Donovan, of course, was oblivious to the transformation that Methuseld had endured not too far away. He also wasn't aware of the fox in Aza's satchel, or its importance or what it represented. Oh, he had questions aplenty, but those questions would not be answered while they were running for their lives.<br/><br/>And then there was Dean, or rather, Dean's disappearance. The big warrior was still in disbelief that Dean had been... dispatched... and that worried him. Of course, he reminded himself quickly that Dean had somehow... deteriorated somehow during his time aboard the chaos ship. And that, too, was a bit freaky in the knight's eyes. But all that mattered now was getting to safety, which meant getting the fuck out of this town.<br/><br/>Moments later, he heard a scream from behind them – probably back around that courtyard where he had found Aza. The mess that had been left there... it had reminded him of Dean, even though he knew it couldn't be. He -felt- Dean perish... for now. The pain of it still echoed in his arms and legs, making Donovan wish even more that they could simply relax... just for a few minutes, but he knew that was not possible.<br/><br/>Sweating, feeling his energy slowly being depleted with no immediate relief in sight, he trudged on, and no one they came across posed any sort of true obstacle as the bigger man, clad in bits and pieces of armor beneath his cloak, pushed through the crowd relentlessly, heading toward the agreed-upon meeting location with Methuseld.<br/><br/>After warning Aza that they were almost there, she resisted, for the first time, causing him to stop and turn to face her. She refused to ride alone on horseback, and the big knight sighed.<br/><br/>“Fine, you can ride with me or Methuseld, but come on, or there won't be anything left of us to make the ride at all,” he urged, then turned and continued, pulling her studiously along behind him. Fucking -women-! They were running for their -lives-, and she was worried about riding a horse? Seriously? Aza was in -definite- need of discipline... a spanking, or perhaps many spankings – something to help her attitude adjust to one that was a little more attuned with the plight they found themselves in.<br/><br/>~She took care of those mooks in the courtyard with no one else's help...~ he reminded himself, quickly realizing that he might have underestimated her.<br/><br/>When the stables finally came into view, Donovan paused, stepping to the side, eying the structure to see if it was burning down or if city guards were hauling away a dead or wounded Methuseld. Everything looked fine. The cicada's song was louder her, and that gave him hope that they weren't far from the city walls – and freedom.<br/><br/>He turned his head to regard Aza as she raised a hand to brush aside some of her beautiful locks. Here in the light, away from that chaos ship, she was -beautiful-. So small, fragile... he could understand why Dean had wanted to do terrible things to her (mostly good). But he also reminded himself what had happened AFTER... Dean had been turned into a child, which Donovan had attributed to the Chaos ship's powers. But now... could it have been a result of being fucked into submission by Aza?<br/><br/>Donovan nearly gasped – forgetting about their plight, forgetting about the danger. That HAD to explain what had happened! Dean had fucked her, and she had used some witchcraft to steal some of his... energy, or whatever. Donovan remembered how Aza had tried to seduce -him-, too, and he had refused... just barely! Would that fate have also befell him, if he had given-in at that time?<br/><br/>She looked up at him, full lips parting to speak – full lips -made- to wrap around the crown of a man's cock, he was certain... and why not -his-? She had a slender waist, and he was sure his big hands, when used together, could almost encircle it completely fingertip to fingertip. And her breasts... far too large for a woman of her small stature... made for palming while riding atop her, beneath her... or plowing from behind. He felt the tightening in his breeches, the pain of too much confinement struggling against the pain of Dean's passing.<br/><br/>Aza turned her head, distracted by something, and Donovan likewise turned his. While she was gazing a new method of transportation befitting a princess, Donovan's eyes settled on the approaching monks. The center of them was the leader, quite obviously, and likely the most dangerous. Why did they have to show up now, when he was -just- about to enjoy Aza's pleasures? If she could give them to Dean, why wouldn't she give them to -him-? All they'd need to do was slip around an alley, just out of sight...<br/><br/>Donovan blinked as the first one, the one on the left, took a swing. The knight hadn't even drawn his weapons, distracted by the siren's song that the cicada's played for his ears alone, apparently. The monk's fist cracked across his face, nearly breaking his nose, blood sprouting from both nostrils, but he didn't have time to examine further as the one on the other side attacked almost simultaneously.<br/><br/>In an instant, Donovan called upon the Glory, his skin hardening, his strength increasing again. The second monk's punch crashed into the side of Donovan's head – and while the knight didn't feel it, the monk did, pulling back his appendage with a shout of surprise and pain, as if he had just solidly punched a stone wall.<br/><br/>Then the leader struck, fists clenched together, the impact sounding like a shot from a canon. The force of it sent Donovan flying -through the air-, a dozen yards back, above the heads of people – and into the wall of a nearby store. The crowd around screamed and scattered, which ended up giving Donovan time to collect himself as he caved in a good portion of the sandstone wall, but the blow had certainly knocked the wind from him, and he raised his eyes to see the two monks approaching, and even the third, arm broken or not, cradling it still, walked forward now with a look of resolve on his face.<br/><br/>Staggering... swaying a bit... Donovan – covered in dusty and looking almost ghost-like-, stepped out of the rubble. At least the three monks seemed to have their attention on him, and not Aza.<br/><br/>-His- Aza! And when he was done here, he was going to-...<br/><br/>Donovan's survival instincts kicked in as the three rushed him as one, his hands moving down to draw forth his blades. They were shorter and quicker than Methuseld's, but didn't have the reach that her blade did. But these men -wanted- in close, and Donovan was more than happy to oblige.<br/><br/>What took place then was a breathtaking display of matched movements – blurs of skin, armor, shining blades, and fiery fists. Parry, block, thrust, parry, dodge, block... Every blow he threw their way, the three monks countered. In return, Donovan also countered theirs.... mostly. A stray one here or there would collide with his armor, with his body, but he was focused on stopping the smoldering punches of their leader, too.<br/><br/>Donovan had to change his tactics. He had to trust in his magical armor, and he knew this would either work wonderfully... or fail spectacularly. He focused -all- of his attention on the monk with the broken wrist. Thrust, thrust, swing, feint.... -success-.....<br/><br/>His blade slid between the monk's ribs, the point emerging from the man's back. The monk's eyes widened as he looked down – just in time to see Donovan pull his blade free, having suffered several blows from the other two.<br/><br/>Donovan quickly, without breaking stride, repeated the process on the -other- lesser monk. Block, block, block, footsweep, double-blades forward in scissor maneuver... success. The second monk underling staggered back, half of his throat missing, blood gushing like a swift flowing brook from where his windpipe used to be. Wide-eyed, he staggered back and fell.<br/><br/>The monk leader stepped back, hands whirling in a defensive display to put room between himself and Donovan. Something -hurt- in his ribs... the leader's punches were -brutal-, even with his skin-spell, and he was sure a rib or two had been cracked – something he could worry about -later-... AFTER fucking Aza completely senseless, of course.<br/><br/>“Looks like it's just you and me, pal. Head on out, if you want. No need for you to die today.”<br/><br/>The monk's hands smoldered, and he hesitated. But the bug on his shoulder, which Donovan just now noticed, screamed out his cry, and the monk scowled and charged forward.<br/><br/>Another spectacular display ensued, two arms blocked by blades or armor, two blades mostly whishing harmlessly through the air where the monk had been just a split-second earlier. The two men fought, and Donovan -knew- his time was just about up. He hadn't had time to recharge yet... he needed to regain his power. Soon, he would run out, and become just a normal man until he could recover...<br/><br/>And sex was an incredible way to do just that.<br/><br/>And idea struck him, and he set it up quickly. He let his weariness start to show, and the Monk's brow crinkled just enough to tell Donovan that he saw it. Donovan let the man get a blow in... and another, and then finally he left himself open, for a split second, across his chest. He knew the monk would see it, but would he take the bait?<br/><br/>He did.<br/><br/>In a blur of movement, the monk lined up his fists together again and brought them forth like a lighting strike...<br/><br/>Right onto the pair of diamond-like spikes that Donovan had willed to extend straight out from his chest.<br/><br/>The monk literally impaled both fists and arms along the length of those spokes. The tip pieced the monk's hands between the second and third knuckles, shattered bones and split right between the radius and ulna of each forearm. The tips of those spikes pierced right out of the monk's elbows, blood spraying down the front of his robes.<br/><br/>Eyes wide with shock, the monk struggled to catch his breath, breathing in deeply in order to scream in pain.<br/><br/>Donovan's arms both circled and whirled, and he retracted those spikes back into his body just as both of his blades came down across each of the man's forearms, severing each of them neatly in a shower of blood.<br/><br/>The man did scream, then – for a heartbeat, before Donovan neatly removed his head from his shoulders.<br/><br/>The body tumbled to the ground and Donovan leaned over, gasping for breath, feeling weak and exhausted. Was Methuseld dead? Did Aza flee, or did other denizens grab her while he was fighting for his life? When he looked up, he blinked sweat from his eyes as he saw Aza -sitting- in the palanquin, watching the spectacle from there. Where the previous occupant was, he had no idea.<br/><br/>His lust for her began to receed as the cry of the cicada's seemed to fade somewhat, at least enough to allow him to think more clearly. With a growl, gritting his teeth against the pain, he rushed to the palanquin, grabbed Aza's wrist even if she tried to avoid him, and pulled her out.<br/><br/>“We need to go NOW. And riding in THAT is not going to work!” he said, then turned and headed toward the agreed-upon meeting location where he simply -prayed- that Mehtuseld would be waiting. But there was one good thing about the commotion that he had just been apart of.<br/><br/>The street was clear. For now.