View Full Version : Echoes of the Past: Sorahn vs. Koran
The massive wooden doors creaked as they slowly swung open, echoing coldly off the massive stone pillars and high walls of the temple. Time had not been kind, leaving the ancient temple in near ruins. The pillars were broken and crumbling, and the roof had long since caved in, leaving debris scattered in the far corners of the room. Moonlight shone through the arched windows placed high on the walls.
Through the doors walked Sorahn un' Rohnahmeh, his snow white fur taking on a yellowed hue reflected from the many torches that hung from the pillars, lighting the hall. He walked straight toward the middle of the room; each step kicking up a tiny cloud of dust from the ancient floor which wafted around his tattered black pants before fading away. A low boom resounded as the doors closed behind him, then faded to leave the room silent save for Sorahn's soft footsteps and the rustle of the torch flames.
Before him stood a massive statue of Ronah, the god of all Ranoans, standing confidently with his spear in hand and wings spread, looking down on his people. At 70 feet tall, the great figure dominated the room with its majestic air. Surrounding the statue was a pool of water; cool and crystal clear. The pool was fed from an underground spring, symbolizing Ronah's provision for his children.
Directly in front of the statue stood a gray, hooded figure. He remained motionless as Sorahn approached, and neither made a sound. When Sorahn finally reached him he simply took a small step to the left, without saying a word. The Ranoan seemed to ignore him as he dropped to one knee before the statue, where the figure had stood. He murmured a soft prayer in his people's ancient tongue before standing again and gazing up at the statue. The figure removed his hood, revealing himself as an Ai'bron monk, and also looked to the statue.
“Your god appears to be quite mighty.” The monk said finally, his voice sounding unnaturally loud as it broke the silence and echoed off the walls.
“He has done much for my people.” Sorahn responded simply, keeping his gaze fixed on the statue.
“What does the inscription read?” The monk asked. Sorahn's eyes dropped to the words carved into the base of the statue in ancient High Ranoan, which appeared to the monk as simple slashes and lines.
“Shekeles tehlshath Ronah, rah tahnseth mehnatehs tehnmah na rehnasat menahtias. Rahnseth setkah neth tehnasatheles, nah rensath nethehnas.” He read from the stone inscription. He turned to the monk, looking him in the face for the first time.
“It means, 'Highest praise be to Ronah, for he hears our cries and shows compassion on us. He has delivered us from the Days of Torrent, and into the new world.'”
The monk simply nodded. Sorahn figured the scholar knew much about the Days of Torrent, and the creation of Al'Thayne, but knew nothing of the Ranoan race, who had not made it into Althanas lore. However the monk obviously could tell that Sorahn was not in the mood to recount the history of his people, so he changed the subject to more pertinent matters.
“Your opponent should arrive shortly, my lord.” He said, as Sorahn returned his gaze to the statue. “His name is Jordhan Kol'Alamar.” It was not a name Sorahn recognized.
“It is said that he is a shapeshifter.” Sorahn's eyebrow raised a bit.
“Some even say his body contains machina.” The monk added, his disbelief evident in his voice.
“It can't be...” Sorahn whispered quietly to himself.
“I'm sorry, my lord?” The monk asked, not hearing him.
“Nevermind.” Sorahn said. “Please leave me, I must prepare for the battle.”
“Of course, my lord.” The monk said and bowed slightly, before walking off and disappearing behind a pillar.
Sorahn looked up at Ronah's face, meeting the fierce eyes. “It just can't be...” He whispered, as visions of glorious battles of long ago rushed back to his mind.
The eyes that lingered on him were like annoying flies for the Shadow Meld, their presence an inch he could not scratch, no matter how hard he tried. He did his best to shake it off, to keep his face calm, cool and collected. His imposing seven foot eight inch figure helped the front but he could do little to hide his flickering eyes or nervous smile. He silently shifted his sword and inhaled slowly through his nose, trying to calm his nerves. Despite his attempts however, to fight down his doubts as to why he was here, he could still feel them growing and spreading the back of his mind.
Are you just bored? Are you still wandering aimlessly, without purpose? Is this necessary? Each and every time the answers to those questions were the same. No, he was not bored. No, he was not wandering aimlessly, without a purpose. Yes, this really was necessary.
Necessary for which of us? This thought brought a faint smile to the tall mans face as a great many fond memories of the only soul he would have ever called a friend flooded into his mind. They had been an odd pair in the beginning, fighting each other with a novices' fervor but had quickly grown fond of the other, as only true friends could have. They had been a close pair in the early days, seen almost everywhere with one another, but then they slowly, steadily began to move in their own separate directions. Until...
A deep silence fell across the previously busy main lobby and pulled the tall man from his inner thoughts causing him to look about. His eyes immediately found the gray clothed monk and he knew, without the man having to motion in his direction to follow, that it was time. He hefted his massive sword and had already begun making his way toward the monk by the time the man had motioned for him to do so. He fell into step behind the monk, respectfully keeping to his own thoughts as the two of them walked silently down the long hall.
A few moments later they emerged from the building onto a well beaten, if long since unused dirt path. More like an animals trial at first glance, remnants of paving stones, laid from some age long since gone, stuck up from the hard packed dirt on occasion, suggesting that this path had once held to a greater importance than it did now. Wherever this place that the monk was taking him, it was certainly going to be remote and quite possibly old. Perhaps even ancient.
A few shorts minutes of more silent walking proved him right when they emerged into a large clearing dominated by a great temple that was steadily falling into a deep state of ruin. Its once high vaulted ceilings and roofs were long since collapsed and gone. Its walls leaned dangerously to the inside or out, depending on the collapse pattern of that particular section. It would have been a glorious temple to see if it had still been operational but it still managed to hold the tall mans gaze before he was forced to revert it back to watching where he was going. No use in tripping this close to this place and the reason he had come here. It would only serve to embarrass him when embarrassment was the last thing he needed.
The monk led him all the way to the great wooden doors that were stood open, his hand lifting to motion inside, before taking his leave with a bow. The big man returned the bow in kind but didn't give the monk a second glance as the silent man disappeared back up the trail. He instead turned to face inside the decrepit temple and set his jaw, his mouth turned down into a slight frown. Remember, you came here for a reason.
The thought echoed for a moment in his mind and the frown melted from his face, replaced instead by a rather large smile as he stepped boldly through the large wooden doors. "Sorahn un' Rohnahmeh," he called loudly in a deep voice the small figure was sure to recognize, but certainly not to comprehend as to how. "We meet at last, again for the umteenth time, here of all places: A field of battle. Echoes of our illustrious past!"
Sorahn stood silently, listening to the torch flames hiss and crackle as they lit the room. He stared at the face of the statue which reflected the flames' yellow glow, yet he no longer saw it. His eyes looked through it, staring off into space as a flood of memories washed over him. There were only a handful of events in his life on Althanas that had really affected him; those that really mattered. It was those moments that stood out in his mind the most. His relationship with his mate, Rehnahlia, his time with his greatest mentor, Ithermoss, and the glorious battles with his best friend, a cyborg named Koran Vincent Seether.
The two had fought in the great Citadel no less than four times. When Sorahn was brought to Althanas as a slave, it was Koran who killed his master, setting him free. It was a strange friendship they shared, considering they had each killed the other at least once. Still, the shapeshifting cyborg was probably his closest friend.
Sorahn's gaze dropped as the truth rushed back to his mind. He hadn't seen the man for years. He had disappeared like a ghost, leaving no trace. Still, he held on to the slightest hope that this “shapeshifting” man might somehow be related to him. Maybe, there was a chance he would know where to find him.
His ears perked up slightly as he heard the footsteps entering the great hall through the door behind him. “Sorahn un' Rohnahmeh” The voice reverberated in the hall and caused him to raise an eyebrow. It was not the voice of Koran, but something lay beneath it. Something quite familiar.
Echoes of our illustrious past... what past? Sorahn thought as he finally turned toward this challenger. His eyes met a being that was extremely tall and very white. Nothing like his cyborg friend of old. Yet still, there was something about him. Sorahn's eyes narrowed as he simply looked the man over, unable to dissuade himself of a fact that he knew to be false.
“Koran...?” He said simply, still trying to see beneath the flesh exterior and into the true face of this man. “Are you Koran Vincent Seether?”
The puzzled frown on his face broke into a wide, understanding grin. “How fitting indeed, that you would seek me out in an arena. This makes... what... round five?” The thought amazed even the Ranoan, but their battles had seemed to become something of a tradition.
“You've changed quite a bit.” He said simply, looking over the man's appearance again. Somehow instinctively his hand reached up and touched the black horns on his head, feeling hard and rough as he ran his fingers along them. “I guess I have, too.” He said as he looked away, lost in thought.
Suddenly he looked back to Koran. “But I am NOT going to shake your hand.”
The tall man boomed with laughter, his chest heaving as the smaller of the two spoke about not performing an age old trick the taller man had fallen so much in love with. He spread his free arm wide, a warm smile creasing his face, his eyes alive with mirth. "Old friend, the thought had never even crossed my mind." His eyes narrowed then, his piercing gaze peeling away at the layers of knowledge and experience that his friend now wore about him like a cloak. He saw the physical changes, his stance, the determined and proud glaze to his eyes. His smile became a little less friendly as he slowly slid his great blade down from off his shoulder.
"We have both changed, quite a bit it is true, but I still believe, and hope that you do to, that we are still the same men we once were when we first met." His gaze drifted around the decaying temple. "Although I must say, we have developed a certain sense of style over the years." His eyes lifted toward the statue momentarily, admiring its strange but striking beauty before reverting back to his friend.
"Well then, the time for history lessons is past. You know the drill, as do I. We both know this has become more habit than a quest for glory, fighting simply to test each others skill since last we met." The tall man swung his sword around in front of him, tip resting lightly on the ground in front of his feet. "Now, prepare yourself, creature of the gods!" His head turned down slightly and he lowered his voice to just above a whisper. "For I will not go so lightly as I have done in the past."
His smile was malicious now and his eyes burned with an anger that he reserved for only certain occasions. Fights such as these and long journey's where being angry at yourself for not finishing yet was the only thing that saw you through to the end. His hands tightened on the hilt of his sword and his muscles tensed; he recalled quite clearly what it had been like to fight against a spear wielding agility freak such as Sorahn.
He had a feeling that this fight was going to be his greatest yet.
As his friend spoke, Sorahn knew what had to happen next. Every time was the same. There was a greeting and friendly banter, but both of them ached for the true meeting. Warriors don't greet one another with friendly words. They speak with their blades. One could learn more about a man in one battle than in a lifetime of talking.
The smile on Sorahn's face grew wide, displaying his assortment of razor sharp teeth. His eyes narrowed, creating not a friendly smile, but a mischievous one. Battles with Koran turned him into a different person, and all bets were off. Their last encounter resulted in the Ranoan regressing into a beast, acting only on animal instincts, and ended when he held a bloody piece of Koran's throat between his teeth.
“You never go lightly.” Sorahn retorted, an air of confidence in his voice.
“I think you will find, my changes run far deeper than the skin.” He said, as a spear as black as night suddenly appeared in his hand, surrounded by a swirling cloud of darkness. Slowly, he slid his legs out and bent his knees, holding the speer horizontally behind him. His tail swayed with anticipation as his muscles coiled like a spring, ready to launch him in an instant.
He had to calm his mind to keep himself from getting overconfident. Koran had become a big man with a big sword. Such men were very slow, and easily taken down by Sorahn's agility. But arrogance breeds mistakes, and such thinking would only spell disaster for the Ranoan warrior. Remember, he used to weigh 3 tons, and kept up with you just fine.
Still, the malicious grin lingered on his face, whether from confidence or from anticipation at one more chance to face his arch-nemesis and old friend rolled into one. He remained still for a moment, allowing the tension to build. The adrenaline had already begun to flow; surging through him like liquid fire.
Then in an instant, he took off. Rushing toward his opponent at full sprint, grin intact. The balls of his feet pressed hard into the stone with each stride, stirring up a wake of dust as he flew. Just before he got within range of the massive great sword Koran held, he planted his left foot and pushed off, flying to the right as he swung his spear around toward Koran's midsection. The blades sung as they sliced through the air with deadly speed and precision. But rather than continue his onslaught, he turned and prepared himself for the inevitable counter-attack.
It was only an introduction; the first note of their opus. Sorahn knew his attack would miss. He would be disappointed in Koran if it didn't. But by now they had both gained plenty of knowledge about each other's style, and both knew better than to bring out the best at the beginning. He was just getting things started.
The fire that decimates the mightiest city starts with a single match.
The taller of the two let his smile slip a little when his opponent materialized a weapon into his hand from thin air, but the slip was a slight one. He himself had been known for seeming to pull weapons from 'thin air,' so it came as only a small surprise to him that someone else possessed the trick. Improved upon it really, the cyborg thought wryly. He would have to be on his guard with that, if used right that ability to phase a weapon in an out of the air could be a deadly art and a rather gruesome way to die. His hands shifted on the hilt of his massive blade and he shifted his weight to his right the moment the weapon materialized; whatever happened next, he would be ready for it.
Holy shit! With an almost blinding speed his opponent rocketed forward, his weapon, a wickedly grotesque spear the taller finally noted, a streak of black metal as it raced for the taller man lightly guarded stomach. Instinct saved him, if not for the very first time in his life, and he just barely managed to avoid having his bowels emptied onto the tiles, the blade passing so close to his stomach that he could feel the pressure difference as the blade sliced through the air. His smile faltered and his eyes widened slightly, but if there was ever a moment where he was grateful for his cybernetic implants, it was certainly then. So much for being ready!
Any other man would have stumbled back, his face a pale mask of shock and fear, but the Shadow Meld, forged by warrior scientists and enhanced for the perfection of battle, instead reacted with a practiced precision witnessed by only a very few and survived by even less. Almost as if he had planned it as such, the taller of the two stepped forward just as the spears blades cleared his body and, twisting his hands on his blade so that he could bring the blade around, swung the widest part of the blade at the exposed knee caps of his opponent. It was a blow designed to knock the opponent off balance, not necessarily to hurt them and with the blinding speed his opponent had just displayed, the taller knew that he was going to need every spare second he could get. A small part of his old, 'New.', self surfaced then and he laughed as he followed through with his swing, twisting his body and blade up and around him to plant himself squarely back where he had started, blade held upright before him. He didn't waste any time however, and spoke even as he launched his next attack, using the small amount of momentum left from his spin to aid in his movements.
"Come now Sorahn, let's dance." Feinting left suddenly and advancing forward a half step the taller man suddenly ducked his left shoulder and swung his blade up and to the left, flicking the long blades black tip out to try and catch his opponent in the hands. The blade stopped short however and with a timely twist of his wrists, and a small amount of effort for he had momentarily overextended his already long reach, the taller sent the blade whisking up to try for a cut along the exposed forearms of his furred opponent.
It was a feeble first few strikes, but he was just testing his opponent, prying for any weaknesses early on. Looking for patterns in reaction times, specific movements of various body parts in accordance to the type of threat. Every opponent has a weakness, small or great. He assumed defensive stance an instant later, the tip of his blade held at an almost forty-five degree angle from his body, arms not quite fully extended with his elbows slightly bent, feet shoulder width apart with his knees bent only slightly.
His smile remained constant through this as the thrill of the fight over came him. The tiny cybernetic impulses from his implants beginning to fire off, filling his blood stream with a near limitless source of synthetic adrenaline. Heightening his already naturally enhanced senses to nearly super human levels
Been far to long since I had a good old fashioned fight, the taller thought with a smile as he awaited for the inevitable counter-attack.
The black blades hissed through nothing but air, just as predicted. But as soon as he had turned to prepare himself for counter attack, the massive great sword swung toward his knees. Reacting without thinking, he gave one quick push with his legs and leapt over the sword.
With merely a flick of his arms, Koran brought the huge sword back around to slice upward at him. Sorahn acted purely on instinct, relying on the martial arts training ingrained in his mind to aid him. His first reaction was to bring his spear around and block the attack. The heavy great sword lumbered into it like a freight train, and the collision shook Sorahn violently, causing him to slide back an inch or two on the dusty stone floor.
CLANG! The metal meeting metal resounded in the great hall. For a moment, Sorahn was thankful that his spear was indestructible, because he knew that such a strike would have turned his previous nihon redwood spear into a splintery mess.
Despite the impact, he managed to hold. Luckily he was no longer the skinny weakling he once was when he first fought Koran, many years ago. His muscles rippled as he held the great sword at bay, creating a deadlock between the two fighters. The black spear and the delyn sword ground against each other in a stalemate.
In the lull in their fighting, Sorahn looked up at the man who called himself Jordhan Kol'Alamar, the man he knew as Koran Vincent Seether, and who he would never call otherwise. This new version of Koran had almost two feet in height over him, and a great deal more body mass. By comparison, the Ranoan warrior looked puny. He had to look up to see in the face of his opponent. But despite this, Sorahn bared his teeth in an almost demented smile.
“Sure. Let's dance.” He said finally. “I'll lead.”
Instantly the entire temple shook as he sent out a massive shockwave. It flew out in all directions, rattling the great columns and vibrating the floor with the impact. Large rocks and debris fell from the pillars and the already decaying ceiling, and dust from the floor swirled out in a circle around him.
Immediately Sorahn launched forward, unleashing a barrage of attacks on his unsuspecting opponent with a newfound ferocity. Each swing of his dark spear was gracefully followed through with another attack, true to the flowing style of the Ranoan martial arts. Keep up with me, Koran. He thought as he quickly struck, one after the other.
He felt strange. This behavior wasn't normal for him. The malice and arrogance he had just displayed seemed foreign to him. But such was his battles with his arch-nemesis. They always brought out something deeper in him that he didn't know was there; something darker. He couldn't explain it, but he liked it.
In keeping with his newfound evil, he let out a maniacal laughter as he attacked, feeling as if he had finally been freed from the confines of propriety and decency.
*~*
You've grown stronger since we last met Sorahn, the cyborg thought to himself as he ducked and weaved to avoid another vicious slash toward his head. Faster too. He grunted as he stretched himself up onto his toes, leaning back as far as his body could allow, his massive black blade lifting to deflect the sickly black blades from tearing into his face. I hope that I can keep up with you this time.
*~*
The initial strike had caught the cyborg off guard, knocking him back a full step before he could regain his senses but by that time it had already been to late. It took all his strength to bring his lumbering black blade up to block the first strike, one which shook the taller man to his very core, and it was only through a great stroke of luck that saved him from impalement from the second strike. Twisting himself in a tight arch around the wildly swinging Ranoan, the cyborg squared himself up once more, better prepared for the onslaught that was sure to follow.
Follow, it did.
It became like a dance between the two of them, with Sorahn in the lead. Just like you promised. The nimble creature ducked, jumped, juked and lunged left, right then back again, all the while stabbing and slashing with his massive spear. It was all the cyborg could do to keep the blades from killing him right off; he could do little to prevent the small cuts and pinpricks that soon began piling up on his body. Many weren't deep enough to cause bleeding, some were barely even a minor rash, but they were painful, and they were multiplying. The cyborg knew that he could only keep this up for so long; he needed a plan, a way out.
He shifted left and then twisted right quickly, barely avoiding having his back sliced open by the blades that materialized there from seemingly nowhere, and he knew if he was going to do anything, something, that now was that time. While his opponent was still recovering from the long thrust the cyborg stepped into the dead zone of his opponents long reaching weapon and brought his elbow up into where the mans face would have been. Normally it would have been the end of that, but the cyborg wasn't going to pass up as good an opportunity as this, so he lashed out again. Twisting sharply around in a tight three-sixty the cyborg brought the hilt of his massive weapon around like a cudgel, the blade twisting down toward the ground, swinging it upward where he thought his opponents arm pits would have been. He followed through with the twist by jumping into the air, his massive blade following behind his twisting body, the razor sharp edges sure to inflict some kind of bodily harm on his wild opponent.
He landed with a thud and rolled sharply to the left, coming to his feet and taking two half steps forward before wheeling himself about quickly, his blade held before him like a dagger. That is to say, hilt grasped tightly in on upraised hand, blade at an angle vertically to his body, blade pointed toward the ground. His breathing was hard and he could feel sweat beginning to fill the many tiny pinpricks, cuts and scraps that littered his body.
He inhaled deeply, calming the nerves that were beginning to edge toward outright panic. This was not the time to be panicking, Yet. Besides, the fight had only just begun, if anything, now was the time to be having fun. The machine forced himself to smile wickedly and with his free hand lifted, beckoned his wild opponent forward. I think its time to change the tune a little.
Sorahn moved like a graceful dancer, swinging his weapon to create art from movement. Yet each twist of his body and each contraction of his muscles was carefully planned and followed in the pattern of his ancestors. Yet despite this kinematic poetry, he couldn't land a solid hit on his opponent. All his efforts resulted in nicks and scrapes.
He lunged forward to stab Koran and instantly realized that something was wrong. His devious smile disappeared as his tuned instincts sent off alarm bells in his head. He attempted to react, but it was too late. An elbow connected solidly with his face, and instantly it was consumed with a fire of pain. The impact knocked him backwards and off balance and he knew he was vulnerable.
The waltz of battle changed lead yet again, as the hilt of a sword crashed into his shoulder. Added to his already backward momentum, his feet left the ground as he flew backward. But before the pain could reach his brain, he watched the sword swing up at him as if it was being played in slow motion. He twisted in mid air, trying to avoid the brunt of the strike, but the bloodthirsty blade still managed to catch a piece of his bicep.
He hit the hard stone floor with a thud just as he let out a sharp yelp. The dust was still falling around him as he looked down at his now bleeding upper arm. Red blood was also flowing from his nose; running down his canine face. His arm burned with a sharp, fiery pain, but as the adrenaline began to flow stronger, the pain started to fade away.
Slowly, he pulled himself up and looked at Koran, a new malice in his eyes. His eyes focused intently on his opponent, fire burning in his eyes along with that hint of something darker; something more sinister. He panted as he stood, ignoring the warm blood that was now running down his forearm.
“Play time is over.” He said simply in a raspy voice, tinged with anger.
With a grimace, he raised his arms, one of which was now dripping blood, and let out a deep growl. Instantly black fire began to swirl around him, surrounding him in a circle of flames. The room grew warm as they licked the air, eager to devour.
“Try and stop me, Koran! HAHAHAHAHA!” He screamed in a very un-Sorahn demented tone, just as he flicked out his arm, sending the flames soaring toward Koran as a jet of fire. It crackled as it flew, leaving a wake of destruction in its path. Sorahn followed behind it, taking two long strides before planting his foot and taking off, bringing his spear above his head with both hands, like a sledgehammer. He descended on his opponent like a meteor, ready to rain death on him.
A darkness was consuming Sorahn, infecting him like a plague. He felt evil, no where near his usual valiant and righteous self, but he couldn't control it. An inner beast was rising, and it appeared to lack manners.
"Gah!" Fucking shit! The damned Ranoan had pulled a fast one on the cyborg, again! The taller of the two cursed his unfortunate luck, for that was clearly the reason behind his obvious lack of contest against his opponent. He couldn't let the string of curses built up on his tongue fully flower though, for the attack his opponent had launched against him was one that took ones breath away, in addition to all the hair on ones body. The cyborg would later recall that if it hadn't been for the magical resistant capabilities of his sword, he would have died in those first few instants.
Fire, hotter than any he had ever found in all his long years of life, engulfed the pitch black blade, the red-orange tongues of death flicking themselves against the exposed flesh of his forearm and wrist. Pain, such that could only be described as a numbing tingle so great that it would have made even the most stout-hearted men weep, wrapped itself around the cyborgs extended arm and he cried out in shock, his hand instinctively pushing and then pulling itself away from the source of its discomfort. He was, unfortunately, too late to prevent any serious damage to his flesh or his moral, for right at that very instant, like a meteorite breaking free of the atmosphere, all fire and brimstone, his opponent was upon him.
The massive black blade, glowing a bright red-orange from the punishment it had just received, clatter to the ground in a shower of sparks and hot metal shards, having just been released from the burned hand of the cyborg only instants prior. The cyborg, his body still writhing from the searing pain in his sword arm and that portion of his chest, twisted himself around away from the blade and fell heavily to the ground. All the air in his chest escaped him in that instant and he twisted onto his back, body arching as both the sudden absence of oxygen in his lungs and the full force of his burns finally sank in. His head snapped to the left and in that instant he witnessed something he had never before thought about; had never even considered before. A flash of memory came to him then and his vision flashed white for an instant.
*~*
When the shopkeeper emerged from the back of his shop, his arms cradling the largest sword he had ever seen, the cyborg could do nothing to stop a smile from splitting his face in two. The massive blade landed with a loud thud onto the wooden counter top and the cyborg reached greedily for it, only to have his hands slapped away from the blade before he could touch it.
"A word on this blade and the metal it is made of," the shopkeeper said quickly, when the cyborg recoiled in anger. "Dylen, if you are unaware, is a combination of two metals, both with strong magical resistances and imbuing properties. This makes this type of metal very susceptible to magic and although this can be a very, very helpful property, it also means it can be its most deadly. If this blade is struck by another metal that is stronger than it, and the blade has just recently been charged, it will more than likely explode with very deadly force. You must be careful when imbuing this blade, or fighting against a magical opponent"
The cyborg snarled and reached..............
*~*
The cyborgs eyes widened in horror as he caught sight of his opponents spear arching toward where his body had once been but where his magically overcharged blade now lay. His thoughts raced and in the brief instants before the spear would have hit the blade dead center, the cyborg lashed out with the closest arm to the blade, trying to knock it clear of the descending blades.
It worked; almost.
Luck was against him that day, as was probably already evident in his battle performance, for he was unable to prevent the blade from being struck by the massive spear head. He did however, successfully set the blade in motion, which helped a little. But only just.
In a moment of wide eyed terror the cyborg watched as the spear head struck the blade, showering the immediate area with bright red-orange sparks, and sent the massive blade skidding across the tiled floor. Immediately following the show of sparks his vision was obscured by dust and bits of gravel as the massive spear found the tiled beneath the now missing blade, causing them to explode as well.
Pain was forgotten in an instant at that point, mainly because the cyborg was now in a panicked state and because his implants had just changed gears again, flooding his body with natural and synthetic endorphins and adrenaline. He rolled swiftly to his feet and dodged around the massive cloud of debris, looking for both his blade and another way to continue this fight.
I can't give this up now, not after talking the talk! He leapt over a badly broken bench, skid for a moment on the small bits of wood, tile and stone on the other side, and leapt behind a large pile of frame and roof debris, his mind racing. He looked over his shoulder from his new hiding spot, his eyes frantically scanning for his crazed opponent and his damn sword. Why didn't it explode?!
The dust was beginning to fill the room and billow out through the gaping hole in the roof.
((Really sorry about the delay, just got my internet back. This ends my leave.))
Sorahn stood, not entirely sure of what had just taken place in the past few seconds. All he could see was the torrent of fire rush through area where his opponent had stood and in the next instant he descended upon it.
But his blade met not flesh, but an abandoned sword, glowing red. Instantly his vision was filled with sparks and then finally dust and debris as his black spear crashed into the stone floor with a loud “clack”. The shock of the impact flew up his arms and rattled him, just as his feet connected with the ground. Disoriented and badly shaken, the Ranoan collapsed onto the floor and was showered with dust and tiny bits of stone.
Coughing, he shakily stood, trying to see through the thick cloud of dust that had built up. But his opponent was nowhere to be found. He could make out the orange shape of a sword laying on the floor near him, but not its wielder. His sharp eyes narrowed, trying to make out where Koran had gone. Thankfully, the dust was beginning to thin.
“Heheh... come out, come out.” He said sinisterly as he slowly walked the great hall, scanning the debris for his opponent. His tail swished behind him anxiously. His large ears perked to hear the slightest sound amidst the quiet.
Suddenly he heard it, a soft rustling of debris shifting. Instantly he turned toward the sound: a large pile of rubble near the wall. He slowly made his way toward it, spear at the ready, a large grin growing on his face. “Come out, come out.” He said again, with a hint of maliciousness in his voice.
Then in a flash he leapt over the rubble and swung his spear down where he knew his opponent sat. But a horror washed over him when he heard the “whiff” of his blade meeting nothing but air. His eyes grew wide as he realized he was now vulnerable and had no idea where his opponent was.
Just as the thought crossed his mind he heard a footstep behind him.
Oh no...
This battle was getting away from him. The cyborgs mind raced; he need to find a way to turn the tide, and in his favor, fast.
First lesson in battle tactics, the thought lanced through the boiling panic that flooded through the cyborgs mind. Keep your enemy guessing. Which meant, for the cyborg at least, that he needed to keep moving and a quick glance over the pile of rubble told him that he needed to move, and move now!
The dust was beginning to thin when he opponent came too from his earth cracking blow and true to his nature, the Ranoan didn't spare any time in contemplating where his tall nemesis had run off too. (The cyborg had long since made it plain that he could move and hide well enough despite his height and weight issues.) He instead set himself to searching for his slippery white haired opponent, scanning the surrounding debris and dust filled air, his ears flickering slightly as he strained for even the slightest sound.
The cyborg smiled briefly, a quick, fleeting gesture, sensing an opportunity and reached up behind his head to grasp a hold of a small piece of wood. A few moments of waiting with his breath held tight within his chest, his blood pounding in his temples so loud that he feared it would give him away, and then the cyborg moved.
Tossing the piece of wood just beyond his feet, so as to allude to he presence behind the pile, the cyborg rolled quickly to his left and came up onto his finger tips and tips of his toes, crawling forward as he did so. It was a common trick, moving silently as he did, and one that he had long since gotten a strong handle on. The key was to not think about it and just do it. Thinking caused you to be over analytical, and that was something he did not need now. Especially now.
Crawling his way around a decrepit pillar the cyborg caught a fleeting glimpse of his opponent moving slowly across the tiled floor, straight toward the pile he had just abandoned. A grin split the cyborgs face and he rose up to a crouch, waiting for precisely the right moment too -
His opponent leapt up onto the pile and swung his massive spear down where the cyborg had just been, only to find it empty. Horror washed over the Ranoan's face as he just realized what had happened, but by that time it was already too late. Having already started sprinting toward the exposed back of the beast, still half crouched, the cyborg rose to his full height and took two full steps before vaulting himself forward into a classic drop kick style kick that would land just below the small of his opponents back.
In spite of his best efforts, the cyborg found it impossible to resist crying out with a very loud "Hyaaaah!" as he closed toward his opponent.
Surprise!
The next second seemed to last an hour as he tried to turn around to face his opponent, but it wasn't fast enough. The quickest moves feel like molasses when your opponent is already upon you. He had made an inexcusable mistake and he would now pay the price for it. Managing only to turn his head around, he was just in time to see Koran's foot flying toward him.
Instantly he felt like he had just been shot point blank with a cannon as the kick connected solidly with his back. His feet left the ground and he sailed a good ten feet before crashing to the ground with a painful thud. A deep, throbbing pain washed over him as he gasped for breath, desperate to regain all of the wind that was forced from him. He felt like a poor wretch, laying on the floor taking deep ragged breaths and trying to ignore the pain. Koran was surely bearing down upon him, eager to capitalize on his vulnerable state.
This is what happens... A voice from the back of his mind suddenly spoke to him. This is what happens when you become arrogant. Look at yourself; boasting and jeering, fighting maliciously as if the battle was already won. This is why you are losing. Not because of skill or chance, but your own overconfidence, and your wickedness.
You have yet to land a solid blow on your opponent. Instead you are getting out-maneuvered and set up for amateur mistakes, and already they have cost you. And still you laugh and taunt. You are disgraceful.
It was his own voice, reminding himself of all he had been taught. As the breath returned to him, he slowly stood and looked to his adversary, shaking the dust off his white fur. He closed his eyes and relaxed his muscles, standing still; obtaining a calm, prayerful state. Ronah, forgive me. My arrogance is inexcusable.
Suddenly he shot forward with unbelievable speed. Time seemed to slow for him as he felt the stone beneath his foot crack and shatter as he launched. Dust and stone seemed to float behind him as he ran. He was detached from the world, existing in a different time and speed foreign to this realm.
He closed the distance between him and Koran in a heartbeat and lunged forward with the tip of his black spear. Spinning right he brought the blades around to slice diagonally upward then turned again and pulled them back crashing down upon the cyborg. A loud crack echoed off the pillars as the very tip of his spear broke the speed of sound.
As quickly as it had come, the burst of speed was gone and time returned to normal as he was re-synced with reality. His muscles complained painfully at the feats they had just performed, forcing him to assume a defensive stance rather than continue the attack. But he knew now never to underestimate his old friend Koran. Rather, he had always known, but for some reason he had forgotten.
The maliciousness... that's not like me... so strange... He thought as he tried to remain focused; ever alert and ready to react at a moment's notice of his opponent's attack.
So strange...
The cyborg realized something as he flew through the air, his body almost flat as he drifted toward his opponent, and that was just exactly how was he going to land? This will hurt, was the only answer he could come up with before he felt his feet hit the small of his opponents back.
The world slowed then, the impact of his body slamming into the other sending ripples up through his bones and for a moment after his opponent was sent sailing forward he hung suspended in mid-air, motionless. Then he began to fall, slowly at first and then with increasing speed, his body resorting to its natural flail like motions to try and catch itself before it was hurt, until his efforts were met with vain and he fell hard onto the pile of debris. There was a loud snap as wood and thin pieces of plaster and tile crunched beneath his body weight and for an instant he thought he had broken something, but he quickly rolled up onto his hands and knees, nullifying the thought of such an injury.
His head swiveled to where his opponent had flown and he locked eyes with the man as he slowly regained his feet. The cyborg peeled his lips back into a smile, sensing more than seeing the immense hurt in the creatures eyes at being fooled into such a classic pinch and quickly stood up, his left arm raised in front of him, mouth just beginning to move. He was never even given a chance to take a breath however, when his opponent retaliated.
It happened faster than he could blink, faster than he could think, but all he knew was that one minute his left hand had four fingers and a thumb and the next, had only one thumb and four tiny stumps. There wasn't even any pain, it was just a feeling of them being there and then, abruptly they weren't. A half second later a loud explosion shook the inside of the building, causing the cyborg to stumble back a few steps. He instantly wished he hadn't.
Pain, sharp and hot, seared his chest as he twisted, the absence of feeling his fingers momentarily forgotten by this new feeling and he looked down in confusion. A thin red line was beginning to seep through his cleanly sliced robe and as he traced it with his eyes, he realized something. I've gone and gotten in over my head. Mouth agape and his now very bloody hand still up raised before him, the cyborg stumbled back a few more steps.
His foot clanged against something metallic and he looked down, his vision spinning and blurred as the shock of his injuries and what had just happened to him began to settle in. He blinked, squinting in an attempt to focus on the object but it was no good. He blinked again and felt something click in the back of his mind as a small cybernetic implant triggered working to ebb the flow of blood from his wounds, increase the endorphin and adrenaline levels in his bloodstream and calm the growing fear in the forefront of his mind. After a few instants of teetering on the brink of complete mental shutdown and a possible faint episode, the cyborgs vision cleared, as did his foggy head, and he was able to make out what it was that he had run into.
My sword. Except, there was something very different about it. It glowed faintly, reddish-orange, pulsating slowly to some unearthly beat, and it was spider cracked for the entirety of its length. It looked like it would crumble to metallic dust at the first sign of disturbance, the cracks were so fine. He reached down to grasp a hold of its hilt and raised it up to stand by the point in front of him.
He was instantly over taken by a short period of dizziness and nausea; his implants dulled the pain and lessened the shock, but did nothing to prevent the natural drunkenness that resulted in such actions. He closed his eyes and lifted his left hand to his face to steady himself, the warm, wet and sticky blood instantly covering his face, filling his nostrils with its metallic scent. He pulled his hand away from his face slowly, the long slender clots of blood sticking to the surface of his face, looking like long wet strings, and stared in bewilderment at it, as if seeing it for the first time. I'll have to do something about that, he thought numbly as he called up a memory from deep within his mind. His red hand shimmered for a moment and then elongated itself, solidified and became a three foot section of steel blade. There, fixed.
Then, something happened. Emotion, pain, fear, joy, rage, everything, simply and suddenly fled the cyborg, leaving him hollow. He knew that maybe he should have been surprised, but he knew that this had happened to him before, a long, long time ago. When he had first awoken to his new life as a cyborg and slaughtered the research crew working with him. He knew he should have been surprised, frightened even, at the reemergence of this strange ability, but not so surprisingly, he wasn't.
He smiled then, sickly and hollow.
His eyes drifted back up to his opponent, forgotten, for the most part, up until that point and he lifted his sword hand to point at the man. "You," he said carefully. "Are going to pay for that." He kept his sword hand up, pointing at the man, and then, abruptly, took two steps back and lifted his pulsing great sword up in front of him. Come and get me, Sorahn.
He waited, eyes dulled from his pain and natural pain killers, and his clothing slowly becoming more and more blood stained as his wounds slowly seeped blood from within.
PAY for that?! Suddenly he felt the maliciousness rising in him again, forming snide remarks and trying to fill him with anger and over-confidence. He struggled to retain his recently regained composure, knowing what would happen if he gave in to this newfound arrogance. This effort to control himself showed visibly on his face, which looked more like one struggling to keep from lashing out in rage.
Calm down, Sorahn. This is not like you. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply. When he opened them again he felt more serene; more focused. The black blades sang as he twirled the spear and assumed an open stance.
It was then that he noticed Koran's sword for the first time. He stared it down as Koran waited patiently on his next attack. But he was entranced by the orange glowing weapon. He watched as it seemed to pulse with energy. Suddenly he remembered the orange glow when he crashed into the ground only moments ago. So that must be how he avoided the fire.
The gears in his mind began turning; calculating. It didn't look entirely stable. In fact the numerous cracks and the pulsing glow all seemed to give it the look of a time bomb, ready to explode at the slightest inclination. A slight frown formed on his face as the implications of this surfaced in his mind.
He felt with his magic to the pile of debris behind him. A short piece of timber began to twitch very slightly. In an instant he shifted his weight forward and took off running toward Koran, just as the piece of wood shot out of its place amongst the rubble to fly past him, straight toward his opponent.
The Ranoan warrior followed directly behind it, letting out a roar as thrust his spear forward, then twisting his wrist and swinging the blade to the right. He followed its momentum, spinning quickly and swinging the blades back again.
It was going to be difficult to fight and avoid that orange glowing bomb at the same time, but Sorahn was up to the challenge. Either way, he knew this battle was going to be one to remember.
The cyborg blinked slowly, his mind foggy and sighed. He silently scolded himself for falling this far back into his blackened soul, but the distant rage slipped from his mind and he was once more empty, clean and pure. Well, he thought distantly, not clean and pure in the conventional sense.
His opponent was moving he realized and he focused his attention on the creature, his eyes narrowing slightly. No, he realized, it wasn't his opponent, it was the pile of debris behind him that was moving. His glazed eyes widened slightly and he twisted, his body feeling as though it were wrapped in a thick gel, gaze following the thrown plank of wood as it whisked past his head. Woah, he thought dully. Close. His head twisted to where his opponent was and he blinked a second time. Where did he come from?
Some distant part of his mind told him that very little he could have done would have saved him from the tip of the creatures spear, so the cyborg did the next best thing he could. He continued his falling twist and inhaled sharply as the closest tip of the three headed spear grazed his already wounded chest, opening a fresh wound on top of his already present fissure. His arm moved like a retarded slug, but some how, in some strange and mysterious way, he managed to deflect the second strike away from his flesh and he stumbled backward a half a step.
He straightened with a groan, that new wound had sapped more out of him than he had hoped, and blinked a third time. He paused for a moment, and then his eyes widened a second time. Oh, he thought, I guess that means it's my turn. He followed the head of spear back up the long shaft to his opponents body and blinked a fourth time. Why is he still extended like that? Like all of his thoughts up to that point, the cyborg simply watched it fall from his consciousness, and then thought nothing else of it. He only reacted.
His sword hand glinted in the dust filled air, the slender blade seeking the soft flesh of his opponents underbelly. A new thought surfaced in the vast emptiness that had become the cyborgs mind and this one, unlike the others, didn't fade quite as quickly as they had.
What happened the last time I felt like this?
He blinked a fifth time and the blade drew closer and closer to the creature.
“AAAHH” Sorahn yelled loudly as he stumbled back a step. A sharp, fiery pain had suddenly surged through him, overcoming him with such force that he dropped his spear, which promptly vanished. He looked down to see a gash just above his navel, trickling hot red blood down his front.
He was neither dead nor dying, which was a good sign that the blade had not reached any vital organs. But neither was this wound superficial. He glanced down at his left arm which was also painted red and finally he began to realize the full extent of his wounds.
He looked up at the great pillars and noticed their edges were getting rather blurry. He knew he was losing a lot of blood and he would be in no shape to fight if he didn’t act fast. Turning to the wall next to him, he noticed an old tapestry, delicately woven to depict Ronah leading the Ranoans out of their torment. Forgive me, Ronah, but it is I who need rescuing now.
With a wince he did what he had to do. Without taking his eyes off Koran, he stuck a claw into the tapestry and tore it down the length. Again he cut and sliced, defacing the great art in order to produce a long strip of cloth. He carefully wrapped the fabric around his midsection several times and pulled it very tight, causing him to grunt with the new surge of pain, and tied it with a strong knot. He wasn’t sure if the bandage had already begun to do its work or if it simply eased his mind, but he instantly felt better.
A quick glance to his upper arm told him this wound was already taking care of itself. The blood was beginning to dry, all but halting the flow. His arm felt sticky and dirty with the dried blood and the dust that had settled on it. He worked his elbow a few times and felt satisfied with its condition.
He nodded to Koran. Words need not be spoken, for Sorahn knew Koran believed the same as he did. True warriors did not seek victory by chance scratches. They wanted to be sure they had bested their opponent.
The black spear appeared in his hand again and he simply stood for a moment. He was definitely worse for wear. Dried blood covered most of his face and right arm, and the new bandage was already turning red. His white fur was dingy with layers of dust. On top of that he was visibly tired. His stance was loose; his mouth hung slightly open, drawing deep, ragged breaths. But his deep blue eyes, framed by the black ritualistic markings, still held that same fire. The fire which had only been extinguished once when the emperor had broken his will, but which would never be extinguished again. He would fight until his soul was drug from his body.
He clenched his sharp teeth and dropped into a fighting stance once again. His muscles instantly tightened up, and the look of weariness had gone. Again, he sprung forward, ready to lock blades with Koran one more time. He pulled the black spear around, sending the blades toward the shape shifter. He let out a yell as he called upon what was left of his strength to put behind his blade. They whistled their compliance as they cut through the air, seeking their fleshy target. Again he turned, using the blunt end of the spear as a club toward Koran’s face, before bringing the blades down again.
He was determined to give this fight every last ounce of strength he had, and he had plenty left.
His blow had done the trick, his opponent, realizing that his rage was only leaving himself with openings, had backed down long enough to calm himself and collect his thoughts. Long enough for me to catch my breath, he thought distantly. The near overdose levels of drugs in his body was beginning to show, he was slowing, considerably, and soon he knew he would collapse from either exhaustion or an excess of bodily wounds.
Perhaps both. If he was going to end this fight, and end it well, he would have to do it soon; sooner than he had originally hoped.
His opponent, also having taken the time to bind his wound, a luxury the cyborg had failed to take advantage of, nodded that he was ready but the cyborg noted it dimly. He'll try something fancy, a voice in the back of his head said. Perhaps get in close, trying to use his spear as a club. The sword is - the thought halted mid sentence as the slim fur covered beast pounced forward, his spear flashing toward the cyborgs flesh.
The cyborg saw only one way out and distantly he knew that it was both utterly insane, and suicidal, but he was going to end this fight on his terms, well, then it was the only way. He twisted, letting the spear points whisk by his arm by no more than a quarter inch of clearance and instantly leaned his torso backward as the butt end of the spear lashed out at his face. He side stepped back then, twisting further to avoid the downward slashing of the follow through strike. This left him in a rather good position he noted and he hesitated only a brief instant before bringing his massive blade down onto where the creatures shoulder should have been. He was so close that the cyborg simply let the blade fall, not putting any real power behind it, the weight alone should be more than ample enough to inflict hurt upon the creatures flesh. He distantly thought that if he had been stronger, and more mentally present, he could have easily severed the mans arm at his shoulder, but that was neither here nor now. Now however, was time for the cyborg to pull his final wild card from his sleeve.
Even as he sword blade fell the cyborg closed his eyes, drawing up a familiar image to his minds eye and within less than a second, had changed his appearance from a humble looking old man dressed in white, to a shorter, stocky well built elf, gleaming black wings protruding from his back just between his shoulder blades. His toothy smile was hidden behind a loose black veil and in a brave show of false hope, lashed out at the creature with his wings, attempting to push him beyond the maximum reach of the black spear.
"Catch me Ranoan, if you can." And then, with one great snap of his black leathery wings, the cyborg vaulted himself into the air and through the massive hole in the temples roof. I only hope my strength can hold out long enough. Beating at the air with tightly controlled beats, the cyborg gained altitude, circled tightly around the temple once and then winged steadily off to the west.
The bright orb that was this planets sun seemed to burn holes into the back of the winged elfs eyes as he soared steadily toward it. It was a distant reminder of the pain he was so selfishly blocking from the rest of his mind.
The black blades sailed through the air, but gathered none of the fresh blood they longed for. Koran had nimbly avoided his attacks. Just as Sorahn heard the sharp *whiff* of failure, a huge blade descended upon him. Gracefully, he leapt to the right. The massive sword fell harmlessly beside him, but before he could launch a counter-attack, he was attacked by –
Wings?! Sorahn thought; a split second of confusion locking his brain just long enough to allow him to get pummeled by the wings. He stumbled backwards and looked upward in time to see a winged elf soar into the sky over the temple.
The elf looked back at him to taunt him and upon seeing his face, a rush of memories flooded back into Sorahn’s mind. This was the same elf he had seen shoot into the sky after Koran had pretended to fall off a building. The one he had jumped on and ridden into the sky. The one whose wing Sorahn broke a thousand feet in the air, sending both of them careening back toward the ground in a death-spiral, still fighting. This elf was the closest to the old Koran he had seen in years.
Quickly he was brought back to reality and was now faced with the same problem he had faced those many years ago: Koran could fly, he could not. Fortunately for him, many things had changed since that epic battle.
Are you ready?
Yes, master.
Sorahn stood motionless for a moment, watching the elf sail away into the sky. A devious grin slowly grew on his face. “Leaving so soon, Koran? But there is still someone that I would like you to meet!” He said softly to himself, his grin ever widening.
Suddenly he held up his arm and shouted. “Rehkelath tehnmah shenahthes Nyvahriseth!” A black cloud began to form in the sky above him; swirling oddly. Within seconds, however, the cloud formed the figure of a dragon. The dark cloud trailed away, revealing Nyvahriseth, Sorahn’s great black dragon familiar, materializing in much the same way as his spear and looking just as fierce.
He soared through the air proudly, exuding an aura of majesty as he flew. His mighty wings flexed as he banked toward the temple. He landed gracefully directly in front of the temple and kicked in the massive mahogany doors, causing the temple to shake and more debris to fall from the ceiling. Sorahn ran out the doors to see the great dragon waiting for him. He leapt onto his back and with one powerful stroke of his wings, they were off.
The large wings beat strongly, propelling both of them toward Koran with amazing speed, slowly closing the gap between them. The air whipped through Sorahn’s fur and hair, making rushing noises in his large ears. He gripped the saddle handle tightly to stay on and steered the dragon mentally. His very soul was connected to the dragon’s, allowing them to share thoughts, emotions, locations, and perhaps other things. The full extent of their connection was unknown to Sorahn, but he could feel the dragon as a part of him; almost as if he were a limb that could think for itself.
Let us see how well Koran can maneuver.
Immediately Sorahn could feel the dragon’s belly expand as he took a great breath, then exhaled a huge stream of black fire. Sorahn waved his hands in the air and the fire responded; swirling and turning at his command. He shot the fire straight toward his winged elf opponent.
This is going to get interesting.
Bunnies approved.
His strength was failing, rapidly. He could literally feel his life, leaking out of his body, blood and sweat aside; his life was now being measured in minutes, instead of years. But I will not give in!
The sun, beating down on his flesh like some soul stealing disease, didn't help his current condition either. For with each passing second, it seemed that it too, was draining his life away from him. I will never falter!
His teeth grated against one another loudly as he mashed them back and forth in his mouth. He would never give up, he would never falter; But I'm so god damned tired!
It was true. Even now, as he beat his wings against the cool air rushing over his flesh, invigorating him even as he drained the last of his strength, he could feel the cold embrace of death creeping up on him. Minutes, seconds maybe, is all I have. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment and he felt himself become weightless; fear spiked in his heart and his eyes snapped open as his lungs filled to near bursting with the ice cold air rushing past him.
God dammit! Keep it together you old fool! Taking a few deep breaths, the cyborg steadied his lopsided flight path and spared a quick glance over his shoulder. A part of him wondered why it was that he had taken to the air and fly the direction and way he did, for how could a solitary man afoot keep up with a winged creature, regardless of how wounded it really was? The answer, almost as if he had some sort of premonition of the events to follow, made itself painfully clear in the following seconds.
It began as a billowing, black and death like cloud, materializing out of thin air and swirling above the temple like a ominous shadow of pain, sorrow and death. From this great cloud a great black shape, proud, majestic, deadly and full of power all at once, descended, circled once and then landed with a distant thud just before the great double doors. Instants passed and then the creature was airborne once more, its path of flight painfully obvious and even from this great distance, the cyborg could see the malicious hatred filling the great, glowing red eyes.
He thought that he should have felt sadness, sorrow maybe, a heavy depression perhaps, at his losing this battle. For he truly had, regardless of what any outside power said. He had inflicted only minor flesh wounds, perhaps stirred some darker power in his opponent to the surface, but nothing new. Nothing, significant. His opponent on the other hand, had bested him at almost every turn. He had even seen through his new, his original form, his true self. The cyborg felt his heart sink, and his mind began a steady downward spiral into final collapse as he watched the great beast close on his position.
But, without warning and without prior thought, rage suddenly filled the cyborg. Great rage. Rage that he had never known to have dwelled in his cold, forsaken breast. He knew what it was in an instant, knew it and embraced it. It filled him like water fills an empty cup and he drank deeply, savoring its bitter sweet taste.
He was enraged that despite his numerous conflicts with this man, this beast, this friend of his, he had never been able to truly best him. Never. Not once! He was enraged that despite his best efforts, despite his putting his all into everything he had done, he hadn't found this friends greatest weakness, his greatest flaw. His heart filled to near bursting and his eyes filled with tears.
God damn you, you bastard!
The massive creature, a dragon the cyborg now realized, had finally closed the distance between the two of them to less than a thousand yards and the cyborg knew, without having to see, that the end of his life was near. Not if I have anything left to say about it! The cyborg ground his teeth together and tensed his muscles, preparing himself for the coming strike. The dragon heaved and its massive jaw opened to emit the most twist and evil spray of fire the cyborg had ever seen, twisting this way and that as it was possessed.
It was possessed the cyborg realized in shock, for in that same instant he had spotted his friend, his nemesis, his most hated and loved of enemies, astride the great beast, weaving his arms back and forth in the air like some kind of exotic dancer. He is controlling the fire with his thoughts! This was all the realization the cyborg was granted, for the fire had closed to lethal distances and his shock melted away as his body reacted.
Rage was a potent thing in a body that was on its final death legs and his was no exception. Filled with energy and strength he could have sworn was long since gone, the cyborg snapped his wings closed and rolled to his right, plummeting a good twenty feet almost instantaneously and closing the distance between the two combatants to less than four hundred yards. I will never give in!
His wings snapped open and he twisted his body up, using his momentary momentum to zip his way back up to slightly above where he had originally been and facing toward his opponent. His mouth opened and he roared defiance at the pair, his voice filling the air for hundreds of yards in either direction. The dragon, as was true in any fight with the majestic beasts, roared back defiantly, the air seeming to vibrate with the massive sound energies it employed. The cyborg roared a second time and then shot himself forward, directly toward the pair and the eager, hungering jaws of the waiting dragon.
I only have one shot at this! The dragon roared a second time, the sound energies and warm air rushing over the cyborg with such ferocity that he nearly lost control of himself, and then it too, charged forward to meet the attacking winged cyborg. It's massive jaws opened wide to admit the smaller creature neatly into its mouth, but the cyborg, as was true of his very nature, had a different plan entirely.
The two closed the distance between themselves with lighting speed and when all others would have lost hope and simply have surrendered, at the very last possible instant, the cyborg snapped his wings hard down and shot himself up a few precious feet above where the dragons level head was. It easily compensated, as its reflexes were comparable to no other creature alive, or artificial but thus placed itself exactly where the cyborg wanted it to be. Its head was now slightly above the natural inline of its spine and thus, within the sight line of its rider. The cyborg was just slightly above this and his heart soared even as his mind shut down in light of his impending doom, his body carrying out his final wish.
His great black blade, perhaps the most misused and misunderstood weapon of the entire fight, was finally coming into play. The cyborgs fleeting hope was that it worked as well as he hoped it would, because if it held true to the properties he thought it possessed, then the resulting explosion of it hitting the much harder armored plates of the dragons head, in conjunction with the dragons head and neck position, would not only kill the cyborg, and possibly wound the great beast greatly, but it could possibly kill its rider.
And that, was all the cyborg wanted.
He roared one last time, and brought the blade up and to the side, slamming it hard into the side of the great beasts head.
(What happens now, is up to you.)
Sorahn yelled with frustration as Koran rolled gracefully away from his jet of fire. The fleeting hope that he could finally end this battle slipped from his grasp. “Argh!” He grunted through gritted teeth as a wave of pain surged through him. He looked down at his makeshift bandage, which was now soaked almost completely through with his warm blood. He could feel his strength slowly leaving him. His began breathing faster as he clenched his teeth harder, trying to block out the pain. His hands had begun shaking and he was starting to feel cold.
No! I can not be beaten so easily! All I must do is finish this battle quickly and the monks can take care of this scratch. He thought, grunting as he fought a fresh wave of pain. Anger had begun to show on his face. Nyris is not wounded. That gives me the advantage.
Almost as soon as he thought this the dragon wavered slightly. Sorahn hadn’t noticed that his flight had already become erratic. He could feel the great dragon straining to maintain his path. Nyris? What is wrong?
You are badly injured, thus am I. The dragon responded cryptically, as always. Your pain is a heavy burden I must carry.
Sorahn only partially understood the dragon’s words, but now was not the time to ponder such things. Koran had gotten desperate. Sorahn could see it in his eyes as he turned to face him. And they both knew what desperate men were capable of. Sorahn clutched his abdomen as a wall of fiery pain washed over him, causing him to grimace. I am growing quite desperate myself.
His eyes met Koran’s for an instant. Both of them had the insane, enraged look reserved only for the dying. Just in that one look, they understood each other completely. Neither of them would let the other win. Sorahn’s shakes grew more violent as his muscles grew tense with anger. He was pushing his body to the limit as adrenaline flowed through his veins, giving him one last push of strength, and managing to block out the great pain just long enough.
The great beast gave a powerful roar that shook Sorahn through his back. Sorahn yelled as well as his black spear appeared in his hand again. He was consumed with a desire to win. By now he knew he would die. This was his final stand. He was determined to make his death count.
The dragon felt this intense drive as well and roared again, surging forward with a new strength. He had the same hunger as Sorahn, and was ready to give his dying breath to this battle. He opened his powerful jaws and beat his wings with ferocity.
Suddenly Sorahn saw the glowing orange blade as Koran raised it to strike. It pulsed with an immense stored energy and Sorahn’s eyes grew wide as he realized what was about to happen.
“NO!” He screamed, and leapt up out of the saddle. He quickly pushed off with his right foot and hurled himself forward, toward Koran. He flew what felt like a mile up the dragon’s neck to his head. He roared one final time as he brought the spear down on his friend and opponent with all the strength he had left. Time moved slowly as they met, the passion of a warrior filling them both. He put his soul behind that blade, and it sailed toward its target like a meteor.
I will not die a coward.
The pulsing orange blade met Nyris’s hard scales with incredible force, sending cracks along its length. The very air shook as it exploded with violent impact, sending a shockwave in all directions. A huge ball of fire burst forth in the air, lighting up the sky with a bright orange glow. The ground below rumbled as trees were blown sideways with the force.
Then everything fell silent.
Ashiakin
10-31-08, 06:54 PM
Koran
Continuity - 6
Setting - 7
Pacing - 6
You did a good job of establishing a basis for the story in the beginning, but it seemed to get lost in the noise of the battle as it progressed. This is not necessarily a bad thing. It just made the battle feel strangely weighted, with its character/history-centric opening and pure-combat heavy battle. Your use of the setting, though, was interesting and effective.
Dialogue - 5
Action - 7
Persona - 6
In this area, your dialogue tended to be too grandiose to sound believable. It sounded like a prepared speech someone might give, not off-the-cuff remarks to quickly changing situations. People general don't have the time to speak eloquently without preparation. Other than that, this was a lengthy battle but you included enough turns to keep it interesting.
Mechanics - 6
Technique - 5
Clarity - 6
You maintained a very good post length for most of this battle--they were just the right length to maintain a sense of urgency and flesh out your posts enough to make them individually compelling. You tend to write long posts in your quests, but the short ones really do you well here.
Wild Card - 6
Total - 60
Sorahn
Continuity - 6
Setting - 7
Pacing - 6
See what I mentioned to Koran about the story feeling unbalanced between the opening and the rest of it, as it applies to you as well. I thought you opening was particularly well-done--you used your setting to situate your character in a cultural context and led into your relationship with your opponent. And you did it using dialogue without sounding goofy! That was well done. Still, my complaint about the balance still applies.
Dialogue - 7
Action - 8
Persona - 7
When your dragons speaks/thinks to you, I would drop the bold dialogue and just do it as you would read it normally in a book. Bolding your dragon's words seem to make them more important than your own character's words, which obviously isn't the case. There's no need to change the text for a distinction like that. Other than that, character was your strongest area.
Mechanics - 7
Technique - 6
Clarity - 7
You did pretty well in this area. Sometimes you make minor errors with how you structure your dialogue, though--capitalizing words that should not be capitalized (use "No!" he screamed instead of your "No!" He screamed...) and not breaking from a paragraph after spoken words or thoughts that would have provided a clear and acceptable end to it and a transition to another. Those were my only major complaints on this front, though.
Wild Card - 6
Total - 67
Sorahn wins.
I'm going to give you both a little more EXP since this had 21 posts.
Koran gains 800 EXP.
Sorahn gains 2600 EXP and 200 GP.
(From what I can tell from looking at past threads, the challenger does not seem to lose the 100 GP they pay if they do not win the battle. If this is not correct and Koran is supposed to lose 100 GP, please let me know.)
Witchblade
11-03-08, 07:34 AM
EXP and GP added!
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