Welcome to Gaia! ::

A single glance was afforded to Trei as the enigmatic greying man seemed to shift in and out of a coporeal state as he prepared for the impending fight. He personally did not know him, just the same as the Overseer did not know most of those he did not bring to Genesis. This, however, did not stop this one Tacitus Nusradai from having to fight and maybe even kill the man before him. A rush of wind would pass from the rear as Tacitus resumed a solid state, crouching low with his back up straight and arms resting on his knees while his two large pistols hung from the holsters on his thighs. Grey hair rustled as the wind began to settle and terrain data began to stream in on the inner side of his jade visor. He seemed to be speaking to himself, "Whosoever shed last blood, by man shall his blood be shed. For immunity of god make he the man. Destroy all that which is evil. So that which is good may flourish. And I shall count thee amoung my favoured sheep. And you shall have the protection of all the angels in heaven."

His eyes flitted over the information displayed, a map forming of the general area as it provided a diagram of things of note in the area. The Wall of Force that hemmed them in was a nice touch and earned itself a smirk from the man. He couldn't yet get a readout on his opponent, and had done his best to keep away from reviews and reports of his previous fights. He could potentially run some tests now, but there was never much fun in that. His smirk became a true smile, "You've made it to the finals of our bracket, kid. I could give some prophetic declaration that you wouldn't be getting any further, but that would be cheating, and rather corny, now wouldn't it?"

Slowly the ecclesiastical man would rise from his crouching position, his eyes never leaving the form of his opponent. A sweep of his hands across his thighs would leave two oversized handguns held firmly by the slider. A glance to each and a swift click would disengage the safety on each before his hands shifted, moving to hold the firearms as they were intended to be held. Each seemed to give a few contended clicks as they literally twitched in anticipation of what was to come.

Could Trei ever imagine it?

Could Trei even see it?

Could Trei stop it?

But of course! A slight blurring within the fog and a stream of bullets would take to the air. For but a brief moment they would hang in midair in a pattern that resembled an X with the cross centered directly on Trei's torso. After hanging for that brief moment the whole would be released in a wave upon Trei with the basic intent of perforating his shell.

Trei would find the man staring straight at him as he broke through the defensive shield, one gun at the ready. The sound of a single gunshot would be defeaning as it tore through the air, quickly followed by a pulse of orange light moving in concentric rings away from the barrel. The bullet was moving at much greater velocities that it otherwise should have been, but would hardly do anywhere near as much physical harm as it otherwise would. Any shield produced this time around would find the bullet as almost nonexistant, passing through energy fields under the effect of a temporal phase variant that disallowed full contact with the timeline. It wasn't as deadly, aye, but it was moving incredibly fast and was a b***h to stop.

Why hadn't he fired with both guns...?

With the left-hand gun still extended the ashen haired man only seems to shift as much as is necessary. The fist will graze him, aye, but the right hand gun will shift into position, aiming at the poor boy's chest. The slider on the weapon almost seems to move in slow motion as each bullet issues forth, three doses of divine interdiction. Like the one fired but moments before these slip through energy fields with easy, though they have a lesser effect on organics. Each shell ejected seems to hang in the air, falling with a serene grace that contradicts the deadly payload they had only just unleashed.

Pain sears through Tac's side at the strike, his eyes going wide as he watched the three bullets spiral out to the far side of the arena. He can see them spend their force uselessly against the wall in three brief flashes as the pain slowly ebbs away. Thank you. My pleasure. The only indication of this telepathic communication would be a series of clicks from the firearm in his right hand as Tac began to move. Fragments of orange light would begin to dance in the air as Tac flung himself away from Trei, back and to the side opposite the previous strike. A phantom would be left in his wake as he moved, a focus set against the light to trap his image in that location while he slipped away. It wasn't an after-image in the traditional sense, as he was not moving nearly that fast, but accomplished the same goal. Even after tossing himself back the aged man wouldn't stop, heading back into the fog at his best speed in a sideways motion, keeping the left hand firearm aimed towards Trei.

He'd get away, aye, albeit with a nice hole in his side that he didn't even seem to feel, at least not anymore. Trei would find that trying to make contact with his blood inside Tacitus would be sluggish at best, as if it was just moving... slower. Furthermore, the blood didn't seem to spread, the whole of his circulatory system slowed down to the point where his heart beat about once every second. Trying to force beyond this flow would be incredibly difficult, like trying to push through molases, or something similar.

Another gunshot would slice through the air, but the bullet would not streak to connect with the thing that was Trei. Tacitus couldn't slow down the arena and he couldn't stand on air, the concentration of water vapor was simply too high, but that didn't keep him from knocking himself around a bit. A shower of grass and dirt would mark his location for a moment before he burst across the arena, away from Trei. The buildup of energy in the air began to become quite clear, divine will flooding the man's body and exuding from every pore. All the while his voice would dance through the air, distorted by the presense of the water vapor, "Try harder. This is pitiful."

Its damned foolish to allow a cleric any time at all, and giving him range only compounds the folly. A pulse of orange light extends from his body, rolling across the arena with a minimal shockwave in its wake. Those that were watching close enough would find specs of blood dispersed through the pulse and take note of the pristine flesh under tattered clothes.

The b*****d was healing, no, pushing back time to undo the wound. He'd expelled the foreign blood cells and his flesh had put itself back together, albeit in a rather strange way, but it was done all the same. The man kept running, right hand tucked close to him as he fired rather erratic looking shots around the arena, even one just below his feet. Why waste the ammo?