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 Posted: Mon Aug 07, 2023 4:41 pm
The parks were cooler, less heavy with the scent of human activity and the aural clutter of their inane chats. It was here that Faustite could think a margin clearer, though thinking was what brought him to this point in the first place. He hadn't wanted to keep thinking. He wanted to break his knuckles on the bodies of his enemies.
But he had to risk this space — risk the rolling hills and soughing breeze that would lilt the summer leaves on the trees and sweep through the petals of blooming wildflowers. He had to put up with any chance encounters of joggers, whether long enough to drain them to unconsciousness or relieve them of their starseeds, because there was only one location where he knew he could find Kerberos. There was no way to know if he should expect the boy there, on that selfsame bench, or if he would be gone as the days when his life was simpler. But if he didn't try, Faustite would never encounter the boy at all.
Faustite could've teleported. Could've donned his garb as a General-King and flaunted it to keep away any White Moon buzzing around them like locusts. Sure enough, he felt an aura and knew there was at least one White Moon Eternal in the vicinity, but this one lacked the grating brilliance that oft stabbed at the back of his eyes. Someone else, then. Someone who wasn't Kerberos. And Faustite wasn't looking for a stand-in.
He made for the bench regardless, hoping that the time spent walking would be time enough for Kerberos to power up and claim his seat. As he neared the bench, he slowed his pace. Still nothing.
Faustite stopped at the wall of woods that broke line of sight between himself and the bench where he knew Kerberos to sit. His fist curled near his belt. "Come out, then," he barked to the trees around him.seiana_zi letting you know this is up!
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Posted: Tue Aug 08, 2023 1:31 pm
"All right," said Cybele. She wasn't in the habit of following Faustite's orders, and in fact had quite enjoyed denying them the last time that they'd met, but the moment she'd smelled the air and heard the voice, she'd grit her teeth and known that it wasn't like she could just leave a General-King unattended in a park where so many people passed through. Ganymede had told her to be careful. The Code had told her to be careful. She stepped through the treeline all the same, something that was equal parts protective, and vengeful, and proud in her chest as she met the cinder king's eyes. "We just can't seem to shake each other, can we?" she asked. She summoned a bow, because there was no question where this was going. It was her basic magic, and she held it for the time being.
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Posted: Thu Aug 10, 2023 8:01 am
"Of course it's ******** you," Faustite seethed with plumes of smoke surrounding his words. As he approached, a fist curled at his side. His mouth glowed near his throat when he spoke.
Seemed she was tired of it, too. All the years that had passed where they ran across each other, sometimes constantly, sometimes at the same level as one another and sometimes not. Sometimes they had allies, sometimes they were alone. Sometimes they were even on the same side. Their encounters numbered long and they were each storied, though perhaps Cybele more so than himself for how she had fought for both sides. But she abandoned the Negaverse for the White Moon, and now they were equals again, able to match each other in power should they remain uninterrupted by interlopers.
The park was as good a place as any. He wasn't picky; regardless of the outcome, he would feel better for a while. Or forever, if he was particularly unlucky.
His attention was on the silvery, ethereal thing in her hands. He wasn't familiar enough with her magic to know if she was going to be shooting at him or shooting up at the sky and catching it with her own body, but he had seen both. And now he had seen her Princess magic, where she aimed at the sky and the entire area around them was so soaked with aggressive magic that it paralyzed any agents who couldn't think through the pain enough to teleport their way out of it. He knew, however, that it was a sign she was ready to engage him.
"Fight me," he urged. "Til only one of us leaves. No interference," he finished, casting his tablet pen at her feet.
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Posted: Thu Aug 10, 2023 8:41 am
"All right," she said again. Perhaps that was a stupid thing to say, but what other way, she wondered, was there for them to fight, at this point? She'd betrayed his faction. He'd betrayed her trust, and, worse than that, betrayed the trust of her friends. There was no room for walking away, no room for a bit of fisticuffs to teach someone a lesson. Those lessons wouldn't stick. They both knew that. She raised her bow to the sky and let the arrow fall down on herself. As it came back to her, surrounding her in a faint light, she called on that greater power within herself. Her wings stretched out behind her, and her dress shifted. Her aura flooded the park, and she gave a wicked grin. She did not fear death, but she was not here to seek it out. She was here to deal it, to prove that maybe she did deserve this strength, that maybe she could do something useful with it. Between the magic and just the coursing power of this form, her speed felt supernatural, the world around her crisp and focused. She darted forwards, kicking at Faustite's legs. Take out his balance before she tried to deal with the fire.
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Posted: Wed Aug 16, 2023 10:18 am
She shot too fast for him to stop her, but she was already a Princess; he should have expected a gap in their speed. Now she gained ground on him at a revolting rate, moving and being and doing before his eyes could keep up with her. Before his brain could understand what was happening. By the time he drew in a breath, it was being knocked out of him, as he was already on the floor.
His leg throbbed. He then realized that she had tripped him.
Distantly, he understood that he should be a General-King for this. It would be easier to stand toe to toe with her if they wore the same kind of power, if he could react on her level. To do otherwise was tantamount to throwing the match, if it could be considered that. But staying like this — playing weaker for a while — it could be to his advantage. Might push her to be reckless if she thought she had the upper hand, if she thought she might be rid of him if she pushed herself just a little harder.
He'd brought that out in other people before. He liked to think that he could do it again.
So he sucked that breath back in once his lungs felt a little less paralyzed, and with a modicum of concentration, he was fire instead of flesh. Then he could twist around her as a gout of flame, bolt up her, tease her nerves with a touch of fire to draw out that magic.
"So eager," he observed, voice crackling with flame. "You've been waiting for this."stari_maga Hellborn ;; (Enhancement)
Range: Self
Duration: Up to 1 minute
Use Count: Up to 3x
Miss Chance: Escaping his reach
Effect: Faustite's fire expands and engulfs him, transforming him into a living embodiment of flame. For the duration of this magical ability, he appears fully youmafied. When he moves, he moves amorphously as a gout of fire. Faustite can pass through or over nonsolid surfaces, and cannot be hit by physical attacks. He becomes highly susceptible to magical attacks and enchantments, however. Any attacks he makes toward others will be fire property, and will provide the illusion of being burned.
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Posted: Sat Aug 19, 2023 12:27 pm
Her kick found impact, and she grinned wildly at that, her eyes reflecting a bit of Faustite's fire. All of the people acting like Soverigns were invincible, untouchable, were wrong. He could still bruise. He could still bleed. "You caught me," she muttered. "I'm bloodthirsty." She lived and breathed war. If she was being honest, she liked the heady rush that came with battle, liked the fear in the eyes of people who deserved it, liked the smell of iron and the sound of cracking bones. For all that she'd working hard to build herself a softer, happier life, it was still the moments like these that made her feel the most alive. Although, even as those thoughts were crossing her mind, he was shifting into a mass of fire, which canceled out the rest of it. Now he couldn't bruise, couldn't bleed, and more than ever, he burned. This was how he'd gotten her starseed before, and that had been before he'd burned her feet to the bone. Even with all of the magical healing, those scars were still sensitive to heat. Her nerves screamed. She screamed, and hissed, and tried to stumble backwards and away from it. Her worse foot chose that moment to give out, and, still not used to the balance of her wings, she landed hard on her knee. With a desperate huff, and the last few seconds of her extra focus, she called on her Eternal magic and shot it point blank at his form. It was magic, nothing physical, so hopefully that would do something. Strickenized Cybele calls the name of her attack and an intricate ethereal bow forms in her hands, with a single arrow on the string. She can fire it at one target. The ethereal arrow gives the sensation of being hit with a real arrow. It hurts. On top of that, on a hit, the target will feel the sensation of strikes from secondary arrows, and being ripped at by the teeth of hounds. The magic lasts 45 seconds but can leave lasting damage at player discretion. Cybele can use this attack once per battle.
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Posted: Sun Aug 20, 2023 9:25 am
He was safe from any grabs, kicks, or punches. What anger she threw at him went through him, past him, like the wind. But what she had in her hands thereafter was a bow woven of pure magic, whose string held tension without being taut and whose arrow let fly regardless of if she released the fletching.
And he was still just a General. Their differences in speed denied him time to react, to duck down or tuck to the side that he might not take an arrow shot squarely at him from so terribly close. But there was no time.
He blinked. She shot. The arrow struck home.
It knocked him out of his fiery guise, greeted him with a bursting pain in his true ribs. He had just enough time and sense to don more power, a baseless and placeless shadow passing over him. But even as a General-King, the pain was something great and incomprehensible — a gnashing at his legs that he was certain felt like the muscle tearing from bone, wrenched this way and that by intangible hounds' teeth. Strikes along his arms and hips and sides, like those awful broadheaded things that Umber spoke about but once. Faustite felt one of them graze his face, and thereafter, a cooling sensation dribbled down his cheek.
Whether it was the magic itself or the form he was in at the time he was struck by it, Faustite could not say, but her magic was manifesting its consequences all over his body. He grit his teeth, but even at that, the pain was too great to leave voiceless.
Desperate, he knew he had to deprive her of enough room to take another shot. He knew the pain would move as he moved, would chase him as if whatever hounds and hunters were as much a part of his own body as the parts of him that they attacked. His hand began to glow a bright, molten orange as he clenched it, and lava-bright veins crawled their way up his soot black skin on that arm. He pressed forward, kept near her, kept trying to deprive her of enough space to summon and draw that bow again.
When he thought he had an opening, he drew back his fist and aimed for her stomach.stari_maga Conflagration ;; (Forgotten Spell)
Range: Point blank
Duration: Instantaneous
Use Count: Up to 3x
Effect: Lava veins glow from Faustite's affected fist and climb up his arm, growing fainter the farther up they go. Faustite's fist looks superheated to a bright orange. Once he punches something, the punch gains extra force and sears the target at the affected location (any lingering burns are up to the player). When the punch connects with something, a small fiery burst can be seen, indicating that the magic went off. Afterward, Faustite's hand and arm look their normal coal black color.
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Posted: Sun Aug 20, 2023 1:01 pm
Oh. That had done something. Lucky. That war-hungry part of her might have been eager to see the way his magic made him bleed, but now she had other things to worry about. Get up, she told herself. The blood on his face and the pain in his eyes had bought her a few seconds, but it wouldn't stop him for long. He was already powering up himself. She'd felt the choking, overwhelming darkness of a General-King's aura before, but it was still hard to ignore. It was still hard not to fear. She shifted. Her feet screamed. Get up. She didn't need her feet to shoot, but Faustite was closing the distance between then now, and anyway, that was the only magic she had that hurt unless she wanted to bring out her crystal, and she wasn't sure how much good that would do if there was only one person in front of her. She grit her teeth. Nerve pain, the doctors called it, but what it felt like was someone slowly pushing needles through her soles, through the spaces where her toes should be, and sometimes when she thought her feet were on the ground, they weren't. It happened when she tried again. She slipped. Get up.She stood. Then Faustite's flaming fist caught her. The impact was a concussive, flaming blast that singed her corset and left the sharp feeling of a fresh set of burns on the skin beneath. She flew backwards with a hollow gasp. The wings were good for something, it turned out, as she instinctively reached them out and they slowed her down, but she still landed on her knees again. Her lips twisted. Then she curled her fists. If he tried to get close again, she'd punch.
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Posted: Sun Aug 20, 2023 1:20 pm
Good of her to slip, to fall, to stagger backward on feet that must have been mangled from what he had done to her. Good of her to grant him more openings, especially since she shot him with phantom pains that became real, echoed in teeth marks of hounds that were never there or whispers of arrows that were never shot. His fist curled again, then he flinched as another arrow found its mark in his bicep. The brilliant red of his coat began to darken, like ink spilt over rich fabric.
His other arm, then. As he pressed his advantage, he went in with another swing, this time from his left hand, and lacking the brilliant heat that once laced his right.
He didn't have the concentration for it, not now, with so many pains licking at his arms and his ankles and everything in between. Whatever advantage he could get, he had to take it — had to punch and keep punching, had to curl his toes in his boots against the shocks of pain from teeth chewing into his tarsals and keep going. He'd pushed through pain before. He'd grit his teeth. He'd bit his tongue to feel something different, somewhere different, and he kept going.
Umber prepared him for this, for all his foolishness. Schörl prepared him for this, delighting in his suffering. If he couldn't fight through her magic, bleed through it and come out victorious, then he deserved to die.
He deserved it. She deserved it.
Torsos were easier to hit, but he would stay on her for her face, too. Better to remember it as pulverized meat than as the ghost of a good comrade.
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Posted: Sun Aug 20, 2023 1:39 pm
So her feet were being useless. Fine. Her breath wasn't doing the best either. She gasped for it while her head spun, and then clenched her teeth against a world that always felt so muddled and dull and painful after her magic ran out. She'd been in worse situations before, though. She'd just have to bring him down with her. He punched at her with his other hand, but this time she was ready for it. She brought her arm up in a block and pushed it aside. Even that contact was uncomfortably hot, but nothing she couldn't push past with an expression that was something between a grimace and a smile. He wanted a brawl? That she could manage. Now that she'd remembered her wings, she flapped them behind her. It wasn't graceful, but it gave her enough momentum to push up onto one foot for a moment. In that moment, she swung at his face.
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Posted: Sun Aug 20, 2023 1:51 pm
She deflected, and between the pains wrought on him from her magic and having to twist to compensate for missing his attack, Faustite was in poor position to deal with her counter. She slugged him right in the cheek, the pain radiating up into his eye socket and into his nose, where he thought he felt the cartilage shift with the force of the blow. He staggered backward with it, a yelp arrested form him in the process, as his hands came up to protect his face from follow-up.
When he twisted, his leg gave out, and Faustite fell to the grasses unceremoniously. Licks of flame tasted the grass, and he was quick to begin scrambling. Needed himself off the ground, back up and into fighting her. This wasn't the time to slow down —
But maybe he wouldn't have to be as quick about it. If she came at him, if she pressed her advantage, he might catch her in a firestorm. Her magic had abated at last, though he was saddled with its consequences, but he didn't need to be on his feet to set that patch of park aflame.
"It's relieving," he huffed out as heat began to swell around him and warp the very air. Every breath tasted baked and dry. "Knowing that one of us dies here."
Even if it was him, no one would hold that against him. No one who knew him, anyway.
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Posted: Sun Aug 20, 2023 2:14 pm
There it was. The crack of bone, or cartilage, or something kept the tired smile on Cybele's face, even as she came softly back down to her knees. He was on her level now, anyway. No more need to stand. It wasn't like she would have been running even if they hadn't made that vow to each other. The air around him was hot and suffocating and it tasted of death, but Cybele took a wobbling step fowards on her knee anyway, earning herself another burn as she snuffed out a singed piece of grass. This reminded her of the last time she'd fought Fasutite alone, and Muri had pulled them apart, and afterwards said that he was worried that she'd have killed herself, trying to end Faustite. She shouldn't have stopped back then, shouldn't have worried about appearances, but now wasn't the time for regrets. Not when she had another chance. If she burned killing him, that was fine. If she burned to death, that was a sacrifice that she was willing to make. Those thoughts came in an instant. Cybele was moving as quickly as she could. She reached for his throat while he was down, ready to squeeze the life out of him.
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Posted: Sun Aug 20, 2023 2:33 pm
Faustite felt her stranglehold on his throat before he finished building up the energy to cremate her. The shock of it, bone-deep and visceral, begged him to claw at her hands, pry them free of his neck. To leave them there would be to revisit one last horrible, misery-inducing memory before she snuffed the life out of him. If he didn't stop her from crushing his windpipe, he'd suffocate to death while thinking of his mom.
He fought and tore, but his wrists were bad. Gaining grip sent sharp pains up his forearms, amplified by the hole in his right bicep such that he couldn't gain a proper hold. His hands sweat. His grasp slipped. He uttered a rattling squelch as he tried to keep breathing.
He tried to kick at her, but there wasn't a good angle. She could shift away and he'd be tearing up grass while thrashing uselessly. Worse yet was the fact that he couldn't stir up his own anger by spitting curses in her face.
Was that it, then? Dying in the grass with Cybele hanging over him, without Murikabushi or Albite or anyone else to stop her? ******** fitting, wasn't it? So much power granted to him and he squandered it. Whatever force there was behind his punches wasn't enough to stop her, even slow her down. Learning how to infuses his punches with flame hadn't done anything.
He dug his nails between her knuckles, pressed down as hard as he could to deter her. The edges of his vision grew dark, then blackened.
What was he leaving behind for this stupid venture? All of his husbands, all the boys he'd met and will meet, the Negaverse branch he was supposed to look out for with Axinite, all the goals he had, all the memories he kept close. All of that would go to s**t, and then what? He'd be reborn? Or was that broken due to his starseed looking like a ******** porcupine? If it was, was that a comfort or a curse? That he should never meet a moment like this again —
The world hollowed to a pinpoint, settled on her grinning face. Was he to lose to the b***h who grew wings on him?
There was but one last concession granted him with this power — the one thing he never learned to use. There were no other choices. One hand slipped away from her hands while the other started to slacken. He brought to his free hand the otherworldly, curved sword made of seething volcanic glass and swung it in an arc away from his body.
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Posted: Sun Aug 20, 2023 2:58 pm
It burned. Her hands blistered eve as he choked and sputtered beneath her fingers. Every nerve, every instinct in her body was screaming at her to stop, to leave him, to get away. Perhaps she should have listened. He'd slipped through her hands so many times. Their enmity had started with another version of herself, a version that she could not even remember. She'd ruin her hands to be rid of him. She'd ruin herself. She hadn't been expecting it to come to that, though. It seemed he was fading, his eyes glazing over. She didn't know he had a sword. She didn't see it until it was slicing through the air. She didn't see it until it was slicing through her chest. It sliced deep. It cut through cartilage, broke bone, hit organs. The blood splatter even hit her wings, staining the white with drops of red. It hit deadly. The strength of a General-King, even a struggling one, was something terrible. Her gasp was wet, rattling. She stared down at the wound, stared down at the blade in her ribs. Her thoughts flashed to her family, to her loves, but as the darkness crept in, they stuck on the thought, so this is how it goes.Then she collapsed, and did not rise again.
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Posted: Sun Aug 20, 2023 3:13 pm
Faustite felt air flooding back into his lungs when he gasped for breath. Then he felt a coolness on his legs and stomach from the blood that spilled from his adversary in rhythmic waves. He sat up as she began to crumple, heedless of the fact that his weapon still stuck out of her at an awkward, deadly angle. He stared in disbelief, his breath coming in terrible rasps that rattled through his throat. She did not stir from where she lay, even as all that blood smoothed out around her.
Was she dead? Did she die? Could she die? His heart beating hummingbird fast in his chest, Faustite kicked out at her. He struck her shoulder, her arm. No response.
The strange weapon for which he didn't have a name was dismissed from her body. No longer did the blood look vital and bright, nor did more of it spill out of her at an accelerated rate. She stared blankly ahead, as if at an afterlife that he couldn't see. As if she was already gone.
Faustite felt breathless beyond the strangulation he endured. He swallowed against it, sucked down a couple breaths, but nothing dissipated that giddiness that settled into his chest. Finally he struggled to his feet, legs shaking mercilessly. His pains were no longer blunted by adrenaline; moving stirred heavy throbs and sharp pains that begged medical attention. He huffed, then smiled.
He did it. He finally ******** did it. Cybele was dead. She would never stand against them again.
He killed a ******** Princess. Proved his worth as his rank.
Breathless at first, he started to laugh. It was an exhilarating thing, then a delirious one, and he thought he might spool apart from the tremendous weight that was lifted from him.
He had to tell someone. Do something. Celebrate? Celebrate. He breathed another rousing laugh, then spat black on her prone form. <******** me," he rasped to himself as he stumbled away. "Albite'll ******** s**t himself." Feeling dizzy, he vanished.
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