Breaking the Silence ((Open to any))

[Seth_Rahl]

Ifrit was back in Radasanth again, but he had no inclination to explore the city at all. Rather, he had come here for a plainer, simpler reason: he wanted to fight. And the best place for a good fight was none other than the famous Citadel, where you could die and be brought back to life. Not a very pleasant experience, but at least Ifrit did not have to hold back at all. Which was good, because nowadays he found that holding back was a good way to get yourself killed.

He walked quickly down the streets that he had only traversed once before, and that was in a horse-drawn cairrage. However, he knew the layout of the city now well enough from a shop keeper that had kindly gave the half-demon some directions. At first the demon had thought that the man had duped him after about twenty minutes of walking, but soon enough he could see the spire that indicated the location of the Citadel.

It soon came into sight as he quickly stepped out into the sun, where he mentally cringed, as before the sun used to hurt his sensitive skin. However, now that he had a "human" form, it didn't bother him at all. Another benefit.

"Hey there hun!" a whore called out to the demon, and he only half glanced at the scantily clad prostitute before walking away. She was pretty and all, and Ifrit hadn't had a woman in what seemed to be years. He honestly could not remember the last time he had sex. But for some reason the memory of Shiva kept on holding him back...

...and with that a million questions raised up their heads as well. Where was she? What was she doing? Was she still alive? Did she remember him? All questions that he couldn't answer.

In any case he ignored the prostitute and continued on his way, his youthful face exressionless as he climbed up the steps leading to the doors that would transport him to his destiny.

A monk greeted him at one of the doors. This one was a large-bodied man, and from the scars on his uncovered hands Ifrit would have guessed that before being a monk he had been a farmer or even a warrior. The man's face was covered with a hood, but his voice was soft and trusting. "Ah, a warrior approaches. Do you wish to participate in a Citadel battle?"

Ifrit simply crossed his arms and raised one black eyebrow.

The man chuckled. "I see. Follow me, then." And with that he strode away with the half demon in quick pursuit. He came to a door and, after knocking on it a certain number of times, opened it to reveal a black void. Wordlessly Ifrit nodded his thanks to the monk and stepped inside, drawing Eternium Beowulf in one smooth motion from his back.

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Ifrit stood alone on a simple arena set in the middle of nowhere. All he could see for miles upon miles on end was grassy wasteland, and he stood on a simple platform set in the middle of this wastland. The half demon sighed. He had been hoping to start off right away, but now it looked like he was going to have to wait. Just great.

He shoved the point of his giant blade in the edge of the arena and sat against it with his eyes closed and his arms crossed. While it may have looked like he was relaxing, he was really readying himself for anyone, or anything, that appeared as well.

He would be ready.

[Lucis]

Radasanth. The birthplace of the legendary citadel. Like any other city its size, it had all the necessities: taverns and bounty houses. It was out of the former that a pair of beautiful women stepped shortly after a certain half-demon walked by. Even though the reactions written on each observer’s face varied with the passing of the figure, a sly, knowing smile graced the countenance of the women who could recognize a skilled warrior. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where the man was headed; the citadel was quite literally the only building left in the direction he was walking.

“What do you say, Tanaë?” The woman leaning against the right side of the doorframe asked her minutes-younger sister.

“I say he looks delicious, Shanaë.” The younger replied, wetting her lips with her tongue.

“He’s heading to the citadel.” The first spoke again, almost disinterested.

“Then we should follow. It would not do…” Tanaë started, hesitating slightly for her sister to finish with the exact words she was going to say. “…To have anyone but us testing his mettle.”

With a shared smile that bordered on lust in many forms, the white-haired women walked in perfect lockstep, reed sandals slapping lightly on the paving stones as they moved with determination to the door of the majestic theatre. There was a new monk at the door since the last one was busy escorting their prey, but apparently he wasn’t quite as sharp as his more rotund counterpart. He eyed the matching red Akashiman kimonos with their black floral prints with a raised eyebrow, taking special notice that each girl had multiple hilts protruding over their shoulders.

“You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a fight, mistresses?” The brown-clad monk asked with a twinge of doubt in his voice.

“The man that just entered from this door… take us to his battle.” Both girls spoke in perfect synchronicity, causing the monk to take a small step back. Four eyes, red as blood with golden flecks swimming through them, glared at his hesitation until he bowed and opened the citadel doors for them. After all, it wasn’t his place to ask the motives of those who entered this hallowed warrior’s playground.

“Follow me.”

He led them through a maze of hallways and doors that only one who worked and lived in could know where they led. Shortly, the trio stood before a door that looked like every other door. The girls looked at each other for a moment before the monk opened the door into… a grassy field? Twin smiles widened as they saw the man who had passed them in the streets standing with his blade standing in the ground next to him. They walked through the door into the magical arena, only turning back when the entrance vanished in a rather unnecessary flash. Where the door once stood now showed only grass, and an experimental walk to where they knew the wall was produced nothing at all. It was as though they were in a completely separate dimension that only included the three of them. How perfect.

The girls walked toward the half demon that could not have missed their entrance in a lockstep that would have made an army commander jealous. Royal purple ribbons wound around their waists held their matching kimonos closed as the wind picked up across the knee-high grass. The ground was amazingly flat, but that only meant there wouldn’t be any hidden surprises in the grass if they needed to run around.

“Shanaë, what would you say if I wished to fight him alone?” The younger twin did not need to ask the question, but since they were within easy hearing distance of the man they came to play with, it was only proper they started their game right away.

“Whatever you wish to do is not my concern, Tanaë. Just make sure you leave him intact enough so I can have some fun with him later.” The way the older twin emphasized “fun” could have been taken any number of ways, but many were eliminated when she licked her lips and flipped her long hair over her right shoulder into the breeze.

“Don’t worry, dear sister. I’ve heard the monks here can work wonders on the body.”

“Then have as much fun as you wish, dear sister.”

Though there was no visible difference, the girl on the right must have been Shanaë. Before she left her sister’s side, however, she pulled the large bow at her sister’s back and released the long ribbon from around her own waist. While the kimonos hinted that their succulent figures, removing the Akashiman garbs revealed both far more and far less than was to be expected. Their tanned skin was smooth and without a single flaw, unless you could count a tattoo as a flaw. A red heart marked Shanaë’s left shoulder while a black spade graced Tanaë’s right. Both girls wore thin leather over their supple breasts, covering them completely while strongly hinting at the pleasing shapes underneath, and covering their hips was a matching pair of short leather trousers.

Sheaths were revealed in their entirety when their outer clothes were removed: a trio of straight blades strapped to Shanaë’s back and a pair of slightly mismatched blades angled across Tanaë’s back. The woman with the red heart took the bundle of clothes and walked a safe distance away while her sister squared up against her foe. Her right hand found the smaller of the two hilts and released the bastard sword from its resting place. Cold steel glistened in the sunlight as she held the hand-and-a-half with both hands in front of her in a rather simple ready position.

“Well,” came the sultry voice of the younger twin as she hungrily eyed the man before her, “are you ready to have a little fun?”

[Seth_Rahl]

I apologize about the lack of detail. Last night I wrote something much longer, but I forgot to save it and the server *glares at Serriliant* was acting up again. Jk Serriliant.

Ifrit grinned at the woman's sultry voice, and laughed out loud, a joyful, easy going laugh. He had been surprised by the twins at first, as they had seemed to appear out of nowhere and begin stripping, but soon he realized that that was only to maximize their movement capabilities. Smart move. Ifrit thought as one of the twins, assumingly the more brash of the two, pulled a hand-and-a-half sword from a sheath on her back and held it in a position that made Ifrit realize that she was very familiar with her weapon.

"Yes, its been awhile since I had fun." Ifrit said back, still chuckling. The other one of the twins had retreated to the other side of the arena, leaving her sister alone to fend off the cambion. "Lets not rush this, okay?" He said politely after his fit of laughter.

"To start off, my name is Ifrit Obsidian." He began as he stood up swiftly, the wind causing the black coat to blow back and reveal the curved knife at his belt, wicked and devilish. "I am the Captain of the Seventh Company of the Bladewraiths." As he introduced himself he pulled the giant blade from out of the ground behind him and spun it around his head for a couple moments with one hand before swinging it back around to hold it horizantally by his face while he beckoned the swordswoman cockily with one gauntlet claw. "Lets go." And with that he stayed still, the giant falchion held by his ear in an offensive position.

He would let her make the first strike.

To both Mods and Lucis: Beniiro won't appear till later, probably mid-fight between Ifrit and Tanae(sorry, I don't know how to do that whole dots thing.).

[Lucis]

He laughed. She smiled. Her sister didn’t care. From her ready stance, Tanaë, the younger of the twins, simply watched as her prey gave a short monologue. He would have made either a good hero or a good villain given how much he talked. She liked villains. They paid better bounties. But still, he talked far too much. There was no reason to say anything during a battle except your name, and even then that was just a formality for those too stuck-up to fight any other way. But even so, she was feeling particularly talkative today. Perhaps she could have a nice conversation before she killed him.

“Well then, Ifrit,” Tanaë said with her sensuous voice, “You can call me captain of the night, because that’s usually the only time you’ll see me like this.”

Whether she was referring to how little she was wearing or how serious she was being was anybody’s guess, but the end result was the same. She licked her lips like a lion preparing to strike down its prey and walked almost casually toward the black-haired man, shuffling one foot at a time so her stance never changed and she could never be caught flat-footed. Her right foot was always in front; her left foot was always angled to the side. The blade wan angled with the tip more vertical than pointing toward the man both because it was strong defensively and it was harder for her foes to accurately judge distances with it held like that. She knew how far she could safely advance, though.

Ifrit’s falchion blade was larger than most of the other blades she had seen; it would make a good addition to their collection if the monks could be persuaded to forego the post-battle healing. The way he held it told a few things about him, but most importantly it told Tanaë that he knew what he was doing. This wouldn’t be a quick kill after all.

Just don’t get too cocky and slip up, Tanaë. Shanaë’s voice rang through the younger sister’s head uninvited but very welcome. He doesn’t need to know our secret.

Yes, dear sister. Just be sure you move to keep your view clear like usual. Tanaë replied in her own mind, knowing that her sister would hear her thoughts the same way. Of the many things the sisterly bond shared between the two girls, their thoughts were easiest to communicate.

From the sidelines of the fight, Shanaë watched the imminent battle intently. She was interested in the man called Ifrit like her sister, but she had another reason to watch him. Tucked away in a small corner of their respective minds was something that nobody could quite explain. Even as the younger sister carefully advanced on her prey, she saw a second perspective of the battle at the same time. The illusion of the sword being shorter than its true length was rendered null by her second perspective. Her sister’s perspective. She stopped with her hands just outside the combined distance of what the man could reach if he fully extended his arm and lunged toward her.

He wouldn’t attack, not until her body breached his safe zone, but her blade was still closer to him than his blade was to her. It was a mind game of sorts, and she was rather adept at playing mind games. A three-quarter step forward with her left foot came all-too fast after a rather uncomfortable silence; her hands moved at the same time, left hand pulling back some while her right hand near the pommel moved forward. The result of the maneuver was rather interesting to see as the tip of the blade stayed almost in the same place for a full second before it whipped past her empty left shoulder. Her grip loosened as the double-edged blade spun down and she took a full lunging step toward her foe. Just before her foot hit the ground, she released the blade with her left hand and used her built-up momentum to draw a crescent slash with her right aiming for his right hip.

Shanaë smiled as she watched her sister’s assault. It was quite elegant despite the size of her blade. Through practice, the elder sister knew that trying to attack Tanaë’s left side while she used this strike was rather pointless. The sword acted as a rather nice shield as it swam through the air. She also knew what would happen if Ifrit blocked the strike. That knowledge simply made her smile more. All she had to do was keep watching and her sister had an advantage that her opponent couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

[Seth_Rahl]

She attacked.

It was swift, much swifter than he had expected. Using her own body for momentum she swung at the demon with both hands, only to release the pent up slash with one hand, a deadly move that would have cleaved the demon swordsman diagonally in half.

That is, if he hadn't jumped. Unbeknowest to the two female swordswomen, he had been not standing there for just defensive capabilities but for an offensive as well. He had been building tension within his legs as the silence had ensued, and as he saw her hand move he leapt up to, what he seemed to feel ten feet into the air with his demonic strength. In reality, it was more like 3 or four feet back wards into the air, but admist the intensity the girl had been showing and his own adreniline pumping through his veins his depth of perception became skewed, and time seemed to slow down for him, thus it seemed as if he were falling from a great height as he came to his senses.

Suddenly his eyes widened. There was something strange about the twin--his aura sense was flickering, like a dimming lightbulb. Also, the blade she held itself was stranger still. It seemed to be much longer than he had guessed at first. Illusion? He thought to himself, and as he descended he thought that the twins were much more dangerous than he had to give them credit for.

He decided to try something new. Extending his gauntleted hand he concentrated for a split second before yelling, "Burst!", and a full 3' by 3' fireball of hellfire erupted from the gauntlet, roaring and screaming as it launched towards the twin.

This blast propelled the devil backwards into the air once more, and Ifrit took his time as he gazed upon his opponents. Who were they? More importantly, what were they?

[Lucis]

The strike was strong and true, but her foe was neither weak nor slow. Rather than blocking the strike and suffering a retaliatory blow from the pommel, Ifrit decided to take to the skies. At first the twin sisters shared a collective gasp; they were neither willing nor able to effectively take out an airborne foe, but when he simply started falling back down to the earth below, they smiled as one again.

“How stupid.” Shanaë spoke quietly, echoing the thoughts of her sister. He was strong. He was skilled. He was stupid.

Continuing her circular motion, the fighting sister did what no sane fighter ever willingly did: she completely exposed her back to her enemy. Not that it mattered, really, because she could still see everything her sister saw and he wasn’t taking advantage of the opening quite yet. She did not have much time to gloat over the man’s stupidity, though, because his hand was extended and strange flames were amassing at an alarming rate. Taking a step forward and consequently away from her opponent, she brought her left hand to the hilt and leapt from the ground, forcing the last bit of her rotation faster than she was comfortable with.

Small hooks that were in no danger of injuring her hands littered the hilt of the sword as it flew on a slightly off-center path toward her aerial opponent. She had released the blade a moment too early, and now its randomly spinning flight path had no guarantee of striking the man it was aimed for. It would still be quite a surprise, she hoped, to see a sword flying toward him, though. Besides, she always had another blade if this didn’t kill him. Which it probably wouldn’t. The only strange thing about the spinning sword was the fact that every now and then between the blade and Tanaë’s hands the sunlight would glint off something, or, to be precise, six somethings. Before the blade left her hands, the woman had pressed her fingers together, slipping only on the thumb and ring fingers. The hooks on the hilt played their role now as they caught the magical strands that stretched between the fingers that had touched. It was a simple matter to allow the cutting threads to “unravel” and stay loose until the blade either struck its target or fell to the ground.

Shanaë cringed as her sister fell back-first onto the smooth grassy ground, thankful that there wasn’t anything too painful for her younger twin to land on. This was also a part of their bond, and the one part that irritated them to no end. It wouldn’t bruise, but even though she was just sitting there, she had felt her sister’s pain when she landed. It was slightly diminished, but she still started massaging her back as Tanaë stood up from her reckless dive. Her shins and feet were a little warm too, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that they had both escaped some serious pain. The grass was scorched, too, but not nearly as much as it should have been. Perhaps the strange behavior of the fire as Tanaë’s sword or cutting strands passed through its upper outside corner had something to do with the odd shape of the impact she was seeing now through her sister’s side of their bond.

Even as the younger sister stood up, she was not drawing her second blade. Her vision was blurry from the hit against the ground, but she was otherwise unharmed. She was also using Shanaë’s vision to compensate for her own until it fully cleared. Her white hair was quite disheveled as she stood, and one feature that had been hidden before made itself painfully clear now. She had elven ears. If her ears were elven, then her sister must have had the same ears, and if they both had elven ears, that meant they were both elves. It wasn’t a trait they flaunted, but they didn’t really care if people knew they weren’t humans either. Their hair just naturally covered their ears.

Be more careful next time, Tanaë! That hurt. Shanaë chided to her sister’s mind. All she received in return was a mental glare. They were both still quite unharmed, but too many more dives like that one would add up quickly.

[Seth_Rahl]

This was proving to be an interesting battle. The wind had blown just as the twin had launched her attack at the airborn demon, making the twins' hair flow back and reveal that they were elves. Psychotic, sultry elves, but elves none the less.

Ifrit's attack had missed the twin and caused an explosion of grass and earth to erupt as it combusted the ground near her. A glint of metal caught his eye, and suddenly the girl was airborn as well, throwing her blade at him.

Ah, so she's using Strike Raid. A Bladewraith attack that used their own swords as projectile weapons, it was a risky move as there was no guarantee of it connecting and you could lose your weapon easily. But Ifrit saw she had other weapons in tow as well, so maybe losing one wouldn't do her much harm.

"Hmph." Ifrit murmured as he stared at the spinning bastard sword, trying to discern what the trick behind the attack was. It was too direct for his tastes, too direct for the elf's personality. Then suddenly he spotted it. Connected to the hilt of the blade was several small hooks, and around the hooks Ifrit saw something glimmer in the sunlight.

The devil narrowed his eyes as his aura vision took over, and several blue lines extended from the hooks to the fingertips of the fallen elf, who had landed on her back.

"Oh shit..." Ifrit murmured, trying to figure out what to do. If he wasted another Hellfire Ball he would be able to change the trajectory of his fall once more, but he would probably need that power later on, especially if he had to fight both twins at once. On the other hand, if he tried to block it the woman would most certainly use those razor sharp wires to wrap around his arm and slice it off.

Then suddenly Ifrit got an idea. He didn't know if it would work, but he had to try. Waiting until the last second, he blocked the spinning blade with his falchion and knocked it away, but now the wires were heading his way to cut his throat. Instead of dodging, he grabbed the wires with his gauntleted hand and concentrated for a second, before the same purple flames that had come before erupted from his hand and traveled down the nie-invisible wires back to their creator.

Finally falling to the ground, Ifrit crouched to lessen the impact as a cloud of dust went around him. "So..." He murmured, no longer jovial. His red eyes glared at the twins as he stalked forth, never stopping as he began twirling his blade around his hand with one movement. "Your garroters, is that it?" Shaking his head, he continued to speak, but this time it was short and clipped. "No wonder..."

[Lucis]

“Garrotters?” Tanaë asked with her sultry smile. This man was quite the interesting one. Not many people could force her to dispel her cutting wires as easily as he had, but then again, not many people were able to send purple flames down the wires to her hands. To be honest, she was disappointed. Sure he was strong, but he was a coward as well. He hadn’t even attacked once; it was up to her to initiate every assault. Men like that weren’t really men. As she released the great sword from its sheath across her back, her eyes narrowed and certain heaviness radiated from her. She was no longer playing around. Shanaë smiled. Her sister’s killing intent had finally been brought to the surface. If she had known that all it took to get Tanaë this mad was an accusation of being a simple robber and killing by strangling, she would have used it many years ago.

“We aren’t garrotters.” Yes, murder on her face and in her voice. “We’re just two women who happened to find a handsome young man attractive, so we followed him to this of all places. I wonder if you have a bounty or two on your head. It would make this all the more rewarding!”

More wires wrapped the hilt of her great sword, placed there as she shifted her grip on the blade. She couldn’t just throw this blade away like her last one, though. She would have to be certain that it was going to hit if she released the blade again. Twenty yards… that was how far her sword was. Even if her opponent was a mere fifteen feet away, she could never cover the full forty-five before he realized what she was doing. The bastard sword was still her favorite either way, but she was equally skilled with both. A sword was, after all, just a sword. Once you compensated for the differences in weight, there was no difference from one to the next.

“Oye, black-hair!” Shanaë’s shout came rather unexpectedly, sounding more like a cheerful friend than anything else. She was too far away to be heard in normal conversation tones, but that didn’t really matter. That’s why people could shout, right? “You might want to run now! You have no idea how angry my sister is after that comment! She takes those kinds of words personally, you know!”

It could have been a clever distraction or a honest warning, but the younger of the two wasn’t about to allow Ifrit any time to answer. She charged him, headlong and holding nothing back. Apparently. Yes, she had other plans, and yes, he would probably see through them, but to hells with that. What had started as a sensuous battle had just turned very personal. Tanaë was only grateful that her sister wasn’t fighting. The man would have been, too, if he had known just how lucky he was to be fighting the brasher of the two sisters. As she ran, the lengths of magic unraveled once more, trailing behind her blade in five doubled loops each four feet long from the hilt of the sword to the tip of the loop.

She swung a hard crosswise slash with all of the power of her speed built up behind it. If he blocked it, the wires would swing around and possibly slice up his left side, since she swung from her right. Her grip was firm; she wasn’t going to throw away her second weapon to a fluke like last time.

[Seth_Rahl]

The half demon watched the woman pull a greatsword from her back and start towards Ifrit with a murderous intent that he could feel all the way away from his position. Normally, he would've smiled and his eyes would have erupted into bright glowing rubies, but now he simply let his falchion's blade point to the advancing warrioress as he spoke calmly. "Don't trick me, bitch." He may have spoke calmly, but in his voice was a note of anger. "You garroters are always the same, using those wires of yours to cut your opponents to pieces while you stay away, always safe, unharmed."

Suddenly the other twin shouted something, but Ifrit snorted at her words. "Wrong." He shouted back. "Tell your sister that she's the one who should run." As if to prove his point he snapped his head back to the advancing warrioress and he took a single step before he closed his eyes.

Like he had been doing the first time, it may have been looking like he was meditating, but really he was increasing his field of vision. Auras began popping out at him like blades, and suddenly he found the woman's, strange as she rushed the immobile demon. Blue lines extended from the gray aura she held in his hands, and he knew those were more wires.

Opening his eyes, he decided that he might as well show her what real strength was. Taking his blade in his left hand, he dashed from his spot, a black blur as he ran as fast as he could, faster than the ordinary human. The woman swung at him as he got in close, a hard horizantal slash apparently meant to cut him in half. As if that'd ever happen. He thought to himself, before letting go and relying on his instinct.

Instead of blocking the blade, he dodged it once more, using the momentum from his speed to slide underneath the low slash in an even lower crouch. Grabbing the woman's arm with his clawed hand, he laughed as he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. Not wasting the offensive, he thrust his blade at her in an attempt to spear the woman through.

It was time to show them what a demon really was. Ifrit's own demonic pressure increased as he lost himself to instinct and let go of all inhibitions and thoughts. He was in battle now, and not even pain mattered as he felt the wire graze his skin as he threw the woman. He certainly was smiling, and if someone looked close enough they would be able to see small fangs replacing his canines.

[Red Lightning]

Entering Beniiro now.

Beniiro was running as fast as he could. Word had spread to him that a demon with a giant sword and blazing red eyes had entered the Citadel once more, and it was more than a hunch that it was Ifrit. The nekojin wasted no time paying attention to where he was going, heading only in the general direction of the Citadel. The cat's only thoughts were of reaching the other Bladewraith Captain.

A cart passed in front of him, blocking Beniiro's way from passing. Normally the nekojin would have stopped and waited politely for the car to pass, but today he was in a rush. He leapt over the cart with catlike agility, his red scarf flowing elegantly as he flew through the air. He heard the man pushing the cart exclaim somthing in surprise before the assassin landed on his paws and took off running once more.

It wasn't long before he reached the Citadel, panting from his exertion. Still he ran, however, bounding up the steps two, three, four at a time. He passed several monks who also yelled in surprise but he paid no mind to them. Once he reached the top, however, he went directly to the nearest monk, a large man with scars and a tan covering his exposed arms.

The monk simply crossed his arms and stared down at the panting nekojin. "Can I help you, young--" He started before Beniiro interrupted.

"Take me to the room where the man with the giant blade entered." He spoke quickly, having his right paw on the hilt of his blade Zakega, which had been murmuring the entire time. The tall monk took one look at the blade and the expression on the cat's eyes before nodding and saying, "Very well. Follow me." He then went over to a large door and knocked three times on it, in rapid succesion. The door opened, and wasting no more time the nekojin jumped inside with a flash of light.

------------------

The arena he landed in was pretty large, made of stone and about 30' all around in a perfect square. It was seated in the middle of a grassy plain, extending for miles on end. Taking a look at his sorroundings, Beniiro saw he was not alone. On one side of the arena stood a woman dressed in Akashiman garb and she was looking at something on the other side, smiling. Beniiro looked in the direction she was and saw what seemed to be her twin fighting a man dressed in all black with raven hair.

Beniiro was confused. Where was the demon? Where was Ifrit? He advanced to the the fighting pair, hoping to get some answers, when suddenly the raven haired man threw the other woman over his shoulder with one hand, using immense strength, and the nekojin widened his eyes as he felt a blast of demonic pressure emanating from the man.

This man was the demon? Beniiro was confused, but then he saw the man's eyes, glowing red in the sunlight. While his appearence may have changed, the captain of the Ninth Company could recognize those eyes anywhere. The man was Ifrit, alright.

None of the warriors seemed to have noticed the Nekojin assassin, and Beniiro wasn't going to waste any more time standing around. Launching himself forward in a flash of black fur, he attacked the woman that Ifrit was attacking as well, leaping up into the air and drawing his blade in a quick-draw attack. Zakega screamed in triumph as its keen edge raced through the air, screaming for the woman's blood. As he flashed past Ifrit, Beniiro's eyes met the demon's and he smirked. "Been a long time, Ifrit Obsidian."

[Lucis]

Cocky. Overconfident. Arrogant. It was amazing how much the two fighters mirrored each other. Tanaë and Ifrit were so much alike that the elder sister could only smile as her twin rushed headlong to battle. She heard the demon’s words, even though he didn’t have to shout. She could also feel the rage building up inside the black-tattooed woman at the comment. She didn’t close her eyes as she siphoned her sister’s rage into her own mind. The frustration built within the spectator, but it also diminished in the fighter.

As much as Tanaë disliked her sister’s intrusions, she was grateful this time. Rage clouded judgment, and even though Shanaë was the more rational of the two, both girls were known for their cool heads in many situations. The man’s hand was strong as it closed around her wrist while he slid underneath her slash. So he was strong and agile? Two minds thought out a strategy even as she flew through the air, but it was Tanaë that finished first. He thrust his blade at her as she flew through the air, so she simply moved her own sword to deflect it safely away. The deflection altered her course enough that she could safely land on her right shoulder and tumble away mostly unharmed. Shanaë cringed from the hit, massaging her own shoulder to sooth the pain in both of their right arms.

She was getting tired of just sitting around, and Tanaë’s siphoned fury was starting to boil in her own blood. A straight ninja blade found both her hands, her left hand held the blade inverted while her right blade was held normal. She ran as fast as she could, hoping she would make it in time when a second figure caught her eye. It was an Akashiman native, a nekojin, she had heard them called. He also had a rather large blade with him.

I see him, Shanaë. Tanaë replied to the yet-unspoken question. Whether she saw him with her own eyes or not was irrelevant.

And it seems he knows the demon as well. Tanaë said, in response to the silent question her sister had not quite voiced. But that is irrelevant.

Wires like the ones her sister was using wrapped around the hilt of Shanaë’s left-hand blade as she charged the demon, angled slightly off to the right of him. She began twirling the blade, first by simple rotations of her wrist, then by swinging it from the wires. Twelve feet away, she released the blade like a spear aimed intentionally off to his left. She continued running to his right. The nearly invisible wires that he could apparently see stretched between the hilt and her hand, and all five would do quite a number on his torso if they struck properly. Never mind the fact that as the elder sister sped past, she quickly angled her run to intercept the blade. She was going to grab her sword and pull. Hard.

Safely out of harm’s way for a moment, Tanaë sprinted toward her first abandoned blade. She knew she was being pursued, but the great sword was still a bit too heavy for her. Sheathing it on-the-run was no simple matter, but she still managed to get it into the mostly-open sheath and latched down. Picking up her favored sword, the good old bastard, she swung an anticipatory slash that angled from low on her right to high on her left. She wasn’t aiming at anything in particular, but it would hopefully buy her a little time before the catperson decided to attack.

[Seth_Rahl]

Hey, I'm going to do the same thing as you and control both of my characters in one post. I'll alternate accounts everytime, but I'll be using both characters in one post. Is that good with you?

As the nekojin captain landed on the other side, Ifrit stared. His reason had returned, and his demonic bloodlust was diminishing with its return. The demon only barely noticed the fact that the woman had deflected his thrust with her own blade before landing and running for her hand-an-a-half sword. That didn't matter to him right now. If Beniiro was an enemy, then Ifrit was in trouble.

But it didn't seem so as the feline straightened up and resheathed the long no-dachi back in its decorative scabbard that he held in his other hand. "Seems you've gotten yourself into a fight." The cat-man stated, glancing as the first woman who Ifrit had been facing slashed at empty air, apparently expecting the demon to chase after her. She was wrong.

"It seems so." Ifrit smirked. The nekojin had a painful habit of stating the obvious. "What the hell are ya doing here, of all places? I thought you hated fighting." Ifrit let a bit of a sneer crawl into his voice.

Beniiro shrugged his leather-clade shoulders as he walked past the taller demon on silent paws. "I heard you were here."

That's not answering my question, you- Ifrit was going to speak before he noticed out of the corner of his eye that the other woman had drawn what seemed to be a akashiman blade and immediately Ifrit switched on his aura sense. It was more automatic now, less manual, and Ifrit could see five blue lines extending from the woman's finger tips to the hilt of the blade.

"Beniiro, she-" Ifrit started to state before the nekojin interrupted him.

"I know, I saw her draw that blade way before you did." A hint of competitive edge crawled into the nekojin captain's voicee and Ifrit smiled.

"Alright." Then he frowned. The woman had thrown her blade off to the left of the Bladewraith pair, and ran off to Ifrit's right. Confused at first he was, until he saw the glint of those wires in the sunlight.

Apparently Beniiro glimpsed them with his catlike eyes as well, and he widened his eyes and drew Zakega with a metallic ringing swound as the sword swung around to wrap around the pair. "Garroters?!" Beniiro mumured to Ifrit, and the demon nodded ruefully. "Great, that just puts a damper on everything."

Ifrit didn't have time to reply. The wires were swinging closer by the second, and he could feel the woman who threw the sword coming ever closer to him. Wasting no time, he leapt over the wires as high as he could, before landing in a crouch on the other side. Looking back, he saw that Beniiro had knocked the incoming blade around to the ground and was now dashing at the woman who had sent it with Zakega held in it's sheath, ready for a quick-draw slash. Ifrit smirked. He was going to take her, eh? Good. That left the bastard-sword user for him. Getting up lest anymore swords be thrown his way, he turned around to face his opponent, who was now over thirty feet away.

"Alright, back to you and me, elf." He shouted, before twirling Eternium Beowulf in his left hand and launching himself at a sprinter's speed towards the woman.

The two elves stood no chance now. Not against two Bladewraiths.

[Lucis]

It was a good swing; Tanaë’s bastard sword cut through the air like there was nothing there. Which was true. The demon she had expected to follow her was simply standing back where she had left him. She had overestimated the demon, it seemed. All he was good at doing was running away. Sure he had a very strong attack, but even the strongest attacks – especially the strong attacks – always had telltale signs that they were coming. The demon had leapt over her sister’s wires and somehow the catboy had knocked the ninja-blade to the ground. It didn’t matter, though. Nothing mattered as long as the demon, and his friend now, too, died in this place. The permanency of said death could be put to question, but as long as the twins Lucis found the satisfaction of killing, they would both be happy.

Words are useless now. Shanaë said to her sister through their bond. Silence will be our greatest ally.

Agreed, sister. Even speaking elven would give hints to our intentions through inflection. Tanaë replied. More than one battle had been turned in their favor once they stopped talking to each other and only communicated mentally. Perhaps it was time to stop playing games with their prey; they had given Ifrit more than enough chances to be aggressive and initiate the battle, even going so far as to only fight him one-on-one. It was time to show them what happened when you angered the Lucis’.

“Back to you and me?” Tanaë replied to Ifrit’s taunt verbally simply to stir him up a little. “This has never been between ‘you and me’.”

The younger twin smiled as the man charged her. So what if he could see her wires as if they were fluorescent? All she had to do was get to her sister’s side, which was easy enough, and everything would be over. Holding her bastard sword with her left hand, the “Mistress Spade” coiled her left arm back and over her head, sword poised like a scorpion’s tail swaying in the light breeze. She still hadn’t dispelled her cutting threads, and they swayed in the breeze before her face like five silken strands. A few twitches of her extended right hand left three foot-wide coils of the cutting threads on the ground before her, waiting for an unwary leg. She didn’t smirk; she simply stood there with her blade waiting to cleave through any sort of flesh. Her attack, or rather her counterattack, would vary any number of ways depending on how the demon decided to attack her, so she satisfied her sense of urgency by wrapping her right arm most of the way around her body. The loops of cutting thread flowed naturally to her left, and when she whipped her arm across her body to the right, the magic blades rose from their resting places and traced an arc that covered an area ten feet away from her body. It would give him something to think about, at least, before he attacked and committed himself to death.

A charging catboy, truly a rarity from what Shanaë had heard concerning the unique race, almost didn’t register on the unconcerned woman’s visage. From the way he deflected her first strike, or at least her flying blade, she knew enough about him to know that he wasn’t much of a threat to her. He was just like any other thug who thought they knew all of her tricks because they had seen one. Five lines connected the elder sister’s blade to her hand, even if the blade was a few feet away. Her empty left hand found the only remaining sheath that still held a blade on her back and released it to join its sisters, again held blade inverted. The nekojin ran with his hand poised over the hilt of his too-long blade; there was no doubt that he was going to attack from the draw. Since that was the case, she had two threats to worry about. The first threat of the vorpal blade could be easily deflected by her right-hand blade, and a follow-up strike could be avoided easily enough by tying him up on his own sword.

It was a natural enough movement to flip her right-hand blade to match the one in her left hand. There were only so many attacks you could use from a draw and most of them targeted the torso for a quick win. All she had to do was time her own strike to interrupt his offensive and she’d have a free shot at any part of his body she wanted.

[Red Lightning]

Ifrit rushed the woman as she prepared for his coming attack, spinning her blade around to her right while his aura sensing eyes saw her swing the five strands of wire, tracing a deadly arc through the air that was surely meant to slice him to little demonic pieces. Ifrit had fought a garroter before, but not one like this elf, who used not only her wires but blades as well. This would prove to be an interesting fight for the demon and nekojin both.

As she swung the wires he grabbed all five of them in one swift movement of his right hand, the gauntlet protecting him from slicing his own hand and fingers off. Grinning like a madman, he ignored the woman's jibe and pulled on the wires, dragging her to him as he rushed her as well. In her other hand she held a bastard sword at the ready, and he knew that the first attack had been to set him off guard. Well, he was tired of dodging. Swinging his own blade around in his left, his eyes burned fiery red as a horizantal crease cut through the air towards the woman's midsection, where even if she tried to block it with her dual edged weapon the mere force of the impact would send her own blade into her side.

Just because the demon was ferocious and wild didn't mean he wasn't cunning.

Meanwhile, Beniiro watched as his opponent drew a second katana from her side. So, dual blade style, eh? He thought to himself calmly, and he the wires glint in the sunlight to the right of him. Thinking quickly, he saw that he was on the offensive and she the defensive, which meant she had the advantage from where her blades were positioned. One, she could easily bring both her garroting wires and other blade to bear behind him, thus trapping him between the blade in her left and the wires bearing down on his back. Two, if he did attack, she would most likely just do the same thing, using Zakega's own length to hinder the nekojin.

"Don't underestimate me, garroter." The cat man said, suddenly sliding to a stop no more than seven feet away from the warrioress elf. "I don't underestimate you." Closing his eyes, Zakega began glowing red within its sheath, and a red aura sorrounded both. Upon opening his eyes, the nekojin had blazing red eyes that shone along with his blade.

Going back into his stance once more, right paw on the hilt of Zakega, Beniiro assumed that the best strike would be from far away, not from up close. Wind Edge. Beniiro thought, the words ringing in his head, and Zakega suddenly howled as he drew/slashed it in a vertical arc, a blinding red blade that seemed to move faster than the eye could track.

The tip of the blade hung in the air before Beniiro swung it down, his eyes focused upon his opponent. As soon as the blade touched the ground, a cut seemed to appear in the air before him and sliced towards the elf in a vertical line, traveling at the speed of throwing dagger perhaps.

Wind Edge. A basic bladewraith technique that Beniiro had long foregone to increase his own close ranged skills with the blade, it wasn't a move to be taken lightly. Following up on his offensive ranged strike, Beniiro raced along to his opponent's left, using his speed and length of his blade to leap in the air and strike at her neck. Even if she brought her blade around now, she would only slice her own body to pieces, not the cat.

As he leapt, he spoke once more. "I am nothing like Ifrit." He said without ego or pride, and the blade flashed towards her neck as the incoming blade of air ripped a gouge into the ground as it raced along to attack her from the front.

I'm requesting Wind Edge as a spoil.

[Lucis]

Shanaë and Tanaë both sighed as their respective opponents attacked. Simplistic, though not much more complex than their own style and skill, the demon and cat boy each claimed to be unlike the other, but that only made them more alike. Brash, overconfident, and thinking they were each the best thing to happen to fighting. More than anything, it was that attitude that irritated the twins. None of the fighters seemed to be tiring, which was understandable for the girls who had not moved much or exerted themselves too much, but at least the demon should have been getting winded. He had been fighting the longest and throwing his strength around extensively.

Tanaë cringed as the demon grabbed her wires again, but apparently he hadn’t learned from the first time. He pulled, but there was nothing to pull and he just ended up looking a little silly yanking with all his might against something that wasn’t there. Why would anyone not dispel the wires and risk being thrown off-balance? A quick hop switched the positions of her feet, placing her left foot in front of her right in a traditional right-handed swordsman’s stance. Her blade, however, was still in her left hand. She had experienced the range of Ifrit’s sword, and as he started his swing, she compensated and took a large step backward with her left foot, easily sending her out of the swing’s range.

Her wrist rotated; the scorpion’s tail uncoiled. Even as her foot was still moving back, her own blade was coming to bear straight down; an overhead cleave aimed to split the demon’s thick skull in twain, augmented by her free right hand grasping the smaller section of the hilt and adding its strength to the swing. The younger twin did not smile, nor did she have any witty remark to say. It was beyond time for the demon to die.

The cat boy was a whole different story, though… mostly. He talked too much, just like the demon. It was at that point that the fighter did something incredibly stupid and suicidal. Against most honorable fighters, closing one’s eyes in preparation for an attack would be allowed, but not against someone who has every intention of killing you in whatever way presents itself first. His eyes closed, and just as his body started glowing Shanaë took full advantage of the opening. It was, after all, his fault that he had left himself so completely open.

Now, when attacking an opponent who just closed their eyes, there are a few things to consider. Firstly, what part of the body do you strike first? Secondly, what do you do when he opens his eyes? The answer to the first question was committed to memory long ago: pierce the heart or remove the head. She came up with the answer to the second on the first step when her left hand had flipped its blade into a traditional position. Her straight-bladed ninja sword was slightly shorter than a traditional katana which made it that much more maneuverable, so the flick of her wrist didn’t cause the weight of the sword to throw her off-balance. The cat boy was glowing red now, but she was already too close to care what it meant. After all, she didn’t feel any heat from his aura, so it didn’t matter.

His eyes shot open, burning red and filled with some sort of “righteous fury” or something. He unsheathed his blade vertically, and Shanaë juked to the right, still advancing. It would be the head, then. Her left-hand blade screamed for the stupid fighter’s completely exposed neck, angled slightly forward to slice from the right side of his neck to the left as she ran by. It wasn’t elegant or fancy, but killing seldom was. And she was a killer, after all.

[Seth_Rahl]

Lucis, I edited that post that we talked about earlier. ^^ I hope its satisfactory.

Ifrit blinked.

Blood spurted from his right shoulder as the girl's blade cut through muscled and tendons, and he stared wide-eyed at at the hand that held the blade that had touched his skin. "Wha--" He managed to make out before another humongous spasm of pain shot through his shoulder into his right arm, and the gauntleted hand trembled.

But...how...did...His eyes were scanning the girl furiously now, unable to fully comprehend that she had bested him in a simple duel. Using some of the last bits of his fleeing strength, he pushed off from where he was now kneeling and leapt away from the deadly woman.

As he caught the look in her eyes, he saw something that made him catch his breath. It was something that he felt he might never forget as long as he lived.

He saw himself. In her, in those doorways to the soul, he saw the demonic being that named himself Ifrit laughing evilly, manaically even, as he swung his blade around, killing everything in his path.

"Dear god..." He whispered, as he saw her smile in triumph. "Look what we've..." He coughed. "...become..." Using the tip of his blade he thrust it into the ground as he coughed up blood. "Your as...much...of a monster as I...am..." He forced himself to stand up now, his legs trembling from blood loss, his eyes going blurry now. He wasn't afraid of death, no, not nearly, but now he was afraid of something else.

Losing. It was an odd, strange feeling, and it gave him pain, real physical pain, and suddenly he felt as if the entire world was suddenly thrown across his back like Atlas Himself. Gritting his teeth, his canines suddenly turned into fangs as he snarled ow at the woman before him, and once more he lost all sense of reason, all sense of thought. He knew he was going to die--the least he could do is take the bitch that had slain him down with him.

Without warning save for the ferocious expression upon his face, Ifrit burst forward, holding his giant blade in his left hand while his right hand now reached forward, his claws extended for the woman's throat, to rip and tear, to feel her soft skin dissipate between the steel of his blades. His body was a black blur now as he ran at his top speed, faster now, faster than the average man. His eyes glowed now, as red as his partner's, as the blood from his wound mixed with his pale skin to create a truly ferocious visage.

Had he been conciously thinking and watching this battle, Ifrit would have doubted that the effect that this face would have normally on anybody would effect the twin, but he wouldn't have cared. Only one word echoed throughout the demon's head now...

Kill. Kill. Kill...

-----------------

To the catman's surprise, the woman had instead rushed the nekojin assassin instead of dodging the wind attack and now had attacked him instead, her other blade that she had jsut drawn now flashing towards the cat man's neck. She's like me...Beniiro barely had time to think before his own blade collided with her's, sparks flying from both blades. She was moving, however, and the nekojin was caught in the air, so her momentum pushed him backwards away from him, closer to the fight where Ifrit and the other twin now were battling. Sneaking a glance behind him he saw something that gave him a shock--Ifrit was injured. Badly.

"Damn that fool..." Beniiro muttered, before refocusing his attention on the attacking garroter. Once again he found himself on the defensive.

[Lucis]

It was a feeling that never got old, no matter how often the twins felt it; the pleasure and sweet torment of a soul desperately fighting against the arcane forces that stripped souls from dead husks was more intoxicating than all of the spirits they had consumed. As Tanaë’s blade rent the demon’s flesh and muscle, a satisfied grin swept across her face. She didn’t have the strength to sever bone, but the hesitation she felt when he fell to his knees and leapt back told her clear enough that she had at least entered the bone partway. The feeling could only be compared to the ecstasy she felt with her sister when their bond reached its limit conveying sensations and emotions.

Flicking the blade at the ground, a spray of blood left the honed edge and stained the hard ground. It really was too bad that this wasn’t a permanent death. But if she could feel the same sensation over and over without running out of meat sacks to kill, she could live with the occasional resurrection. Raising the blade to her lips, she licked some of the viscous liquid, savoring the taste of iron and the slight peculiarity that came from a demon’s blood. She wanted more; ached for the sweetness of that moment again. She didn’t even bother trying to mask the feelings that she sent to her sister.

Then she saw something that unnerved her. The demon’s teeth elongated and his eyes glowed blood red. He wasn’t dead yet? She brought her blade up before her chest and settled back into her stance, ready for anything he might throw her way. Or so she thought. His gauntleted hand twitched as he leapt straight for her, much faster than he had been moving before. His hand reached for her neck, sheer force of will causing it to move even with such grave an injury. He was mad. She was terrified. Frantically she swung her blade; the metal sank deep into his arm, but still he advanced. She had nowhere to run. Her mind screamed. She screamed.

A gloved hand encased in demonic metal threw her to the ground, and Ifrit’s body followed without hesitation. Foregoing his sword as the lust to kill overtook everything, he tore at her throat with both hands, pulling large chunks of flesh and muscle with each delve. Blood fountained from her gaping wound, but for the few seconds she was still alive between the first tear and the last dry pump of her heart, pain far beyond anything she had ever felt or dreamt of flowed like raging rapids through every nerve in her body. She would have screamed to her last breath had she been able to; unfortunately her sister did not have such that luxury.

Shanaë was disappointed when her opponent managed to bring his blade to bear in time to block her strike, but at least she still had the advantage for a moment. She had the advantage, that is, until her body was overwhelmed with the feelings seeping through from her sister’s half of the bond. She imagined a net of lace catching everything that assaulted her, steel lace that would not break under the onslaught of emotions. The lace stretched and heaved, catching as much of the torrent as it could as it had so many times in the past. Eventually she stopped swaying, but she had lost her initiative. She made a mental note – a note her sister would surely see – to retaliate one day. That was when everything went wrong.

The first hint she had that something had changed was the sudden and abrupt cessation of the emotional tide. There was a bit of backlash from the unexpected halt, but it was something that she had dealt with many times. Just a headache, nothing more. Fear crept through the sisterly bond then, the guttural fear that all sentient beings know when staring at death. All thoughts of the catboy fled from her mind as she turned to see the demonic man lunging at her sister. It was then that she realized what was about to happen. If only she knew how to faint on demand.

Tanaë screamed partially out of fear; Shanaë screamed wholly out of the most intense pain she had ever felt in her life. When the gauntleted hand tore its first chunk from Tanaë’s neck, Shanaë collapsed mid-stride holding her neck and gagging. There was no way her pain matched her sister’s torment, there was a very real limit to the sensations their bond could pass, but if she was experiencing even most of her sister’s pain, she could only imagine the torment her younger sibling was going through. It was terrible… it was inhuman… it certainly wasn’t what they forced their victims to endure. Tanaë’s pain lasted only a half-dozen seconds, but even after her sister had released her soul from the world, Shanaë could still feel the cold claws tearing her body apart. It took everything she had to get two muttered words through her trauma.

“Help… her…”
All actions approved.

[Red Lightning]

Beniiro had been about to counter the elf's incoming blow with a horizantal killing sweep, when suddenly two things jerked him out of his stance. One, a blood-curdling scream that rent the air as he heard flesh tearing and smelt blood filling the air. And two, the fallen opponent on the ground, as she clutched her neck and body in agony.

What--? Beniiro thought as he turned to Ifrit, taking whatever advantage he had gained to check up on his partner. However, his eyes widened as he saw the form that Ifrit had become.

The demon had lost all sense of resemblance and concious thought now, the nekojin could tell this with one glance. Ifrit's body itself was changing as well, changing with the flow of incoming demonic power and sheer rage that the Bladewraith must have been feeling. No longer was his body human--no, now it had become the look of a demon. His coat was dyed red with blood, and sprouting from the coat like twin, seperate entities were wings. Giant, crimson wings, dripping blood as they flapped in ecstacy at their release. Ifrit's visage had changed as well: even though it held some resemblance of humanity, the fangs and the slitted red eyes that now roared in both silent and real rage were more demonic than human.

Ifrit was, slowly but surely, losing his humanity and giving in to the primal urges of his demonic heritage. Beniiro had never witnessed such rage before, even though he had known Ifrit since the demon first came to the Bladewraith academy, his skin charcoal black and his bloody red eyes glaring in defiance at the gathered members of the cult. Beniiro had thought that that Ifrit Obsidian was a devil.

He had been wrong.

"Help...her..." The words came from the nekojin's opponent, who could only gasp the words as she clawed at her throat in pain. For a second Beniiro considered his position.

Now would be the perfect time to strike. With Ifrit killing the sister and the other down on her knees, helpless, Beniiro had the perfect chance to strike and end this battle. As he gazed into her pain-filled eyes, he drew his blade from its sheath, and Zakega rang out, a clear note even amongst the screaming. Place the razor-sharp side against the side of her neck, Beniiro spoke calmly to the women, even though his heart was pounding. He held up the tear-drop shaped ruby underneath his scarf and showed it the woman. "This represents a drop of blood. It symbolizes everything, and nothing. It is our way of life: Cut. Cut without mercy. Cut to the depths of their very soul. Cut them, before they can cut you."

In a blindingly fast motion Beniiro's paw swung the deadly blade backwards towards himself and then spun around to strike at her neck in one move, a move that would seemingly end this battle. However, just before the black blade could slice through skin and bone and lop the woman's head off, it stopped, mere inches from her neck. "You win." Beniiro whispered, and sheathed his blade in one smooth motion before stalking off towards the pulsing form of Ifrit Obsidian. "I can't kill you like this."

Now his battle was with the devil himself.

-------------------------------------------

Kill....Kill....Kill....

The words rang through the demon's head as opened his eyes. Or, at least, what he thought was his eyes. Groaning, Ifrit reached for his shoulder, expecting to touch blood and bone. However, his eyes widened once he felt his shoulder and saw that it was unscarred. "What?...how..." Ifrit murmured, then looked around him.

He wasn't on the battlefield. Rather, he didn't know where in hell he was. Instead of the flat grassy plains that he had come to recognize as the fighting grounds, he now sat in a space of absolute white. Pure, pure white. Everywhere he looked, white space sorrounded him, stretching on for miles and miles until he thought he could see the end of eternity.

What the...Ifrit's thoughts were random and scrambled, as he pushed himself up on his feet on the invisible floor. It was an unnerving sight, and he nearly lost his balance as he felt himself walking on both nothing and something. "Where the hell am I?" He wondered outloud.

"Welcome to your mind." A voice echoed out throughout the giant space and into Ifrit's head, but somehow the demon knew that the voice had come from behind him. Spinning around, Ifrit gasped as he gazed at a newfound sight.

It was a giant wall of fire and shadow. It advanced upon the white of the space, consuming every bit of it, slowly, very slowly, but surely enough so that Ifrit could see pieces of white being sucked into this fiery void. But that's not what really made Ifrit gasp. It was the figure that stepped out of the fiery void.

This figure stood tall, taller than Ifrit, and he had snow white hair that flowed up in the air from the sheer kinetic energy from the giant wall of fire. His skin was black, black as charcoal, and twin red eyes stared back at Ifrit's own as he advanced forth, a red coat flowing backwards as the figure strode towards the demon, a giant falchion, demonic and humongous, set across his back.

Fangs peeked out from the man's smile, and immediately Ifrit knew what this man was.

He was Ifrit himself. Or, rather, who Ifrit used to be.

This new Ifrit stopped a few feet away from the black-coated demon, and Ifrit glared in both fear and defiance as he noticed the wall had stopped as well. "Who the hell are you?!" he nearly roared, drawing his own blade at the sight of the figure's cocky grin.

The new Ifrit spread his arms out and laughed. "What, you don't recognize me, partner?"

------------------------------

"Hraagh--" Beniiro managed to make out before Ifrit's fist slammed into his stomach once more, sending him flying across the arena to crash into one of the four pedastals on each corner of the stage. Beniiro cried out as he felt one of his bones break, even though he had tightened his body enough to soften the blow, even if by a little. Panting, the nekojin stumbled on weak knees, holding his blade up horizantally by his face as he watched the demon before him advance.

This was not Ifrit. Beniiro knew at least that much. This....this thing carried none of the traits that the cat man had come to associate with the Captain, not even from his fighting style. The demon grinned, showing large, sharp fangs that slid out threateningly, and Beniiro repressed a shiver of disgust and fear. His tail twitched in agitation as he slowly backed away, holding his blade before him defensively. Ifrit's own blade lay forgotten on the ground, just a few feet away from where the nekojin stood, but this bloody red demon before him took no notice of the weapon. If anything, Beniiro observed, it seemed as if it was avoiding the blade.

It was a risk, but the nekojin took it. Leaping with catlike agility over the blade, Beniiro quickly sheathed his own blade as he crouched behind it.


Yes I would like to note that I drew inspiration from Bleach for this "inner self" moment. Not finished with post yet.

[Lucis]

Pain. Mind-numbing, excruciating pain. Emptiness. A dull throbbing, and then everything started going black. What the catboy did, or said, Shanaë neither knew nor cared. A slight pressure on her neck, then nothing once more. Quivering fingers reached to feel the gaping hole in her chest. Unscathed flesh covered by supple leather met her hand; that’s right… this was Tanaë’s pain. Careful hands moved to the gaping hole in her neck. Nothing unexpected.

Emptiness. From birth, the twin sisters knew constant companionship. No distance separated them; there was always a small piece of the other in the recesses of their mind. Silence. Her sister bore no thoughts. Her own pulse was weak. So alone. It frightened the elven lass; Tanaë couldn’t die… they were going to live to their last days together. Always together.

Pressure on her neck; it didn’t hurt. Footsteps in the grass. No, the footsteps were first. A sensation of weightlessness, then warmth. Red eyes slowly forced themselves open. It was bright. The elder sister turned her head slightly to the side, but gentle hands held her firm. Two silhouettes were slowly unveiled as her fleeting consciousness was slowly brought back. The pain was gone down to her exhausted lungs even.

Shanaë…

A twinge of gold shot through the elder sister’s mind. It was her sister’s voice; Tanaë’s thoughts. Where there had been nothing, now the most beautiful flower bloomed with gold and silver veins coursing throughout. Slowly, surely, the sensation of another in her mind blossomed again. It was right. It was comfortable.

“Thank… you.”

A smile crossed her pale lips as her body floated waist-high to the two brown-clad monks taking care of her. She was relatively unharmed through her limited involvement in the fight. A careful glance over her shoulder showed her sister, blood covering nearly every inch of her flawless, succulently-tanned body. Her clothes were shredded beyond all repair, but the rhythmic movement of her chest and the presence Shanaë felt in her mind told her that her sister was alive.

I’m sorry, Shanaë. I wasn’t strong enough.

Even in her thoughts, the younger woman’s voice was weak. The elder twin simply smiled mentally and answered back.

It’s not your fault. You did more than enough. Now sleep… you earned it.

A septet of monks cradled Tanaë in tender magical bonds, working even as they transported the girls to the infirmary. While their bodies were fully repaired, their minds would still require time. The next time they met the demon Ifrit or the unnamed nakojin, the outcome would be drastically different. Next time, the sisters Lucis would have their vengeance. An unconscious smile slithered across her face as her mind faded into dreams. Yes, they each would pay a hundredfold.

[Seth_Rahl]

"Shut UP!!!" Ifrit screamed, swinging his blade with all his might. The falchion rang out as it struck the opponent's, and the other demon simply smiled at Ifrit's rage. Fire circled the inhuman pair as they exchanged blow after blow, metal clashing against metal. Sweat poured from Ifrit's skin as leapt, turned, and now swung at his opponents legs.

"C'mon, I know ya can do better than that." The black-skinned demon taunted, beckoning Ifrit to him as he jumped backwards to avoid the blade. Ifrit simply snarled and muttered some unintelligible before rushing his opponent once more, holding the demonic blade at his side, the tip of it scraping the ground. As he came close to the white haired swordsman, he swung Eternium Beowulf up at his enemy, his bloody red eyes filled with anger.

"SHUT UP!!!" Ifrit roared again, and at the last moment in his swing he let all of his strength go, turning the simple vertical strike into an upwards cleaving attack. For a moment, it seemed as if Ifrit had caught the other demon, and a small glimmer of hope filled his heart. But that glimmer died once his blade caught nothing but empty space, and Ifrit felt himself falling, losing his balance at finding the lack of substance against his blade to counteract the weight of the swing.

A strong, cold fist caught Ifrit by the collar, and the demon looked up to find his opponent standing over him, grinning evilly. "Pathetic." The other demon spoke, before moving his black arm in a flash that sent Ifrit flying. Ifrit grunted as he slammed into something hard, and as he coughed he felt something wet but warm come out of his mouth.

The black skinned demon shook its head. It was no longer smiling, but instead looking down on Ifrit in disgust. "Simply pathetic. No wonder your just a puppet." And then the black form dissapeared, reappearing by Ifrit's side in a flash. Ifrit could only gasp and pant as his "twin" grabbed him by the collar once more, the curved falchion that belonged to Ifrit in its other hand. Ifrit gasped and struggled painfully to reach for his sword, but his opponent taunted him by dangling it just out of reach. "Oh, what's this? You want your blade back?"

"I...am not...a...puppet..." Ifrit gasped, each breath more painful than the last. He grabbed the arm holding him up by the collar with his clawed gauntlet and squeezed, the tips of the claws piercing the black skin. The other demon looked down at the gauntlet in disgust. "Ah, that thing." It murmured quietly, then turned back to the struggling form of Ifrit. It smiled as it dropped the giant blade dangling from its fingertips, but instead of landing on the ground where the black skinned demon was standing it kept on falling and falling, until it fell beyond Ifrit's line of sight. Ifrit yelled something, something unknown to his ears, and the other demon smiled evilly.

"Whoops." It said, before punching Ifrit in the face.

------------------------------------

Beniiro made it just in time. Claws swung out to strike at the hiding nekojin, only to clang out against the small makeshift barrier. Beniiro had propped Ifrit's blade up like a shield and was now crouching behind it, wincing as every hit rang out through his body. Even with the shield of the giant blade, the force of the impacts hurt the cat assasin. He couldn't stay there for long.

A red blur to his side caught the nekojin's attention, and suddenly he was struck from the side and sent flying once more. Skidding to a halt on the rough ground, Beniiro groaned aloud as he slowly got up, unsheathing his blade Zakega, which pulsed with a red aura weakly. The blade had stayed silent this entire time, a fact that Beniiro had been absent to note earlier, and its quiet pulsing sent him warning signals. But that was not the priority--rather, the large form of the slavering demon before him was the priority.

Out of the corner of his eye Beniiro saw the Citadel monks retrieving the bodies of the almost dead twin sisters, and he almost breathed a sigh of relief. That was until Ifrit turned and noticed them as well, and the demon's eyes gleamed a bloodthirsty red. Forgetting the nekojin for the moment, the demon advanced upon the monks quickly, using the wings upon its back to give it momentum as they fluttered silently. "Oh no you don't..." Beniiro whispered, before launching himself at the demon's back with the tip of his no-dachi poised to pierce the demon's skin. At the last second Ifrit turned and back-handed the airborn form of Beniiro, and once again the nekojin found himself flying through the air before he struck the dirt ground and slid next to the giant blade stuck in the ground.

The distraction helped, and the monks teleported away with the bodies of the twins just as Ifrit was turning to attack them. Snarling in a uncomprehensible language of rage and rough syllables, the demon turned back on its former ally, claws extending out like daggers. Its red form blurred as it took off running, staight for the fallen form of Beniiro, and in one hand a mass of purple/black flame began conjuring.

Most people would have panicked and ran at this point. An enraged, insane demon on a psychopathic rampage heading straight for someone would probably give that effect. Fortunately Beniiro had been trained to experience desperate situations, and he kept his calm even though death seemed inevitable. Thinking momentarily, the nekojin grabbed the hilt of the giant blade and strained, using all of his weight to pull it out of the ground. Gasping for air, he struggled to bring it up so that the point was facing the oncoming demon, who seemed oblivious to the impending fate that was about to befall it. Either that or it just did not care. In either case, the demon rushed on as if hell itself were on its heels, and its visage was contorted with rage and bloodlust.

Time seemed to slow down for the nekojin as the scene played out. Using the last bits of his strength and energy, the cat man shoved himself and the tip of the giant blade forward into the demon, who impaled itself straight onto the blade. Still running, it slid even deeper on it, and swiped out at the nekojin assasin's face. The tip of the claw sliced into the flesh underneath Beniiro's left eye, and he cried out as pain shot through the nerves in his face.

The demon, however, seemed to be going through more pain that Beniiro could ever imagine. It screamed now, now a scream of rage or bloodlust but a scream of agony, of pure pain, and the gaping wound in the demon's stomach sizzled and hissed, steam pouring out of the wound instead of blood, and slowly, before Beniiro's very eyes, the demon's skin cracked, and just before the cracks spread across its entire body Beniiro saw something in it's eyes that scared him to death. And then the skin literally shattered, as the red wings and scaled skin were sent up to nothingness, dissapating as Beniiro's eyes slowly were taken over by darkness. The last thing he saw was the form of the Ifrit he knew, eyes closed, toppling over to the ground with the blade still stuck in his stomach...

-----------------------------

A rumbling echoed throughout the empty space, and the white haired demon looked up at the mixed sky as if waiting for rain. It frowned as it considered the noise, then looked back to the broken form of Ifrit, which it still held in one powerful hand. "Done already?" It sighed, as if reluctant about something, then dropped the motionless form of Ifrit onto the invisible ground. Barely "concious", or whatever he was, Ifrit could only watch as the black skinned demon walked away, back into the advancing wall of darkness.

"Oh, next time we meet..." the black skinned demon murmured before walking into the darkness. "Be stronger, or I will kill ya, and take your throne for myself." And with that Ifrit's concsiousness dissapated and darkness consumed him.
------------------------------

When Beniiro came to be he was staring up at the lights in the Citadel emergency room. Groaning, he sat up slowly and glanced around himself. In the bed next to him was the form of Ifrit, unconcious still, even though the wound in his stomach had healed. The blade, however, still had the blood of the demon on his blade, dying the steel a sickly red color. On the other side of him the forms of the twin girls lay, healed completely now. They both had a strange smile on their lips, as if they were dreaming about something wonderful.

Beniiro stood and stretched, testing out his muscles. They were a little sore, but nothing was broken. It was as if he had not been in battle at all. Looking in the mirror that sat by the beds, Beniiro saw that he now had a scar, white and shiny, underneath his left eye. Why couldn't they heal that? He thought to himself, but shrugged it off. It wasn't that big of a deal.

Wearily, the cat man looked for his blade. Soon he found it: it was lying near the demon's, in its sheath. Grabbing the blade, he felt the connection between him and Zakega return once again, and realized that this entire time it had been gone. No words passed between him and his weapon, though, as Beniiro took one last look at the other Bladewraith Captain before shaking his head. "Until we meet again, Ifrit Obsidian." The nekojin whispered, and stalked out of the room on silent paws.

---------------------------

Two Hours later...

Ifrit screamed as he thrust one hand forward, and once more a fireball erupted from his clawed gauntlet, screaming as it shot forward like an arrow. Upon hitting the tree, it erupted, the black purplish flame consuming the wood like termites. Still, Ifrit was displeased with the attack power, and he swore as he swung his blade around to gash into another tree.

He had been nothing against whoever the hell that was. Nothing. And Ifrit had a feeling that, unless he did get stronger, somehow, that the next time that Ifrit lost control like that, that thing would kill him.

With these thoughts in mind and with no one to see him but the birds and the insects, Ifrit continued his rampage in the forest, hoping, daring to get stronger.

End post.

Now there are a couple things I would like to clarify. Nothing that Ifrit did in this thread was a "new ability" or something. Ifrit's "transformation" was a temporary thing that won't happen in other threads, merely a starting point for Ifrit's next step in his story. So I'm not requesting it for spoils.

**Spoils Requested**
Seth_Rahl--None.
Red Lightning--

"Wind Blade"-- Gather's kinetic energy for a couple moments, leaving one's self open to attack, then releases it in a slashing type move that sends out a blade of air equal to the strength of the weapon +Wind element. Speed of the attack depends on its skill level. Also, the number of slashes can increase as well, but only with special Bladewraith training.
Lvl 0--Throwing dagger. (Lvl 0)
Lvl 1--Slingshot (Lvl 1)
Lvl 2--Arrow (Lvl 3)
Lvl 3--Crossbow arrow (Lvl 5)
Lvl 4--Instant (Lvl 7)

The range of the attack is equal to the range of the weapon speed (I.E. A level zero Wind Blade only has the range of a throwing dagger), save for the Level 4 Instant.

"Scar of the Demon" -- a mark upon Beniiro's face that shows he survived being attacked by an insane Devil. No known medicine has been able to remove it.

[Karuka]

Right, I'm going to say up front that this thread read like an episode of Dragon Ball Z with the Siamese cats from Lady and the Tramp guest starring. You guys should really work on that. Anyway, Seth_Rahl's score will be in bold, Lucis's will be italicized.

Continuity

Seth_Rahl/Red Lightning

I don't know why Ifrit went to the Citadel. I don't know where he'd been beforehand, and I don't really know where he's going. I don't know what the guy in his little limbo had to do with anything, I don't know what the connection between Beniiro and Seth is, only that there IS a connection, mildly alluded to.

2

Lucis

I have no idea where your girls came from, why they were there, their past, present, future, nothing. I need some of that.

1

Pacing

Seth_Rahl/Red Lightning

This thread dragged on and on. Unless the battle is central to your storyline, then you need to try and cut out length where possible, while adding in detail. Most of the bulk of this thread seemed like fluff, and there was quite a bit that could have used work.

3

Lucis

See Seth's comments.

3

Setting

Seth_Rahl/Red Lightning

It was a very basic backdrop with random pillars added in every once in a while, and you tended to ignore it. This happens all too often in battles; try making something harder to ignore.

3

Lucis

See Seth's comments.

3

Persona

Seth_Rahl/Red Lightning

Right, these guys felt like your typical anime characters. I kind of knew them a little better at the end than at the beginning, but...they don't seem very deep.

3

Lucis

I went and found the song "We are Siamese" to listen to while reading one of your posts. At the end of the battle, there started to be some real depth and emotion to them, but at the beginning they kind of came off as "we are Borg. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Resistance is futile." The twins did develop during the battle, but at the beginning you just didn't have them down. Keep working at it.

4

Action

Seth_Rahl/Red Lightning

Like I said at the beginning, this thing felt like an episode of Dragon Ball Z. That was mostly from your side of the fight. There was even a little bit of Kamehameha (post 5). I realize that you draw a lot of your inspiration from anime, but I don't think you need to stick so closely to it in your writing. The action was busy, but not fresh. When the writing feels fresh, you'll score higher in more places than just action. I didn't see anything in the profile that really let Seth turn back into his demon form, so that prevented you from scoring any higher here. I did like Beniiro's decision to let Shanae live, though.

4

Lucis

You described a lot of complex motions confusingly, and threw around the word "she" like it was going out of style, so sometimes when I thought it was Tanae doing something, because she'd been doing something in the last paragraph, it was Shanae acting. You also completely ignored Beniiro's wind attack when it happened. While it wasn't in his profile, you allowed it to stay in the thread (there was evidence of some communication between the two of you), so you should have at least reacted to it or acknowledged it in some way. I also like how you described the feeling of pain that Shanae felt when Tanae was injured. That was good.

5

Dialogue

Seth_Rahl/Red Lightning

Since when does anyone stop to chat in the middle of a battle? Other than that, it was good enough.

5

Lucis

Your dialogue was a little clumsy at points, but it made sense, and I liked Shanae's "Please... Help her...." That added depth to the character.

7

Mechanics

Seth_Rahl/Red Lightning

You have plenty of mistakes here, most noticeably in spelling. One example that I'm going to nitpick on is the use of "your." Your is possessive, this is your comment for your thread. You're is short for "you are." You're going to need to work on keeping the two separate. There were other examples, but I'm referencing this one specifically because you did it a lot and it's one of my biggest pet peeves.

4

Lucis

There were some noticeable mistakes earlier on, but it got better as you went along.

6

Technique

Seth_Rahl/Red Lightning

I noticed some similes from you, but not much else.

6

Lucis

Your writing was very straightforward, maybe a simile or two to describe the twins at the beginning, but otherwise, nothing.

4

Clarity

Seth_Rahl/Red Lightning

Your mechanics sometimes made it hard to see what was going on, that and you skipped some detail where detail would have been nice, or put in too much where less would have sufficed. There were times I had to go back and re-read stuff where I shouldn't have had to, and still didn't quite understand what was happening.

4

Lucis

My only issue with you was that sometimes your descriptions of actions weren't clear and that occasionally I didn't know which twin was doing what.

5

Wild Card

Seth_Rahl/Red Lightning

4

Lucis

5

Totals:

Seth_Rahl/Red Lightning: 38
Lucis: 43

Lucis wins!

Spoils

Lucis receives 475 EXP and 300 GP
Seth_Rahl receives 110 EXP and 70 GP.
Red Lightning receives 40 EXP and 40 GP. Red Lightning does NOT receive his new ability now, though he may add it at level 1, but he may have his scar if he wants it.

EXP/GP Added!