[COLOR="DeepSkyBlue"]::As the desert planet Moseley's enormous red sun crept into bieng upon the distant western horizon, casting a soft, pink-and-purple glow above a barren landscape of white sand, a smile crept across the delicate pink lips of the White Angel. The call had been made, and the stage was set. He could feel the Aether itself vibrating, even though he could not touch the spiritual energies comprising physical existance directly. This would be an event the universe itself would remember for all time. As Coren interlaced his slim fingers, raking them upon one another, ushering a cacaphony of cracks and pops from his battle-worn knuckles, he couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Indeed it had been far too long since the last time he'd spilled his best friend's blood. far too long indeed.::[/COLOR]
Just in case ya stil got the urge, boyo!
[COLOR="Navy"]A shiver of delight crept through Strike's spine as he found himself standing on a desert planet, the sun beating happily upon his face. As if on queue, a song began to play in his head; An age-old ballad of battles lost and won in the scummiest places in the universe...
The classic bar-fight song, "A Little Less Conversation" by Elvis Presley.
Strike turned to see the Aegis warrior who had called him. He grinned, turning calmly to face his friend, shaking his head.
[COLOR="Lightgreen"]"Shouldn't have put my battle mode on responsive..."[/COLOR] he chuckled, balling his hands into fists. And with a nod of humored appreciation from each warrior, struggling mightily not to break the exciting reverence of this momentous occasion, the battle got off to a start with a voluminous boom.
Human beings from the planet earth enjoy videos on VCR that play at a slide speed of relatively 27 frames per second. The most classic fighting moves recorded could possibly be found in the film, "The Matrix", recorded and viewed at the aforementioned speed. The human eye can view at approximately 72 frames persecond. However, Coren and Strike watching the Matrix is like a human being watching a retarded bear at the circus. It's disturbing, and uncomfortable, and no one really wants to see that. I mean, it makes you want to go up there and say, "Hey! You've got to stop this, this is wrong!"
Now I'd have to warn you, that Coren and Strike both could fight at an average of approximately... 84,000... frames per second.
The speed at which both warriors collided was such that their fists met and parted, several seconds later causing a sonic boom to thunder across the landscape. A whirlwind of sand fled the ground as if escaping it's own doom, fleeing upwards towards the heavens as the warriors collided many more times within it's blinding depths. Strike ran on the air, his speed positively vaporizing the loose sand beneath him as he strafed to the right, shot inward, and was deflected yet again by a sweeping strike by Coren, which he deftly dodged. He leapt in an airborne flip, positioning himself diagonally from Coren and jacknifing the Aegis directly in the right shoulder. Two pairs of Vans shoes smashed against the Aegis's arm like a speeding Semi truck, crushing the warrior downward as a sickening crackle musically signalled the rendering of Coren's right arm (temporarily) useless.
Coren fell to his knees, not because he couldn't withstand the impact, but because his stance had been positioned to support him in an otherwise strategic position. **** this sand...
Strike raced about in the whirlwind formed by the collossal encounter, knowing his opponent could sense him but aiming to confuse him slightly nonetheless. As he had hoped, the pain inflicted by his double-heeled onslaught licked just the surface of the Aegis's conscience. That was all he needed. He bolted in, shoulder-tackling his friend and burying them both in sand.
[COLOR="lightGreen"]"Good to see you around again, friend!"[/COLOR] said Strike, before slugging Coren with a skull-rattling blow to the left cheek. [COLOR="lightGreen"]"Sorry bout your teeth!"[/COLOR]
And with that, Strike vanished into the whirlwind.[/COLOR]
[COLOR="DeepSkyBlue"]::Coren lie still as Strike retreated into the cover of the storm. As he slowly righted himself, a wicked grin crossed his lips, furrowing his nose. A somewhat ragged chuckle escaped those thin, delicate lips, freeing a dribble of blood to flow onto his chin.::
"That's what I love about you Strike, always producing a solid opener. Your martial skills are as potent as ever, my friend. You know how to deal the damage, bring the violence the way I like it. Please...allow me to return the favor!"
::The entirety of his speech, Coren had been ever watchful of the cyclone before him. Even as he positioned his right arm, bending it behind the small of his back, to be healed and put to use later, he'd caught just the glimpse he'd needed.::
::A shirtsleeve...a friggin shirtsleeve. Coren's sharp eyes caught the slightest split second's view of Strike's shoulder, enabling him to pinpoint his friend's location through the tumoltuous curtain of sand. A split second's glimpse, half a split second more than he'd needed. Strike cursed under his breath. In a battle that promised to be as intense as this one, even the smallest mistake would have consequences, and as he readied himself for the onslought, Coren brought it, right on cue.::
::Coren had leapt headfirst into the storm, with speed the like of which a bullet would envy. Wes had just enough time to catch the savage glint in his friend's blood-ravenous eyes and raise an arm to protect himself before Coren bent violently downward, pulling himself into a savage spiralling front-end flip. Strike hadn't the time to mount a proper defense, and as Coren's bootheel struck from above, it crashed upon Strike's left forearm, which buckled like a length of sandalwood under the immense blow, leaving his forearm in a distressing "V" shape. Even through the pain of his bones collapsing in two, Wes had to smirk, Coren always had loved pounding a foes defenses directly. Some kind of machismo thing he supposed.::
::Even as he mused, he braced for the second impact that he knew beyond a doubt was on it's way. As Coren somersaulted in midair, he wrenched his body at the waist, bringin an angle to his vertical spin. In a split-second's time, Coren's somersault became a devastating midair roundhouse, and this time, the bootheel's fury beset itself upon Strike's cheek. The blow had been purely sidelong, and at the slightest upward angle, launching him into a disorienting sidelong spin. Recovery hadn't even crossed Strike's mind before the White Angel had his friend and foe by the throat, mercilessly putting an abrupt halt to his spin. His slender, white-gloved fingers raked into the comparatively soft skin covering Strike's larynx, though Strike hadn't even had time to choke before Coren made his play. Coren twisted in midair, dragging Strike's form in an arc above him before tossing him violently groundward. Another glimpse of violent blue bloodlust found Strike plummeting to the ground headfirst, with another sonic boom and Coren's sadistic laughter trailing far behind him.::
::At this distance...and this speed, all Strike could do was twist, and pray. Doing so, he slammed into the sands feet first, instantly burying himself and creating a kinetic concussion that blew the whirlwind apart, resulting in a murky, dust-laden cloud spanning a few hundred square yards.::
::As the sand settled to the ground, Coren landed with the lithe absence of weight afforded him by his powers, and spread his legs perpendicular to Strike's impact zone. His move had been made, and with a smile...he knew Strike's counterstroke would be upon him in an instant.::
"So it begins...my old friend."[/COLOR]
Rewrote some stuff...I have a bad habit of letting my readers lose track of "Who is doing what".
OOC: My dear friend; I beg your forgiveness for at least two things. The first of course will be the length of time it took for me to get around to writing this. I had problems working out the proper inspiration, as I'm sure you can relate to. However I've chosen instead to just write it, since no inspiration has come. Second is for the horrible quality of writing and creativity that I know this post is bound to be cursed with. What can I say... I'm rusty. Hopefully it'll clear up as we continue.
[COLOR="Navy"]Sand. In my eyes, in my mouth, up my nose and irritating my... well. Let's just say I'd had enough of sand already. I'd had enough of silly fistycuffs banter anyway, this fight was getting nowhere fast, and I was eager to get things as fired up as quickly as possible. I don't know if it was the sand which I spat out of my mouth as I crawled to my knees, or the expression "Fired up" that gave the first bolt of inspiration, but as I got steadily to my feet, shaking sand from my hair, ears and nose, pale flames engulfed my palms, which I now held lazily in front of my face, transfixed by my own power. It must have been the daze; we warriors of such legend can take a lot of pain. That doesn't mean I like it.
The white hot flames echoed the fury generated in response to the pain. My bones heal relatively quick, lightning fast compared to any normal human being, but I could still feel their creaks and flimsiness, and it created an ache deep within my chest, a hollow which I sought to fill by using Holy retribution. My eyes suddenly jumped to Coren, burning as they did so, quite a flashy technique to use on any normal human being. Seeing those bright fiery once-blue-green eyes suddenly pierce unexpectedly through yours and into your soul can be quite unnerving. The effect wasn't quite so potent against my comrade, after all we knew each other, but I felt his soul squirm ever so slightly in response. Almost a barely noticable twitch, but it was something.
When two warriors embued with Holy Power combat for something as selfish and petty as power over the other, or bragging rights, Divine Retribution is simply impossible. Neither is actually partaking in a Holy purpose, therefore Holy purpose is not with them; they are left to their own to battle things out with their own raw energy. But with Coren, that's the way we like it. After all, these things had never come to an end with us before; we both acknowledged the other's power, and neither sought to undermine nor destroy the other; but simply to enjoy each other's company.
Well the aura of my strength met company with Coren's in a very powerful way just now, when I hurled a ball of white-hot flame directly at his chest, which exploded into liquid flame upon impact. Human flesh would have wasted away, not even leaving a proper skeletal structure as evidence of it's passing. I keep telling you this to express to you, the reader, that these once-human beings were no longer wholly physically so. The flame burrowed into Coren's chest cavity by several inches, leaving a blackened fleshy mass that exposed the edges of a couple ribs. The rest of the gushy flame washed over the Aegis like a tide of acid face-fuuck on a stick. (Excuse my french, but as an artist I'm all about the power of expression.)
When your clothes are on fire, the experts tell you to drop unceremoniously to the floor and roll around like a writhing spazzing maggot. But when fire of the white-hot liquid kind washes you over, this is hardly much of an option. The Aegis countered the holy fire utilizing freezing shackles of divinity, a most effective method, leaving him flameless and smokeless however still lacking in pieces of now-burnt flesh. His countering defense had saved him a lot of pain, but still given me something that between you and me is quite precious when fighting someone like Coren; time.
I'd teleported behind him, something quite cruel and unnerving in the most comfortable of circumstances, (Such as popping into the kitchen to grab some popcorn when your roomate is in there doing the dishes) and as the flames were doused with his aura of shatteringly freezing subzero temperature, I sent a full-force kick to the small of his back. I heard bone crackle under the impact, which might unnerved me if I didn't know he could take it, and he was hurled forward in a floppy manner. (I'm rolling my eyes as I record this... try to make a job neat, and your victim flops like a rag doll...)
The aura of cold seized me and shackled me in a casing of ice, but anticipating this I'd teleported again, catching Coren as he barreled forward into my waiting grasp. I grasped him with a touch of compassion and healing kindness; or, at least, I didn't punch his face. I got his gut instead, thrusting my fist upward and jutting beneath his ribs, knocking the air out of him. I followed this up with a flourish that for me was just the cherry on top, flames engulfed my body in a searing explosive roar as I smashed the Aegis's neck with a rudely impactful high-aimed roundhouse that sent him barrelling through the air.
First of all, ouch. Second of all, I think I'd just hit a home run. But nothing in me felt like running those bases just yet... I just wanted to stand, and with utmost satisfaction, watch him soar...[/COLOR]
[COLOR="DeepSkyBlue"]::Even as the White Angel soared through Moseley's torrid atmosphere, propelled by means other than his own power, his seared flesh creating a thick black trail behind him, Coren's mind was hard at work. By the time his trajectory had reached it's apex, some fifty feet in the air, he'd successfully nulled the mind shattering pain his friend had inflicted upon him. He'd taken stock of his injuries, and meticulously inventoried themuscles and range of movement still available to him. With these he twisted at the hip, sending his feet sprawling before him, and managed to land once again upon the desert sand only a hair's breadth off-ballance. His stormy azure eyes quickly found their target, and a ragged snarl came from his lips as he grasped his neck and rent it straight, garnering a cacaphony of blood curdling creaks and pops from his vertibrae as they settled into their rightful places. He smiled a vicious grin toward his friend, uttering his words in a gravelly, whiskey-toned voice.::
"And here I thought I'd be nice about things a little longer, eh? Oh well...let's get this party truly started, old friend."
::Slowly and ceremoniously, Coren's right hand wrapped itself around the black leather grip of Absolution, and in an even, smooth motion he drew it from it's place at his back, sighing at the metallic hum it uttered in response to his touch. Strike smiled gleefully. He'd seen entire civilizations cower at this very sight. This would be the true beginning of their battle. Absolution itself was a part of Coren, and when he wielded it against his enemies, the entire universe shuddered. Coren's smirk had become something far more wicked now, twisting as he spoke.::
"Not too late to turn back, my friend. No need to get carried away."[/color]
[COLOR="Red"]"And miss the real fun? You've gotta be joking!"[/COLOR]
[COLOR="DeepSkyBlue"]"That's what I like to hear."
::A redistribution of his weight and a labored grunt sent Coren barrelling at unthinkable speed toward his target, Absolution's metallic warcry pierced the air as the blade glowed brilliant white. As he neared, Coren could see Strike readying himself to summon the Order, and smiled, knowing he would arrive quickly enough to do his damage before hie friend ever got the chance.::
::Till now, Coren had been sailing parallel to the ground, but as he came within a few yards of his opponent, he sent one foot stomping into the sand, sending him spiralling upward, the energies gathered within Absolution spilled into the air as he raised the blade over his shoulder, leaving behind a brilliant white corkscrew as the White Angel ascended. The power he'd managed to gather in that short space of time would up the ante of this fight tenfold, and when he reached the apex of his leap, he brough all that power to bear in a savage downward slash, roaring as he descended. He could feel the blade cleaving flesh before his blade sank into the ground, at which time he let flow the power he'd gathered, allowing it to erupt into bieng in the form of a monstrous white explosion. The concussion alone shook the entire continent they stood upon, and the resulting mushroom cloud rose thousands of feet into the air, and for a half mile around them, what sand hadn't been vaporised was instantly turned to molten glass, forming itself into jagged spires tilted away from the monstrous explosion. Even though he was largely immune to the effects of his own attacks, Coren's hands had been seared red by the heat, which dissipated quickly enough, leaving Coren in the center of a massive molten crater, sweating, gasping for breath, and steaming in the quickly cooling air. He began stepping backward, bringing Absolution into it's place before him, in defense. The energy of the blast had been massive, but badly compressed, given the lack of time. Strike would have no problem "taking the heat", and Coren knew it. He'd upped the stakes alright, and there would be retribution. He positively quivered in anticipation.::[/COLOR]
Man, all I ever do when I can't think of something truly creative is make something go boom. At least I write the boom marginally well, eh?
Let's keep crankin it buddy!
[COLOR="Navy"]How'd he know? This was exactly what I wanted; forget the fancy foreplay, let's have some EXPLOSIVE swordplay! Problem about this is, it'd taken me a split millosecond too long to have the Order of the Rose ready, and I'd received a flesh wound to the left shoulder. Nothing big, it just cut through my collarbone and down into my chest about six inches, rendering that arm useless and gushing plenty of my life-source out of my protectant severed skin and exposed to the elements, which as you've already read, were quite severe. I say this was nothing big because I had stopped the blow with an upward block from my own katana of no consequence, the Order of the Rose. It's blade glinted silver as the Dragoneye crystal hanging from it's hilt pulsed feverishly, it's energies responding to Absolution.
I've made brief mention of this previously, but Absolution is just as it sounds. It's power is absolute, and has cast better warriors than me into the depths, however it's power was thwarted by something that wielded the same source. The Order of the Rose is of little consequence in comparison; but simply a sword handed to me by the Angel Raphael, forged by the hand of Michael, and wielded by the legendary cherubim who now guards the Garden of Eden. It was given to me coupled with a charge that I am bound from uttering to anyone other than those involved, lest I be smitten with a curse. It's materials are of raw earth, but the essence it wields gives it access to a small store of holy energy, the likes of which Absolution could not sever, being as it could not sever itself. It's all very complicated and yet very simple, but let's just say that the two swords, as the two warrior's energy, comes from the same place. And one cannot destroy the other.
That doesn't mean the could not grapple for strength, which they did currently as the waves of energy seared my flesh and washed over me. But before I get you into a fit of tears, be assured I was quite alright, though in some pain. Flames of my own original creation still roared violently about me, and had absorbed a good chunk of the blow. Plus, the attack was quite messy. The energy had exploded outward in a concussion the likes of which had melted the sandy beaches' top layer into wavy hills of glass, which now glinted mysteriously in the evening sun. Or, at least it might have if the smoke had cleared, but you see I have an active imagination.
So there we stood, swords locked as I shoved his blade out of my flesh with a sickening juicy sound. My right arm trembled to bear the blade upward against gravity and the power of both his own fists, however I was experiencing a surge of energy you humans call adrenaline. You think your adrenaline is powerful, try being immortal sometime. (1)
With this surge of energy a blast of light pulsated outward, knocking the Aegis back and separating our blades, which were more like metalic appendages of ourselves. I leapt backward in a graceful arc, flipping and landing lightly to my feet, gasping slightly as I distributed the energies of my flesh, sealing the wound I had just received. The gash was deep, but better not to lose blood quite yet. I wound bone together lightly, kind of a sloppy job, but I didn't have time; the Aegis wouldn't have been thwarted that long. Sure enough he emerged from the smoke, sword held behind him and ready for a mighty swipe. I ducked, swept his legs from beneath him with my own, supporting my weight with my sword arm. As he began to topple, I sprung upward utilizing the power of both crouched legs and clocked the Aegis powerfully in the temple with the butt of my sword. And then, I ran.
Cowards live to fight longer, I say.
The Aegis, stunned by the impact of my rude gesture, began to fall, scrambling for balance. The flames about me, slightly dissapated up to this point, now roared as I had finally gathered my bearings. The blade of my sword now emitted a searing light of whiteness, exceeding the whiteness of any earthly color, which promptly shot foward toward my sparring opponent. The light split into three liquid pieces, which began to spin with severe intensity, and all sank themselve into the Aegis's chest with that delightful juicy sound I'd mentioned earlier. The Aegis was carried back by the force, shattering the glass floor on which we now fought, presently experiencing a peculiar sensation as his organs were blown apart from the inside. The explosion was impressive, though visually compressed by the cushion of Coren's flesh, as white-hot beams of energy shot outward from the wounds they had created, making them wider, and promptly vanishing. Three gaping holes riddled the man's chest, as Absolution hummed for retaliation. I felt the hollow in my wounded bones ache in response, and grasping the Order of the Rose in two hands, stood at the ready.
(1) - *sigh* There has been many arguements on fansites, forums, and talkshows as to how an immortal being could participate in many battles and have been brought SO close to death as I have. Let me lay these contentions to rest with a bit of simplicity; "Immortal" means I shall not die naturally. If I were indestructable, I would have said so.[/COLOR]
[coLOR="DeepSkyBlue"]Thunk thunk thunk...BOOM BOOM BOOM!
::As Strike's vicious projectile attack brought itself to bear against the White Angel's chest, the resulting explosions sent him to his knees momentarily before he fell limply onto his back, sputtering deep red blood. Coren looked for a moment upward, toward the sky they'd ravaged. The pain coursed through his veins, and his blood flowed as if to escape it. But Coren's expression was not one of grief or failure as he stared into the beyond before him, but one of astonishment. The pain fizzled and faded before his will, leaving only shock and amazement as he hefted his upper body upright to stare incredulously as his friend.::
"What...what was that!?"
::He yelled through a chuckle as he dabbled one hand into the torrential flow of blood from his chest, bringing it up to stare at his bloody white glove. Another glance toward Strike before he hefted himself to his feet, waving the glove at him::
"You naughty boy you! Didn't your mother ever teach you not to disrespect your elders!?"
::With that, the ground began to shake as the infinite energies of Coren's Angelic soul rushed from his body and into Absolution's blade. It's glow grew such that it nearly eclipsed the image of it's bearer altogether. Strike's keen eyes, however, saw all too well Coren's steady advance. Striding confidently toward his target. His opponent. His friend.::
"I'll womp you in ways you never dreamed buddy!"
::Strike could barely stifle a chuckle. Coren had grown so accustomed to those who feared him that he couldn't help but spout like this. They both knew that Coren's rants were usually empty. Usually.::
"Your entrails shall become your extrails...and...."
::With that, Coren instantly closed the remaining distance between them, Absolution and the Order of the Rose clashing in a brilliant spectacle of white hot sparks in a pure unadulterated show of brute strength. Even through all his wounds, Coren bore down upon his slightly shorter opponent. His sapphire eyes raged with power as it funnelled from his soul and into Absolution's deadly blade. Power crackled and erupted around them, even causing them to sink into the molten pool their energies were creating below them. The very ground shook as reality itself began to buckle in the space between them, ripping and bursting at it's very seams.::
::Faced with this all-out assault, Strike decided to act in desperation, violently shoving the Order out and to the right. Unfortunately, He'd found his opponent one step ahead of him, and as Coren feinted, letting Strike's parry fly past, setting him horribly off ballance, the White Angel bore down upon Strike's moment of weakness. A savage diagonal slice cleft from the lower right to the upper left of Strike's back, cleaving skin and flesh. It hadn't hit bone, but it had done exactly what Coren had intended for it to do. It caused Strike to arch his back with the pain of the blow, leaving the back of his head open for the fierce spinning slash Coren had prepared. The flat of Absolution's blade slammed into the back of his opponent's head. The combined impact of Absolution's heavy silver blade combined with the outburst of gathered spiritual energy made for a savage impact indeed. A loud, sickening crunch signalled a series of vertibrae severing themselves from one another in Strike's neck, the rest of him rocketed toward the horizon, into the sunset, so to speak. The last thing Strike heard while within earshot was Coren's sadistic laughter.::
Ok....I do have violent tendencies. That's why I'm here! Help me work out my issues ****it! LOL
[COLOR="Navy"]Sometimes you have those days where everything seems out to hurt you. It seems like everything you pass reaches out to hurt you and tear at your clothing, and everything you own is broken. Everyone you know forgot you exist, everything you love is ruined, and everything you touch fails. Well, I'll say one thing for today; Coren isn't going to forget I exist any time soon. Warm blood soothed my aching skin as I floundered for balance, tossed pathetically about by Coren's onslaught. To any mere mortal I may have seemed finished, but the throbbing of my inner essence disagreed with this general opinion. With a surge of power my body lifted into the air, and I spun like a helicopter a few times, using the momentum of my movement to my advantage, instead of fighting against it, and I slowed to a halt. Hanging there in mid-air, my eyes flashed red once again as I muttered something incoherant to most... but it made a smile split across Coren's youthly, battered face. Those words;
[COLOR="Red"]"You're in for a fonging now..."[/COLOR]
In a brilliant flash of white light, the crystal of my sword flashed in liquid energy as my sword was instantly replaced by a quarterstaff. The crystal rested embedded firmly in a shaped grip between my palms, as I swung the silverish weapon with deadly speed, descending powerfully upon my opponent. The weapons clashed, my downward swing parried by the might of Absolution. However the weapon was long, double-sided you might say, and Coren uttered an uncomfortable "oof!" as the other end of my staff promptly stuck him in the ribs, throwing him backward at an incredible speed. He was bent in the shape of a C as he flew, his legs and arms stuck forward as he flew backward resembling a rag dall which had been promptly hit in the middle with a home run blow from a bat. Strike's weapon spun in a flurry as he rested it comfortably under his arm with his offhand, his right palm thrust forward.
The flames which had previously been a show of aura about Strike's limbs now gathered, white-hot and molten, into a beam in his palm. The light grew, swelled to the size of a basketball, and released forward in a torrent of flames in the form of a white-hot bar of arm's thickness. Before Coren had the opportunity to land, the beam struck him in the chest. Or, "stuck" him in the chest might be more appropriate, as the energy had been concentrated into something of a lazer, with otherworldly cutting powers...[/COLOR]
[COLOR="DeepSkyBlue"]::As Strike's otherwize-deadly attack slammed home into and through Coren's already vulnerable chest, an explosion of dust and debris escaped into the atmosphere. Though Strike could not see his opponent, The White Angel's screams left Strike with no doubt as to his condition. As the dust began to clear, Coren's once clean white uniform began to materialize through the cloud as he stumbled from ground zero, his eyes glazed and glossy. Once clear, Coren stopped, his absent stare slowly craning itself toward his attacker, that same blank expression seeming to pierce through into Strike's soul with even worse penetration than the coldest stare. To Strikes surprise and chagrin, he couldn't help but stare at the ground behind Coren through the gaping hole in his body. He would soon learn not to give in to the temptation of distraction.::
::When Strike's eyes met those of the White Angel once more, he found the azure storm behind them a raging, crisp hurricane of awareness, and anger. As Coren Roared, springing toward his opponent, Absolution held low to the ground, it's tip kicking up a massive trail of dust as he gathered speed, the sound hadn't had a chance to hit Strike's ears before Coren leapt and spun, bringing Absolution's thick silver blade to bear again against Strike's new weapon. Another spin, and Strike's counter, aimed between Coren's legs, found nothing but air, leaving him scrambling to parry a vicious diagonal slice. Coren pressed the attack, and lunged foreward, grasping the shaft of the Order and pulling it violently toward him, sending Strike's face on a collision course with Coren's merciless forehead. Strike could feel his nose and upper jaw buckling under the relatively massive impact as Coren flung him rearward, and brought him in again. Blood ran....or splattered into Strike's eyes as the front of his face shattered, and even though he couldn't see the third blow, he felt it, loud and clear between his legs. Outside Strike's deprived senses, the White Angel spun once more, releasing the order and letting a now dazed Strike lower the weapon in a limp arm before planting the Flat of Absolution's white-hot blade violently upside Strike's left cheek, releasing the gathered energies not into pure explosive force, but this time into a semi-refined, purely kinetic explosion, almost invisible to the naked eye save for the shpere of distorted reality that issued from the point of impact and set the very ground shaking. Coren followed through with the blow, spinning full circle before turning to face his opponent once more, who, by this time, was nearly a fading speck on the horizon. A quick chuckle was all he had time for before he turned his focus to mending his injuries. If not he would be dead in moments. He worked furiously, trying to mend himself to the point of continuance before Strike could counter attack. He plunged his hand into the hole in his chest, molding flesh and bone like clay in the hands of a talented sculptor, growling as he worked...Strike could return at any moment...would he have time?:::[/COLOR]
Eh...not bad...not good either. I need to inject some variety into Coren...badly.
Mmm I like this. Powerful and descriptive, yet not boringly Jordanish, if you get my drift.
[COLOR="Navy"]A dot in the distance, glimmering like a distant star, was all that was left of Strike. That is, until a split second later, when that glimmer exploded upon Coren with the full fury of the sun. Coren was sent flipping pell-mel through the air as he took an incredible impact to the chin. His head rattled, his hearing buzzed, and his skin burned with the intensity of light that had descended upon him. His eyes were closed, and yet the light blinded him with it's blistering brilliance. (HAH! Try to say THAT three times fast!) If he had used other-worldly eyes, he might have seen Strike, his clothes torn and ragged, his luminant white hair flowing about as if it were under water, his skin exhuding light as if from it's own power. The very air was molten and thick around him, like butter on a hot stove. Ladies, your hearts aren't the only things that melt in his presence.
But that was not all the change that had betook our friendly neighborhood spirit soldier. Two wings jutted majestically from his shoulder blades, visible only on the higher planes. To the human eye he hung mid-air, hovering, arms crossed as his green eyes burned firey upon the vision of his dear friend. Two blades hung at his sides, Wrath and Destruction, made of molten white fire and spinning about with incredible restlessness.
[COLOR="Red"]"COREN!" [/COLOR]a voice boomed, it was Strike's, but not quite as it was remembered. It was full of, for lack of a better word, power.
[COLOR="Red"]"Enough of this meaningless fisticuffs my friend. I wish to see a side of you I have not yet seen long enough to satisfy me. Cast of this pithy mortal shell, you insult me with it's presence!!!"[/COLOR]
And with that, Wrath and Destruction dove into action. Spinning intesely, to the naked eye they became discs of light which conjoined into a ball of energy and immediately shot laser-like into the sand beneath Coren's crumpled body. Coren climbed to his knees.
[COLOR="lightBlue"]"I see that all the light in the world hasn't improved your aim, pretty-boy!"[/COLOR] Coren laughed.
A pentacle of light formed about him in the sand, molten with heat. A circle of liquid whiteness, filled with intricate runes which spelled out Coren's death. And that was the last light Coren saw with his human eyes. Energy exploded upwards and into the sky. The runes themselves exploded out of form and washed upward with the tide of energy, a much more powerful version of thousands of razor blades in a pool of lemon juice. They rended Coren's body like a corn dog meets a hockey stick. Ker-splat. The earth's core rumbled in response, jealous of the energy's heat, pulsing in anger. The earth shuddered, gasped, and crawled in obedience to Strike's will that it stay put. Okay, I'm bragging a little bit here, but let me clear up one thing. Send me hate mail with explosive cookies if you like, but though I may have destroyed his body, Coren was still very much alive. The energy and the pentacle faded, but the light exhuded by my form, and my anticipation of what was to come, did not.[/COLOR]
[COLOR="DeepSkyBlue"]::The rumble of Strike's rather gratuitous attack resonated throughut the atmosphere, clearing simutaneously with the dust and residues, eventually leaving Coren's battered, and utterly beaten body lying limply upon the hard, jagged ground, utterly lifeless. No mortal bieng could have possibly lived through an all-out attack like that, even one who called himself the White Angel.::
::But Strike was no fool. He'd seen Coren with his own eyes, decimating civilisations long after his first bodily death. Even as it happened, Strike could only look on half with glee, and half with awe, as the change occured.::
::Coren's lifeless body lie there in silence, twisted and contorted, but Strike's keen eyes could see the movement taking place, as the White Angel's body sunk into the ground, ever so slowly, not as though the ground were swallowing him up, but as if his very flesh and bone were assimilating themselves into their surroundings. The change was slow, but sped up as more and more of him sank into the ground. the only part of him that did not bend to assimilation as Absolution, and as Coren's body was engulfed, it was the hand that held the blade that fell last, letting go and sinking into Oblivion.::
::Even though every one of his physical senses told him he was alone, Strike knew far better than to turn his back just yet. After a long moment, another hand, this one semi-transparent, reached up from the ground and grasped Absolution as Coren's new form made it's presence known. He rose from the very ground, a bieng of pure spirit, bereft of mass or weight. A smirk crossed Strike's face as he stared at this new bieng, rising from the embers, triumphant in it's transcendance. From his spiritual body jutted two grand white feathered wings, as transparent as he, glistening in the quickly dimming light. A voice roared like the sound of a thousand screams as Coren rose into the air and arced his new body toward the heavens, as if to stretch in ways he never had before. Then, cold sapphire eyes levelled upon Strike, and a wicked grin spread across transparent lips. Strike knew it. This is where the fight would get very interesting.::
"You call down thunder, my friend! Let me show you what the lightning feels like!"
::With that, Coren raised his fist toward the heavens, a faint glow appearing around his clenched fist. Sparks of white hot light began to swirl around him, then massive arcs of pure white energy swirled about him, causing the very planet itself to tremble. Strike's keen eyes could see the ripples these tendrils created in space-time as they raced around Coren's new spiritual body. With another ear splitting roar Coren brought his other hand skyward, attempting to call forth even more power, though Strike could see that this gathering of energy was already reaching critical mass. An attack like this, with so much power behind it would have garnered a tactical retreat, but Strike knew there would be nowhere he could run once it was unleashed. He would face it here, and fight on. He had to.::
::Thunder boomed, and thick black clouds swirled above Coren's luminous form as his spiritual hands trembled with the effort of containing and compacting the energies he'd gathered. Despite his mastery, it lashed randomly in deadly bolts that tore the ground for miles around them, churning up the ground into vast chasms and rifts. Reality itself seemed to be buckling under the strain. This was unnatural, and Coren must be stopped.::
::Strike had long since silenced the screaming in his ears and gathered himself, hoping to attack and avoid most of the assault, but as he leapt into action, bringing Wrath and Destruction up from his sides to strike, he realised that was exactly what Coren had wanted him to do. ****.::
"Took you long enough, old friend!"
::With that, Corens upstretched hands, lunged foreward, releasing the massive, planet-shattering attack in all it's destructive glory upon Strike who, without time to raise his defenses, found himself flung toward the ground once more. The energies enveloped him, searing into and through nearly every inch of his bieng. He could smell his beautiful feathered wings frying. His flesh sizzled as tendrils of burning white energy ensnared him and exploded, ripping flesh from bone only to be rewrapped and flayed again, that is until he made contact with the ground, at which time the entire effigee combusted in a grand white semi-shpere, it's color and size resembling a small white star wreaking havoc upon the planet and, Coren hoped, doing even worse to his opponent. He had little reason to hope as Strike's tortured screams were overcome by the booming rumble of the planet's shuddering. Though he needed no air, Coren breathed hard with the effort, out of reflex, watching the miniature supernova he'd summoned do it's work. He flowated daintily to the ground and stared, peering deep into the grand semi-sphere to find any indication of life or movement, though he doubted there would be any. Still, Strike was one of the most resourceful people he had ever known, and it was always best to err on the side of saftey.::[/COLOR]
Remember one thing. For now, Coren's intangible, but not for long. Trust me.
[COLOR="Navy"]As, in his newly regenerated form, Strike experienced the searing pain of mortality. As is his weakness in thinking, the pain brought about more memories of pain, which only amplified the experience for bad. Any defenses he might have conjured to his aid were useless in this state of mind, and thusly, he was hopelessly doomed; because he felt that way.
[COLOR="LightGreen"]"This pain I feel... all I do is feel it, and spread it to people. I call myself a holy messenger, from the Order of Heaven... but all I do is spread this sickness, this disease of hurt..."[/COLOR]
[COLOR="red"]"Well what will you do about it?"[/COLOR]
[COLOR="lightgreen"]"Do? All I do is hurt people. What can I do? I'm not worth saving..."[/COLOR]
[COLOR="red"]"Save? Who are we to save? Rise up and strike down your foe, as is your NAME!"[/COLOR]
[COLOR="red"]"Well then I WILL!!!"[/COLOR]
I am Báalzamon. My home is the darkness, and through a mere misfortune, I became banished to the darkness within Strike. My job, my very instinct if you will, is to protect my "Master" and ensure his survival. They call it a calling. I call it a slave's charge. They call it redemption, I call it bul1sh!t.
And so I awoke into pain. No biggie, I'm used to that. It takes a lot of weakening Strike's resolve before I gain control like this, and that usually means awakening into some pithy mortal condition. I brushed it aside. Oooh, I had my wings out... well that's nice, this could be fun. I looked down at my sword hand. A fiery sword eh? No, two! Not bad... not bad at all... at least it wasn't that wimpy flower sword.
I looked about me and tsked.
[COLOR="red"]"Well now, this dome of energy just won't do!"[/COLOR]
And so I got rid of it. In a flurry of my hand the energy dissapated, coiling in broken tendrils of silver smoke, thrown by an aura of pure blackness that had snaked up about myself. I stretched my wings in a flurry, shedding white feathers into the air as they were replaced by blackness. The residue of Strike was fading.
I saw before me a young man, with blonde hair. My fiery red eyes reflected in his sapphire ones, and I grinned.
[COLOR="Red"]"A friend of Strike's no doubt? I say that boy is so Naieve... never knows how to pick friends that aren't out to kill him. He tells me it's all good sport, but he is SO young you know. Well, since he's not around to stop me, I think I'll do him a favor and remove you from the list of threats to his name."[/COLOR]
I shot forward in a blur of red and black, the two swords of flame exploding into life as they sliced through the young man before me. Except they sliced nothing but air. I adjusted my eyes... these mortal ones are SO high maintenance. "Aaah," I murmered to myself as I scanned the higher planes. A being of Spirit. Well, that makes things different, but not necessarily hard. He can't retain that form in this mortal existance long...
In the split second it took for me to see my error I'd flung my arm behind me, swords suspended mid-air and pointed behind me at ready to spring and the man... because that is they're nature, they obey my instincts. For a moment it seemed nothing happened, but soon enough a chasm opened beneath the Spirit warrior opposite me, and a thick band of smoke arose from the hellfire beneath. It formed into a clawed hand, which seized the man in it's rutheless grasp, and began to slowly drag his soul into the depths of hell.
He seemed unpreterbed for a moment before he realized this hold would not break easily. He began to struggle, and a sickening emotion of fairness sprung up from my chest. (Side effect from sharing this body I'm afraid.) And before I could suppress it, a voice exploded from my mouth.
[COLOR="Red"]"WELL! My dear opponent! Your temporary time in this life is swiftly coming to a close. Your soul cannot retain form here for long, and so as I see it you've got a very limited choice. You can move on to judgement, or resign yourself to hell. Unless you have a body you're about to pull from thin air, which I must admit, though unlikely, is theoretically a possibility..."[/COLOR][/COLOR]
::Coren's ethereal form shook and floundered against it's captor, largely ignoring the comments from what he supposed was Strike's Superego, Ba'alzamon or somesuch. He groaned and snarled, twisting in the incessant grip, his transparent body obscured by the thick, inky smoke curled about him. With a final grunt, he freed his sword hand cackling wickedly.::
"I'll see you in Hell then, Tainted One!"
::With that, Coren flung Absolution like an oversized shuriken with deadly accuracy toward the man who had been Strike, though his attack was almost effortlessly sidestepped. Coren smiled. This was not Strike. Strike would have at least payed attention to the blade after it passed his peripheral vision. But, then again, Strike knew that the only aspect of the White Angel that was real at this moment, was indeed the sword.::
::With a last scream, the maw of Hell swallowed the White Angel, his form slowly sinking into the ground, leaving the crater behind to cave in upon itself in a grand explosion of glittering shards of obsidian and brimstone.::[/COLOR]
[COLOR="Red"]Well...that would be that then.[/COLOR]
[COLOR="DeepSkyBlue"]::With a barely audible chuckle, Ba'alzamon clapped his hands upon one another to free them of some imaginary dust and turned to walk away...
...just in time to catch Absolution's blade sliding into his chest, to the hilt. A quick twist of the handle sent an explosive shockwave through Ba;alzamon's very bones, oblitterating his sternum. As his eyes grew wide he caught the face of his attacker, none other than a smug, semi-transparent Coren.::
"I seem to remember some quip about Strike's inequity..."
::Absolution slid from it's victim's shattered chest, and Coren spun, Absolution gliding in a wide horizontal arc as Coren twisted the handle yet again, sending the flat of Absolution's blade slamming squarely and violently into the beleagured Ba'alzamon's cheek. It was a simple matter to contort the kinetic energy of the blow, in order to send Ba'alzamon crumpling downward into the ground at full force rather than sending him rocketing into the stratosphere. Coren would satisfy himself with pain before adding insult.::
"At least HE would never have fallen for such sappy acting."[/COLOR]
The flame of Wrath of Destruction leapt into the air as I growled a retort. Cheeky human. My humanoid body bled from the chest, it was a different kind of sensation; I guess this is what we call pain. Interesting. My life force drained from my exposed skin, and finally I began to realize I couldn't have THAT continue much longer, so I burned the flesh of my chest to stop the bleeding. There, that's better.
I turned toward my opponent and hurled the firey blades, both spinning wildly through the air like wheels of flame. They both landed at the pithy human's feet, blades stuck in the ground, darkness spreading instantly from the impact. The darkness spread quickly, terraforming the entire land until both me and this spiritual manifestation stood surrounded by utter blackness, where a dark cloud hung between us omitting a paleish glow, nevertheless being utterly dark. Purplish lightning crackled within the clouds, as the flaming swords leapt into the air and caught within the arcs of energy. The blades melted into blackness, spinning as two black, very sharp crescents, liquified into energy form, which accellerated through the air and plummeted into the White Angel's spirit.
The blackness seeped throughout the spirit's manifestation, stealing from him the precious glow of his soul as it was darkened, tainted, even damaged. The dark cloud drifted over, lightning arcing between the two crescent blades and shocking Coren with pulsing blackness, as Absolution dropped from his grip. He could no longer weild the sword, not in this state of spiritual sickness.
Will get at this soon Strike...Christine problems...totally fux up my flow.
*bows with arm held outward* by all means, continue... XD
[COLOR="DeepSkyBlue"]::Even as the inky black storm brooded around them, and the wrath of the heavens themselves seemed to be rending his soul asunder, an expression of calm serenity could be seen across the White Angel's delicate features. Even as this new devilry defiled him, leaving in it's wake inky black nothingness, Coren's foe stood in utter bewilderment. He had sent forth a torrent of dark energies the like of which could sever the life-force of this entire planet, yet the Angel seemed almost...happy.::
::Indeed, as Coren lost himself in deep concentration, a smile crept upon his face. He reached out with his mind, toward the heavens, stretching forth his bieng to touch the bery stars. And surely the stars answered. In his state of bewilderment, Ba'alzamon barely noted the muted cacaphony of pebbles amidst his feet as the ground began to quiver, reality itself trembling in the presence of some vast, unseen force. He did, however, note Coren's smile twisting into a rictus snarl as the sky split asunder, flooding their battleground with blinding white light, so intense was this heavenly illumination that Ba'alzamon's skin began itching uncontrollably, the fluids at it's surface evaporating with the heat. A low growl escaped Coren's lips as the massive white collumn began to condense about him, shattering the spiritual web that powered the lightning, and flinging it's energies into infinity. Coren's avaricious snarl intensified into a raucus howl as the vast, raw, untamed emergies he'd gathered coalesced about him, his very presence enveloped with scorching light and heat, searing Ba'alzamon's eyes even through his tightly clenched eyelids. And, thus blinded, it took only a moment of silence to discover that The White Angel was approaching.::
"The impudence! The unadulterated gall! To think you could so easily quench the light of an Archangel incarnate! I AM life! As much so as your little black heart! And I am death. A thing you shall taste so very soon, Evil one."
::Then, all was quiet for long moments, as Ba'alzamon braced himself for the coming onslaught. No manner of preparation could ready himself for what came, however.::
::The first sickening blow came upward into his stomach. He could scarcely tell whether it had been a fist or a freight train that had slammed into the soft tissues below his ribcage, and buried itself just below his heart. His skin had not been rent, but his innards screamed. The next blow blasted through his left kneecap, severing shin from thigh. It was with some morbid fascination he listened to hear his leg flop to the fround, some yards away. His disembodied thoughs snapped to the here and now as a grip like death itself crushed his throat, lifting him from his off-ballance fall. He could feel the White Angel's sweet breath on his cheeks and hear the vicious growl emanating from his throat. His own was creaking and collapsing under the tremendous strain. He moved to free himself, but in that same instant a blow like none he'd ever felt before slammed squarely into his nose, flattening it to his cheeks. The blow itself had been reinforced by vast energies, and pain reverberated from his forehead to the nape of his neck and back again. Thrice more did Coren's fist fly, devastating all it touched. Pure, raw energy prying Ba'alzamon's mind from reality itself. If he hadn't been blinded, he would be by now, surely.::
:: He hadn't even the mental faculties to note the assault had ceased, as Coren flung him to the ground, watching his limp form tumble thither with marked satisfaction.::
::Coren gathered himself, straightening his stance and turning on a heel, grinning as he bent to once again wrap his hand around Absolution's familiar silver handle. it sang as it rose from the ground, revelling in reconnecting to it's master. ::
"Do what you will demon. Soon you shall see my true power, and writhe in agony as have so many before you. My advice: let Strike handle this. You're not up to the challenge."[/COLOR]
*** I'm out of practice...
[color=lightgreen]“All these 'thee's and 'thou's are making me dizzy” it wasn't the demon's voice, it was Strike's. And yet, those eyes... shone with the same fiery light as the demon, Ba'alzamon.
“I'm... not done, Strike”, said the demon, his eyes averting sideways as if talking to someone behind him.
“Ah, well... I suppose... a little longer,” said Strike thoughtfully.
“Thank you, Master...” the demon spoke, and turned to Coren, kneeling pathetically in a pool of blood.
“And YOU speak of Impudence, you slimy git. You talk of holiness and death, and for what, as a result of your injury? There is only one bringer of death for me, for I have already been conquered once by a White Angel... purchased by his mercy. Because he could have scattered me to the winds and yet he showed mercy, he is yet much holier than you could ever hope to become... and he did not face me on the mere selfish pithy matter of revenging past wounds, but to save others. I am here to guard his merciful heart, and as long as Strike lives on... I shall never die again, except by his own hand. I am his, not your, responsibility, White Angel.” Ba'alzamon crawled slowly to his feet as he spoke, his clothes charred, cut, and blood-stained until they were not much more than mere rags.
“You speak of death, hiding behind the guise of holiness... and yet you know nothing of it. Learn to separate your personal battles from your righteous ones, cocky angel, before your own holy gift consumes your life through the blackness of your frail heart.”
Ba'alzamon brought his hands together, the dancing fiery blades of both Wrath and Judgement twisting into a maelstorm of heat. The conflagration intensified as flame congealed into steel, the halberd's blade glinting blood red from the death rune written on it's side. The edge of the formidible weapon extended downward for three feet, extending over the two hands which gripped it's handle. This nameless weapon of merciless death not meant to block or parry, but merely to crush, slice, and overpower. The death rune etched into it's side began to glow as if from it's own light, it's own desire for blood, and the demon laughed heartily at the irony of the situation.
“Pithy human! You may have received a gift, and once upon a time your motives may have been pure... but you have lost the humility of your heart to the pride of your stinking' mortal mind... and thus you are powerless before me. Let me demonstrate...”[/color]
Ah I'll post more tomorrow, it's too early for me to do this well... not only am I rusty, but my mind is swimming lol, but I wanted to get you something to feast your eager eyes on as I prepared for the real thing. So, here's some cheesey dialogue.
OOC: I truly am sorry I never finished that post, but originally this was all I had left to write - but between our shinigami posts and everything else I saw no reason to revive this battle QUITE yet. However, at a second glance, I cannot leave this wonderful post unfinished forever... I'd like to archive whatever battles I can find on this board, finished or no, and It'd be a true pity to leave this attack undone.
A blistering inferno, or the dull thud of an executioner's axe; it was hard for the human senses to gather which, if not both, fell upon the mighty head of the archangel. The wild swing of the formidable halberd, whose heavy war-axe head's edge was keener than diamonds, cleaved the angel on seven plains, spiritual, mental, physical, and other plains which defy description. The cut began at the upper left shoulder, obliterated the heart, and sank through the stomach, cutting it's way out again.
It was only by the angel's movement of blinding speed that he was not cut clean into two pieces, but still he was cut, and the large gash exposed his inner self in the most humiliating way. The light at his brow dimmed with the light in his eyes, life-blood and spirit flowing freely into cold space, not to be recovered. A shockwave of blasting heat warped the atmosphere, detonating into a fulmination that could be seen quite clearly from space.
White-hot heat and radiation coated the earth's surface for miles around, and in the center of it stood Ba'alzamon; laughing, laughing... relishing the death of the angel incarnate.