View Full Version : Round 3 - Auki Vs. Troy Barnes {Kris}
Welcome.
Here's some music for the mood (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IVJD3dL4diY).
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While holding the scythe with one hand, she ringed a simple iron bell with the other.
One...
Two...
Three...
Three rings to announce herself.
Four...
Five...
Six...
They awoke at last, no longer sleeping in their stony beds.
Come and watch, come and see.
The angel is now a reaper, full of lust for the souls of thee.
She is urging them to rise at last.
Two opponent, they fear not of the past.
And the moment she grins and disappears from there
You'll hear their mourning....
You better beware...
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Welcome to the graveyard (http://digital-art-gallery.com/oid/14/1000x445_4371_Fresh_Meat_2_2d_fantasy_cemetery_pic ture_image_digital_art.jpg)!
That's right! your arena is no other than the Battle Arena Forums' graveyard.
Which means, this is a cemetery full of eerie glow and bad feelings.
Surprise will hit you on the sixth post (after you both post it up)
By a coin toss (Israeli shekel XD ) Troy Barnes goes first.
Good luck, and let's start ;)
Since Pure can't post in the weekend, he shall get an extension.
Mokesti's eyes burst open, his form rising up into an upright position.
He was awake and perfectly healthy. If anything, with the rush of adrenaline from the previous fight suddenly building without any of the sugar or energy loss that generally came paired, he was even better off. It was new and he loved it, he could only hope that this would happen with every battle.
The last battle had left him delirious and exhausted, now it was nothing more than a dream. He'd done nothing more than simply wake up. But that wasn't exactly the case. There was a sense of regrowth to him, it was as though he'd been training and now had his muscles healed and been massaged of the fatigue that had built up during the battle.
It was glorious.
In an energetic burst he jumped up to his feet, jumping only a few inches up and landing softly on his feet. Oddly he was fully dressed, a weird thing to notice after the detailed image of himself he'd formed the second his eyes had opened.
But as it turned his footing wasn't nearly as effective as he'd hoped it was. He was still compensating for the ever changing turns of the winds from his previous battle.
There air was stagnant here, hot and yet damp. Deliciously warm against his skin, giving his fingers and shoulders a massage and ,making his skin tingle.
The entire situation a rather large shock, the first of the largest being that he was surrounded by tombstones.
Some tombs fancy; there were a couple that had statues of angels, others looked like tiny houses, others were like the stone slab he'd been rested upon but the vast majority appeared to be poorly set up graves with large stone and wooden crosses hammered into the ground. Judging by the graves between him and his opponent, the top soil wasn't the strongest. More than half of the stone crosses appeared to have proved too heavy for the soil as they were slanted to either the left or the right, cracked and raised soil surrounding their bases. Incredibly weak and dry considering the atmosphere, as though some ethereal being were pulling the life out of the very soil itself.
The dryness being something reconfirmed within the confines of his mind when twin clouds of dust had risen up from around his boots upon landing, like smoke rings flowing backwards before fading.
It drew an ambiguous picture to say the least. It was still too early since his eyes had first opened to allow much more than simply taking in the scenario.
Years of training had taught him to always take in his surroundings as they always mattered in a battle. No battle had proven that more than the last. But training had also dictated that he take his enemy in at all times.
It was hard not to. The opponent was huge! The only way to lost sight of the damn beast would have been to shut his eyes and even then that wouldn't free one of its image. It had not once crossed his mind that the list of opponents would vary so severely.
He was fighting a dragon!
His world had had dragons before, they were referred to as drakes. Powerful and truly amazing creatures. His people had lived in range of the beasts but had never tried to disturb them. Such an old memory as watching the flight of the drake on the edge of the brimstone plateau seemed alien to him but still it was there, a gnat that refused to leave him alone.
The beast was huge, easily over eight meters. At least four castle doors stacked on top of each other, troublesome to say the least but once again it all left behind a rather ambiguous feeling. They wouldn't put him up against such a massive beast if there were truly no chance of victory. So what if all his high knee kicks and elbow strikes would be meaningless in this situation? It meant that whatever powers had created this encounter knew there was some way of winning.
Moketsi started moving backwards. They were at a fair distance but he wanted more, but backtracked on the path which was taking a diagonal backwards turn. Limiting the amount of steps he could take before he'd eventually have to stop before losing sight of the beast to the massive oaks the dotted the seemingly endless cemetery. The beast had wings, large ones, the type that appeared to be more than for display purposes. A fact which put him at odds with the rest of what he was seeing was telling him. The drakes he'd seen had been varied with some having four limbs, their wings doubling as arms while others like this one also bore six limbs but never with a such aura of masculinity, most especially with its arms, if he could call them that. They were just too thick for him to consider them anything other than front legs. What they were, he'd need to find out or run the risk of making the wrong assumption.
Strategies and formulations formed inside his head but all jumbled together into useless twittering. There was a way of winning this, there had to be. Perhaps this Drake was different. One didn't fight Drakes in his world. Not without a small army or magical abilities. And most certainly not in direct combat. Again, the words formed in his head.
There has to be a way.
He, looked down at the path before him realising that although it felt like he'd been walking back for an hour he'd only taken eight steps back. They weren't even large steps, and the soil appeared weak enough to still leave his foot prints in the dirt. His sense of apprehension had simply played a rather mean trick on his senses.
His brain screamed of hope. He stopped his feet, his calves tensing in anticipation of the coming sprint. He darted forwards, his hand behind his back where he pulled Anvil free. There'd be no point in using it as a defensive tool.
Any attack that he didn't dodge would quite clearly beak him in two and if the beast blew fire at him and he was still in its path when it happened Anvil would become nothing more than a steel toothpick in terms of being helpful.
He took six blistering steps, pulling back a memory of childhood days where a sport called cricket had been introduced to him by his father. In those sports one has to measure their ideal run up before throwing a heavy pig skin and cork ball.
His ideal number had always been seven, and on the seventh step he threw his entire form into launching Anvil over arm at the what he assumed was the beast's chest, not willing to risk aiming at the beasts head for fear of their distances being too far for a guaranteed hit.
His legs spread for a moment potentially pinning him to the floor, where he froze earning back what breath he threw away to get as much power into that single throw of Anvil as he possibly could.
Martial arts, knee kicks and grapples be damned. There would be no hope for them there.
He was quick on his feet, he was strong and he could jump better than most.
That's what he had, that would have to be enough.
To some, the arena might have been considered beautiful.
It stretched for miles, soft-packed dirt, smoothed by the absence of unwanted footfalls. Each grain seemed to hold its breath, keeping silence strict over forgotten graves, daring others to break the eerie peace. There were no roads or paths to tarnish; simplicity, at its best. It might seem less honourable for the fallen, lost amongst the sea of stone, but one could not deny the grandeur it put forth with ease.
Bushes, trees, untrimmed and left to grow with freedom. Luscious leaves created an ironic sentiment, shadowing the buried dead.
Chiselled rock and wood stabbed the soil in mark of each deceased, an unearthed necropolis that sprawled henceforth – haphazard, free – a man-made symbol to grieve their losses.
It was a beauty, gone unseen.
Eyes hollow, wasted, she faced the arena shrouded in darkness. Senses other burst to life.
The scent of soil freshly turned and dankness in the air. The taste of moisture laced her mouth – tongue flicked out, then in – despite the dryness at her feet. Beads of water clung to her skin, trapped beneath age-splintered scales, dousing her cold where she should have felt a burn. In her ears, the peal of a bell reverberated although she remembered not its sound.
Other than such, it was silent, barely a breath upon the breeze.
She waited for a judge’s voice, an enemy’s taunt, but neither came.
With no knowledge where she was except the earth beneath her feet, patience became her greatest gift.
Elsewhere in the world, a clock ticked past, counting seconds usually held so dear in value. They flittered by without event, the dragon resting whilst she had the chance.
Something chinked, soft, against her chest.
It had begun.
She roared, a noise that raged the air and tore the wind asunder, a façade on which she always relied to put forth a bestial mind. Wordless snarl, contorted snout, fangs revealed as lips pulled back. A show of primitive nature, the actions of a beast that lusts for blood-drenched flesh.
Finding courage, the monstrous noise echoing in her ears, she moved in sync. Her body twisted to the side, her flattened feet gaining support even on the powdered ground. Her tail swept in an arc as well, dragged along the floor, collecting dirt and grave alike within its grasp.
She aimed towards the axe’s source - a general direction, but a wide enough attack to give her confidence. Her tail dug down a moment in its plight, then lifted. Earth and stone flew in the air, showering the area she predicted her opponent to be.
Moekesti adjusted his feet allowing him to stand up straight enough to maneuverer, or at the very least move. He'd made a fast recovery from his physical slip up but had in no way scored a victory. He'd effectively rooted himself in on spot for a second too long.
The dragon's roar was breath taking. Enough to steal the courage of the most hardened warrior but not enough to steal his, his people were raised on the sound of the Drake. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration instead of fear. A healthy dose of fear was effective in a battle but he didn't have the luxury of it.
He wasn't an imbecile, the plain and short result of his last attack was that he now knew the beast's armour was too tough to penetrate. The axe, which appeared to have hit it's mark simply bounced back with a metallic sound as though it had bounced off chain mail and not flesh.
The axe hadn't done a thing, but he hadn't lost all hope judging by where the axe had landed in relation to the throw itself and to the sound it made on impact.
To say he knew what that hope was would have been to lie.
The only words that hung in his head were: What now?
There wasn't time for much else, the beast's roar wasn't all it had in mind to do. A wave of gravel, rock and dry sand washed over him in a fast moving wave which spread wide. Had he not just finished recovering, he might have had more than enough opportunity to take advantage of the distance between himself the tree behind him he'd passed in his run up.
He didn't make it a single step before he twisted to the side, dropping into a semi squat. He raised his coat up with his left hand and with his left boot stomped on the coat's bottom, creating a weak cover to hide behind in order to take the impacts.
All appeared well as sand and gravel washed over him beating on his flesh through his coat but never penetrating or disabling him.
He was smiling but he wasn't sure as to the reason, why was he so sure of how hopeful he was? There had to be a reason.
The thoughts pulsing on his mind were pushed to the back by the sounds of tiny rocks and gravel beating on his raised arm and coat give soft doof noises as though someone were beating on a torn drum with their fingertips, coupled with the sand falling on the soft earth with a sound that reminded him greatly of the sound of waking from a deep sleep from the sound of soft hail on a thatch roof.
Moekesti took a heavy breath before holding it and working his way up to his feet once again. It was a smart move there was a cloud of dust hanging like a wide cloud all around him in a very wide arc. A curiosity that was pushed to the back of his mind. Only the sounds remained, it was quiet enough to listen for.
Moeketsi started another run up, his movements diagonal for fear of a blast of fire and for fear of an overly direct attack on his side. He couldn't throw his tomahawks. He'd need those for the close combat and his other axe had a wooden handle that he couldn't risk having broken if the beast were to step on it.
What he could throw, he realised as he ran, were the half wrecked wooden crosses that lay strewn on the ground. The stone ones would take too much of a pause in his charge but the wooden ones, which were just was uprooted and slanted as the stone ones.
He'd taken no more then ten steps when his path crossed one, grabbing it by it's joint, turning away from that beast for long enough to ensure hand eye measurements and twist his entire form into a full body throw.
The distance that he'd cut down he played was hopefully enough to make a difference as he hopped on his toes moving closer to the beast.
This time his throw aimed at the beast's neck beneath it's jaw.
This time his entire form listening for the sound the impact made.
She had no way of knowing whether her attack had inflicted damage or not. The soft ground muffled any potential footsteps. Her vision remained veiled by darkness. If she could only pinpoint his scent against those of rotting flesh and fresh foliage, it might gain her the ability to act faster.
She waited yet again. Five seconds. Ten.
There was a small tap against her jaw – the foul odour of dank wood crumbling at its impact – and then, nothing. She hesitated the split of a second, wondering if there was anything more to come, but…
Nothing.
She gave a small growl, feeling as though they underestimated her power. If that was not the case, then she only had an easy battle ahead. Either way, she grew eager to display her strength – A shame that her joints ached so, an injustice that each breath spiked discomfort.
With a self-irked snarl at the painful exertion, she twisted her body to face the direction that the attack had come from, taking a step towards her opponent as she did so.
Moekesti's breath started to grow heavy, he'd hit that beast with two of his most powerfull throws and yet not once had the beast turned towards the attack to minimize the hit or pull back, try duck, even brace itself.
It made no sense. He wanted to scream but he needed to keep what momentum he had running in his mind. As a man of combinations, with each of his attacks bearing no fruit let alone a seed of hope he found himself determined to hold onto some form of hope. There HAD to be opportunity, there had to be something.
What the hell was he supposed to do? Hope the beast choked on his bones?
It was starting to feel as though he were fighting a wall, except walls didn't throw entire fields of land at an opponent. Walls didn't have opponents, they were just walls.
The beast started moving in his direction but again a thought pulled on his mind. Moeketsi pulled up both tomahawks, gripping them both close to the head for as efficient a movement as he could achieve while maneuvering through so many a headstone in the distance between him and the beast. His legs became a blur of movement as he ran to the left, the closest thing he could do to achieve a 'side step' effect.
The beast didn't duck, pull back or flinch with the axe. It didn't duck or flinch with the headstone too. Both had hit their targets, at the very least the headstone wasn't supposed to have hit that accurately, the throw hadn't been something he'd practiced as often as any of his other attacks. A shot in the dark and yet it had hit.
What did it mean? Was he that insignificant a creature that the beast didn't feel the need to move? Was that not too much arrogance. Shouldn't any logical beast first gauge the strength of the first attack then become arrogant?
Moeketsi made a dash for the beast's left side, making a diagonal arc by the creatures left shoulder to save energy, his breath drawn in from his nostrils.
Moeketsi hated to do it. He wannted to scream, rage against the insult of facing such an opponent. He was Moekesti! First born son of Robedi, born of the territory of Mogale in the black thorne where warfare was as common and necessary as breeding or breathing!
He wanted to roar but he literally needed to save his breath. There'd be time afterwards.
The rush of desperation allowed him to draw two pictures within his head.
There were still a few headstones on the unraised side of the dragon's surroundings. He was already an above average jumper, using one of those headstones he'd jump backwards and high, changing direction in what he hoped would be a high speed attack that would prove too much for his opponent.
The second, should everything fail, was a picture of the church up on the hill he'd noticed. It was big, made of what looked to be thick and solid stone. Perhaps stone solid enough to ensure it wouldn't crash down upon him and solid enough to hopefully allow for a better attack if he managed to sneak around better.
But first he had to fail in his current sprint before that became an option.
His grip on Blood and Stone loosened enough so his hold slid down to the handle's end, or more of an attacking motion, he couldn't attack just yet. The tombstone was too far for a successful one two motion, hopefully pulling his axes in an aggressive fashion and the run up would be enough to create a positive reaction and then he'd dive when he hit his mark.
Snarl.
Foolish, wasn’t it? That she should face the greatest of the earth and the heroes of the world’s beyond the previous year, and yet now… Now only fodder was given to her as challenge. Attacks so light that she barely felt their passing, a tired repeat of the same charade.
The flea changed direction again, always darting here and there like panicked flies, flanking her left without hint to his thoughts. Apart from her rumbled growls, their battle was a silent one, a fitting show for their macabre stage.
Her mind grew bored, but she did not condemn her prey for feasting yet. How much more fun it was to toy with them. While not the epic battle she was hoping for, at least it could be entertaining. An edge of wariness kept firm against her thoughts, warning her of potential surprise. All animals had their last line of defence. She would draw his out eventually.
Her tail flicked to her left, sliding across the ground to try to swat the approaching man, the closeness of his scent providing her eyes where she had none.
The monstrous beast whipped its tail.
Moeketsi, wanted to speed up but that was as fast as he could run with his jacket on and both his tomahawks in his hands. The beast was quicker than expected but not so quickly as to become a blur before him, there was still opportunity to act.
He'd expected the beast to swat at him, use its full body weight to cut it off, it hadn't. Instead it had flung its tail at Moeketsi. Somehow seeing that tail flick at him, he'd wished it was the former.
This was no belt whip that he was facing down with gritted teeth, this might as well have been another, more efficient gravel attack.
In any case Moeketsi was moving too quickly with too much purpose to simply turn, let alone change direction or flee.
The urge to fling both weapons right at the tail for a double impact appealed to him but he'd seen the way the tail had flung the earth it him with what looked to be a simplicity that matched tapping a small rock with the side of one's foot
There was only one way to keep from being hit by the looks of it, the grip on his blades tightened, his head bowed in effort and all the world outside of the headstone that he'd originally planned on jumping disappeared. The blasted, headstone was all that remained, only the attack threatened to bring that plan short as the head stone was between himself and the fast moving tail.
The scale lined tree branch was moving too quickly so feeling his calves burning he kicked up, jumping forwards where he connected with the headstone and jumping backwards just as the impact came, the tail flick had knocked his left foot but wasn't enough to break it, but it was it enough to tilt the angle of the jump. The whole event had felt like a life time but it realistically could not have been more than a couple seconds. He wasn't sure what it was that had allowed his mind to function in such a desperate state but he had succeeded in his plan to jump.
Not one of his highest, he was two meters up and rising in the air when he swung both axes around in what could have looked to be a reversed flapping motion so he could drop them down on whatever skin he caught with both axes having their sharper pointed rears aimed instead of the front blades. He would cut and hang on if he could. But that was assuming the point ends finally managed to break through the beast's scales.
She felt him against her tail, caught his scent rising from the water-bitten ground. Faint droplets of mud splashed against her fetlocks, disturbed by her now-slowing tail, showering her with an uncomfortable chill. The air stirred ever slight.
Was this it? Would he finally show her his power?
In a moment of weakness, she felt anxiety. Pain was not something she welcomed.
Unable to pinpoint his position exactly, yet knowing that an attack was surely coming, she set to offer her bulk protection, to deter him from his course. Her wings, clamped against her body, snapped open in an eye’s blink. Like a battered shield, they spread out, attempting to block his weapons from finding the true taste of her flesh.
With a grunt, she felt a stab deep within her skull, the flickering of a headache that wished interruption on their battle.
The beast's movements were quick, for the first time he saw the beast move preemptively against him instead of as an reactionaly manouvere, only there was to time to react, no time to change his goals while in mid air with the beast right in front of him. He'd commited and stay commited he would.
Withered sails of flesh spread as though caught by a gale force wind after pulling in towards the body in what looked initially to be a defensive motion. They'd managed to get between him and his point of attack before spreading, something he'd not anticipated.
Unable to pull back his twin blades struck down while the wings hit with enough impact to send him back. His knees had raised, his head tinted as the wall of leathery scales pushed his weapons back at him, the pointed rears just missing the oppotunity to cleave flesh off the side of his head as they bounced back against his shoulders, his knees took the brunt of the remaining impact.
It was enough to send him back a ways. Arms spread legs spread in a horse riding stance, he hit ground where his boots struck dry soft ground and his balance threatened to throw him but by the fates of the gods he held as he slide back almost a meter before the hilt of the axe he'd thrown before struck the previously impacted ankle.
It appeared what ever gods had saved him from tripping had not saved him from their own sense of humour. Pain shot up his ankle to his brain, forcing him to grit his teeth. He dropped to one knee, resheathing both his blood and stone and placed both hands upon his ankle where he brutally prodded and squeezed to examine and to get accustomed to the pain. He wouldn't be able to do laps around the beast unless he did something to help the pain subside, which it was quicklThe beast's movements were quick, for the first time he saw the beast move pre-emptively against him instead of as an reactionary manoeuvre, only there was to time to react, no time to change his goals while in mid air with the beast right in front of him. He'd committed and stay committed he would.
Withered sails of flesh spread as though caught by a gale force wind after pulling in towards the body in what looked initially to be a defensive motion. They'd managed to get between him and his point of attack before spreading, something he'd not anticipated.
Unable to pull back his twin blades struck down while the wings hit with enough impact to send him back. His knees had raised, his head tinted as the wall of leathery scales pushed his weapons back at him, the pointed rears just missing the opportunity to cleave flesh off the side of his head as they bounced back against his shoulders, his knees took the brunt of the remaining impact.
It was enough to send him back a ways. Arms spread legs spread in a horse riding stance, he hit ground where his boots struck dry soft ground and his balance threatened to throw him but by the fates of the gods he held as he slide back almost a meter before the hilt of the axe he'd thrown before struck the previously impacted ankle.
It appeared whatever gods had saved him from tripping had not saved him from their own sense of humour. Pain shot up his ankle to his brain, forcing him to grit his teeth. He dropped to one knee, re-sheathing both his blood and stone and placed both hands upon his ankle where he brutally prodded and squeezed to examine and to get accustomed to the pain. He wouldn't be able to do laps around the beast unless he did something to help the pain subside, which it was quickly doing. There appeared to be no breaks.
Breathing hard but ever silent to conserve what he had and re-earn what he'd lost. He waited for the beast to press its advantage.
Her mind boiled over with a splitting ache, renting hard against her concentration. The beast within her awoke, the snarl of a true animal emerging, but only for a mere second.
Enough time that she tried to breathe fire at the minuscule pest. Enough pain that she failed.
She attempted to draw breathe but choked on the effort, the forceful coughs enough to crack one of her ribs – agony, searing – but not to completely immobilise her.
Moekesti stared with wide eyes from his low position at the beast's movements. Had his strike to the throat worked? Was this some consolation from all his previous attempts at cleaving the beasts flesh? Was this some delayed reaction when there previously had been none.
It was douptful, but something that would or could not stop him from feeling a fleeting sensation of confidence, or from feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rising quickly, or rush of blood that screamed for him to run, sprint and attack. Prehaps go for the throat, press his own advantage for once but he held his place.
His hand slid behind his back to where he had last seen his axe.
His fingers coiled around the hilt and he drew himself in once more, nursing his ankle. He had yet to get his breath back. He was almost there, almost ready for another run at the beast and this time he had his biggest axe back, this time he would not let it go.
She tasted blood – sharp taste, bitter play of fate – layered across her tongue from withered lungs. She tried another growl but it was too painful to complete, cut off mid-vocal with a whimpered yelp. It was sad how a splintered ribcage could destroy the façade of terrifying beast within a moment. Aches were a part of her daily ritual now, a constant berating of old age and illness… but agony was beyond her comprehension, her being sheltered from suffering through the life of an esteemed predator.
A knee buckled, but she didn’t fall.
Her tail pelted the ground to shake the soil, her dazed mind disorientated to her enemy’s direction.
The screams of the death fill your ears, strong powerful pleas of agony.
Violated our tombs you have... our lands is not for you to dwell upon...
Remove yourselves from our lands... or we shall remove you from yours...
Foul lights erupt from the grounds, from the tombs, from the trees. You look up to see a huge crystal magical ball which is to be created above you by the merging of all the lights into it. Looking down you see no shadow below you.
The crystal explodes with a blinding light and the area grow dark again.
Yet your shadow is still missing...
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OOC : Your shadows have been "deleted" which means that for the next round (1 post for each of you) none of you can use skills that require you to move from your place. Your shadow shall be restored to you after the coming round (after you both will have 1 post) and you can fight normally again.
Moekesti's chance to strike came but was shut down upon the arrival of the next assault upon his senses.
It was moments such as these that he longed for his home more than any other. Surreal sights, impossible feats where blood and bone never ever seemed to be enough. Where the sweat off a man's brow was also never enough.
The sense's he was born with threatened to crack and fall apart when an explosion of sound burst up from the graves he stood upon. An old fear he'd long forgotten struck him, the dead were supposed to be sacred and they were fighting upon hallowed ground. His people would never have fought upon such earth and yet there he was, insulting the dead but never before had he seen the dead react.
A threat from a source of life or death itself, he didn't understand. He would never so much as presume to.
Where sound had assaulted his senses, light begun the second wave threatening to blind him. He tried to move to step back, get better ground in which to shield his eyes but there was no reaction from the base of his feet. He was rooted.
Panic set itself in. Running away was not an option, it wouldn't have been either way. Whether the ghosts and demons of this lands accepted it or not he would find his way home. He would find the warmth of his home lands once again.
With eyes shut began to breathe slowly, savouring every intake of air as it filled his lungs giving him a sense of energy and determination. Though rooted to the ground he could feel a sense of upliftment in the face of adversity that he had yet to feel since the first time he had face the massive beast where the beasts scales had proved too much for his best weaponry. Something was different despite not knowing what it was, it was most certainly there.
Legs spread apart, eyes shut, breathing slow, his form as still as it would allow he waited, praying upon his gods for the strength to get through this and the strength to cut his enemy down.
Her tail ravaged the earth, unseen tombstones flung into the air with angered might.
The battle was not going how she had hoped… No, it made a mockery of her. The pitiful swipes to her armour were like flies against a window, no hope of penetration; she should have been savouring the human’s flesh already. Yet instead of standing triumphant in a fell swoop of might, she found herself crumbling beneath the disease of her body, defeated by her own weaknesses and drained of her strengths. Humiliating was a keen description; her pride from last year’s tournament lay ruined on the dead-rot ground.
Worse still was when her frenzied blows were frozen, her waning movement stolen from her suddenly. She couldn’t see what the man had done, but doubted such a feat was in his power. Her hissed profanities were lost between screams that shook the air, agonised wails that ripped her ears of sanity.
Violated our tombs you have... our lands is not for you to dwell upon...
Remove yourselves from our lands... or we shall remove you from yours...
She couldn’t see the disappearance of her shadow; all she knew was that her limbs were void of life and the anger she had stored away so carefully was boiling over. It had almost been her downfall last year – unable to control the bestial rage of her ancestors – but she could only suppress it so long against such arrogance.
If she had been lost enough to use the tongue of man, she would have warned them of her desires, secret. Whoever dared to scream at her would find pain to match their tone. Her fangs were bared in an unusual display, stained and chipped from a life of hunting, still fearsome in both size and point.
Strange how she could forget her opponent so easily, a mistake not often called upon by such a fearsome beast. The taunting of the pair-up played upon her mind though, a feel that this was mere trick against her blindness.
How she would-…
Without warning, there was pain, fountaining just behind her eyes. It was as if a dam had broken, bursting forth, searing against the inside of her skull with all the intention to scorch her thoughts and memories. She shook her head violently out of instinct, as though to throw off the discomfort, but it only worsened the feeling.
He wasn't sure exactly when it happened but his feet felt light once again. Whatever force of energy that had form within the very pit of his core where determination was formed refused to allow him a moment of rest beyond the time he'd already wasted and the time that was lost with the awakening of the spirits.
His feet dug into the soil and burst backwards as his entire form lunged forwards so far that his chin was only a meter off the ground.
His calves burned, his ankle, still numb from the rubbing, began to quickly regain its agonising feeling but still he could feel himself gaining speed. Sound faded, all that was around his run was irrelevant literally a blur that passed unseen.
In a world of blindness, created by the newly reformed dark his eyes were still as active as ever, pupils darting a fraction of a millimetre to the left and right, just enough to catch sight of the road in front of him and the path he'd created while staring at the beast in the brightness of light.
So much of him was invested that even the smallest misstep or adjustment would cost him his balance and momentum. He was a standing pin tipped forwards into the wind where through no control of his own but through faith he was kept standing.
The image of his father playing with him returned and he was brought back to the image of his initial run where he'd first tried to throw anvil. Thoughts of the run he'd taken when throwing Anvil for the first time.
Instead of six steps to throw like before he took eight. Six on the uneven ground, picking ground that arced away from him to allow pushing power.
The seventh step rested upon a tombstone that leant towards him. His boot stomped upon on it forcing it up straight. It got him airborne for a second, just enough to ensure he reached the eighth step without wasting what strength he had.
The eighth step was set upon the head of a stone angel with crushed wings, enough for him to apply enough force to kick himself up into the air high enough to look as though he were born into the air instead of merely being airborne. For a moment if only a brief moment he'd stolen their wings and taken them as his own.
His arms raised, Anvil arched behind his back before arching forwards once again, this time firmly held in both his hand and aimed right at the beasts neck.
No one in his lands went up against drakes and no one was ever so foolish to get so close to a drake's mouth. Where ever his father was he could only hope he was making the man proud.
Her thrashing head fell still, her whole body rigid. As the pain sunk deeper in her skull, no hope of fading, she realised the short window of time that she had to grasp a victory. Had she been of sight, her vision would be blurring. Consciousness loosened its grip, a mere imprint on her mind. The world, hazed. The passing seconds became vital to survival.
Wary of her frozen steps, she found a hunter’s peace within the waiting. Senses became alert to every shifting of the air, each murmur becoming a cool caress against her silent form. Her breath seemed loud, ragged against her eardrums, steadying as the moments passed. Her chest was heavy, her muscles edged –
It was the peace before a predator strikes.
Her battered wings, frail in their age, fell slowly to her side, tucked against her pale scales. Claws were eager to till the soil, to feel her stance against the ground before she lunged.
Tension laced the air with a poisoned impatience, and it infected her with ease.
As their burden lifted, reactions came without the wish for hesitation. Offense came before reason could think to restrain it.
With a roar that held true, her thick neck twisted until she faced her foe. Her final ability, her fragile imitation of the seeing, flickered into action. Where the world had been swathed in darkness, it now lit up in every man-made hue. A rainbow of the senses, she finally saw an outline of the human, the one who dared to call himself ‘opponent’.
Taste buds lustful, her head jerked forward, teeth ready to tear upon his skin.
With the ringing in her mind and the cloudiness of thought, she knew this attack would be her last…but having the might of a dragon behind her, it should be all she needed.
Pure, Auki, that was one of the best rounds of posts I've read in a long while.
You both had minor spellings errors here and there, but the writing of you two was SO DAMN enjoyable, that it hardly took the pleasure from reading the posts.
I found myself picturing the scenes, the battle, the interaction.
Despite the fact that I am finding it rather annoying that I need to be the one to judge, I must say that I've spent half a day thinking between me and myself who I am going to choose, since you both played so awesomely.
However the last rounds of posts made the final call and the winner for this battle is Auki, but I do hope to see you again in the Arena, Pure, you are one awesome writer, and I always want to read more from you. =D
***
With a quick wave of wings the angel was seizing the landing body of Moekesti, keeping it safe from harm as both she and him returned to the ground.
With a wave of her fingers the image of the huge dragon disappeared, sending her to the next round.
The angel bowed down and kissed the warrior on his forehead, "You fought well dear, and I hope to see such valor in the arena again", she touched him and his image slowly vanished, sending him back to his homeland, "May we see you soon on this holy arena's ground yet again".
The angel was alone now and the spirits were restless.
However, after making sure the deads were put back to rest in their graves, she smiled as she vanished from there as well.
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