Round 1 KKoD vs The Imposter [J - Keeper of the Inn]

[Koti~]

The man sat on the ebony throne, his eyes staring at the screen in complete boredom. He sighed loudly, the men stalling a bit as the electricity flickered through the screen. He stood and stretched, when an Imp ran over to him, a scroll dragging from behind him

“My Master, a message has come in, new warriors for the battle. They just came in.” The Imp bowed, kneeling and presenting the scroll to him. The man picked it up, breaking the seal with little care, and glanced along the scroll, smiling.

“Mittens and Abel, a one armed swordsman vs., a Nemean Lion. Now, this is something to be interested in.” The man smiled and crumpled up the scroll, making the imp flinch.

“Hctib, we are off. Time to prepare a field worthy of their battle… and my entertainment.” The man sneered, his pointed grin under his black mask.

“Of course, you majesty Thunga.” Hctib said, bowing to him and following along, the electricity in the room dying out…


The wind whipped into a frenzy as a storm raged in the sky, lightning mixing in with the winds that flared in all directions. 12 large platforms, large enough to hold three men, arms fully extended. Each platform stood upon a black pillar, a good 20 feet from the land, tied to a middle platform in the center. The center was wide, a good 50 feet in diameter, but was balanced on a single point, the chains keeping them balanced on the spire.

The shift in wind, including the increase and decrease of wind pressure, and shifted directions rapidly as the two appeared, both balanced perfectly on the center platform, their weight keeping it steady

“Mittens, the Nemean lion from mythological times, a proud and powerful beast, a predator of both the land and air, and Abel, a swordsman with only one arm, have been chosen to fight in a grand tournament, to decide who shall be the strongest. But first, you must pass your trial in the towers of winds.

Begin!” Thunga shouted above the winds, vanishing in a burst of light.


Note: Now about this stage, there is a large storm brewing around you, but without any rain. The winds are constantly shifting directions at 20 mph an hour. The pillars are climbable, and the chains can be broken, but that will de-stabilized the center platform, which is balanced on a single point.

At the roll of the dice , KillaKittyofDoom is first to post

[ILYTH]

Mittens padded into the arena with consummate grace, his four feet poised in a stance of grandeur well befitting a creature of his stature. The wind whipped fiercely around his mane as he moved, the gust was cold and the air acrid, full of the promise of a storm. Mittens resolved to end this quickly and with a minimum of fuss so he could be home with a nice zebra chop before the breaking a sweat.

All around them a voice rode the winds, authoritative and precise their host introduced them, Mittens would have liked a bit more deference in the tone of the voice when addressing him but it would make do. It would seem Abel was the name of his meal this day. Mittens cared not for the names of his opponents, only that their meat was tender and their flesh roasted well.

Mittens looked up from his perch for the first time to observe his prey, a human to be sure but this man seemed broken and incomplete to the great lion. Mittens compared Abel to the great men he had witnessed down the years and found him small and slight in comparison, yet in his eyes their was a certain fire that gave the lion pause for thought. Mittens scoffed in derision at his foe

"Usually my prey waits for me to shed their limbs though it seems you have saved me the trouble. Take a good long look at majesty human, you have the honor falling to me today. I am Mittens, last of the Nemean line, I have fought heroes and won, Orion died in my jaws while Hercules and Theseus fell to my claws, do you count yourself amongst these men little one? Can you triumph where your betters failed?"

As he talked he padded a circle around the platform, stalking his foe and probing for an opening.

Despite his size the whisper thing thorn of metal in the clenched fist of his foe man screamed death to the great lion, he would need a way to neutralize that threat and bring the match down to a test of strength and power. Testing his weight on the platform and feeling it shift beneath him and the onslaught of the wind a plan began to form in Mittens' mind.

Mittens spread his wings and bellowed a challenge at his foe in the form of a roar so bestial and loud the howl of the wind itself seemed to pale in its wake. Mittens was awash with the supreme confidence of a hundred battles and a hundred victories, men with swords had come and gone and this one would be no different. With thunder in his jaws and fire in his gut mittens began a charge at his foe hoping to knock him off the very platform with his sheer weight.

[The Imposter]

Abel quickly found himself displaced from where he had been moments earlier. He stood now on the ornate canvas that would become the showcase of the first round of the tournament. His head turned as the introductions began; his eyes begining to glaze over surveying the unique backdrop to which he would paint a scene so majestic that it would be discussed for many years to come. In a fraction of a second his mind envisioned the finished work. Vibrant hues of red splashed against this canvas gloriously creating an image worth remembering. Such an artist as he was Abel couldn't resist trying to encapsulate such a potential masterpiece.

Then the image shattered like a mirror being smahed. Vexing words fragmented his beautiful fantasy leaving only the blank canvas he had started with. To Abel's chagrin he looked on towards the source of the words: his foe. The feline's voice rumbled amidst the everchanging gale its words fell dully into Abel's mind. Majesty?!?! The word caused a twinge of pain in his artful soul. The pain grew quickly to annoyance, then to anger, and boiled up into a internal raging storm much like the one going on outside. His voice escaped his lips absent mindedly slicing into the winds with a new found hatred.

'How self absorbed a feline to think such a lackluster mane and faded coat should be described as majesty? Perchance however you may hold within you something worthy of the WORD!!'

Abel's hand motioned at his side, one finger cutting into the air with incredible speed. Each movement leaving behind a cerulean line creating together a brilliant symbol that hovered up beside Abel's head. His brow narrowed as he heard the oversiezed cat speak of past accomplishments. Abel reacted by taking the string that tied his cloak together and biting down on it. A common practice by him for in any battle as the cloak could be released with a turn of his head. Once prepared his hand reached for his blade and he drew it from his sheath. His knuckles quickly turning white as he clenched the hilt.

Abel's brow furrowed in response to his ever increasing anger. This beast would be the vessel to which he would create that wonderful image it had stolen from him earlier. However there was something about the creature that concerned him greatly. Abel wasn't naive to think that he was at an advantage over the grotesque bestial form before him. The two wings that protruded from Abel's adversary would be problematic. Abel's mind went back to some research on avian creatures and perhaps this beast shared the same properties.

Almost as if in confirmation to Abel's assumption the beast roared. The sound itself seemed to engulf the wind and encompass all other sound. For Abel he attempted to cover his ears by lifting up his right shoulder and his gripping fist over them. His eyes closed only briefly but when they opened the beast had begun its charge. The Namean Lion galloped ferociously towards Abel. As the creature closed in towards him, Abel went on his own attack spinning to his right and realising his cloak into the wind in hopes to distract the cat. Abel used what momentum he had gained to continue to his right and twisting his back released a horizontal rising slash towards the beast's primaries in hopes to even out the playing field.

[ILYTH]

Mittens felt his pride pricked and dented with every barb thrown by his foe, the words pierced him deeper than hoplite spears and bristled his fur as the fires of rage stoked within him. How dare this slight, one armed ape claim to hold dominion over him, Mittens resolved to turn his taunts and arrogance to screams of undying agony.

Mittens opened his mighty jaws and bellowed his retort at the sack of flesh and meat before him. His voice boomed across the distance as he charged, low and foreboding with as much promise of storms as the thunder all around them. The ground shook as his feet brought him closer to his foe but for all who could hear the vitriolic anger in the great lion's voice it was the words that rocked the stage.

"Watch your tongue little worm! My pelt is the stuff of legends, prized by men who would not grace you with a glance, stronger than any steel and richer than spun gold! No mortal blade may rend my hide. Your flesh however is fit only to sate my hunger, if only for a little while, maybe next time they will find me prey with a stature to serve as more than morsel!"

The man began to move frantically, drawing quivering lines of light in the cold dark air. The light was blue and shone like gossamer in the rays of the morning sun. The pale, other worldly light stoked a slight fear in Mittens, this was magic, arcane and alien to the great beast. Magic users were unpredictable and often deadly by nature, but worse their meat was often gamey and under seasoned.

With the symbol of light humming in the air the swordsman turned his hand to his belt, knuckles turned white as the swordsman grasped the hilt. With the rasp of steel on leather came the shining blade, in the dank light it glistened and shone like the brightest star of the darkest night. Mittens could feel the sharpness of the sword in the pristine ring as it was birthed from the scabbard at Abel's hip. The steel was cold and promised pain, yet Mittens was undaunted, his ebony claws were quick as a lash and sharper than a harpy's tongue, in his mind no mortal blade could compare.

As the great cat thundered toward his foe he felt the ground shift and buck beneath him, dipping and banking with the weight of his enraged charge. The wind rushed past his mane and under his wings, the gust stung his midnight eyes, black but for the reflection of the doomed man glinting in the darkness. The Nemean Lion ran with his claws extended, gauging dark gashed in the wooden platform while they glinted in what little light there was to be had.

Mittens saw his opponent twist and bank to the right hoping to bring that thorn of a blade up in a silent, shimmering slash to sever the Lion's throat in twain. Mittens reigned in his run and contorted his body as he twisted with the slash. With a wince Mittens took the brunt of the blade on the hard bone that skirted the top of his wing. Mittens felt the hot sting of metal being drawn through skin as the short sword cleaved the flesh above the bone. The blood began to flow, crimson and warm. Mittens cared not, the flow was slow and the damage merely cosmetic, he saw it as no different to a slight gash on the paint of a knight's shield.

His charge foiled Mittens' mind began to whir and spin as instinct gave way to the experience and method of a thousand past triumphs. As a plan began to formulate Mittens span in a great circle, swinging his undamaged wing around in an attempt to either buffet the swordsman with the swirling limb or to put distance between the two combatants.

As he spun mittens eye's fixed on the edge of the platform and calculated his take off needs, the sky would be where he would win this battle. The magic symbol still hanging foreboding above Abel made Mittens wary of what magic the small man might unleash. Mittens knew though if he could take to the sky's there was not a creature in creation that could stop him. Mittens reasoned that if he could get four paces between himself and his foe he would be able to take to the sky before the little man could respond. A second of doubt flashed across the mind of the lion as the winds swirled around his sweeping form but were instantly pushed aside by the supreme confidence in his plan.

[The Imposter]

Ecstasy, bliss, and intense delight swept over Abel like a rapturous wave as his short sword shallowly cut into the beast's flesh. The tiniest bit of resistance as the blade sliced into the feline wasn't exactly what Abel had hoped for but it would do. From the corner of his eye he could see the fruit of his efforts. A small amount of crimson liquid ran from the gash and stuck to the blade. He quickly held it close to his face and smiled enamoured with the substance.

Without a doubt the life essence was exactly what Abel imagined. It was the perfect paint to use for the image that had burned itself inside his mind. Apparently it would take quite a bit of effort to bring his fantasy to a reality as the feline was not just going to give up its life willingly. No matter. Abel thought, his lips pursed together and curling devilishly into a crooked grin. With a very nonchalant flick of his wrist the blade relinquished the blood giving it wholly over to the wind that continually blew about undecided in a destination.

Abel being enticed by the red stain on the ground did not perceive the incoming wing. The appendage spun and crashed in Abel with considerable force from the spinning lion. Abel crashed into the platform a foot away from where he had previously been while his trusty blade clanged against the platform landing half the distance between the two. Abel rolled from his side to his back his grin still visible his eyes widened in still in shock from his opponents swift counter. His vision blurred as his mind tried to readjust itself from the impact. There was now no doubt that Mittens was a creature of exceptional strength but for Abel the thought of more pain only caused him to laugh. His body sent impulses from where the wing connected that not only told him he was injured but also caused his body to quiver. His masochist personality suddenly rushing through his body by the damage inflicted.

'Hahaha...ooohhh. Well I do intend to completely cover this canvas in your hot crimson flow. Perhaps you'll give me more enjoyment than I previously imagined.'

Sitting up a blast of wind shorted his breath; his reaction an attempt to quickly inhale only sent another twinge of pain coursing to his brain. His eyes traced back the pain to the source: his left arm. Abel scrambled to his feet and moved all his fingers making sure nothing was broken. Thankfully the hit only seemed to bruise his bone and cause a fair bit of swelling. Making a mental note to not to sustain too many strikes from the beast Abel began drawing another symbol into the air. Each movement left an ebony curve in the air and formed a circular symbol when finished. The blackened symbol followed along with Abel as did the cerulean one. The time to unleash either had not yet presented itself.

Dusting himself off as well as a one armed man he looked past his weapon and at his fiendish enemy. The Nemean lion was quite a few feet away now completing its spinning counter. Abel slowly walked ahead his eyes focused on the creature and cautiously bent down to apprehend his weapon once more. His hand gripped the hilt noticeably weaker than it had been before. Realizing his arm was definitely injured he reasoned that as the battle progressed he would lose even more functionality. Abel's gaze left the monster for a moment to take in the surroundings again; he was now closer to one edge of the central platform with one of the twelve connecting chains only steps away.

Abel's mind began weighing out the options for his next attack. His conscious had become a little wary of Mitten's strength but the thrill of further expelling the creature's crimson cruor and the potential to be inflicted with more pleasurable pain clouded any hint of caution. Abel sprinted towards the ferocious feline his feet crashing against the platform and propelling him forward with each step. He could notice the platform shifting under the new weight displacement now that he was coming from an edge. Abel paid little attention to it as his focus was fully on his intent to spill more of the cat's lifeblood to progress his new painting further. His attack would be simple a low cut against his feral opponent's left legs. He knew he had no such strength to sever either of them but perhaps a cut deep enough to cause the beast to nurse the wound.

[ILYTH]

Mittens felt the crunch of wing on flesh, like a hammer of feather and bone his wing struck home with all it's might. The swordsman was sent sprawling and rolling along the platform like a barrel on its side. The steel silver thorn skidded along with the platform with him falling well short of the edge and certain death. The impact felt glorious, like the first footfall through the fragile skin of ice on virgin snow. Mittens savored the impact, tasting it, living it.

As the world settled once more, the great lion having completed his hammering twirl noticed yet another symbol in the air above his adversary. This one was grim and dark like the cold of a starless night to Mittens it sang of death and the end of all things. The dexterity and speed possessed by Abel to create such a glyph in the split second it took Mittens to set himself was extraordinary and garnered a grin of begrudging admiration from the big cat.

Wary of the two symbols hovering deathly still in the rushing wind Mittens stopped to assess the situation before continuing his plan. The Arm of his foe hung limp at his side, the knuckles grasping the blade were without the white intensity their vice grip once had, slack and pink as they struggled for purchase. Mittens guessed that the damage was one of superficial impact, the thought of the tenderized flesh threatened to distract the cat but his mind was strong enough to resist the sumptuous image.

The ape opened his mouth to speak once more but much of his deranged rambling was lost on the howling of the winds. The voice was ragged but determined. Shouting high above the swirling tempest the man clearly thought himself an artist as he raved about canvas' and masterpieces, Mittens cared not for art, only conquest and feasting, both of which he would have his fill of before the night was done.

Mittens saw his blood on the silver thorn of steel, dripping of the needle point and splashing to the ground below. The blood was near black in the semi light, the glyphs illuminating the red, dancing across the flat of the sword. The site of blood did not phase the Nemean any more than the scratch from which it had come. All creatures bled but only true prey wasted a single drop of his foes precious life blood, the droplets at the feet of his foe told that story to a tee.

Mittens stood serene on the platform, the winds lashing at his mane as his mind puzzled over the arcane mysteries of the symbols illuminating the furious sky. In his gut he felt the cold of coming winter when the glow of the blue glyph leeched into his energy while the black brought him no knowledge but a foreboding feeling in his gut. Mittens after a split seconds analysis elected to avoid the light of the symbols for as long as necessary, a plan began to form to end the fight without even coming into contact with them at all.

With a defiant roar Mittens turned and began to thunder to the edge of the platform, suddenly the world shifted and he felt the ground fall beneath the pounding footfalls of his loping sprint. Mittens dug his claws into the wood for traction as he reached the edge of the center platform, his wings extended behind him as he prepared to launch his hulking frame up into the sky with all the nimble grace of the most delicate bird.

As Mittens set himself he felt a blow and heard the hideous screech of metal on metal, the fool had come behind him with surprising swiftness and taken a swipe at his legs with the cruel cold blade gripped in his lone arm. As the blade had whistled in Mittens chad felt his coat bristle and flatten to the skin, ready to do its duty to the lion and ward off the strike. The blade had scraped through, ineffectual but undamaged.

Mittens kicked out his powerful legs behind him hoping to catch the swordsman in the chest and send him staggering back to the edge of the platform so he could take flight. As he kicked he bellowed a thunderous boom of laughter at the meager efforts of the desperate man.

"You must learn to listen ape! My coat will not part for a petty mortal blade."

Mittens left the derision to linger in the wind as he thundered away from the fighter, not checking even to see if the kick had caved in the fools chest plate or sailed wide into the empty wind.

Mittens felt the platform dip and sway as he ran the last few strides in a crouch, the whole place rocked as he sprang up and over the edge. Mittens spread his wings wide, the wind catching under his feathers and lifting the great creature upon its swirling back.

High on the wind and darting like a sparrow Mittens felt the ease and grace of flight returning to him. Soon he gathered the nerve to fly over the arena and shout down to his determined foe, his voice amplified on the wings that carried him to thundering titanic roar.

"Act soon little ape! Lest your canvas becomes your tomb."

[The Imposter]

As Abel rushed forward he misjudged that Mittens would turn tail and attempt to take flight. Desperation took over as his steel blade failed to stop the beast. His only reaction was his widened eyes as the two hind paws of the oversized tabby launched out connecting with his chest. The force of the blow was indeed incredibly powerful perhaps if not for a certain chain alloy shirt Abel was arrayed in no doubt the attack would have crushed his chest cavity ending the round right then and there. Instead the chain links vibrated on impact spreading the force throughout the whole shirt lessening the crushing power. Abel still flew back several feet and landed on his rear end with a thud. His tail bone surged with pain as it smashed into the platform which brought an all too familiar smile to Abel's face. His masochistic tendencies derived much pleasure throughout the agony. Abel wheezed long and hard hoping that the next breath would come easier than the last and eventually it did. Slowly he stood back up looking at his sword as the feline roared from the skies. The cat was right, his blade as trusty as it had been would not be able to stop the tyrannical beast.

Abel cursed loudly firstly for his realization and Mitten's confirmation of his now useless weapon, the second for not acting quickly enough to disable the creatures ability to soar in the tempest winds that whirled about the battlefield. Abel had become too enamoured with his future fantasy to take this bout as serious as it should have been from the start. This resulted in error on Abel’s ability to judge the creature’s mettle and now he found himself at a severe disadvantage. Many emotions seemed to swirl about in his cranium as his eyes followed the flying lion as it got a feel for the increase in mobility.

Mitten's called out using Abel's own words as a mocking jab trying to snap the seemingly frozen figure on the platform into a rushed action. Abel’s demeanour changed as his breathing steadied out. His confidence had flown the coup with the Nemean Lion into the raging winds, subsided by the battering howls. This turn of events left Abel with only one solitary thought. This canvas will not be completed with my blood. His eyes no longer danced with the flames of hate but instead clouded and faded, turning cold and calculating. The pain from the landing still left an echo that gave him a slight grin. His gaze met with Mitten's and he hollered back, his voice barely being able to crawl over the ceaseless gusts.

'I suppose it is now time to reveal my secret. This technique may allow me the chance to cut through your simple hide without any resistance and give me access to that palette of crimson hues beneath.'

Abel's clouded eyes no longer were gazing into the realm of the physical but instead searched diligently into the spiritual. It took no time to find lingering energies that had been released by his feline opponent. In fact there was quite a plethora that could be used to manifest, so much so that it would be impossible to somehow tame the whole of it. However Abel thought that he wouldn't have to let Mitten's know that fact.

'Behold Lion; I will use your own spirit to manifest a tool for your defeat.'

Even before Abel finished speaking the manifestation began. From his right shoulder sprang forth an arm seemingly from the air itself. The appendage was held out in front of Abel revealing its characteristics to himself and his fellow combatant. The arm was furry, a white coat rather than the same as the lion's at its end were four sharp claws the thick nails protruding from Abel's new right hand. The one armed swordsman title no longer befitting him always made Abel feel almost whole again.

Before Abel would let any words roll off his tongue or his opponent’s he began to act. He ran towards the nearest chain fastened on the center platform. His new hand quickly went to work to unfasten the chain as his left still held his sword tightly. With little effort due to the new beast like strength in the manifestation he was able to free the chain from the center platform. At its release the center shifted according to Abel's weight being the only thing on the platform. Once the other eleven chains pulled tight in resistance to the movement Abel jumped forward and pulled using the chain he had just released to get him onto the isolated platform. Once atop the smaller platform he quickly went to work unfastening the other end of the chain. His new fingers again worked meticulously until the platform relinquished the other end of the chain. Abel's clouded eyes sparked a little as he dropped the chain at his feet.
Having finished Abel turned his eyes up to the sky toward the great beast. With three strokes of his hand a bright green symbol split into the air. This spell would simply be something to provoke the beast to come in and attack him. To further entice the creature to go on the offensive, Abel bellowed out as loud as he could slanderous stabs at its character.

'Of course I see what you’re trying to do lion. You take to the skies to hide in hopes that our battle will end in nothing more than a stalemate. For such a 'majestic' creature that has bettered so many warriors I find it very strange you would cower in the sky at this simple ape! However not even your wings can give you escape from me.'

In an instant the very hand that drew the bright green glyph snatched it up and crushed it releasing the magic within it. Abel smiled knowing full well he didn't need to make and contact with the symbol to release it but rather wanted to deceive the Nemean into such a belief. Abel's mind raced as he hoped to see the fruits of his endeavour. The result would be simple enough; Abel had targeted what little wind he could around Mittens to create a vacuum, his assumption being that the creature needed the air currents to glide along the sky.

[ILYTH]

Wind and rain lashed the spun gold hide of the great beast, his wings beat slowly but with the strength of a thousand men as they lifted his hulking frame high on the raging winds. The flight was difficult, even for a master of sky such as Mittens. This wind sang a different song to any Mittens had heard before, it was angrier and all together fouler, it left Mittens in no doubt that it was a magical storm that consumed the two combatants. Ever had Mittens despised magic, it was treacherous and false, Magisters, Warlocks even great druids, Mittens had seen them all consumed and betrayed by their own arcane brilliance.

Mittens had savored the crunch of his hind paws into the mailed chest of his foe. In the crushing of bones and metal there was a certain music that played in Mittens' mind like a grim orchestra lamenting the fall of his foe. The blow had sent the fool sprawling as Mittens had desired but the mail shirt had prevented any real damage from the powerful strike, if anything Mittens could sense a morbid enjoyment in the expression of his prey. The small man had begun to put the great lion ill at ease, Mittens elected to put him down quickly and in doing so put his mind at ease.

While Mittens plotted however a shout rang out, carried on the back of the screaming wind Mittens heard his foe boom half demented in his rage. The words of the swordsman were not relevant, more petty bravado from a beaten man. Mittens instead found his concentration transfixed on the no longer vacant space at the shoulder of his foe. Where before there had been but a void now hung a twisted and powerful limb. The new appendage was white as the virgin snow with claws of black obsidian glittering in the fell light of the arena. At the shoulder of his prey Mittens could see the foreleg of a Nemean lion, warped and mutated to fit the hideous figure of the ape who had conjured it.

The eyes of the great lion went dark, the rage within him a seething tumult. This lowly conjurer, a man of no great note or renown had seen himself fit to steal the essence and form of the king of beasts. The pale arm hung in silent mockery of all the Nemean line stood for, a crass jape in the face of a thousand years of peerless triumph. Mittens could feel the fire of rage burning within him, Hephaestus' forge burning hot in his gut fueled by the coals of rage and malice. Mittens would give this man no easy passage, the mage would know suffering before the end, as penance for his hubris.

As Mittens moved to dive from the raging sky and fall on his foe like a crushing fist from the heavens the mage began his ploy. With startling dexterity and speed the small man ran to one of the great chains that held the platform, with the mockery of an arm at his side he slashed at the metal. The ebony claws of the ghost limb cut through the black wrought iron of the chains with little effort, the chain rending and crashing to the floor with a dull thud. Mittens perceived the floor dip as it lost its silent bearer, the ape was clearly crazed, without the platform he would fall to the long cold dark far below. The tactic baffled the great lion even further as Mittens could look to the skies for refuge should the great platform come down.

Mittens watched awe struck as the fool before him used the chain to swing to the next platform, an altogether smaller structure. The move puzzled the lion in the sky, was the ape trying to make the fight a test of strength at close quarters? Surely he knew the great folly in that madness? Mittens grinned as the crunching of bones and snapping of ligaments filled his thoughts.

Mittens was snapped out of his trance when the shrill voice of his prey rang through the air once more. The taunts of the mage were an obvious ploy to bait the lion into falling into rash anger and making a fatal mistake. Deep in his mind Mittens knew this but his honor had been to slighted too far by the mocking limb to forgive this new arrogance from the mouse before him.

With the very thunder of the gods who had crafted him from spun gold and fire incarnate Mittens thundered above the noise.

"The storm cowers not in the face of morning rain, nor do I in the face of a fool with the paw of a cat. Your death will be slow mortal and I shall not mourn your passing!"

The last great Nemean Lion pulled his wings to his side in a gliding dive, ready to swoop from above and leave his foe a broken shell upon the wet platform. The wind whipped past his face with speed enough to sting and draw water from his jet black eyes. The feathers on his great wing shuddered in the wind and rumbled with on coming thunder while his coat shone like the morning sun coming out of the blackness. From the sky he came like an arrow all of shining gold ready to strike home into the heart of his foe.

As he neared his quarry the ape began to move, reaching his original arm up to the shimmering rune in the air and crushing it in his palm. The shimmering light shattered as faded, splintering into the wind. with this sundering the arcane force of the magic symbol was released and all at once mittens felt nothing, no air in his face, no noise from his wings, no movement in his golden coat. Mittens tried to bellow a roar as if to order the world to come back to him but as he drew in breath none would come. The crafty mage and his rune had stolen the very wind and now mittens plummeted towards the platform with no way to rear up or slow himself. Consigning himself to the fate of the spell Mittens tensed as he approached the hard wood of the platform.

With a sickening crash Mittens hit the floor, his tremendous bulk cracking the wood beneath him as he rolled and sprawled so as not to damage his wings. Mittens could feel ribs break on his left side as he crashed to the ground, his shoulder had been bruised as had his thigh.

The great lion tried to stand and right himself but fell back to the platform with his back facing his foe. The ribs in the his stomach were knives of the purest diamond as the stabbed into his side making him roar in agony as air returned to his lungs. Despite this pain Mittens felt he could have stood and stayed on his feet but for now he needed to shelter his vulnerable side from the mage who's tricks had so humbled him.

On his side Mittens lay hoping to draw his foe over with his vulnerability all the while focusing on every slight, every insult and every defeat he had ever suffered. He felt the anger of the ape's mocking limb, the anguish of his fall, the pain of griffin talons cutting valleys in his back and even the ancient sting of Orion's spear in his side from a time so ancient it was all but legend. With this rage and this divine anger Mittens felt the great fire rising in his belly, up into his throat, it's warmth spread throughout him as did his eternal rage. All Mittens needed was for the ape to come closer and the battle would be back in his hands.

[The Imposter]

The smaller platform reverberated fiercely as the large cat made contact shaking the aged pillar to its core. However the structure would not fall prey so easily and remained steadfast. Abel steadied himself by stepping back towards one edge or perhaps it was a reaction from the result of the spell. The whole thing had seemingly worked out much better than he anticipated. The large bulk of fur lay slumped with its back turned towards Abel. Was it dead? Unconscious? Abel's body wanted to jump right out at it and tear into its flesh with his newly acquired clawed hand but his mind told him to take it slow. He could always the old one telling him that only fools rush towards a defeated opponent.

Abel's eyes darted back and forth scoping out the scenario before him, the small platform both combatants were on was sturdy but terribly limiting in manoeuvrability. Wounded animals always were the most vicious and Mittens was lying on the only side that gave Abel a way out. As he surveyed an overwhelming sense of being trapped began taking up his being, to either side and his rear was only those terrible twenty foot drops and ahead of him was the injured lion. Abel's muscles tensed then relaxed as the throbbing pain came back to his left arm. His grip on his short sword loosened further and with it the realization that he could no longer wield the blade effectively despite it being rather ineffectual to damage Abel thought he would be able to at least parry with the steel sword. Now that small comfort of defence had dissipated as quickly as the breath from his lungs did. Once again the gale had blown and changed direction stealing the vitality of the air that had been taken in only a fraction of a moment ago.

Abel shook his head trying to reason with himself of his next move. The feral cat was still motionless, seemingly beckoning Abel to come closer. The silent lure of the animal was incredibly attractive, appeasing any sense of caution Abel had developed. His smile became wide once again stretching across his face and he even began to laugh. I have done it! Now I must finish this painting!!! The thought quickly grew like a snowball rolling down a mountain collecting hubris like none he had never exhibited before. The thought in an instant bloomed like a flower in springtime, the words like petals, flourishing into a command sending his body into action.

Abel charged towards the last Nemean the white furred arm extending its claws in front of him. He could already feel the cat's tarnished pelt yielding to the claws opening up and giving up that precious crimson fluid, so warm. The warmth of the delusion felt so real overtaking the front of Abel encompassing him and at the same time changing. The comfort of it fading as the warmth transformed becoming increasingly hot and then burning. A sound familiar yet vague pierced his ears his mind raced trying to recall it. A scream much like the ones he would make during the old experiments...His own shrill scream of agony brought him back to reality as his body retreated back by the blast of flames that had erupted from the lion's gapping maw. His flesh burned, feeling the searing fallibility of his error. The wild feline had used its injuries as a ploy to unleash the fires within its soul upon him giving him a false sense of victory had caused him to drop his defences.

Abel found himself back at the other end of the platform cowering and yelping like a cub while patting out the tiny flames that danced upon his clothes. Pieces that had been eaten by the lion's fiery breath revealed the chain alloy under his garb. A few hairs still smoked and despite the burning sensation in his face he was relatively fine. Some of the exhaled inferno still licked up at him being in such a small space. Once again Mittens had managed to extinguish Abel's arrogance this time through the fiery baptism of the beast's breath.

Abel knowing he had to do something reached out with his ivory arm picking up the chain. Abel worked quickly thinking that the beast would have trouble seeing through its own hurling blaze. He began to fasten his sword to the chain. Once secured as tightly as the new appendage could he proceeded to whip the chain around in front of him like a windmill. Abel ran along the edge to his left using the chain to cut through the flaming wall as best as it could while judging the distance from where he was back to the central platform. He leapt and released the makeshift grappling hook sticking it into the center platform. Swinging on the sturdy metal chain he managed to land roughly and rolled to extinguish and rogue flames that had traveled with him.

Abel quickly stood to his feet and pulled with both hands to free the blade from the wood where it had wedged itself. He could feel the slight change on the center platform now that only eleven chains held it in place. Before dwelling to long on other thoughts his hands whipped the chain over his head and released it towards the untameable Nemean Lion flicking his wrists to force the chain to wrap around his opponent rather than just strike it.

[Koti~]

KKOD, you have been given one more day to your post, so get it up as soon as possible

[Koti~]

Due to KKOD not posting inside the allotted time, I have to give the win to The Imposter

Congrats Imposter