Tenth Annual NLBFT
Now we begin the Semi-finals...
1. This will be judged by three people and have sixteen combatants. All round battles are in ONE TOPIC, such as “First Round” will be for the first set, and “Second Round” for the second, etc. This matches the most recent and also the most classic form for the NLBFT, as it was the first form used and also the most recent, as reinstated by SML.
2. This is for serious battlers only. I won’t restrict who joins and who doesn’t, but if you cannot write, do not join this very important event, for either judge or battler. By saying “Cannot Type”, I mean no spaces, punctuation, capitalization, etc. I would prefer that only seniors and vets join, but newbies of high skill level and regular members are just as welcome. It is a free forum, after all. Remember, this is a tournament of high pedigree, and you will likely be facing tough opponents, so do not expect to be baby treated. High quality posts will probably be a must from the judges, and you would do best to remember that.
3. There is a strict time limit. 60 hours is the usual before a half point is taken from the final score of thirty, and 24 more is another deduction, another 24 is another, and 24 more is possible elimination. Remember this, as it is standard, and complaints will only be considered if not simply whining. Also, reasons to have been absent are to be discussed by the judges as acceptable or not. If your computer explodes and you had no access to another, fine, but if you simply were too bored to try, it is elimination. It sounds retarded, but it isn’t. Trust me.
4. The judges word is final. I want to see good sportsmanship from the loser, and likewise from winner. I will be honest and tell you that if I lose my battle, I will not complain. Simply put, it is un-sportsmanlike and very dishonorable.
5. The first to post has battlefield choice. Make it something past generic, and give it some specialty and pizzazz. Not to say having an interesting battlefield is a rule, it’s just kind of useful.
BattleOnly Rules:
1: No transforming or character switching, this is permitted only between rounds and is not to be done mid-battle for risk of deduction from the ever-present final score out of thirty. In other words, judges will judge on a scale of 1-10 and will at the end combine the scores of each judge for a single person into a final mass of thirty, as most of you know, but I know that some of you battlers are new to this and may need a heads up.
2: No healing, and this means any healing. As is known, many of your characters regenerate, but you will have to make an exception for this tournament as not to infringe this rule.
3. No god-moding, as this isn’t a damage based tourney, it’s performance based. God-moding is wrong, and as Wyborn said in his rule set, “You can be brutal without being cheap.” Remember that. Oh, and unleash hell. It’s fun to watch.J
That’s about it, we pretty much have everything covered. If I forgot something, point it out, please.
No round specific rules. Remember to follow each rule diligently and with a smile.
THIS TOURNEY ENDS ON WEDNESDAY, January 10.
Matchups:
Alpha Division:
Galefore vs. Repster
Beta Division:
T3hDarkness vs. Malik
Judges:
Seat 1: Tazy
Seat 2: Saria Dragon
Seat 3: HotD
10th Annual Nintendoland Battlefield Tournament: Semi-Finals!
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Galefore
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- Joined: Tue Jan 04, 2005 2:00 am
- Location: ur wildest dreems lol
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Repster
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- Joined: Tue Jun 06, 2000 1:00 am
- Location: J'tun ostie d'Acadien.
Ooc: Hurray for lingering holiday migraines...
The steel of armor moved up and down as she took deep breaths. Breath that misted out in front of her. Strange to find cool atmosphere here. Most of these strange realms had a lukewarm temperature. Something about fitting themselves to a larger percentage of warriors and the odd spectator.
She examined the long length of bone at her side. It drew attention wherever she went, few could imagine the creature a straight shaft of six feet would come from. The answer was simple enough, yet she doubted it would be believed. Who in they're right mind would? Solar's did not relinquish the longest bone of there wings very often. Alive anyway.
The blue-grey eyed woman smiled as she looked over her shoulder. Now there was something to be curious about. Countless shafts of bone, in various states of health, and of as many consistencies and lengths. All strapped together and protruding out her back in a semblance of wings. She was grateful for whatever oddity kept the common eye from noticing that little detail about her. Her hair called for as much comment as he weapon of choice. An intricate braid in strange shade of white, most thought it should belonged to a grandmother's mother. Not this young woman.
He steps barely made a sound on the marble surface she walked. Light footed was an understatement to be able to do that in boots of pure steel. Light plate armor covered her, strange as such a thing could exist. Light armor and plating where usually on the opposite sides of the scale. Thin enough that it should not be able to stop a wooden headed arrow from a weak bow at a hundred and fifty pace, it would stop steel tipped at point blank from a sturdy longbow. She ran her gauntleted hand over the breastplate. How this thing was made was beyond her, but it would do quite well. She moved as in leather, with better protection then full plate.
Down she looked, then left, right and up. She saw the same thing every where. Marble, and empty space. It was an endless amount of catwalks, floating circles, paths, chunks, bridges, and every other form imaginable. Nothing made of the strange luminescent marble more then six feet in width, some as little as an inch wide. All of it connected. She walked, and waited. Someone, or something else was here. Inevitably bone would clash with whatever else it met. She smiled he steps growing quicker, maybe more then bone...
Ooc: That should about do it for now...
The steel of armor moved up and down as she took deep breaths. Breath that misted out in front of her. Strange to find cool atmosphere here. Most of these strange realms had a lukewarm temperature. Something about fitting themselves to a larger percentage of warriors and the odd spectator.
She examined the long length of bone at her side. It drew attention wherever she went, few could imagine the creature a straight shaft of six feet would come from. The answer was simple enough, yet she doubted it would be believed. Who in they're right mind would? Solar's did not relinquish the longest bone of there wings very often. Alive anyway.
The blue-grey eyed woman smiled as she looked over her shoulder. Now there was something to be curious about. Countless shafts of bone, in various states of health, and of as many consistencies and lengths. All strapped together and protruding out her back in a semblance of wings. She was grateful for whatever oddity kept the common eye from noticing that little detail about her. Her hair called for as much comment as he weapon of choice. An intricate braid in strange shade of white, most thought it should belonged to a grandmother's mother. Not this young woman.
He steps barely made a sound on the marble surface she walked. Light footed was an understatement to be able to do that in boots of pure steel. Light plate armor covered her, strange as such a thing could exist. Light armor and plating where usually on the opposite sides of the scale. Thin enough that it should not be able to stop a wooden headed arrow from a weak bow at a hundred and fifty pace, it would stop steel tipped at point blank from a sturdy longbow. She ran her gauntleted hand over the breastplate. How this thing was made was beyond her, but it would do quite well. She moved as in leather, with better protection then full plate.
Down she looked, then left, right and up. She saw the same thing every where. Marble, and empty space. It was an endless amount of catwalks, floating circles, paths, chunks, bridges, and every other form imaginable. Nothing made of the strange luminescent marble more then six feet in width, some as little as an inch wide. All of it connected. She walked, and waited. Someone, or something else was here. Inevitably bone would clash with whatever else it met. She smiled he steps growing quicker, maybe more then bone...
Ooc: That should about do it for now...
When our world is burning.
When all run like the cowards they are.
I shall stand in the inferno, and fight until I am consumed
When all run like the cowards they are.
I shall stand in the inferno, and fight until I am consumed
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Galefore
- Member
- Posts: 9354
- Joined: Tue Jan 04, 2005 2:00 am
- Location: ur wildest dreems lol
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Galefore
- Member
- Posts: 9354
- Joined: Tue Jan 04, 2005 2:00 am
- Location: ur wildest dreems lol
ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!!!!
I'm sorry! A storm smashed our power last night, and since I had neglected to print out Repster's post, I couldn't even write an on-paper rough draft! Judges, I apologize for lateness; please do not deduct, as I had a (hopefully) sufficient reason not to be here! I apologize once again!
I'm sorry! A storm smashed our power last night, and since I had neglected to print out Repster's post, I couldn't even write an on-paper rough draft! Judges, I apologize for lateness; please do not deduct, as I had a (hopefully) sufficient reason not to be here! I apologize once again!
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Vapor
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Bomby
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Since t3hDarkness hasn't showed up and I know what he wanted to use as a Battlefield, I guess I'll make my entrance. Because it's his idea, however, I won't be able to describe what the battlefield looked like very well, however.
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"Get off the boat you damn J**s," yelled the angry Sergeant. At least 20 female convicts from Japan, dressed like Geishas, slowly shuffled off the boat into the city of Constantinople, for the sole purpose of being whores for the being used to construct a new Cathedral.
One of the women, a soft spoken and haunting-yet-beautiful woman in her mid-20's, who had been imprisoned for the murder of four con-artists, muttered something to the others in Japanese. At once, all the women stopped and turned toward the officers. The sergeant continued to yell at the women in a language foreign to them. The same woman who muttered to the others stepped forward, and gave the sergeant an almost demonic stare, with her long black hair slightly covering her face. The sergeant froze, and his nervousness became conspicuous.
Somehow, this woman had managed to smuggle a small sword with her on-board, as she pulled it out from underneath her kimono. Two of the officers charged at her, but even with her arms chained together, she was able to block the blows of their swords and hit one in his spleen and the other across the throat. Twisting her hands in the most careful ways, she was able to swing the katana toward her without cutting herself and break the chain that linked her hands together.
The officers just stood there and watched, as two more began to nervously head toward this woman. Gripping her sword underhanded, they began to back up. This enfuriated the sergeant, who began to yell at his officers more. The remaining four officers all charged at the woman at once, but to no avail, as she ducked down and swiftly sliced them all slightly below the kneecaps, disabling their ability to use their legs, and causing massive amounts of blood to pour out of each one. She backflipped away from the officers, almost falling off the dock that lead to the boat, but was able to retain her balance.
Only the sergeant remained now, who jumped down from his perch above where the officers had been standing when they had still been able use their legs. He drew his sword and charged at the woman, yelling like a madman as he hoped to both mutilate her and knock her into the harbor. She stood absolutely still, staring at him with her head cocked slightly downward as he headed toward her at an energetic, fast pace. Right as his sword was about to drive itself through her stomach, she swiftly jumped to the side and drew her sword, which sliced off the sergeant's left arm, as his momentum propelled him into the harbor. The woman turned around, watching the one-armed sergeant struggle to stay afloat in the water, which was quickly beginning to turn red from the blood spilling out where his left arm used to be.
Using what little knowledge of the Japanese language he had, the sergeant shouted out:
"Who are you???"
Calmly, the lady replied:
"Kashima Yuki"
Yuki walked past the other women from the boat, who stood still in a shocked silence. When she got to the shore from the dock, she bent down toward the water, cupping it into her hands to wash off the Geisha makeup that had been poorly applied onto her by the boat officers while she was on on the way to Constantinople. After her face was back to its normal complexion, she washed her dirty hair in the water, hoping to clean the grease off. She dried her face off with the sleeve of her purple kimono, slowly letting it rise to take one last look at the women she had traveled to the west with, before she headed into this foreign city without them, knowing that at any moment she may be attacked for retribution to the murders she had just committed.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Get off the boat you damn J**s," yelled the angry Sergeant. At least 20 female convicts from Japan, dressed like Geishas, slowly shuffled off the boat into the city of Constantinople, for the sole purpose of being whores for the being used to construct a new Cathedral.
One of the women, a soft spoken and haunting-yet-beautiful woman in her mid-20's, who had been imprisoned for the murder of four con-artists, muttered something to the others in Japanese. At once, all the women stopped and turned toward the officers. The sergeant continued to yell at the women in a language foreign to them. The same woman who muttered to the others stepped forward, and gave the sergeant an almost demonic stare, with her long black hair slightly covering her face. The sergeant froze, and his nervousness became conspicuous.
Somehow, this woman had managed to smuggle a small sword with her on-board, as she pulled it out from underneath her kimono. Two of the officers charged at her, but even with her arms chained together, she was able to block the blows of their swords and hit one in his spleen and the other across the throat. Twisting her hands in the most careful ways, she was able to swing the katana toward her without cutting herself and break the chain that linked her hands together.
The officers just stood there and watched, as two more began to nervously head toward this woman. Gripping her sword underhanded, they began to back up. This enfuriated the sergeant, who began to yell at his officers more. The remaining four officers all charged at the woman at once, but to no avail, as she ducked down and swiftly sliced them all slightly below the kneecaps, disabling their ability to use their legs, and causing massive amounts of blood to pour out of each one. She backflipped away from the officers, almost falling off the dock that lead to the boat, but was able to retain her balance.
Only the sergeant remained now, who jumped down from his perch above where the officers had been standing when they had still been able use their legs. He drew his sword and charged at the woman, yelling like a madman as he hoped to both mutilate her and knock her into the harbor. She stood absolutely still, staring at him with her head cocked slightly downward as he headed toward her at an energetic, fast pace. Right as his sword was about to drive itself through her stomach, she swiftly jumped to the side and drew her sword, which sliced off the sergeant's left arm, as his momentum propelled him into the harbor. The woman turned around, watching the one-armed sergeant struggle to stay afloat in the water, which was quickly beginning to turn red from the blood spilling out where his left arm used to be.
Using what little knowledge of the Japanese language he had, the sergeant shouted out:
"Who are you???"
Calmly, the lady replied:
"Kashima Yuki"
Yuki walked past the other women from the boat, who stood still in a shocked silence. When she got to the shore from the dock, she bent down toward the water, cupping it into her hands to wash off the Geisha makeup that had been poorly applied onto her by the boat officers while she was on on the way to Constantinople. After her face was back to its normal complexion, she washed her dirty hair in the water, hoping to clean the grease off. She dried her face off with the sleeve of her purple kimono, slowly letting it rise to take one last look at the women she had traveled to the west with, before she headed into this foreign city without them, knowing that at any moment she may be attacked for retribution to the murders she had just committed.
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Galefore
- Member
- Posts: 9354
- Joined: Tue Jan 04, 2005 2:00 am
- Location: ur wildest dreems lol
OoC: Interesting battlefield. Yeah, I’m sure the judges are gonna gripe and say, “Your opening post was too weird and random.” No, it isn’t, I’m just trying to give a reason, although weird, that he is in this odd realm…
When one is foolish enough to sneak into a holy temple when he is not allowed by law because of previous crimes, he is likely neither afraid of death nor cautious of detail. That wasn’t what happened; no sneaking was involved. As to correct the situation, when one is foolish enough to cut down the door and kill the priests in plain day, he is neither afraid of anything nor equipped with the mind to reason-out a precise plan. But, when one is foolish enough to run in, destroy the door with a mystical sword, slaughter the priests, steal the “important” item within, and do this all in the middle of a ceremony of marriage SIMPLY to get a day’s pay? He is without a doubt extremely brave and ruthless, but still without a proper intelligence to plan and prepare with keen wit and strategy.
The church fell silent. Walking by colossal pillars and intricately patterned pews, he breathed in the shattered peace, and exhaled it into chaos. Visonef didn’t give a damn or a reason for the life he took; but he sure as hell loved looking into the living’s eyes when they had received such an uncommon shock…
Stepping up unto the podium, Visonef watched the priest shudder. The priest stood ‘conveniently’ in front of the item, his hand reaching for some sort of ceremonial sword. The sword itself was to be surmised as unwieldy and simply for decoration, but it was a threat… So Visonef vehemently swung his sword, and almost chuckled at the last look in the priest’s eyes as his head was taken from his body. The couple seemed to sob, momentarily… Not necessarily in sadness, but perhaps in fear.
Fear always made it more fun to add a twist.
Visonef glared at the couple, as they gasped and began to sputter with surprise, and they let their eyes leave the beheaded priest’s salient and frightened eyes in time to see Visonef approaching them. The entire church held their breath in high hopes, their tears and screams calming into a slight whisper. Visonef began to laugh, standing atop the dead preacher, and he raised his fearful blade…
“I now pronounce you man and wife. Give her a sloppy one, groom.” spoke Visonef.
The audience collectively widened their eyes. This ’sloppy one’ business was much to the protest of certain members of the audience as to their religious beliefs, but to the ‘relief’ of others.
The two of them shakily kissed, and then slowly walked away, the crowd rising to go with them. The pair took off running to find the authorities, but Visonef didn’t care. He took a few minutes to leave the church, and gloried to see his plan had worked; it had all come together. As expected, the church-goers were too shocked to act…
The item he stole, some sort of urn with an ornate lacing and lid with some sort of workable knobs, was carried in the only arm he had with a remaining hand, tucked under his armpit, and his face wearing a smile. Even as he walked, the urn rattled, its lid beginning to turn in a clockwise motion…
No-one came after him.
No sound was audible behind him.
No voice on the streets was heard…
In fact, there were no streets. There were no buildings. He was no longer standing within a world of reality; he was in a surreal land of marble and darkness. A glance to his arm noted the absence of the urn; it was no doubt the cause of his entrance into this blackened realm… He sheathed his blade and stepped unto a particular marble platform that was a mere four inches wide and long. His balance was barely held as he stood on one foot, attempting to hop to a nearby, much larger walkway.
Visonef was odd looking; he was without his left hand, wearing his nub un-bandaged and scarred and in plain view. His right hand lacked a middle-finger, as it had been chopped off by his own blade. He had a wrinkled and deformed right leg, red from the burns of an unpleasant origin, and he wore, for clothing, a black pair of pants, a black shirt, and a long back coat that came to his ankles. On top of that were two small shoulder plates, misplaced and slightly lighter in tone than the rest of his outfit. His mundane, all-obsidian attire was unattractive and useful to keep him incognito whilst performing his shady duties….
And then, his blade. A blade that controlled gravity. A blade that ruined any sort of natural law, and even in a world without gravity, he could easily use it’s black magic crushing power as an effective weapon. It wasn’t truly gravity he used, after all, simply enchantments on an over-sized weapon.
And then, boredom. Visonef was quite easily bored, and likewise hard to entertain. Even though he was in a thought-provoking environment that would challenge even the deepest philosopher’s mind, he had no interest in the extraordinary and usually found it normal, considering the company he usually chose. Yet, something was amiss, as no peace was able to settle in Visonef’s mind. He was in danger; some sort of deadly presence was nearby… Where and what was it? It was doubtless a creature of this realm, one that would put the gravity-blade to the test….
The mercenary hopped from platform to platform, watching carefully the air for any abnormal shape…
And what he saw was abnormal indeed…
A white haired lady, carrying a bone, with strange armor and near-noiseless steps. Feh. A woman. How easy would this be, at least if she was hostile. He stood a dozen feet from her, and raised his sword as she finally glanced at him.
Something about her made him angry; there was some sort of desire to fight, but likewise a desire to understand her better before he attacked. But, she was hostile, obviously. She looked ready to fight, ready to cleave a head from its shoulders even with her odd weapon, ready to test her skill, perhaps…
“Might as well oblige…” muttered the mercenary…
And, dashing towards her, he generically swung his blade to test her speed….
EDIT: Judges, I was merely editing a mistake that skipped past my radar when I was proofreading. I apologize for the last minute edit.
When one is foolish enough to sneak into a holy temple when he is not allowed by law because of previous crimes, he is likely neither afraid of death nor cautious of detail. That wasn’t what happened; no sneaking was involved. As to correct the situation, when one is foolish enough to cut down the door and kill the priests in plain day, he is neither afraid of anything nor equipped with the mind to reason-out a precise plan. But, when one is foolish enough to run in, destroy the door with a mystical sword, slaughter the priests, steal the “important” item within, and do this all in the middle of a ceremony of marriage SIMPLY to get a day’s pay? He is without a doubt extremely brave and ruthless, but still without a proper intelligence to plan and prepare with keen wit and strategy.
The church fell silent. Walking by colossal pillars and intricately patterned pews, he breathed in the shattered peace, and exhaled it into chaos. Visonef didn’t give a damn or a reason for the life he took; but he sure as hell loved looking into the living’s eyes when they had received such an uncommon shock…
Stepping up unto the podium, Visonef watched the priest shudder. The priest stood ‘conveniently’ in front of the item, his hand reaching for some sort of ceremonial sword. The sword itself was to be surmised as unwieldy and simply for decoration, but it was a threat… So Visonef vehemently swung his sword, and almost chuckled at the last look in the priest’s eyes as his head was taken from his body. The couple seemed to sob, momentarily… Not necessarily in sadness, but perhaps in fear.
Fear always made it more fun to add a twist.
Visonef glared at the couple, as they gasped and began to sputter with surprise, and they let their eyes leave the beheaded priest’s salient and frightened eyes in time to see Visonef approaching them. The entire church held their breath in high hopes, their tears and screams calming into a slight whisper. Visonef began to laugh, standing atop the dead preacher, and he raised his fearful blade…
“I now pronounce you man and wife. Give her a sloppy one, groom.” spoke Visonef.
The audience collectively widened their eyes. This ’sloppy one’ business was much to the protest of certain members of the audience as to their religious beliefs, but to the ‘relief’ of others.
The two of them shakily kissed, and then slowly walked away, the crowd rising to go with them. The pair took off running to find the authorities, but Visonef didn’t care. He took a few minutes to leave the church, and gloried to see his plan had worked; it had all come together. As expected, the church-goers were too shocked to act…
The item he stole, some sort of urn with an ornate lacing and lid with some sort of workable knobs, was carried in the only arm he had with a remaining hand, tucked under his armpit, and his face wearing a smile. Even as he walked, the urn rattled, its lid beginning to turn in a clockwise motion…
No-one came after him.
No sound was audible behind him.
No voice on the streets was heard…
In fact, there were no streets. There were no buildings. He was no longer standing within a world of reality; he was in a surreal land of marble and darkness. A glance to his arm noted the absence of the urn; it was no doubt the cause of his entrance into this blackened realm… He sheathed his blade and stepped unto a particular marble platform that was a mere four inches wide and long. His balance was barely held as he stood on one foot, attempting to hop to a nearby, much larger walkway.
Visonef was odd looking; he was without his left hand, wearing his nub un-bandaged and scarred and in plain view. His right hand lacked a middle-finger, as it had been chopped off by his own blade. He had a wrinkled and deformed right leg, red from the burns of an unpleasant origin, and he wore, for clothing, a black pair of pants, a black shirt, and a long back coat that came to his ankles. On top of that were two small shoulder plates, misplaced and slightly lighter in tone than the rest of his outfit. His mundane, all-obsidian attire was unattractive and useful to keep him incognito whilst performing his shady duties….
And then, his blade. A blade that controlled gravity. A blade that ruined any sort of natural law, and even in a world without gravity, he could easily use it’s black magic crushing power as an effective weapon. It wasn’t truly gravity he used, after all, simply enchantments on an over-sized weapon.
And then, boredom. Visonef was quite easily bored, and likewise hard to entertain. Even though he was in a thought-provoking environment that would challenge even the deepest philosopher’s mind, he had no interest in the extraordinary and usually found it normal, considering the company he usually chose. Yet, something was amiss, as no peace was able to settle in Visonef’s mind. He was in danger; some sort of deadly presence was nearby… Where and what was it? It was doubtless a creature of this realm, one that would put the gravity-blade to the test….
The mercenary hopped from platform to platform, watching carefully the air for any abnormal shape…
And what he saw was abnormal indeed…
A white haired lady, carrying a bone, with strange armor and near-noiseless steps. Feh. A woman. How easy would this be, at least if she was hostile. He stood a dozen feet from her, and raised his sword as she finally glanced at him.
Something about her made him angry; there was some sort of desire to fight, but likewise a desire to understand her better before he attacked. But, she was hostile, obviously. She looked ready to fight, ready to cleave a head from its shoulders even with her odd weapon, ready to test her skill, perhaps…
“Might as well oblige…” muttered the mercenary…
And, dashing towards her, he generically swung his blade to test her speed….
EDIT: Judges, I was merely editing a mistake that skipped past my radar when I was proofreading. I apologize for the last minute edit.
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Repster
- Member
- Posts: 6130
- Joined: Tue Jun 06, 2000 1:00 am
- Location: J'tun ostie d'Acadien.
She watched Visonef charge with vague interest. A smile crept on her lips as he leapt towards her, his only option with a five foot gap between the precarious three inch path she stood and where his own foot wide catwalk suddenly veered off ninety degrees. Her right wing lashed out, blocked, and deflected the blow. A small mental note went with it as the wing lost some weight in the process. He was more then close enough for her to feel some joy in what she was about now. She could almost smell the vileness in the man's heart. The woman flowed forward gracefully her left fist brutally catching him on the chin. Visonef did not have time to go up more then an inch or two from the force as the massive bone came swinging around smashing into his person.
The mercenary barely caught himself on a thin strand and looked around quickly. He swung himself on steadier ground, Hanging precariously was no position to defend oneself in, and even worse to attack. The marble's glow was green here, blue where he had just been. Odd that he had not noticed that much of it gave off different colors. Gravity was stranger still, while he had hung his own weight had been of no consequence, but as soon as he had let go, it came back with a vengeance. A slight whistling warned him of a projectile, he narrowly avoided the bone that clattered not to far away from him. A little more to the left and it would of planted itself in his throat.
A rattling of bone came from his left, he turned and brought his sword to bare in a ferocious stroke. It bit deeply into that huge bone the woman carried. Her foot swept to strike at the back of his knee without losing any momentum. It buckled just as she wrenched a short bone from it's strap. The small fragment of skeletal nature tore into flesh as she thrust it forward. More of a deep gash between to ribs, but what little flesh it did touch, it tore. The bone maiden kept moving. A fraction of a moment later she rotated with as much force as she could put out, wings spread. Visonef staggered back from the blunt force of those countless bones strapped together. He could feel a welt for every bone forming. Those would become unpleasant.
He swung his sword in a wide arc, and felt nothing but the void. The woman had stepped back just out of reach, and now came back in one long step, her reeled gauntleted fist on a collision course with his face. It glowed with raw power that seemed to want to destroy the mercenary's very soul.
The mercenary barely caught himself on a thin strand and looked around quickly. He swung himself on steadier ground, Hanging precariously was no position to defend oneself in, and even worse to attack. The marble's glow was green here, blue where he had just been. Odd that he had not noticed that much of it gave off different colors. Gravity was stranger still, while he had hung his own weight had been of no consequence, but as soon as he had let go, it came back with a vengeance. A slight whistling warned him of a projectile, he narrowly avoided the bone that clattered not to far away from him. A little more to the left and it would of planted itself in his throat.
A rattling of bone came from his left, he turned and brought his sword to bare in a ferocious stroke. It bit deeply into that huge bone the woman carried. Her foot swept to strike at the back of his knee without losing any momentum. It buckled just as she wrenched a short bone from it's strap. The small fragment of skeletal nature tore into flesh as she thrust it forward. More of a deep gash between to ribs, but what little flesh it did touch, it tore. The bone maiden kept moving. A fraction of a moment later she rotated with as much force as she could put out, wings spread. Visonef staggered back from the blunt force of those countless bones strapped together. He could feel a welt for every bone forming. Those would become unpleasant.
He swung his sword in a wide arc, and felt nothing but the void. The woman had stepped back just out of reach, and now came back in one long step, her reeled gauntleted fist on a collision course with his face. It glowed with raw power that seemed to want to destroy the mercenary's very soul.
When our world is burning.
When all run like the cowards they are.
I shall stand in the inferno, and fight until I am consumed
When all run like the cowards they are.
I shall stand in the inferno, and fight until I am consumed
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t3hDarkness
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- Joined: Mon Oct 30, 2006 1:51 am
- Location: When I die, I die in Steam!
By no means will I miss out on this.
(Ooc: haha, amusing thought. I left a note in the goodbye forum about a month ago that I wouldn't have steady access until Janurary 8. Getting our characters to interact in scale, motivation, power, and time will be difficult but amusing. I have returned now, we fight.)
Walachia - 1462
Infamous Vlad Tepes(Impaler) the Third, Prince of Wallachia, has succeeded in defeating his enemy, the powerful Ottoman Empire, through use of psychological warfare. . . namely twenty thousand Turks skewered and arranged in concentric circles around the Transylvanian battlefields, victory forever earning him the title and reputation of the bloodthirsty Impaler Prince.
The invading force from across the Danube River has been crushed, but one more battle yet waits to be waged in secret on that grisly field.
(I meant to save this for a higher power battle.)
As she walked away from the river landing with the sun setteng behind her she came upon the horrific sight of thousands of humans executed in the most brutal of fashions. Not only were there men dresses as soldiers upon the posts but also many regular citizens including a handful of women and children. As she stared wide eyed at the grisly scene, one of the corpses pulled itself off of its stake and calmly approach the woman, a male dressed in the uniform of a Turkish officer except for the strange vizard he wore, a brass mask split with a double cross over the left eye.
She considered bolting from this apparition but for the unease that gripped her. The monster tore its execution device from the ground leaped high into the air. Ready for him to land, she sidestepped and expertly removed its left arm just below the shoulder. There was none of the expected spray of blood, truly the beast didn’t even react to being suddenly limbless. It braced against the uprooted stake and delivered an inhumanly strong kick that sent her flying. Her landing isn’t soft, but is sufficiently graceful in form to regain her footing and charge before the fiend could ready another massive swing. As Yuki ran, she felt a small tug in the back of her mind, a minor incursion that almost felt like a physical caress. The moments seem to slow and a second seems drawn into hours.
The beastly corpse made an attempt in slow motion to smash this exotic woman with the heavy pole in its remaining hand. Misjudging its newly adjusted weight, the cadaver toppled onto its side and was at once beheaded by the swordswoman. She noticed a tiny flash of light, a tiny glimmer that came from the base of the dismembered skull.
The sun is sinking into the horizon as the victor pauses to catch her breath. A lone figure approached from the South. He was wearing an elegant version of red and gold priest’s garments, split along the sides to allow easier movement, his face obscured by evening shadow. He kicked over the corpse and muttered, “Damnable Turks.”
She eyed the newcomer, ready to strike as soon if he showed a single sign of hostility. He knelt over the dead body and pulled a gently removed the mask, revealing its face to be twisted and obscured by an unknown horror. In a choppy and heavily accented version of her native tongue he asked, <Do you wish to go back foreigner?> to the visibly surprised girl, he repeated, <Do you wish to return to your land over the sea?> Her grip on the sword tightened and he said in an increasingly clean dialect, <God’s grace be with you child, I am Chase Alphonse.> His mind probed hers as he searched for the proper words, <You have ruined my puppet, but I will harbor no grudge against that> Filthy foreigner he thought <I will take your home with you as my new doll, a living specimen far superior to an old corpse.>
He pulled a razor wire from underneath his sleeve and flung it towards the woman's sword, hoping to disarm her.
(Ooc: haha, amusing thought. I left a note in the goodbye forum about a month ago that I wouldn't have steady access until Janurary 8. Getting our characters to interact in scale, motivation, power, and time will be difficult but amusing. I have returned now, we fight.)
Walachia - 1462
Infamous Vlad Tepes(Impaler) the Third, Prince of Wallachia, has succeeded in defeating his enemy, the powerful Ottoman Empire, through use of psychological warfare. . . namely twenty thousand Turks skewered and arranged in concentric circles around the Transylvanian battlefields, victory forever earning him the title and reputation of the bloodthirsty Impaler Prince.
The invading force from across the Danube River has been crushed, but one more battle yet waits to be waged in secret on that grisly field.
(I meant to save this for a higher power battle.)
As she walked away from the river landing with the sun setteng behind her she came upon the horrific sight of thousands of humans executed in the most brutal of fashions. Not only were there men dresses as soldiers upon the posts but also many regular citizens including a handful of women and children. As she stared wide eyed at the grisly scene, one of the corpses pulled itself off of its stake and calmly approach the woman, a male dressed in the uniform of a Turkish officer except for the strange vizard he wore, a brass mask split with a double cross over the left eye.
She considered bolting from this apparition but for the unease that gripped her. The monster tore its execution device from the ground leaped high into the air. Ready for him to land, she sidestepped and expertly removed its left arm just below the shoulder. There was none of the expected spray of blood, truly the beast didn’t even react to being suddenly limbless. It braced against the uprooted stake and delivered an inhumanly strong kick that sent her flying. Her landing isn’t soft, but is sufficiently graceful in form to regain her footing and charge before the fiend could ready another massive swing. As Yuki ran, she felt a small tug in the back of her mind, a minor incursion that almost felt like a physical caress. The moments seem to slow and a second seems drawn into hours.
The beastly corpse made an attempt in slow motion to smash this exotic woman with the heavy pole in its remaining hand. Misjudging its newly adjusted weight, the cadaver toppled onto its side and was at once beheaded by the swordswoman. She noticed a tiny flash of light, a tiny glimmer that came from the base of the dismembered skull.
The sun is sinking into the horizon as the victor pauses to catch her breath. A lone figure approached from the South. He was wearing an elegant version of red and gold priest’s garments, split along the sides to allow easier movement, his face obscured by evening shadow. He kicked over the corpse and muttered, “Damnable Turks.”
She eyed the newcomer, ready to strike as soon if he showed a single sign of hostility. He knelt over the dead body and pulled a gently removed the mask, revealing its face to be twisted and obscured by an unknown horror. In a choppy and heavily accented version of her native tongue he asked, <Do you wish to go back foreigner?> to the visibly surprised girl, he repeated, <Do you wish to return to your land over the sea?> Her grip on the sword tightened and he said in an increasingly clean dialect, <God’s grace be with you child, I am Chase Alphonse.> His mind probed hers as he searched for the proper words, <You have ruined my puppet, but I will harbor no grudge against that> Filthy foreigner he thought <I will take your home with you as my new doll, a living specimen far superior to an old corpse.>
He pulled a razor wire from underneath his sleeve and flung it towards the woman's sword, hoping to disarm her.
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Galefore
- Member
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- Joined: Tue Jan 04, 2005 2:00 am
- Location: ur wildest dreems lol
And Visonef spat. He spat with intent and desire to see victory, however slow it must be, and the crimson mixed with the foam of the saliva flew off into the void, likely splattering against a marble pedestal elsewhere or otherwise a different world. Who could tell?
The blade had missed and a punch had landed, bone had torn at the man’s soul and a she-devil was angrily fighting with only a test attack as provocation. The blade’s arc ended, and it was bulled back in time to thrust as the enemy recovered. Punches were always opportune times to wreak havoc upon a foe’s imbalanced stance. This one seemed a bit more well-trained. Obviously, she wasn’t some mercenary dog and scum scrounged up and locked in this limbo. It was definite that she was otherworldly, but her bite was fiercer than any mere dog. She bore semblance in fury to the wrath of a dragon; little could be done to stop a berserk rampage, except counter it with one of your own. Visonef put his thrust to use…
The bone-winged foe jumped back on her heels, managing to merely receive a tap from the scimitar’s tip…
But enchantments carry more weight into a tap than many normal weapons. Blessed fact being that the gravity was so messed up here, that the mere tap carried nearly as much force as a full on swing.
Almost. This was merely figurative; it was doubtful that gravity was truly so deranged in this land that it ignored physical law. If not, Visonef would have simply floated away. Still, the tap had not seemed to faze the lady-warrior. It made a scratch in her armor.... But that was where it started. Slowly, the armor began to cave in on her chest. She began to clutch at it, feeling the hole and trying to think of what her action would be. This hole developed into a dent. This dent began to widen…
The proportions came out to seem as if the chest-plate was being sucked into a center of gravity: where the blade had landed. This began to become an epidemic. For the lady, it was becoming difficult to breath.
But, she fought on. With her bone, she parried a blow that would have finished her, and swung it to hit Visonef’s hip. Fluidly, Visonef avoided this and half-arced around, taking a low spin around the calf area of the she-warrior. She merely lifted her legs in succession as the sword passed underneath each one.
The breastplate tightened. Her breathing was now wheezing. Her face reflected pain.
Another chance to strike was missed when the she-warrior lifted her bone, pausing to cough. It was made up for when Visonef caught her leg with the un-enchanted area of his sword, drawing blood from a slight gash. Her bone caught him on the back, and he writhed with agony; such was revenge, trial and error.
The chest plate was to the point of crushing the ribs. Blood was beginning to form in her throat.
Visonef grinned and stood, almost forgetting his lost hand as trying to rub his back. He tried to massage it with his nub nonetheless. He had used only a smidge of his trump-card; but one will only suffer so long before dealing with their source of pain.
The blade had missed and a punch had landed, bone had torn at the man’s soul and a she-devil was angrily fighting with only a test attack as provocation. The blade’s arc ended, and it was bulled back in time to thrust as the enemy recovered. Punches were always opportune times to wreak havoc upon a foe’s imbalanced stance. This one seemed a bit more well-trained. Obviously, she wasn’t some mercenary dog and scum scrounged up and locked in this limbo. It was definite that she was otherworldly, but her bite was fiercer than any mere dog. She bore semblance in fury to the wrath of a dragon; little could be done to stop a berserk rampage, except counter it with one of your own. Visonef put his thrust to use…
The bone-winged foe jumped back on her heels, managing to merely receive a tap from the scimitar’s tip…
But enchantments carry more weight into a tap than many normal weapons. Blessed fact being that the gravity was so messed up here, that the mere tap carried nearly as much force as a full on swing.
Almost. This was merely figurative; it was doubtful that gravity was truly so deranged in this land that it ignored physical law. If not, Visonef would have simply floated away. Still, the tap had not seemed to faze the lady-warrior. It made a scratch in her armor.... But that was where it started. Slowly, the armor began to cave in on her chest. She began to clutch at it, feeling the hole and trying to think of what her action would be. This hole developed into a dent. This dent began to widen…
The proportions came out to seem as if the chest-plate was being sucked into a center of gravity: where the blade had landed. This began to become an epidemic. For the lady, it was becoming difficult to breath.
But, she fought on. With her bone, she parried a blow that would have finished her, and swung it to hit Visonef’s hip. Fluidly, Visonef avoided this and half-arced around, taking a low spin around the calf area of the she-warrior. She merely lifted her legs in succession as the sword passed underneath each one.
The breastplate tightened. Her breathing was now wheezing. Her face reflected pain.
Another chance to strike was missed when the she-warrior lifted her bone, pausing to cough. It was made up for when Visonef caught her leg with the un-enchanted area of his sword, drawing blood from a slight gash. Her bone caught him on the back, and he writhed with agony; such was revenge, trial and error.
The chest plate was to the point of crushing the ribs. Blood was beginning to form in her throat.
Visonef grinned and stood, almost forgetting his lost hand as trying to rub his back. He tried to massage it with his nub nonetheless. He had used only a smidge of his trump-card; but one will only suffer so long before dealing with their source of pain.
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Repster
- Member
- Posts: 6130
- Joined: Tue Jun 06, 2000 1:00 am
- Location: J'tun ostie d'Acadien.
Woman, I don't care what you think you know about armor. You just wear it. I'm the smith around here, and I'm telling you, I ain't making you no shoddy waste of steel. There's no supposed to be, or usually and standard or any of that with me. This is how I make it, and fifty plat to a copper you'll remember me saying this when my designs comes in handy. Trying to tell me how to make armor... pfff...
She made a mental note that if she lived threw this, she owed the smith some coin. She hurled the bone at Visonef. A distraction more then anything, she could do without it. As the mercenary moved out of the way of the projectile the bone maiden's hand went to her side and slide and, then she spun and hurled something at Visonef that did not miss. Her armor. Few could imagine an armor that held itself together entirely from the side, but there it was smashing into the one handed man. She took a deep breath, it was rather nice no longer having the crushing weight on her bosom.
She vaguely wonderer what this one thought of her. They all had different opinions, none really concerned her, but she was curious by nature. Curiosity had lost her what she prized most of all, and gave her much more in return. Not much of a trade in her opinion, but she took what she got, and was thankful she did get something in return.
Her intricate braid, now freed from where it had been tucked into the armor, swung lightly as she reached behind her to yank out a good length with a practiced motion. Any flaw in her pull and the straps would snap. Not a problem really, but annoying to suddenly lose a portion of her weaponry.
The clatter of steel of softly glowing marble was heard, as Visonef discarded it and it landed some distance away. A pity really, that had been nice armor. Visonef stared at the smaller, yet still quite long, bone in her hand. The rest of her as well. She had though he held enough wits about him to be wary about more then just her weapon, only his eyes never examined the biggest threat of all. She smiled at him. A kind warm smile of all things, and she began walking forward. How would he liked being denied breath. No need to rush, though the man seemed to think so as he charged the winged one. A pity for him...
One again she hurled the crude, yet quite effective javelin, at him. He ducked out of the way, and deflected those that followed, thrown as soon as the were pulled lose. Then as he got close, she pulled another of the rather long bones, and swung it like a bat her braid following the motion. The bone cracked and broke against the stronger weapon, and she lost balance falling towards him, narrowly avoiding the wide swing that had shattered he weapon. Visonef grinned as her braid tapped him on the side of the neck. One quick trust was going to end this, and she had positioned herself perfectly. Then he choked as the tap turned into snaking around his windpipe and squeezing.
The mercenary smashed his nub against the hair now wrapped around his neck. Right, no hand to grasp and try to pull it off him. The woman on the attached to the braid got up from her feint as he swung at her hair with his sword.
*thock.*
Visonef blinked. Thock? What was this? Hair did not go thock from a sharp implement. He tried again.
*thock.* *thock.*
Again and again he slashed and chopped, growing weaker by the moment. He could not get it with the tip at that angle.
*thock.* *thock.* *thock.* *thock.*
She watched him pound away, cutting little more then a strand at a time. Thin as it was, her hair was still the strongest of bone. The stuff made an elephants tusk look frail. Woven together as it was, she wondered if he could find away to escape before life was choked out of him.
Taking no chances she stepped back, making sure she had enough room to avoid his wild swings, and the hair tightened around his throat even more. How would he react if he managed to cut the braid? How would he react when it would stay just as tight. Of course, he could simply pull it off then, but that would require his hand, and would leave him open...
She made a mental note that if she lived threw this, she owed the smith some coin. She hurled the bone at Visonef. A distraction more then anything, she could do without it. As the mercenary moved out of the way of the projectile the bone maiden's hand went to her side and slide and, then she spun and hurled something at Visonef that did not miss. Her armor. Few could imagine an armor that held itself together entirely from the side, but there it was smashing into the one handed man. She took a deep breath, it was rather nice no longer having the crushing weight on her bosom.
She vaguely wonderer what this one thought of her. They all had different opinions, none really concerned her, but she was curious by nature. Curiosity had lost her what she prized most of all, and gave her much more in return. Not much of a trade in her opinion, but she took what she got, and was thankful she did get something in return.
Her intricate braid, now freed from where it had been tucked into the armor, swung lightly as she reached behind her to yank out a good length with a practiced motion. Any flaw in her pull and the straps would snap. Not a problem really, but annoying to suddenly lose a portion of her weaponry.
The clatter of steel of softly glowing marble was heard, as Visonef discarded it and it landed some distance away. A pity really, that had been nice armor. Visonef stared at the smaller, yet still quite long, bone in her hand. The rest of her as well. She had though he held enough wits about him to be wary about more then just her weapon, only his eyes never examined the biggest threat of all. She smiled at him. A kind warm smile of all things, and she began walking forward. How would he liked being denied breath. No need to rush, though the man seemed to think so as he charged the winged one. A pity for him...
One again she hurled the crude, yet quite effective javelin, at him. He ducked out of the way, and deflected those that followed, thrown as soon as the were pulled lose. Then as he got close, she pulled another of the rather long bones, and swung it like a bat her braid following the motion. The bone cracked and broke against the stronger weapon, and she lost balance falling towards him, narrowly avoiding the wide swing that had shattered he weapon. Visonef grinned as her braid tapped him on the side of the neck. One quick trust was going to end this, and she had positioned herself perfectly. Then he choked as the tap turned into snaking around his windpipe and squeezing.
The mercenary smashed his nub against the hair now wrapped around his neck. Right, no hand to grasp and try to pull it off him. The woman on the attached to the braid got up from her feint as he swung at her hair with his sword.
*thock.*
Visonef blinked. Thock? What was this? Hair did not go thock from a sharp implement. He tried again.
*thock.* *thock.*
Again and again he slashed and chopped, growing weaker by the moment. He could not get it with the tip at that angle.
*thock.* *thock.* *thock.* *thock.*
She watched him pound away, cutting little more then a strand at a time. Thin as it was, her hair was still the strongest of bone. The stuff made an elephants tusk look frail. Woven together as it was, she wondered if he could find away to escape before life was choked out of him.
Taking no chances she stepped back, making sure she had enough room to avoid his wild swings, and the hair tightened around his throat even more. How would he react if he managed to cut the braid? How would he react when it would stay just as tight. Of course, he could simply pull it off then, but that would require his hand, and would leave him open...
When our world is burning.
When all run like the cowards they are.
I shall stand in the inferno, and fight until I am consumed
When all run like the cowards they are.
I shall stand in the inferno, and fight until I am consumed
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t3hDarkness
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- Joined: Mon Oct 30, 2006 1:51 am
- Location: When I die, I die in Steam!
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Galefore
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- Joined: Tue Jan 04, 2005 2:00 am
- Location: ur wildest dreems lol
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Bomby
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- Location: Little Forest
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Thank you, t3hDarkness.
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Yuki stood confused, barely making out the accent of the man speaking to her, but almost offended by his last few words. Visibly angry, the expression of her eyes changed dramatically, as her brows, which seconds earlier had sat high on her forehead, bent in downwards, expressing a firey anger in her large brown eyes haunting enough to give the average person a heart attack, if her rather strange beauty hadn't distracted them enough beforehand.
This Chase Alphonse, however, did not seem to be at all average. There was something vastly different about him, but she could not quite place a finger on it. This didn't unsettle her at all, however: having spent the first 20 years of her life learning nothing but how to kill made her quite confident in her skills.
One thing she did not expect, however, was the razor wire that seemed to fly at her out of Alphonse's sleeve. She reacted as quickly as possible, however, the razor wire wrapped itself around her katana. She remained absolutely silent, as the two seemed to have a almost tug-of-war like battle over the possession of her blade, and gritted her teeth as the formerly firey expression in her eyes exploded, staring furiously into his eyes as she pulled back on the sword.
She tried to break the wire, but it wouldn't weaken. She aimed a kick toward his kidneys, with less intent on hurting him than just getting possession of what was rightfully hers. She was able to propel herself away and loosen the grip on her katana enough for her to snatch it away from him.
Gripping her katana underhanded, she stood back for a second to contemplate her next move, hoping her enemy wouldn't strike. She lunged forward and swung the blade at her enemy, but he was able to block it with the gauntlet that covered his hand. She started to move her left hand slowly under her purple and white kimono, as the wind blew her long black hair around.
With her sword pointed outwards, she once again swung for her enemy, this time outright missing, partially because of his evasion, but mostly because she was trying to find something hidden to her side with her other hand. She lunged toward her enemy quickly three times, spinning around in a circle with each lunge. By the time the third cycle had been completed, she had pulled a folded parasol out from under her garment and landed yet another blow straight to Alphonse's gauntlet, which did not damage the gauntlet at all but made enough time for her to prepare for her next strike.
Once again Alphonse flung out his razorwire at Yuki, but this time, she opened up her parasol and blocked the attack. She ducked low and swung her blade toward her enemy's lower half, hoping to hit his left leg.
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Yuki stood confused, barely making out the accent of the man speaking to her, but almost offended by his last few words. Visibly angry, the expression of her eyes changed dramatically, as her brows, which seconds earlier had sat high on her forehead, bent in downwards, expressing a firey anger in her large brown eyes haunting enough to give the average person a heart attack, if her rather strange beauty hadn't distracted them enough beforehand.
This Chase Alphonse, however, did not seem to be at all average. There was something vastly different about him, but she could not quite place a finger on it. This didn't unsettle her at all, however: having spent the first 20 years of her life learning nothing but how to kill made her quite confident in her skills.
One thing she did not expect, however, was the razor wire that seemed to fly at her out of Alphonse's sleeve. She reacted as quickly as possible, however, the razor wire wrapped itself around her katana. She remained absolutely silent, as the two seemed to have a almost tug-of-war like battle over the possession of her blade, and gritted her teeth as the formerly firey expression in her eyes exploded, staring furiously into his eyes as she pulled back on the sword.
She tried to break the wire, but it wouldn't weaken. She aimed a kick toward his kidneys, with less intent on hurting him than just getting possession of what was rightfully hers. She was able to propel herself away and loosen the grip on her katana enough for her to snatch it away from him.
Gripping her katana underhanded, she stood back for a second to contemplate her next move, hoping her enemy wouldn't strike. She lunged forward and swung the blade at her enemy, but he was able to block it with the gauntlet that covered his hand. She started to move her left hand slowly under her purple and white kimono, as the wind blew her long black hair around.
With her sword pointed outwards, she once again swung for her enemy, this time outright missing, partially because of his evasion, but mostly because she was trying to find something hidden to her side with her other hand. She lunged toward her enemy quickly three times, spinning around in a circle with each lunge. By the time the third cycle had been completed, she had pulled a folded parasol out from under her garment and landed yet another blow straight to Alphonse's gauntlet, which did not damage the gauntlet at all but made enough time for her to prepare for her next strike.
Once again Alphonse flung out his razorwire at Yuki, but this time, she opened up her parasol and blocked the attack. She ducked low and swung her blade toward her enemy's lower half, hoping to hit his left leg.
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Galefore
- Member
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- Joined: Tue Jan 04, 2005 2:00 am
- Location: ur wildest dreems lol
Given a situation of exhaustion and life-gripping terror, those with any sense of danger know not to overreact and calmly figure their way out of this awful fate.
But, as has been stated, rash old Visonef never thought things through. Except, of course, this very lucky time.
Within the moment’s *thocks* and the almost begging rasps being pronounced from Visonef’s voice-box and windpipe, thoughts of the blade’s function came to mind. With no moment’s caress to give up before his body was deprived of life, he remembered a phrase spoken by Skull-Mason, master and producer of the Gravity-blade: “Nothing squeezes harder than gravity, and if it isn’t gravity, it is dark-magic. Wield it well.”
A pinch was the sensation Visonef felt; it was never safe to wield magic near the body’s precious arteries, and death would come if they were even barely tapped by the blade‘s enchanted tip. But, basic deformities were always fine; he had lost a hand this way, and he knew only direct contact would permanently damage his neck. The lady of snake-hair had honestly forgotten that Visonef was a master of gravity, or so it seemed. She thought of him as a choppy, style-less imbecile who rushed into everything headlong; He was, but he knew his fair share of caution. He had never really used the blade in a way that she could tell it was a gravity blade; maybe she thought her armor collapsed under sheer strength of force under Visonef’s own weapon. Well, her hair suffered enough for this possible thought...
Snip.
The hair splintered like the bone before it, some hurtling hopelessly off into the abyss like scared animals, others looking to the sky in a restless upward flight until raining down. This was most inconvenient, as sharp-seeming projectiles rained unto them both. The snake-hair maiden didn’t seem to react. Visonef was injured by the falling spikes, many seeming to look as a porcupine out of his back. He shakily stepped forward, spinal-damage affecting his legs and numbing his body.
Who gives a damn. Pressing on’s a fine art… At least, this is what Visonef thought.
Another damned bone. Does she ever give up with the bones? Visonef thought, and for some odd reason, this brought a smile to his face. His sword held death-gripped in hand, and his knuckles, no, whole hand and arm bleached and deprived of color, he once more lifted his blade and struck a useless strike, a stroke falling to be missed, of course. With this in mind, the maiden broke the bone’s end and stabbed it into Visonef’s arm. His good arm, the one with a working and useful hand.
Big, no, ENORMOUS ****ing mistake.
No chance was given; speed was defied within even speed’s defiance, if such is possible. Not even defied speed knew that a sword could become more that falsely-multiplied, or ‘invisible’… It could quite literally form a ball of swords around him.
A globe of purple-tipped swords: get that straight, it wasn’t literally a multiplied sword. It was speed. Raw speed, at its finest, puncturing gravity, speed, sound… Everything impalpable, or even able to be impaled, in a sense. Rotating and jabbing, these illusions came roaring, whistling, even popping. Popping, yes, in a sense that it sounded like a gunshot for the blade to pierce air, at times. Perhaps this was this dimension’s atmosphere at work. Who gave a damn, too small of a detail, and Visonef hated being hindered by too much detail.
A single blade at first punctured her leg, then one on her left hand,. Another her right shoulder. Each time, since it was merely a light tap, a bubble appeared, and then deflated to explode into blood and past muscle. Bones were visible in every zone of impact.
And it wasn’t over, because at this point ‘over’ was a dead word.
The sword managed to needle her a few more times: in the thigh and then in the left shoulder. This was making a considerable amount of pain visible, in a way, on the bone-wielding lady’s face. The blade’s deadly glee came again to make a deep gash in her chest, exactly where the stroke on her breastplate had happened. By some luck, it missed anything vital, but…
At that moment, Visonef stopped, out of breath might I add, his blade globe.
It was quite a sight, actually, because after an initial yelp of pain, the bottom area of her chest was drenched in blood, the last few ‘false’ ribs of her ribcage visible. Visonef almost turned away. His sword was never meant to come so near a vital point, much less…
But, Visonef’s blush-inducing thoughts (He was a mercenary after all, and a perverted one) washed away as he brought his blade down to bear on the bleeding woman’s head.
Would it hit?
Or miss?
It would likely be with painful consequence either way. Smacking his nub into the bone impaling his arm, he knocked the shaft away, leaving the sharp edge inside of the appendage. He’d have to deal with that later…
But, as has been stated, rash old Visonef never thought things through. Except, of course, this very lucky time.
Within the moment’s *thocks* and the almost begging rasps being pronounced from Visonef’s voice-box and windpipe, thoughts of the blade’s function came to mind. With no moment’s caress to give up before his body was deprived of life, he remembered a phrase spoken by Skull-Mason, master and producer of the Gravity-blade: “Nothing squeezes harder than gravity, and if it isn’t gravity, it is dark-magic. Wield it well.”
A pinch was the sensation Visonef felt; it was never safe to wield magic near the body’s precious arteries, and death would come if they were even barely tapped by the blade‘s enchanted tip. But, basic deformities were always fine; he had lost a hand this way, and he knew only direct contact would permanently damage his neck. The lady of snake-hair had honestly forgotten that Visonef was a master of gravity, or so it seemed. She thought of him as a choppy, style-less imbecile who rushed into everything headlong; He was, but he knew his fair share of caution. He had never really used the blade in a way that she could tell it was a gravity blade; maybe she thought her armor collapsed under sheer strength of force under Visonef’s own weapon. Well, her hair suffered enough for this possible thought...
Snip.
The hair splintered like the bone before it, some hurtling hopelessly off into the abyss like scared animals, others looking to the sky in a restless upward flight until raining down. This was most inconvenient, as sharp-seeming projectiles rained unto them both. The snake-hair maiden didn’t seem to react. Visonef was injured by the falling spikes, many seeming to look as a porcupine out of his back. He shakily stepped forward, spinal-damage affecting his legs and numbing his body.
Who gives a damn. Pressing on’s a fine art… At least, this is what Visonef thought.
Another damned bone. Does she ever give up with the bones? Visonef thought, and for some odd reason, this brought a smile to his face. His sword held death-gripped in hand, and his knuckles, no, whole hand and arm bleached and deprived of color, he once more lifted his blade and struck a useless strike, a stroke falling to be missed, of course. With this in mind, the maiden broke the bone’s end and stabbed it into Visonef’s arm. His good arm, the one with a working and useful hand.
Big, no, ENORMOUS ****ing mistake.
No chance was given; speed was defied within even speed’s defiance, if such is possible. Not even defied speed knew that a sword could become more that falsely-multiplied, or ‘invisible’… It could quite literally form a ball of swords around him.
A globe of purple-tipped swords: get that straight, it wasn’t literally a multiplied sword. It was speed. Raw speed, at its finest, puncturing gravity, speed, sound… Everything impalpable, or even able to be impaled, in a sense. Rotating and jabbing, these illusions came roaring, whistling, even popping. Popping, yes, in a sense that it sounded like a gunshot for the blade to pierce air, at times. Perhaps this was this dimension’s atmosphere at work. Who gave a damn, too small of a detail, and Visonef hated being hindered by too much detail.
A single blade at first punctured her leg, then one on her left hand,. Another her right shoulder. Each time, since it was merely a light tap, a bubble appeared, and then deflated to explode into blood and past muscle. Bones were visible in every zone of impact.
And it wasn’t over, because at this point ‘over’ was a dead word.
The sword managed to needle her a few more times: in the thigh and then in the left shoulder. This was making a considerable amount of pain visible, in a way, on the bone-wielding lady’s face. The blade’s deadly glee came again to make a deep gash in her chest, exactly where the stroke on her breastplate had happened. By some luck, it missed anything vital, but…
At that moment, Visonef stopped, out of breath might I add, his blade globe.
It was quite a sight, actually, because after an initial yelp of pain, the bottom area of her chest was drenched in blood, the last few ‘false’ ribs of her ribcage visible. Visonef almost turned away. His sword was never meant to come so near a vital point, much less…
But, Visonef’s blush-inducing thoughts (He was a mercenary after all, and a perverted one) washed away as he brought his blade down to bear on the bleeding woman’s head.
Would it hit?
Or miss?
It would likely be with painful consequence either way. Smacking his nub into the bone impaling his arm, he knocked the shaft away, leaving the sharp edge inside of the appendage. He’d have to deal with that later…
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Repster
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*Ka-Crack!*
The snapping of bone was ever so audible as Visonef stared at what he saw. She tore of one of visible ribs and thrust it up blocking his sword. Such a weak bone should not possibly deflect his sword, but it did.
*Snap* Snap Snap* Snapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnap.*
She rose gracefully, the straps holding the countless bone forming her wings snapping off as she flexed he shoulder blades. The bone maiden outright ignored her bleeding, missing chunks of flesh, not to mention the fact that she was holding back a sword meant to cleave her head in half with one of her own ribs. And the pain, such pain to bring a nation to tears. But then, her body was pumping with enough adrenaline and countless other natural drugs that she barely noticed that in the first place.
What was left behind her after the clatter of oh so many bones where more bones. These though, these connect straight to her flesh. Wing bones. What might have once been powerful wings, much like a bird of prey's, now nothing left but the skeletal structure. Very sharp bones. The burden of her weaponry gone, she laughed. A deep sound from within her throat.
"Well now little one. It would seem I'm about to bleed to death... It seems I must finish this then, a pity, you could have entertained me for some time more otherwise vile one."
She then shoved her hand forward and grabbed the sword blade, still clashing with her rib. Another source of blood was added to the steady flow. The woman, her hand near enough cut in half with a gaping hole in the middle, proceeded to force aside the weapon and leave Visonef open. Her wing flexed and stabbed toward him. He stepped back and she spun and brought her second slashing as she did. He slipped. A fool thing to do at such a time, but that's what he did, with a mixture of bone, more bone, blood and oh so much blood, the marble was slicker then the smoothest ice. He did not feel the slight gash on his nose, the only part of the wing that connected, how could he? The pain from his groin as the blood soaked one's foot smashed into it was overpowering. Her gauntlet came away from her hand and slapped the blade away, being destroyed into a useless clump of steel for it's trouble.
A hand yanked Visonef back to his feet, and a foot caught him on the temple. He staggered, his limp and lingering groinular pain ( Maybe it's a word, maybe not. Don't care. I am Repster, I make up words if I need to.) almost brought him down on the slick surface again. A pity it did not, one wing stopped the sword and shattered halfway, the other stabbed threw his chest. Visonef's head went forward to cough out blood, and had her head ram into his face smashing threw his nasal cavity like a bat to a window. He brought the sword again, barely seeing anything threw the spots. The near armorless warrior rotated once again and lost half of her other wing via gravity blade, and continued the spin, and then came around for another rotation.
This time she brought out her real weapon to bare. The biggest and heaviest mace Visonef never saw, seeing it would have him wondering where she had hid the thing. it smashed into the side of his head. The sound of his skull cracking was audible. That was the nice part. The energy he remembered wanting to attack his very soul came again. This time, it did do just that. He felt his very being, his essence itself, his soul or whatever was left of it try and scream from shear agony.
Just to make sure, the bone maiden tore out another rib and stabbed him in the back the same raw power tearing him apart in ways wounds to the flesh could never even begin to imagine. Her feet back peddled away a slight distance by pure instinct and she slumped forward to her knees. Determination shone in those eye like blue tinted steel, most likely the only reason she was not on her back, dead. If that didn't finish him off...
She took a deep pained breath. That she could even feel pain cold and numb as she was let her know just how much further then her limit she went. Maybe she could muster up a little more. She did hear oft enough from human that limits were only for those who feared to go beyond. She blinked away blood and stared at her remained gauntlet. Well, at least it let her keep a grip on the mace. Little good that did with a numb arm. Visonef turned. She smiled at him. Oh yes, she could feel just enough strength left for one more good strike. Well... if he came closer anyway.
The snapping of bone was ever so audible as Visonef stared at what he saw. She tore of one of visible ribs and thrust it up blocking his sword. Such a weak bone should not possibly deflect his sword, but it did.
*Snap* Snap Snap* Snapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnap.*
She rose gracefully, the straps holding the countless bone forming her wings snapping off as she flexed he shoulder blades. The bone maiden outright ignored her bleeding, missing chunks of flesh, not to mention the fact that she was holding back a sword meant to cleave her head in half with one of her own ribs. And the pain, such pain to bring a nation to tears. But then, her body was pumping with enough adrenaline and countless other natural drugs that she barely noticed that in the first place.
What was left behind her after the clatter of oh so many bones where more bones. These though, these connect straight to her flesh. Wing bones. What might have once been powerful wings, much like a bird of prey's, now nothing left but the skeletal structure. Very sharp bones. The burden of her weaponry gone, she laughed. A deep sound from within her throat.
"Well now little one. It would seem I'm about to bleed to death... It seems I must finish this then, a pity, you could have entertained me for some time more otherwise vile one."
She then shoved her hand forward and grabbed the sword blade, still clashing with her rib. Another source of blood was added to the steady flow. The woman, her hand near enough cut in half with a gaping hole in the middle, proceeded to force aside the weapon and leave Visonef open. Her wing flexed and stabbed toward him. He stepped back and she spun and brought her second slashing as she did. He slipped. A fool thing to do at such a time, but that's what he did, with a mixture of bone, more bone, blood and oh so much blood, the marble was slicker then the smoothest ice. He did not feel the slight gash on his nose, the only part of the wing that connected, how could he? The pain from his groin as the blood soaked one's foot smashed into it was overpowering. Her gauntlet came away from her hand and slapped the blade away, being destroyed into a useless clump of steel for it's trouble.
A hand yanked Visonef back to his feet, and a foot caught him on the temple. He staggered, his limp and lingering groinular pain ( Maybe it's a word, maybe not. Don't care. I am Repster, I make up words if I need to.) almost brought him down on the slick surface again. A pity it did not, one wing stopped the sword and shattered halfway, the other stabbed threw his chest. Visonef's head went forward to cough out blood, and had her head ram into his face smashing threw his nasal cavity like a bat to a window. He brought the sword again, barely seeing anything threw the spots. The near armorless warrior rotated once again and lost half of her other wing via gravity blade, and continued the spin, and then came around for another rotation.
This time she brought out her real weapon to bare. The biggest and heaviest mace Visonef never saw, seeing it would have him wondering where she had hid the thing. it smashed into the side of his head. The sound of his skull cracking was audible. That was the nice part. The energy he remembered wanting to attack his very soul came again. This time, it did do just that. He felt his very being, his essence itself, his soul or whatever was left of it try and scream from shear agony.
Just to make sure, the bone maiden tore out another rib and stabbed him in the back the same raw power tearing him apart in ways wounds to the flesh could never even begin to imagine. Her feet back peddled away a slight distance by pure instinct and she slumped forward to her knees. Determination shone in those eye like blue tinted steel, most likely the only reason she was not on her back, dead. If that didn't finish him off...
She took a deep pained breath. That she could even feel pain cold and numb as she was let her know just how much further then her limit she went. Maybe she could muster up a little more. She did hear oft enough from human that limits were only for those who feared to go beyond. She blinked away blood and stared at her remained gauntlet. Well, at least it let her keep a grip on the mace. Little good that did with a numb arm. Visonef turned. She smiled at him. Oh yes, she could feel just enough strength left for one more good strike. Well... if he came closer anyway.
When our world is burning.
When all run like the cowards they are.
I shall stand in the inferno, and fight until I am consumed
When all run like the cowards they are.
I shall stand in the inferno, and fight until I am consumed
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t3hDarkness
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- Location: When I die, I die in Steam!
Is this dramatic enough?
Just as the blade edge was about to bit the soft tissue of his calf, he kicked his foot up and stomped on the back of the blade, burying its tip deep into the dark soil. His gamble took Yuki slightly by surprise, but it strengthened her resolve to do him harm. If she could peer behind that indifferent mask, she would see he had a satisfied looking grin from ear to ear. Both of them leapt back in order to regain their fighting stance.
Most men, under her baleful gaze, would have withered and turned tail, but it was exactly what the alchemist wanted to see. Her ferocity is a great asset, but it would also blind her to certain subtle tricks. He thought to himself, I wonder if she is as clever as she is vigorous. Undoubtedly in her homeland she would be immortal on the field of battle, but this is a foreign country and a foreign weapon style.
<Come little blossom, let us see what my puppet can do>, he goaded while backing carefully into the rings of corpses. He rested his hand on one of the stakes for a moment and held the spot were she had kicked him earlier. Yuki was silent as she slowly circled around the stakes opposite to the strange man. He was backing away bit by bit but always carefully watching her blade, like a mongoose watching a cobra. As he backed away, he made hand symbols that although elaborate, didn’t resemble any form of esoteric power. He dug his clawed forefinger into the bloody wood, tearing out a splinter before moving on to the next post.
As they circled, she began to notice a pattern in his stride, after every three steps he would drag his right foot instead of taking a full step, at that moment his balance would shift, and a crippling blow could be made during that clumsy moment. As soon as she had a straight shot, the pompous alchemist would pay in full his insults.
She mouthed the numbers . . .
Ichi . . .
Ni . . .
San . . .
Shi, there it was, her chance to put that man in his place.
Each time Chase has taken a step back, touched a pole, or made a hand symbol, he has been loosening more wire to form an elaborate trap between the stakes. Just as I had the lady had been waiting for the moment Chase was off balance, He too has been waiting for her to launch an attack, the optimum moment to counter with his trap.
Just as the blade edge was about to bit the soft tissue of his calf, he kicked his foot up and stomped on the back of the blade, burying its tip deep into the dark soil. His gamble took Yuki slightly by surprise, but it strengthened her resolve to do him harm. If she could peer behind that indifferent mask, she would see he had a satisfied looking grin from ear to ear. Both of them leapt back in order to regain their fighting stance.
Most men, under her baleful gaze, would have withered and turned tail, but it was exactly what the alchemist wanted to see. Her ferocity is a great asset, but it would also blind her to certain subtle tricks. He thought to himself, I wonder if she is as clever as she is vigorous. Undoubtedly in her homeland she would be immortal on the field of battle, but this is a foreign country and a foreign weapon style.
<Come little blossom, let us see what my puppet can do>, he goaded while backing carefully into the rings of corpses. He rested his hand on one of the stakes for a moment and held the spot were she had kicked him earlier. Yuki was silent as she slowly circled around the stakes opposite to the strange man. He was backing away bit by bit but always carefully watching her blade, like a mongoose watching a cobra. As he backed away, he made hand symbols that although elaborate, didn’t resemble any form of esoteric power. He dug his clawed forefinger into the bloody wood, tearing out a splinter before moving on to the next post.
As they circled, she began to notice a pattern in his stride, after every three steps he would drag his right foot instead of taking a full step, at that moment his balance would shift, and a crippling blow could be made during that clumsy moment. As soon as she had a straight shot, the pompous alchemist would pay in full his insults.
She mouthed the numbers . . .
Ichi . . .
Ni . . .
San . . .
Shi, there it was, her chance to put that man in his place.
Each time Chase has taken a step back, touched a pole, or made a hand symbol, he has been loosening more wire to form an elaborate trap between the stakes. Just as I had the lady had been waiting for the moment Chase was off balance, He too has been waiting for her to launch an attack, the optimum moment to counter with his trap.
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Bomby
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Yuki barely had time to think before she would fall from the movement of her center of gravity. However, she was able to keep herself from falling completely by stabbing her katana at the ground to break her fall. She looked around at the razor wire surrounding her. One false move with her foot and she would be setting herself up for an elaborate trap created by her foe. For a brief moment, the trap seemed inescapable, and a sense of hopelessness overcame the secretly emotional woman.
Then within a half second, Yuki had a flashback of her training with the priest...
"What are you doing? You're moving too slow!" yelled the grumpy old man tethered to her, who despite his old age was still in quite good shape and had plenty of energy to spare. The two spun around in circles, making the poor little 8-year-old Yuki somewhat dizzy. He swung his unsharpened wooden blade. Yuki tried to block, but he hit her in the shoulder. "Aaaaugh!!" she screamed out in pain. The priest kept swinging at her, with her barely blocking each strike with her wooden stick, until he had her cornered into a tree. She cowered in fear and held her stick straight out in front of her. "If we had been using real swords, you would have been dead today. How do you expect to carry out your mother's vengeance like that?"
Later on that night, the real test came. The priest did what he had been threatening to do for years: he brought out the real sword. Yuki stood scared and unarmed, as he drew it from its sheath. Before she could catch her nerves, he swung it, leaving a long, shallow slice in her right arm. Suddenly, something snapped inside of her. The priest swung again. However, this time, Yuki leapt into the air, flipping backwards twice before landing behind where she had stood into the puddle behind her. She stood shivering and wet, anticipating another attack. However, the priest just smiled and nodded. That was the day everything changed.
"You are not of this earth. You are a child of the netherworlds, a demon incarnated for one sole purpose. Your path is so doomed, even the Buddha can't save your soul.
Yuki looked Chase dead in the eyehole of his mask. Though she couldn't see much of his face, she was able to sense his anticipation through the slight movements of his body, namely the fact that his foot couldn't keep still, as if he were trying to keep rhythm while playing an instrument.
Yuki leapt into the air. She flipped around backwards, and almost completed a full somersault in the air, when she felt a tug on her right foot.
**THUD**
Yuki hit the ground, landing on her back and slamming her head against the ground. Had it not been for her long, thick hair, she probably would've been knocked unconscious by the fall. She could feel the blood slowly creeping out as her opponent began to pull her in with the razor wire he had been using. The wire dug into her heel, creating one of the most excruciating pains she had ever felt. Sheathing her sword into her parasol to free up one of her hands, she lifted her head from the ground and felt the blood on the back of her skull.
Suddenly, she began to struggle, creating an ostensibly false exaggeration of the agony she would normally be hiding. Despite what she had thought to be a poor acting job, her enemy momentarily stopped, as she had hoped. Desperate to get control of herself, she quickly gathered all the strength in her body and sprung to her feet, flinging the spatters of blood from her free hand into the mask of Alphonse. (Yes, a bit of a cheap shot indeed, but one must remember that she was trained for the sole purpose of killing, not to be a woman of morals.)
Knowing she could not snap the razor wire, she allowed herself to fall to the ground and grasp the loop around her foot and attempt to loosen the knot within the second and a half it took Alphonse to wipe the blood from his mask. She kept pulling, and more quickly than she expected, was able to pry the loop open barely large enough for her small foot to squeeze through.
No sooner was she able to stand up, albeit still wobbling due to the fall she had taken, than she had received a slap from Alphonse's gauntlet knocking her back down onto her rear. He seemed prepared to deploy his razor wire again when suddenly he was met with a sharp object jabbed into his theigh.
It was Yuki's katana, going more than an inch deep under his skin. She withdrew as Alphonse took a step back. Yuki painstakingly stood herself up. She was still dizzy from falling onto her head but she managed to get herself to stumble for her enemy and aim another thrust toward his chest...
Then within a half second, Yuki had a flashback of her training with the priest...
"What are you doing? You're moving too slow!" yelled the grumpy old man tethered to her, who despite his old age was still in quite good shape and had plenty of energy to spare. The two spun around in circles, making the poor little 8-year-old Yuki somewhat dizzy. He swung his unsharpened wooden blade. Yuki tried to block, but he hit her in the shoulder. "Aaaaugh!!" she screamed out in pain. The priest kept swinging at her, with her barely blocking each strike with her wooden stick, until he had her cornered into a tree. She cowered in fear and held her stick straight out in front of her. "If we had been using real swords, you would have been dead today. How do you expect to carry out your mother's vengeance like that?"
Later on that night, the real test came. The priest did what he had been threatening to do for years: he brought out the real sword. Yuki stood scared and unarmed, as he drew it from its sheath. Before she could catch her nerves, he swung it, leaving a long, shallow slice in her right arm. Suddenly, something snapped inside of her. The priest swung again. However, this time, Yuki leapt into the air, flipping backwards twice before landing behind where she had stood into the puddle behind her. She stood shivering and wet, anticipating another attack. However, the priest just smiled and nodded. That was the day everything changed.
"You are not of this earth. You are a child of the netherworlds, a demon incarnated for one sole purpose. Your path is so doomed, even the Buddha can't save your soul.
Yuki looked Chase dead in the eyehole of his mask. Though she couldn't see much of his face, she was able to sense his anticipation through the slight movements of his body, namely the fact that his foot couldn't keep still, as if he were trying to keep rhythm while playing an instrument.
Yuki leapt into the air. She flipped around backwards, and almost completed a full somersault in the air, when she felt a tug on her right foot.
**THUD**
Yuki hit the ground, landing on her back and slamming her head against the ground. Had it not been for her long, thick hair, she probably would've been knocked unconscious by the fall. She could feel the blood slowly creeping out as her opponent began to pull her in with the razor wire he had been using. The wire dug into her heel, creating one of the most excruciating pains she had ever felt. Sheathing her sword into her parasol to free up one of her hands, she lifted her head from the ground and felt the blood on the back of her skull.
Suddenly, she began to struggle, creating an ostensibly false exaggeration of the agony she would normally be hiding. Despite what she had thought to be a poor acting job, her enemy momentarily stopped, as she had hoped. Desperate to get control of herself, she quickly gathered all the strength in her body and sprung to her feet, flinging the spatters of blood from her free hand into the mask of Alphonse. (Yes, a bit of a cheap shot indeed, but one must remember that she was trained for the sole purpose of killing, not to be a woman of morals.)
Knowing she could not snap the razor wire, she allowed herself to fall to the ground and grasp the loop around her foot and attempt to loosen the knot within the second and a half it took Alphonse to wipe the blood from his mask. She kept pulling, and more quickly than she expected, was able to pry the loop open barely large enough for her small foot to squeeze through.
No sooner was she able to stand up, albeit still wobbling due to the fall she had taken, than she had received a slap from Alphonse's gauntlet knocking her back down onto her rear. He seemed prepared to deploy his razor wire again when suddenly he was met with a sharp object jabbed into his theigh.
It was Yuki's katana, going more than an inch deep under his skin. She withdrew as Alphonse took a step back. Yuki painstakingly stood herself up. She was still dizzy from falling onto her head but she managed to get herself to stumble for her enemy and aim another thrust toward his chest...