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((srry I haven't posted in a while... been sick and all gonk ))
'Shi..' was all that Spiko's mind could think as he watched his opponent side-step his attack. To his regret, he was fighting yet another person who was seemly quicker than him... so it appeared now he had to rely on his gathered momentum more than ever.

But all of that didn't matter now as the man's downward attack hit him squarely in the throat, causing him to land straight on the ground with a tremendous thud which a sudden pain throughout his back and lungs soon came in turn. As Spiko remained on the ground, he knew he didn't have time to take in the throbbing in his back so he did the only thing he could do..

With a grunt, Spiko discarded all the pain and the lack of oxygen, and swiftly shot out his right arm and aimed to grab his leg. If his his grab succeeded, then he would blast his arm, which was still holding Damrius's leg, and then use the momentum he would build up and launch his foe like a catapult.

As Spiko saw his attack worked, he gave himself a small smirk as he continued to lay there, trying to get his breath back and the ability to withstand the constant throbbing in his back. 'Come on... you can do this...' he thought to himself as he then fought for every inch his body managed to move.

'Come on...Come on!'

He urged himself with such disdain, his body language seem not angry at his opponent but rather than himself.. mad that his body couldn't even handle one blow.. one hit and it seemed the fight would be finished. But something happened.. as his body continued to tremble under the intense pressure and pain from the hit to the throat, a small spark lit off in his eyes; one filled with sheer drive to go on even if his body didn't allow him to.

'COME ON!'

His thoughts screamed, and with one more grunt he inched himself to his feet, his hands continued to shake as the teeth in Spiko's mouth cinched hoping to reverted the throb to someplace he could put aside... out of his mind for this one fight... a fight which would prove that a Harmanian could run with anyone, even elementals. Slowly, his head rose up; the once calm eyes turned into fiery red orbs and they were directed at his foe's... his stare never leaving the sunglasses of the other.

"Let's go..."

A calm yet stern command came from his now smirking lips, as if he was returning the snide look Damrius was giving him. Spiko had no intention of charging at his foe, he was too tired and injured to do any of the likes of trying to out power his opponent... not now at least. Now... he was waiting; waiting for a move.

Rather than getting angry at his foe's gestures, Spiko continued to stand right where he was at. He leaned a little forward and dangled his arms in hope to conserve all the energy he could get, and not waste the use of it in unnecessary actions. Then, all of a sudden, Spiko lifted his head a bit to where his eyes met Damrius's, they were seemly unaffected by the gleaming light his newly acquired sword shined off. But what did change was his facial expression, one that carried a large smirked showing off what appeared to be teeth of a wolf.... 'Ready...'

With that thought, Spiko suddenly shot off towards his opponent. His arms were unmoving as they still were at the mercy of the movement of the rest of his body, so at the high speed he was running, the wind caused both his wooden and normal arm to dangle back behind his back... he need all the energy he could get.

It didn't take long for him to reach his target, as when he was about 10 feet from his target, he shifted the tremendous momentum he build up upwards and launched himself at his foe at a low jump. During the time he was in the air, Spiko then shifted the ever building momentum as he swung his wooden right arm violently across his body, which sent him spinning towards him opponent. What looked like a mini tornado, now blasted towards Damruis, hoping the sheer speed and furiosity of his attack would offset Damruis's game plan.

Pause.

To any dark-sensitive... To call it evil would to be to judge... To any "Dark"(Read: Evil) sensitive people, the world around them would pause as the fabric of a building was torn asunder and a man stepped from within the tear, before the tear closed, the world righted itself, and the man was promptly smacked in the face with a well-thrown newspaper.

"Ow."

The man was dark-skinned to a cliche of night-sky blue, or to better name it, "Indigo." His hair was white, and sprouted only from his head. He was dressed to impress in a raggedy, rough spun white shirt that was held shut in the front by a string of leather. His back was only slightly bulky, carrying a close-slung metal piece of armor, at the glance that was capable of being given what with his clothing. On his legs, he wore rough leather pants, that despite the toughness of the fabric they were created from, managed to be mildly baggy.

He was attractive insofar as he was natural, and he was fearsome insofar as he appeared so... Which wasn't much. His hair was dashingly kept, and he had eyes that glowed a dark, dark yellow, leaving trails upon the eyes when he moved. He was muscled, so much so that his clothing was mildly tight upon his flesh... However, he bore no apparent weapons, and no obscene armor, except for the piece upon his back, and vambraces acrossed his forearms.

His grin was charismatic, as he quietly leaned back upon the wall he had randomly appeared by.(Because, due to the whole.... timestop, very few might have noticed the wall tearing.) And, even after a moment, he would lean down to pick up the newspaper, opening it and reading it casually. Yes, the man was odd-in-looks... But he did not make any... odd gestures, such as demanding souls or randomly blowing up a building.

The docking was complete and successful. From the deck of the Purge's main vessel, the Saintmorning, Amelie had an astonishing view of the city, and of the Purge's other two gigantic airships, the Darkon and the Flaris. Flying around each like insects dancing about their hives were a dozen of small Rockepeller-class air cabs, all of them holding a small squad of soldiers. Because the Purge was not in Barton for vacations. It was here for war.

At least, that's what Amelia had been told when lady Rachelle herself ordered her to fly the Saintmorning all the way to Barton, but not much was known. The Purge was a holy army dedicated to ridding the world of the undead scourge, by returning the once-living to the earth and allowing them the peace they deserve, everyone knew that much. Still, it was rare for the organisation to make such an open move, especially considering ...

"Are you worried, captain?"

Amelia jumped as the voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She turned around to face lady Rachelle and curtsy, smiling.

"Forgive me, my lady. While I have no doubt in our strength and the nobility of our cause, I cannot help but feel ill at ease by such a deployment. None of our vessels are fit for combat, and are nothing more than transport devices. Wouldn't it be safer to take our time and remain low-profiled in our movements."

"I understand your concern, captain." Answered Rachelle. "Yet you should not have to worry. Barton is a bright town, brimming with life and beauty. Prudence won't be required in such a place. The undeads are sparse and unorganized. None of them would dare come close to this haven."

The very sound of Rachelle's voice was enough to inspire confidence and strength within any man or woman. Amelie could do little but recognize that no person would be better suited to lead the Purge, and the Saintmorning's captain wanted no less than to give her life to her lady.

"I shall now make way to my quarters, captain. Please make sure that everyone is at ease within our new stronghold, and come to report of our situation before nightfall with ambassador Mathieu."

"Very well, my lady."

And both women parted to their duties.

Both women turned right back. Amelie a lot sharper than lady Rachelle, the later simply turning around as if someone had called her name, while the captain sharply stepped in front of her lady, in case of a threat.

Rachelle spoke first. "Your query shall be answered, but allow me first to inform you that this airship is not open to public. I will as such have to ask you, on behalf of captain Amelie hereby and the Saintmorning's crew, to not stay any longer than necessary."

Upon hearing her name, Amelie remembered that she was the captain of the Saintmorning before being Rachelle's bodyguard.

"This ship was not designed for games, sir. The Saintmorning is a transport vessel."

"If it is our enemy you seek, then you will have to look far to the north, in the cold wasteland." Said Rachelle softly. As for Amelie, she couldn't help but bite her lip. The man was unnerving to her, and the way Rachelle so matter-of-factly shared information that should not be public did nothing to reassure her.

So, she gathered the courage to interrupt. "My lady, please do not let this man slow you any more. I will escort him back to town, and report to you as was planned before nightfall."

"Very well, captain. Farewell, sir." A look to the strange man, a smile to the captain, and Rachelle was on her way off the ship, taking her time to answer the greets of the many crewmembers on the way.

"I'll need you to leave the vessel now, please." Simply said Amelie, looking back to the man.

Being the leader of the group who made this whole machinery fly, Amelie had always believed that technicalities should be left to technicians. She applied that rule to vocabulary too, and usually did not bother finding the perfect word for every situation.

"Please spare such details. You are a stowaway aboard my ship, and peacefully leading you to town is more than most crews would offer you." Just thinking about captain Bernard, from the Darkon, was enough to disgust her. "I want in no way to be rude to you, sir. Please understand."

Though quite frankly, the weird man's way with words was starting to get on her nerves a bit.