was skilled but nothing special, straight out of high school with an above-average Element and a chip on his shoulder, and now in way over his head.
He clenched his teeth. None of that mattered. If they captured both Letrizia and the Armament, who knew what could happen?
He would just do what he could with what he had. If that wasn't up to the Voyaging standard, then so be it.
Time later enough to dwell.
Aobaru closed his eyes. He'd always been a kinetic Elementalist, using his Vigorflame in conjunction with his body to evade and deliver blows. His body was ensnared but he had his Element still. Why was he acting like he was helpless?
Pulling deeply from his reserves, he exploded forth with fire, a raging sea of flames to smother all troops in his vicinity. They turned as if to finish him, but he fired a column of flame downwards, the ground beneath, weakened by their sappers, yielding to his tunnel as it had their own. Acting swiftly, one elite broke off from the group to cut him down.
Aobaru could barely see, let alone move, but that mattered not. All he needed was for them to come to him.
The enemy was clever, kicking him onto his stomach to send their sword through his spine execution-style. They probably thought he was some sort of fire-based magus, who required at least line of sight to perform his spells.
As the tip of the blade contacted his skin he sent a flare of Vigorflame through it; the explosion rocked them both and spun Aobaru like a top. As soon as he was turned, flames issued from his eyes, twin columns scorching a hole through the man's torso the size of Aobaru's own head.
Propelling himself forward with fire along his back, he slammed into the Elite and launched them bodily into the midst of the enemy. Selective pulses of fire raced out, creating struts of reinforced air that his flame could push against to maneuver his body, serving as temporary limbs to re-position his form.
He closed his eyes and felt only the presence of his Element, rushing forth and receding like echolocation. Attackers piled on but their arms detonated, even runes of spellfire consumed by unending Vigorflame. He lashed out and rotated, a blinding wheel of flame, searing limbs from bodies, plate fusing to flesh before that all-eradicating heat.
The next wave of Hunger's Pressure hit, channeled by Sharpbright as if funneled through a dam, and the Nilfellian Elite broke at last.
To their credit, they did not rout, attempting an organized retreat, but it availed them little as The Chosen One scythed them down, smashed between the anvil of Lord Hunger and Aobaru's forge-flame.
