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Post by Asher. on Mar 4, 2019 1:23:19 GMT
BRIAN: A righteous man who seeks revenge is the scariest of all, for he has nothing left to lose.
Samurai-esque sandals carry a cloaked figure through a bustling trading town, the cloak in question brown in shade and barely doing justice in terms of hiding the figure’s body. Were one of the keen eyes’ department they would note his tall figure: six foot, three inches with a body-build which boasted physical supremacy. No features were visible beneath the hood the figure wore, but the occasional breeze revealed ragged clothing and a broken blade tied to the left hip with a thin rope. One might assume him to be a drifting beggar, to which the assumption would be correct, but what he begged for was not money nor food. Instead it was information on the whereabouts of those who took the lives of his two children. If the people in question were already dead, then the enigma had already made a personal vow to make their descendants suffer ten-fold. Such is the fury of a parent.
He reaches out one more time, a gold ring with a ruby embedded within seen on the right ring-finger, and he jerks back a man who was ignoring him.
“Are you daft, child? I was speaking to you,” states the beggar, his two-hundred-plus heavy figure an intimidating sight to normal beings.
“I-I,” stammers the rich man.
“Just tell me if you know who killed Daivichi and Kejan Ultima,” snaps the hooded man, his voice laced with venomous hatred.
“N-No! I have no idea who those two even are!” The man stumbles back.
With a sigh the mystery-man departs the building, wadding through the sea of people as if it were second nature despite the heavy hunch he presented others to see. He was reliant on a cane to walk apparently, but despite the impaired walking none dared to bump into him. With vision blurry from a yawn that produced pricking tears, the elderly fellow cast his gaze temporarily skyward; Helios was at its highest point, whose rays brought a warmth to the old man. That warmth made itself known with the briefest of flickers within his eyes - - a multi-colored flame that was thought to disappear alongside him.
“Sometimes I miss the old days, they were so much simpler,” he laments, sighing again, and resuming his quest for information. You wouldn’t think it given his clear lackadaisical demeanor, but he was completely alert to world around him. It was almost as if the world spoke to him, gifting him with information he would normally need to figure out on his own. However, such as it always was with him, there are always more lies than truths with him. Shadows are perfect for hiding secrets, after all.
BRIAN: A light yawn ensues, traveling deeper into the town. Crowds are thicker, harder to find him amidst the bustling humans even with his build. The tapping of his cane is drowned out by shouts and other various noises, but he seems undisturbed. Flames flicker again within his eyes, a tad brighter yet lasting only as long as the first set of flames. Rays of light continue to fall upon him, gracing him still with that warmth he enjoys.
"I wonder if the darker part of this town will have the information I seek," he says to himself, cracking his neck with a tilt of his head from side-to-side.
(Will not tag you unless it's an actual reply to you. Will keep posting every time you go over the deadline. Issues? You know how to contact me.)
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Post by Asher. on Mar 4, 2019 1:27:52 GMT
ASHER: [ Dei Consilium. ] He'd eyed the weapon for quite some time with bleak, fascinated hues, the expression of a hunter enclosing the passionless visage of an executioner. His rough, scarred hands were surprisingly steady, leaving not even a microcosm of space in between slender digits, as he lifted his trusty armament and took a dry shot at an imaginary object. A nod precedes all other actions as an indication of his readiness, and willingness to conquer. Of course, the man fit the description through his scope, but, he looked downtrodden. Decrepit. Of course, it was the mark of any decent fighter to look the part, and he certainly looked... experienced. It seems there was a call to be made.
"What's this Ultima guy gotta do with the price of tea in China? He sounds substantially less interesting than what my initial analysis held."
"He's a threat, and, I swear, I thought you said you could handle him. What, are your feet growing cold, Judicael?"
"I promise you, I'll have his head and yours for that comment. Just you wait."
The dial tone started as a cacophonous blaring that he'd extinguished before it grew out of hand, and left him exposed — Then again, who'd hear it from his current positioning? He had the target, the man who'd just physically harassed another, in his sights. Given his position, it was easy to spot such discrepancies. He was beyond the perception of man, sprawled on his stomach, tasting the skies with his pointer finger, and conquering the world with chance alone.
Dragon Rounds, or, Energy Voids [ HF ], were the only kind of bullet he'd kept in his weapons, as a means to make things short and sweet, and, suffice it to say, they were very hungry. It was a gift from Vehemente, the faction that he found himself running more times than he could remember. Ah, the memories. Back then, he'd held his nostalgia with a little chip on his shoulder — Now, the only thing he'd possessed was a rifle, a beautiful array of icy tendrils amongst his face, and pride. Oh, and about a thousand contract kills which made him one of the richest, most skilled assassins on the black market.
-
He'd preferred a calming, cool detachment to targets like these — To him, they were nothing but walking meat bags that'd yet to be dispatched to the butcher. Destiny called for them, and, how could they ever refuse? Everyone has to die sometime. It's the circle of life
— Simple, convenient, and painless.
Quiet. Don't breathe. Shoot. The bullet flew throughout the sky, towards the obscured figure's heart, emanating no sound — Not even the whirring of winds would act as an indicator. It was as if the bullet was never there. No energy signals, as it hadn't consumed anything just yet, but that didn't deem it powerless in the slightest. It was still fully capable of exploding on command, and, it was still a bullet. It was just how he liked it — devoid of any sentiment, of any long goodbyes. It was simple. Now, he'd be at rest — George Lopez and a foot long sub. This was the life he lived.
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Post by Asher. on Mar 4, 2019 22:40:12 GMT
BRIAN: Quiet indeed, beyond the senses of man is no easy feat. However, the target was not human. The Ultimas were more than a name, they were a race. There was little known about them, lesser still about the hooded man in question. It was in this light of information that would spell doom for his assassin.
"Kids today," he mutters, already aware of the coming projectile. How might one ask? Several methods, but primarily due to two. A combination of Photokinesis and the ability to control weaponry of all kinds. A bullet is a weapon no matter how small and to traverse across Helios's rays was a pitiful choice at best. Not to mention its shadow; however small it may be it was still among the populace, it would be simple to detect the shadow's sudden and rapid approach.
He could not blame the child. How could he know of the Legend?
The bullet explodes one-fourth of the way along its path, unable to reach terminal velocity or the half-way point. Justification came in the form of being able to manipulate weapons of any kind. To be able to understand its capability to explode and force its predetonation was child's play to the Ultima in question. Stopping as the resulting smoke fans out, the shrapnel of said bullet did not fly towards the innocents or buildings.
Only one-hundred and thirty feet away? Should have shot from further away. And how did the Ultima know of the other's location? Same reasons as before if necessary, picking up on the rifle's existence now that he was paying attention. However, it was primarily due to common sense and his sensitivity to Life-Forces. Whether the enemy was still in their location after the explosion was of little relevance, one cannot hide the soul; either magick nor technology could accomplish the feat. It either existed or it did not, no in-between.
So what of the shrapnel? Simply put: thrown back at the enemy, a plethora of metal daggers now aiming to maim and pierce through the adversary. Manipulation from this distance wasn't impossible for the Ultima. Even if the other moved prior the counter would follow his command, seeking the assassin's life through the means of the elder tracking the enemy's Life-Force.
That aside, the Elder merely ascends without further provocation, reaching the same height of rooftops as the assailant with no trouble. Still hunched however, the old man turns on a heel to watch the opposition with his own shadow wiggling in excitement.
"Come child, my body isn't what it used to be. I can't restrain myself as effectively as before," calls out the elder, yawning briefly after.
Around his immediate figure did the same multicolored flame from his eyes flicker into existence, dispersing immediately after and repeating the process sporadically around his person.
Both hands rest idle on his cane now. He was still lacking interest.
[F.]
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Post by Asher. on Mar 4, 2019 22:40:48 GMT
ASHER: He thought that might happen.
A single lancelike arc of cerulean fulguration shoots forth, amalgamating against the uncoming dusk — As if in dire need of direction, the embers dance haphazardly against the rolling skyline. It was as if it were an ice deep within his heart that led him to admire the immense beauty of embers so profoundly.
Whether it be their enthralling disposition, or their extremist opposition of serenity, he held a natural affinity towards them — A liking, if you will. As they flicker, and lick, their death imminent, intumescent folds of mana swathe the embers, blanketing their essence in what seemed a swift, enchanting moment.
Of course, to those who were unable to see forces such as these, they'd only see the billowing smoke, the pieces of shrapnel, and the like separate slightly from the massive blaze. The embers itself began to congregate, until it resembled a small sun towering over his target. With little movement from his person, everything here gave off a sort of fluid motion that could only be admired.
The shrapnel, comparable in vigor to that of a raging bull, forcefully urge towards him with this newfound rage. It was as if someone were controlling them. No matter. The cartridge that could usually be found on the side of any high powered sniper rifle was peeled back, and as it was, the coated nano-organisms fluctuated, and writhed. The hilt and blade were of sable.
With two swings riddled with a novice-like apprehension, the newly forged bastard sword swiftly dismisses every form of attack by his opposition, the shrapnel but a memory to an attempt in the past. The ball of flame, in spite of its size, was easy to urge on. Little energy was required to do so. Despite it's easily decoded structure, the power was beyond him. Beyond what he'd considered normal, given its origin, and although the metal was what contained its energy-devouring concept, this was no normal blaze.
Then again, neither was the man who'd tamed it.
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Post by Asher. on Mar 4, 2019 22:41:26 GMT
BRIAN: Eyes peer closely, vision unobscured despite the severity of obstacles. How might that be? The former King was too much of a legend in his time to not be capable noticing. Light was his ally, but he was more focused on the mana. He had the sense for magick, to see it and use it as he saw fit. For another to wield it against him, what was the boy thinking? It wouldn’t take much to make this his own, but he thought back on what Morgoth said of this generation. Narrowing eyes in annoyance, the Ultima did the one thing he believes to be an acceptable action. It wouldn’t take much, in fact it would likely be a surprise to the opposition.
He would use the sniper’s own bullet against him.
Given that the old man had been successful in his manipulation, information of the unknown had flooded his mind. Its properties, purposes, capabilities, all of it was made known to the elder. The same hand with the ring mentioned before is exposed, thumb up and index finger extended in the form of a makeshift gun. Pointing it straight up, a mere exhale was the prelude to an unending barrage; the same bullet fired upon him was made from naught, rocketing up to devour a piece of the pseudo-sun. He knew the ball of arcane was fake due to his understanding and sight of magick on top of his connection to the light.
“I’m already bored,” he states just prior to vanishing.
Shadow-Step.
It was a technique the Ultimas were known to use, or at least they used to be. Given this assassin’s clear lack of information he wouldn’t rightly know about it. So, when the elder popped up just behind him, his cane against the roof at least a foot behind the other. Tilting his head to the side in evident confusion, both hands slightly flex against the head of his cane. His eyes were glowing now, power from Morgoth’s past gift bubbling to a point of tipping out of the proverbial pot. He need only a single stroke of his weapon, but the other must deserve it first. Otherwise the most he might get is an old man playing around with him, constantly avoiding his attempts at his life.
“Can I ask who sent you, young one?” His voice was surprisingly deep for one of his age and apparent frailty.
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Post by Asher. on Mar 4, 2019 22:41:58 GMT
ASHER: What's the word to describe the current turn of events, and his opponents sudden bravado? Although it'd certainly prove useful, his fate was sealed with a kiss from the reaper, from the moment he'd found himself walking down the street. His eyes flicker from point one, to point two, and with that, his next attack commences with swift precision. From what he'd just bore witness to, it seemed that the opposition held the ability to understand weaponry, even if conceptual, only to replicate it's effects pertaining to the amount of understanding and knowledge of the weapon itself. A nice trick, if you knew exactly what you were doing, how you were doing it, etc. There was no fun in boxing a cocky, nonchalant loser, though. So, again, what's the word to describe his opponents sudden gusto, vigor, and jumpiness? Denial. Who really held the high ground, here?
There was no sound, shrouding the bullet in the unknown, as he'd expect from someone of such skill. Perception was EVERYTHING, however, given that he saw the bullet leave the male's person before he gave his creation the nudge it needed. As the bullet sped towards the effulgent luminaire, he realized just how much damage that would do if it exploded, given how low it was, to the innocents. There was one thing that crossed the line for him, and that was taking the lives of those who didn't deserve it. His mana blanketed the fireball with a precise disposition like no other, although unseen and unheard. This gave him the ability to tether himself to the sphere, displace it, displace himself, and all things alike. So, with the concept of honor plastered against his complex circuit board of a brain, he acts. The fireball splits open, as if a donut, allowing the bullet to pass through unbothered, sealing itself again after the task was complete. This, however, opened a new array of issues --- The bullet was headed straight for him!
The bullet passed, the male seemingly vanished from the face of the Earth, and everything began to slow. Space, in his eyes, devolved into basic, slowed motions. It was necessary, given his calculation and processing skills. So, the male vanished. He hasn't yet reappeared, so there may be a chance at reprieve for that. The bullet hasn't reached him, so perhaps there'd been a chance at turning this whole thing around. Bingo. There it was. Just as the man would be arriving to his destination, he'd be met by both the fireball and the bullet, chasing themselves with eachothers unfettered brilliance with all the might of twelve grenades. There wasn't a modicum of space in between the male's estimated arrival and where he was, so his escape had been for futility, but he hadn't planned it to end up like this. He didn't know where the male was headed, much less behind his person. Oh, well. It was good while it lasted.
The energy absorption qualities of the bullet would amalgamate with the damage from the blaze in order to create quite the literal firestorm against the male's bodice, given the size and vigor, although short-lived. The force, however? It would undoubtedly kill him. Given the distance, which wasn't even a modicum of a foot away, and the size of the ball of flames, escape wasn't likely. Then again, he knew nothing of his physiology, and he may be able to withstand it. Then again, maybe not. The force from the explosion would've been too great. There was one question that interested most, though, and that was concerning the whereabouts of one Judicael Lucas. He stood on air, seemingly, where the fireball originally was. It was a substitution technique, achievable by anyone that was able to assert a small amount of control and a little amount of brainpower.
Steps made of mana provided him with access to the lowground. Just what was the next play? If it hadn't been over after this? It was going to be over when he decided to do the unthinkable as a result.
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Post by Asher. on Mar 4, 2019 22:43:04 GMT
BRIAN: The first thing the elder saw was light. He registers everything else at the same time, multitasking capability second to none, but in the end he is still mortal . . . Give or take at least. He is still bound by limitations, this onslaught certainly being one of them to a degree. While he could not act physically he didn’t need to, a defense prepared for such situation; however, to what end would it serve? Using it now would be pointless, so he wouldn’t.
He’d take it all head-on.
Heat, or the skill tree of Pyrokinesis, was utterly ineffective against his figure. That wasn’t to say he didn’t feel it, it just wasn’t able to harm him. And that didn’t carry to his clothes, the cloak, clothes beneath, even the rope that held the broken blade up were burnt to naught. That said however, his cane was likewise unharmed, much like the body, ring, and former weapon.
“This child is full of talent,” he thought just as the combination of assaults washed over him, blinding his physical form from view. “But not nearly enough,” he continues in his head.
The force of the explosions threw his broken blade to the streets behind and below him, forcing him to skid back, and then came the powered-up shrapnel of the bullet. That wasn’t something he had time to stop, so he just let it hit, not to mention the force of it all was causing scrapes and the like along his skin. The shrapnel, beyond his ability to control at the moment, destroys the body, leaving only darkness.
When everything was said and done, that’s all that stood, the shadowy version of his body - - mangled of course. Barely standing, clearly missing parts of its body, but with a taunting sneer where the lips should be - - exposing jagged and yellow teeth. It was as if the Ultima knew this was coming, but how could he? He couldn’t, nor did he, but it wasn’t the Ultima alone that the assassin was facing.
Darkness itself was the elder’s ally, as was the Light.
“My, my, truly remarkable,” comments the old man, eyes staring over the boy’s shoulder down at the remains of his clone as it began to completely dissolve away.
Yes, a clone, but how? When? The clues were present, but completely ignored. Shadows are perfect for hiding secrets. And had the assassin not noticed the wiggle of the shadow of the clone earlier? Regardless, it was more than evident, which meant one thing: the spent mana and power to kill him was wasted, while the former King was completely unscathed and still full of his own. He had been building the gift from Morgoth for some time now, still is, projecting the effects of said build-up through his clone to further the illusion of being the real thing. Not just that, but the manipulation and conjuration of the bullet was also through projection; clones are often capable of the original’s feats, even if to slightly lesser effect and power.
In the process of the clone’s defeat, fireball and shrapnel, not to mention debris from the rooftop and the like, all hid his approach. He was within the Realm of Darkness, appearing from a shadow of a cowering civilian before ascending to the assailant’s level. He was at least five yards behind, standing on hardened light, cane and ring in hand while the sword was apparently forgotten. His hands, like before, were resting on the head of the cane. Eyes were glowing beneath the hood, multicolored flames continuously coming and going in their appearance around his person. He was more-than-prepared, but he was truly impressed by the young one’s skill at ingenuity; he reminded the elder of his younger self.
“How about we stop this? Let me take you under my wing, teach you more about magick than you could ever know. I don’t have many years left and I seek a worthy person capable of handling my legacy.” He did not hold a deceitful tone, it was genuine in the offer, but he also knew of how heavy a burden Pride could be.
He was, after-all, the Ultimate traitor.
“If you decline, I will obliterate this entire section of the town, with you alongside it.” That too was a fact.
The Ultima’s skin writhed at the end of his statement. And that caused a smirk hidden by the shadows of his hood. [F]
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Post by Asher. on Mar 4, 2019 22:43:50 GMT
ASHER: Valiant embers scourge the earth above of any life, but that was for naught. He'd been a slippery little minx, but that escape was the last time he'd abscond his clutches. Essence of malignancy takes a toll on his person, but it'd been for naught, for that wasn't his true form. Coward. He had nothing to teach him when he couldn't teach himself how to fight like a man. The rain of the God's began to permeate with posthaste from the blast, carrying out his malicious deeds through multiple means and prolonging what was thought to be at its wits ends. The hilt of his blade is taking the brunt of his aggression, as he doesn't move an inch. He stands there, beckoning the male forth with guarded carpals. "Come on. Is that really all you're going to do? Hide? Throw a nonchalant patronizing statement every-time you're outwitted? Stop being a pussy and fight." A red mark etches itself under his eye, as his first barrier is released. Let's see if he could continue running.
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Post by Asher. on Mar 4, 2019 22:44:31 GMT
BRIAN: The Ultima chuckles in answer to the youth’s slander, amusement levels higher now thanks to him.
Then the world stops, figuratively of course, as the Ultima attacks for the first time.
Mind you, the rain never touches him, not even his clothes. For within a three-foot radius all-around his figure – a spherical shape to clarify – is a force that has been seen throughout the entirety of the fight. It has been allowed to come and go, but going is a loose term. By ‘going,’ the multicolored flames in fact hide, using the light they produce on their own to hide their existence - - an optical illusion. Rain evaporates on contact, but does not show the flames, and creates temporary steam that is quickly washed out by the other falling drops of water.
Now for the attack.
“Jess-Ke'brei,” he calls out. The language he uses is Drow, the meaning: Fang-Breaker.
The broken weapon from before rattles against the ground, lifts into the air, turns itself to target the young man’s back, and launches itself through people and building alike.
The unique touch of Fang-Breaker is contradictive to its name - - purposely chosen to mislead. While breaking fangs was certainly something it could do, any weapon could given proper care and upgrades. No, the Fang-Breaker weapon is capable of two functions. First, it is capable of completely reversing the flow of order for a target. As an example, take a fireball. Hot, yes? Large, makes a huge explosion on impact right? Now hit that fireball with Fang-Breaker, not only does it become bone-chilling cold, but the explosion doesn’t happen at all; it just . . . Washes over the intended target, similar to a wave. The second function is more of Fang-Breaker’s namesake. On contact it can break the bond of a target temporarily or permanently. By temporarily, let’s say the weapon runs through a magical barrier, it will create a small hole for itself to get through entirely at the first touch; afterwards upon passing the barrier will be able to fix itself. By permanently it simply means that if applying this effect while actually destroying something, that something in question can no longer come back together. The easiest way to counter either effects are obvious, defensive measures that halt whatever effect is being used, and a draw-back to Fang-Breaker is that it cannot have both effects working at the same time; forcing it to try will obliterate the weapon into nothingness. Fang-Breaker’s material came from a place the Drows called the Nether, a mystical place lacking any natural form of light. Some might confuse it for the Void, or the Realm of Darkness, but it is not so. Needless-to-say, it’s a rather sturdy weapon; even without effects active it can withstand some pretty powerful blows.
And it is this weapon with the second effect active that is hurdling through the air at a blinding pace.
A simple enough maneuver to test the waters of this boy’s defensive capabilities. Losing Fang-Breaker was well within his plan’s steps. Meanwhile those same flames continue to strengthen, pupils mimicking the flames’ dance.
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Post by Asher. on Mar 4, 2019 22:45:06 GMT
ASHER: Wedged between the guise of reality's supple teat, opposing factors were of naught. Helios' elusive crux blessed what little remained of this town with deceptively beautiful rays, allowing and persuading a juxtaposition of rain and thunder just above. It was truly a beautiful sight, were you not cursed with vision perhaps you'd have been able to truly enjoy.
The cards were thrown, thus beginning the series of complex maladies that shook the world with pure rigor. The crimson emblem resting upon his left eye merited his next defense to be somewhat out of the ordinary, but feasible. An aura of the same color befell his physique just after the mark did, and the games in regards to his mental capacity begins. The vector of this new weapon is displaced, giving the impression that it simply couldn't stand to be in the presence of someone so powerful. It veers around his disposition with ease, as his brilliance conjures new lines of the aforementioned to ensnare it within an un-moving vice.
Even if the male tried to summon it back through means that bound it to this plane, the motion of the blade was no more, and even if it was? It would feed the vice. To a layman who's vision was bound to a tunnel, it'd only seem as though the blade itself just completely halted after being disparaged without effort.
Nothing was lost within his defense, so with that, he moves on to a more timely attack and corrupt mannerism. With all the grace of a sack of wet potatoes, his blade flies forth, imbued with the same ability that'd brought his oppositions last attack to a standstill, flying through the air at such daunting speeds that the blade itself was swathed in the unknown, its tether to the dimension being the only thing to separate it from its counterparts. An optic prowess would only hinder his sense, and draped over the blade itself was a cloud of rain, draping the individual shadow with one huge one.
Perhaps he wouldn't be subjected to his other ability again, but even if it was, his influence and law had been exerted over this exalted armament long before this battle even commenced. It's how it programs and transmogrifies on demand. His body still hasn't moved, but it's growing stronger. Anyone within his immediate presence can feel that settle in as fact, as the rain gets somewhat stronger, branches of incandescence lighting the world up with all the might of an imminent tempest.
His will manifests into an array of pure mana waves, washing over the shoreline and crashing into the inanimate with little to no prose, the pandimensionally acidic substance seeking to follow the blade and eat away at most energies, purifying them before the untimely consumption occurs. It grew stronger depending on the meal size, and its effects were applicable to anyone within a certain radius excluding the wielder of such a forlorn ability.
Perverse, what he'd done. He hated himself for it, but then again, most would do anything to taste defeat.
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Post by Asher. on Mar 4, 2019 22:46:06 GMT
ASHER, CONNECT / KILL POST: The wave of pandimensionally acidic mana eats away at impending defenses due to its forlorn nature, but surely it doesn't stop there. That's a given. We knew that was going to happen, but why the Ultima failed to respond to a mirage of attacks such as this was unbeknownst to him. It seems that in the face of adversity and challenge, he crumbles under pressure and folds like a towel. Nonetheless, it was no skin off his back. It ate away at energies on multiple levels, and the use of more energy only fed the vice. Now, here comes the sword, which succeeded the wave of mana with untimely precision, piercing the man's flesh with a finely crafted broadsword, skewering the male and reducing his body to naught.
Meanwhile, Judicael still remains in his spot perched above the opposition, or what was left, welling with the sounds of the drums of war. The rain grows stronger. Louder. The lightning strikes twice this time.
If he survives, surely it's going to be tougher for him here on out. The crimson mark slowly permeates his visage further, as he retains stagnancy through the storm.
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