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Immanuel versus Vyrick
Death Duel
Immanuel stands proudly before the King. The robe of retirement he wears begins to shimmer and change. Black laces down
the sleeves and seems to burn upwards from the bottom. Within moments cloth has changed into a black robe without insignia.
The vampire raises his tainted eyes and at the same time he snaps both hands down. Loud ‘cracks’ resound throughout
the area, as he moves his body around; clearing the rust that has formed in his injured joints. Once again tainted eyes are
allowed to fall onto the form of the king. An almost sad sigh escapes Immy’s lips before he speaks to Vyrick, “King,
I gave thee warning: I said that if you harassed my former wife I would kill you. The time has now come for me to make true
my words. Be ready.” The sad look does not leave the mage’s face as he begins to mumble something. Flames that
were once so familiar burst into life around the vampire. They flare brightly, as if resenting their time of stagnation, forced
upon them by their master’s laziness. The sad look melts off Immanuel’s face as the strength returns to his wary
body, the power of his ancestors once more flows cleanly through his tainted blood, and once more his face twists into a mask
of hatred. Two pallid hands are lifted from their place at his side before the vampire screams four words of power. From the
very tips of his pale fingers, power spews out. It holds no real form, just a tsunami of death aimed solely at Vyrick... The
flames around the vampire once more flare as the power is released; this time they flare into the figure of a giant dragon…
Vyrick laughs loudly at Immanuels words yet gives no reply. As the wave of energy comes upon him, he raises the Soulcutter
before him like a shield. The energy envelops the Vampire king as it passes, leaving no trace within as you begin to smell
the scent of charred flesh and burned clothing. As the last of the energy passes, you see Vyrick, now horrendously burned
to the point where his features are hardly recognizable to the man who had been standing there not a few moments ago. Although
his lips have now been turned to little but ash, he still opens his mouth enough to give out a hissing laugh. His knees begin
to buckle and finally give way as Vyrick in turn plunges his axe to the ground. The very earth itself seems to scream out
in pain as the winds suddenly pick up. Trees creak and eventually break around the area as many different objects are strewn
into the air. Whirling about them, this torrential onslaught bears a funneled form around them as heavy object after heavy
object is cast about in a drained manner, swirling each around and soon coming upon the firey form of Immanuel…
Immanuel eyes the trees and rubble the flies at him rapidly. An almost disappointed look forms on his pale features before
he raises his hand and begins to chant. The flames in front of his flare more brightly than the rest, forming quickly the
face of a dragon. The mouth is opened and the trees thrown by Vyrick enter this void. Smoke issues ironicly from where the
dragons is and within seconds the trees have gone, leaving Immanuel unhurt. A dark grin forms on his pale lips before he snaps
his hand to the left and lets forth a dark, sadistic scream, which quickly forms the words, “Soulbrother!” The
air inches before the mage’s out stretched hand begins to wave, as if a great heat was suddenly burning there. Within
seconds the outline of a staff is formed. More moments pass and the weapon Immanuel used to destroy Lyra forms more solidly
until it is floating quite comfortably next to its master. Pallid digits wrap around the crimson staff, and with a scream
of pure ecstasy the staff is bought in front of his face. Tainted, sanguine-hued orbs lock onto the skull that decorates the
weapon and mad laughter spews out of his stained lips. The flames, as if recognizing this vile weapon, dance and weave with
more power than before. The ground beneath the maddened vampire begins to crystallize, the air cracks and spits with the heat
and in the middle of all this Immanuel stands tall and proud, once more bloodlust has blinded reason, burnt away love and
most of all, doomed this warrior to once more kill. The mage turns the staff so the skull is facing the already injured king.
Once more words of power escape stained lips and once more their effect is instant! From the tip of the weapon a small beam
of dark light shoots forth. It cleaves cleanly through the raging fires and flies straight for the King. Its intentions are
unknown to all, including Immanuel, this power is not his to control. It is the weapon. For a moment you wonder who is really
in control, the weapon or the vampire, but these thoughts melt away as curiousity over Vyrick’s fate burns it away.
Vyrick hisses at the display of power from the staff of Immanuel. As his anger builds, Vyrick rises quickly and swings the
Soulcutter directly at the beam of energy. The two collide and begin their own battle as Vyrick shouts out to no specific
being “ There is only one master of souls ONE! “ as without warning given, the area erupts in a explosion of dark
energy around the Ancient. As you continue to look on, you see several emanations of discontented faces and bodies fly out
from this ensuing maw and disappear into the air. Once more the darkened area explodes as all the area is covered in a moment
of complete pitch. When sunlight has begun to finally return, you see Vyrick leaning backwards, as if a fall was stopped by
an unseen force. His mouth is open as if to shout or curse in anger, yet you cannot detect any sound from him. Yet as you
look on, you see one sight that shuns each of the previous ones. Vyricks hands are still held before him, grasping the handle
to the Soulcutter… but the handle is now all that remains. The beam of dark energy that is cast from Immanuels staff
now impales the king of Modova through the chest, holding him in place after completely obliterating the hellish weapon that
was cast in its way…
Immanuel glares wickedly at what is left of the king. His old arrogance has been once more burned into his tortured face.
The flames that dance around his pallid form flare for a final time before they vanish from wherever they came. The master
of souls walks over to the still form of the king and without hesitating he slams his hand through the kings already wounded
chest and with a vile sound, that causes the hair to stand up on your neck, the mage rips out the heart of the king. Without
waiting another moment, the mage swings his weapon with his free hand; it slams full force into the skull of the king. This
instantly explodes sending blood and brains splashing in all directions. A dark, powerful light begins to emit from the dead
king, it is his soul. As soon as this appears, Immanuel screams three words of power. The staff in his hand shoots out once
more and impales the dark, unearthly light. Tortured screams are heard from everywhere and nowhere. These die as a violent
flash explodes from where the king was. When this too has died down all that is left is a panting Immanuel. His crimson weapon
has once again changed. As when Shylah’s soul ran through it, white lines have cut through the red, they swirl and climb
the shaft. With this done Immanuel turns to Alexia and lowers his eyes, “This is who I really am. I am sorry you had
to see this.”
Immanuel versus Alexander
Immanuel lets his bloodstained lips curl into a wicked smile. “Well meet Alexander, it is a honour to meet you in
battle once more.” Never letting the smile fall from his lips, the mage wraps his strong hands around his weapon, and
with a slight grunt drives it into the ground. With his hands now free, he begins to trace patterns in the air. His movements
are arcane, precise and accompanied by a slow chant. Faint white lines begin to form behind the trailing limbs, but this doesn’t
change their speed or their pre-ordained design. The lines slowly start to connect together, forming a complicated patter
in the air. When finished, the pattern floats up above the two warriors and bathes them in it’s unholy light. Immanuel
lifts his hands above his head and begins to scream… all his hatred, all his pain, let free in one vile action. The
pattern reacts to this by shining more brightly, as if the hatred fuels its dark power. Lowering his hands, he once again
wraps pallid fingers around his weapon, and draws if out of the ground. With the crimson staff once more in his hands, Immanuel
spreads his wings, and launches himself towards Alexander. The light that rains from the sky flares brightly for a second
and when it returns to normal, the mage is gone… A lengthy scream suddenly shatters the silence, and from within the
pattern of darkness Immanuel shoots forth! Physically little has changed, only his eyes which now are a black so complete
they challenge ones sanity, and the staff he once carried is no more, it is replaced dark sword. As the demonic vampire continues
on his way towards Alexander, black flames shoot out of his form, burning all that they touch instantly. “You wanted
power Alexander! Feel the wrath of my ancestors!” The flames shoot forward at the paladin, their heat enough that the
ground starts to crystallise. Following in their wake, the vampire swings his sword, with skill he does not normally possess,
at the paladin’s neck. It’s clean edge looks not just for flesh, but also for the champion of hope’s soul….
Alexander issues forth into the air, avoiding the blades stroke as he looks downwards upon his foe. The flames that encircle
him now mold themselves into the visage of a great bird, depicting his true self. This Phoenix entity opens its beak and shrieks
out at Immanuel, yet its call bears with it a voice that plunges into the minds of all nearby. “ You have learned nothing
of our last encounter vampire. I have existed far beyond your concept of time. “ it speaks as with no other word spoken,
it casts its flight in a large circular pattern. With each flap of its wings the winds grow stronger. Again it issues out
a shriek but it speaks no clear language to you. In the distance of the nearby forest you hear the calls of various animals
and beasts. Louder they grow in response to the Phoenix as the ground shudders. Without warning, a mass of creatures both
magical and mundane rampage from all directions of town, forest, and air directly at Immanuel. Claws slash, hooves kick and
talons grasp at him as Alexander flies overhead, bearing witness to the allies he has summoned as they continue their stampede
at the mage…
Immanuel watches the animals appear, and lets horribly bored expression finds its way onto his face. Tilting his wings,
his forward momentum quickly shifts to upwards, and he soars high into the sky, stopping only when he is equalled that of
Alexander. “Animals?! You don’t take me seriously! Bah!” The pattern that still floats above the two suddenly
distorts, the light that once poured forth, is stopped, and pitch black is all that is left. Out of the dark abyss, three
souls emerge. Their strength seems to drown out all others, as they float to Immanuel, and surround his form. Opening himself
up to them, they dissolve into his being, causing a moan of pleasure to escape his lips. Now whored with power that is not
his own, the mage faces one open palm at Alexander, and one at the animals which lace the ground below. “Feel now the
true strength of my fallen kin!” Black power spews out of his two hands. As the power reaches the animals panicked,
screams are heard as the beasts try to escape. Any who are touched instantly age at a horrific rate, and soon the ground is
decorated with dry, white bones. Returning his attention upward, he watches the remaining power rush at Alexander, attempting
to do to him, what it just did to the pathetic animals of Hollow…
Alexander attempts to outmaneuver this energy that seeks to claim him, but to no avail. It surrounds him quickly as you see
his form begin to succumb. His skin wrinkles horribly and his hair turns to a brilliant white. As his body ages, his wings
no longer able to support his armored body lose their strength and lift. Alexander falls helplessly to the ground among his
now dead allies as you hear several large cracking sounds, his brittle bones shattering like thin glass. A final breath emanates
from his lips as he lies broken upon the ground. The energy surrounding him fades, its job now done as no further life energy
exists within the knight of hope to take. A silence grips the area. Cold and bleak as if the world itself had grinded to a
halt at this single death when you feel the winds ripping you from this silenced state. They continue on course as they had
when summoned as the fires around Alexanders body begin to flicker once more. The heat rises swiftly, burning away the flesh
of the mortal form as the ashes are taken up into the air. Dancing and spiraling these embers and ashen remains float above
when oddly, the winds converge upon each other, taking the cremated body and thrusting it together in a giant sphere. As the
last miniscule part touches with the others, this sphere explodes in a mass of fire and light. As eyes adjust, you see now
within it the form of a man, naked in a fetal position, looking as if just born when his eyes open. He looks down upon Immanuel
in silence as Runeblade sings loudly, recognizing the form. It shoots up from its place among the fallen empty armor to the
hand of the man as he stretches out, showing his face to the crowd. Reborn from the ashes of old, Alexander floats once more,
taking in a newfound breath as if it were his first. He places the tip of Runeblade to his forehead as his eyes burst with
green flame. Unbeknownst to those without the sense, Alexanders mind reaches out to Immanuels, attempting to grasp hold as
it sends forth recollections of past injuries sustained in battle. Vivid as if they were cut this moment, they each seek to
lash at the vampire with such a mental force as to cause the same injuries upon his body through the conduit of his own mind…
Immanuel screams in triumph as Alexander dies, but his screams quickly fade away, as the ashes of the beast rejoin, and
grant life to his soul once more. Rage filters though the blackness of his eyes, as sanguine vines slighter across the blackness.
“NO!” In his enraged state, the mage doesn’t notice what the paladin is doing until it is too late. Horrendous
wounds rip his flesh apart. Slashes, stabs, swipes and the effects of hundreds of spells all lavish their attention upon the
small form that is Immanuel. Within no time, the mage too dies. What is left none could identify, his entire body has become
one giant wound… Silence once again emerges on the battlefield, and like always it is quickly shattered! The portal,
which Immanuel has left open, glows once more! And from within its dark grasp the soul of the vampire emerges. Standing tall
and proud the soul starts to solidify, and within moments flesh has once again incarcerated the soul. Looking up at the portal,
Immanuel speaks slowly. “Come brothers, let’s end this now!” The now glowing portal starts to spew the souls
of Immanuel’s kin. Though these ones are not as strong as the original three, their power is still great. As the last
one rips itself free, the portal closes, and the souls converge around the newly formed vampire. “Not even you can stop
this Alexander! Your holy power will not halt my plans!” As if this were a command the souls float over to the phoenix.
The small light they emit blacks out any light from the flames, as they surround his form. They halt for but a moment, before
all rush in. The flames do not seem to bother them at all, as they make their way towards Alexander himself. Hundreds of hands
reach out, each one going for a different part of him, as they seek to blanket the warrior, and drag him back to which ever
hell they all call home…
Alexander slashes forth with the Sword of Hope, cutting only a few down with each stroke of the mighty weapon as the others
close in around him. As each takes hold, Alexander looks upwards to the skies with a pleading look. His voice snuffed as his
neck becomes caught by several of these dark emanations. As his breath begins to leave him, the clouds begin to shimmer with
a silvery sparkle. As you look upon them, small forms begin to cast down from the skies. As each comes closer, you see their
heavenly forms. Male and female each bearing a set of near ethereal wings that glow with several colors float down. Clad in
no armor, carrying no weapon these heavenly beings come upon the mass of evil souls. Each reaching out their hands, they touch
these souls gently sending them into ferocious convulsions as each angel begins to whisper prayers and songs of forgiveness.
These darkened beings suddenly burst with light, a light that banishes the darkness in their very beings as each releases
its hold on Alexander. Together, both soul and angel rise from the mortal plane to return together to the heavens once more
as Alexanders breath finds him once more. He turns his attention to his armor components now strewn along the ground. He holds
his empty hand out to them as they each begin to shudder under their owners command. Suddenly each piece shoots forth from
their rested place towards Immanuel. As each bears upon him, they attempt to latch themselves to his body, armoring him in
their holy metal. As each does this the power of all lunges out at the vampire, attacking not his body, nor his mind, but
his very essence, the things that make up his evil nature in their power, attempting to turn him towards the light, change
his image to that of good and pure as Alexander floats above, commanding each to its combined attack on the vampire…
Immanuel watches his fallen brethren float into the sky. A deep feeling of contentment bathes his troubled mind. “Rest
well brothers.” Looking once more at Alexander, he fails to notice the armour until it is too late. The pieces latch
onto his being, incarcerating him in a prison of light. Unable to move his body, he looks up at Alexander, expecting to see
him rushing forwards, but before he can even spot the phoenix, his essence suddenly screams in pain! The scream takes but
a moment to make its way out Immanuel’s real mouth. It is a scream of pain, of hurt and most of all, of hatred; Hatred
of who he is, who he let himself become. The holy fury ravages every part of him, driving the darkness away. His pallid body
starts to convulse, blood spews out of his mouth, and down the armour of light. Expecting death, Immanuel latches on to the
one thing he really loves in this vile world, Alexia. Thoughts of her full his pain racked mind, driving away the darkness
inside. As if fooled by this, the armour stops glowing, and fall piece by piece to the ground. The vampire falls along side
the holy items, his wings lay bloodied behind his back, all but useless. His downward momentum is stopped abruptly as the
ground catches his fall. The still white bones offer little cushion as they shatter around his form. Slowly the mage lets
the thoughts of Alexia drift away, he lets his mind once again be tortured by the darkness. Slowly he stands and looks up
at the floating form of Alexander, and once again he speaks to the warrior of hope. “Thank you… You granted my
kin forgiveness, and let them once more live in paradise. For that we will fight no more.”
Immanuel versus Kiya
Immanuel chuckles as his eyes look over Kiya. “You do have pretty eyes. I think I will take them now.” Spreading
his majestic wings, the dragon takes off, soaring higher and higher, until he is but a speck above the battlefield. Turning
in the air, to face his elvic opponent, Immanuel draws, out of his robe, a small, clear crystal. Looking deep into it, the
mage giggles a little, then drops it. As soon as it leaves his hands, Immanuel faces his out-stretched arm at it, palm out.
Chanting a simple spell, he sends a slightly off-white beam of magic at the crystal. The mage’s aim like usual, is perfect,
and the beam of magic enters one side of the stone. As it exits out the other side, it is split into hundreds of smaller beams,
each one raining down on the battlefield. The crystal continues to fall next to the beams, occasionally catching one of them,
causing it to break into even smaller beams, until the view of Immanuel is blocked out, buy his, simple seeming spell…
Kiya smiles as the beam of light surrounds her. “Yes, indeed my eyes are quite beautiful, but I will not give them to
you so willingly. Reaching for her shield, the elf brandishes it in front of her, the shinny metallic metal reflecting all
the light and magic back at Immanuel. Still blinded by the light of the magic spell, the ranger reaches for her arrows and
aims it up at the sky, at the sound of his flapping wings, hoping at least one would make the mark.
Immanuel curses delicately as his magic is sent back towards him. Though he grins as the beams pass through his skin, not
harming him at all, for they were just a pretty light show. Thinking himself quite smart, he does not see the arrow until
it is too late. Searing pain enters his leg, as the arrow sinks in, between his scales. Reaching down, he tries to pull it
out, but it snaps in two, leaving the head embedded in his lower leg. Really pissed off now, the mage starts a slow deep chant,
the words audible to all, though none understand him. As the song leaves his lips, Immanuel starts to glow a disgusting green
colour. Increasing the pace and intensity of his chant, the mage starts to shimmer,like he is moving in and out of reality.
Giggling uncontrollably now, his chant finished, the dragon melts away, leaving a glowing ball were he once was. The ball
starts to fly towards his elvic opponent as if by its own accord, crackling the air with its very heat. Moments before it
reaches her, Immanuel shimmers back into existence behind the ranger, a dagger in his hand, though only a dragon would really
call it a dagger. As the ball continues its flight Immanuel retracts his hand, and silently aims a terrible blow at the back
of the ranger… like he is moving in and out of reality. Giggling uncontrollably now, his chant finished, the dragon
melts away, leaving a glowing ball were he once was. The ball starts to fly towards his elvic opponent as if by its own accord,
crackling the air with its very heat. Moments before it reaches her, Immanuel shimmers back into existence behind the ranger,
a dagger in his hand, though only a dragon would really call it a dagger. As the ball continues its flight Immanuel retracts
his hand, and silently aims a terrible blow at the back of the ranger…
Kiya grins a deep grin of satisfaction knowing one of her arrows hit its mark upon the dragon. The sight of the mage’s
blood, fueling her hatred from with in, as the glowing ball grows closer to Kiya, it strikes the ground sending her rolling
forward away from Immanuel turning quickly upon her back the elf ranger pulls out her last three reaming arrows all dipped
in poison from special herbs found in the Sage Forests. Her hands badly burned from the ball, Kiya aims the arrows towards
the dragons reappearing body
Immanuel cries out in rage as his dagger finds only air. -Confused how his ball pushed her forwards, when it came in from
the front-. Shaking his head, he watches the ranger fire the arrows at him. Keeping his eyes locked on Kiya, the mage raises
his hand, and the three arrows stop in their flight. Thinking it unfair to send them towards Kiya, the mage just sends them
flying off the cliff. Shaking his head in disgust he cools his bloodlust, and simply stares at Kiya.
Lili said, "Alright, all judges have voted. Immanuel, you won the duel."
Immanuel walks up to the ranger. “Yes most pretty.” Reaching one of his scaled arms out the dragon stabs his
fingers into the ranger’s sockets, ripping out her eyes. Pulling out his trusty jar with his other hand, the mage places
the eyes in their jar, careful not to break them even more then they are. Satisfied Immanuel places the jar on the floor,
and with little effort, swings his arms either side of Kiya’s head, ripping her ears off as he does. Putting these in
the jar with Kiya’s eyes, Immanuel writes in small writing ‘Kiya’ on it’s side. Then replace the jars
in his robe and with out a second glance walks away from the maimed elf. Stopping in front of the judges to bow. “Thank
you for judging..”
Immanuel versus Gladius
Immanuel of his knees, he launches himself into the air, stopping about level with the tavern roof. A dark sadistic grin
flashes over his face, as he looks down at the human who accepted his dark challenge. “Well met Gladius, it will be
a honor feeding off your soul!” The moment the last word leaves his lips, black flames erupt around the flying vampire.
The flames form the shape of a dragon for just a moment, before they calm down and simply burn around the mage, their heat
not bothering him at all. “Now fool, you die!” Immanuel concentrates on the flames once more, and with an extravagant
gesture he sends from the heavens, his fires that match the intensity of hell! They burn and crack the air on their way, once
more taking the form of a dragon. And with an arrogance matched only by their ease, they destroy everything foolish enough
to stand before them, and their prize….Gladius!
Gladius looks in shock, as the flames draw nearer. The ranger reaches into his pocket, grabbing a darkened metallic stone.
He pauses for a moment, to look at the rock he holds within his grasp, but says to himself "Not yet, Gladius" Looking back
to the flames, Gladius grabs his sword, from his side. A vicious smile comes to his face, as he starts to take charge at the
Vamipre. With the fire's intense heat, Gladius starts to fade away. Sweat starts to pour down his features, as he becomes
slightly weakened. Suddenly, the fire strikes..melting the cloths off his back, and singing his hair. No serious damage was
caused by the tremendous blow. Gladius smirks, still charging his way towards the vampire, only at a lessened speed. In a
fit of anger, the ranger yells out "Time for this fool, to take his nap!" After the finishing speaking, Gladius reaches his
arms over head, swinging towards Immanuels chest, with a powerful, yet quickened blow..
Immanuel thinks his terrible blow must have done some damage, as he watches his opponent swing his sword wildly on the
ground. With an amused grin on his face he calls out. “I’m up here moron!” With a quick flap of his wings,
Immanuel sends himself flying around in circles above the not-so-smart ranger. As his speed increases, a dark chant issues
from his lips, causing the ground below to shake slightly. Without anymore warning, the ground below Gladius rips itself open,
and from Hollow’s own core, flames erupt upwards. As this happens the flying mage stops his chant, and dips his wings,
causing him to fly downwards with untold velocity! Upon reaching Gladius, Immanuel swings his staff at the ranger’s
head. The skull that lives so happily on the end of the weapon starts to giggle as it nears the human, and from it’s
open mouth dark energies spew forth, coating the weapon in destructive magicks….
Gladius grins, as if he has mislead this Vampire. " Now it is time" He says, with a grin upon his face. Dodging the strike
by the foolish Mage, Gladius quickly runs back a few steps. Reaching into his pocket for the metallic stone, Gladius laughs
madly. The ranger hurls the stone to the ground. Within a moment, the rock starts to turn into a blakened dark smoke. Filling
the area, you hear hellish type screams. Gladius starts to yell, at the top of his lungs. The noises suddenly come to a hault.
Looking closely, you see two red dots appear. The smoke starts to fade away slightly, enough to see the "new" ranger. A fiendish
creature stands before you now, spreading its wings at a span of seven metres each. Blood lust starts to over come the Fiend,
as drool starts to spill out its mouth. With lightning quick speed, the fiend glides towards you, holding a blood thirst scimitar
in his hands, awaiting the demise of such a foolish Vampire..
Immanuel curses as he tilts his wings, and once more soars into the air. His mind is turning wildly, as he is sure he opened
up the ground under the ranger, but oh well, can’t waste thought on such dismal things such as that! As the ‘Fiend’
rushes at him, Immanuel is unsure what to do, the beast doesn’t seem to attack, just rush at him. With yet another dark
curse, Immanuel stops the rhythmic beating of his wings, but he is too slow. The beast’s scimitar slashes across his
shoulder, causing a dark sanguine liquid to explode out of the wound. Due to the wound, he is unable to start the flapping
again, and with a loud crunch, he slams feet first into the ground. He tries brace for the impact, but the blood loss is too
much, and he ends up in a crumpled heap. Slowly the mage gets to his feet, and limps around painfully, his legs feel like
they are broken, though he is sure they are not. Lifting his crimson gaze up to the skies he spots the beast. “For that,
you will die!!” Dark energies start to flow out of the mage, pouring on the ground, melting the well-trodden road. “You
want to play boy!?! Feel my wrath!” The mage raises his staff above his head, and the dark energies fly up the weapon,
and shoot out of it’s top. The power crosses the space between the two combatants almost instantly, seeking not just
to kill the moronic ranger, but to destroy any soul he may have…
Gladius looks in amazement, as the darkened energies approach him. A plan comes to thought, perhaps it may work. Quickening
his thoughts, the ranger jumps into the air, his darkened wings start flapping wickedly, sending a furious wind towards the
Mage. Seeing that had no affect on the energies, Gladius equips his bow. With amazing accuracy, and lightning quick speed
he grabs his arrows, and stealthly fire at the Vampire, not realising they had been demolished within the energy. Continuing
his furios attack, the ranger starts to realise, that the arrows are not getting near the Vampire. A moment passes, as the
energy encloses. With one last ditch effort, to rid the Vampire Gladius glides full force into the energy, holding his scimitar
infront of him, aiming for the Vampires heart
Immanuel shakes his head as the ‘fiend’ flies right through his power. Unable to think past his idiocy, the
mage is taken by surprise! His head tells him one thing, but his legs tell him another, and in the end he gets nowhere. The
scimitar rips into his chest, missing his dark heart by inches. Leaping quickly back, the mage de-whores himself from the
weapon, and lands in a heap, which quickly turns into a puddle of crimson liquid. With a dark curse he pushes himself to his
feet, all be it weakly. Quickly the end of his staff slams into the ground, and the mage leans most of his weight onto his
trusty weapon. Taking ragged deep breaths, the mage speaks through a bloodied mouth. “Bah, you are a fool! And I will
fight you no longer, let those who bear witness to this duel decide, our fates Gladius, because I am sick of deciding my own…”
Lyra versus Immanuel
Death Duel
Lyra bows her head, reaching up with one thin hand to remove the leather band that holds her hair in place. With this movement,
a dark glimmer of something shiny grasped within her misshapen, scarred fingers catches and refracts the pounding light of
the red-rimmed sun. Iridescent beams shimmer mysteriously through the heated atmosphere, absorbing the tension as each erupts
in an impressive display of color. The vampiress releases her ancient treasure, and the crystal dangles from her hand by a
tarnished, silver chain. A cruel, wicked grin spreads across the pallid countenance of Lyra, and her eyes—each a color
akin to onyx—bear hatefully into the body of Immanuel. Small beads if precipitation break out upon her face, however
the vampiress is too distracted with her workings to notice. Her hand motions to and froe, dragging with it the iridescent
crystal, and a slight tinkling melody echoes through the way; driven by the breath of wind. Crimson-stained lips part, and
a glimpse of a pink tongue is momentarily offered before harsh words are whispered forth. Haunting, melodic, and nearly forgotten
in language, this strange spell at first has no effect. Only when the precious stone falls from Lyra’s hand, much happens.
The thin, laceration-like scars upon the woman’s hand burst all at once! Each spurts blood and even fits of flesh in
a gruesome, painful display. The small rivulets drip to the ground, falling upon the crystal and staining its multi-faceted
surface a hellish red. The stone begins to shudder violently, and without warning shatters like a bomb! Columns of multicolored
smoke blast forth, each one undulating to its own rhythm. The air sizzles and crackles, and the contained power of the stone
given to Lyra by Syadon zooms in force toward her adversary. It spreads in a vaporous cloud upwards, offering the vampire
no escape from the terrible, physical and emotion burning that broken constraints offer—bringing forth a power even
Lyra herself had no idea existed. The vampiress drops into a crouch upon the ground, her good hand gripping the horribly injured
one. She watches emotionlessly the effects of her broken word.
Immanuel lets a small smirk play upon his lips as the power of Syadon’s gift is released. As it charges towards him
the mage raises his staff above his head and holds it with both hands parallel to the ground. The smoke washes over the still
vampire and from the depths of his very soul a scream issues forth. The pain, which ravages both his body and soul, is complete.
He loses all sense of everything, hanging on to life by a single thought. A single glimmer of hope in these dark, dark times.
Alexia Isis. He holds the memory of her to him, clinging to it like a child... As the smoke begins to wash past him, what
is left of Immanuel is greatly changed. His shining armor shines no longer! It is ravaged and rusted by this single attack.
His eyes that once glowed with such rich, tainted life now gleam with pure hatred. The smirk on his lips was burned off almost
instantly and his pale skin no longer seems healthy; it seems more like the flesh of a two-day old corpse. All this is lost
to the dark vampire though, he shakes his head, lowers his staff and simply charges forward, his long forgotten family war-cry
screaming from his now cracked lips! His crimson and white-hued weapon begins to whirl around his pallid form. Small storms
of dust fly up as his feet glide across the road, the small ‘thuds’ are all but drowned out by the fierce cry
Immanuel screams. As he reaches his vampiric opponent, the mage leaps towards her! He brings his staff slashing in from the
left, from the right his now rusted, clawed hand slices the air, aimed directly for Lyra’s neck. As the two attacks
swoop in, Immanuel stops his cry and whispers a single word of power. Though spoken softly, it carries such weight everyone
can hear it with crystal clarity, the word is, ‘muffin! The odd command uttered in a whisper has violent effects, it
causes Immanuel’s black flames to roar into life! In an instant they have flared around his body, and with their almost
soft touch, seek out the damned child, Lyra.
Lyra allows the most grim of smiles to stretch her pallid features—a ghostly, unpleasant appearance in itself. She releases
her injured hand, dropping the better one to grasp a long, dark weapon. With a glad, triumphant shriek the Forsaken staff
is wrenched forth! Blackened runes gleam along its rough surface, illuminated with in a hellish aura by the quickly fading
sun. Lyra relishes its presence, for with it not only comes the ambience of her lover, but the nearly forgotten visions of
another—the creator of such a destructive power. To both does Lyra cling as the Forsaken staff whistles through the
now dead air. With a sickening ‘crack’ it collides brutally with Immanuel’s staff, exploding immediately
into dark flames that leap and dance with horrific ferocity. The vampiress growls furiously, her injured hand falling into
its place upon her weapon. New blood only encourages the dark power, and tendrils of darkness extend from the forsaken staff
towards the blazing body of Immanuel. Her magicks cut through the fires that dance around her, even as they eat away at the
woman’s soul. Lyra’s ebon head falls back a bit, strands of her hair catching the flames in an eerie display,
yet through this all, the grin remains. “I grew up in Hell, Immy, in the shadow of a dead god…you think I know
not how to deal with fire?” Little more than a hoarse whisper, her voice is still heard above the chaos. The robed body
of the Fallen Angel glows an electric blue, and, as if burned themselves, the flames fall away—leaving only Immy’s
clawed hand, which she has failed to notice. Only at the last possible second does the woman stagger backwards, dragging the
dread weapon of Valzain with her. The staff slams into the clawed hand, and begins shaking violently with the impact. Knowing
well that the possessed weapon would burn any but its proper wielder, Lyra quickly yanks it away. The flames are nearly out,
but not quite, circulate around the woman…not hot, but COLD! A fierce northern wind begins to whistle, carrying frigid
air in its wake and a sense of unreality. Lyra’s eyes close, becoming hidden behind pale lids as he ambience leaves
her body behind, traveling toward Immanuel and a wave of both ground and sky. Small plants wither and die in its path, frozen
in mere seconds with what is only basic cryomancy. Lyra herself steps back, only now beginning to feel the waves of pain inflicted
by the various burns that cover her body.
Immanuel screams in rage as Lyra manages to block both his weapon and his claw with her single staff! The scream soon dies
as the dark staff of Valzain burns his hand. He retracts the wounded limb quickly before staggering back in pain. As the terrible
cold surges forward, Immanuel wraps his burned and still dead-looking hand around his staff. The dreaded wind consumes him,
freezing all life. As it clears the mage is standing frozen as a popsicle! The only part of him not frozen is his weapon.
The white spirals on his staff have begun to glow. They cover the icy vampire in blinding light and when it has died down
he stands tall, and unfrozen once more. “I have part of Shylah’s soul, child. You think cold would affect me?”
He lets out a nervous laugh, before a simple plan comes into his mind. “You baught this upon yourself, damned one! Now
feel the power which my family used to rule their world!” Immanuel calls forth the power of his brethren. The power
he denied so long ago. The power which turned his brother insane! No words are uttered. No movements noticed. The power used
needs no war-cry! Needs no summon! It is eternal and it is complete. Immanuel lets go of reason, forgets his own will to survive.
Forgets anything other than the destruction of the bitch before him! As the demons of his past return, the mage tears one
hand off his weapon and points a single bony finger at Lyra while muttering, “And now, you die!” The power streaks
forth silently, invisibly and with untold velocity. It covers the ground between them almost instantly. Its effects are noticed
as a small bird gets between them. The birds flesh rots straight away. Both wings fall from its feathered back and a small
thud breaks the oppressive silence as the once-winged creature falls dead. This alters little of the powers intent though,
it still flies right at the damned one, wanting nothing more than to add her to its collection of souls.
Lyra shifts stiffly, the aches of her charred limbs increasing fiercely as the initial rush of adrenalin fades from her stolen
blood. The vampiress stares at her foe, a puzzled frown adorning her light, nearly translucent countenance as he simply—is
there, frozen like one of Nyterath’s ice sculptures. The thought brings a smile to her lips, and soon after a light
chuckle echoes through the air as Lyra forgets all else but what she seeks most---revenge! All this instantly fades as Immanuel’s
invisible attack forcefully enters her mind. She falls backwards, her back arching as the woman rolls across the frozen ground.
Broken images and thoughts of incomprehensible malevolence rock her unstable mind, and with sudden, shrill violence Lyra screams!
The muscles in her arms tighten instinctively and she pulls Valzain’s staff towards her, holding it tightly against
her. Bloody tears stream down her pallid cheeks, the faint trails they leave freezing and falling away with faint clinks.
Lyra’s body trembles as the delicate bonds that hold her soul to her body are tugged and twisted at. The Fallen Angel
lays motionless for a few long moments before something else comes into play—memory! Images of days gone by, of people
long dead and better gone, flood her. Valzain, Solaris, Crisiant, flashbacks of so many others that this woman somehow loved
invade her mind, weakly pushing away the insanity of Immanuel, the madness that threatens to overwhelm her. Only later does
Lyra rise, the winner of this internal battle wills, and with slow, painful steps she rises from the ground. Dark eyes narrow
to slits, and a hateful, feral growl is sent forth in the direction of Immy. “You use your past to form the present.
so I shall take it from you!” The shrill anger of her words pierces the silence. Her hands move quickly, tracing complicated
patterns along the surface of her staff that form into one blinding illumination—a spell directed toward Immanuel that
will wipe everything from him. Every memory this creature has will be smashed into oblivion—if her magic prevails.
Immanuel lets forth yet another colourful string of curses as Lyra once again evades death. As the power he allowed Hollow
to witness begins to fade, the truth hits him like a spade to the head. Almost forgotten fear enters his tainted orbs, his
slightly blue-hued lips turn into a feral snarl and he knows deep down he cannot defeat Lyra. This single thought enters his
mind and burns away all reason. At this moment the power of the damned child enters his head. Oddly, its effect isn’t
quite what Lyra had in mind. It doesn’t burn away all his memories; it burns away all his doubts. That which consumed
his mind completely is destroyed and leaves the mage feeling content, though he still knows now he has not the power to win
alone. Once more the vampire uses the power of Shylah. He lifts his weapon to his face and speaks inaudible words to it. The
white spirals begin to twirl rapidly, they surge up the weapon and are released into the sky. It glows a perfect white, its
power unaffected by the taint that is Immanuel. Crimson, rage-fulled orbs are lifted from Lyra to fall on the power above
him. And with an almost loving voice he speaks to it. “Destroy her, soul of the queen, and I swear I shall free you
to return to Shylah.” The soul above the battlefield begins to take shape. Wings emerge from the light, long legs, short
arms and a massive head for all to see. It has formed the figure of a giant dragon. The wings that decorate its back begin
to flap slowly. Its head turns to look at Immanuel for a moment, before roaring at him and twisting to face Lyra. Little time
is wasted as it cuts through the air, its wings are not needed as it keeps flight by will alone. As it reaches the damned
one, it wraps its claws around her form, and in that instant explodes! Everything is thrown into chaos by the power released
on this day. Birds bark. Lizards debate the higher forms of philosophy. The tavern itself lets out an annoyed moan. In that
one instant everything changes. Immanuel is thrown off his feet. He surges through the air coming to rest only when the unkind
ground catches him. Horrible wounds seem to have found themselves a home all over his body, though their cause is all but
unknown. He lies there withering in pain. Crawling on the ground like a beggar; begging for the pain to stop. All thoughts
of Shylah, Alexiaisis and Aniquilar are lost. Pain consumes him completely. Throughout this though, he still manages to lift
his head and look over to Lyra, he is more than a little curious to see what the horrendous power of Shylah has done to the
proud, damned child.
Lyra stares in awe, her jar nearly hitting the ground, as the purified dragon sweeps grandly through the chilled air to encircle
her, exploding at the very instant that its claws contact her perfect skin. The effects are immediate! Lyra staggers backwards,
collapsing into the tavern wall. The blinding whiteness shimmers around her, the savior and destroyer that consumes all things
great and evil. Horrific burns and lacerations appear from nowhere, and blooming crimson stains soon overtake the once back
garments of Lyra. The Fallen Angel lays quite still, her body wracked with too much agony to move. Only one hand—the
once-scarred appendages now freed of the corrupted power. Bony fingers close around her Forsaken staff, and it begins to rise.
Strands no thicker than a woman’s hair pierce through the freezing luminescence of Shylah, cracking and severing bits
and pieces. The exploded dragon begins to crumble, much like a window would if it had a rock thrown through it, and the possessed
weapon of Valzain pulsates with a life of its own. The runes dance and writhe along the dark surface of the unholy weapon,
and a small crack in the stone opens a bit wider. With a loud ‘thwoop’ sound, the essence of Shylah is sucked
within the Forsaken staff, bound eternally by the dark magic. Its wielder, however, is surprisingly motionless.
Rudra sighs before stepping forth from the crowd. He takes a bow and clears his throat, preparing to speak, "The votes
have been counted, and the judges decisions have been made. The winner is...Immanuel."
Rudra takes yet another bow before the two combatants, "Very well fought though. You have my utmost respect."
Immanuel gets slowly to his feet. His body is a tattered display of wounds. Flesh drips from more than one place on his pallid
body. He sways around like the drunken fool, though his eyes lock onto the form of Lyra. A dark, tortured scream is ripped
from his throat as he sees her lying there. he once again lifts his ruined hand and points what can only be a finger, though
it looks more like a hunk of raw steak, at Lyra. “Die…” From the tip of his digit comes once more the power
of his family. It surges through the area and engulfs Lyra. Immanuel holds to his feet for as long as he can, before dropping
his hand and fainting face first onto the ground. Dust has erupted around the damned child, and when it finally clears, all
that is left is a withered, dead corpse. Her dreaded weapon seems to have vanished with her life…
Rudra sighs sadly as he approaches the Fallen Angel's corpse. Something unseen suddenly appears as a single, solitary tear
wells within Rudra's eye and begins to slowly trail his cheek. He kneels and leans, planting a delicate kiss upon Lyra's forehead
and wishes her the best journey in her walk.
Immanuel lifts his head from its place in the dirt and whispers that famous word of power, "muffin." Black fires explode from
the corpse of Lyra, burning away her corpse till nothing remains.
Siolad glances towards Immanuel, and sighs, "You know.. You didn't have to.."
Immanuel 's face once more slams into the dust covered ground. This time, he doesn't rise.
Itarilde frowns, turning her head away...
Shogo bites firmly on his lower lip, hardly able to watch the scene. He does not blink, and his expression shows little.
Rudra mutters quietly to himself.
Ciya whispers a prayer for the fallen Lyra.
Lyra's corpse burns brightly into nothingness, taking with it the possessed staff of Valzain, as well as the secret to where
Kaizer's scythe once lay. Beside it, the small form of a tabby cat curls up, its fur lighting with its' mistress' corpse,
until both are gone.
Immanuel coughs into the dirt, causing a small amount to fly up and stick to his horrible wounds.
Caiban having witnessed the merciless battle quietly he now breaks his silence, "Does he have no family or friends? For the
gods, see to him already! He needs your help now."
Ciya said to Caiban, "What would you have us do?"
Immanuel gets to his feet slowly. He looks at everyone here for a moment, before letting out an insane laugh. This lasts for
several moments, stopped only when Immanuel enters the tavern. And once again falls flat on his face.
Mandu versus Immanuel
Mandu stands still as he feels the chilly air surround his very being, as it finds a way to bypass his leather tunic and chill
him to the bone. The elven paladin calmly stands there looking at the vampiric mage that now stands before him. In fluent
elven he speaks "Llie aa’ tu amin tigin deshu sina naa vanwa." then reachs for his sword pulling his Dragon Tooth blade
from his hip. As the blade comes clean from its scabbard the paladin lift his other hand in front of himself and begins to
chant "Tua amin Mystra! Selingue theur!" as the last word leaves his lip a bright light surrounds his hand as a holy shield
of light forms on his forearm. Upon completing his spell he goes on the offensive as he charges his would be attacker his
sword held out far to his side as he approuchs. The paladin quickly lungs for the vampire intending to spear him with the
end of his blade hopeing to score a deep wound, as his feet hit the ground from his lung he jumps upward and back hoping to
slash accross the mages chest...
Immanuel yawns loudly as Mandu chants in the horrible elvic tongue. With a slight shake of his head, he draws out his staff,
and slams it into the ground. Spreading his free arms, he speaks only two words of power, and black flames explode from his
body. The mage lets a small grin creep over his features as he rips his staff out of the ground. Looking once more to the
elf, he is a little surprised to see him running! Quickly he jumps backwards, the blade missing his front on the lunge, by
mere inches, but the slash is way to wild, and misses his form by quite a bit.. Hundreds of dust granules leap into the air
as the vampire lands, but he doesn’t bother to look down. Instead he let’s forth a primal scream! His hatred of
cowards slithers through the sound, making it harsh and cruel. Wasting no more time, he leaps towards Mandu, the flames that
surround him flare violently. The shape they create seems to be a mighty dragon, though that could just be your imagination.
Immanuel starts to swing his staff around and around. The flames lick the air, causing horrible cracking sounds… the
ground itself seems to moan at the heat they possess. Upon reaching the paladin, the vampire leaps out of the flames, his
staff swings quickly for Mandu’s head, and then his groin. The flames waste but a second, before once again overtaking
the mage, their intent to remove the pesky elf from these vile lands…
Mandu chuckles slightly knowing his attack was going to miss, as he now has the vampire where he wants him. He quickly lifts
the shield of light above his head holding it firmly as he feels the staff come down upon it he parries it away with great
force. He then lets a slight smirk run accross his whole face as he steps back and throws the shield and sword to his sides,
and steps back takeing both his hand in front of himself he begins to chant again "Amin yel deno' i' luth en' i' Seldarine
en' iant." as he utters the last word his body is engulfed in a bright white light. The roadway seems to lighten up as though
the sun were at high noon. A loud thundery crash can be heard in the distance as all time seems to stand still around the
combatants, and all things holy seem to give off a radiating light. Slowly to all onlookers a figure can be seen steping out
of the light dressed in mithril fullplate, as the figure gets farther from the like the pearly white wings can be seen trailing
behind him as he glows in all his radiance. He reachs to his back pulling a skillfully forged claymore with runes all along
the blade from his back, then he chants "Selingue Rill." before he disappears into the sky. He is out of sight within seconds
before a loud boom can be heard as he breaks through the sound barrier on his approuch towards the foul vampire, quickly diveing
for the foul creature he begins to skillfully send blow after blow towards the creature in hopes to destroy him...
Immanuel curses as his flames don’t seem to bother the elf at all. With a delicate shrug, he dismisses these thoughts
and focuses once more on the job at hand. The mage twists in the air, and lands gracefully, his eyes once again lock on the
vile little elf. Suddenly bright light erupts outwards. He is forced to quickly shield his eyes behind his arm, knowing full
well the dangers of being blind in a duel like this. When the light clears, Immanuel is more then shocked to see Alexander
standing before him. He rubs his eyes with his free hand, and realizes it is not his worthy foe, but the elf simply changed.
Not really impressed by this, he stands arrogantly and waits for the attack. When it eventually comes, Immanuel is more then
prepared, his staff becomes nothing but a blur as he parries blow after blow, never seeking to counter attack, he is more
then content to defend for now. This little game quickly grows quite boring, and Immanuel once again jumps backwards, out
of harms way, and then he quickly leaps high into the air! His wings do not guide his flight, as they stay completely still.
The flames that still burn around him are what carry this mage on his graceful flight. Looking down now at the pathetic, holy
elf the mage starts to speak. His words are spoken softly, yet they carry to everyone in the area. “Now elf, you will
feel my wrath!” The words echo around the area strangely, instead of getting softer they increase in volume, until they
drown out everything else! Immanuel points a withered finger at Mandu, and small balls appear all around him. Instead of floating
towards him, they each sink down into the ground. A dark, sadistic laughter is heard, before the ground under Mandu liquefies.
At this moment, the mage makes his move. He shoots down from the sky with untold velocity, directly at the paladin. Upon reaching
him, dark energies lash out, forming a web like pattern. Quickly Immanuel retracts his arm, and throws his staff at the web.
It hits it cleanly, and drives it down. Acting like a ram, to push the elf into the bowels of Hollow forever. The mage quickly
changes his direction and once more heads upwards, away from danger, and away from that strange smell…
Mandu notices his blows are not makeing contact with his foe before the vampire flies off. The angel looks around wildly trying
to find the vampire when suddenly sees the ground beneath him liguefie, he looks up as the web of darkness is unleashed. He
begins to look for another way out not intending on being sent into that pit. Thrusting upward full force towards the cent
aiming not for the web, but the bottom of the staff with his claymore he screams out "Llie saura lerret n' moot arta amin!
Mor!" quickly slamming the holy blade into the bottom of his staff intending to light the web ablaze and splinter the foul
beasts staff. After takeing the trust at the staff his body seems to become a bright white glow and disappear from within
the unholy cage of death. He then materializes within two feet of the beast shouting "Foul beast! You shall die!" as he utters
these words he lifts the claymore quickly from his right slashing upward as he lift his other hand and yells "Lerret Rill
teshuel sina quarlani nae i' morinuin!" letting loose a volley of white flames from his outdrawn hand locking onto the darkness
within the vampire's heart intending to light him ablaze...
Immanuel curses as the ‘angel’ dodges his well thought out attack. A little pissed by this, the mage starts
to utter a longer, set of curses, but these are soon cut off by the appearance of the elf. With no weapon to defend himself,
Immanuel quickly starts to fly backwards, the blade creates many new holes in his robes, but never once marks his pallid flesh.
As the bolts of flame are sent forwards, the mage can only laugh. He simply concentrates on his own flames, and they expand
outwards. The balls of white are quickly absorbed in the black fires of Immanuel. Shaking his head he once again extracts
his finger in Mandu’s direction, and a small glob appears. The glob looks quite comical, it bounces around in the air,
as if dancing to un-heard music. It makes its merry way to the paladin with a lazy grace. Nothing seems to bother this glob!
Upon reaching him it bends into all kinds of awkward positions, before suddenly exploding! What comes out of this glob surprises
even Immanuel! Lots of small globs! The area is now full of little floating globs! The small comical balls of energy, start
to wrap around Mandu, never touching him, but being so damn close it looks like they are. The mage lets a satisfied grin make
its way to his lips, “ummm, go?” As if this were some kind of odd command, the globs latch together and start
to shrink rapidly! Each one connects so tight, not even a vampiric giant could prize them apart! And as they shrink they try
to crush that little Alexander look-a-like! And end what must be a miserable existence
Mandu is caught off guard by the globs and feels his body being crushed as the tighten around him. He shout aloud "Damn you!
Foul Beast!" he tries to muster all the strength in his body to break free, but to no avail. He then remembers something he
was taught long ago while he was being trained as a paladin, he quickly lets his body relax and begins to go into a meditating
slumber slowly loosening the grip around him. He body begins to contort with the globs as they try to latch tighter around
him but can not seem to get a grip he slowly slips down through them as though being glided slowly to the ground by the orbs.
Once his feet reach the ground and he is no longer within the globs he looks up at his foe and speaks "You fight well for
a foul beast." then nods to the vampire...
Xzar versus Immanuel
Xzar focuses his red hues on the mage that stands before him. The faintly lit fountain seems to softly glow and the crimson
liquid that is held within fills the vampire's nostrils, putrid yet pleasant and beautiful. Reaching up he outstrenches his
pale, lithe fingers, bonelike and appearing similar to the hand of death itself reaching out towards the sick and suffering.
His hand travels behind his head and the assassin pulls his sword from it's sheath, the soft 'click' seems to drown out all
other noise, filling the senses with an ever present foreboding of what is to come. The vampire pulls his sword forward, its
color as deathlike as the hand that holds it. Red hues light up as the assassin studies his fellow vampire, his ashen lips
speak not a word as his footfalls are wisped away with the night breeze. He nears Immanuel and reaches to the side with his
sword, his hips shift as he leaps into the air, the white khopesh leaves a flash of pale hatred in the air behind it. The
sword, like a single claw follows a single path, aimed toward the center of the mages back, Xzar can almost picture the blood
seeping from in between the slash.
Immanuel watches Xzar run at him with a bored smile on his face. “Now really, your wife is at stake, I expected more.”
The mage waits until Xzar leaps forward, before he decides it is time to do something. He pushes forwards and upwards with
his strong legs, but alas! He is too slow. Xzar’s blade slices the skin on his back, blood spews forth causing Immanuel
to falter for just a moment. Quickly he regains his composure, and spreads his wings. They begin to beat rhythmically, and
quickly carry him high above the fountain of blood. The wound that is on his back makes flying difficult, but Immanuel manages
it. Looking down at Xzar, he flashes him a quick sadistic grin before starting to chant in a language obviously not made for
the human throat. The words rip themselves free, each one said clearly, and strongly. As the chant continues, the blood in
the fountain begins to bubble. After a few moments of this, the blood explodes upwards, and from within the sanguine waters,
a dark being shoots upwards. His speed is uncanny, as he makes his way towards his master. “I serve you Immanuel, in
death as I did in life.” Seemingly satisfied by this the mage points towards Xzar. “Then rip his black heart out
and feed it to me!” The beast wastes no time, he launches himself forwards. Though no wings decorate his back, the being
has little trouble in defying gravity. His features are hard to make out, as light does not seem to reflect of him at all
and what light does reflect, is tainted by the crimson liquid that is all over him. As he reaches the assassin, a black blade
materializes in his hand. It is instantly whipped up, and swung at Xzar’s midsection, then before you know it, it has
swung back, this time for Xzar’s neck! The sound of battle is suddenly drowned out by the insane laughter of Immanuel,
as he watches his being play with rare pride…
Xzar is slightly thrown of center from his own attack, he footfalls heavy as he clumsily stumbles, gaining his balance his
crimson eyes gaze up at the rising fluid, a fluid that very nearly matches the color of his vampiric orbs. The blood rises
up, small droplets land upon the assassin's face staining it with tiny blotches. A figure collects itself, the liquid taking
shape, it soon speeds toward him. Leather like wings become taunt expanding fully they send a gust towards the figure, and
leaping from the ground a blade tip scathes the delicate chest yet that is the least of worries as it returns. Blunt force
slams the assassin's head to the side forcing him to drop his blade. It falls into the now empty fountain with a 'clang' that
in no way matches the ringing in his ears. In a burst of speed the vampire rushes into the air, dodging other swipes by the
animation, soaring near Immanuel, unsure as if he indeed sees his foe. Ashen fingers dig into Xzar's pocket and he pulls an
item from it's concealment. His gleaming stiletto is revealed, ancient scripts seem to run up and down the blade itself, truly
a belle of a weapon. The blade is quite long in length, nearing the dimension of a short sword, yet unlike any other sword
the sides are blunt as this weapon is simply fro piercing flesh directly, burying deep hole in flesh. The vampire flies above
his foe and in a swooping motion hooks the blade, adding force as it nears the mages shoulder, aiming to tear valuable muscles
and ligaments rendering the arm useless.
Immanuel curses at the speed of Xzar, his own pet not quick enough to really mark the flesh of the assassin. As Xzar reaches
him, the mage, simply stops beating his wings. With all his upward force gone, Immanuel neatly drops out of the sky. The graceful
landing marred only by the blood that taints his shoes and the small swirling of dust granules that are rudely unsettled.
Looking back up he notices his pet has gone in for another round, it’s blade is once more a blur as it slashes and stabs
at Xzar’s vitals. With a slight shake of his head, Immanuel begins another chant. This one is slow and wordy, as his
pet distracts the vampire above him hopefully for long enough! The moment the last word is ripped free, black magicks surround
Immanuel. Faces can be seen within the now swirling power, and hideous, tortured screams issue forth. Grinning at it, he speaks
mockingly to those who are trapped within. “Bring me his soul, and I might free yours!” The power instantly obeys,
it streams upwards towards Xzar, the screams within get louder and louder, as they all hunger for the soul of Xzar. Though
this magic is quite damaging to physical objects as the foolish undead crow the flies into it finds out. An explosion of feathers
is all that is seen, before the soul of the bird, small as it may be, is added to this, most vile of collections.
Xzar dodges swings from the blood servant, blood leaks from small wounds that were causes by swings to well placed to dodge,
the fight continues above as an unfamiliar creature approaches. A white majestic being approaches, soft thumps are heard,
gravel is crushed under it's long extremities. Appearing as a ghost, ghastly, pale and unidentifiable is strides under the
battle. Rose colored eyes glow, illuminating the ground in front of the figure, making the blood that soaks the ground light
up, and appear almost beautiful. The eyes gaze toward the winged fighters, sadness and suffering seem to be absorbed into
the massive creature as it gazes toward the sky.... Xzar faintly hears the screams of the damned below, feeling his ears with
anger, hatred.. and a thirst for his life-force. Tossing his only weapon to the ground he arcs and turns in order to avoid
blows. Abruptly the vampire is forced downward, souls dart and glide around his body, surrounding his and causing unspeakable
pain and horror. Quickly engulfed all that is seen is a dark swirling mass in the night sky... Suddenly and unexpectantly
white light illuminates the shadow covered area, the brightness burning into sockets causing momentary blindness and confusion.
The white light reaches all, even the back of your eyes seem alit. The fountain rapidly becomes dark, but a soft glow is seen
above, a brilliant white long sword is extended in mid air... Now strangely freed of the soul created prison the assassin
impulsively rushes to the alien sword and wraps his thin fingers around the hilt, a soft whisper is heard as Xzar speaks,
"Thank you Meier.". Diving towards the ground the vampire lets out a shriek, a scream to match that of a banshee. Swinging
the blade towards the mage, a gust is felt as he passes. Doubling back his flies in a straight line, his sword grasped by
both hands as he attempts to drive it through Immanuel as he crashes into the fellow vampire.
Immanuel can only shake his head as Xzar runs at him with yet another new weapon. The mage quickly spreads the wings that
decorate his back, but the speed of the assassin is too much. Pain erupts in Immanuel’s stomach as the new blade of
Xzar finds itself a new home in the pallid flesh of the vampire. The force of the blow, plus the added weight of the assassin
sends the mage flying of his feet, his wings now dangle uselessly, and offer no cushion to the hard ground below. All the
air is slammed out him and the horrible wound in his stomach spews more precious blood. As his senses reel, his pet shimmers,
and then vanishes. So too does the collection of souls. Unable now to even pull himself up, Immanuel lies very still. Breathing
has become very hard, as he fights for life. Without warning the thoughts of hatred, of lust and of sadistic joy are pushed
out of his head, to be replaced by thoughts of Alexia. Holding onto the memory of his beloved, the mage stands slowly and
glares at Xzar. “Is that all you got?!” Lifting one hand of his wound, he points it at Xzar, and a small blue
fireball appears there. Struggling to keep consciousness, Immanuel pours all he has into this azure ball. The powers that
linger inside are different, no dark magic is present, as this power is different, more divine. Letting go of his hold over
the sphere, it floats almost lazily over to Xzar. At that moment Immanuel once more collapses on to the ground. He can not
even watch as the ball, suddenly rips itself in tow, then four, then eight! All of the spheres spiral around the assassin,
their movements are slow and deliberate. As if by an un-worded command, they all suddenly rush in at Xzar, each one going
for a different spot on his body, and each one charged, to rip the miserable flesh of his tainted body…
Xzar tumbles into Immanuel, dust raises from the ground enveloping both fingures. The assassin leapts back, his wings pushing
against the currants of the wind, pulling him away from the enemy. Wearly his huefigures to Immanuel, almost sad, almost fearful.
Azure orbs encircle, carefully yielding to the slim, weak looking being imprisoned by them. Without a sound they cease movement
for only a second before they sink into the vampire's body burning horribly, draining strength from all his being, damage
is faintly seen on the outside yet inside he feels as though each muscle is being torn from the bone, snapping and shredding,
slowly killing. The vampire sinks to his knees, his breathing heavy and labored. Heaving he coughs, blood speckles his lips,
adding, if not slightly, some color, a tiny sign that his is indeed alive. Raising his head and a single hand he removes the
mask from his face, crimson eyes stare at the opponent. A single tear is shed, it falls to the ground in silence. The assassin
gazes at each person gathered, a sight that could be his last, in his mind he wishes his love was present, his last vision
would then be perfect.
Kaethil steps forward, "The victory goes to Immy."
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