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Post by Hero on Aug 25, 2018 16:02:50 GMT
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Post by Hero on Aug 25, 2018 16:03:30 GMT
[I. Power and Fury]ith impetus Doom danced to the symphony of ruination. Every sophisticated stroke like that of a paint brush to a canvas, dignified, debonair, it reduced everything within the lattice of its whirlwinds to fine particle dust. One fraction of a second he appeared to have been there, atleast at some point, leaving a deliquescing afterimage, and the next he had left his mark of destruction elsewhere. Through the preternatural moonlight of a world foreign Ahriman danced in the blood of the meager. Feet descended like rain upon the cobblestone of the feudal courtyard, yet for the dozens and dozens of ancient swordsmen who sought to preserve their freedom, only death awaited. There was no remorse in the reaper's eyes. A few minutes passed and when it was all over, over a hundred bodies would be strewn across the hundred meter long, and equally wide courtyard. This place was sacred, the escort had made that much apparent, but none of that mattered. With his right hand he wiped wet blood from his eyelids, resting the edge of Doom's blade against the cobblestone for the moment of stillness he had earned.
Usually an engagement nearly as important was given to multiple SOLDIER 1st Class, but Ahriman was no ordinary SOLDIER.
Before he was The One-eyed King, he was Light Ahriman, and each name carried with them the weight of the world. Not nearly as historical as the One-winged Angel, but Ahriman would argue that in all the years of his service, that he had long since eclipsed the detriment that once threatened the world with extinction.
As he thought about it in brief passing, it wasn't too much different than what the world had already begun to experience.
Guided by the strings of the worlds casuality did something descend, almost as if from the stars themselves. A glint of light, and then fifteen meters ahead of him did it crash, creating walls of earth from the crater of which its impact made landfall. With a mere swipe of Doom, all the gravel that to make contact was reduced to nothingness, dissolving in sand particles at each of his side, but never onto his person. The swing was so imperceptibly fast, that he while the gleam of its ephemeral light could be seen, hardly could the swing be interpreted.
“You...? Again? I have to say, you're quite persistent...” Ahriman announced aloud, astonished that of anyone that could have arrived to thwart him, it would once again be a familiar face from his own company.
While Ahriman was tall, athletic though lanky by design, and old, this man was the antithesis of that very merit. Short, callous flesh, caucasian complexion, messy-raven hair and eyes of black that danced with golden flecks. His skin was crawly, almost seething with with scorching mako ready to erupt and tear him apart, yet this was par the course for his young, yet belligerent nature. Rising from the smoldering ground beneath, his black boots rose and readjusted themselves individually before the black-armored soldier's eyes pierced the smog, connecting directly with Ahriman's own.
“You look scary again Platt. Already that deep in your medicinal archives?”
There were no words. Black plated gauntlets overlayed atop one another with a dragon's head atop the knuckles howled, and the symphony once again ensued. Both disappeared into the night, with only streaks of enigmatic light and the sound of resounding metal filling the atmosphere. While Platt was visually frustrated, and seemed to be after Ahriman's head the One-eyed King seemed to play with the SOLDIER 1st Class the entire way. One collision after another Platt furiously swung his fists from every which direction that he could, as quickly as he could, but everytime Ahriman's odachi was there to deflect his path and upend his progress that couldn't quite manifest. All the times that they had met in training and still Platt couldn't quite grasp it...all manner of strategies, tactics, they all led to one singular road.
Defeat, and near-death were the circumstances right.
“The company has to do a better job if they want to keep me on my toes!” Ahriman yelled jestingly, springing from the courtyard and onto one of the many oriental roofs nearby the locations, scarlet shingles like the drying blood on Ahriman's body clacking with his every lithe footstep. Platt followed, and his boots carried a vengeful spirit that filled him from within. Into the night the two would dance, until Ahriman was finished training his endurance, or Platt could deal a definitive blow to change the stakes.
At this rate? Sunrise was a long ways away.
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