|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Thu Feb 22, 2007 9:18 pm
Had the opponent not warned Barsait already that he is nothing more than the 'thing' which is inside him? Even with the threat, the uncertainty burning inside the fiery opponent, Snow cannot hear nor understand those words anymore. All that's left in that foresaken lust, is the lust for blood - for terror - for fear - and for domination.
More of such white fury erupted around his body, around the ground as pileups of snow and ice littered the air like some heavy blizzard, encompassing everything around in its freezing phase. Standing there, the 'Thing' did not advance, nor did it respond to Barsait's firm resolution.
Petty talks, as the 'Thing' might add.
And now, the man who Barsait know as Snow began to walk slowly, advancing towards the opponent with his head lowered, fiery white ambers circulating around his body in a counter-clockwise motion. With his celestial weapons - thirteen in total and increasing with the white amber's presence - now circulating the air, it aligned itself to every possible point around the Arena, creating a dome like structure that littered the sky.
And thus does the horror begin.
Performing the same principles as it did before, each and every weapon began to carve the arena's ground like lasers in their madly assured destruction, skewering everything around with ruthless efficiency. With the white amber acting as a fuel reserve, there was no need to worry about them depleting anytime soon --
Since the large concentration of steam released before in the clash was used as fuel for this assault.
But that wasn't all. With Snow tapping the untapped power he had usually kept secluded in this battle, the 'Thing' used it to however it feels like as one of the white ambers ruptured its path right towards Omi's position, the celestial weapons cutting off any flames that bar the path of this frightening cold.
The Arena's temperature became frighteningly cold...with one small side effect to anyone who breathes air.
It's getting ever so harder to breathe.....
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Feb 24, 2007 11:30 pm
"Pretentious son of a b***h . . . I see my words will hold no impact."
Some forty yards away, the :Caladbolg: laid; it seemed despite the colds and horrid conditions that beset it, that blade was not wounded at all. Though reaching it was out of the question; that was one means of assault ruled out. It was not fully known to Barsait, just what events were in the making this day - and truthfully, it was made readily apparent.. that swordsman didn't much give a damn. A low key titter began to flow from his lips, before Barsait stood up tall, head tilting to the right whilst he embarked into full-blown laughter at the sight of white blazes spawning off in the ever shortening distance. Breath flowing into the evening mists with that odd, borderline disturbing display of hilarity.
One light cough strung along with that laughter, before Barsait craned forward; shoulder blades bulging right at the edge of flesh. Teeth flashing in ready visibility, the four 'fangs' glistening in the moonlight glow. "I've seen folks lose their sanity at the sight of blood; this b*****d one of 'em, I wonder? No, no matter.." Thought trailing off to his right limb forcing it's hand to squeeze a tight fist off, knuckles cracking - those green & amber eyes were suddenly looking to hold so much life. "I can tell he doesn't intend to let me leave here alive, and that's all I need to concern myself with. Rude host though; inviting a guy, then trying to off him.. I'll have to make him regret that something fierce . ." Amazing levels of irritation were present in his expression now: almost to the point of pure disgust at the sights ahead of he..
The destruction was amassed in an instant; thirteen of the celestial blades just carving about like they held free dominion over all beneath the skies above. Torrents of what deserved no other name less than the very term [Power] were smashing the arena into submission with the most deadly accuracy available; furthermore, Snow himself was making his way, ever so casually, towards Barsait's very position. Though, one of the white enblazed structures, colder than Death's own reaper, were coming his way much, much more rapidly..
"Cold . . Cold . . Cold . . " Head bowing inch by inch, though still at a slight angle - Barsait's eyelids shut themselves together fiercely. His arms suddenly tensed to a bizarre degree; his shoulder blades now etching out at his own skin - and to top it, the veins lining his neck were suddenly prominent. The last accurate sight one could catch with a human eye, at anyrate, would be Barsait's teeth smashing together - blood coming down in double-helix silhouettes from his gums . . Then a torrent of Hellish, howling flames shouted to the Heavens in a cascade of embers & roaring heat. 
All that white wave of cold met, was flames that stood where Barsait once was; for careening through the air, much akin to a howling banshee, was a flaming humanoid figure.. bellowing upward until it came to it's detonation, stopping only when it crashed into one of the 13 celestial blades with enough force, the weapon went flying into the distance; heated to a point where the metal glowed like a poker. Then, that figure dropped to the ground with no cushioning; smashing into the cold, feral grounds with enough force to smash the ice about it into a horridly loud display of ice torn asunder.
And there he was.
Not a one of his teeth looked quite human now; all were sharpened to a point, like actual fangs - though reverberating thanks to the fact, he was actually growling. Though, one would quickly note his appearance over the sounds Barsait were making; all of his fingernails had a distinct claw appearance to them, for one. Then, his hair.. neck hairs, hair upon his skull, hair lining his arms; all were feral, risen to some extent with a glint to them in their dark hue. His shoulder blades had either bulged to an extreme degree, or had grown; his body, furthermore, was now engulfed in numerous clusters of highly concentrated colonies of coils. Flames of such an unnatural level of heat, that they themselves glowed white, were ebbing off his body - and their increased levels of heat were given berth by the airs about him distorting something horrid.
The state that gave Lazenca Miranda of Barton Branch Round III a trial from Hell. The power that both strengthened - and nearly killed Barsait in that same match. [State II: Advanced Release].
However. There was a distinct difference between now, and the match in question.. Barsait, by the time he had achieved it, was already quite weary. Furthermore: He didn't have such a bizarre level of instability with that -mark- at his right shoulder blade.
Neither element was the case here. This was the pure deal - Barsait had become, looming forward with those eyes which had become pale green, small currents swirling within them - a demon. There was no other term that adequately described him. That, or one fierce humanoid.. his breathing was rapid. Very rapid. If there were cold fronts in the air; his body contested them, as the temperatures of the arena began to stabilize somewhat. Only somewhat, but it was enough, inhaling would not be an immediate issue.
Beams would still be raining down about him; yet, now, that swordsman was glaring ahead - far ahead - at Snow. Blood lust, if that was Snow's emotionalism's depth, was too shallow a term for what Barsait was now feeling.
Strength. Lust for riding the blaze. Adrenaline contrasting his normal weary nature.
And with that, Barsait gave out a low-throat roar.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Feb 25, 2007 1:01 pm
Relatively unphased, the man had no words of amusement to express, much less the mere thought of being beaten by a caster of fire. Even if the opponent, Barsait, had just transmuted to another entity, another being of fire, it made no difference to the epic result that will take place.
He will be slaughtered. That fact is guaranteed.
Raising his hand, the man calmly pointed towards the sky as more of his eternal weapons sprouted into view. The one which Barsait had knocked off course quickly reeled itself back into position, making sure the domination of the sky is acquired.
Thirteen more celestial weapons were given birth by his flames, now double the total amount of the projectiles which continued to carve and chip off the very terrain they stand on.
Twenty six celestial weapons now littered the sky.
Then it double again.
And again.
And again. Doubled to the point where even counting it proves to be a difficult measure as it ceased its hellish destruction, now hovering aimlessly with their tips poised at Barsait himself. Steam which emitted off of the incredible difference in heat were quickly condensed back to their liquid form when they came in contact with Snow's cold atmosphere, before freezing back into a solid state for further use.
Unlike fire users who have air as their advantage, one of the key abilities for ice/water users which should not be underestimated...
Is that they can recycle the energy around them without depletion. As long as there is air, there will always be a selected concentration of water - especially high in the sky.
Clouds.
Precipitation.
The very atmosphere itself.
The ability to leech and re-use the spent energy in the environment can provide quite a problem for users of fire...
For even if they can use air as their fuel source....
What about the catalyst? Is it possible to replenish it indefinately without problem, unlike the man's ability to recyle water around his environment without waste?
The man had no need to question what Barsait will do. All in all, there is nothing else than the need to see blood. To be drenched in blood.
There is only the need to sedate his perverse desire to tear things apart around him. Nothing more.
And with that said, every single projectile in the air fired at Barsait.
But not with the ice beam. No, not yet...
Instead,
A concussion shockwave, using the very air itself as the channel to fatally make Barsait's blood and moisture....
Vibrate.
Such is the use of soundwaves, as learned from Vercellius, a long long time ago.
When Snow himself was once a victim under his ultrasonic pulse, causing his body to be ruptured inside and disoriented.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Feb 26, 2007 7:33 pm
26. 52. 104. 208. The number continued, and continued to grow; until Barsait did not care to count. Even in his newly acquired status - he was no fool. To be hit by that many torrents of raw behemoth destruction, would surely result in his death. And the eventual destruction of the arena grounds, no less.. both intolerable to Omi's standards, though in decidedly different levels of priority. Yet, slowly but surely, as the resonating glow of death those celestial blades gave off hummed to life - the situation became evident for Barsait. "Death really seems to have it in for me . . I'll be damned." Bending forward just slightly, light chuckles brimmed out; before a full blown laughter strung out in the crescendo of moments afterwards. His voice, by now, was rather distorted; perhaps his vocal cords had disformed in the newest transformation?
Vibration.
Sound waves.. Barsait could feel his already unstable blood begin to rumble; his body would not crumble to that shock wave. But this just caused further rumbling about his body; at this rate, all would turn to naught. All the time, more waves; more vibration. And then, the beams are condensed forward - using Barsait as each and every one of their apex. His laughter just continued on in the airs about him - as though he were truly in a state of uncontrollable humor. And perhaps, to he, Omi was..
"You.. kill me..? I've stood my ground against some great beings in my time. I've felt my blood run, and I've felt my life come close to having it's torch extinguished.. and I've been fine with it. But this.." Palms thrusting upward with no recognition of their movement - Barsait quaked. "THIS IS TOO PATHETIC TO BE MY END!" Left limb. Right limb. Both high and low. Everything felt painful to Barsait; like someone were lighting a flame on his insides. And truthfully, the vibrations didn't help.. Death was imminent - and he knew it well.
Barsait also intended to grab Death by the throat.
It was true - Snow could infinitely recycle his source of strength; this would be an undeniable factor. However, "Snow" - that beast - it mattered not which anymore to Barsait, would forget one important factor. Regardless of how it were recycled, precipitation is but one thing: Water. Water is, undeniable according to the Periodic Table, Hydrogen to the 2nd Power + Oxygen. For if Snow was to recycle his source of strength - it too, could feed Barsait's attacks infinitely more. "Running out", as it were, was no concern to Omi; it wasn't like it took a great deal of the element [O] to produce his assaults never the less - but, the largest factor present in this situation that Snow was forgetting, would be . . what was the second state of being the swordsman had unleashed capable of?
Less reliance on his environment and more generating his own Hellish torrents was one of the answers - for now, he was depending on a new source of sorts. Clustered oxygen in his bloodstream; the separated [O] in the airs was one thing, but that present in the liquid of crimson blood was far more.. compact. Kept in means more usable for Barsait; his pores were rapidly taking in oxygen immediately about him to give his body it's reprieve whilst this insane form of respiration took place.
" Rot in Hell, INSIGNIFICANT TRASH!" A growled roar met the beams - before something else, undeniably, did the same. ----------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- Using a mixture of outside oxygen, scavenged moisture turned volatile explosives, and his own bloodstream as a means of fuel - the refined version of this technique, deemed [Tree of Eden], is similar to the "False" Counter-Part. At least, in terms of basic principle - an ever-branching torrent of serpents, using Barsait's own body as the "tree" upon which the serpents branch out from.
However, the differences are heavy in & of themselves. Heavy pressure reinforcing the flames, generated by Barsait's higher state; much, much higher temperatures, flames peaking the fanatical levels of heat triple the Celsius measure of his previous flames. Furthermore: the 'serpents' diameter would be larger, significantly - the shapes are horribly less defined - and in general, the potency of this ability, though repeat use is impossible, would be catastrophic. Perhaps to all involved..
Rather than just initiate one flaming strike - these new breed of "serpent" tend to tear into a target, before repeatedly channeling waves of flames into it, creating one powerful torrent of heat after another - essentially, giving the demonic mouth-like structures of the uncountable basilisks a "gnawing" appearance.
To top it all: The shock wave vibrated Barsait's blood. Regardless of it's intent, this gave the summoned hordes of serpents an even less defined nature. This could sound like a negative aspect, yet..
Assuredly: It would prove a dire element for Snow. Screams that would make any exposed ear drum unpleased. The air was torn asunder by a second coming of the serpent horde; all clamoring across the blades' behemoth beams, that "pressure" meeting the defined shafts of light and contesting them. A solid defense for Barsait..
.. Which would quickly prove to be more. Grand serpents of 5' diameter or more were washing about the beams, coursing upward until they met the celestial blades in the artificial Heavens above; then, the onslaught began. Not one blade would glow hot like it had freshly been pulled from the forge - if there were thousands of blades, than one would find thousands of blades being bathed in the flaming deities. If one could even make out the thundering form of the man stemming out those horrid things - they would spot his arms quaking even greater, trying to shift down the masses created, all of whom were bathing the blades with superior flames..
... Towards their creator.
In a sudden rush, the beams - all focused at a point and in solid shapes - would be meeting a keen resistance. Where as the points they spawned from would, in a horrendous show of flame & might, began to flow towards Snow like a nexus chain - occasional waves of undefined crimson light washing over a blade just as it seemed a single spec would emerge from the flames. It was a rush. A furious, heated rush that caused the arena temperatures to swarm from rather cold, to a dry, arid temperature suiting the ranges of 103 degrees Fahrenheit; obviously not including the air immedietely surrounding the flames, which easily bested the average heat with frightening ease. And still, many more of these abominations were raining down towards "Snow" with an inanimate, yet definite, murderous intent.
If cold was the blade of the Reaper, Barsait seemed intent to prove to both Snow, and that blood thirsty conscious now dominating him: Roaring ambers would be the mace of Apocalypse.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Feb 26, 2007 9:03 pm
"......."
Indeed, just as Oxygen is the strength and the weakness of a fire user, the water's unfortunate composition of oxygen within is too a flaw within those that utilize water to their advantage. The man had no word to say to this, but upon seeing how lethal Barsait planned to be, it wasn't fear which ran through the man's body. Nay, it was more of....
Laughter. Death has no meaning to him - all it has is just the threat of non-existence, the mere epidemy of the end which mortals fear to face. He too is a mortal, but how often does one see a mortal who has their end announced before they're dead?
Alas, the man named Snow cannot live long, even if he wants to; for curses, his blood is neither humane nor diabolical, a chaotic mess in between. Unable to live past the age of forty, it is no wonder why this man has no fear of death.
For death is already waiting for him, always creeping over in an attempt to backstab and lure the man into his own destruction.
How long has it been since he'd given up on a cure....
The man narrowed his eyes, batting the uneccesary thoughts away. Those memories, those recollection of his past is of his sane mind, and not those of the being which occupied this body at this very moment.
He quickly glanced at the situation, giving a smirk in the process. Tedious efforts were given to bring down his weapons....and even if the environment now is nothing but a blazing inferno, there is no need to fear the opponent's wrath of serpents.
For if cold was the Blade of the Reaper, Flames the mace of Apocalypse...
Then where does it put Wrath, if not the balance of between?
He lowered his body quickly, kneeling on his left ankle as he brought his raised hand to crash upon the ground, sending small flurries of ice to be pulverized from his smash. With most of his celestial beams rendered ineffective by Barsait's roaring ambers, there is no need to let them go to waste.
For those that were caught under the maelstrom of flames and heat quickly whirred back to life, absorbing this time, not the extreme cold nor the moistures within the air.
But the very heat itself.
As the massive flames of these so called abominations continued their downpour towards Snow, most of them were suddenly drawn back into the blades which they passed by, being channeled to generate not a blast that is freezing to the touch --
But a high energy beam that uses Barsait's own energy as fuel instead. Using the leftover weapons to disperse and disrupt the serpent's fuel with those explosive shots in a constant barrage of defense, the man raised his hand back towards the air, this time pointing at Barsait himself.
The Halo rings which were currently occupying thirty six of the heated celestial weapons detached themselves from the projectile, the diamonds hovering in tangent to the rings now interlocking themselves together --
To form four revolving projectiles in total, each having nine blades connected to each other with the Halo rings governing the center.
Aiming the newly formed weapon at Barsait, the man felt sweat drip down his back, even as his white ambers quickly dispersed those massive amount of serpents which managed to penetrate the defensive fire of his ice beams...
There is no real need to worry about the flames yet....
For he then unleashed a combination of ice beams and energy beams right at Barsait, now battling Barsait's serpents and body with sheer firepower reigning from the skies.
Steam erupted from where the beams criss-crossed the flames as those wasted energy was then recycled to continuously keep - quite surprisingly - an even match against Barsait's roaring ambers...
Neither a gain, nor a disadvantage, for Snow seems to be keeping his own ground relatively well without much difficulty...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Mar 03, 2007 10:10 am
Both of his arms were vibrating far more than what the shock wave could have instilled; Barsait's limbs were, apparently so, beginning to quake to a further degree. Yet, through the very few gaps the mayhem ahead of him could yield visibility in, that mercenary did catch a glimpse of laughter in his opponent. And that, was a step too far to he; to laugh in the face of Death was one thing, but to give laughter away when in the battle to overtake it itself? A frail insult, in Omi's view; one that, regardless, enraged him to a further degree. Not a sign of hypocrisy, as he had been engaged in laughter himself moments prior; but rather, a sign of how different each passing moment in this battle presented itself.
One inconvenience. A tiny phase of the countless basilisks gave way to Snow's assault - a small concentration of one such radiant light basking down past Barsait's face. Tearing through a flame emitting off his right shoulder - though fortunately, not a successful strike. Yet, the fact one such part could falter, showed possibly in the future: More could. That would spell death for the mercenary. And sooner did this seem to come to fruition - for in the distance, many of his own spawned flames were being.. syphened into those annoying blades? "Son of a b***h.. if I just keep the flames out there, this'll be over in a hurry, but if I don't.."
Arms thrusting outward, a sudden rush of serpents gouged down their lines; new waves of heat rushing to combat the sudden long-range bombardment in his wake. Ambers that were turned rogue, would be engulfed with sudden deafening blasts - all stemming from Omi's palms. It seemed, each new wave of the serpents would scream out in a kind of erupting bang - both of the swordsman's teeth gnashed together, obvious effort being shown now.
What was, than, the swordsman's strategy to try and seize the upper hand? Blasts. Roaring channels of those coils were suddenly grasping oxygen - and renments of ice those frightening beams left in their wake - to stem hither, even more flames of their own. And now, rather than just spawn the flames - they were, in a disturbingly unmanaged manner, beginning to bellow out explosions in their creation; all roaring higher. Higher. The serpent lights stemming out in every direction, trying to use their range of motion as the advantage in question to swarm into Snow's vicinity and engulf his body in tormented heat - in short: Omi was, again, seeking that flaw in the impenetrable fortress. Except, this time - as his fingers rapidly motioned this way & that, pupils dilated and flames beginning to scream out of his assorted pores - Barsait had a much different intent in doing so.
"One.. I get one in, just one.." Despite his fanged expression barring ahead, gritted as it had been in the last plentiful moments of explosions & Hell - it was beginning to form.. a grin of assurance?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Mar 03, 2007 11:27 am
Eyeing the situation, there is no doubt that Snow found himself cornered and trapped within the very flames that spawned from Barsait. But to see how fruitless it is just so Barsait can fuel the flames...
It's time.
Even if the flames were expanding from within Barsait's body and the surrounding atmosphere, there is a slight disposition that Snow had intentionally neglected until now.
Quantity of Oxygen.
As more and more flames branched out, stifling in an intent to roast and scorch the opponent's very own essence, the necessary amount of fuel in the air is getting ever so thinner due to the massive amount of flames in the air. Having noted it by then, the man can finally utilize a hidden entity which now appears before him. And that would be, by the factor itself - oxygen yet again.
Many of the celestial beams of light aligned themselves parallel to the ground - circling Snow's body, most of them continuing to fire their burning beams of frost and fire against the arrogant fool. Ignoring the fact that his constant barrages were, indeed, gaining ground against the swarm of the opponent's fiery serpents....
This is where things shall get interesting. For as the blades continued their fire, Snow took in a lungful of air, moisture dampening his cloth and body. In a series of blasts, the beams ceased fire all of a sudden. Just for a second.
Before every single spec of air was literally ripped away into the blades themselves, causing a brief vacuumless state of space to exist within this sudden mischief. And now lowering his body, it was then that the beams fired directly at Barsait, using the accumulation of air to fuel the fiery flames of heat...
Or the very icy touch of the beam itself as Snow charged forward, using the path of the beam itself to bring his body ever so closer to the opponent's position.
The possibilities of the serpents getting to him now seems listless. With the beams reinforcing each other on the whim, those which attempted to hit Snow on the spot were quickly engulfed in the blades which followed Snow, revolving clockwise and gaining speed in the momentum thrown around itself.
The man named Snow had his hands clenched, visible beams of pure white forming two swords on his grasps....
As he prepared for a final blow for that instant, when the area around his own being is left in such vacuumless state...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Mar 10, 2007 2:07 pm
"Failure . . ." This was the one word Barsait, much to his own growing rage, was resounding within his mind. Oxygen wasn't his chief issue - one would only have to remember where they were to realize the lack of a problem involving that. An arena grounds with an open sky above; air would, in a dome structure with hollowed inner halls, circulate at a rapid pace thanks to nothing closing them out from above. Had this been an enclosed structure, likely, oxygen would be a serious complication - the air wouldn't circulate, fresh oxygen would not gust in. But.. that was not the case here. Fresh air would, regardless of which direction it circulated from, flow into their presence - as a result, even the grand gales of Snow and Barsait's attacks wouldn't terminate that fresh supply. To "run out" was, given the setting and Snow's own, much appreciated bouts of ice.. impossible for the mercenary. Yet, it was true; there would be pockets of air in the arena grounds themselves without oxygen. Soon, they would be replaced by new currents with fresh 'ammunition' - yet, in here lied the problem.
Perhaps in a raw melee exchange, Barsait proved advantageous. In a battle-induced high, for quite some whiles now, he'd attempted to best this bizarre ego of "Snow" from afar; and at first, it seemed victory was in sight. But, Omi knew.. he was failing and rapidly. Occasionally, flames here & there would die out before new took their place - in short: Barsait could only, currently, maintain his Tree of Eden. Not reinforce it for a greater assault. Meanwhile, his opponent's ranged assaults were only growing in strength - in ferocity.. to top it, Snow was relatively unscathed. Without real pressure placed upon him. Omi, on the other hand.. was having one Hellish time keeping the onslaught from raining onto him. At this rate: the swordsman would surely die. And he realized it all too well.
There were further complications; to continue this massive spread of serpentry, spanning each and every single one of them to & fro on will, required a great bit of latent concentration on Barsait's part. Not just mental, but physical; his fingers, still maneuvering all sorts of ways in their guiding role, had a new feature to them not present before. Two of the right hand's fingers, index and ring, were beginning to bleed slowly.. signs of stress. "Tree of Eden" was an ability stemmed from merely extending as many serpents in as many directions as possible, for the sole purpose of eradicating either extremely large numbers of opponents, or to catch a much faster opponent with no means of escape - or even, as used on Snow earlier, to exploit whatever gap in a perfect defense one may have. To control every individual element of what was now assuredly and at that, easily hundreds of millions of individual coils - directing them, forcing their nature into what angles and directions he desired - constantly contesting the opponent's force, always out there seeking new flames to employ into it's forces like a regretful parasite..
It had it's limits. Namely: The toll it took on it's creator and user. Sure, Barsait could attempt, at higher levels of injury, to try and create countless more; but he was rapidly seeing the foolishness in that. "This will not be enough, to crush such an opponent.. Damn it! That.. wall again.." His right shoulder blade wasn't just glowing, now - it was pulsating. A number of pire-like crimson lights - this time, of a much brighter hue - were just a foot off his flesh each; howling unto the chaos both Barsait and Snow had caused. "I can't.. I can tell.. I'm not there yet. These hands are not strong enough to be worthy of that yet! I can't.. can't.." His mind was dulling; his teeth exposing in what was undoubtedly, growls of fortitude.
"Yet.. these hands have surpassed greater men than you.. crushed greater boundaries.. Far greater..!!" His lips found their voice - as ahead of him, Snow began what one could classify as "The End". A vacuum leading unto numerous beams of heat & cold, raining unto Barsait with force intended to reave through his flame-generated 'shield' and end him. But, they would find little resistance, even with the vacuum of air spawned so far ahead. It was just at that moment, a flow of 'red light' rained over Barsait's skin, dripping down just like blood.. then, the dumbfounding occurred.
Every single serpent in the distance disappeared in one monstrous flicker.
Where were they, as those beams rained over where Barsait had been? A good opinion would be: Barsait had his defenses pierced, was crushed by those elemental rays of outright destruction, and had been crushed into nothingness. As he died, so too did those 'serpents' disappear; it would be a reasonable explanation, and most would agree with it. Just by looking at the arena grounds.
"So, if only for their sake.." A hollow voice. Then, not so hollow; for amidst the beams thundering over him with their tremendous might, a humanoid figure was bursting out of the ferocious barrage. To the left, from Barsait's perspective - thundering towards the vacuum. Yet, what was thundering through those horrid flames & cold - coming to meet what propelled Snow forward right at it's apex, was more than one figure. And in it's core-front, while resembling Barsait, was something of a..
. . . Humanoid dragon?Considered the known pinnacle of the "Serpentine Manipulation", lies the technique known as 'Haelstrom'. Retracting, condensing, and concentrating all of the horrid serpents Barsait could muster, his body produces flames which are of the unnatural level. These are also condensed about his body; a number of serpents lopping off of him, effectively creating several "shells" of serpents gesturing fourth this ferocious flames. Since they resemble the shape those snakes took over Barsait's body, one could consider them a distraction tactic - "Which one is the real thing?" - but that was a mute point.
These 'shells' would, in a ferocious display of flames that would literally collapse the average man's lungs most swiftly, reave through anything and everything in their master's immediate path. Furthermore: They propelled their master along said course.. bursting through hostile force, cutting forward with immense speed.
At least, until the destination was reached - in which case, Omi Barsait would unleash the final blow. Destroying the two of roughly five masses that protected him; cutting right through them to reach his opponent. Ranged. Not a beam, but more of a distorted breath; this technique - at the price of inevitable costs to it's user - was designed for one purpose. Make a path for the user. Give the user a shot. Deliver it.
These flames were not spawned from the airs abound. Purely incubated from Barsait's own body - igniting blood itself and channeling the clustered oxygen forward, along with tremendous force reinforcing it - the final 'breath' was the dangerous element of this equation. Merely trying to match it with brute force would be a fool's choice; trying to quell it with mere cold, the absence of heat's name, would be just as well a folly choice. It was nothing, at all, to be trifled with.
Later, this same technique would be what brought Lazenca Miranda of Barton Branch Round III from an incredibly powerful state, into a status of bloodied, injured, and weakened beyond use of anything 'super-human', as it were. Reaping through metal, bone and flesh like that of a unmerciful dragon guarding Hell's gates, this was a desperation move on Barsait's part. Since most likely, it would end up wounding his exterior body in the aftermath. Perhaps to a light degree, depending on the situation - but if the impact both ways was grand enough.. the situation would turn dire for Barsait. This was true of Snow & Omi's current 'battle'.
However. There was a key difference between Miranda & Barsait's match, and the exchange Snow & Barsait held currently. Prior to utilizing this 'Haelstrom' as it was dubbed, Omi was immensely exhausted - and wounded something fierce - in his future clash with Lazenca.
While not in perfect health, mind you - that was not the situation one would find here.
Those beams.. he could feel their impact against the 'shells' about him. They wouldn't last forever, even they. But they wouldn't have to.
Barsait only had a hazed sight of his opponent - but he knew where Snow was. Blinding flames, oxygen slowly being ripped from the air until his lungs were burning as well as the flames - it was all momentary. Momentary.. for right at the void's boundaries, right in Snow's course - it was let loose. Omi's jaw may as well have dislocated, his mouth was opening so large; his teeth, not at all resembling that of a human man's anymore. But, what came out from that central vertex, would quell any curiousity over the swordsman's composition anyway.
One roar gusted over that thing's path - "I'LL BRING YOU TO HELL!" Senses dulled entirely. For out from Barsait, came.. everything. A breath, true to it's name, roared forward in a torrent that cut through the shells - met the beams ahead - overwhelmed them - and screamed at his opponent with a lightning speed. Flames? They were so very white, the heat risen so horribly around that path - it was almost impossible to get a good look at that atrocity; but, with it's power obvious, it's target decided..
This was..
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Mar 13, 2007 5:30 pm
Had Snow regained conscious by then, it is of no surprise that he would've commended Barsait for such ferocious display of overwhelming strength and power. Hell, even his most powerful abilities to fend of Barsait's attacks would be proven...useless, if not literally a futile effort to deny the inevitable end.
But this isn't his normal state in the beginning. Lacking logic and the subtle cleverness of a fighter, all of this is a meaningless ploy against his assault.
There is no such thing as defeat nor death in this Alter Ego of Snow's.
The process was already underway when Barsait unleashed his - what one might call, a Final Move. Unable to halt it, even in his state of subonscious, the only logical means of destroying and/or negating such monstrosity would be to counter it, or to attack with equal monstrosity. Even if it nothing but a slim chance against the hellish flames of his opponent, still --It is still a chance. Moreover, there was still a few possibilities left to Snow to take advantage of, especially during his creation of the blades itself a few moments back.
He skid to a halt, using the momentum to fling his hands outward. Blades that were firing constantly at Barsait ceased to their onslaught when they saw Barsait's Dragon form, leaving only the fiery white ambers of the opponent's fire to roar throughout the arena. Pointing both blades which he held to the ground, Snow allowed it to drop, ripples forming in midair as if it was sinking into a bottomless abyss when it came in contact with the ground. As if provoking Barsait to attack him head on, a sadistic baring of fangs could be seen under Snow's breath, grinning like a madman ready to embrace death. Blades which is under his command fell from the skies to rain down on the torn Earthern soil, piercing anything that got in their way.
But without the beams, they were nothing more than mere blades which have no significant factor against Barsait's Haelstrom.
Or is it?
The breath of fire ripped through all the blades which had ceased to be, lurching towards Snow at a pace where even he couldn't escape. Only a fool would make a run for it, or to flee away from the wrath of the Reaper. As Snow did not seem to have put up a defense at all to defend against this onslaught that would downright kill him....
He merely relaxed his body, pointing his right hand towards the monster which is called Barsait, before snapping his fingers.
And then....
Life ceased to exist.
What had occupied the air around all of his blade's vicinity now became nothing more than near frozen objects, devoid of movements and lacking what one could call life itself within this destroyed Arena. Surviving trees and plants ceased to live, and even the very air itself of the arena was frozen in the sands of time, lost in that moment when the two attacks clashed with full force.
For what met against the Haelstrom's Last Breath, was nothing other than a frozen entity itself, a materialization of a degree which could reduce the impact of the raging fury, but not entirely stopping it. There was no need to stop it at all.
Because in that nearly absolute degree where movement is nearly impossible, the only thing that he needed to do, was to bring everything around him in a near absolute zero state for just a few seconds, to first reduce the impact of the Haelstrom....
Before igniting the blades to shatter the very structure within the affected region, destroying the world which once occupied the space around Snow himself. Having waited for Barsait to come as close as possible to his own position...
Perhaps it might not work against an opponent such as Barsait.
Perhaps.
As for Snow himself...the opponent might believe that Snow is dead within his very own attack, for Snow is frozen within the huge sphere of ice, that sadistic smile on his face and his hand still placed in front of him, keeping that split moment when he had snapped his fingers.
Death may be the logical idea of what became of this user of ice.
However, the blades he had impaled to the ground had of another use.
But until the moment comes, one might believe Snow to be dead, devoid of motion itself.
But only a fool would believe that Snow is really dead within his own attacks...
Because.....
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Mar 18, 2007 5:48 pm
The entities of flame dulled all of Barsait's senses - giving him little choice other than to glare ahead through that which robbed him of any sight in that instance adamantly. It was the confrontation of that dragon-esque roar from Hell pitted against the icy cold bowels of a lower Dante's Inferno take on Hell, Snow. For sure, it would result in wanton destruction . . but hopefully, in Barsait's perception, it would end in the battle's end. Another struggle ceased, a confrontation smothered beneath the swirl of fire & raw absence of heat.
Unfortunately, this was not the case. Just as the [Haelstrom] soared into the reasonless beast of a conscious Snow had undergone - the back 'shells' swarmed about Omi's body, slamming him backwards in an attempt to keep the basis of the assault from, simply, destroying himself. The mercenary may as well have been unconcious or dead, however. Hearing, sight, feel.. all dulled away at the atrocities his own body brought fourth.
So, imagine his surprise when these senses came back; as the shaken swordsman managed to rise from what was literally, a man-shaped crater of some three inches in depth amidst the ruins of a ground in the distance of thirty feet from where he had been. Firstly: The front of the swordsman was ruffled as could be. Hair an entire mess, eyes opening weakly, body literally lodged if only a bit into the ground; blood here and there, though it was hard to tell where from, exactly. Grinding his body upward by sheer force of will, it was obvious: those 'flames' still surrounded him in a fierce orbit unlike that of an aura. If only Omi knew what the implications could have been, had that not been there - there would be no doubt, the mercenary would be thanking whomever he could. But, that would be to another realization; first: His body. Left leg, dislodged. Right, right arm, back of his head followed by neck.. slowly, the entire skeletal system, nerves, bones, muscle - all of it was rising back up with the swordsman. Another close dash with death..
"..!?" Something was snagging. Holding him back, you could say. When glaring down, a look of pure annoyance crossed he; for it seemed.. there was no feeling to his left arm. None. It was stuck in that impression with no ability to rescue itself, and only by grasping the wrist which returned no feeling at the flesh, and just pulling it out, did the mercenary finally come free. His baring wasn't quite in order - nor were his wits. It took several moments of coming to his feet and gazing about, just to remember what occurred mere moments ago. Suddenly becoming alert, his amber-brown eyes swerved towards the direction Snow had been at, adrenaline coursing through his body once more. Was his opponent dead - was an impending attack coming his way - was..
Such thoughts were robbed from him, in the place of a curious, slightly awe-filled terror. "What in the Hell . . is this . . ?" An audible breath came out in outright confusion, as the mercenary began to survey his surroundings with utmost intrigue. Outright ruin. It looked as though, the arena grounds were in outright Hell; things were crushed and rendered apart everywhere the eye could see, and to top it.. they were motionless. No winds seemed to be coursing. The trees afar in the barely viewable distance from the arena grounds, were no longer gusting along; dead, at that. In fact, what got to Omi Barsait the most, was the air. It was hard, but in part thanks to the heat given off by his own body, often the swordsman could spot slight waves of heat in the air. Yet outside of his own personal haven of high degree temperature.. it was as though the air itself had stopped. As though time had stopped.
Then slowly, possible scenarios came into his head. Cold. He knew for a fact, Snow could render things to a ridiculous level of cold; it was not something 'new' for him to see, since in an official arena match, another man had rendered the entire arena grounds into the negative hundreds within a short amount of time. But this.. for things to be that still, that without sound save the swordsman's own breath..
"My God.. you damned lunatic." He finally came to the realization, strangely forming his lips into a grin. "You.. You brought this place to absolute zero, didn't you?" One could see it now. About Barsait's body, was raw heat; flames glistening off his flesh, freshly spawned. Air that would be stopped in all molecular and kinetic motion was given heat by he, thus, circulating in his and only his vicinity. Hence, why the swordsman didn't immediately enter suspended animation, or lose the ability to draw in oxygen to his lungs. Once again: His 'ability' saved the swordsman's life. But shakily - Barsait had no intention of believing Snow would sacrifice his life for the sake of bringing the grounds to a stand-still. Still, genuinely, the young man of seventeen was outright fascinated. "This is incredible.. any idea how many men have toiled away their entire lives trying to reach even a degree shy of where this air's at, you b*****d? Entire organizations have spent likely billions just trying to replicate the setting in one small room, for every purpose under the sun from storage to military applications. Unbelievable.."
Marveling just a moment longer, spending away words Snow likely could not possible hear - the swordsman then spat another collection of blood from his lips - striking just outside his radius of heat, before literally suspending itself in mid-air. "No matter. An impressive feat, to be sure. You can take away all the heat you want, though.. make the air zero Kelvin, zero degrees Rankine, negative 273.15 Celsius, even! Rob all the God given heat from the air you want." Slapping his right palm onto the numb shoulder blade of his left arm; eyes glancing over the evident blades thrusted into the grounds ahead with resentment. "I'll re-supply it and get this damned world moving again in spades."
"Do I have enough after that attack..?" Slowly, a collaboration of serpents began pouring from the swordsman's palm; suggesting an answer to his mental query. Yes.
"Hn. And here I was, not wanting this to end in any deaths.." Left shoulder spasming, it seemed serpents were coursing through the fabric of the worn clothing, the chain mesh . . and right through his flesh. It was a bizarre rush; was Omi actually pumping the blood-spawned basilisks of the hunt.. right back into where they spawned? They were igniting, no less - pouring into the entire left side of his body, as his right hand retracted, no longer guiding the process. Yet, as his right hand moved to it's side.. so did Barsait's left.
The [Serpentine Manipulation] was now being utilized to guide his own dead limb; thus giving it motion once more. Flames were now screaming off his left & right arm more than any other given point of his body, like that of full-arm gauntlets composed of flames. Defying the state of absolute cold about him. Defying it furiously. "You know, I really don't care about dying for a cause, or risking my life for the moment. People die in more useless ways, so it's contentious, I suppose. However!" Raising his right hand a bit - so it extended just in front of his stomach - the left followed suit in that eerie manner. As though it were possessed more than being guided by synapses and nerve-endings..
"I'm a man with much to do. Many desires, many goals." His words continued streaming out, likely finding no ears; as those galloping flames coursed higher and higher, bringing pockets of outright motionless air to life. For such levels of cold to actually be brought to life, the flames drafting off his body had to be reaching ridiculously high levels of heat. Kelvin scale was the wiser choice to use now, rather than Celsius. "And far too much I have to succeed at before I can 'rest' in eternity, if ever! So, if only to end this day alive.. Gracious host, your guest is forced to end you. I can tell by what I saw of your face, you are not the same man I met earlier.. something horrid is changed in you, besides your body and your strength. As though you have some other ego that has robbed your sentient mind & heart of their strengths.."
Teeth clashing together, blood began streaming from his gums. Glistening down the enamel in double-helixes. Immediately igniting. Furthermore, the blood stains in his clothing were igniting - the blood, fresh or dry on his flesh, igniting. His body was exploding into a fury of humanoid flames! And there, was his defiance. Against both the moment which determined he would die - and against the gales of cold themselves. The Serpent-driven swordsman of the northern lands had entered this little tournament on a whim, but now, more than money, there were stakes in place he would not lose into the abyss. Such a branch of 'Fate', was not acceptable.
Again, his throat was obviously deforming; the full extents of the [Advanced Release] were coming up. This was reckless. Careless. Without reason - in fact, one could surmise going this far with his 'states' and not just fleeing while he -presumably- could, was madness. Yet . . his head craned back, just to get a good view of his motionless opponent - hands raising slowly, flames coursing along them at speeds unnerving to the eye.. they were engulfing his body. Slowly. But surely. Making the humanoid figure within, only visable in the monotone colors of burnt steel and red flesh; once again, he was 'Draganoid'-like. Similar to how he appeared amidst the [Haelstrom] strike deemed 'Last Breath'. Except, it seemed Omi wanted to breath evermore..
As the last of those flames dripped down his body like a monstrosity of a curtain, his final thoughts would be: "I apologize, Vincent. I cannot give you the blood lust you crave.." Then his head craned directly forward - eyes glistening in that pale-green hue, right through the monstrous embers. Right at the suspended Snow. With a hearty roar, he proclaimed:
" Come! I will end your very existence if it means prolonging my own; that greed is the very least I owe "God" & this Earth!"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Mar 19, 2007 10:22 pm
It was already impressive that Snow had managed to survive so long without real fatality on his part. Having casted himself in a wall of ice, he himself went to suspended animation - using the thick sheets of motionless barrier to dull and erode the enemy's force through sheer attrition. With the absense of motion throughout most of the place, save for Barsait's current position, although everything around the arena was rendered into ruins and chaos - the sphere of ice still held its overall integrity, trapping Snow within the motionless object.
There is nothing much to say, but for the silence which answered Barsait's wonder and then roar.
There is nothing which is needed to say to the opponent.
But.
The blades which were left scattered amongst the arena began to tremble with fury, a low pitch of tune beginning to vibrate from the core of the guard itself, vibrating the motionless weapons as if resonating with...something. Cracks began to form on the once lethal blades which Snow had possessed for his assault before, shattering its integrity and weakening the overall strength of the blade itself.
Cracks also began to appear on the huge sphere of ice separating himself from reality, a low rumble beginning to pervade the arena with a deathly whisper.
And then.
Time seems to have slowed down in pace for Barsait's viewpoint when the sphere of ice shattered at - surprisingly - a slow rate. As if lagging heavily in motion, the body of Snow finally revealed itself in all its' demonic glory - the shards of thrown ice floating quite slowly in midair due to the extreme cold which made time appear slow around him. Landing to the ground with a soft 'thud', the Alter Ego of Snow slowly rose up - seeming unscathed but hardly. Brushing off whatever shards of ice which clung onto his cloth and skin, he looked at the opponent's battered form with a stare.
"........."
The sadistic smile again.
Blood trickled down the bracers he wore, staining his white cloak with large patches of the bloody color. Even with his ability to commandeer the forces of ice at will, the price he paid is...
He raised his hands, palms outstretched, aiming it out in a V-shape towards the dragonoid form of Barsait. As if offering something, the extreme cold around Snow quickly frosted over his wounds, at least enough to stop the bleeding before this 'vessel' of his loses too much blood and renders this body incapable of movement.
It's been such a short time since he'd been awakened. If he doesn't enjoy things to the fullest, then what use is there being stuck within this body, limiting his potential to what this vessel has to give?
Such a vessel which he was born in, to escape from the limitations of human capabilities and be gone from this irritating body...
Alas, his other side seems to resist yet again to release the demon within.
Soon, Snow, death will be your only compani--
The body of Snow suddenly lurched, clutching the head as if agonizing over a particular pain. Dropping to his knees without attention to Barsait's determined form, his hair began to flicker from bright to dull, signs of steam being casted off from his back as he trembled.
"Ah......aahh....."
More of a gasp instead of a groan, the 'thing' inside him writhed with rage and anger, having yet finished the battle which it had started against Barsait just before. But with the body now being fought over, Snow suddenly clawed at his own chest, tearing off his cloth and skin with agony as he then --
Screamed.
A scream not from Snow himself, but also the scream of the 'thing' inside him, in anger of its inability to finish what it had started.
The entire arena has now lost its motionless frame, as everything around Snow suddenly moved once more in a regular state of degree. Even the arena which had frozen under his attack now seems to revert back to its normal state, the ice being thawed --
Life returning to the vast silence of death.
And which life also returned to Snow's eyes, revealing the mindset of another man which had temporarily regained control of his....
Panting, Snow got up wearily, not aware of the time lapse between the awakening, and the subconsious slumber which took place. The muscles were torn on his chest, blood continuing to trickle down like a pool of red liquid. Reaching for the blade - which he thought he had left on his left side - his eyes widened when he didn't find it there, last recalling the huge fury of steam that caused the explosion between the two.
"...........Since when did our spars get bloody and painful?" He murmured with wonder, not feeling THIS exhausted when he was fighting Barsait before the thing within him awoke. But unable to put his guard down, Snow took on a tired defensive side-stance, already seeing doubles in his vision due to the loss of blood now.
It was as if Snow wasn't aware of the awakening within him.
As if the memories of the fight just to the explosion of steam...before all of it occured, was erased intentionally within his mind.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Mar 24, 2007 2:13 pm
For what appeared like an eternity, Omi watched the power struggle between the man 'Snow' and that thing, whatever it was, laying dormant than dominant through him. Screams and tearing of his own flesh, a bizarre exhalation . . . coming to a finality with the arena regaining it's motion, heat surging back into the molecules all around. It appeared as though, for the moment at least, those two men were not descended inside the bowels of Hell itself - their environment . . or themselves.
Snow's words came to Barsait like a mist; it was hard to even make out words in a tangible means now. Sure, Omi could hear - in fact, his hearing was, as of that point, superb. His body was in a state of massive power; speed, defensive & offensive capabilities, perception . . yet, no being, not even those referred to as 'Gods', are infinite. The mercenary was heralding great power currently, however - slowly yet surely - he was paying the price for it. Anguish was such a thing as annoyance, yet it was creeping it's head inside the swordsman. So, imagine his momentary surprise at the sudden return to normalcy Snow was taking - the loss of blood thirsty murder.
However, Omi Barsait of the [Barton Branch] was suffering problems of his own.
Those majestic flames weren't ending. They were still growing. Furthermore, to his sudden, growing fright - his shoulder blades were now protruding at the back of his flesh, arms dislocating slightly only to snap back to tense reaffirmation - lower, lower at his torso than they had been before. Longer. Head shaking, jaws barred, that mercenary could actually feel the odd sensation overtaking his eyes, as swirling, pale green pools flew across his pupils like a shroud of some Hellish abomination was robbing him of them. His jaw dropped, before a low-throat growl came from him; foreboding, pained, yet . . full of rage. Spires at his shoulder blades were surging, all composed of fire - 'serpents' were flowing down his flesh like a waterfall - flames were careening off his pores - numerous areas in his skeletal structure were deforming, snapping, dislocating only to come together in a new positioning - muscle tissue was rising - blood was being bumped through his entire stream at an accelerated rate - - rapid inhaling and exhaling was coming from his throat, no longer his voice of norm attached to it, but like that of a hound searching frantically for a feast. His fingernails, nail consisting of a protein known as 'Keratin', was surging to a point. Growing. Deforming into what made his hands, distinctly, 'claws'. Kneecap condensed. Elbows thundered forward, heart beating so very rapidly that it was literally visible at his chest exterior; veins extending along his throat, the air about him distorting in something far more horrific than just mere heat - his teeth also were undergoing a rapid metamorphosis. Enamel sharpening to a point; growing right for the plain eye to grasp view of, as fangs glistening only slightly in crimson blood replaced the view of his olden teeth! Again, his legs dislocated; numerous growls of agony escaping him, although they were immeasurably difficult to hear over the screaming flames flowing around him like a tempest ever faster & faster - his legs coming back into normalcy, except in a slightly differentiated structure of the bone. Barsait was standing at least a foot or two higher than the mercenary had been moments ago . . .
"Stop.." It was a dreadful, repulsive show - his right side thundering over, as though something struck it, before the stubborn swordsman tried to stand erect once again - then the act repeated. The chain mesh about his body was . . to a Hellish degree, surging about his skin; no, that was inaccurate. His skin was actually taking the metalloid and grafting it unto Omi's flesh himself - the unstable armor was actually becoming part of his flesh. "Stop . . ! God DAMN YOU, STOP, I IMPLORE YOU-" His voice would randomly surge above all else; yet, quickly be drowned out, despite the horrific display undergoing. His gauntlets were the next article of clothing to suddenly undergo a shocking change - grafting unto his mixture of flesh, red flame, and metal - before elongating along his wrist from the back-point on. The sword sheath 'Caladbolg' once was held in, thundered off him unto the desert winds; before his boots began a similar transformation. His own body was taking in the matter immediately about him, and just . . twisting it into how it desired.
Slowly, his eyes peered up, less horror and more outright blinding rage surging through his mind - as at the middle of his forehead, wild hair growing like that of a mane - something was festering. As though a small, oval orb of flames was burning right through himself; though, that theory was quickly thrown out when it became more visible. An . . eyelid. No, two; not even that, an entire eye had literally sprouted from his body. Opening in a rush of flames singing about, it was a sharp contrast from the swordsman's own two eyes - rather, his eyes of norm. It was a spiral pupil . . the retina was red as the flames themselves, perhaps even redder - coursing and glowing like coal, gazing at Snow intently.
Then, flames fanned over him again - and his ever changing features were washed away from sight. Temporarily. Except for one chief element . .
Amidst the flames, a spectral figure was emitting from the writhing mercenary - head craned back, gazing afar upon the man of ice. It's face, if it was even a being more than just a projection of those 'serpents', was too difficult to make out - save a mouth, which in a wry manner, formed . . a grin. From what one could only assume was Barsait's mouth, came further roared words.
“This only, is my rock and my salvation: it is my defense; I shall not be moved.”
Then, the swordsman's left fist rose - and thundered into his own chest. Omi Barsait had struck himself.
All in an instant, the deformations faded - the flames fanned away, leaving a small number of them about the mercenary's body, like an outline about his now-knelt figure. Nothing out of the ordinary could be seen of that swordsman, save the fact he was now sputtering & coughing furiously onto the ground, gasping and panting as though he had been near the brink of fatality. Sweat glistened all about his face - as though a grand catastrophe had been averted. And perhaps . . it had. Slowly then, his head rose to gaze at Snow in the distance - a weary expression upon him - and the words finally surged from his lips. A response to Snow's earlier question. "I'll be damned.. That's the same question I've asked nearly every day since I joined this arena."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Mar 29, 2007 6:50 am
(( Sorry about the late reply - college life. >_>; ))
Though not aware of the ill intent set off by the opponent's flames, Snow nonetheless kept his stance with wariness, his chest slowly frosting up under the intense heat - at least to stem the flow of blood.
The internal injuries were serious. Internal bleeding near the liver and lungs, followed by large gape wounds located on his arms/elbow positions - when his bracers shot off. His body itself gave off a ghastly light color as the flow of his energy ruptured and distorted itself here and there, creating an unbalanced aura that depicts his unfortunate condition.
If not for himself aware of his Alter Ego at work before, Snow would've assumed that the opponent gave him these wounds.
Which means that waking up in the middle of the fight against Barsait wasn't a good idea at all.
He took a deep breath, staggering back a step as his weight forced him to topple to his right, kneeling on one of his knees just to support himself upright. The breathing itself betrayed a labored breath, panting heavily as more of the pain began to pervade into his muscles, causing jolts of pure agony whenever he shifts his limbs.
Even his consciousness is starting to leave off. Perhaps if he had more energy to diffuse and repair himself, he might still be able to fend off the next series of attacks from Barsait. But with the atmosphere returning to the conditions set before the absolute stillness his Alter Ego had left off, it is rapidly turning into a raging inferno --
With Barsait in control.
Can Snow stand a chance in his state, when his power is sapped and left asunder - no thanks to the 'thing' within himself? Even so...
His body stiffened and readied itself when Barsait roared, his previous pleas unheard by his ears due to the roaring inferno deafening the arena.
So imagine his sudden awkward look when Barsait reduced the power, returning the horrendous display of fire and might into nothing more than a mere 'sizzle'. Relief unconsciously spread across his body, and Snow collapsed to his rear, staring steadily at the opponent and trying to breathe in the lungful of air which is getting ever so harder to get into his lungs.
Perhaps it is...
"Want to call it a draw?" He asked with a weary labor, seeing that both of them are in no condition to fight. Snow, especially.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Apr 09, 2007 6:29 pm
[Sorry for the extremely late post. :Flex of.. Apology.:]
Omi began to limply shake his right hand in a lazy manner. The truth was: his entire body was burning. Not in a literal manner, but he could feel uncomfortable heat creep across his flesh - and it was nothing pleasant, if not, ill-boding. At the offer Snow gave, the mercenary paused for a few moments in the eerie silence of the arena grounds, no longer ablaze - before giving a simple nod.
"Nn.." Giving a soft groan, Barsait shifted his body into an upward stance; standing perfectly straight once more. Numerous areas of his clothing were burnt or gashed through, and blood was apparent . . furthermore, his dead limb was still just that; useless, for the time being. Nothing dire - proper care would see it's usability alive once more in short time - but not that night, for certain. "A draw sounds pretty damned good, actually." Then, the swordsman reared his head back . .
And laughed.
Jovial, but it was bizarre, given the situation and how both Omi & Snow were in such dire conditions; yet, none the less, he continued this odd tittering whilst turning his back to Snow. Shifting forward across the bizarre sands, battling over what their stabilized temperature may be. Yet, just as those steps were taken to part himself from the arena, he turned back with a foreboding look contrasting the very expression Omi'd just held; voice accompanying this. "Hey. One thing, though. It was a highly enjoyable bout, and I commend you for your strength. But . . " Pausing, seeming to try and ponder just how the next phase of the sentence would be worded, Barsait continued: " . . It was fortunate, how dark it was out. It explains why there were few if any individuals running about the arena. You did go berserk back there, and things could've gone quite horrid as a result.. besides either of us murdering one another, there was the distinct possibility of homicide in the arena Halls; and knowing the people that participate in this place, some fellows may've tried to intervene in our little skirmish. Perhaps, to a fatal degree?" Sluggishly returning to a forward direction, shuffling through the sands towards what was the western tunnel exit - that swordsman added a final comment above the airs. "Keep yourself in check. This isn't the kind of place you want to lose it; Believe me." Bit by bit, that dead limb suddenly gave a spasm - wrist shaking rapidly, a dim red glow lining it's pores, before the bizarre show ended swiftly as it came. "Going overboard when you don't need to, even against your own will, could.. end up being your premature death. Of the body.. of the mind.. My advice, eh?" All the while, the mercenary - despite how sluggish he seemed - had, almost to the bizarre degree, trekked the tournament grounds and reached the exit in a record speed. Then the final word was uttered in his usual, slightly lazy tone: "Later."
Dark-clad man disappearing into the fitting darkness of the shadows; Omi Barsait had left. Soon to face further tests of his will to survive, in the form of Barton Round III participant Lazenca Miranda. But, immediately, recovery was his priority; more so, rest. This night's battle ended in a mutual draw.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Apr 10, 2007 5:04 pm
Colosseum Main Arena, 12.03 pm
Above ground, a storm rages; its winds tear across the grass and through trees, and drops of rain slice through the night air like frozen razor blades. Rumbles of distant thunder threatent to wake even the heaviest of sleepers... but not a sound permeates the underground arena that houses the GTB. Well, almost no sound. Strain your ears, though, and you may notice a faint slapping sound echoing through the empty halls.
plod..plod..plod...
Do you hear it? The sullen step of one who the vicious NightMare has barred from Sleep... The sound of bare feet, carrying one who is too fatigued to don shoes, but too awake to lie still. Even though his body and mind have been pushed to... no, PAST... their limits, this one still can't rest easy.
plod..plod..plod...
Its hard, to be stuck in constant confrontation with one's inner demons. Anger, Fear, Despair, Self-Loathing; a stagnant bog of emotion wells up inside of you, pulling you down, blotting out all vestiges of the light that we as humans are so prone to seek out. For Trei, this mental state is fast becoming a hellish home... when he sleeps, painful memories flood his unconscious mind, and while he wakes, his mind eats away at itself as he ponders his own altered state.
plod..plod..plod...
As he steps into the artificial moonlight of the Arena proper, we can see the devastation being caused by his inner war; He has not bothered to don a shirt or shoes, but is rather wearing nothing but loose work-out pants. Its probably a good thing for his wardrobe, anyway; his lips, eyes, nose, and fingernails all bear shadows of crusted blood, from the moments where his grip on his Id, his "Dark Psyche," has slipped, and his "body" has sought to break free of the shell in which it is imprisoned. Even his blue-black hair is matted with blood, though this is likely from him running his bloodied hands through it to keep it from his eyes. If it weren't for the fact that his eyes still burn at some depth with strength and furor, one might think Trei was the living dead; if not for the blood, for the volitionless way in which he staggers through the arena...
"URGH!" With a sudden wordless exclamation, Trei lurches forward, falling to his knees and vomitting blood onto the sandy floor of the arena, the viscuous liquid coagulating rapidly atop the stoney ground. "This... has gotta stop..."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
