Weathering the Storm: A Cold Front Approaches. (Green Vs. Angel of Light)

[Green is the new black.]

The great stone disk floated defiantly in the sky, refusing to budge before the power of the swirling tempest that tormented the sky like the wrath of an angry god. It was about sixty feet in diameter, and it slowly and steadily rotated, indifferent to the intense winds. The edge of the grey disk was lined in vicious, seven-foot metal spikes pointing straight upward. Blinding bolts of lightening lashed these steel thorns, sending surges of electricity through a grid of flat, wide metal strips that were bolted into the surface of the disk with massive screws. The squares of polished stone between the eight-inch lines of metal were a little over two feet; large enough to stand on easily, but tripping or stumbling at a bad moment could be disastrous.

Orun’s leather boots hit the stone disk with the deep, muffled thud of a war drum. An extreme sensation of vertigo overtook him as he felt himself falling for a drawn-out moment. The drop ended with a surprisingly dexterous landing. The green-skin’s knees bent reflexively on impact; it was an instinctive reaction that he’d developed during his childhood in the mountains of Salvar. He grunted slightly from the force of the impact. He could feel the blunt end of a large metal bolt press into the sole of his boot. As he glanced around, Orun saw the silhouette of the massive bird that had served as his transport flying away.

For all the magical power that it must have taken to craft such an arena, it would probably seem odd to have the combatants fly through the storm to reach it on the back of a bird. Certainly, the fighters could have been teleported there, but the storm was more than combat hazard. It was served to test the resolve of the challengers. Only those with the hearts of lions and wills of iron would brave such a storm. That, or anyone with the skill to detect the protective enchantment that kept the bird and rider safe for the trip up. A destructive shard of lightening descended from the dark sky, slicing into the magnificent bird, blasting it apart in an explosion of feathers and gore. Apparently, it was only a one-way trip.

Orun adjusted his footing immediately, placing both feet onto the slick stone. A mere moment later, another jagged dagger of light lashed out against the darkness, striking the spikes surrounding him, charging the wide metal grid covering the floor with deadly electricity. It had certainly been an interesting twist of fate that had placed the half-Orc on the stormy disk. Out of boredom, the green-skin paid a visit to the Dajas Pagoda. He wasn’t even exactly sure of what it was, but that detail didn’t seem important at the time. Then, he won his first fight and was offered a place on the Hierarchy. How could he say no and still cling to his claim of being a warrior, let alone his Orcish pride?

The arena itself was a different story. He’d gotten the idea from a chef on a Coronian Naval Frigate while serving as a mercenary. The chef, Christopher Knighton, if Orun’s memory served him, never shut up about anything; he was always telling stories and being generally annoying. One interesting story that the chef told in passing was about an arena of truly epic proportions that he’d supposedly found himself in during a visit to the legendary Citadel in Radisanth. The half-Orc hadn’t really believed the story, and didn’t pay the tale much attention until one of the Pagoda monks had asked him what he desired for his battlefield. Thinking about it now, at least Orun knew that it was at least possible for the irritating chef to have been telling the truth.

Some distance away, Orun’s keen ears detected the remote squawk of another great eagle. He tried in vain to find it in the swirling gloom. The wind-swept rain might as well have been solid stone, pelting his skin and stinging his eyes like needles so that even his Orcish eyes failed him. Whatever was coming, he wouldn’t be able to see it until it arrived on the disk. Orun gripped his small iron ax in his hand, feeling the muscles in his forearm tighten in anticipation, and readied is round wooden shield. His red eyes flashed as lightening slashed the ominous sky as he waited for the coming of a different kind of storm.

[Angel of Light]

It was quite the fall to the stone-and-electric platform that loomed massively below, but the fire-haired woman did not even blink as the lightning streaked around her during the descent. Even when the great eagle was struck by a precise stray bolt, the challenger’s ruby eyes stayed locked on the ever-growing ground beneath her. A short white trail followed her falling form, the white trench coat she always wore streaming behind her as she plummeted ever closer to her appointment with fate. Echoed by an ear-splitting thunder crack overhead, the determined woman’s feet hit the ground. For a moment, she saw a city, engulfed in war, as she stood up from her crouched landing; the memory that could not have been hers faded in a blink when she saw the… thing… that stood as her opponent in the arena.

Lightning crackled along the deadly grid of steel each time a bolt even came near the rods that surrounded the arena, and for a flicker of a moment, Adelia was worried. Adelia Dike Veritas; she had been told once that her surnames meant “Justice” and “Truth”, but that information simply confused her. Why would she name herself after two ideals that had no place in the city of Discord? Discord… the city of demons. That memory had recently surfaced from the abyss of her mind, unbidden and unwanted. It was nothing more than glimpses of buildings and residents, but those glimpses stirred something inside her that she did not like. The sheathed katana held in her right hand made her hand tingle and it only took a glance down to notice that it was fairly close to one of the myriad of lethal lines. Only a glance because that was all she would allow herself before turning a scrutinizing eye toward her foe.

He was rather large, and green. Definitely green. He would have passed for a rather vile demon back home for his appearance. The only thing the two warriors had in common at all was the similarity of their eyes. Flickering flames danced behind her ruby orbs while his looked like spheres drenched in blood. If the white-clad woman had known or felt pleasure in inflicting pain, the blood in his eyes would have given her next smile a sadistic look. Instead, it was empty of anything save the thirst for life that was only found in mortal combat. Her arms began to take on a slight glassy sheen in the moments before her charge, but the true importance of this abnormality would not come into play until later… hopefully.

Wildness flickered in her eyes as she darted straight toward the green thing, her left hand holding the hilt of her katana while her right hand adjusted the reinforced sheath it always held to allow for a smooth and lightning-fast draw. Her feet found a solid grip on the rain-slicked tiles, treating the stone slabs like a wall back home. Occasionally she would leap two tiles to the left or right, alternating each time to keep her query in the center of her attack path. Thirty feet… twenty-five feet… twenty feet. She mentally counted the remaining distance while keeping careful track of the electrified lines below, making certain she did not accidentally step on one. When ten feet remained between her and the green hunk of meat, her left hand shifted down slightly and she released the lock on her sheath, sliding the blade out an inch from its home. At eight feet, she began the split-second draw of her nukiuchi; the blade flashing almost of its own accord as it cut through the air toward the right bicep/triceps area of his arm. Seeing how the green man was taller than her, this put a decent upward motion to her swing and hid her right hand from easy view. Hit or miss, she would continue moving foreword and to the left, crossing his body and hopefully moving away from any counterattack. Hiding her hand was not important, but it was the beginning of a pattern that she would take advantage of later.

[Green is the new black.]

A feral grin flashed across Orun’s face as lightening branched through the turbulent skies in a dazzling display. He pressed his thumb against his ax blade, drawing a bead of blood that was instantly washed away by the frigid rain. His foe charged forth without hesitation, in a manner that was bold and fearless, yet cautious and deliberate. Their eyes met as the blinding energy flashed from the heavens. Their eyes became hellish embers and, for a single fleeting moment, there was an oddly intimate connection. It was the primal link between two rivals testing the mettle and will of their foes, determining who was to be the predator and who the prey. The half-Orc could see her desire for battle, but he sensed no animalistic hunger. Even as their eyes met, he could not see anything in her. It was as though she was truly empty. What was she, then?

She was lithe and swift, her feet surprisingly sure on the slick stone. Her steps were even and carefully calculated, even in the intense battering rain and wind. Her slim frame and long red hair made her a mildly attractive woman in Orun’s opinion. Of course, few women would seem very beautiful compared to his partner Siren. Nearly every man who laid eyes upon her, and about half of the women, lusted after the voluptuous half-Mer. Even Orun had to admit that—

The half-Orc tore himself away from that particularly suggestive train of thought only with the aid of his foe’s close proximity. In an instant, his fighting instincts moved in to replace a very different type of instinct. His opponent was upon him in a heartbeat, a slender blade slashing forth from her sheath like a striking snake. Only Orun's honed reflexes saved him from suffering a quick and messy defeat. With a fluid motion of his arm, he placed his round shield in the path of the oncoming sword without an instant left to spare. The razor-sharp edge of the sword cut into the hard, damp wood of the shield, serving as a testament to just how lucky he was that the blade hadn’t hit its mark.

At that moment, the half-Orc’s eyes met the woman’s again and he realized that he’d gravely misjudged her. Her red orbs burned like a raging forest fire, untamed and dangerous. Orun knew that he was still the true predator among them, though, and was prepared to prove it. He took a powerful step forward, pushing out against the woman’s sword. The bestial snarl that escaped his throat didn’t even serve as a warning for the conclusion of his brutal counter-attack, as it only came after his ax cut through the swirling air. He took a powerful step forward, the impressive muscles in his arm flexed like thick cables. The heavy iron ax surged toward its target, powered by his Orcish might.

[Angel of Light]

As steel tasted wood, the flame-haired woman almost flinched. She had never fought against a man using a shield before, and in her blind charge, she completely lost sight of the mobile armor. She did not have time to berate herself, though, for the green demon (she had never seen an orc before) was already swinging his own axe at her. A clean hit from that beast of a weapon would easily do her in, but axes had their own weaknesses to exploit, just as the green demon surely had his own. Her first order of business in any case would be avoiding the shining crescent that her opponent's metallic blade was cutting straight toward her.

Fiery red eyes from both combatants narrowed as they locked once more, and for a moment, Adelia could have sworn she saw a wild boar charging her – a rabbit. The boar was her opponent, but she was no rabbit; she was a panther, starving for a meal and desperate enough to face down something that could kill her. Starving? The bar fight that marked her entrance into the minds of some was but an appetizer compared to the feast that she was partaking in now. Her foreword momentum was halted mostly when the beast pushed his shield at her, but also by an abrupt change in plans. Axes, though powerful when swung, were also limited by that power. Changing one’s target while swinging an axe was practically impossible, even with great muscles. It was following that line of thought that brought the white-coated woman to drop her right shoulder and throw her small weight into a diagonal roll that sent a surge of electricity through the ribs on her right side. Her calculation hadn’t taken into account how close she was to one of the electrified lines along the floor, but thankfully it had been long enough since the last strike that all she felt was an involuntary tightening of her side.

The rain, pouring as hard as it was, made some of her more potent techniques nearly impossible to achieve from a range, but that did not mean all of them were discounted. For some reason, she had half a notion to say something resembling a short monologue, but her mind quickly rejected the idea. Words were useless while fighting, as were excess thoughts. As she sprang up from her roll, three things happened almost simultaneously: the glassy sheen on her arms from before shifted into what looked like a covering of red scales, her left hand switched its grip on her katana to hold it blade-down, and her right hand switched its hold on the reinforced sheath to bring it to a position that resembled a blade. The flame-haired woman pushed off once again from the ground, driving herself into a slight clockwise spin as she did so. If she was as quick as she hoped and the green demon reacted as slow as she wished, the spin would drive her blade into the thick meat of his left leg and the sheath would follow shortly afterward with a strike to his left ribs. Both sword and sheath were weapons to the white-coated woman as this strike demonstrated; they were very potent weapons against someone not expecting the second strike.

[Green is the new black.]

Sorry for the wait. I guess that's my warning.

Orun didn’t falter for an instant as his axe sliced through the empty air. He’d been in such situations more times than he could count. His sharp eyes followed the slender form of his opponent instinctively. He kept his momentum moving, even as his strike missed.

Timing was paramount. The half-Orc was surprisingly swift for his size, but his foe’s lithe form gave her an advantage that she would be able to capitalize on in a most brutal fashion should she get through his defenses. Maintaining a balance that was almost cat-like, Orun spun around, following the direction of his swing. His left foot pivoted on the slick stone but didn’t falter. He’d fought on ice before; this was nothing worse.

The time it took the white-clad woman to roll and spring off the slick stone was more than enough for Orun to swing his entire body around to reengage her. Hostile steel flashed and the half-Orc swung his shield in a powerful arc. The wooden shield impacted the slashing katana, adding another groove in the hard wood. The woman’s second strike hit home, however. The bladeless sheath impacted the green-skin’s rib cage with an audible thud. Fortunately, the amount of force that the tiny woman was able to muster was only enough to leave a rather painful welt on the burly half-Orc’s chest.

His second counter-attack came hard and swiftly. The axe, never having stopped its movement, surged onward, striking at his smaller foe while she was still committed to her attack. The forceful attack was immediately followed by two steps back. These were partially to put some distance between him and the red-head. Mostly, though, they were to keep his balance.

Orun’s booted feet slammed soundly against the solid stone just as he sensed a tingling in his spine. He closed his eyes an instant before another jagged bolt of lightening slashed another phantom wound into the sky. With a bright flash that illuminated the arena, it struck the crown of spikes, sending a deadly surge of electricity through the metal grid. Needles shot through the half-Orc’s ankles and calves as the electricity discharged throughout the disk, some of it jumping through the thin layer of rain water coating the floor.

He raised his shield intuitively, preparing for his opponent to take advantage of the temporary lighting.

[Angel of Light]

The green skinned demon was fast; he was faster than she expected him to be. He was also battle-wise. All three of these factors worked in conjunction against the fiery redhead, but even out-muscled she refused to concede defeat. This fight was just warming up. The solid connection between her sheath and the green demon’s ribs confirmed that he was merely mortal, but she was soon to have her own mortality brought to light. Despite being more agile, Adelia’s mind still swam with thoughts that clouded her perception and slowed her reactions. Her mind fought with her body, the rational logic desperately trying to prevail over the memory deeply ingrained into the muscles that drove its cage. She couldn’t have been the terror her body so desperately wished to unleash, but the instincts that drove her now couldn’t have come from anywhere but the black spots in her mind.

As the axe cleaved its path through the rain, the white-cloaked woman allowed her body to go limp in mid-flight. The axe bit into the scales of her right arm and the now-flying rag doll’s course took an unexpected change. Her face tightened as her natural armor was penetrated by the tremendous swing, but she gave no sound to acknowledge that she felt the source of the red liquid running down her arm. The gash wasn’t too terrible, but the blood loss would do her in if she didn’t do something to stave the flow. She landed hard on the floor, springing up as fast as she could to get her body off the lethal conduits. Flames leaped from her eyes, almost literally, as a baseball-sized fireball formed near the left hand that still held her deadly blade. Gritting her teeth, she slammed the orb into the wound, causing the scales around it to glow with a magical light as they fought to nullify the flames being forced at them. Steam and the stench of burning flesh mingled as lightning flashed once more, charging the grid with enough power to stop even the green demon’s heart. Flexing her right hand some to see if she still had control, a sinister grin spread across her face while murder flashed across her eyes. This demon didn’t know what he was up against. She didn’t know what she was doing.

The green demon had his shield raised to protect his torso, but in doing so he left his legs completely open. Since her opponent had jumped backward, there was now close to eight feet separating the two warriors thanks to her rag doll roll. Anger rose up inside her, fueling the eternal flames of her soul and giving rise to another fireball that floated a small orbit about her left wrist. The slightly glowing scales around her arm were testament to the heat of the sphere, even if she didn’t feel anything but extra warmth. A practiced motion brought her blade into its sheath and a couple steps brought her stance to straddle one of the electrifying channels, left foot on the tile in front of it and right foot on the rear tile. She brought her sheathed blade with both hands to a position a few inches away from her right hip, tip just below parallel to the ground. The fireball was slightly smaller thanks to the deluge, but its circuit was now meandering around the tip of the sheath. Her otherwise sopping wet form had no intentions of making an assault this time; she would wait for him to come to her. Then he would die.

[Green is the new black.]

And the attack he was expecting never came.

Orun’s eyes opened the instant that the electric flare vanished. He was both surprised and relieved that the woman hadn’t made a point to strike while the nearby lightening illuminated her target. He wasn’t complaining, of course, as this only have him more of an advantage.

The first thing that he noticed after opening his eyes was not even a product of sight. He smelled burning flesh and a very faint remnant of blood on his axe. Two months before, these two sensory cues might have confused the half-Orc. Now, though, he knew exactly what had happened.

On a Coronian naval vessel barely a month before, he’d witnessed the same chef who’d told him the tale close a wound with ball of magical fire. The instant that Orun opened his eyes, he realized without a doubt that the same thing had occurred here. His counter-attack must have hit something on his foe, and in the brief moments following the exchange, she had burned the wound closed. It would appear that the green-skin was about to be on the receiving end of magic for the first time.

Without wasting a second, Orun went back on the offensive. He could still see clearly in the rainy gloom, having protected his eyes from the flashing lightening. The attack was far from reckless or predictable, however. His life in the wilderness had taught him how to balance vigilance and aggression. The woman of fiery eyes, hair, and spirit was had sheathed her blade. The half-Orc could only guess at how quickly the swift weapon could be drawn and brought to bear against him at angles that he could never hope to defend in time. His well-adjusted Orcish eyes also spotted the unnatural fireball floating at the end of her sheath, as well as what looked like strange red scales on her arms. There was much about this woman that he did not know.

He snarled and darted forward. This was a false assault, however, as the green monster took but three steps forward before planting his heel on the slick stone, relying more on his posture and weight rather than traction to keep his balance. On the third step, Orun hurled his axe his foe. It spun through the air with a force and speed that only his Orcish strength could have generated.

Following the attack, the half-Orc remained stationary only long enough to draw his foot-long knife from his boot. It was curved and sharp, and even easier to throw than his axe. Scanning for his opponent’s movements, Orun was prepared to throw again before his axe had even reached its target.

[Angel of Light]

It wasn’t what she was used to doing, but waiting for an attack was often the most assured way to figure out an opponent. The first few hectic moments of battle had been spent in a series of no-holds-barred assaults, hoping to catch the green demon off his guard, but aside from a welt, he was mostly unharmed. She had taken a hit to her right arm; it wasn’t useless, but it would hurt if she wasn’t careful how she maneuvered. Though lighting shattered the skies in blue jags and bright flashes, the fire in her eyes took on a deeper, darker shade. This was all too familiar.

Step… The orc began his charge, one foot planted solidly in the ground while he effortlessly heaved his bulk forward. Even while her mind raced, a small part of her was completely aware of the creature rapidly approaching. Another flash of lightning obscured her vision for a moment; when the light died down she was no longer surrounded by lightning rods. Derelict buildings surrounded her and a green demon with an axe made of human bones and titanium stood in the place of the green demon she had been fighting earlier. His face was split with a sinister smile. Step… The vision of a demon and the orc stepped in unison with each other, both pulling back massive axes as muscles swelled with effort. Her own muscles tensed, legs preparing to lunge while her arms readied for a vertical draw. He wouldn’t be able to move his shield into the path of her blade this time. Stomp. The third step was different. The demon of her mind kept running, but the shred of consciousness that remained detached from her own dream told her that something was different. Lightning flashed again and her eyes slid off the green orc’s figure, searching for movement in the blur of his body as it went out of focus intentionally. She was surrounded by the metallic spikes again.

The arm!

Even as he executed his plan, Adelia started hers. He was still too far to strike normally, but the fist-sized fireball orbiting the tip of her sheath plowed through the rain almost without a conscious thought. Its target was his forward leg, or more specifically, the upper thigh of the one currently supporting the bulk of his weight. His motion had slowed, but his arm was traveling faster than before. He was thoroughly committed to his attack; now was the time to strike! Her legs exploded like coiled springs, powering her straight ahead toward the orc. She forced her body to stay close to the ground as the axe flew overhead, the skin on her back tingling as the weapon passed over her. The hilt and sheath of her katana arced from their proximity to the deathly grid and sent electric charges through her arms, but the redhead would not allow nature to take her victory. Something foreign found her face as she unsheathed her blade, steel glimmering in the lightning that surrounded the two combatants as she pulled the blade up toward the sky. It was a smile; the first true smile she had worn since her arrival on the world of Althanas.

Finally… someone she could enjoy fighting!

[Green is the new black.]

In an instant, the battle was raging like the storm that contained it. Orun’s axe had missed its target, which had been expected. The brutal weapon skipped and clattered across the ground, landing across one of the lethal metal strips. Crackling sparks danced across the metal blade and the half-Orc knew that he probably wouldn’t be using that weapon in the near future. He’d also been expecting a counter-attack of some kind. What he didn’t anticipate was for such a small ball of fire as what his opponent was wielding to make it so far through the wind and rain.

The half-Orc hadn’t remained stationary long, but it proved to be enough time for the red-head’s supernatural attack to hit its mark. Orun’s well-adjusted eyes detected the glowing sphere, but it was too late to dodge. All he could do was steel himself and remain focused. The fireball was a diversion. He growled and clenched his jaw at the impact. He could smell his own flesh burning. The extreme pain only lasted a moment, though. Whatever was left of the fiery attack was significantly diminished by the storm. He’d gotten worse before – probably.

Either way, there was no respite for the green-skin. His foe was swift and bloodthirsty; she was already closing the gap. In response, Orun stepped back and threw his dagger, aiming ahead of his charging target. He knew that his chances of actually hitting were unlikely, but that wasn’t his reason. Being a veteran to many battles, the half-Orc was well aware how distracting flying projectiles can be. Anything to set his foe off edge would be of help. Of course, this left him completely unarmed… but he had a plan.

He wasn’t sure of how well his plan would fare against this particular human, though. Right from the beginning, the fiery-haired warrior woman was far different from most humans that Orun knew. Her entire demeanor had changed again, too. There was a gleeful smile on her face, as though she were dancing through a flower-filled meadow instead of battling. She would have made a fine Orc, he thought. Unfortunately, this meant that winning the psychological battle would be far harder. But… he had a plan.

[Angel of Light]

Steel gleamed in the flashes of lightning, but it was not the steel that the redhead wielded. As she followed her fireball to reinitiate her relentless assault, the flying form of the green demon’s boot knife presented itself to her. Granted “boot knife” to something his size meant “dagger” to someone as small as Adelia. She was, however, too committed to her attack to do much of anything in the way of evasion. Her posture, low to the ground, negated many evasive options. Falling down, as she normally would to avoid something in her current posture, would warrant a rather unpleasant electrical shock. Attempting to change her direction would compromise her already tenuous grip on the rain-slicked floor. And end up with the same result as falling. Stopping was impossible. In essence, she had trapped herself.

Still she smiled.

With no chance to avoid the hurled blade, the smiling girl simply charged through the downpour toward it. There wasn’t much else she could do. Backing down would make the pain worth nothing, after all. The dagger toppled end over end, alternating between safety and pain for Adelia. It was spinning far too fast to predict where and when she should surge one more step to get away with a strike by the hilt. The blade came within four feet of her. She flinched. Her right arm screamed. Lightning arced from the grid to the dagger as it slid across the ground. Apparently she wasn’t as confident as she thought she was. Her course altered from an assault to a simple pass, and she didn’t even unsheathe her sword. Still she smiled. She wasn’t dead yet.

Flexing her arm at the elbow when her momentum finally wore off, pangs of pain from both the axe strike and now a shallow puncture wound reminded her of a sensation she could never really remember feeling. It was… strange. She wanted to move her arm, but moving it meant a feeling that told her she shouldn’t move it. This wound would need cauterizing now, too. The green demon was going to die quickly for this. The fire-haired woman released the sheath from her right hand while her left drew the blade from its home. This demon was rather fun to fight, but it was time she got serious. The smile vanished from her countenance, replaced by a determination that flowed through her body. The reinforced steel blade reflected the erratic flashes of lightning as she set a careful, measured pace toward her opponent. Her trench coat fell to the ground in a neat pile in the center of one concrete block to reveal a black shirt that hugged her small chest and extended barely below it along with a pair of small black shorts, most likely meant to simply cover her decently. Apparently her coat was her primary outfit.

With nothing covering her shoulders, it was easy to see where the red scales ended on her arms. It wasn’t a stark transition, but rather a gradual fade that went from pale skin around her neck to half-scales climbing across her shoulders to full scales just past the shoulder. The overlapping red armor pulsed as she walked, but the meaning behind the pulses was not clear until the silvery blade of her katana started glowing orange. Steam rose where the rain drops splashed onto the metal for a few seconds. Her opponent was without a visible weapon, but he still had a shield. The wet wood would not burn, but her plans never included striking the shield in the first place.

“Moron.”

It was the first word she had spoken since arriving at the lethal arena, and from her tone, she was quite disappointed about something. Or wanted to kill something. It was hard to tell from the lack of emotion in her voice. The hissing of water boiling off the orange blade may have accentuated her word, but it was uncertain whether or not the creature could hear it. The pulses of deeper red among the scales covering her arms quickened, and a strange aura surrounded her sword. The aura lasted for only a moment before erupting into flames along the entire metallic surface. The pain in her right arm didn’t matter now that she had no intention of using it. Her left arm was stronger anyway. She didn’t want to charge toward him again, three failures had taught her better than that, but she didn’t feel comfortable just standing around. It was quite the dilemma. If he moved toward his thrown weapons, however, she would have no reservations against removing his head from his shoulders. The only thing that stalled her now was how effective his defenses were. If she could find him off his guard… he would not live to realize his mistake.

[Green is the new black.]

Once again, Orun could sense the change in his adversary’s mood, as her outward emotions seemed to fluctuate like fire in the wind. To his surprise, his thrown dagger seemed to have hit something. The fiery woman had been moving too quickly to pinpoint where and to what effect, though. What he could see was that her course shifted so that she was no longer making an attack run.

His foe passed by without attacking, not even drawing her sword until afterwards. She’d paused to draw her blade and throw off her coat. Orun, however, was not going to allow her respite. The green-skin could see her sword glowing with supernatural heat, steam pouring off of it like water. He realized that the sooner he ended this bout, the fewer of her strange powers he’d wind up on the receiving end of.

As Orun pivoted on his right foot and took the first running step toward his adversary, his animalistic fighting instincts took over and he became far more aware of the things around him. The storm was intensifying. Salvos of lighting struck the edges of the arena with deafeningly explosives cracks.

Step.

His leather boot pounded onto the next square of stone. Lethal electricity coursed through the metal grid. The icy rain pelted his face like needles. He heard the first words spoken in the entire duel. It was amusing, Orun thought, that she would choose to call the being who’d been outsmarting her for the entire fight a moron. To this, the half-Orc had but one reply… on laced with as much scorn as any foul insult.

“Human.”

Step.

His foe’s glimmering scales were even more noticeable with her coat removed and the wrath of the gods exploding around them. As to what manner of sorcery it was, Orun could only guess. The half-Orc’s gleaming eyes remained locked onto the woman’s sword, the glowing steel burning into his eyes. That weapon was the real threat and her primary defense. The scales would probably provide some protection, but against an axe or the lightening, they would surely be useless. At least, Orun hoped so.

Step.

The final step was crucial. A single exploited gap in his defenses could prove disastrous should his adversary manage to bring her blade to bear. That fact was the focal part of his plan. His last lunging step brought him into the woman’s range. Orun swung out with his shield. His target was not his foe’s body, but her sword. He smashed down upon the deadly blade with astounding swiftness, hoping to buy the fleeting instant required for the second part of his maneuver.

Continuing the movement in a fashion far more fluid than most would expect from one with Orcish blood, Orun’s right hand snapped out like a striking snake. His hand was not balled into a fist; instead, it was open. His target was not his foe’s neck, head, or torso; his swift hand grabbed for her long ponytail, ending with a solid yank.

[Angel of Light]

So many of her plans had been ruined by the green demon. Out of all of her efforts, only two had made any indication of harming him in the slightest, and those had done little damage at best. It was… irritating to put it lightly. Unfortunately for the orc, she wasn’t dead yet, and as long as she still held her sword, she had no plans of losing. Her legs tingled as the downpour increased and the lightning struck with renewed vengeance all around. It was annoying. Her opponent was annoying. Her opponent was charging.

It looked very much like his last charge, but he had neither axe nor dagger to assault her with this time. The only weapon he had left was his shield. Again her patchy memories overlapped her senses and showed her another picture from what she could only imagine to be her past. The creature’s voice was unnaturally hoarse, but she couldn’t tell if it was because he now looked like an ashen skeleton or because the thunder had damaged her ears. It was certainly loud enough. As the lightning flashed, skeleton replaced green skin replaced skeleton until the redhead couldn’t remember which one she had started fighting.

Human, was it? The demon had no idea. She didn’t quite know either. In her travels across the land of Scara Brae she had seen many humans, but none could produce the same effects she could. Not exactly at least. One came close, but he said he was actually a dragon in disguise, so that didn’t count.

The gren monster's powerful muscles shook the ground as he came ever closer; any normal person would probably cower in front of the towering muscle, but she didn’t even flinch. He would make his mistake; he had a habit of making mistakes and she was going to capitalize on it once and for all. Her blade was in a simple ready stance, angled a little more toward the sky than toward the ground with the hilt near the height of her stomach. The blade was held with her left hand near the kashiragane with plenty of space near the tsuba for her right hand to clasp if necessary. The steam was drowned by the rain even as the same drops assaulted her body, but the flames never went out.

Bracing for the worst, Adelia took one step back. The increased electrical activity made the muscles in her left leg twitch now that her foot was dangerously close to one of the lethal channels, but as the beast swung his shield at her, she saw it. He made his mistake. Of the innumerable memories that vanished with her entrance to this foreign world, one in particular remained. Well, it was mostly intact; there was no voice associated with the words when she tried to think. “The first rule of engagement is to never underestimate your enemy. The second rule of engagement is to never lose your weapon. The third rule of engagement is to never attack your opponent’s weapon. The fourth rule of engagement is…” It was ironic how many of the rules that had been beaten into her this creature had broken in such a short time. While she was guilty of breaking the first, he acted as though he had never heard of any of them.

A strike against an opponent’s weapon was simply a wasted effort unless it was guaranteed to disarm them; it weakened the weapon and tired the wielder out, but that was all it did. With the green creature’s shield barreling down on her sword, her wounded right arm joined her left in steadying her blade. The shield impacted hard, knocking her blade to the left, but it didn’t travel as far as it should have. Instead, the weapon was pulled close to her left breast while she crouched down slightly. As his chest opened and his right hand began its reach, she thrust forward with both hands and straightened her legs toward him. The demon’s reach was long, but it was still less than the combined length of her fully extended arms and blade. There was no way he could recover his shield to block the tip of her katana and what little armor he had on his torso would do little to stop a penetrating strike. The bottom of his ribcage was her target. It would be a devastating blow if it connected, and she had no illusions that it wouldn’t.

One word, the same as before, escaped her lips. A thick disdain filled it, much colder than the first time she spoke.

“Moron.”

[Green is the new black.]

The fiery-haired woman’s move surprised Orun. This was not that he was caught off guard, but rather because he hadn’t expected his foe to seemingly misread his intention so. Indeed, many humans would have jumped to the conclusion that the green-skin’s actions were foolish… but such ignorance was common of the soft-skinned race.

In the eyes of a human, Orun was unarmed. His Orcish father’s clan, the Stone Hands, was different. Young Orcs were not allowed to wield a conventional weapon until they’d earned it – until they had proven that their own body was as deadly a weapon as any spear or axe. Even though Orun had not grown up with the Orcs for most of his youth, he knew that and empty hand can often be as dangerous as one clutching wood and iron. In the woman’s defense, this ignorant misunderstanding was common and almost forgivable among the humans that often hid behind their weapons.

Her counter-attack, however, was far more inexcusable. It was poorly executed for a number of reasons. First and foremost, it was too easily foreseen and reacted to. Instead of disengaging and evading, which would have struck Orun as the sensible thing for the tiny, wounded woman to do, she held firm and resisted the force of his bashing shield. She didn’t seem to realize that he’d never intended to disarm her in the first place – of course, that would have been a nice bonus.

Her reaction not only tipped the battle-hardened half-Orc off to an imminent counterattack, it also allowed him to react to it almost instantly. He used the built up kinetic energy from his opponent’s sword to help spring his shield back to his torso. That combined with the fact that, since his shield was closer to his body than her sword was, it had less distance to cover in the same amount of time. Despite this, the gap of time was miniscule between his clever defense and her strike; the muffled metallic clang and wooden thud served as grim testament to how close he’d come to defeat. Even still, he snarled and grinned at the woman.

“Weak.”

Simultaneously, Orun’s right hand abandoned its target of the human’s ponytail. It snapped back in a fraction of a second, just long enough to strike out once again. He balled his large green first and lashed out at his slight opponent’s face.

[Angel of Light]

It was impossible. It was improbable. It was happening again. The green demon had both anticipated and prepared a counter for her attack. Somehow, he had managed to bring his shield to bear against his chest to deflect the fire-encased sword that should have penetrated him easily. There was nothing the redhead could do for a moment after the strike failed to reach its target but gape at the vile shield. There were marks on it that hadn’t been there before this battle had started. The slash of her first strike… the gash of her second… the charred indentation of this last attempt to end the demon’s life.

The fist came quickly, almost too quickly. It was as though he could read every attack that ran through her mind and react to each one before she had finished thinking them out. Her hands refused to move fast enough to maneuver the blade into a position to block the punch. She rapidly abandoned that line of thought, resorting to the most primitive means of defense she could think of. She hated it. She pivoted on her right foot. A blotch of black exploded into a burst of color in her mind. She scowled at the orc with the ferocity of a thousand mothers who just found their son killing his baby sister. In the moments before the fist plowed into her face, she relived a full year of memories. Her parents slaughtered for protecting her, the transfusion of blood that began the process of forming her into what she had been, and a black flame that consumed her very soul. This creature… was simply lucky.

Crack!

The fist connected solid with the left side of her jaw, spinning her body along her already twisting path. The flames covering her sword extinguished themselves the instant the blade left her hands. The sword flew in a random direction far beyond anything she could hope to reach. Her foot slipped. It was bound to happen some time. The shock that flew through her brain tore apart any form of concentration that strove to hold the illusion that she was fighting on a vertical wall. It was the only way she could have traction on the impossibly wet concrete. The soaked platform approached all-too rapidly. Great mossy trees began to fill her vision, each one connected to the concrete below by darkened roots. Her body started to tingle. It wouldn’t be much longer before the next lightning strike. Any possibility of victory was gone now, but the newest shred of her mind wasn’t quite out of the picture yet. As she was about to bridge two of the lethal conduits, her arms lashed out toward his ankle in one final attempt to take him down with her. If she couldn’t live through this, he wouldn’t either. It was time to test just how good these monks were.

Electricity coursed through her body as her thighs and shoulders landed on a pair of electrified metallic channels mid-strike. Every muscle in her body seized up involuntarily as impulses infinitely stronger than what they were used to gave signals to contract. Burning flesh permeated the air, but the redhead smelled nothing. White filled the vision of her last moments. Her body convulsed as lightning continued to strike, but she only felt the first one. Her heart stopped shortly after the discharge faded. White faded to grey… grey faded to black. Hell was better than she deserved.

[Green is the new black.]

Orun’s fist impacted soundly with the woman’s face. The blow’s solid crack mingled with the claps of thunder that filled the stormy skies around them. As surprising as it was for him that his strike connected, the look of shock, frustration, and amazement on his opponent’s face even harder for the green-skin to comprehend. The crux of the matter was that Orun could have died more than once during this fight had his foe taken advantage of opportunities properly. She clearly didn’t understand combat, and thus she deserved defeat.

As the tiny woman lashed out for his ankle, the half-Orc’s disgust for his foe reached new heights. She was literally half his size, on the floor, and had no leverage whatsoever. Even on the slick floor, it wasn’t nearly enough. She had spirit, but not much in the way of intelligence, it seemed. Orun shook his head out of distaste and pity as he kicked her hand away. Several stray jolts of electricity surged through the woman’s body and into his leg, but nothing more.

And so it was that Orun stood over his broken foe, victorious but not unscathed. The ravenous tempest consumed the arena – the sacred alter of war – further. The floating disk had become a hallowed shrine to the mating of the primal forces of nature and the brutal art of war. From that day onward, the battlefield would be consecrated again and again by the might of the gods and the blood of champions.

Finally, it was time for Orun to pay his own sacrifice to the sacred alter. Thunderclaps saturated the air, stinging his ears and resonating within his skull. The sky was alive with merciless energy. The winds swept and swirled without stop. The half-Orc strode for the edge of disk, the muffled thumps of his boots completely drowned out by the chaotic storm. With a mighty roar that cut even through the swirling typhoon, he gripped two of the spikes surrounding the alter of battle and gave himself to the storm. His offering was accepted.

[Karuka]

Right, I didn't put much detail, but you both scored really well. I also made dialogue out of 5 and action out of 15, since there wasn't enough dialogue to warrant the full 10 points.

Any questions can be PM'd to me. Green is in bold, Angel in italics.

Continuity 6:6

I know kinda where you're both coming from, but I know more about the distant past (Orc half-breed in Salvar, Demon child from Hell) than the immediate.

Pacing 7:7

Setting 8:7

Green interacted with the arena a little more, but I liked how you both kept in mind that you were on an electricity-riddled grid during an intense storm. Good job.

Persona 7:6.5

Green, I don't think Orun would be distracted by thoughts of Siren during a battle. I'm sure he enjoys looking at her, but come on. He's better than that.

Angel, I liked the character, but I didn't get to know her quite as well as I'd liked, and there were a couple of little almost-conflicts that were a little off-setting.

Action 9/15:8/15

Dialogue 5/5:5/5

Not much there, but I -loved- it.

Mechanics 7:7

Green, you have your typical errors, and like I told you... lightning. Not lightening. Noun v. verb.

Angel, you had the occasional glitch. Nothing really to worry too much about.

Technique 6:7

Green: You like metaphor. A lot. You like flowery wording. A lot. You put too much of it in there and cluttered the posts. It was kind of a headache, getting to the post beneath all the ornateness.

Angel: Nice flashbacks.

Clarity 7:6

Angel: How does a knife coming right at you at "fast enough to not be thrown off course by the wind" speeds not go right through your arm? Maybe that goes under action, but I put general physics in with clarity.

Wild Card 7:7.5

Total: 69:67

Green is the new black. wins!

Rewards: Green is the new black. gets 575 EXP and 150 GP.
Angel of Light gets 150 EXP.

Good job, guys!

[Letho]

EXP/GP added.