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Post by Deleted on Apr 16, 2021 1:11:56 GMT
In the amber embrace of the evening sun, the clouds were unified underneath the reddish golden brilliance that surrounded them. Its glow reached far beyond Mystroheim and its forlorn lands, but even so, the hues bled through its contours as though the foreground was its canvas all the same. The dilapidated, naked spires of rock that surrounded the eminence where Nadia's Bell once hung above cast its shadows to the wastes below them. Almost like a sea of darkness, penetrated just barely by the descent of the beautiful sun. Standing in front of the arc, which had been the remaining fragment of history since the Age of Fallen Grace, an armored hero observed this spectacle as it was making its departure to the underside of the horizon, fleeing into a sudden twilight.
The susurrus of the zephyrs made the elaborate length of his vermilion cape flow along with its subtle currents, undulating like a crimson sea. The man clad in ivory armor sheened with the most effulgent luster during the fleeting moments of where the sun's warm hues still reached him. The stoic gaze beneath the broadly slit visor of his helm appeared to be the only veil of obscurity where this radiance could not pierce through. The Celestial Plate of the Wyrm King was as immaculate as it was boldly ostentatious, featuring massive claw-like pauldrons that framed his tremendous shoulders, trimmed with a lustrous golden metal and even detailed with intricate emblems on its broadsides. It ended with crimson fang protrusions at the bottom of the rounded plating. Segmented by two pins detailed with avian wings of gold, centered by magical ruby gems. The straightforward design of the breastplate afforded its beauty to some extent, save for the precisely cut gem framed by claw-like lining at the center of his chest. It was overlaid over a sable, somewhat abrasive-looking apparel that adorned the hero's stalwart frame with taut. Enough to accentuate the sculptured muscles of his legs, beneath the quad-segmented faulds that shielded over his posterior, the nether region, and both sides of his thighs with a relatively rounded craftsmanship to the pauldrons. It complemented the coverage of his greaves, in which surrounded the entirety of his calves, bolstered by narrowly pointed knee guards and finally completed by garnet hued sabatons. From the vambraces to gauntlets, his boulder-like muscles were protected underneath its ivory plating. The panoply was incredibly ornate, and even emanates a sacred power that inspires confidence from those who look upon it. Manufactured by The Honored One during the completion and ritualistic commitment as the All King, anyone who beholds this would immediately sense its enormous power sweeping across the realm like a torrential flood.
Weighted into the ground was the trenchant edge of the unadorned workhorse, Luuthrad, a memento of a sword Rio resonated deeply with in his conquering of Terra Tower. Its charcoal-tempered hued made the blade appear ancient, given its myriad of chippings along both ends. The inwardly curved cross guard housed a unique, sapphire gem within the segment between the former and the hickory length of its handle. As his hands rested against its pommel, he could feel a sense of determination fill his heart.
It was much needed, given the current circumstances. In his momentary silence, he ruminated over the invitation of which he sent to the Rampager, the god of war. Even with his preparations complete, it felt surreal to him have finally issued a challenge against Kaneda. Or rather, the husk of "Kaneda". Zone was the Paroxysm of Force that needed to be extinguished, for the sake of Ophion, and for the sake of the Multiverse at large. However, his doubts plagued his certainty to follow through. Could he really kill his brother-in-arms? To do away with the history they forged together? Would it mean that BLADE lived peacefully for just one more day? Rio could ponder in this sea of hesitation for as long as time afforded it, but in the end; he knew what was to come.
To become a true hero, he needed to treat life as though it was merely weights on both ends of a scale. To judge them indiscriminately, and to do it justly even more so.
Such an obligation was unlike the childish ideals he stuck adamantly to those years ago, and even when Zone departed from BLADE, much like when Astra sought his own purpose in this maddening world. Rio hoped to greet a few of those who had followed with them back, but now... It was just a bygone hope. Any happiness required a sacrifice, and it was when he was realized the mercilessness of reality, that he would be driven to despair by his own pure dreams. It was until up to this point that he discovered one of several absolutes in this world: for any existence, the only two alternatives are sacrifice or salvation. And for the sake of those he had wished to protect, to be a hero that left the future in the hope of its righteous people.
He would become the executioner that solely emptied the scale plate of evil, starting with the most vile of it all.
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Post by Hero on Apr 18, 2021 17:00:43 GMT
The frail sepulcher glowed under Zone’s elongated lashes, his incandescent gaze within burning the meaning of what he observed deep into his mind. The epitaph was foreboding. Ardent tresses glistening under dawn swayed majestically, braided and adorned by solar circlets and rings interwoven. His malted hair resembled a nest for birds, a messy mixture of nappy and smooth strands that allowed a single white braid to rest down the right side of his face and curl delicately around his right eye. A truly gorgeous man, the scorn of his eyes could have been mistaken for a demon were it not that of the Lord of War himself, lest none could beguile him. Thus was it the sun that made the beholder wink, emerging from the precipice of dawn without the depravity of the tedious. It was by the hand of Gilgamesh that the world of Ophion underwent a tumultuous process of awareness. The dissolution of society’s commonality wasn’t meant with the penitence that the white-haired Lord of War expected, but he knew even if history itself was verified and given the sincerity it so deserved that they would not merely bend to Elthead’s proclamations. It was thus that Zone would create a world of lasting fealty to Cedio Elthead, even if his motivations were estranged. Thus when he emerged beyond the crags and moss, opposite of the hero, the twilight would beckon him: portentous and inevitable.
Zone was no villain. Zone was no hero. He was omen that the prologue believed, the question of war, the harbinger by which the preceding stilled the fates. So hallowed and so gracious was the venerated spirit of a sword thought invincible, as the First Champion of Elthead many harrowing changes had already spread throughout countless territories of Ophion. Some fell under the arrogant repudiation of those closest to them, others an elusive betrayal to see their own ploy for power, yet in the end the twenty-eight clans of the Badlands was fiercely subjugated and the royal blood of Elthead would come to prominence once more. Many were mistaken as how this feat was accomplished, likening it as another underhanded ploy of Vitra’s potential reincarnation. The truth was darker. A single man, with eyes of a demon, and an overcast of nine enigma’s each subjugated several armies and remarkable men alone. The legend of his exploits spread like a disease, reaching the court of Irestill, the King of Erste, and even the distant land of the Delmorg. Impossibilities happened everyday in Ophion, but one of this magnitude had major political ramifications.
And yet Zone was not unfamiliar with causing massive changes within Ophion. His name of yesteryear, as the Paroxysm of Force was one granted to him when he was subsequently banished by The Eternals for an unspeakable tragedy caused to Irestill and its people that led in the deaths of millions. Why then had he returned, and where would his gaze affix itself next? The sound of overlapped platinum plates clicking in the twilight was all the hero would get out of Gilgamesh’s arrival. Unlike his contemporary, who wore the armor of Fabrolian privilege, he wore the Zergalus of Radiance.
Zone refused to wear a helmet, but his concave pauldrons glistened with the forlorn shine that would have been found in his eyes beyond the veil of his sallet had he done so. His armor was colossal, his cuirass bold and curved to the shape of his stern chest, the breastplate and adjacent plackart were each etched around a muscle of the abdomen— compressed under a personally manufactured chain mail composed of the same finite minerals as his platinum armor trimmed with ornate gold. The massive cylinders on his shoulders bridged by the bevor of his armor was compressed mechanically atop the elongated cape of skin that blew as a mane of blessed alabaster, the long white hairs of the beast slain curling under the dawn’s inevitable rise. Along the sides of his pauldrons were two symbols of unexplainable origin, the handiwork of his forebear, who simultaneously forged the endoskeleton of chain mail that ran underneath his armor. The platinum armor trimmed with effervescent arcs of golden brilliance, it was impossible for someone unaware of his legend to understand that he was infact the Lord of War. There was no insignia, only a glint of light where he stood and the Zergalus of Radiance perpetuated. It’s components are where things drew interesting for Zone Harcourt: as the Zergalus was constructed entirely out of Zeranium by Zone Harcourt himself, using the scales of the superbeast to design the armor that would lead him to the end of days. His counter and arms were carefully plated, even the couter of each arm each adorned with a protruding spike of remarkable durability. His gauntlets, far denser and impossibly heavy, seemed etched from stone to absolute perfection only befitting of a master swordsman. Tight enough to solidify a perfect grip on any weapon he desired, loose enough to allow the any esoteric solidifications to manifest themselves whenever he so desired. While his sabatons slammed into the forbidden lands around him, the footholds in the earth created by his steps were hard to believe: and this while bearing the full weight of the limited armor on his own shoulders. Atop the plated faults that covered his hips and thighs were several weapons, each as mysterious and legendary as the last. If there was any chance for Rio or anyone to defeat Zone as he was, the armor of pure-grade Zeranium was the final line of defense. It was his weapons that needed to truly be feared.
The Myoujingiri Muramasa wasn’t present for reasons that were fairly obvious, but the Mutsunokami was infact present next to his Materia Blade: Estrella. Science acquired by Elthead’s conquests led to the recreation of an ancient power, one transfixed by wonders of desperation and truth. Estrella was the second of its kind, the first belonging to Emperor Cedio himself, and the karmic retribution brought about by the existence of their weaponry would not be known for many years. While the golden scabbard of the Mutsunokami imposed its sovereignty on the world around it, a baleful glow encompassing it, the Materia Blade appeared to be a normal silver longsword carefully sheathed within a platinum scabbard with a locking mechanism on the locket itself which could only be activated by etheric release. The inscriptions of ancient Eltheadian lined its side, but Zone was ignorant of the language of the ancient sages. So long as the blade encapsulated the vision that Zone sought he cared not.
Beneath the two weapons was the Kikuichimonji, blessed sword of miracles— a remarkably ordinary looking katana with a pedestrian sable scabbard, rainbow silkcord consuming the handle, and a divine hilt that made it very out of place for the weapons and accessories that he brought in tow. On any given day he wouldn’t carry any weapons at all, preferring to summon them from the vestige of his Mythic Vega, the Gate of Nethuria. Today was a special occasion, however. The weapons outlined were each on the right side of his waist, and although ambidextrous, he preferred his left hand to handle his “light work”. On the left side of his waist rested three other swords, two of them intertwined in their fate, and the other as much of an anomaly as the Kikuichimonji. The anomaly of his weaponry was the Kiri Eguru Senjin no Daiken (Gouging Great Sword of the War God), an odachi that stretched further past his other weapons in length and protruded from the back of his cloak. The saya was made of Tempered Etherium compiled with the destructive essence of a demon god, holding a tremendous potential within. The black craggy crossguard didn’t do the haphazard crystal of a scabbard justice, as the essence within could vaporize entire landscapes with ease of existence alone. Some would consider it a gift, but none more than the other two swords it dangled above.
The Naishobanashi no Tsubame (lit. Secret Story of a Swallow) and The Muko no Shukumei ni Ikirushi (lit. Living One in the Predestination of the Void). The Naishobanashi was within a white steel scabbard and its corresponding blade within a black sheathe, each with a history predating the people who raised him. Both were immaculately crafted and the composition of the metals that compromised the swords themselves were far different. Steel was best used in conjunction with magic which sealed things away, and they were formidable in the power that they wrought. While many accessories such as the Charm of Lu Bei of Meizhou, and the Eye of Adelheide dangled from his waist and atop his faults, there was one more weapon worth mentioning that separated itself from the rest.
Along his backside caught between the stop rib of his upper back and his blowing cape was a massive scabbard, a greatsword almost as tall as Zone within a pressurized platinum sheathe. Carefully locked under several limiters, it was a far more disobedient weapon than any of his others could be, and wielding it without caution could mean the end of Ophion as many knew it. For all intents and purposes, while the Alhazard and Langrisser were being acquired and armies prepared for the final conflict, Zone cared not for the mortal qualms of kingdoms or men...his purpose forward was simple: to vanquish a God. No mere God, but an entity so profound that even Adell would have found himself at wit’s end. The Divine Sword Esterion however was exactly what he needed to accomplish his dream. The man who had beaten Landius...the one responsible for thwarting his ambitions as an Anguis of the Avesta. Zandakar. If it meant killing him and ending the cycle of attrition then there was no life off-limits. Two gauges rest on each side of the scabbard to monitor etheric and material pressure, and the circular hilt itself both obnoxious and ostentatious glistened behind the nape of Zone’s neck, braided hair slapping the crimson handle.
“You really are a fool you know that?” Zone barked, some thirty meters away from Rio and still approaching. The winds that blew throughout seemed to silence beneath his words and sovereignty. “I spared you on Duscur and here you are bringing your life right back to me. What have you learned?”
As he spoke, his armored digits rose as did his hands and waved to the world around them. “You believe in this fake paradise? In the peace that Fabrolias has set? One without a king? You’ve always had a sharp eye, just looking at the wrong picture…”
He stopped at twenty meters, his single last step sending a wave of tension through the battlefield. His celestial eyes looked into Rio’s.
“You know...before I left, Uzuki told me something. She said I’ll say and rationalize anything to get what I want.” Zone looked down from Rio and then up at the morning sky. “She’s right. And the only thing holding me back is you...ya’ know I didn’t realize it, but I should have killed you back then...it’s karma. Now I have to kill my best friend and kill God and I’m not too happy about that.”
By this point Zone was likely finished talking. Having taken a deep breath the armored warmonger slid his right foot further from his left and folded his elongated arms over his chest. Standing six feet and five inches tall, the armor gave him a giant’s appearance, but nothing was more indicative of what was to come than his eyes.
The eyes of a man who had died long ago. The wit and comedy that normally adorned him had vanished. Zone would kill a prince today.
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Post by Deleted on Apr 18, 2021 20:37:42 GMT
"Hmm..." The grumbling of his hoarse voice seeped from the depths of his visor; a grumble that served as acknowledgment. The resonant clanging of armor belonged to none other than the man Rio was expecting, albeit a rather peculiar change in qualities overall. The "Kaneda" he knew never fancied the usage of armor; however, the Zone marching stolidly from the yawning void that encapsulated the ruins below the platform appears to have contradicted that notion. The hero's bearing was no longer tentative, and with a steeled resolve he brought his head down to the immediate concern that approached him. The scarred length of Luuthrad, being pulled from the smooth indention its point made into the ground, was now brandished within the tightened grip of his right gauntlet. Its four feet of an impaired blade could still be swung through mountains despite the age that has taken its toll on it. Once wielded by Helchio of Kanjelo, Ophion's devout warrior of the stars, and the man who made Rio realize the grander scale of his ambitions. The sword was more than just a tool of war; its existence is a memento to the dream they shared, and until the sea of war is calm and settled... Rio would wield Luuthrad to pave a path for the people.
The heart of the demiplane Hale, Garden of Constellations bombinates lowly from the etheric leylines surrounding its sapphire catalyst. Its subtle gathering of energies and subsequent tethering with this foreign realm, creates offsets of color around his sword. A blend of blond and aquamarine essence pours from the gem, and promptly subsumes the surrounding Ether currents underneath Luuthrad's relatively hued aura. Isotoxal stars permeate from the languidly shifting essence, as though the aforementioned constellations were beginning to make their advent into the conventional realm. His simple desire was sufficient enough to cause the broader proximity of leylines to gather at his numinous authority, where a display of protean energies congregated around his tremendous stature.
The length of his cape appeared to have golden geometric symbology flickering erratically within its fabrics, offering the idea of enchantments or spells having been woven into it at some point. Its ephemeral presence grew more lasting as the Ether continuously filled the seemingly endless reservoir that was the hero. The studies he indulged tirelessly in after the attainment of Karna Masta's soul offered a revolutionary perspective within the field of magic, and it would be during this endeavor that Rio would see his hard work flourish to its greatest extent. Starting with the inherent increases of agility and overall mobility, the fortifications provided by the enchanted cape endowed his body with a substantial increase to his already bolstered faculties.
A diminutive bronze essence would crawl from underneath the collar of his armor, albeit rather hard to catch onto by sight. Nonetheless, the Helmturner, his ARCUS system, which was embosomed between his chest and divine plating activated inconspicuously. The arousal of his magic items acted in unison, done effectively within the conversation him and this agent of chaos were beginning to have.
To be called a fool was ironic, coming from the king of fools himself. Where Rio sought to maintain freedom through the obstruction of evil; Zone believed in the radical existence of life without moral consequence. To live a life that is no longer defined by the concepts of good or evil, but to live how one pleases. Little does he know...
"What I fight for goes beyond your goals for this world." His words were stern, and blatantly assertive. As Zone breasted the breeze, which suddenly began diminishing, that was where the tension grew palpable. "I've learned that you have given me a second chance, but don't mistaken me for the man those years ago..." Rio barked back, training the length of his blade towards his archrival. "Duscur was merely a humble beginning..." And unerringly, he stuck true to his words without wavering once.
The Celestial Plate of the Wyrm King appeared to have reacted to his ambitions, as a distorting ripple surfaced around the contours of the armor in a seemingly perpetual state of stagnation. Despite being infinitesimally thin, if Zone were able to peer into it, he would notice the displacement of perceivable space within it.
As the heir of Elthead continued, it only fueled Rio's resolve to prove his baseless claims wrong. "This paradise is not fake... With the restoration of order, and as I take on the throne. There will be true tranquility. Your ambitions had always been just as passionate as mine, you were just walking in the opposite direction."
As he recalled, fate, eventually does not refer to a singular path. He realized this when Astra had become one with the Cide VII after slaying Hiroshi, and successfully overthrowing the superpower of the Holy Federation. And due to this, there is no distinction between good and evil in fate. Whatever may be done for the sake of good can be considered evil, and it was vice versa under a myriad of circumstances. That is why the good and the bad exist. To eventually separate from the ever growing tree of kismet, and to find one's own path and reason. It is unfortunately, truly inconvenient for Zone's path to have crossed with his. As much as Rio wanted to deny it, they wanted the same, but underneath far different reasons.
The last step his presumed enemy made sent a blood-boiling sensation through his veins, albeit not literally impactful, the exchange of glances told each other everything they needed to know. "I concur... Having to slay one of my best of friends will put a considerable weight on my heart. But..." An emerald spark suddenly jumped from his visor, and then another.
Then all at once, emerging from the darkness of his helm was a ghostly eye, radiating with unbridled motivation and animosity. A sharp pupil with a darker shade of green made up the leering eye that surfaced; its presence would be a portent of seriousness to which Rio displayed.
Could he really find the answer? The words to make up what he truly wants? Currently, it was all too late to consider the impossible. Allowing silence to overtake the pause in his statement, Rio simply vanished into a phantom of the richly colorful hues that surrounded him, his meteoric arrival onto the ground level where Zone remained seemed difficult for the world to register properly. The arrival of the ivory hero superseding the wayward gust that washed throughout the land. This twenty meters that separated them instantly diminished into fifteen, where Rio remained across from him with Luuthrad poised at his side whilst rubicund hues streamed from the cape which billowed along with the acrid winds.
The galactic spectacle that the sword presented seemed more predominant now, than moments prior. The mysterious ripple of otherworldly power adorning his armor having broadened out as well. His rise of power never waned, even when vacating the monument of Nadia's Bell; the Ether currents followed wherever his presence was located. Currently, it appeared their statures when clad in armor were relatively the same, save for the variety of weapons equipped on his opponent. No matter the threat they posed, Rio's advantage lied in the rune that was secretly invocating underneath his gauntlets' suppressive structure. The Bascht Sacrament sung its metaphysical tune across the astral obscenity, and it was only a matter of when that he would make good use of it.
In the end, he convinced himself... This was no longer Kaneda, this was his greatest obstacle.
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Post by Hero on Apr 25, 2021 15:17:53 GMT
Their tenuous conversation on that crepuscular dawn would be remembered forever.
Zone Harcourt possessed a frightening array of sensory perception spectrums that inextricably interconnected to one another. His natural five senses were several hundred times more potent than any fantastical human, mating him to the transcendental observation of taste, the immoderate frequency of sound, and even the tremors of the world through his skin’s hypersensitivity. Mercurial eyesight notwithstanding, it was his understanding of what his senses amounted to in totality and individuality that terrorized battlefields that came to know his name. To understand who the invincible swordsman of Murim was, one had to first understand who he had been as an assassin. Born and bred to war, it had never been his “speed” or “power” that robbed his victims of their lives, but his peerless execution and a work ethic that turned his responses into instinct derived by a primal urge to survive. It was in his days as a revered child assassin that he awakened his Dairokkan “Sixth Sense”, existing beyond the peripheral of conventional understanding to those who mastered the dialect of war. Accompanied with the Kūkanshiki Kaku, Kaneda became lauded for his immaculate perceptual prowess, known throughout Iwashiro as a ravenous beast with the battlefield mindset of a master strategist. Therein, as shavings of each second ticked and Zone approached Rio, he carefully observed every individual anomaly projecting itself as separated variables almost subconsciously. While he wasn’t omniscient, there was few if any with the perceptual acuity that Zone possessed.
While Rio orchestrated his faculties Zone didn’t bother making any preparations of his own, not immediately. As excited as he was to behead Rio, the blight of his hubris was sweltering. Zone’s shrewd steps appeared ordinary, and perhaps they were, but his overweening mine was anything but. As estranged as his battle philosophies were, The Kenmanshinjin had become an unparalleled master of swordsmanship, mastering countless artforms. Many were volcanic and brazen, others situational, but his umbrella of experience and mastery made him formidable at the very least. His imposing resume seemed nothing to the hallowed accomplishments he was responsible for, where minstrels of Murim sang his exalted praises, but those of BLADE knew first hand how dangerous the ex-commander was. With every step he’d taken, the absolute clarity of mind and harmonization with the battlefield’s residual ether instigated an eddy of fathomless thoughts, subconsciously coalescing their estranged differences into a perfect understanding. This was one of the fundamentals to two very important distinguishing variables brought to the table of war. The most integral was Do, a revered state of mind also referred to by historians by its passive counterpart: Zen. It represented a state in which all roads had opened and a new world of understanding was unlocked, allowing Zone to perceive the world and its associated planes around him differently. This granted him immutable subconscious wisdom, and only coalesced with the existence of his perceptual faculties— even when he was not able to consciously perceive something, through predictive patterns, and environmental indicators, he could actively respond and chose the method best regardless of extraneous circumstances. The second distinguishing variable of his mind’s perfected state of battlefield clarity was the “mental stance” he equipped just as he took as his final step.
When Rio then decided to move, it became apparent what he was up to, but the events that unfolded were chaotic and would come with little warning. Exactly when Rio decided to move, so too did he, yet the fanfare of his own actions were haphazard and wouldn’t bode well for the environment. When Rio himself decided to become a phantom of dissonance, Zone’s resplendent gaze flickered and the space he occupied flickered in a physical distortion of the world struggling to keep up. Was it that Zone was just that fast? Or was it the technique itself? While the world struggled to register Rio’s arrival and the zephyronic gusts that followed, Zone himself narrowed his gaze on where he stood to the knight’s back.
Wait…
Ten meters behind Rio?
In the time it took Rio to cross five meters worth of distance, an effigy of Zone’s silhouette etched itself into the world behind him instantaneously, transmitted across the distance between where he stood and five meters behind where Rio had been standing prior to with transfixed locality. The distinguished swordsman was more than his legend foretold— not only did he specialize in martial arts and swordsmanship, but as partially elaborated, an assassin of few equals. The squelching vacuum of air simultaneously displaced by his position would have caught Rio’s attention, if not the simultaneous molding of ether into Ki within him, allowing him to seamlessly use one of the five walking techniques known throughout Murim. As much of a master as Rio had become, he knew Rio’s experience with them was negligible. The rapturous song of their skirmish rang through the ether-laden skies, even as Rio stopped just fifteen meters from where Zone still appeared to be standing, albeit a distance different than the second body that appeared simultaneously behind him ten meters away. Everything for a reason. As revered as the harbinger of chaos was, his approach to the throes of war had been oversimplified much the same as the cauldron of insurmountable ether dwelling within him. Whereas Rio himself was imbued with unseen enchantments to support the task he was undertaking between his sword, cape, armor, and ARCUS System support, Zone seemed nonsensical yet precise with his movements. While his “archrival” arrived to their point of contention, mentally preparing to hoist Luuthrad accordingly, the seamless machinations of Zone’s opening strategy became clear. Zone and Zone -Clone- were one in the same.
The lurid glow of his original position’s silhouette only lasted until Rio arrived fifteen meters away. When he did, a tumultuous conflagration suddenly ignited and several clouds of raging fire ripped through the air, consuming everything within twenty meters in a simultaneous discharge of thermodynamics. A thick wall of consuming flames devoured the material in its ether-induced ignition, enervating and deconstructing the world around it while the body within itself seemed to concurrently vanish. This was remarkably important, because as the supernatural flames ominously engulfed the world, an undiminished collapse of the distance between where Zone -Clone- had been standing infront of Rio to where Rio was took place, and the associated ruination could not be understated. By the time the cacophony of material deconstruction would have reached Zone’s fresh ears behind Rio, or Rio’s own, he would already be in the web of interconnected shockwaves forming a nexus where Rio was the magnetic center, and the six colossal shockwaves that erupted from Zone clone only basked in the radiant incandescence of fiery ether before their attempt to strike him from all angles, two at each ankle, two at either sides of his huge chest, and two to each of his shoulder. Zone -Clone-’s destructive release of what energy it possessed within, and simultaneous disappearance within was troubling alone, but it was the intricate mindset that allowed Zone’s clone to disseminate their lifeforce across the surrounding chaotic environment. The mental stance spoken of before belonged to Daiitoku; The Vajrabhairava School as it was known by the primogenitors, and it required extensive training for any swordsman to truly master. One With Wind or Kamitachi was the name, and it not only allowed the careful manipulation of pressurized shockwaves related to the movement of all air molecules associated thereof, but allowed Zone to split his presence and existence across two dozen “potential” paths of travel, by which several manifestations no different than the other closed the distance between Rio and themselves in the same moment as the destructive hellstorm that erupted simultaneously. Even more, each manifestation was translucent and invisible to several senses including the eye, but hiding them was never Zone’s intention. Once again Rio would have to make several careful decisions about what his next move should be, and all in a literal instant, something that would become frequent throughout their battle if he hoped to survive.
This wasn’t the end of Zone’s ornate opening hand either.
Zone had witnessed more desolation than any mortal eye. More death as well. This gave him volumes of experiences and different strategies to wilfully employ, and who better to put under the microscope than the stupid bastard he had willfully spared? While Zone -Clone- had become a spiraling conflagration of tempestuous shockwaves and superheated air, Zone himself who stood behind Rio’s position ten meters away flicked his left hand across his chest and an ominous kinetic shockwave erupted from his hand as well, shredding the ground into debris, and the debris into nothingness as it devoured the distance and sought to devour Rio as well. He knew that his enemy wasn’t weak enough to perish in the flames of Zone -Clone-’s conflagration and instead sought to pincer Rio inbetween the two substantial forces, each magnetically drawn to Rio and his imminent destruction. The shockwave itself, unlike those unleashed by Zone -Clone-'s movements was different: not only was the density and force escalated to the man himself, but perhaps within was something contained yet unseen?
As a master of the battlefield Zone had to think several steps ahead of any potential outcome. While Zone ambushed Rio with a multitude of different simultaneous attacks, the ambience of ether hanging in ephemeral divinity around them succumbed to the vacuum of Zone’s insatiable hunger. Like an astral vortex, his body became a black hole by which the ground beneath him began to crumble and effervesce, and the surrounding ruins began to lose their integrity. In the blink of an eye, Zone had flattened the area around him under an aura of impending doom, and everything born from life was returning to death within Zone. Suffice to say, if he desired, he could use the power native to himself or draw his power from other planes and existences through his sovereignty of ether, but his particular plans involved a very pronounced play of his abilities upon Rio. His providence over the ethereal was well-documented. If Rio had any hopes of survival, let alone to defeat Zone, he would have to do everything in his power to change what destiny had preordained. The world around the two for several hundred meters out began to degrade and dissolve into the currents of the ethereal, siphoning existence into the vacuum of Zone’s existence, allowing him to seamlessly breakdown the raw ether and turn a portion of it into both Sei and Dou ki. For what reasons was yet to be seen, but Zone’s remained aware and watching of how Rio would survive and overcome his obstacles. Diminutive, netheric tendrils of black could be seen with a perceptual eye if Rio paid much attention, breaking and eating the world around them, feeding the Lord of Nethuria.
“Come.” Zone beckoned, blinking his eyes for a single moment within the vast chaos around him. Both of his crimson eyes after a single blink became cosmic chasms by which a sea of iridescent enlightenment could be seen. Rio had only seen these eyes once before, but he had hardly realized the potential of the man who bore them. The Will of the Tenjoukai, primogenitors of Iwashiro and much more, manifested in the Hoshiokai [Eye of the Sun] and Gesshokai [Eye of the Stars], which would hopefully excite his foe had the conflagrations and impetuous blights not done so already. This meant that Zone was prepared to take Rio with a modicum of seriousness, and while he hadn’t graduated to deserving his sword to be unsheathed, assuming he didn’t die to Zone’s clone’s and other preternatural manifestations...he was in for the fight of his life. And perhaps the last one. None of his weapons nary a sound or tune, nor did his armor. However, The ARCUS System carefully notched on the small of his backside began to glimmer conspicuously.
“Let’s not waste time.”
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