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Characters:

Greggory Bast (Male, Sphinx cat (Noble), 22) Allomancer: Mistborn

Ariadne Lobos (Female, Wolf (Noble), 50) [Unknown]

Notes:

In terms of ‘new metals per chapter’, this, ultimately, is the Atium chapter of this little project. I feel like I probably didn’t do it justice… I mean, this is supposed to be the major power that Mistborn often use as a trump card, but I couldn’t quite figure out how to do it in such a way that it really gets to feel as overpowered as it is in-universe. And this is like the third rewrite of this chapter, so I’m not sure I CAN figure out a way to get it to work right…

Still, this was a fun one to write! I do actually like doing fight scenes; at least, I did back in the days of my poorly-done fanfiction writing lol. Honestly, it’s not TOO different from smut scenes, though I still worry I’m not the best with it. Hopefully things are easy enough to follow… and I don’t make too many leaps in logic that are more in my head then on the page.

Story Text:

Eight metals burned Allomantically in his stomach, filling him with both a comforting, surging warmth, as well as power through his mind, body, and spirit.

Turning the door handles and pushing, Greggory slipped forward, his bare paws deft on the wood floor, pewter keeping him nimble and strong as he entered the well-lit room. He squinted at the light, dulling his tin just a bit to keep from being blinded; it sharpened his senses, his hearing and touch and sight, the brass handles cool and smooth in his slender hands.

Entering, he drifted like a silent shadow, the tassels of his mistcloak, thin strips of grey, white, and faded blue, twisted and flowed gently around his small, scrawny figure. The hood hung over his head, pointed hairless feline ears folded down slightly as he snuck in, eyes hidden in shadow. The cat gently pushed the doors shut behind him, the soft click of the internal mechanisms sounding sharp and cacophonous in tin-fueled ears.

The cat turned his head slightly, taking in the room. It was long and narrow, set on two floors; the lower had a few round tables with chairs arranged across the floor, and at the far end was a pair of desks pressed up face-to-face, littered with books and lamps. Other lamps arranged on the walls kept it all lit, the far wall away from the door dominated with pristine clear glass windows; beyond, the twisting, swaying flow of cool white mist swirled, as if begging entry to the imposing Keep. The upper floor was a walkway around the close wall, leaving the window side open and clear. Shelves and shelves of books, scrolls, and rolled sheets of paper layered the three non-window walls, packed together neatly but copiously.

Greggory's eyes locked on his target: Ariadne Lobos.

The imposing she-wolf stood over one of the desks at the end of the room facing him, leaning over an arrangement of books and scrolls. A big, flickering lamp stood beside her, lighting what she was reading; she was tall and long-limbed, her shoulders surprisingly broad and lupine face long and sharp. Her dark grey and brown fur was sleek and immaculate, thick at the back and braided with glittering metal jewelry; though vulnerable to Allomancy, many Nobles tended to wear metal, in the fashion of the Lord Ruler that led their Empire. And, judging by the faded blue lines visible only to Greggory, the jewelry was genuine metal, not painted wood as was often used to substitute. She wore a man's suit, well-tailored around her shapely and strong figure, slacks and jacket sturdy and detailed with silvery thread. No other lines connected to her body, but between the rings in her braids and on her fingers, it was hard to tell for sure if she was hiding metal vials.

She turned cold, steely eyes up at the cloaked Mistborn. And she gave a heavy, almost mournful sigh.

Aah... Quartermain disappoints me once again,'' she mused, shaking her head. Ariadne stood up straight from her reading, adjusting a cuffed sleeve. The she-wolf stepped away from the desk, in Greggory's direction, the cat poised and heart hammering.He really thinks one lone Mistborn is enough to kill me?'' the Lobos head questioned, cocking her head curiously, before righting it and flashing a sharp, predatory grin as she added, ``Or maybe he just wants me to kill you for him. He seems the type...''

Greggory was nearly frozen. Disappoints? Quartermain? HER kill HIM? What was happening?

His lips must have parted in confusion, downturned. She smirked, chuckling musingly and surmising, ``Then he didn't tell you ALL he knows. He MUST want me to kill you...''

Enough. Greggory bent his knees, shifting himself onto the balls of his feet, tail curling behind him as he flung his arms out. One held a glinting glass knife, wickedly sharp and ready to bury itself in flesh.

The other released a handful of coins, which a sharp, flaring Steelpush blasted at the wolf.

With a lurch, the small feline was thrown backwards, gasping at the abrupt movement. He'd been pushing the coins, driving them at his target. Another, opposite, Steelpush shoved them back at him. As the lighter of the two, Greggory lost on the pushing conflict, the coins halting for an instant as they were held in place by opposing pushes.

Greggory stopped his push in mid-air, tilting as he was thrown a few feet back. His eyes widened under his hood; the instant his toes hit the floor, he ducked himself low, tucking his knees up against his chest and lowering his head and shoulders.

The coins that he'd pushed sailed sharply over his head, must faster than he'd launched. With her superior size and stability, braced against the sturdy desks, Ariadne had managed to Steelpush from a position of much greater strength. He heard them shatter the windows at the far end of the library behind him, raucous in his tin-sharp ears.

His heart hammered in his chest. Bronze burning low, he couldn't feel any pulses from Ariadne. No sign of Allomancy, even after clearly burning steel to push those coins.

Which could only mean one thing... A coppercloud. She, too, was a Mistborn.

This was bad.

But he had to move, do SOMETHING to try and get her off balance. As he was smaller and weighed much less, he had less power to put behind his pushes and pulls; iron and steel, likely, weren't going to be much of a boon for him.

So instead, he grasped his other glass knife, flared pewter intensely for just a second, and hurled it with all his might.

The glass blade spun tip-over-hilt, silent and sharp. Ariadne grunted; with her own pewter-deft movement, she shifted to the side, but just a bit too slow, seemingly not expecting the non-metal ranged attack. The glass blade carved neatly through her upper arm, slipping a good two inches deep in her flesh and sailing past with a flick of blood, still spinning before it lodged itself tip-first in the books behind her.

An instant later, Greggory, who'd rushed forward in a surging sprint behind the knife, leapt at her, the other glass blade raised in his hand, fangs bared ferociously.

Ariadne grunted again, raising both arms to stop Greggory's leaping attack. Her large paws caught his blade-wielding wrist, stopping it mid-air with the blade angled right at her throat. His bare feet hit the edges of the desk, curling against it for purchase. With his other hand, Greggory swung his claws, the natural `blades' hardened by the same pewter that fueled his limbs with supernatural strength and dexterity. They ripped through the cloth and flesh of her upper chest, rending her suit and shirt to blood-spattered tatters with a flick of scarlet.

``Graah! Little bastard!'' Ariadne roared. Even without flaring his bronze, Greggory felt her flare her pewter greatly, intense with lupine fury.

His stomach lurched as the massive she-wolf grabbed him by the scruff of his mistcloak, and pulled. In an instant, he went from mid-leap against the desk, to slamming full-force against the shelf to the side, breath smashed out of him as his hardened body hit back-first.

Even with pewter, his spine and ribs flared with pain, and an instant later he hit the floor, breathless and wide-eyed. His vision darkened around the edges, and with no oxygen getting to his brain, he could feel himself almost blacking out from the one move, splinters of busted shelf littering all around him. In a fraction of a second, the thrumming ache in his chest started fading, becoming distant, and his head dipped towards the floor.

Desperate, the cat flared his tin. The sudden explosion of senses, pain and scent and sound and light, shocked his mind out of the pained stupor. A cacophony of sensation blared.

It was barely an instant, but already Ariadne had stalked towards him, the wolf growling deeply. ``I see why Quartermain hates his little pet Mistborn,'' she murmured to herself, but with tin flared in his stomach, Greggory heard the words like they were near-shouted right into his ear.

Slumped on the floor, stomach against the wooden boards and side against the half-broken shelf, Greggory took a chance.

Steel and pewter flared, he Pushed, gritting his teeth as he was pressed heavily against the floor by his own Allomantic force. But it was a worthwhile move; the wolf growled in aggravation as she was shoved backwards off her feet, the jewelry on her shoving her back away from the feline. There wasn't a lot of weight to the ornaments; he couldn't hurl her back a dozen feet, but the abrupt SHOVE did knock her off balance and stumbling backwards as her long, braided headfur was yanked.

Taking the few seconds, Greggory kept flaring his pewter, hopping up onto his feet and hands, forcing himself to inhale. His chest ached, but he kept flaring his metals.

With a sharp Riot, he flared Ariadne's anger, her pride, her sense of superiority. And at the same time, he Soothed away caution and impatience. He wanted her furious, and he wanted her to make an example of him. Wanted her fully willing to take her time killing him.

Or rather... he wanted her clumsy, and wanted time to work.

She attacked, lunging with her own pewter-hardened claws. But, with bronze flaring in his stomach, punching through the coppercloud Ariadne was burning around herself, Greggory could feel the instant she was flaring the physical metal. Timing his movements, he `clumsily' avoided the slashes, shifting back, ducking one way, throwing himself the other. As with many experiences pewter-users, she flared the metal at the instant she was launching an attack, for maximum output; this made it easy to read for Greggory, though still hard to anticipate, react, and avoid.

Let alone counterattack. Both of his glass daggers were gone, one imbedded in a shelf, the other lost when he was thrown.

He tucked and rolled under her arm as she swung, mistcloak tassels spiraling around his small figure. The hairless cat rose onto his feet, tin-enhanced senses feeling the POUND of her firm, stance-planting stomp behind him.

Deftly, he twisted around... and pulled with iron. Not on Ariadne; on the lamp that was now on the other side from him, poised right behind the tall, muscular she-wolf.

The glass and metal implement full of burning fuel leapt at her from behind. Greggory felt a thrum of achievement as he caught the flicker of movement.

She twisted with supernatural deftness, backhand-striking the lamp's more durable base rather than the fragile glass globe at the top. It spun off to the side, angling away from both Greggory and the she-wolf. He froze, stunned at the surprisingly nimble and in-control movement. An instant later, he shifted to leap away on pewter-fueled legs, but-

Ariadne's paw leapt out in an instant, catching him mid-movement by the front of his mistcloak. She moved like it was no effort on her part, like he was toddling awkwardly into her grasp.

Like she could see every move he'd make, seconds before it happened.

Atium.

She heaved, growling as she grasped his belt and cloak as handles, and flung him once again. The small cat toppled through the air at the powerful throw, grunting as mid-turn his shoulder and head hit the edge of one of the desks, his back bouncing off it and sending books flying, continuing to topple through the air over the desk's surface as he tumbled to a stop on the floor again, gasping.

Atium. Ariadne was burning Atium. Ugh, he was so STUPID, he could even feel the thrumming pulse of the High Metal through her coppercloud.

With that metal burning... there was no way he was getting a hit on her. Her every move, her very mind, were enhanced and aware of everything he would try to do. The only way to counteract a Mistborn burning Atium would be to burn Atium of his own.

His gaze, sharp with tin's power, flicked upwards, picking out the hilt of his knife, thrown into the shelf that was now nearby.

Greggory would go for that; he'd need a weapon.

Mind racing and near-frantic, but movements swift and sure thanks to pewter's steadying enhancement, he slipped up onto his feet at the same time he was plucking the glass vial from his belt.

He had to be fast, while he in her line of sight. The cat slipped his other paw into his coin pouch, extracting a handful and standing abruptly. He half-stepped, half-hopped backwards away from the desk, following the pulse of her burning Allomantic metals to aim the flurry of coins, twisting and moving towards the shelf with the knife. At the same time, he continued to Riot her sense of superiority, her assuredness that with Atium she was untouchable and had nothing to fear as a dozen metal clips flew at her.

Sure enough, Ariadne let out a bark of laughter, casually Steelpushing the coins he sent at her as she stalked around the large desks.

He'd only shoved them for an instant to get speed, and then released, avoiding being knocked back by her again. As the coins flew, he reached the knife, grasping its hilt. As she flung the coins back at the air he'd occupied a second ago, Greggory fell into a crouch again and tipped the vial of oil at his lips.

He swallowed the tiny bead, the knife held in his other hand firmly.

A new reserve of Allomantic power bloomed to life in his senses. And Greggory burned the High Metal.

Immediately, two things happened. Subtly, he felt his mind... expand. Growing to take in all that came to it, to amplify his control over his movements and actions.

Less subtly, an explosion of translucent purple images burst from Ariadne. Each was an image of her, performing some action within the next few seconds. Leaping over the desk, throwing coins, leaping, punching, kicking, striking, howling, talking... A clumsy, mixing flood of information that would have overwhelmed him normally, but with his enhanced mind, it just became dull, uninteresting noise, attention solidified on her real form at the center of the maelstrom.

Focusing on her expression, Greggory could see the aggravation in her eyes as the same frantic burst of translucent motion burst from him.

Each shadow was an image of the future; Atium's great, overwhelming strength was that it let a Mistborn see what was coming with perfect clarity. Isolated, this made them untouchable, and made any kind of defense or attack futile. After all, nothing the enemy did was a surprise.

But against another Mistborn burning Atium, this was what happened.

Seeing the enemy's shadow made you do something different, changing what they saw. That changed what you saw, as the enemy did something different in turn. This cascaded on and on and on and on, until all that was `revealed' was a bursting mess of moving shadows dancing around them. With the mental enhancement the metal provided, it wasn't a distraction, at least.

Greggory had to be fast. His bead of Atium was small, and he had no idea how much Ariadne may have swallowed in preparation.

That... was another worry, his opened mind flicked to. She'd obviously been ready for a Mistborn to attack her; no surprise at his entry, Atium ready, metals ready.

Ariadne must have had her suspicions that Quatermain... or someone else... was going to send an assassin after her. On that very night. Either that, or the woman was so paranoid and wealthy that she regularly swallowed Atium and Allomantic metals before studying in the library for hours. And, while the Lobos family WAS more than well-off, they weren't exactly a Great House, and even those would shirk at wasting so much Atium, so it must have been prepared...

No. He was letting himself get distracted, even for a fraction of a second.

No time to think about that.

Greggory Rioted Ariadne's shock, and just for good measure a bit of anger and fear in tandem. He didn't bother with iron or steel, just pewter and his one remaining glass knife, once again taken up in one paw as he leapt onto and over the desk, taking a single step across the surface of it.

``Graah!'' she growled, lunging and swinging her claws at the nimble Mistborn, fulfilling one of a dozen Atium shadows.

Greggory swung back, knife held back-hand as he swept it through the air. The glass shattered at the awkward strike, but not before tearing through her hand, two fingers and a spurt of crimson blood spiraling away from her. It must have struck bone, hardened by pewter's power, but not enough to save the two severed digits.

Both burning Atium, and pewter, the only advantage was Ariadne's natural size and strength. So the cat had to be quicker, and fiercer.

He didn't drop the shattered knife; Greggory held its broken hilt in one hand, landing on the floor so close to Ariadne he could smell the light perfume she wore in her fur. Within her reach, long limbs a detriment to the close-quarters attack.

He took a single quick step, twisting his whole body, mistcloak dancing around his slight frame. Carrying the movement, Greggory thrust his claws at her waist, driving the sharpened edges into her soft flesh through silk shirt and sturdy jacket. She cried out in anger and pain, before slashing her non-mangled hand at him, once again fighting claw to claw. Greggory was prepared, however, using the broken-off edge of his glass knife like a shank, driving it right into her wrist halfway into the strike.

More blood, flying from the woman's wounds, hand and wrist and belly.

He was faster, more in control, then her. Especially with his Rioting and Soothing disrupting her emotional state; few Mistborn seemed to take note of the Emotional Metals, preferring the stealth of copper and bronze, the physicality of tin and pewter, the control of iron and steel.

But he worked it against her deftly. Making her angry, and clumsy, and unfocused.

Greggory twisted the glass knife's broken hilt into her forearm, shoving it back from him before she could claw his throat out. And an instant later, purple Atium shadows dancing madly around the two, he lurched forward, trying to hurry before his High Metal burnt out.

With a growl, the hairless cat craned open his jaw, and clamped sharp fangs into the soft meat of her throat. She `glrked' at the abrupt move, Rioted shock stunning her for just an instant.

An instant was all he needed, as that was enough time to use pewter enhanced bite strength to dig, ripping and tear, through her neck. Blood sprayed around his face, artery and blood vessels severed by feline fangs. Then, he yanked at the same time his hands shoved her chest away from him, tearing off to the side in a burst of hot, red blood. The coppery taste of it was so strong in his tin-enhanced maw that it consumed him for an instant, blinded by it all.

The feline stood, trembling slightly, as he let his Atium go out. He panted heavily, jaw hanging agape, blood and flesh dripping from it as he wobbled on his feet.

Again, he felt more than heard as Ariadne stumbled back a step from his shove... and dropped heavily to the floor. Her pewter flared heavily as she gurgled, gagging on her own blood as her ruined throat pumped messily through her crimson hands, clasped over her neck to futilely stop the bleeding. She squirmed, kicking, eyes wide and panicked, metals flaring helplessly.

Greggory blinked blood out of his burning eyes, staring down at the imposing she-wolf that lay, twisted and spewing blood on the floor.

Abruptly, her over-flared pewter burnt out, and she wheezed sharply, body going stock-still as the genuine pain and shock of her torn-out throat, gouged belly, and mutilated hand struck her in an instant. Steely eyes wide and staring hazily at the ceiling above her, she trembled, wheezing wetly through a ruined wind pipe. Red pooled out around her, sprays of it staining the floor in seemingly all directions.

He continued to stare, almost numb, as her movements slowed. He could feel with his flared savant bronze as her metals gave out, body desperately trying to burn them for the power to survive.

Their Allomantic power didn't help her fend off death. Seconds ticked by, and a moment later she went still, jaw still working as blood spilled up her throat, dripping down the edges of her maw. Her limbs, weakening, fell limp and still, chest heaving shakily one last time...

Before stopping.

Ariadne Lobos was, at last, dead. Surrounded by a hot, ruby red pool of her own blood.

Greggory panted heavily, legs and arms trembling. His body ached; he must have missed dodging a few of her redirected coins, because he could feel them hard and hot in his shoulder. His hands were bloody, and his maw was a mess of flesh and gore. He could feel it hot and sticky all over his smooth feline face.

In the back of his mind, he was aware he still had a tiny shred of Atium remaining. Worth barely a few seconds of its temporal awareness, but... still, that was something if he needed it.

Turning his head, Greggory hacked and spat, blood spattering to the floor from his mouth. It was all he could do to try not to vomit instead. ``Gah...'' he panted, reluctantly licking his lips. The intense coppery flavor was overwhelming, so he dulled his tin a bit, though he was loath to extinguish it after that likely-noisy fight. He brought a hand up, wiping his face clumsily, spitting again as he nearly doubled over.

It covered his throat. Covered his face. His hands. The floor, the desks. The shattered remains of his glass dagger, which he let drop to the floor.

Blood, blood, so much blood... Fuck, he hated the taste of blood.