Now he heard it farther off, beyond the thick groupings of aspen trunks that marked the eastern side of the forest. He heard it moving north of his position, and he wasted little time in powering up. Now he could feel it - the thick, feral, breathing stain of a youma permeated the air and urged him to follow it. A cry sounded distantly, and he knew it felled a deer. He knew not why it would do so; perhaps it pursued a hunter, and the deer simply got in the way. Umber hurried then, and dashed through narrow paths as quickly as his legs would carry him. Thick boughs of oak and maple passed overhead, and discarded needles from spruce and pine crunched underfoot. He cared little for subtlety.
Umber paused only when he felt a second signature, and took to the higher branches as soon as he recognized it. A senshi, one of their weakest by feel, crossed into his periphery. By now he knew the youma felt him just as well, though it chose to retreat from his presence. Did it recognize him, then? Umber doubted it; while he knew little of youma, they hardly differed from animals, and most creatures found no reason to remember prey. He would abandon his quest for now.
During this time, fur-trappers marked the forest with their cages, baits, and traps. Anyone running reckless may trigger one, and he wondered if this bold pursuer might learn the prudence of caution in this way.
If not, then their bravery would cost them dearly.
It was a really, really stupid idea to leave the urban areas. She knew that, even as she blundered on, past the trim and manicured lawns and tidy houses, past the barely touched brush piles to where even trash barely popped up. Else had been discarded quite a while ago, she amended to herself, sidestepping a questionable scrap of clothing with an even more questionable looking stain on it. Scrunching up her nose, she barely lingered for half a second before continuing on.
The presence was gnawing at her. Youma. The horror fanatic in her kinda loved them. They were disturbing, alarming creatures, morbid and feral and just… cool. Well. Some. Not all. A few she'd encountered were alarmingly cuddly looking and that'd almost been worse nightmare fuel.
This one was at least strong. She didn't have weapons on her body, nor in her magic. It was defensive, a shield. Nothing more. Pissed her off. The world around her though offered more plausible weapons. Physical, piercing and bludgeoning, when her own body might not be as effective as she might need. Depending on where she was in the city, her options for makeshift weapons were arguably more available there in the woods.
Didn't make her choice of running away from the borders of the 'civilized' world any smarter.
It'd been a half-second near misstep that had awakened her to her first bout of stupidity. A fallen branch she'd stepped on had snapped over as her weight twisted it into a different position, its heavy extensions hitting the ground with an additional, metalic crack. ******** trap. ******** hunters. Morgan cussed and inched back. She'd been running recklessly through the forest before then, not caring that her boots would crunch on the fallen leaves, branches, and pine needles. She'd liked the sound and feeling of racing through the trees, feeling the quick brushes of bark beneath her hands as she passed.
Wouldn't be wise to be so unaware of her surroundings any more. Bummer. Tunnel-vision running towards a target was preferable.
Or… change of plans?
Bright eyes flicked up to the trees around her, staring ahead and scanning about. Another energy came into her awareness. Stronger. Negaverse. Much stronger. Her knowledge of how the Negaverse was structured was… well. Nonexistent. What was the point of asking for info from the people you were trying to beat bloody?
Besides being a far, far wiser way of operating than how she was.
The youma itself was moving away. Further and further, and even as she got herself up--awkwardly, extremely painfully awkwardly--into some of the lower branches to try and avoid the traps, her target slid beyond her reach. "Mother ********," she breathed. Though the energy of the youma was quickly moving outside her limited range of detecting, the signature of the Negaverse agent remained in her way.
It was stupid to leave the urban area she knew. It was stupid to chase blindly after a youma. It was stupid to continue her approach towards the far stronger energy signature. Her pulse picked up, adrenaline starting to spike. Combat against opponents with physical advantages to her wasn't a new concept for her. Surely magical advantages wouldn't be any worse..?
The senshi approached. Umber remained in the trees - the autumnal colors left him blending well among their ilk - and he found no reason to forsake the advantage of height. The youma retreated beyond his perceptions now, either wrapped up in another victim or retreating to the Rift to recharge. The senshi's presumable target now vanished, he alone projected any kind of an adversarial beacon. Would they really pursue him? Perhaps the enemy was worse than he thought at training their own.
Once the signature was nearly upon him, he spotted red through the thick boughs. The girl, it seemed, wore purples and reds with a slip of yellow beneath. The outfit looked impractical, as always. She veered into range, and Umber peered down to her. Only seconds remained before she would surely look up to find him.
He offered no introduction when he leapt from his perch in the tree and landed some feet behind her. No weapon yet summoned to his arm; he did not want to risk a chance at magic that would turn his own attacks against them, if something of the sort existed. He did not want to leave her mortally wounded if she proved a good asset for the side of the Negaverse. Briefly he considered his confrontation with Chrysocolla, who insisted so vehemently that all should be corrupted regardless of combat merit.
Who are you to come here.
She had the nerve to track him through the woods after the invasion of the Negaverse's sanctioned base, to hunt his allies and pursue their youma as if their kind maintained some semblance of an offensive. Umber wasted little time on words. With a closed fist, he struck for her kidney.
The sound of fabric, heavy and light, moving through the air made her head turn a fraction, before her whole body jerked around as a body hit the leaf-littered floor. Immediately her body slid into a defensive, balanced position, upper body lowered a bit to decrease the amount of her body left undefended by her raised arms. Yeah. Hadn't gotten to the point of looking up, but as she let her gaze briefly--really, really ******** briefly--zip over the new person in her relative space, she summed up fast she likely wouldn't have even spotted him.
No use kicking herself over it. About as useful as slinging around words or threats or cheeky comments. Wasted breath, wasted time. No weapon except a body, and an energy signature that promised strength and speed beyond her own. Some really, really stupid part of her was excited about this prospect. She shoved that voice down though, not wanting a further handicap from being distracted.
The shift of his shoulders was the only warning she got. You can't move the body without some movement in the shoulders and chest area, was among the random pieces of advice she'd gotten over the years, from combatants used to more variations and fields of battle than she'd ever experienced. Maybe if she was more seasoned, she'd have known exactly how he was going to move, before he fully went through the movement, but by the time she was aware of where he was directing the blow she didn't have the time to sidestep or back up.
Of course. She was experienced in fighting civilians. The speed at which this guy moved went well beyond that, and put even someone used to the MMA ring at a disadvantage. Her only way to brace herself was to exhale as much as possible. Softened the blow when his fist hit her side. Faintly. As in. Enough to keep her standing, but not enough to keep her from feeling like she was about to hurl as pain and pressure zapped through her guts and veins. Pushing through the urge to go down on one knee and clutch her side, she grabbed at his wrist, aiming to twist as hard as she could as she attempted to zip around the outside of his blow and towards his back. One of her legs shot out, shin directed towards the side of one of his knees.
Umber expected the girl to go down, and he considered himself foolish for it. Their outfits looked gaudy, proved impractical, and offered no edge in battle, but they spoke nothing toward the skill of their wielder. He knew this, he knew this - Porsha fought him head-on in little more than shorts and a billowing t-shirt and she still proved effective in battle. He tried to deaden his surprise when the senshi didn't simply crumple to the floor in pain. A general's punch carried with it heavy impact, and for a basic senshi to survive it spoke of experience - and usefulness.
She grabbed at his wrist, however, and started to dart toward his back. With this, he was familiar. Umber backstepped and followed her trajectory immediately afterward; if she planned on holding his wrist hostage, then he would speed up her inertia enough to send her into a tree. She would not reach his back with that wrist so long as he could move.
Her leg caught between his, however, and he was forced to stop the spin lest he send the pair of them toppling. Instead, his strength was funneled into redirecting her. With her leg still caught between his knees, he forced his arm to stop its motion which would ideally send her to the ground - or clinging to his wrist to remain standing. The latter was preferred; if she thought she could use him to stand herself back up, then he had plenty of opening to simply huck her into a tree.
Each movement and twist of her abdomen was like getting socked all over again. It burned, and god damn did she hate the sickening sensation it radiated through her. She was going to have a hell of a bruise there--that was going to cause problems with her work. Assuming she could even properly perform on stage with a bruised kidney.
Morgan was really going to be angry if she started pissing blood for the next week or two.
His counter to her attempts at throwing him off balance at least spoke to someone who was used to hand-to-hand. Not that it should surprise her--if the guy was at least stronger than a basic Negaverse agent, he must have seen enough in this war. Must know enough for how to survive it.
Instead, he threw her off balance. Stupid mistake on her part, getting herself into this situation. Her options were glaringly obvious. Let go of his wrist and fall on the ground because she doubted shoving him back would get her leg free from between his knees, or cling to his wrist and probably get into even more trouble. Lovely. So she went with option three. Screw herself over in hopes of getting him back.
Holding tight to his wrist, her core muscles clenched--painfully, much to the loud protests of her injured kidney, to the point she could ******** taste the bile in the back of her throat--as she did what she damn well did best. Some of the most basic moves you learn while pole dancing is how to support yourself in extremely odd positions, including some rather gravity defying looking ones.
With one leg locked between his knees, she pulled herself up almost to an awkward perpendicular position against his body quick as her muscles would allow. And then slammed her other leg as hard as she ******** could towards his head, while punching with equal might towards his arm with her free hand.
She was still in a s**t position, painfully open to additional assault and she knew it, but hey she'd at least give him some good bruises for it, if she couldn't do anything else. Morgan was hardly an intimidating senshi, and her uniform and magic were useless. Like hell would she let anyone ******** say she didn't give them a god damn fight though.
Slinging around the senshi demanded no great effort on his part; surely she realized the mismatch in their relative strengths and realized she stood little chance. Still she fought, still she clung to his wrist and tried to right herself. Umber saw little point in it - she knew the predicament she was in, and that continuing to fight only ensured death. The Negaverse would not tolerate further transgressions. He would see to that himself.
When she tried to haul herself upward, Umber sought to mobilize. Before he could arc her overhead, however, her heeled foot struck his jaw squarely and sent teeth clean through parts of his tongue. He grunted, the pain bursting before adrenaline dulled it, and his mouth began to fill promptly. A strike to his elbow brought him back from the pain to the fight at hand and he worked with as much of that inertia as he could - rolling the joint upward prevented him from breaking it, though it still ached and threatened to swell.
Instead of allowing her to continue with her antics, he threw his weight into an elbow drop to immobilize her on the forest floor. Wherever his fist landed, it wouldn't matter - the real trick of his antics involved summoning his weapon and deploying the blades with a soft click. Then he could press the tips just beneath her ribcage and threaten the organs within; then he could stop her from this ceaseless fidgeting and flailing in trying to resist.
As a last measure, he would try spitting blood into her eyes.
Judging by the sounds, she just gave him tongue piercings for free. Yay. At least he'd have something to remember her by until his tongue healed up. Oh yeah, she knew the disadvantages here. She was reckless, not blind or stupid--ok ignoring how rather idiotic it was to be reckless. It was the self-confidence of someone who knew how to fight, who knew their way around a ring, and who was extremely used to guys way bigger than her trying to grab her. Just. Y'know. Minus additional supernatural strength and speed, oh and magic.
She'd give him points though for not dropping her when she hit him both times. Instead, her luck was that he slammed her into the ground. <********> The wind was out of her, a new pain through her gut as his elbow dug into her flesh. She considered herself lucky she didn't have a new hole in her, but it damn felt like she did. The air came from her in a strangled yelp, eyes wide for a second before squeezing tight against the nausea and pain jarring her systems. She could feel the muscles in her back spasming, and after a horrific moment of feeling her body going numb and stunned, Morgan was overly grateful for whatever magic or adrenaline or whatever kept her conscious and pushed her body to function. Her free leg kicking at his body. Weakly, because you need oxygen to properly move your muscles and everything, but hell she tried.
The click of something metal might as well have been the sound of a gunshot in her ear, for the spike of panic it kicked into her. Lifting her left hand so it was down by her chest, she used what little air she could take in as a red streak of power began to form in her palm like a bloody gash. "The Sealed Gate." It was a seething curse, it was a benediction, it was a laugh to the Devil's face with full knowledge Death stood beside him. She hated her magic. Gateways. It was a weak, useless magic. Why couldn't she have magic that assaulted, burned, shook the world to its core?
Instead, her magic flared as she summoned forth that useless barrier, feeling it rip through the air between her and the Negaverse agent. Shimmering, warping the air between them and showing a world that could not exist, should not exist, and spreading until it extended the width of her arm span and around six feet in length. It hurt, with his weight over the damn barrier, but Morgan used both arms to shove at it, trying to wriggle out from under him in the process and get the <********> away and to her feet, keeping it firmly in front of her--and, she hoped, between her and the agent.
Her whole body ached, she still barely had her breath back, and her legs wobbled despite herself. <******** style="font-size: 10px">Umber had every intention to keep her pinned beneath the blade; if he kept her immobile, then he could buy time for a General-Sovereign to arrive and introduce a new member to their ranks. She knew how to fight if she could stand a handful of seconds with a General as a basic senshi. Why should they pass up an opportunity to corrupt her? Or waste her starseed sitting in their collection? He needed only a few precious seconds to call his communicator to hand and send out the summons-
She spoke, and he knew magic was to come. He steeled himself, the communicator momentarily forgotten, and watched for signs of an assault. A mark appeared on her hand, red like blood, and he half-expected something of the sort to strike out at him. The world began to shift between them, and he felt himself pushed back and off of her, where the tip of his weapon no longer pointed at her vitals. Umber then spat at the shield with the load of blood in his mouth and it dissipated within the shifting scene. The general righted himself without a second thought, his mouth and elbow aching. He made no move to continue the assault; he knew the better choice was to wait this magic out.
A barrier, he thought. Magic better set against other magic.
He waited then, his weapon raised. The gauntlet's tipped blades pointed directly towards her, straight at the otherworldly barrier. It won't last, he reminded himself. She started clamoring to her feet.
The c**k of a weapon broke his concentration and he looked toward the sound immediately. There, not far from the edge of the bushes, stood a stocky older man with a rifle pressed to his shoulder. One eye squinted shut while he looked down the sights toward Umber directly. "Now you lissen'a me," he slurred out behind missing teeth. "I ain't comin' out here for no city problems. Leave'r alone, and get the hell outta here. You think I won't pull this trigger? Try me."
Umber weighed the option. He looked to the senshi, to the barrier, to the hunter. He knew his strengths, his limitations, but the chance presented to him posed too much of a risk. Move, and get shot. Teleport to take care of the hunter, and the girl would get a head start. She could drop her uniform and be out of his sight in the moments taken to claim a starseed. Taking a bullet and potentially dying proved far more costly than passing up a chance on a new recruit. In a breath, he vanished.
The hunter sighed audibly, his voice coming in a hearty hee-ew. "Thought I was gonna have to shoot a person there, for a second. Looked like he really thought about it, too." He stepped over the bushes carefully, and the stout fellow approached her with his gun slung over his back. "Now, missy, lesse 'bout gittin' ye to a hospital…"
kaefaux
for your records!
