The Rapture: Eric vs. Jessie/Jessica

[Lord Anglekos]

Ah, yes. This is the life, Eric thought to himself, as he stretched out upon the sandy expanse that was Neverscale Beach. Forest at his back and ocean at his front, the scents and sounds of the wildlife enveloped him until all his troubles went away. It was so nice to be completely and utterly alone for just this once. He'd spent his past days harassed by hordes of jobs and people, and hadn't seemed to get a moment's rest until now. After his last job, which had involved hunting down and killing a mysterious man-eating monster in Dheathain, he'd decided that was it, he'd had enough. By tooth or nail he was going to get a small break from the chains of society.

He found that break when, by chance, he came upon a monk in Radasanth raving about some sea monster terrorizing the shores of Scara Brae. However, the stories were so farfetched that they couldn't possibly be true. The monk, eyes wild and face pale with dread, jabbered about a multi-headed snake-like beast that crushed any that came near it's nest. It was said to be resting in the coves near Neverscale Beach, and that any who went near the water's edge were grabbed and taken deep underwater to be food for the fishes or, judging by the tales told, something else.

Eric figured that these stories were but old fishermen's tales, made to scare off naughty little children and/or competition from the best fishing spots, but he told the monk that if there were such a beast, he would slay it and make the shores safe for good. The monk had practically been tripping over himself in gratitude and offered to pay the swordsman for his services, but he refused; not out of a generous heart or anything, no, but because he knew there would be no beast.

And he had found none upon reaching the expanses of Neverscale Beach. However, he did find something else nearly as shocking; a great vacation spot. The sun hung high in the air, it's bright rays piercing the canopy of trees and warming the sand beneath his feet, and the warm summer breeze was like a lover's caress to Eric, who had been wandering amongst the chilly arms of cold for what seemed to be forever. Dropping his armor, cloak and weapons to the silken sand beneath him he'd jumped into the water like a little child once more, sighing aloud in pleasure at the coolness of the ocean.

He'd taken off his clothes and swam until he felt his limbs would fall off from exhaustion, and still no sea monster has shown up to swallow him whole. He laughed at the old monk's foolishness as he lay there under the sun, stretched out in the sand as if he were eight years younger. He didn't feel like moving. Even the warmth of the rocks against his back and on his sides was comforting, and another snicker escaped his lips as he remembered the fear in the monk's eyes. What a fool the man was, he thought to himself. Oh well; at least now he had the whole beach to himself.

Even as he thought this the wildlife seemed to mimic him. A crab slowly came out from its hiding place and scuttled cautiously over his bare legs, clicking its claws in the air as if asking for a dance partner. Seagulls began landing from their vulture-like circling in the air and hunted for their dinners on the land, hopping after the crabs with hunger driving their single-minded determination. Eric watched them with a smirk decorating his face. Ah yes, the cycle of life: There were the hunters and the hunted. If you weren't one, you were the other. It was a grim thought, but Eric took comfort in the fact that for the time being, he was the hunter here.

"Lord Anglekos?"

The deep voice interrupted Eric's thoughts and caused him to be startled so suddenly that Amalia, his long sword, was half way out of it's sheath before he realized someone was speaking. He'd grabbed the blade and rolled to his feet in one swift motion, ready to draw and slash, when he saw the cowled figure standing before him and recognized the symbol upon it's hood. It was a monk, and one from the Citadel at that. An Ai'Brone monk. What the hell was one of them doing way out here!?

That question must have been evident upon Eric's face, for it was answered by the cowled figure before him. The voice that emitted from the hood was masculine, so he guessed it was a man. "Put away your weapon, m'Lord. I come offering you a position."

"First off, I want to know how you found me." Eric growled at the monk, blue eyes narrowing as he tightened his grip upon the sword's hilt. He wasn't about to let his guard down just to be stabbed in the back. "Then we can talk business."

An uncomfortable silence grew then, in which that grip grew even tighter. He was about to draw his weapon when the monk finally spoke. "I am not allowed to speak of the forces upon which we wield."

"So you just show up all mysteriously and expect me to just accept it?" Eric snarled even louder, but he released his grip upon his sword. He knew what it was like to have to follow orders. "Nevermind. Just...what do you want?"

The air around the monk altered perceptibly, and the swordsman became aware of a slight aura of power and authority emanating from him. The monk was in his element, now. "You've proven your abilities to us in the past, and we are searching for a new Warrior for the Dajas Pagoda. Would you be interested in filling that position?"

As the monk had been speaking Eric had been getting dressed, and had just put his pants on when he paused. "The Dajas Pagoda?" He couldn't believe his ears. He hadn't even thought about that place, let alone gone near it. Why would the Ai'Brone monks be considering him for a position? "What would I have to do to get it?" He asked, his voice laced with suspicion. There was more to this than the monk was letting on, and he could tell by the way the robed man was fidgeting nervously from foot to foot.

"There is one other we are considering for this position..." As he answered the monk lifted an arm, and a tear in the fabric of reality opened right there in the air. Buttoning his pants, Eric looked with alarm as a shape began to step out of that hole. "...and the plan was to have the winner become the Warrior. Do you accept?"

Eric pretended to mule it over quickly, but in reality his mind was already made up. He'd been seeking a steady job ever since he'd come to Althanas, and here was a chance presenting itself right in front of him. He could work out the details later, but all doubts fled his mind as he drew forth his long sword Amalia and gripped it in two hands, the wind from the sea turning his hair into a wild, brown blur. "I do."

[The Forgotten]

A quartet of glazed lights flickered across the expansive heavens, drawing the gaze of something so far below that could have been dead. It should have been dead. Yet even as another light flitted through the starry night sky, it blinked. Death would have been preferable to this torment. The celestial specks were strewn randomly across a milky black canvas to those half-dead eyes; red spheres no longer even trying to recognize patterns that never existed in the first place.

“You should be fortunate that I found you when I did.”

There were sounds, words that meant something. A thin, supple hand rose from the grass. It was a woman’s hand. Turning in front of a gentle face, presumably so the eyes could inspect both sides of it, it fell back to the grass, limp. It was a woman’s hand. Eyes; red eyes that didn’t belong to the body they were nestled comfortably in. The hand reached up to the chest of its body, stopping a small distance away from the rib cage. Breasts; breasts that shouldn’t have been there – a woman’s breasts.

“Who could have done this to you?”

There were those words again. The woman, she was certain she was a woman now, turned her head to the side… pink hair. Her hands lifted a few strands and brought it closer to her face, smelling it experimentally. It reeked of blood. Full lips slowly parted; her breathing was returning to a more normal pace.

“Jessica…?” The woman’s voice broke, almost surprised at the sound it made. It was higher than she remembered, and gentler. Silken grass leaned aside as thin elbows slid back, raising the clouded eyes closer to the blotchy figure standing just out of sight. A flood of colors rushed to her eyes, drowning everything but the stars in a mosaic of red and black as uncertain arms shortly gave out, lowering her body back to the ground as they spread apart. “That… is my name. Isn’t it?”

The cloaked form slowly shuffled closer, tanned hands pulling back a deep hood to reveal deceptively gentle eyes and a soft face; a fellow woman’s countenance. The monk’s lips pulled back in a half-smirk and the woman lying on the ground wanted to bury herself under a mountain to avoid that gaze. It was the look of a hawk circling a wounded prey. Services had been rendered and now she wanted- expected payment.

“It seems your wits are coming back to you, slow though they may be,” the monk spoke, her smirk audible now, “You have proven quite elusive. Warrior Jess… the name brings back such memories.”

Jessica’s hand followed the monk’s eyes and slipped under her black blouse, crawling toward a thin scar on the underside of her left breast. Corpse-flesh would have been more pleasant to the touch.

“I… died. I wanted to die. Why did you save me?” Jessica asked.

“We still have a use for you.” The monk replied, cold and blunt, unrepentant eyes staring unabashedly at her.

“No.”

“I’m sorry, but that answer isn’t good enough.”

A strangely familiar sensation reverberated through her bones as a tear in the fabric of reality slowly expanded between the flattened grass and her denim-covered rear. The monks had their own version of teleportation, and this time, it was something the former Warrior wanted no part of- not that she had much of a choice. The tear engulfed her feet, the pieces of her body that dangled through the void growing numb with the cold of absolute nothingness.


“I also took the liberty of restoring your atrophied muscles. Death does such nasty things to a body, you know.” The Ai’Bron shrugged off the final vestiges of her charade with a cackle that sent shivers down Jessica’s spine. Her flushed countenance exuded mirth even as a lazy hand commanded the gateway to swallow its prey in one final gulp. In the void there was no air, no sense of time, and the numbness of death permeated her being. An infinite time passed in an infinitesimal time and only when the pink-haired woman felt her life slipping away once more, salty air flooded into her lungs. Brilliant sunlight assaulted her delicate eyes, blinding her from the abrupt transition.

Rather than setting her someplace or allowing her to simply step out, the portal ejected her with all the ceremony of someone throwing trash down a garbage chute. Thankfully, the devilish granules didn’t quite make it to her eyes, though other pieces of her anatomy weren’t so fortunate. The glaring light slowly died down as crimson orbs adjusted to the beach sun; eventually a second form took shape across the beach. Of course she wasn’t alone, that wasn’t how the bastards worked. It was always a fight; always another chance to prove their superiority over even death. She shouldn’t have been surprised when she reached a lazy hand to her right and found the polished and worn form of her only weapon sticking out of the dirt.

Grasping the wooden shaft of the six-foot staff, she finally took in everything about where she was. A pristine beach with rhythmically crashing waves to the left, a forest to hide everything dark and dangerous to her right, and one man who honestly couldn’t have tried to pick a worse time to fight straight ahead.

Breastplate, long sword, cloak, and bow. Could this man scream “adventurer” any more blatantly? She was seeing clearly once more, and the sight disgusted her.

“I don’t know who you are,” Jessica released her staff, still planted in the sand. The monk from before had most likely placed it there just to spite her. “I don’t care what you are.” She took a step toward the man, her gaze cold enough to freeze an ocean. “But I hope you’re ready for the Hell you just unleashed.”

[Lord Anglekos]

Just as he put his black tee back on, a shape slid out from the open portal the monk held up and collapsed to the sand with the grace of a bird learning to fly for the very first time. Eric blinked; it was a girl, and not an unattractive one at that. At first he thought the light was playing tricks with his eyes, but as he stared he realized she sported pink, yes pink, locks of hair that, at the moment, were tossed over her face as to prevent him from ascertaining her features. As she lay there, the monk reached within the folds of his robes and tossed a long, wooden shaft to her side unceremoniously, making no move to help her to her feet. Bastard. Eric thought almost offhandedly, but he himself made no such movement.

Slowly the woman before Eric stirred and stumbled to her feet, and she looked around, taking in her surroundings. Meanwhile, he was taking in her. She wore a black blouse and shift, and little else by the looks of it. Those strange pink locks of hers framed a serious, harsh face, and Eric was reminded of the draconian woman Eros dar Decarabia he'd met in Dheathain as he gazed upon this stranger. She had held herself the same way, had looked upon him with that same casual disdain and wanton indignation. He smiled a little at the thought; already, he missed his former companion, but that was the past. The present was something, and someone, different. Angry and cold crimson orbs pierced out from tanned skin, and as they locked upon him he felt himself tense. Whoever this woman was, she meant business.

Her next words just confirmed that thought as she moved towards him, shift flowing in the wind. She was confident in her skills, whatever they may be, and her very stance and expression bespoke that confidence. She didn't seem to be carrying any other weapon other than that staff of hers, but...Eric glanced behind her, to the monk keeping the portal open, for confirmation, and the hooded figure nodded. Taking a deep breath, the swordsman backed up towards the ocean's edge, the surf crashing noisily as his bare feet made their imprints within the sand. His sword's tip drifted downwards and caressed the ground as he addressed his opponent. "Sorry, kid." He let a smirk open itself up on his face as he brushed back his hair with one hand. "But I don't really believe in Hell, y'know?"

[The Forgotten]

Crimson eyes flitted between the long sword and the line engraved in the shoreline. As sure as the man’s composure showed a moment ago, uncertainty saturated him now. Advance and withdraw – the careful choreography tested more than simply the wills of the fighters. Never again would she back down; every deliberate footfall was a challenge overcome. Each step failed to carry the pink-haired woman any closer to the creature that stood before her, but that was all right. Eventually, the cowardly bastard would run out of room to retreat.

Casual arrogance mixed with nonchalant dismissal drained from the adventurer’s mouth, tainting the air with his foul stench. The fool knew nothing- knew less than nothing. It was simple to deny something that was unpleasant to imagine… but what would he say when he was brought face-to-face with the inferno? Would he scream at the mutilated form of a true devil? Would an eternity of torment change his mind over whether or not a simple belief that something didn’t exist granted immunity to its grasp? His words only served to feed her hatred of him.

“Believe all you want, it won’t save you.” Ice was warmer than her words at that moment.

Serpents of a lilac mist slowly roiled around the fallen Warrior’s body, gradually congealing in her right hand. Dropping down to the ground, slender fingers grasped a handful of particles in her left hand. The ethereal fog flowed up her arms and coated the shards in a second skin that swirled with the indignation she made no attempts to hide. Granules leaked in a steady stream from her hand, and then she did something that could only have been broadcast more blatantly by waving a banner: she threw the sand at her opponent.

Only, she didn’t really throw the sand. Sure the particles flew toward their target like sand is wont to do when thrown, but only on rare occasions does dirt swim in a cloud of Æther. The fog that surrounded her hand leapt away and congealed into a few thousand tiny swords arranged like caltrops around each grain. The sea breeze carried the four-bladed sand until the greater part of the ground was saturated with her trapped knives.

“Welcome to Hell.”

[Lord Anglekos]

Damn, she was scary. He would've admitted that to anyone who asked. He took back his first opinion of her; she was nothing like Eros, no matter how much she may have looked like or moved like her. Not even the draconian bounty hunter had emitted this amount of sheer rage and hatred towards him at their first meeting. Sure, she'd been pissed off several times and cold towards him, but the ice in this woman's voice made the draconian seem almost friendly by comparison. Despite the fear she was striking within him, he put his best efforts towards keeping it off of his face and assumed a casual stance, lifting Amalia from it's resting place in the sand and onto his shoulder. He was about to burst forward and surprise his new opponent, when she did something that surprised him; she bent down.

His blue eyes widened as he got the wrong idea, but he was soon corrected as he watched her grab a handful of sand, grains of it slipping between her fingers in silken streams dancing within the wind. She stood and fixed those demonic eyes upon him once more before murmuring a glacial greeting to "Hell" and tossing that sand towards him. Reflexively, he moved. He dashed to the side before she was even done speaking, letting his toes dig into the ground to provide him with the speed necessary to ambush this pink-haired woman. Running in an oval half-circle towards her he brought his blade to bear, gripping the leather handle in tight palms as the point dragged in the sand behind him once more. Gone was the playful facade he'd put forth before, and here was Eric the soldier.

Still, that silent transition from adventurer to warrior did not prevent him from almost running into the trap that she'd put before him, and had it not been for the sun glimmering off the tiny blades on each grain of sand he would have fallen right into it. His eyes widened as he saw the glimmering edges decorating the tiny but deadly projectiles, and instinctively threw up both of his hands to protect his face. There were small sounds of metal upon metal as his sword deflected some of the incoming weapons, but he could still feel the pain as some of them found their way inside his skin, piercing it and making tiny cuts as he rushed past and through the cloud. His momentum carried him beyond the pink haired girl, causing him to slide to a stop as he turned around. He cursed his momentary naivety; of course she would have more than just a staff as a weapon. His eyes darted down to his unprotected arms; small cuts, but not life threatening and definitely not hindering. He'd be fine.

Crouching, he brought the blade of his sword around, spinning it until he held it by his face with both hands. Point directed to pierce and impale his strange assailant before him, he took off in a burst of sand, eyes as clear as the sky above now darkening in frustration and anger. He did not see the monk that had brought the women onto his private little sanctuary step into the portal he'd created and close it behind him with a smirk decorating the lower part of his face. Had he, Eric might've called the battle off at that very instant.

[The Forgotten]

A simpleton, that’s all he was; a simple warrior charging toward an unarmed foe with reckless abandon. Not taking the time to consider the consequences that would lead him to a painful death he entered the first of many killing fields. He would bleed. He would understand at least a fraction of the torment of someone ripped from the sea of souls and thrust back into a body. No pleasure found Jessica’s countenance when the fool realized his mistake and plodded through the bladed sand. The first assault was meant to be more distraction than true weapon, so only light injuries marred the challenger’s body when he… ran past her?

Why? Jessica’s mind raced, reaching for answers that didn’t exist. How stupid is this man?

The blades were a small distraction, but if something as simple as this broke his focus, how did he manage to survive at all? It was only during her thoughts that she realized what might have been a clever tactic in the madness. By doing things that made no sense, it was easy to throw an opponent off their guard as they analyzed what was happening.

It wasn’t an audible snap, but the fog of Æther responded to a twitch in the woman’s mind, dissolving the blades from around the sand. Like a sentient mass, it writhed across the ground and leapt back onto the former Warrior’s arms, where it congealed into blossoming shards that looked like dragon scales facing the wrong direction. Rather than overlapping from the wrist to the elbow, they stood on end and crisscrossed the back of each arm with three-inch knives that writhed across her skin.

The foolish man raised his sword and charged Jessica, but she was not one to stay still and simply allow him to come. With his sword held near his face as it was, only two strikes could be made: a thrust or an angled slash. While running, a slash would be quite impractical, which meant that the most likely scenario was a thrust that used his momentum to augment the pierce.

Distances blurred into nothing. Jessica feinted to the left, his sword shifted to compensate; a feint to the right shifted the blade again and committed the strike. A rapid sidestep sent her out of the blade’s path, a half-step back brought the violet blades toward one of the straps that kept his armor taut. The wooden shaft blossoming from the sand was the target of her movements now that the man had turned serious; he would know terror and despair before she finally killed him.

[Lord Anglekos]

He moved, blue eyes intent upon her. Crouching low he increased the speed of his dash a little by reducing the resistance of the wind against him, the tip of his blade kissing the air ahead like an aggressive lover. He was certain she would be surprised by this straight-up frontal assault and reach for her staff now, the wooden weapon sticking straight up like a flag pole in the sand as the sun shone off it with a brilliant sheen. But no, she made no movement to grasp it. He would've thought she was committing suicide had that cool anger and hatred not fled off of her face. No, she was still intent upon killing him. But with what weapon...?

Suddenly a movement caught his eye, and he saw some thick, foggy substance rise from the ground behind her and cover her arms: Suddenly, they were coated with three-inch blades, sticking straight up from her skin like deadly scales. Magic... He noted inwardly, and grinned slightly. He knew just how to fight those who relied upon magic, for he'd done so his entire life in order to survive. Growing up in a world run by it without a single scrap to speak of himself had taught him how. He continued his rush forward and she shifted to her left, then right. Both times he shifted to adjust for the movement just before he struck at her truly, thrusting his sword forward to try and run her through. However, she was no fool, and stepped to the side, the steel avoiding her entirely.

She was no fool, but neither was he. He expected her to do so; she had nothing to block his attack, and had to avoid it. She struck at him with her arm, her violet weapons intent on cutting him open, and he almost smiled at her foolishness. He hadn't lived so long from sheer luck alone. He continued on through with his thrust but shoved his right foot down and forward, bringing his momentum to a slightly skidding stop. It hurt from the skin's friction upon the ground, but he stopped. Her blow at him missed, her arm hitting naught but empty space, and he thought he saw a flicker of surprise and anger flash across her cool face. Whether it was there or not, he felt a flash of satisfaction at it.

But he was not done moving. He put his weight upon his right foot, the ball of his toes, and he spun, pushing off from his left. He crouched slightly, increasing the speed of this as he brought his left leg back and around until his left foot was planted at his opponent's rear. At the feel of the hot sand beneath it he shifted his weight automatically, onto his left heel as the rest of his body spun around to follow it.

Soon he was at her back, knee bent forward as he crouched and pushed all that momentum from his spin in a horizontal slash at her exposed midsection, letting go of the hilt with his right hand as his left continued that slash without it. That right hand, however, was busy grabbing some sand below him as he copied what she had done herself. As he could still see part of her face, without a moment's notice he threw the sand as if that part were a target painted red.

[The Forgotten]

A simple miscalculation, that’s all it was. Where violet blades should have tenderly kissed the leather strap of the man’s breastplate, the glimmering lips caressed only the wind. An unfortunate turn of events, but that only meant that it would be a more satisfying victory when she stood over his broken body. Yes, broken and dying, yet unable to die. She would show him what it was like to have his soul torn away from eternal rest.

Because in death will I be reborn. The thought was one that appeared three days prior, after she had ran from her duties as a Pagoda Hierarch. Countless travelers recounted tales of portals dumping them onto this hells-forsaken rock of a world, but the former Warrior’s mind knew that wasn’t how she ended up here. She had died once before, that was how she ended up here. If she died here, perhaps she would return to her original world.

Those thoughts drove her to pierce her own breast… but what waited on the other side of the veil was not what she expected. It was terrible beyond description. The hell of fire was only what she deserved; she was even accepting her fate until that blasted monk dipped her hand into the inferno and forced Jessica to return to her body.

The unexpected miss caused a momentary flash of surprise to grace Jessica’s countenance, but it was only momentary. He might have seen it; she might hold a party for him if he did, even. Like all things, though, it quickly met its end as toned legs pumped away on the sand, bare feet finding even footing with little difficulty. Only once did she glance over her shoulder; when diving for her staff to ensure she wasn’t being chased.

The man hadn’t given chase but he had swung at thin air and thrown a handful of sand; the point of either was lost on his opponent. The instant her hand wrapped around the thick shaft of her weapon, the blades coating her arms dissolved into fog once more and washed over the staff, congealing into a thick blade that turned the staff into a much deadlier naginata. With a flourish, she turned to face her foe and lightly grasped the pole arm, holding it level with the ground.

“This is all your fault. If you… if you hadn’t been so greedy…”

The quiet rage that had been suppressed momentarily roiled back to the surface once more; the former Warrior’s face flushed red with renewed ire.

“I’d still be dead right now!”

She didn’t attack; she simply glared at him, daring him to make a mistake. All she needed was one.

[Lord Anglekos]

Two strikes against him, now; he'd forgotten that while he'd been moving around her, she had been moving as well. What a fool he'd been, for no mortal creature would simply stand there nie-unarmed and be shorn in half by another. It wasn't as if he'd expected her to, but he'd been too slow, too casual in his movements to trap her and finish this battle as he'd wished. First his running into the trap she'd laid out before him like a naive adventurer, now this. At this point he should just drive his sword into his own chest and end it for her instead of continuing it pointlessly. Instead of doing so, however, he drew both a steady breath and himself into a casual stance, focusing his ocean eyes upon the girl with her pink air like fire in the sunlit air and drawing his gaze as a bull is drawn to a matador's cape.

She had avoided his blow by running towards her formerly discarded weapon, the staff sticking straight up like a flagpole in the sand. As she grasped it, the violet blades decorating her arm instantly dissolved and formed themselves upon the wooden stick, changing it from a blunt instrument to a deadly naginata, a thick polearm. As she stood there with her toes in the sand, Eric's eyes widened. The way she stood, the way she held the polearm with that now-familiar rage upon her face, it reminded the swordsman all too easily of his draconian partner in Dheathain once more.

Upon seeing this, rage of his own flooded him. Who did she think she was, imitating his friend like that? First the hair, then the disdain...now even Eros's weapon? His neutral gaze turned into a vicious glare, almost as cold as the one he met on her face. He could feel his latent magic rushing through his veins, the magic he'd found within himself shortly after coming to Althanas, and through his rage he managed to send a thought through to control it. Still, sparks and bits of electricity crackled ominously around his arms, slipping through his control as his emotions were as well. He could only seem to see this pink-haired imitator in his vision, ignoring the crash of the sea's waves upon the sand and the annoying cry of the gulls above.

Slowly, he sheathed his sword. He held the weapon in its scabbard with white knuckles as he walked forward, one hand on the hilt and the other reaching behind his back to slowly draw one of his prevalida daggers out of their own sheathes. He didn't bother looking at the name upon the azure blade; it didn't matter. He kept his glare upon her as he advanced slowly, ignoring the words her own lips formed; the reasons for her rage were unimportant. His weren't.

He spoke slowly and calmly, but his own expression did not leave his face. "Who are you, that you know my background so well?" He asked. "You resemble one of my old companions, and now you insist upon wielding her very weapon so? Is it not cruel enough to torture me with her image, but that you have to fight me with the type of blade she had wielded beside me?" As his rage grew his speech grew more and more eloquent, as if anger had given him a nobility he had not possessed before.

He spun the dagger around his finger until he had a firm, frontal grip upon it, holding it as one would hold a sword. The thought that this was the first time he had even drawn this weapon since obtaining it in Agrigon's cave in Dheathain did not even cross his mind until later. He stopped walking only for a brief moment to truly look at his opponent in her black shift tangling in the wind, and spoke once more. "So be it."

On that note, he ran foward with one hand on the hilt of Amalia and the other clutching the instrument of death called Acheron with a terrible, firm grip.

[The Forgotten]

Watching others transform always brought a hint of a smile to the fuchsia-haired warrior’s eyes no matter what the situation entailed. Physical transformations were the most varied, and often the most amusing, especially when an innocuous candidate randomly spawned lethal extremities. Emotional transformations, however, were far more interesting. The man before her proved once again just how little was required to turn someone from friendly to hysterical… as well as how easily an innocent notion could trigger the change. With deliberate motions, everything about the swordsman altered just enough to make the former Hierarch actually step back subconsciously.

The atmosphere up to the point of “unsheathing” her naginata had been far too one-sided with her intent to kill; now, the ignorant warrior’s rage somehow surpassed Jessica’s own indignation. He moved like a wolf circling its prey, advancing slowly, not testing the atmosphere but simply knowing that there was nothing but the kill. A rock wormed its way down Jessica’s throat, bludgeoning her determination until the noble-sounding creature gave voice to his reasoning.

Absurdities flowed from a mouth worth less than the sand under her feet. All his indignation came down to coincidence. Her hair, her attitude, and now her choice in weapons all culminated in a farce too beautiful for one man to write. Reacting to the atmosphere, a violet cloud of Æther swarmed the woman’s left arm as both parties locked eyes for a single terrible moment. With such raw hatred emanating from either warrior, no more games were necessary. The second killing field welcomed the combatants with gaping maws.

Rapid steps met artful arms flowing into a series of fluid motions; a twisting thrust that had no intention of connecting unless her opponent was literally “blind with rage” opened a series of motions engraved in the Warrior’s heart. A defensive transition came out of the first stance with a half-step on her forward foot, smoothly followed by a full step that sent the butt end of the naginata rocketing toward the center of his armor. Even if the staff had a blade, that fact didn’t change that at its core, Jessica only knew how to use it as a staff.