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Aged Gaian

Dragosani Kain



Damon had intended to plant his right heel on his old friends forehead, gracefully as one might land upon the surface of a stepping stone. Rattling his friends brains might cause him to come back to his senses, maybe reign in the madness that was so quickly gripping him.

Kain had other ideas.

Seconds before impact, Damon knew that he would be countered. Kain neatly positioned his wings and performed a backflip, kicking out his right leg and using the momentum to collide his shin into the underside of Damon's leg. Human warriors would be too wracked with stress and lack of focus to be able to strike so precisely -- Kain had the reflexes, concentration and calmness to land his strike right on the mark -- for he was no ordinary warrior, but an infernal creature with finely tuned senses and a supernatural gift for battle.

For a split instant the two combatants legs collided with a percussion of cloth, armor and ethereal sparks. Damon, suspended and balanced by his telekinetic energy, rolled with the force of the kick and whipped himself backwards through the air. However, as his went about his backflip, Damon willed telekinetic energy through his left leg and swung it out. This resulted in a crescent-shaped wave of pressurized force being released at near point blank into Kain's lower-middle back. He was in for a hurt back and a face-plant.

Damon controlled his body with his telekinesis and neatly landed on the ground facing Kain's assumed direction. His leg had been busted pretty hard, but he refused to show the effects of the pain shooting up into his hip. Thankfully nothing felt broken and the pain would subside soon enough.
Caught in the inertia of his back flips Kain was exposed to the powerhouse of Damon's kick, crashing down into the burdening muck. His mouth tasted grit and the treaded earth with pleasure, nostalgia hit him harder as the motions of a fight came flooding in. He felt a couple fractures under the pressure, giving him that all-too-familiar feeling in his floating ribs. The shock filled the infernal berserker with delight, Kain savoured this moment as those he had before, using the pain as fuel to his fire.

HA!

Like a whirling dervish he pushed himself from the ground with force enough to sink mud around his hands and knees; Gaia's protest at his tainted corruption willing itself on her body. Iridescent crimson flames shrouded Kain in hellish feathers, the great expanse of his wings were a crawling conflagration eager to be fed. The Devil twisted himself to set blazing blue eyes unto Damon, a toothy grin expressing ecstasy of playing this game once more.

He wasted little time, knowing all the seconds of a fight were measured beats, each player thrumming along the staff to reach their crescendo. Kain bolted towards the Psionic, talons poised to sink into that flesh, repay the pain so that they can live this experience together. His wings outstretched, parallel with the ground, he charged. His left arm crossed his chest in anticipation of a kinetic blast from his friend, his right arm out wide with his wing, ready to embrace Damon in a fiery tackle directly at his chest.

Aged Gaian

Dragosani Kain


Damon judged the distance around him and mentally mapped how much space he would have to counter, intercept or evade. The first rule of survival is having a plan, otherwise panic will result. From what Damon knew of Kain's fighting style, he was a berserker at heart -- he'd be wanting to close the distance and slash with those claws. Damon was expecting this, but one could never be sure. All the psion could do was remain calm and determined to stay alive.

The psion put up both his fists and slid his lead foot forward, allowing Kain to enter his mentally established sphere of influence. Rather than retreat and be knocked over, Damon created a "cushion" of telekinetic force between the two of them. He used no physical gesture to create it, and just looked like a man standing behind a barely visible wall of thin, blue tinted glass.

Kain, should he continue to tackle, would ram right into this invisible force as though slamming himself into the broad surface of a steel shield. Once the devil's momentum had been stopped, Damon would send a straight punch into the center of the shield and create a "blast" of telekinetic force. That's when he'd try to unleash hell -- moving in for a second straight punch, aimed right for the center of the devil's face. He had to be weary of getting blood on him though... any sort of "cutting" pressure would end badly for him.
Truest Valor

Kain had collided with the barrier, slowing his advance to a halt. Having in mind such an attack he had mentally prepared for impact, his muscles braced as he neared the Psionic but managed to be jarred against the wall. His own force of will pressured against the wall, in attempt to continue the charge he was slowed to a harsh restrictive push. That is, until the shield shoved him back.

The plan of tackling was immediately shut down, Kain's attempt at breaking through the wall was certainly not going to work, not when he was being forced into a 'retreat'. He braced against the flow and allowed his flames grow furious, accenting themselves with a greater output of heat and body. Damon's follow-up attack would certainly need to be re-evaluated as Kain's wings came flying in with his own fist rising to meet the punch fist-to-fist, or, fist-to-barrier.

Fire blew free of their attachment on Kain, finding the advance he couldn't make against the momentum of Damon's barrier. This would be a demonstration of titans clashing as the burning iridescence flared against the psionic wall, Kain's feet planted against the mud piled on his heels he would meet Damon head on, his left hand open to accept Damon's punch should he continue. Though, more should be thought of the blistering heat that would be radiating, all that threatened both combatants would be the unseen, however, through gnashing teeth, Kain would hold his position.

Aged Gaian

Dragosani Kain


Kain's fist slammed into Damon's fist, with a localized portion of the telekinetic barrier being the only thing to prevent the psions fist from being shattered to the wrist. Ripples of energy and flames ran up the length of both warriors arms.

For a single moment Damon looked into Kain's eyes -- infernal blue staring back into stormy gray. Damon's expression was one of calm and non-thought, as he immediately followed through with his second straight punch to Kain's face. Only for it to be intercepted by an infernal hand and tightly gripped.

Entering into a grappling situation with Kain was opening the door and inviting disaster---Damon immediately willed a "burst" of telekinetic energy through his right hand, which would hopefully open the devil's hand by force. At the same time, Damon sent a third straight punch with his left hand towards the devils face. He'd keep punching and punching until he was free or intercepted.

The psion did not want to enter a grappling situation, and he certainly didn't want to stand next to the open flame for longer than he had to.
Truest Valor

The thrill of meeting his foe so close in proximity filled him elation, drawing on the ebb and flow of combat. Nothing was so pure an exchange. Yes, this was that feeling, too long of having to scrape 'champions' of nations conquered for a similar boost of morale; meager opponents left the Devil dry and empty, devoid of pleasure and subjected to ennui.

Kain's arm reeled from the burst of Damon's kinetic PAWNCH , his talons flew from from his fingers as they two were forced away from the attack, hyper-extending with the force and breaking them at their joints. The leather jacket on his left arm rippled and had torn their form to tatters, the arm was lost to him for the moment, numb from the blast and broke his stance.

However, he took the opportunity to thrust his right hand to catch at Damon's right elbow, ducking low to thrust his shoulder into the man's chest, Kain's wing moving to hook the Psion under his left arm and then move to shoulder-roll the two to the ground. The mass of the Devil meant to collapse on top of his opponent and mangle against the muddied sod.

Aged Gaian

Dragosani Kain


Flesh and cloth were violently torn from Kain's arm. Telekinetic energy flowing along the length of the tattered limb and left it coated in a residual opalescent glow. Almost at the same time as he began to pull back his right arm, he sent his straight punch into Kain's face -- only for it to be interrupted by the devil suddenly grasping his right elbow and ramming his shoulder into his chest. Damon gasped and tried to hold his balance by sliding his right leg back and bending on his left lead foot. Damon remained calm and kept channeling his telekinetic energy, forming the image of a blade in his mind.

Kain's wing came down upon him, and the last thing Damon wanted at the moment was to get knocked or yanked off balance. His left hand, now hovering just near Kain's right shoulder, was in just the right position to take that wing off. Yes. Off. Damon instantly formed the mental image of a blade in motion, and whipped his left hand horizontally into the middle of the wing, creating an opalescent-tinted wave of force to SLASH through the wing. The stream of force could also divert some of the blood away from him, but he was no doubt going to get it spilled on him.

If Kain went through with his shoulder roll -- even if he lost that part of his wing -- Damon would twist with the direction of his slashing motion and attempt to slam his elbow into Kain's cheek as he went crashing to the ground onto his left shoulder. Damon had consciously attempted to control his fall that way to avoid being splashed with blood from Kain's wing. Kain was a savage warrior, so having him end up in any sort of advantageous position would end in a real bloody mess...
Truest Valor

The chilling sensation of pain coursed through his back as his wing was separated from his body, the surge of its amputation rushed through his veins adding as fuel to infernal fire. Taking Damon off of his feet and into the roll he was, again, met with the sensation of opening flesh alongside his face. Blood and furious zeal washed them both, leaving the grounded two as a mess previously described.

Kain followed the direction his momentum the roll, leaving a bloodied imprint of his travels coming to his feet. He jaunted forward to space them apart, heavy foots falls accenting the exertion of clashes. Admitting to himself the surprise Damon would so blatantly spill his blood was a ballsy move, respectful, and ballsy. Not keeping a turned back for long on the other, he situated himself to stand with his ragged arm between them.

Collective puddles began to run reddish in hue, lapping up with the skies gentle kisses. Overcast drew an ominous atmosphere, giving the scene a grimness reserved for horror stories. A one winged Devil glistening in the rain, a visage of gore, fangs and an unhallowed aura. Across from him a cleaner portrait of a man, save for the taint of Devil blood running amongst fabric, yet, it didn't seem to 'dirty' him. Perhaps this was just a clearer view of matters, Damon was incorruptible and Kain was a creature married to indulgence.

Nothing should ever be so clear when it came to Devilkin.

Aged Gaian

End over end they tumbled, each one getting covered in a thick layer of mud and blood. Damon grabbed a handful of Kain's shirt as they tumbled, and kept the roll going as to not come to a stop with the wounded devil on top of him. Kain abandoned the roll and tossed himself away, with Damon scrambling up behind him and backpedaling to avoid any retaliation from the devils barbed tail.

Now the two stood across from each other, eyes locked. Blood poured from where the upperhalf of Kain's wing had been. Damon had a busted eyebrow and blood smeared across his shirt. That's when the realization struck him. He immediately tore his shirt from his body and threw it to the side, doing his best to avoid the flames that would come with having Kain's blood on him.

If that worked, he'd turn his attention back to his former ally and begin to charge in. Opalescent energy would build up around his right arm, and he's made a downwards right-to-left swing, creating a four foot long blade of telekinetic energy. Moving at around a eighty feet per second, it would be fairly hard to avoid. Regardless of whether or not it hit or missed, the telekinetic warrior would continue to bear down on the devil.
Truest Valor

Gnashing his teeth spurred on a bleeding of his gums, lost in the cold acquiesce of hate fueled aggression. The seismic pulse of blood coursing through his veins accented the flow of adrenaline that he fed off of, accepting its tantalising succor.

Kain brushed he mouth with the back of his fist spreading the crimson across his lips, tasting every little bit of its iron spiced flavour. A smile and pleasured determination launched Kain into dash to meet his opponent, twisting his torso to avoid the kinetic blade he lent advantage for his left arm to contract to pin Damon's arm against the Devil's hip. He would use the clash to wrap his right arm across the Psionics shoulders in a collapsing embrace.

Flames jutted out from the infernal's body, a mixed miasma of purple, scarlet and the deepest black. To look into its depths would devour innocence into wailing babes, a coalition of anguish surrounded the two, forcing a a break to the fabric of reality. Pure emotion garnished a platter suited to the effects of torture, despair and sorrow, rage, fear, and ennui. The bodies would churn violently in the ensuing torrent of darkness, a testament to unbridled Devil magic. The two would become transition to the ethereal while edging into the darkness, explosives booms and deafening tearing assaulted the Sands, waves of brilliant sonic eruptions seized the isle to condition. Kain and Damon would fall through a warp, locked in an exchange of violence amidst the tunnel of dimensional perversion, throwing them to some destination only known to Kain.
[ ninja ]

[ Another page that died in May. ]

Beloved Prophet

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The Ghost of Cirbys Past
[ ninja ]

[ Another page that died in May. ]

:c
((It will never DIIIIIEEEEE!!!!))

Lenten traipsed across the black sand out in front of the bar, drunk as ********, more or less like her narrator, her wide, silver, wings spread behind, although they seemed of no particular value for once. "******** you, you pieces of s**t, I thought you were supposed to give me some sort of ******** or some s**t?!" She cursed into the wind as she stumbled, thrusting her fist at some nameless God. "******** bullshit." She spit into aforementioned wind, only to have the wetness thrown back into her face. "Ugh." She wiped the drool from her face with a disgusted sneer.

"Fuuuuccck yoooouuu, Charlie!!" She threw her hands to the sky as she screamed, covering herself with another thick layer of saliva, her red curls frizzing under the influence of the ocean waves. She no longer cared. How could he steal her baby, their baby, away from her? Even for moment. He belonged to her. She had pushed that screaming, crying, spawn into their existence. And of course, what the ******** would he do with some half breed of a half breed child? She didn't even want to contemplate. Nor did she particularly have to. Eventually she would get clean... again... come home... again... be a family...again. Not now though. Now she couldn't even begin to rationalize that possibility.

Was that a come down down she felt? She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, or to scramble them, thoughts of her red-headed angel, images of their perfect, winged babe swirling, although he was no baby no more. He had started school this past year. Dumb, pathetic, mortal school. She kicked the foamy waves and cursed the mundane bullshit that her life had become.

She slapped at her veins impatiently. That would reinvigorate the high, right?! Her head rattled as she tried to shake the blood behind her eyes. The haze of indifference was beginning to lift, quite frankly, that was the last thing she wanted. She threw her tri-colered gaze in the direction of the now derelict bar on the beach.

It looked like s**t.

But that didn't mean there wasn't something decent stashed inside still, even after so much time had passed. She staggered her way toward the building, standing strong beneath sand and detritus, the magic made sure of that. The bar may have been half-way buried in the dunes, but that didn't mean there was any less opportunity inside.

She stooped into the now derelict building, her jaw going slack as she took in the sad scene. How did things of happiness crumble so? She made her way behind the bar, a wry smirk settling on her face. Some things still never changed. iZac was there, waiting patiently. "Make me something delicious, barkeep" She joked, although she had no doubt he would. She made her way back into the kitchen, where she moved to the back corner and slid the bottom, corner drawer all the way open.

The smile wider across her face as she felt the particular sting of a needle against her forefinger. No, things had not changed that much she thought, reaching back further for a deteriorated bag of brown, and her burnt spoon. "******** you." She ripped a nonfunctional belt from around her waist, tightening it against her forearm, white teeth drawing the leather firmly across her veins, even as she held a lighter, amber liquid bubbling. It was a well-practiced motion.

A deep inhale, followed by a harsh push of the syringe punched her veins full of relief. Her head lolled back, plush lips parting in a sigh of relief. Or agony. Slender hands traced along her neck, feeling the rush of blood and drugs pump beneath her fingertips, divine. She inhaled sharply, her exhales long and drawn out. Relief, finally. She knew it hadn't been long since she had tangled with the dark stallion... but God did she need it. She knew Charlie did too, although he preferred to ride a pony of a different colour.

How did he do it? How was he the father he was? She supposed it was different time periods, different upbringings, different moral aptitude.

She slunk out to the bar once more, laying her empty syringe on the counter. Her drink was ready. "Thanks, old fellow, I really needed this." Her words were slow and slurred as she raised the drink to the sky in appreciation before sampling iZac's concoction. One thing felt certain, how had she ever bought into the fact she could raise a child with him? With his Mother? How had she tricked herself into such a masquerade for so long?

With a note of clarity she realized how relieved she was for the fullness of the bag she had left behind.

Lonely Conventioneer

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Yes, the bar had been long forgotten, but if Lenten had bothered to notice, both Puerto Diablo and Oceanside have not just been rebuilt, but are now thriving. When Rhoslyn put Thurgood in charge of rebuilding the cities, he'd planned out streets, main thuroughfares, other infrastructures, a 4 Terawatt geothermal power plant, and even a multilane superhighway system, including a bridge between Black Sand Island and the mainland.

Well, everything got paid for, built, then overbuilt. The power plant generates over 7 Terawatts of electrical power with more geothermal wells being drilled, there are two giant desalination plants to supply the city of Oceanside, and the entire road, rail, and waterway network move traffic efficiently as workers travel to Alcoa's giant aluminum mill, bauxite mines, Boeing factory, local wheel foundries, port, other industries within the area, or the thousands of shops and resuraunts.

Lenten is probably too heroin'd up to even try to begin to care right now.

Dangerous Sex Symbol

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[Damn, Lenten ended up as a drug addict and Thurgood ended up in charge of rebuilding the cities, who'd have thunk]

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