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Lorekeeper -> RE: =EC 2019= Fountain Arena (8/2/2019 18:15:08)
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Through their nearly ceaseless struggle, the Beast had learned much about its counterpart. In truth, the creature already felt as though it understood the Man better than he knew himself. How could it not, when it did not waste time and effort carving at its own mind? But as the two migrated, the Man’s behavior changed in ways that made little sense.
Over time, he gained strength. At his own pace, stunted by reluctance, he learned to keep the Beast at the fringe of his thoughts.
Despite this advantage, he insisted on solitude. This suited the Beast just as well, but it nonetheless understood that he persisted in acting in a manner that wore on him. That it did not understand. Was it fear? Fear that it might hurt others like him? This emotion, so shrouded in more of his excessive words, seemed to be the root of his bizarre behaviors. When pressed into the same situation more than once, the Beast adapted. Learned. Why did the Man not understand the simplicity of this, then? If they were to fight, the Beast would hunt and fight as survival demanded. If others prevailed, that would be the end of it.
Worse still; if he felt such a fear, why did he still drift towards the clashes of his kind? Time after time, the walls trembled from the clamor of steel, the rending of flesh and the ensuing rush of blood. And time after time, he insisted on that word. Burned it into the walls until even it was forced to understand it.
Mercy. Such pointless complication. Either there was a point in killing, or there wasn’t. Either he wanted to, or he didn’t. The Beast knew better than to let wounded prey go, for they could rise with its own strength if given the chance. It likewise knew when there was no need to hunt or fight.
The Man was a fool. He denied all that they had in common, even when it hindered their continued survival.
Yet there were times when he couldn’t, even if the Beast was bereft of the moon’s draw. Times when he couldn’t help but think and feel as it did. When the two were closer than any struggle could bring them.
No matter how much he tried to hide it, the Man hated being denied prey just as much as the Beast did...
Patience.
During Van’s formative years, patience was a virtue that instructors and relatives alike went to great lengths to instill on the young boy. Since no single Maradan could live as enduring of a life as the wyrm whose legacy was the foundation of their clan, they were to learn to weigh their choices against an ancestry born at the dawn of the millennium, and a noble future that would stretch beyond its sunset. To be mindful of the present, yes, but to nonetheless learn to make moments of the hours and days of the seasons. The lesson fell on deaf ears.
The consequences of ignoring that lesson proved a more effective teacher. Slow, ruthless, yet flawlessly effective. Hours were now truly moments to him. Seasons could easily feel like mere days, especially when the Beast was wakeful.
But now that patience was slipping. It drained away far faster than the liquid making a death trap out of the stone floor and a drenched mess out of his bloodied figure.
It was in this one moment where all of the unraveling threads of his life crossed once again. His legacy hinged on this singular chance to face overwhelming odds where the eyes of the Lords converged. To be worthy, or forever Moon-Broken. He had no choice but to prove himself to the most demanding of gazes.
The masked demon had certainly pushed him to exert himself, but his victory could be far more easily attributed to opportunity than prowess. As essential as it was to accept the shifting balance on both in the battlefield, it would not do here. Van needed opportunities to prove himself... And these chances seemed bent on slipping away from him. First as the hesitant angel turned her back after laying waste to his armor, now as his temporary ally drew the attention of every other combatant.
Van drew his arms forward with another sweeping motion, finding a measure of catharsis in making a show of slamming both palms into thin air. The force wall advanced abruptly, moving only a short distance but still straining Van enough to curl his upper lip from a sneer into a strained scowl. Now overlapping with the retreating dragonkin, it accelerated her backwards leap enough to significantly extend the distance to the point where she might land on the angel or slam into the increasingly irritated warrior himself.
At any other time, Van might have been more courteous. But standing at the vehement heights of exasperation, he was so devoid of patience as to immediately reach for the airborne woman’s tail with an iron grip and pull towards his side in an attempt to completely remove her from the charging warrior’s path and ensure that she would land at his side rather than something more disastrous.
As one would expect, the maneuver was not taken kindly, even after being released. The dragonkin was hardly done directing an indignant noise his way when the scales of her tail bristled in response, quickly scraping off the leather protection from Van’s hand. Far from done lashing out, she was already bringing daggers to bear well before her talons connected with the ground. Sparks promptly flew as Van deliberately thrust his forearm into the point where the daggers converged, aiding its speed with his mind so as to interpose the severely rusted armguard — Which was promptly bent out of shape and dislodged, then forcefully hurled in the opposite direction.
Evidently offended, perhaps wondering if Van had a mind to take their alliance a presumptuous step too far, the scaled fighter clearly had a mind to press the assault. However, she tentatively stopped when Van nodded in the direction of the averted danger and uttered a harsh, equally livid word of warning:
“Wait.”
Fun. They spoke of fun. In a generation of heroes both exalted and fallen, of tribulations both fell and divine, Van was incensed - Even if irrationally so at this point - at the mere mention of it. Doubly so after the gold-wracked angel’s display of apparent naivete.
This is what hundreds of years have led me to. I’ve run for hundreds of years. Endured as every western kingdom evaporated, until I couldn’t even remember the last Maradan that was still true to the Wyrm. And now that I’m finally here, I find this... Bedlam. I’ve had...
He swept his right hand to the left as if meaning to tear at the air, erecting another plane of force where the prior one had disappeared. As its shimmer distorted the air from right to left, his thoughts erupted into words:
"Enough. No more games. Forget your 'fun'. Interloper or not, the dragonkin is mine."
Even as he said this, however, the warrior in question was beginning to warily back away from him, watching carefully for his next move.
"Thirteen crowns. Thirteen crowns spent gathering the strength for this day, and even more lost to the fog. Centuries since I forsook the Dragon Throne. And now every chance to prove myself is disgraced like this. I will not have this day ruined. Return to your duel, warriors."
While the spear wielder seemed baffled about what to make of the situation, his heavily armored counterpart appeared to silently acquiesce. Van shifted his gaze between the two and the angel, a stiff countenance concealing his strain.
“Hmm... I didn’t quite expect that.” said the latter, caught amid the perplexing and the perplexed.
Projecting a second wall before the strain from the preceding one had the slightest chance to fade was clearly bothering him, and one could certainly question the wisdom of overexerting himself just to metaphorically draw a line in the sand. Even so, it was clearly not the end of how far he would be willing to go to secure his promised duel with the dragonkin.
She, in turn, finally growled out a less bladed reaction:
"If you ever touch my tail again, I swear to all that is sacred; I will tear out your throat."
“You’ll get your chance, Red. We agreed on that much. But first...” Van’s eyes locked on the now rising angel, some of whose golden flows were halted by slowly sealing skin. “What will you do?”
Perhaps he had upset the angel beyond words, or she had finally taken his words to heart, for there was no space for words of hesitation in what unraveled over the next few seconds:
Twirling with grace and speed that belied the sheer strength of her further enhanced legs, she swiftly built up momentum for a sword strike that cleaved down toward the right side of Van’s neck. Even when recognizing every motion of the strike, it’s all he can do to spin Mercy out of its scabbard and mentally reinforce his grip to keep his defense from immediately faltering under the exceptional speed and strength.
Even with much of Sera’s enhanced strength promptly subsiding, she had enough time left to quickly spin once again and perform a sweeping horizontal slash that Van expected greater force from, but was nonetheless forced to take far more seriously. The angel clearly wielded her weapon with the grace that he’d carried Mercy with so far — And with her kind of speed, Van was once again put in a position where not deciding the engagement in moments could spell his end.
Van enveloped his body and weapon in his mind’s grip, countering with a downward slash that met only steel. However, altering his weapon’s momentum with finely tuned manipulation from multiple points, he was able to realign it and preserve speed. Mercy drew an eight-figure that spun about each side before abruptly turning at an unnaturally sharp angle to preemptively throw Sera’s greatsword well off-guard. In the blink of an eye, however, she turned with the forced momentum and planted a heel directly into Van’s side. Wide eyes and a wide dent spoke to the strike’s effectiveness; a better placed kick could have easily broken some ribs if not for the now even more battered chest plate.
As the executioner’s sword came close to claiming the offending leg, both combatants realized that one good strike could decide this fight. The executioner’s sword was momentarily rendered a grey blur as Van sought a higher angle of attack, and Sera drew in close to force his arms apart with a carefully positioned defensive application of her... Hair. Both, however, promptly had to lean back as a chakram cut the air inbetween them — It seemed the dragonkin had grown inpatient. But with the interruption came the opportunity Van needed: A shimmer of force built up over Sera and crashed down on her, forcing her off-balance. A second wound up as she staggered, gathering its full power and descending upon her stumbling body just as she finally noticed the distortion’s source.
Sera was on her back once again, with Mercy looming over her as Van’s mind recoiled. In spite of his earlier ire, there was a soft hint to his voice again as he all but pleaded:
“You’re strong. Stronger than I am. But you lack experience, and you still doubt. Your life is worth more than this attempt. Please.”
Her response was quiet, softly dejected but willing to reach an understanding. Surrender was met with an offered hand, propping up the oddly heavy angel with an encouraging pat. With the second of his denied battles concluded, Van turned to meet eyes with the expectant dragonkin.
“Now then.”
“Finally ready for that dance? I owe you one... or two.” His opponent beckoned with one hand, backing away onto slippery terrain and supporting herself with a closer alignment of her magnetic anchor points. With that preparation and another dagger held at the ready, freshly sheathed and drawn once again, it was far from difficult to notice the deliberate opening. Nobody with her degree of skill would sheathe a blade so briefly without some manner of concealed oil or coating to rely on. Further, having observed a correlation between her own enhanced maneuvering and the alignment of her weapons, he could easily deduce that the slippery terrain posed no disadvantage to the dragonkin at the time.
...But sometimes there was no better way to deal with a trap than stepping directly into it.
Van rushed directly ahead, offering himself to the sudden approach of poisoned daggers before abruptly lowering his stance and sliding sideways in a semicircle around his opponent. Now close enough to put theory into practice, Van grasped at one of the floating bearings with his mind and gave it a very forceful shove in the direction of the others. Satisfied at the ensuing stumbling, he brought Mercy around his own back to pass it to his left hand and slice for his opponent’s back. Unfortunately, she was already lashing back with sufficient skill and fortune to deflect the sharply angled strike upwards, while another dagger drew a red line through part of the flesh exposed by Sera’s earlier blast of radiance. Now rising towards a more rapidly moving target, the executioner’s sword would only draw a shallow cut after being rendered almost parallel to the defending scales.
The opportunity had not fully passed, however, and Van was adamant to keep this foe from regaining balance in time to put her powerful tail to use. Before fully passing by her side, he mustered another torrent of force that crashed into her side without a moment left to spare — Had he risked aiming a second bolt, that tail could have easily put his lights out.
The impact opened a leap’s distance between them, and it was precisely in such a manner that the gap was immediately closed as the chakram’s altered path allowed its wielder to quickly swing back around and meet Van before he could turn to move the freshly damaged arm out of the way. A second, albeit shallow, cut sent a shuddering spasm throughout its muscles, seeming to create an opening with which the momentum the dragonkin added to her orbiting chakram could propel it directly into... a peculiar collision with Mercy.
With its wielding arm compromised, the executioner’s sword had continued moving through a telekinetic grip. Forced to focus wholly on his body and weapon, Van flung the latter upward into a defensive position from which to later resume a physical assault. However, rather than collide with the chakram, the weapon became awkwardly stuck inside it.
It was unclear who was more baffled by the ensuing struggle, but both combatants seemed to almost forget about each other amid their simultaneous attempts to retrieve their respective weapons. Rattling in place, the blades were a floating battlefield of their own that redoubled in intensity when both realized that it was best to try to keep an opponent’s weapon from them than to singlemindedly focus on retrieving one’s own. That particular war would have no victor, however, as the combatants’ attempts to counter each other’s applications of force eventually spiraled out of scale and flung both weapons well beyond the reach of either wielder.
Stoicism had departed Van’s demeanor entirely at that point; the Moon-Broken was torn between yet more irritation and being genuinely impressed at the development.
The dragonkin was quicker to react, all but pouncing on the spot while trying to force her foe toward her and into a low angle through drawing at the metal in his body. Self-applied telekinesis afforded Van significant resistance, but he was nonetheless slowed down enough to find daggers lodging into the straps securing his chest plate. Thinking two steps ahead, the dragon blooded warrior moved to quickly get rid of the protective advantage that would soon increase in value after the loss of primary weapons. Since her opponent guarded his vitals instead, the strike area was clear — It was a worthy trade to miss out on a slim chance at a prompt finishing blow to secure a greater one for the remainder of the fight. She did, however, get far more than she bargained for.
Van was quick to realize the Shieldforged’s goal and slammed a foot down to come to an abrupt halt. He had meant to lean further into the motion and launch into a tackle, but as his armor was now fully compromised... It was time to discard it entirely. Before the targeted straps could be severed, every other fastening snapped open. The dragonkin had a moment to process her surprise before torn leather and corroded steel both flew forwards and over her head, wrenching the now-lodged daggers from her grasp and tumbling through the air towards the rushing water beyond.
Although livid growling ensued, the Shieldforged warrior was reluctantly impressed. When the two gave each other some distance in preparation, she glanced over the curiously thin arrangement of scar tissue lining her opponent’s now bare torso. By all indications, such injuries should have been crippling or deforming if they were at all recent - An oddity further highlighted by the contrast with trickling blood and the arena’s own bubbles being recklessly popped with each rush.
”I did not expect you to be that ugly under there.” She teased, smirking as she judged the next opening.
Van normally held a fairly grim countenance during battle. Cracking wise was far from a common attitude for him. But this particular battle was wearing his already thin veneer of stoicism to dust, and this particular opponent had a way of making him want to fire back.
"I should have figured that was where your mind had been."
The counter to his own retort came in the form of a magnetic pull upon his shinguards. However, Van was completely prepared this time — They constituted the majority of what little metal remained on his person, and so he was now keeping them well in mind. Both combatants drew close once again, raising their hands to put their all into yet more attempts at interference... but locked gazes instead. In that moment, it became apparent to both that this stalemate would persist for entirely too long.
“You quit wasting my time and I’ll quit wasting yours.” Her words expressed Van’s own point most succinctly, and so he simply nodded, changing his stance to something more befitting of an outright brawl. The floating bearings shuddered in place, then clattered to the ground to signal an agreement that appeared to both please and amuse the dragonkin.
Van assumed that she saw either entertainment or outright superiority in hand to hand combat. The latter thought had crossed his mind - Her anatomical advantage was undeniable. Legs like hers could allow her to spring into motion with far greater initial force than his own, the talons would allow a good kick to tear right into his now exposed upper body, and that tail could be devastating if given any range advantage. He could not afford to leave any gap - And she clearly knew this, as she met his approach by attempting to ram her head directly into his face.
The Moon-Broken promptly ducked. ...Was he seriously insane enough to try and butt heads when her own was much stronger? Fortunately for his skull, he instead launched forward and slightly off to the side, trying to throw his arms around Nadia and initiate a grapple that pressed an arm against the kindly offered head. Even through this attempt, the collision was still strong enough to force his breath out in a loud grunt, followed by words growled out through gritted teeth:
”Up close and personal it is.”
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