Things have cooled down at work for the time being, and we're heading into the weekend and I'll be taking a week off soon, so I'll have some time on my hands now. Accepting any who are willing, of course.
It was an odd afternoon in the brightly lit city, and Crono could only wonder why. No matter where he looked, he couldn't find a single other person, and he was in the middle of the business area in downtown, with skyscrapers and buildings all around. He took an inhuman leap upwards, and kicked off the building he was up near, to propel himself further up, floating upwards as though weightless, using the breezes and heavy air currents between the tall buidlings to aid his flight. Nearing the edge of the next building over, a freak current blew him off balance, and he threw out a hand in desperation to grab anything in reach. He managed to grip onto a small ledge, barely enough for him to place a few fingers on, and waited out the breeze, summoning a quick spell to aid him. the breeze slowed down to almost a complete stop, and he kicked off once more before learning what pain really was by falling all the distance up, probably close to twenty stories off the ground. He kicked as hard as he could, and rocketed upwards quickly, squinting against the wind as he flew the distance. He kicked off the opposing building one more time, and shot straight up past the 43rd floor, and over the rooftop of the next building, at an angle to land on top of it. He landed in a crouch, one gloved hand hitting the deck palm down, and he pushed off with that hand, flipping over and skidding to a stop at the far wall, his skate shoes gripping the edge and slowing him quickly.
Now, where is this mystery opponent? Not often I get an anonymous challenge...most are fools and boast of their deeds before getting to the point, Crono says to nobody in particular, hoping that perhaps his opponent may be nearby. He releases his spell, and time unfreezes, the duration of it lasting maybe fifteen seconds at the most. The gust that had threatened to kill him blows by, and he tugs on his weapons in their sheaths to make sure they are all loose and ready to go should he need to draw one quickly. Lightning begins sparking in the clouds, and although not visible yet, Crono could feel the charges building and knew that it would definitely be an interesting fight, with the Gulf of Mexico in view from where he stood on the building. Hurricanes were definitely parts of nature that nobody, even himself, ever dared to play with, but play in was a whole different thing. Crono sat down in a quick, easy motion, cross-legged with his newest weapon across his legs, runed side of the blade face up. It would be his first battle with his new Chaos Crusader, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to use his regular off-hand, the Blood Blade, or switch his old Dark Saber over from the right hand to left. Chaos Crusader was an inch or two longer than the Dark Saber, which in turn was about four inches longer than the Blood Blade, and he hadn't had much practice with Chaos Crusader yet, although he was used to his Dark Saber in either hand. He tossed around ideas in his mind for a bit, not used to using double edged swords, other than his short Demon Edge, and decided to go with the more traditional Dark Saber and Blood Blade combo, and use his Demon Edge as his left hander while using the Chaos Crusader. Hopefully the muscle memory from his left hand would carry over into his right, and he would be able to use the two double edged weapons to their full potential in the end.
And still waiting...
Crono heard the man approaching a mile off. It was obvious that subtelty was NOT his strong suit. But why should it be? He was, by mortal standards, a mountain. Not in the sense of overbearing height. Far from that, in fact, the man stood only 5'2". Rather, it was his build that reminded people of a mountain. He was preternatually stocky, seeming almost to ripple with muscle in places that it didnt even make sense. And whats more, he carried himself as if he knew it.
He entered the building, taking his time. And again, why shouldnt he? He was the master of submission. Before him, trained killers begged for mercy, whimpering like tortured kittens before he shattered their necks. He relaxed in the elevator, and took stock of his situation, mentally preparing himself for the figth to come. He knew that it would be the toughest fight of his life. He was walking towards a man (or at least that was the common belief) who seemed to be able not only to control certain elements, but also weilded swords of several different types. And what did VAsili have on him? A marine survival knife and some brass knuckles... oh, and 20 years worth of KGB torture practice.
Stepping onto the roof, he saw the man sitting, looking at his swords.
"Surely you dont expect to need those against an unarmed man," said Vasili, as he slipped his knuckles on inside his trenchcoat. "One old russian man against you? You must think too highly of me!"
Crono stood up, turning to respond, and got as far as "I-" before he found out what used, uncleaned russian military brass knuckles taste like.
The answer is not good.
Sup, crono, its been a while:cool: I thought I'd just play around a little bit before we actually got started, so that I can get back into the hang of this.