Post by Dirge on Mar 18, 2020 18:31:33 GMT
Challenge: Vincent Fiorelli VS Quise.
Fight originally took place on Discord, "Neutralis" server, though it was later moved to the "Respect The Shooter" server.
Standard rules found at aetherastate.boards.net/thread/290/compendium-based-combat-knowledge-guide
Vincent Introduction
Open challenges were a primitive practice throughout the Multiverse. Only those of little worth and a reputation to build from the ground up managed to employ them in an useful manner, though this didn't get any of them that far in the grand scheme of things. For someone with an established reputation, these primitive practices served as a reminder for young and hotheaded children; a reminder that, no matter how hard they tried and how much they attempted to stick to the flesh of the strong and the powerful, no matter how much they fought, they would be nothing more than leeches. A reminder that they simply mattered as much as a speck of dust amidst the scorching heat of an ever expanding desert. Weaklings were nothing more than dirt upon the sole of a boot... But there were always exceptions.
In his years roaming the vastness of realms both old and new, Vincent Fiorelli had managed to acquire quite an eye for discriminating the worthy from the worthless. Through a thorough analysis of their behavior, their characteristics, their intellect, and much more, he was able to discern what creatures possessed potential yet untapped and whether they could ultimately access it. Those who could were aided, nurtured, fought, and befriended, and they grew by leaps and bounds compared to their lesser peers. Those who could not, however, weren't worth his time or a proper test of strength; those were the individuals that did nothing more but hide amidst the shadows, cowering in secret whilst false bravado dictated their everyday lives. In other words, they were simply worthless, and the gaze of the Red Magister would pass them by, much like their poorly spent years until the time of their demise.
"Destroy everything you own."
The Takana Hotsprings, Oni, the Swordsman's Lair, the Jinchuu Assassins, the Redmoon Guardians, Xenom, the Isamahii Gardens, the Parliament, the Furies, the Mystiques, the Orphans...
The Eternals.
The names of every single group the Red Magister had belonged to burned brightly within both himself and his counterpart. Yet, while the heir of darkness had chosen to reject the notion of companionship, of camaraderie, of 'good' alliances, Vincent had yet to cast them all out, for they all had been worth something to him. The Takana Hotsprings, the very first enterprise that had allowed his twin sister and himself a semblance of safety against his biological father, a demon of incomparable power; Oni, the first clan of individuals dedicated solely toward combat and which initiated him down the path of honing the arts of war; the Swordsman's Lair, expert wielders of the blade who initiated him in the arts of the sword; the Jinchuu Assassins, highly disciplined hitmen who taught him the path of stealth and assassination; the Redmoon Guardians, elementalists who further honed his usage of the four primordial elements and all sub-elements found betwixt; Xenom, a bloodstained desert, an arena where most of his early battles took place; the Isamahii Gardens and the Parliament, two sides of the same coin, and the groups that saw the Red Magister exceed his peers, ultimately destroying them. The Furies and the Mystiques bore no real mention, as they had been nothing more than side projects to kill time and to analyze more creatures as time went by.
The Orphans and the Eternals, however, were also two sides of the same coin. The heir of darkness belonged to the former whilst the Red Magister was incorporated to the latter, and yet, neither of these had any real meaning or objective. The mere notion of becoming the 'gods' of the Multiverse sickened him. Creatures holding similar beliefs had fallen before his sword and his magic in the past; why should he stoop that low? The evolution, if one could even call it that, of his comrade and ally, Adell Illiandes Laemington, did nothing more than disgust him. Both concepts had crumbled. Both concepts became worthless. Thus did Vincent Fiorelli depart, returning to his trademark solitude whilst continuing to gather information and knowledge, not only for himself, but also for his Secret Library, and for the Pandemonium Knights. The Eye of the Dominator twitched slightly within the center of his chest, adhered to the fabric of his coat, ever so observing with its uninterrupted gaze.
"Nihilistic tendencies within my bones."
There was no meaning in any of those conglomerations of singular entities, for none of them could function as one. Egotism and pride had seized the minds of feeble leaders, and any worth had all but been lost to the sea of stars. Coruscating thoughts once illuminated their minds, but no more, and so the Seeker of Knowledge chose to deviate from the beaten path to become that which he once was - a hunter. A hunter of information, a hunter of battles, a hunter of worthy prey. Not everybody would understand nor did they need to. After all, lesser minds often misunderstood the enlightened few. To him, they would simply remain stuck in a dark cavern until they managed to witness the light of day.
"You gotta break a few."
The message was sent throughout the realms immediately known by the Red Magister, calling each and every single entity worth anything in the arts of war to approach a specific, predetermined location. Those who accepted the Fiorelli's challenge would be given a set of coordinates and a tiny device allowing direct transportation to the battlefield of choice. Whether they employed the device was inconsequential as long as they made it to the aptly chosen region; Yggdrasil, the Tree of Life.
Lush greenery stretched as far as the eye could see, with vast forests surrounding the clearing leading up to what presumably was the origin of all life, and which holds together all nine universes within Norse mythology. Of course, this could have been but one of many copies of the legendary Yggdrasil, with the plain sword stuck within one of its roots alluding to multiple interpretations. Regardless of this fact, there was no denying that the power in this region was immense, focusing mostly around the trunk of the tree, which stretched toward the heavens.
Giving his back to it was the Red Magister, hovering a mere inch over the grass and dirt. Long, silver locks descended along his frame, silken bangs clouding the vision from his left eye yet fully exposing the piercing grey gaze from his other iris. Instead of crimson robes adhering to his body like a second skin, he was garbed in a long, form-fitting buttoned-up coat with details in gold and silver thread, and with several buckles crafted seemingly from blessed gold. Red leather pants fastened together by a belt with a silver buckle kept his legs comfortable, allowing for ease of movement, and a pair of crimson leather shoes topped the attire off. As always, the fabric everything was comprised of was nothing more than Fiorellite, a sturdy yet flexible material straddling the line of metal and cloth, and crafted with specific techniques he had come up with, and which also conformed most of his weapons and armor. Hovering beside him was a copy of his trusty Liberi Fatali, a Fiorellite blade taking on the appearance of an elaborate nodachi shimmering of a vibrant blue, with runes etched in gold descending along the surface of the blade. A sizable ruby was encrusted upon the handle, near the region where the blade interconnected with the circular guard.
There, he awaited for the arrival of his would-be opponents. Children needed to be reminded of their station within the hierarchy of the Multiverse.
"You gotta lose it all."
Quise Introduction
VERSE DREI/III: ETERNAL
"It's mine."
“ IT'S ALL MINE!!”
“EVERY CORNER OF IT. DON'T EVEN LOOK AT IT, IT IS MY SIGHT TO BEHOLD.”
[Lone voice echoing.]
Please, sir. Can't you spare a little?
“I'LL ONLY SPARE YOU YOUR MISERABLE LIFE!!!.”
[Angry echo. Echo. Echo. Echo.]
An argument hosted by his greed, but spoken to naught. Not a soul dwelled within this setting, 'cept one afflicted with great avarice. A stone cold grip hugged tightly a pouch of endless value. “Mine. It's mine, you fool's!” A faint flame cackled at the display. It's wavering a taunt to the loneliness at display. Within the comfort of the roots of this universal landmark did the lugubrious cre@tor suffocate within his own madness. The pouch had been a harborer of his ill essence, tainted by the accursed gold. Gold he slaughtered his kin for, leaving him to be the lone entity to know of this great treasure. “It's mine….” He whispered as his short stature leaned against the wall, sliding till his bottom firmly planted against the terrain. His titan strength squeezing the pouch with strength to shatter mountain's. With such strength, that surely whatever dwelled within had been battered. But this was not the case. The bag seemed to be void of possessions; but in truth it was just void. As endless as his greed.
Demented was the dar'kar being. Lost within a need for ETERNAL possession. His small, gloved digits digging into the subterranean ground. Clay covered his glove, as he rose it to his hand. The beauty of gaia had temporarily released him from his mental captivity. The cackling flame coming to an abrupt halt, extinguishing at the mere might of this kins awareness. Why?
Why am I here again?
To satisfy---
To satisfy my---
ENDLESS HUNGER!!!
Rested between the roots had been the endless. A victim of glutton as much as greed, his digestion had been otherworldly; known as a star eater, the nullkin had displayed feats that bare his titles true. The garment of naught slowly found itself within his bowels. Resting within the deep of his physical anatomy. Bathed in gold had been the wytch-sl@yer, even his own rotten maw had been accursed with this gold-like property. It's luster and beauty had been akin to gold, so for simplicity? The writer referenced it as such. The Gold of his wrealm had been synth, easily able to outfit it with curses and blessings, the mineral was a victim of LAWBREAKING, it's reality rewritten to fit the cre@tors. Sturdy, resistant had been this mineral that covered him dread 'ta hoove. Resistant to all forms of damage given it's sturdy, and magykal nature, but more resistant to the latter. At such a degree? That it was often hard to survey its properties, even through sci-fi means. It holds its own bitter heart toward mortal science, extremely difficult to pull by magnetic means. It bent nor broke for no man. Fit to conquer God's.
Let me offer a moment to rewind.
Title's.
Truly he had earned them all.
Do you know about The Wytch-Sl@yer?
Who gives a fuck. Just finish your damn post.
Aye. You not 'finna talk to a third gen crip like that, but you right.
At the midriff slumbered a tool used to slay titans, and build foundation for celestial spheres. It served as both a weapon, and a tool to conjure. It's glory only reserved for the mighty, as its weight was enough to sink layers upon layers of the terra, three great runes inscribed within and upon it. It's handle roughly about a foot, while the head of it dwarfed it on a scale similar to This great tree vs an oak. Not a stain on his garb. Full of luster, and glory. Blessed shield resting upon his back, as his face laid helm free, exposing the gritty features of the Yautja. Dreaded locks covered the wool surrounding his very maw. Pieces of gold wrapped ever so tightly around each individual loc. His mustache braided to expose his thick lips, as his sunkissed face laid in the wake. Ugly son of a bitch had been the young Thunna. Red of the hair, black of the skin. His body dense, physique chiseled from steel. His stubby legs made up in muscle for what he lacked in height. He was a creature of strength and resistance. His fellow Yautja who hailed from Olympus often compared him to Atlas.
Did you forget why you were here already?
The ETERNAL hunger.
Tell me. You've tasted death. You've inflicted it.
But I can smell it. Can't you? That aroma.
It's rich with…
It's rich with LIFE!
No matter the tales, this paramount stood tall in the center of them all. This great tree had been the bringer of life. Many blessings came from its presence. The mere presence of it caused the fauna, and vegetation to live with longevity. To prosper. It lifted curses, burdens placed on generations had been extinguished. It could all be his. He could keep it all. Bowels rumbling with excitement...I hope its excitement and nothing he ate…...Oh. My b. Bowels rumbling with excitement as the user of impact Magyk and cre@tion wielded his hammer of legend. He heard no voice. His resistances prevented that. He had his own reasoning for being here.
“This tree is mine.”
From underneath did the dar'kar arrive. Phasing through the terrain, an ability his entire bloodline possessed just to witness it. The Tree. “The tree is mine!!’ He sneered as his armoured feet stood firmly, drawing strength from this sanctified terrain to explode his supernatural strength even further. His senses alert, but his back slightly facing his enemy. He cared not for squabbles over egos. He would defend himself if need be, but the Red Mage would find that a dishonorable tactic would be a waste. Against The Wytch-Sl@yer what was he to do? “The Tree is mine!” His tone was more of a growl with the final utter as he readied his hammer to make history----
Vincent Post 1
Whoever the tree belonged to was the least of the Red Magister's worries. It disappointed him that none of the beings that touted themselves as deities, as peerless warriors, as outstanding fighters, responded to the message. Understanding, however, dictated that perhaps, just perhaps, they simply did not want to be humiliated within this secluded region of the Multiversal realms. In the olden days, ignoring a challenge of this magnitude was often met with notions of cowardice and diminished worth in the grand scheme of things. The flow of time, however, erodes all things. The lackadaisical behavior and the decadence that had set in within the practitioners of varied arts of war was sickening. No individual pushed themselves anymore, none wanted to reach for greater heights. An era of conformity had seized a major number of universes. Even this hammer-wielding creature was part of the problem.
Vincent needn't even turn around to glance upon the designs of this enemy that, while unexpected, would serve to keep him company in such a desolate location. The thought processes of the Red Magister were not unlike the most advanced neural networks presently found within technologically developed civilizations. Comparable to a state-of-the-art supercomputer, he could not only process information at a frightening rate, but the neural uplinks often established with his Secret Library, Hyades, provided any necessary additional data about his environs, and about enemies, if previously registered within the library's database. Unsurprisingly, no information could be found about this particular creature claiming ownership over this Yggdrasil, which only made things more interesting for the Thousand Magister. While he didn't mind participating in battles for the sake of battling, Vincent Fiorelli was an eternal scholar at heart.
The energy surrounding the tree and afflicting the land tipped heavily toward the Umbral polarity, with rich reserves of Nether showing up without any issues within the canvas of the Red Magister's mental map. Extrasensoria Perceptio, basic cognitive magic to perceive the outside world, coupled with his biological and natural ability to see, feel, and sense the energy of living and non-living creatures and objects comprised the entirety of the map; it ultimately allowed him to pinpoint every relevant detail in his surroundings, preventing ambushes, surprises, traps, and an assortment of other situations. The range was easily adjustable and further increased through adding different forms and types of energy to the detectable spectrum.
Liberi Fatali, the sword that had been floating beside him suddenly froze in midair. The sentient object had picked up on the extraneous presence of the seemingly hostile creature. The ruby encrusted upon the handle shimmered with an intermittent light, with the dim glow reflecting a few centimeters away from the Red Magister's frame. Vincent crouched down for an instant to place his palm upon the grass before him, easily feeling the leylines coursing beneath the crust. The realm's lifestream coalesced within this particular location and flowed through the roots and trunk of the tree of life. The endless fountain of energy available to him would only be further enhanced by manipulating and employing the power of this region, his palm and the soles of his feet soon enshrouded in faint, silver luminescence in his crouched posture.
'... Might as well. A resource as valuable as this falling into the wrong hands could spell disaster for the surrounding realms.' Vincent thought to himself as a wordless command saw his blade darting for the unknown creature.
'... Might as well. A resource as valuable as this falling into the wrong hands could spell disaster for the surrounding realms.' Vincent thought to himself as a wordless command saw his blade darting for the unknown creature.
The copies of Liberi Fatali were nothing to scoff at. Each and every single one of them possessed an internal circuit constructed for and imbued by Endless Magic, courtesy of a certain Golden Witch from a faraway realm. Similar to the systems found within the Draconic Drive Core of the Red Magister's Lombardia yet many times smaller, the swords possess limiters to keep the endless supply of energy under control. Standalone versions of Vincent's spells can be found within them, as well, with the weapons being capable of performing the unaided casting of multiple spells at a time. As a limitation, however, each copy of Liberi Fatali can only cast one of each spell found within the Red Magister's codex. In this case, the sword slammed down into a boulder encrusted into the land nearly fifty feet away from the creature only to produce a myriad cracks along its surface.
These cracks descended along the boulder and stretched out along the dirt and the rugged, rocky surface beneath it, fanning out along the region yet all approaching the creature. Liberi would keep the creature busy enough whilst the Red Magister concocted up a myriad plans for this region, seemingly not paying any mind to the extraneous entity himself for the time being. Alas, all was not as it seemed.
Quise Post 1
Hooves tethered with the celestial sphere which harvested this tree of legend. It had been possessed more than just umbra energy. Life had been more than the spectrum of darkness and light. Birthed from this overrated mystery had been fusion, life had been an overabundance of element's, just like this great tree.
“The tree is mine.”
The Cre@tor spoke his will into existence. It would bend to him and this mage would witness this proclamation become a fresh reality. So stale had been the murmurs of the ancient. Creating a rotten foundation, and sheltering that blame on the youth. Their delusions aged with them, fortified by false pride. Tucked. Smothered within deception. He cared little for lectures from miniscule spirits. Nay.
Warhammer vibrating with the stellar strength of a being who cared little for the presence of another, until his side eye caught the sudden motion of an instrument of violence. The sword fell short, but with it's implement did the terrain break away. His very tether to this sphere, to this place and time had been a scourge. It was wise of any entity, no matter their morales to attempt to prevent his ambition. But this place of legends? It had been blossoming with life. It's glory unable to be captured by the writer, it was a place of wonders, and he could feel it in his very bones. To be full of vigor. His alignment to celestial habitats would be demonstrated, as the craft-sl@yer prepared to respond to these acts of envy.
THIS TREE IS MINE!!!”
Mighty had been his natural strength, but this tether. This solid footing? It hadn't been hindered by any minor disturbance upon these plates. It had been all too familiar, all the writer's previous victims had been kindred to Vincent. Children of Magic, beings with a hunger for knowledge. He had not been unlike Wykked but he would know DESPAIR.---Foreshadowing. Isn't that what they called it? Pay attention to the forecast, before I forth cast something deadly enough for four casts, outcome of that? A toe tag. Just a bunch of roaches to me, I'm ashing enough for four Kaz. Just a bunch of roaches. I'll put your bodybag in a bodybag. Thor couldn't lift this hammer. Mr.ChalkaBoom back, but you can call me a toe stamper.
That's light.
Layered in divine revocation, his defenses had been far beyond this tier, but easily adaptable for this battle. He often replied to strength with his own, canceling out the force with his uncanny adaptability, over the years he had developed the name GODBODY, for what he lacked in range assault? He made up for in mid range and close quarter skirmishes. The Cre@tor had been a dictator of life. Known at being able to form transparent fields with various laws, it was the closest he got to dueling at range. His view directly at his smug opponent. The cracks sprawling toward the foundation on which he stood, against this tree of wonders. He felt younger. Like he could attempt to punch and create a void with just his force. This land. Flooded with the energy of life. Everything here grew with form. Healthy, promoting a luster only captured in a few scarce moments in the ladder of time. This hadn't been the setting for violence, but it would be burdened with it. His titan might gripping his hammer, the glyph of the jealous glew. It's hubris hungering to prove the accuracy of his hate toward craft-kin. His instrument at the ready, prepared to make a most thunderous sound.
CHALKAAAABOOOOOOM!]
I'm in raw mode, watch son put in this work.
I said
Amen-Ra mode, watch sun put in this work.
Amun -Ra mode, watch-Watch-Watch…
Thunderous---THUNDAGA might minorly displayed due to the limitations of the tier alone. A transparent wave of his divine declaration came with the slam that had been conjured two feet directly in front of him. The cracks emitted from this blow had recognized, SUBMITTED to the steel will of the young Thunna. Rugged formations had arisen from the crust. A harry potter series of spikes laid in the wake, his pulse attempting to declare any lingering energy from Vincent's approach null. He typically used his strengths to act as a defense. This would be demonstrated as his energies went against the mages. Within a few fractions would the warrior move, using his racial ability to surf among the earth and magyk based result. Seemingly intangible to just this element. His great war hammer risen to a position in which the end of the pole rested near his groin, the pole stretching pass his torso, as the helmet hovered near his face. Since this weapon was a conduit, a connection? It reflected the might and resistance of its user, as it flowed freely with it's wielder. Bracing himself as the spikes traveled all the way pass the sword and toward Vincent himself at an impressive rate. The series of spikes had been girthy, and almost towered it's user. He was sure his new opponent would have a defense for this action. He anticipated it. He rode with the intention of trading his next blow. Prepared to deal with an onslaught of magyk. Distance now 10 feet. Spikes coming at you, as I surf behind about six of the dual-pillars erected from them. My hammer is at the ready, my will is woken. The pulse will stop once the spikes do.
But you already knew that.
Vincent Post 2
In an interesting turn of events, spikes met spikes as one of the myriad spells sealed within Liberi Fatali made itself manifest within the material plane. Contrary to the common forms of magic that drew energy from the environment in order to fuel the words of power that ultimately comprised a spell, both the Red Magister and his creation drew energy from what appeared to be an internal well of endless energy, consuming the necessary fuel to power a spell internally and manifesting its effects wherever they were located. In Vincent's case, this well of power revolved around a series of carefully constructed borders and bounded fields, one of which pervaded due to the outline of his silhouette at all times, and several which were contained within in a series of endless layers, though few were ever privy to this information. In Liberi Fatali's case, however, the internal conduits coursing throughout its Fiorellite blade followed a constant cycle blessed with Endless magic, similar to the Draconic Drive Core of the magister's Lombardia, which ultimately meant that the weapon could always consume the fuel necessary to cast a spell without needing to draw from the world around it.
Naturally, common means of cancelling magic were out of the question when facing off against Vincent. After a particular incident involving Caitlyn, the Voidmistress, and her uncanny ability to not only absorb but also negate all forms of magic colliding with her frame several years ago, the Red Magister had delved into research to skirt around different forms of anti-magic. The theories he had come up with were mixed with the knowledge regarding the school of magic Vincent had adopted as his own, ultimately developing a method of internal casting coupled with the internal usage of energy, as opposed to the more traditional method depicted in the ancient scrolls of the magic school.
In the documents he had uncovered, the form of energy described as mana was originally taken from the energy in the atmosphere and subdued through the wielder's own willpower and refinement techniques. Only when one's willpower was exhausted could one's mana be depleted. Moreover, the theory of mana itself is based on the concept of onmyou - Yin and Yang -, with the energy inside the body described as On and the energy outside the body described as Myou. In this line of thought, On is the female and maternal component representing the power of the earth, darkness, and shadows; Myou is the male and paternal component, representing the power of the heavens, of creation, of light, brightness, and activity. Adhered to this concept is the description of Qi, an element which composes all things in existence and the energy which moves them.
Through a thorough study of all these concepts and the rest of his knowledge, the Red Magister was able to concoct a method of casting that utilizes the energy stored within the body and the spirit, being quite capable of switching between the 'external' and 'internal' methods of casting spells depending on the situation before him. As a precautionary measure, the 'internal' method of casting is always employed, which is currently what both Liberi Fatali and himself showcase. However, there was still room for the regular strategies that the Red Magister often utilized in each and every single one of his battles, and that was to poke and prod the opposition to see how they would react.
First and foremost, Liberi Fatali executed its own plan only for the Red Magister to align his own with it. The ruby encrusted within the handle shimmered intensely as a single spell was finally cast on the myriad cracks approaching the hammer-wielding creature. The Doru Petras - "Spear of Stone" - made itself manifest on the material plane using the cracks as its area of effect. As such, once the creature produced a multitude of earthen spikes that fanned out in a similar manner as the cracks, the advance of such a quaking attack was stopped nigh-immediately by thick, diamond-like stone spikes standing roughly ten meters tall, and which gradually tapered down toward their sharp tip. Each girthy spike exuded an ominous yet dim purple glow, merely signaling the adherence of a minor modifier upon its surface. 'To Teichos Dierxastho' was the common modifier attached to this particular spell, separate from the spell itself and only conferring anti-barrier penetration qualities to it, none of which resulted relevant at this point in time. All Vincent did at this time was whisper two simple words under his breath, "Pnoe Petras", though nothing appeared to change on the surface.
Earth stopped earth, and with the hammer-wielder's onslaught of spikes stopped before it could reach half the distance between its origin and Liberi Fatali, all that remained was to deal with the charging creature. If the Red Magister's sword was lodged in a boulder fifty feet away from the creature and the cracks fanned out across that distance before the spikes jut out, and the creature's attack was stopped before reaching half the distance toward the sword, nearly thirty feet between them were dotted by Doru Petras spikes whilst the remaining twenty consisted of earthen spikes pertaining to the hammer-wielder.
Once the Godboy breached twenty five feet of distance, that's when Vincent struck from afar.
With his hands dipped within the pockets of his coat, he would make use of the ancient art of 'Iaiken', the Soundless Fist, considered to be one of the few forms of ranged martial arts found within his current magic school. The dim silver light emanating from the pockets produced something similar to a kaleidoscopic effect a mere inch away from the Red Magister's frame, yet that wouldn't indicate what exactly occurred to the two stone spikes located slightly to the left and to the right in front of the dashing creature. In a simultaneous yet sudden burst, both earthen structures shattered into a myriad pieces as two clouds of dust spread outward from the very core of the pillars, seeking not only to engulf the Godboy himself, but also to scatter across the environment and along the other pillars of stone. These dust particles petrified what they came into contact with, initiating a forced phase change in both physical and spiritual matter, and resulting poisonous to both living and non-living creatures and objects. This was the Pnoe Petras, the Breath of Stone, and the spell which the Red Magister had imbued the spikes with.
The Iaiken allowed Vincent to focus the potential energy located within his fists, release it before him, and launch it in bursts of kinetic energy. To some, it was a display of pure physical prowess; others could see deeper into the technique. The wielders of the Soundless Fist often enhanced their own bodies with mana or qi in order to further augment the strength of their strikes; for the Red Magister, this could be executed without the need to augment himself, given that his natural strength was more than enough to execute the technique. As such, all he had to do was apply the basic precepts of the Iaiken, treating the fist in the pocket as a sword in its scabbard, 'unsheathing' and punching in such a manner that he appeared completely still, which was a common characteristic of this particular skill. To onlookers unfamiliar to the technique, it would appear as though the punches were completely invisible to the naked eye, and the shockwaves sent through the air fully silent, hence the 'Soundless Fist'.
Recapitulating, Liberi Fatali conjured Doru Petras, manifesting thick spikes of diamond-like stone along the cracks that had fanned out across fifty feet between the sword and the creature to stop the impending onslaught of the hammer-wielder's earthen spikes. Vincent imbued the Doru Petras with the Pnoe Petras, though no changes could be observed on the spikes themselves. Once the Godboy's charge breached twenty-five feet of distance from their former location, entering the area of the Doru Petras' spikes, Vincent utilized the Iaiken to punch two of them with focused shockwaves of kinetic energy, shattering the pillars and exposing the Pnoe Petras within. The Godboy would be assaulted by a two-fold strike of diamond-like shrapnel and petrifying gas.
By this point, 11 months had passed since the last post and the fight was moved from Neutralis to Respect The Shooter at Quise's request. Quise was given seven days to reply, though he was granted an additional week on March 8th. As Quise did not reply within the agreed time frame, a connection is possible after the last week. The next post was written and posted ten days after the fact, three days after the time limit was breached.
Vincent Post 3
Unfortunately, the only thing anyone would know looking at the recollection of this encounter once the memory was properly crystallized for inspection was the fact that this... Mister Chalkaboom simply did not measure up to the Red Magister on multiple levels. First and foremost was the subject matter of strategy, rushing into the unknown without a second thought. Vincent had to give him props for attempting to close the distance, though the lack of foresight carried a hefty price. Secondly, the ignorance displayed by the enemy whilst assuming these spikes were magical in nature. The casting obviously was, but the spikes themselves, besides possessing a molecular and atomic composition several times denser than regular rock, were purely physical constructs birthed forth from the very land itself. If the Godboy wanted to disrupt the magic coursing through Vincent's veins, it was clear he'd have to strike true, fast, and deep, though none of those things would come to pass as the Iaiken impacted against a pair of Doru Petras spikes.
The result was nigh-instantaneous.
The Godboy would see himself shredded amidst the ensuing clouds of shrapnel and razor-sharp diamond-like particulate matter. The shattering of those two spikes prompted a chain reaction, causing multiple other stone spikes to detonate in a similar manner... And each, and every single one of them revealed what was hidden within them. Along with the slicing particles, clouds of dust emanated from each pillar that had exploded, engulfing the Godboy in the blink of an eye, given the distance and the speed at which he was approaching the Red Magister. These dust particles forcibly shifted the state of matter from liquid or gasseous to a solid state, though all three states of matter were affected by its overarching effect: petrification. Although gradual, the area of contact between Vincent's would-be opponent and the dust particles comprising the Pnoe Petras' clouds was quite high, and so it certainly wouldn't be long before the Godboy was fully petrified.
Regardless of whether this occurred, a third Iaiken strike tore through the air once his opponent had breached ten feet of distance. To the petrified skin and flesh, it was as though a cannonball had been launched straight against a concrete wall. His opponent would simply shatter into countless pieces, which simply graced the surface of the remaining Doru Petras spikes closest to the Red Magister. What a pity. What a shame. But what else could he have expected from a creature so obsessed with power that they'd lost their own mind, their own sense of self...?
Turning around, the Red Magister walked away from this location only to approach Yggdrasil from a different region. Perhaps a walk through the nearby woods would be good to unwind before analyzing the Tree of Life, now that no cockroaches remained around to pester him.
