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Serfius versus Mordecai
Serfius's being arcs forward, no gaunt introduction, no stance of the warrior. A quickened spin sets his motion to a spiral,
either foot tracing along a predetermined path, seperated by no longer a distance than a foot, toe to heel, toe to heel. Just
then, the air is met by a wicked steel -- the both of his hands drawing to brandish the blade, SagusSoul, bringing it to the
front of his ravaging form. With a final footfall, light clouds of smoke are met by a sable display of pluming strands, his
arms racing just behind, assuming the deadliest of upward maneuvers; An ascention brought on by skill and prowess, aimed only
for the most vital of spots, chest to neck with the brunt at its tip, threatening to tear away the flesh of Mordecai's throat.
Before the Sagus's swing appear numbers of beautiful blossoms -- large and small all brilliantly colored in a vibrant makings
spouted upon a vine thatchet of clover leaves, and as the tip of its binding metal passes like a whistle through the calm
air, behind, corupuscles emerge violently, pussing over and exploding in a vile display; Surely this blade is made for ending
the sweetness of life, and that is just what it aims to do.
Mordecai stands silent in the cool room, the evil presence filling his soul with wickedness and hatred. he waits patiently,
watching the charade of a warrior in front of him. His arms lay still by his side with one gripping his jagged scythe. His
body crouches low, bent at the middle as he flares his arms, blade going far to his side, and the other positioned in front
if his slender frame. Inaudible whispers slip past his crimson lips as if the vampire spoke to the stagnant air around him.
As his words grow in intensity, a black hue emits from his palm, growing in size and power. With a quick sweep of his hand,
Mordecai clashes his palm with the lower end of his scythe, wrapping his fingers around the wooden shaft as the black hue
erupts into an enormous flame, biting at the air all about him. The vampire still waits patiently for his attacker to assail
upon him, the muscles in his lower jaw clenching in anticipation. The two blades meet with a violent clash as sparks fly from
the contact. The blades interlock as the two enemies clash in might and brute force. The younger vampire twists his arms,
attempting to gain an upper hand in the battle. The flesh of his left arm is torn as Serfius's blade digs into his pale flesh,
sanguine fluids flowing freely from his veins. A terrifying scream emits form his throat, writhing in pain as he continues
to wage war on his foe. Mordecai pushes with all his might, forcing his weapon down upon Serfius. The blackened flames bite
down at the ranger, crawling from the wooden shaft onto his own arms, intending to burn him alive in their fury
Serfius rushes into Mordecai, hasted to lacerate his arm, a certain verve alights his eyes as the blood is spilled. However,
the ambuscade catches him off guard, his locking blade threatening down on the ambit of his face and neck. In a desperate
attempt to free himself of the certian suicidal move, he looses his blade rightwardly, bringing the scythe off and away from
his shoulder, but to no obvious avail, the locking blades are sent down his right arm, instantly peeling the flesh off his
bone. Angrily, he evades away, the sleevelessness of his mail highlighting the mesh of crimson and pale of his flesh. Serfius
crisscrosses his arms downward, the hilt in his clutching, bloodied hands, sword tip sliding against the floor beneath as
his form rushes backward and away from his asailant. A spark catches his boot, soaring off from the friction of his blade
to the granite stone, and as it is caught upon his ever vigilant eyes, the simple utterance of electricity is ensnared within
his will. He urges it to breathe -- to grow and change into something much more, and it does so. Increasing nearly tenfold,
the now roaring singe tears to and fro at his retreating feet. All at once, his eyes dart for his frontside, falling locked,
trancelike to Mordecai, and the torrent inflames, reaching anguinely to the being before him to drench him in a contemptful
wrath of natural energy.
Mordecai staggers to regain his footing after the deadly encounter. The writhing pain now becoming unbearable in his arm,
he is forced to drop his scythe as it falls to the floor, the echoing sound filling the dark room. He stands still, awaiting
the onslaught of flames, waiting to burn into his flesh and rip it from his bones. Two eyes can be seen through his black
hood, staring blankly at the flames as if mesmerized by their graceful movements. he stretches forth a single hand, reaching
for the flame that seems to call for him, beckoning him to come closer. Slow footsteps lead the vampire into the flame as
they suddenly lash out at him, violently, tearing at his pale flesh as the smell of burnt skin fills the room. Aware of his
mistake, Mordecai now cries out for mercy, begging the deadly flames to cease. He falls to one knee, enclosed in the wall
of fire that now burns around him in a violent torrent. His screams grow as his agony becomes unbearable. His neck tilts as
his eyes are sent searching in the sky for something, some form of a savior. Now his screams turn into words as he calls for
the sky to obey him, commanding its will to be that of his own. From his knees he stretches both his arms, hands spread wide
open as he continues his loud incantations. The roof of the temple splits as a gaping crack forms down the center. Loud thunderous
roars quake through the vast area as columns crumble to the floor. A single strike of lightning crashes down, setting fire
to the altar that rests in the middle of the room. Mordecai's eyes meet those of Serfius once more as his screams and words
turn into wicked laughter. With every second his laughter grows along with the thunder that now reverberates against the temple
walls, almost sending them crumbling down with its force. Mordecai stands to his feet, his flesh still charred by the deadly
flames. He speaks to the skies and the lightning flashes down in all places, each flash closer and closer to the next. A final
cry emits from the throat of the vampire as a wave of violent electricity screams down towards Serfius, scorching the ground
all around him, intending to strike him to the floor.
Serfius stands on end in wait, anticipating the approach of the wicked tendrils. Slowly, as all falls around him, the vampire
rasies his head, unattentive to the pain of his right arm, though the blood still trickles to a clot at his wrist and leg.
Then as the assault is released, suddenly the footing is changed, and he lowers. Serfius's left leg breaks forth, nearing
the fury, as well as his lowered brand, and as the energy comes upon him it meets only the blade at first. Both arms shoot
for the sky, raising not only the Soul blade, but a waking force that still creeps for his body in destructive hunger. In
chant, he calls for the power of this force, in attempt to aneal its depredator nature, and instead it disobeys- sending him
backwards in a sprawling heap, singing through his body with a hatred of its own right. Raising slowly, he shakes himself
free of the electrical bondage, weakly standing, heaving with breath, his skin a darker hue as his blood had begun to boil.
With a renewed zest and anger, Serfius excites his blade, whipping it about in accelerated motions -- first a jolt rightward,
the blade begins to pulsate at the touch of resistance; Then the same leftward, a soaring display of scorching fury, it quickly
alights with a steady glow of pulsations, synthesized with that of the deepest, dark light. Amidst the blight a form is seen
dancing; rubiscund liquid glazed all about its maw, dried to a hardened carpace; and then release. The Sagus is sent out in
a seemingly random gesture, only so for it is noticed simply in a blur of light and bloodied mass. Spinning, the blade crawls
out, screaching a most strident of sword tones, sibilant beyond measure. Then, to no direct meter of attention the blade twists,
anon approaching for Mordecai's form -- it would surely hew him in half at the naval.
Mordecai stands hunched at the torso, unable to make any quick movements. With anticipation he waits, still unarmed and defenseless.
He watches carefully as the blade screams through the air, trails of glowing hues in its wake, threatening to cleave him in
half upon contact. In a defiant attempt, the vampire hurls his right arm in front of his body as the blade sinks into his
limb, protruding through the back. The magnitude of the weapon sends the vampire's arm flying against the wall, pinned against
the cold surface as Mordecai makes a feeble attempt in loosening the blade. His efforts are useless and he turns to face Serfius,
unable to move from his shackled position. The vampire slowly lifts his left arm, the scars from the deadly flame still burnt
into his flesh. His slender frame begins to pulsate as the vibrations surge throughout his entire body. A dark force grows
inside him, flowing through the tiny veins in his body until it reaches the palm of his hand. It bleeds through his hand as
if it were liquid. It wraps around his fingertips until finally forming into a spherical orb. Mordecai bends his arm, bringing
the black orb close to his face, looking into the void that he controls in his hand. Lifting his arm high over head, he thrusts
the sphere towards the ranger, its strange power sucking everything into its essence before reaching Serfius, intending on
suffocating the life from his body, and sending him into an abyss of darkness.
Serfius braces his arms over the base of his battered chest-piece, readying himself for what is to come. Accipitrine eyes
scan over the anti-matter as it demivolts haphazardously over the narrow path of annihilation, breaking the air in its horror-drenched
wake. As it comes upon the form hunching feebly before it, the sphere of pure nonentity begins to pull upon the life force
illicitly, bringing the being into itself. Serfius's matter stretches from natural position, the abrasion wholy defying the
status quo; His arms begin to tear, no longer limbs but mere particles of matter that easily bend within this mass. So easily,
it pulls through the vampire, scraping upon his soul as a sword to the limestone, breeding the deepest of pain. At last, it
pulls through his back, dissipating as the job is complete, and to the physical realm, he stands there unharmed -- but woe,
lurking beneath, in a spirit realm of sorts, Serfius is torn through, ripped to shreds by this creation. He falls to the floor,
knees slamming to the ground, though his anguish far too great to pay mind. Soft crimsom parts his lips, flowing freely down
his jaw, and as he clatters to the ground, such soft words can be heard, "Oh drat...I've gone and bitten my tongue."
Serfius lies helpless on the ground, his mouth open, his body drenched in his own blood as he awaits the decision.
Atropos looks around at everyone gathered before quietly speaking to the duelist alone, "You both fought well, but the
victory goes to Serfius."
Serfius versus Baou
Serfius's visage contorts to that of a pernicious grin as he lowers his form to the ground, his body bending at the waist.
With both eyes ammended to his opponent, he begins to stretch his form, finally bending his neck, and as a snap is issued,
he raises himself, readied. With all but a signalling shot fired, Serfius begins to race across the tavern's wooden floor,
each footstep thudding lightly, speeding towards his opponent with acerbity fueling his power. As he nears his foe, a leap
is taken, sending him in a bound above Baou's head, and as he flies past, both hands shoot for his dual flaming brands. His
feet bounce lightly upon the wall behind his opponent, and he brings himself into a horizontal crouch, then with a doughty
shove off, he is sent flying for Baou's rear, his hands tugging sharply at the brands, and as they are pulled, thier flames
leap into the air, licking and flickering about. The white flamed brand is crossed above the other, which is black, the blades
elemental energies antithetical to eachother, deviating and distorting as they fly forth through the placid ozone of the tavern
towards Baou, Serfius' style seemingly without stigma.
Baou stares directly into the nearly disturbing expression afixed on Serfius's face, his features seemingly unimpressed. The
mysterious sorcerer turns around in a swirl of a strangely demonic and black aura placed directly upon his being. A seering
red flame adds to the spectacle of Serfius's own blades, clashing with the two mighty weapons of light purest and emotionless
black. Sparks that are as large as Arch Mages' great fireballs fly from the clash of melee, as, with an underhand movement,
the black-robed man ducks under the twin brands and disappears into his reverbating shadows. With this miraculous disappearance,
the blade smothered in white flames becomes that of a melting pile of steel connected to a scarred hilt. The white brand destroyed,
Baou reappears, looking unto Serfius from behind the vampire. The massive longsword in his left hand disappears as it slides
in a fiery clang of iron steel into a purely obsidian scabbard with quite strange runes of both seemingly Elven and Orcish
origin, along with unrecongnizable runes. Baou now looks unto the other blade, its colored flames dark as night, and descends
toward Serfius's back. His right hand extends toward the blade almost as if in longing, but, just before he touches Serfius,
the black brand's elemental energy turns on itself, imploding in a wonderful sparkle of sizzling black and white magical power.
Baou expands his two arms in either direction, smiling wickedly as twins of Serfius's own brands appear in his hands, their
powers yet unvanquished by any power. He flings one at Serfius, which transfigures into a black serpentine creature, its long
fangs expanding to bite into Serfius's flesh, while when the white brand is flinged at Serfius, it disappears, reappearing
on Serfius's other side, growing and changing until it is nearly touching the tavern's ceiling. It then is gone, but with
it, a large amount of the floor under Serfius's feet is leaves as well, revealing great white flames beneath.
Serfius grimmaces as his blades are vanquished only to be recreated again in another's hands. His aversion intensifying
as Baou continues on with his asailment, his own blade lapidating towards his head, and as he ducks, it soars past, landly
upon the hard floor with a ressonating clash, a serpent becomming of it's entity. Serfius spins to face this reptilious creature,
it's hisses flowing through his mind. Without notice, the floor in front of him gives way, a mass of white pyre ignited underneath
the tavern's floor, biting and licking at the surrounding oxygen, evaporating the slightest bit of moisture it carries. Serfius
leaps back in confusion, the flames leaping towards him as he vaults away form their entity. He turns to face Baou, enraged.
He begins outlining a shape in the air with his hands, ovular. Swiping them about as he grins maliciously. The outline begins
to glow a soft crimson hue, brightening every so often. He stops arcing his blades about, the flames grown to a massive inferno.
He lowers his right arm, lifting his elbow slightly to meet the edge of his orifical creation. He rushes at it, slamming his
elbow forcefully into the outline upon the air. It moves forward with extreme speed propelling it. As it nears the opponent,
the outline brightens intensely and fills in with a sable colored aura, lightning flickering about in its center, all slamming
forth towards Baou.
Baou gazes into the very center of Serfius's grand weapon, noting its anatomy and its features. He, floating above the deepening
chasms of burning white fires, stares at the orifice with a mock grin on his dead lips. Leaving these same lips are inaudible
words that seep into the fissure that lies in the center of the tavern, as Baou extends his hand to grasp the bolt of pure
ethereal energy. Taking it in his own hands, warping it beyond its original intentions, the sorcerer squeezes it between his
right hand's fingers, releasing it only seconds later, sending it down into the very depths of the great chasm. An inferno
bursts forth, threatening to destroy the entire tavern, until Baou gives the silent command to the flames to stop. Out of
this same blind pyre issues forth a mass of wicked obsidian flames, each of them flying to Serfius, surrounding him within
their somber embrace. The black chains writhe all over the vampire, until at last, they all pull him down toward the grinning
flames, whose blinding pearly white existence yearns only to end that of Serfius in a torment of the eternal ages. All of
this happens in mere seconds, while Baou utters more archaic syllables. These too drift into the loud flames, causing the
floor of the tavern to begin to reappear in an attempt of Baou's to cover up the smothering of Serfius.
Serfius brings his arms up as the blustering flames leap for his body, grabbing out to him, wrapping themselves about his
body. His skin begins to char and cauterize as the calcinating oxidation surges upon his soft pale carapace. A mind ripping
scream is issued from the depth of his throat, admitting to all the standard of his laceration. With every available muscle
within his body, he fights against these energies that bind him, finally freeing himself before the tavern floor has mended.
Heaving with breath, he bends over in pain, his eyes fixed upon Baou. He raises his hands slowly to his back, unlaching a
long elven crafted wooden bow, pulling two arrows from thier quiver. Both arrows discharged, flying with naturally unatainable
alacrity. Thier momentum causing a tear in the fabric of what is abiding in this realm.
Baou is startled slightly by the approaching arrows, surprised by a very great deal that this would be Serfius's final assault.
The sorcerer lets each arrow pierce one of his shoulders, which pushes him back a few forced paces. He is surrounded by a
gleaming circle in an instant, which shimmers up in a fountain-like aura of glimmering white light. From each pierced shoulder
issues forth a wing-like shape. On the right side is that of an angel, shimmering in a luminescence of holy nobility. The
other is a demon's wing, charcoal black its color, accompanied by a decayed thorn on the very edge of the wing. Baou glances
at Serfius before he begins to levitate, drawing forth his burning flames of corruption. The blade sings in a metal-on-metal
noise which is augmented by a chorus of sparks and a searing fire of orange and red. He aims the blade's fiery tip at Serfius,
calculating. With a quick grin and a muttering of words, a barrage of obsidian and white marble blades appear about Serfius
in a prison-like fashion, alternating between the two extremes with each different sword. They each grow to a seemingly huge
size about Serfius and seem to close in on him, just as Baou descends into the small Hell, returning seconds later with the
same sort of wriggling energy that brought about the mass number of chains. The massive fissure finishes mending itself as
Baou finds himself forming another shimmering ring, but this time, it is about the ring of blades surrounding Serfius. Baou's
intentions seem complete on his face as he completes a circular form around the weapons. This circle of power, however, turns
into the deepest black as it shoots into its own strange transcending shimmer. The blades begin to levitate by some magic
unknown and each turns into a mist of darkness, surrounding Serfius, and making it nearly impossible to view anything in or
outside of the circle, which closes in on Surfius, forming a closing-in cylinder of pure death.
Serfius casts his glare upon each of the cylinders as they tighten about his form, his small blood-stained fangs protruding
from each corner of his thin lips, which are pulled together into a scowl. As the cirlces enclose upon him, he lowers himself
closer to the ground, the spiraling blades that rotate nearly scewering his head. A scream echos about within the tavern,
Serfius' form beginning to writhe within whatever space graced to it. His back shoots up from its lowered position as two
large claws burst from each shoulder blade, tearing skin apart in a large bloody mess as they do so. The claws are soon visible
as the joints of large reptilious wings pulling slowly from his back, finally outstretching as much as possible, surrounding
his body with a membranous layer of flesh, hopefully this is enough to quell the enslaught. Serfius decides it isnt, arching
his head back in a final attempt for survival, he releases a gray cloud of mist. The mist hovers for a junctures time before
it begins to whip about rapidly, multiple faces appearing within it, as if possessed by apparations. The mist wraps itself
about the wings, and yet another protective shell is formed. The blades near, whipping through the mist, adn when it seems
they have penetrated the first level of protection, the mist lets out a scream, or multiple screams..it is souls. They harden,
the blades rotating about begin to dull with its touch, though they eventually rip through, reaching the large wings, tearing
away at the hide, ripping flesh. A pool of tainted green blood begins to form upon the ground. Serfius lets out a scream,
his arms shooting out, catching the blades. The blades fall to the floor, finally losing thier momentum, and Serfius is freed
from the hellish destruction. He drops to the floor, landing onto his face and a trail of blood comes from his mouth, and
his eyes shut.
Serfius versus Dante
Serfius brings his arms slowly up into the sky, his lips move quickly, archaic words does he descry. The clouds shift,
move with haste as all quickly disintegrate. His visage contorts, filling to the brim with hate. A darkness becomes in Hollow,
the last visible thing- a grin, from which Serfius sires with mischief upon his chin. A sound pierces through, a voice, it
rung "The Crescent Strike!" Then, in demonic tongue, "Kiln`Ðajåh!" The shrill harrow sang- and in the deepest dark, a bright
white fang. Serfius' outline seen vaulting within the obscurity. An arcing blade shimmers, rubicund flame- rapid oxidity.
A spin of the wrist, flickering pyre sprouts miniature flare which carries on the ozone. Left behind still ablaze, they dance
and carry low tone- no sound, all stealth as he lashes out with fury, darkness breaks apart, back-aim, all turned upon Dante.
The blade breaks lose, spinning as it flies out, and as scimitar becomes missile weapon, one last shout out, "Die you fiend,
you aren't meant for this place! Nor are you welcome or embraced by the vampiric race, you disgrace!"
Dante doesn't even give Serfius' fluttering scimitar a chance to come fully to it's mark. His feet begin to pound upon the
platform of Slit's tower within seconds of the toss, and he approaches the flaming brand with a grueling pace. Suddenly, he
halts, Serfius' weapon falling to dust behind the vampiric rogue, as he swiftly removes his own from it's deep, abysmal sheltering.
True to the light, 'Blackfyre' is drawn once more, articulating it's want for battle with a soft emanation of rays. Every
shimmer seeps deep into the tower, and begin to overflow, pooling at the surface, and ever rising, bathing the world around
in it's gleam. 'Blackfyre's' tip kneels forward, by Dante's ordinance, and dips into the pooling light, of which nothing else
seems to enter. Oozing iridescence moves a path up his weapon, and when fully engulfed, it leaps into a silver pyre. "I rename
you, "The White Flame"," Dante utters, as his forested eyes run over the sword. Finally, he returns his attentive stare to
the vampiric foe. Pointing the weapon forth, he sends out a string of bellicose energy, chisled of the white flames, which
contort, and assume a draconic form, one of which you know wholeheartedly. The pearl Talaryn streaks forth, swallowing the
shadows in his path, and returning them behind, burning fangs rushing out towards Serfius.
Serfius lands quick to the floor a minor thud issued, the silence breaks, and all obscurities discontinue. The light returns
to the realm and back to normal, all but the broken wooden panels the floor lines- no longer full. With a full grin of perniciousness,
Serfius emanates a wicked hiss, bellowing from down deep, the sound begins to ring and seep- deep into the night, as it increases
nearly tenfold, the sound altogether nearly one you find yourself able to behold. A wave begins to form, pushing out within
the vicinity, Talaryn’s draconian form nearing voraciously. The wave slams into Serfius’ new found enemy, breaking
into his form, they slam near willingly. And, though, causing no massive damage, it halts the draconian warrior so he cannot
gain the upper advantage. Serfius' body begins to writhe, his visage filled with agony. Muscles tense tightly, framing sinewy
form, his being wretches startlingly. A mercury shining hue creeps his frame downward, it comes to the ground and it begins
to slide outward. The metallic coloration engulfs his entire body, covering his hair and his skin with its aberrant intensity.
Eyes revert, falling upon their foes, they darken- sable -many changes they forego. Lacy veins a luminescent tint of emerald,
maybe jade, neither apparent nor memorable- for the shimmering metallic embrace diverts your gaze- and out slips a purple
haze. Clouded and thick, it moves ever so quick. And though, with its hasty action, the mercury liquid moves with even swifter
motion. It fills each separate crack along the dirt path, turning everything it touches into a rock solid mass. Its speed
near unavoidable, nearing the foes-life threatening orations to those who oppose.
Dante eyes flicker with a burning inferno of emerald, like a wave of thousands of emeralds, as his makeshift Talaryn is imposed
upon by Serfius' dastardly wave. Little caring about the flaming beast, Dante steps the distance of the roof, coming towards
Serfius, slowing as strange colors and formations begin to emit from the fellow vampire's body. His eyes revert to the ground
beneath him, and is taken aback by the shock. Where the coloration flows, the already stone rooftop, is glazed with another
layer. As he redies to leap, the mercury leyline speeds forward, touching upon the sole of his slipper, and beginning to encrust
it with a granite transformation. Dante's teeth clench, as the granite runs hurridly upwards, enthralling him, up to the knee.
With a wrenching tug, his leg pulls free, and he tumbles forwards, rolling to the edge of the rooftop, one leg encased in
stone, as the opposite side of the battleground becomes so too. "The White Flame", still dripping with a radiance of light,
aims upwards towards the moon, causing the silvery rays to wax, and wane, as it's orb becomes shrouded in a cloudy veil. Each
cloud crackles with rage, and finally one cries out, resounding loudly as it sputters forth a rain of lightning. One bolt
slams upon Dante's stone leg, shattering the rocky layer, and sending his body tumbling over the edge. Other continue to rain
down, showering the rooftop in spectacular, sizzling lights, many of which throw themselves at Serfius. The only sound that
out plays that of the crashing of the lightning is a methodic beat off the roofs side. A gust breaks over the surface of the
roof, and Dante can be seen, followed by a small army of dragons, some formed of shadow, others of white flame. His sword-hand
goes forth in a rush call, and all the beasts streak forth, crashing upon the rooftop in a display of night and day, leaving
the vampiric solitary leader to beat his wings in the see of air, awaiting his foe's fate beneath the barrage...
Serfius brings his gaze to Dante as the lightning strikes upon him, a small showcase of what the storm has in store for
all of them. As the roof stirs wildly, shaking with the shock of thunder, Serfius drops to a knee, hands over head, of which
he shelters under. And as he begins to convulse, his skin darkens in tone, reddened flesh stretched over blackened bone- burning
into ash before it disintegrates away, Serfius’s body continues to shake before giving way. It morphs into a large pool
of blood as fast as the blink of an eye, and then, the lightning comes barreling out of the sky. The vitae makes way for a
shinning conductor of the electrical energy, the draconian forms nearly still- unknowingly. As the shocks pass through each
of their hardened carapace and scales, from stepping onto the blood- it doesn’t fail- to bring them to their knees,
dead. Killed by their own masters uncaring and thoughtless dread. The pool of blood then begins to take a form, pulling up
from the ground, as if the very fabric were torn. A body raises out of the wet mass -pulling away. It spins upon the ball
of what seems to be a foot, as it turns, Serfius revealed- drenched, covered in vitae and soot, by the dirty roof of which
the blood had collected up, garments wrap about him. He raises his arms once again, this time his head raises as well, searching
the sky with hellish eyes. He fixes them both to the darkened moon, his sable hues close slowly, though past thin lids, he
views through. His lips close tightly, curved edges, they form a pernicious grin, a feral sign of the beast lurking within.
Without care for reason at all, he speaks the words, “Prepare for the fall.” With that note, a light shines bright,
hung high, deep in the sky with blight. It nears ever closer with every passing second, sheer tenacity dubbing it hell bent.
It slams through the scattered clouds with horrendous might and size, and with this- Serfius opens his eyes. They fall to
his foe, to which he quickly darts at, extending his arms to their fullest reach, then he soars past. Halting so quickly the
roof splits in two, then returning to the back of his adversary to which he becomes adhered to. His arms twist before him,
brought to Dante’s form, gripping with all of his might, hold never to be torn. Awaiting he stands, attempting to keep
his foe, the fiery meteor nearing-preparing a finishing blow. Without a remorse or care for his own survival, his only wish
is for Dante’s downfall.
Dante gasps as Serfius' form emerges, hardly scathed by the onset of powers which he cast forth. Curses roll from his tongue,
and over blood-tinted lips. Heaving a sigh of faliure, the vampire lowers his lids, not expecting them to be clasped for very
long. Upon opening them, he feels a shift of weight, and a consticting about his body. Serfius hangs, like a wild monkey,
from him, lowering their forms some, under the new suspension of weight. Above, a hurtling meteor aims down at the two vampires,
and he, not wanting to disappoint Serfius, in his bid for suicide, gives a tremendous flap of membranous, obsidian wings,
and hurls them both upwards towards the droopping stone. Halfway to the rock, Dante sends his sword out like a boomerang,
delving into the meteor, and tering the fiery ball asunder. In that moment the ball is resized, making it much smaller, and
Dante's flies at it with full speed, catching his sword as he does so. The two forces meet, clashing in the heavens, but Dante
simply folds his wings about the falling stone, and bears it's fiery pains. Carrying Serfius upon his back, downward towards
the top of the tower, Dante cries out, singed and charred by the pyre of the meteoric boulder. As they, Dante, with Serfius
on his back, the top of the tower, Dante screams out through the inferno, and through the already cracked roof comes a barrage
of spikes, aimed at Dante, with Serfius there to shield his back.
Serfius attempts to escape Dante and the boulder, his form distorting as the wings flap in front of him violently, his
grasp loosened, though still gripping it seemingly-he cannot move more than a few inches away from the hellish awakening,
and the massive meteoric creation he himself sired forces him back down to the tower, his body taken in. Though deep within
the belly of the beast, all he can do is summon a grin, deep within his body many happenings, soon perdition. An ethereal
being begins to protrude from his back, writhing about from a newly found crack formed deep in his back. It rips open further,
allowing the ‘thing’ to escape, and as it does, Serfius’ body goes limp and lifeless, hanging from the mass.
Soaring away in a shimmer of light, the ethereal being spreads wings and takes flight. It moves so far away until you’ve
lost sight, and then your eyes divert back to the fight. Serfius’ limp corpse and Dante in danger, then they slam full
force into the tower’s spiked steeple. Serfius’ body nearly destroyed upon impact, though bone and most flesh
still remains intact, and for Dante’s body, nobody knows of, for it is shrouded by masses of rock, spike and stone,
all of which glom. Then, a light becomes visible in the sky once again, mysterious soul wretches upon the crying wind. It
comes to the pile of rock and stone quickly, and it hangs suspended before both contestants hesitantly before entering the
body it once occupied, and the onlookers view to see which of them died...
Kaine versus Serfius
Kaine exhales deeply, further adjusting his sword in his sweat-soaked palm. He looks slowly around the area, memories filling
his mind as he watches the faces of every onlooker. His gaze stops on Agony, and he smiles slightly, watching her sit with
Quortek, both waiting for Kaine to take arms against Serfius. He sighs again, and mouths a distinct ‘Thank you’
to Agony and those surrounding her. He could never thank them enough for the support they had given him after the loss of
his wife, and helping him through the lonely bitterness that ensued. He turns back to his opponent, wiping each hand on his
black cotton pants. He stares at Serfius for a moment, and pulls a long, wide piece of pale blue cloth, tattered at the edges
where it was ripped from his ragged shirt, from tucked under his belt. Kaine holds out his weapon, the black diamond battle-sword,
‘The Burning Dawn’, and spins it on its tip, releasing it from his hold as he ties the cloth blindfold over his
eyes, the feint outlines of those around him disappearing as he lowers his sunglasses, feeling totally at ease in the darkness.
He wraps both hands around the sword, and raises it to his side, the resonating whistle as it slices through the air more
than audible through his heightened hearing. "So it begins…" Kaine stands motionless for a few moments more, taking
in the last few moments of his peaceful existence. He sheathes his weapon and begins to make his way towards Serfius, a walk
quickening into a run, then into a frenzied dash. Kaine rips his metal crossbow from the hook attached to his belt, disregarding
the tear of cotton as he pulls the hook off with it. Dust kicks up around Kaines feet with each step as he nears his adversary,
his breath hard and rythmic. His hands move quicker than the dim light around him as he loads round after round of steel bolts
into his weapon, firing all 30 in the quiver in a matter of seconds in Serfius’ general direction. The horde of steel
pierces the cold night air, followed closely by Kaine as he draws his sword for a follow-up attack, he listens closely for
Serfius’ every breath, always aware of his exact location, until Kaine is mere feet away from him, the diamond edge
of ‘The Burning Dawn’ shrieking through the midnight air, towards the abdomen of the vampire…
Serfius glares at the oncoming metallic bolts, raising a single flaming brand to his protection. The first bolt reaches
him and is averted to another direction. The next one comes for him, also deflected. Jumping back, he readies himself for
the rest of the arrows, both swords lifted in anticipation. A large mass of the bolts near him, Serfius begins to arc the
blades about upon the air, spinning them rapidly to deflect the arrows masterfully as tey near him. The first three are all
thrown to waste as the blades slam them away from Serfius' body. The next few with the same outcome, and so on. Finally as
Serfius is finished deflecting all of the bolts Kaine comes forth with his brand, slamming down onto Serfius' back, sending
him away from his adversary, filled with anger of trickery. He lands softly on his feet some yards away, spinning to turn
his opponent. He retracts his blades, letting out a fierce bellowing vociferation. The darkened sky begins to convulse and
fluctuate violently. Serfius' eyes contort to vermilion, blood red tears dripping from the corners of each eye, the overwhelming
power taking its toll on his body. He lifts into the air, away from reach of any mortal. His head leans back and multiple
adumbral apparations begin to twist and writhe about his form. Souls he had destroyed in past battles and taken into his own
body. The souls wrap into two large aphotic forms, adhering themselves to his back. A pernicious grin forms of Serfius' mouth,
as the forms swipe at the air, forcing his body in motion of flight. With all that is diabolical engulfing his shadowed visage,
Serfius leans inwardly, compelling his entire being to fall, then with a swipe of the massive hellish wings, he appears a
large bird in hunt, swooping towards Kaine in a spectral attempt to slice his head from his body. Serfius swings both flaming
swords in a full arc downwardly, a large tail of blackened flame trailing from the blades, searing their hilts, and thier
holders hands, but he rushes on unrelenting.
Kaine smiles satisfied with his first attack on the vampire, as he feels his blade connect with solid force against Serfius’
back. His smile quickly transforms to one of curiosity as Serfius releases his hellish roar, and lowers his head, listening
intently to what is going on. When all he can hear are murmurs from the crowd, he begins to panic. Kaine swings with his sword
wildly, hoping to his any opponent, but all he hears is the shrill whistle of ‘The Burnings Dawn’ as it slices
through the air. Seconds before the hell bird strikes, the elf feels the bird’s wings thunder against his ear drum from
above, and drops onto his hands, swinging himself behind Serifus’ reach. As Kaine somersaults through the air to safety,
two paper balls fall from his pouch and land with a gentle pat on the floor below. Kaine smiled slightly, wondering how he
could have forgotten his favourite tool. Kaine lands on all fours, his joints bending under his weight and the impact of his
fall, and is immediately standing again, running towards where the balls landed with haste, eager to put his next plan into
action. As Kaine nears them, he raises ‘The Burning Dawn’ above his head, and rears it back in a circular motion.
The apex of the diamond blade drags against the stone, liberating sparks of molten stone from the slabs of bedrock. The sword
cuts a gouge in the foundation beneath it as Kaine swings it in front of him, spraying a mist of glowing liquid stone onto
the paper, lighting them both. He kicks one sphere over to Serfius with a bare foot and looks away, as the chunks of magnesium
inside each ball explodes, first giving the illusion of daylight, then continues to brighten into a blinding white light,
illuminating every minuscule gap in the street with their brilliance. The blackness under Kaines guise greys for a moment,
then blackens, and he charges towards Serfius, crushing the smouldering balls of ash and metal under his bare feet as he swings
his sword down towards his adversary’s skull…
Serfius turns upon the air, gossamer wings flapping violently, fighting to keep him in the sky. The first ardent ball approaching
at violent speeds. With a twist of his entire form, the wing to his right deflects the first of the fiery spheres, sending
it soaring into a nearby tree, igniting it into an inferno of flame. The second one landing wholly into the palm of his hand,
he crushes it, ashes and smoke rising as the flame is lapsed. Serfius raises his head slowly, his eyes a wretched obsidian
hue, his whole face contorted to the most evil of expressions. Every drop of hate within his soul viewable through his facial
exterior. His hair falls over his shoulders back into place, his lips curled into a pernicious grin, and his muscular body
glowing a crimson aura. He rushes forward again, this time the fire of his brand distorts and changes into that of a whitened
fire, sending multiple blows to Kaines abdomen and face.
Kaine watches as the grey tint in his shroud returns to black. He looks around briefly, for any indication as to Serfius’
whereabouts. Suddenly, without any prior warning, he sees red, then a brilliant white. Searing pain shoots through Kaines
body as the flaming edge slices across his left pectoral, the intense heat sealing the wound behind it. Another brand slams
into his forehead, throwing him back along the ground. Kaine rolls and skids backward, his eyes clenched shut as the stone
shreds his flesh, and slams face first into the corner of Slit’s Armory. Kaine shivers, a bloody, convulsing mess on
the ground, shards of glass embedded into his irises, staining the pale cloth with two circles of deep crimson. He pulls the
blindfold off with stammering hands, and looks up at silhouettes of nameless onlookers, masked by the flickering light of
the tavern, shining through the mildew on the windows. Kaine releases a long, pained groan as his vision depletes to nothing
more than a white, hazy dot before his eyes, and weakly lets his head hit the stone pavement, and he rolls onto his back,
staring comatose at the blackness in his mind- fear, pain, but most of all, shame. Ashamed of how he failed to protect his
first daughter from the gods. Ashamed of how he was nowhere to be found when his wife and stillborn son were butchered. And
once again, he has failed to protect his family, and protect his own honour. As he feels his life force drain from his vessel,
his sense of fear vanishes. He still has a trump to play, but at what cost? To give so much freedom, within less than the
space of a day, was it worth the risk? But the time for decision making was over; Kaine’s iron will was dropped. Long,
bloody spines sprouted from his back, lifting him several feet into the air, before losing balance and tipping him back onto
the pavement, his skin rippling like a pool of jet black water as he releases Garland, his inner demon, his last resort. Kaine’s
skin stretches and tears as his muscle mass double, triples under his flesh. Garland stands, towering over the meagre Serfius.
Garland roars and spreads his long, leathery wings, and begins to take slow, haunched steps towards his opponent, the ground
beneath his feet charring to grainy black embers, glowing vividly as the breeze feeds them. A thick strand of hessian rope
dances in and out of Garland’s lips, an invisible needle, conducted by an invisible tailor, forcing his mouth shut.
Garland’s eyes erupt into two demonic spheres of flaming fury, throwing the shards of bloody, tinted glass before Serfius’
feet. Garland growls, his steamy breath misting as it exits his nostrils, as he raises a thick, taloned finger, and drags
it firmly across his neck, as he ponders what to do with the rodent before him. Garland grins broadly, the rope tearing through
his lips, bouncing off his chest, and falling to a bloody heap on the ground, as he raises both hands above his head. Sparks
of the darkest black intertwine with bolts of luminous green between his fingertips, arcing majestically into a large, rounded
orb between his palms. The loud crackle of the sparks fades as the sphere of pure chaos energy lights Kelay way in a resplendent
green aura. Garland throws his head back with an almighty roar, his own blood dripping down his throat before tossing the
orb down towards Serfius with all his might. The sphere screams and wails with tortured anguish as it flies towards Serfius,
trailing a mammoth thundercrash behind it…
Serfius braces himself, raising the two brands into the air, and setting his footing into a stance as to not be moved.
The material of his wings begin to distort, fluctuating with each swipe upon the air. He glares hatefully at Garland as he
nears; Energetic orations crossing his mind. Suddenly, his entire body is englufed with red sparks, they seem to show the
limits of his power; endless. He raises both swords high above his head, thier flames scorching the slightest bit of moisture
that the air carries, vaporising it. The steam rises slowly from his dual brands. Dissolustion of the very air begins to take
place. Serfius leans inward as the massive energy sphere nears. Serfius' upper body shoots downward with progression of the
sphere, then upwards again to meet in full on contact with it. He reaches both arms into the mass of energy, his wings fluttering
about madly through the air, they near the energy, souls screaching from within. The souls disband themselves from Serfius'
body, tearing and screeching as they do so, wrapping themselves about the sphere, and under their protection, Serfius pulls
his hands from the orb, dropping to the ground under it as it holds its place in space. He rests his arms to his side, slowly
lowering his visage to the ground. He raises his form slowly, placing his hand on the holt of his flaming swords. The blades
swipe about as Serfius grins maliciously. The outline begins to glow a soft crimson hue, brightening every so often. He stops
arcing his blades about, the flames licking and biting at the air about them. He lowers his right blade, lifting his elbow
slightly to meet the edge of the spherical creation.He rushes at it, slamming his elbow forcefully into the outline upon the
air. It moves forward with extreme speed propelling it. The souls wrapped in a surreal webbing around the large orb, they
scream as it nears Garland, the massive attack turned to meet its maker.
Kaine laughs as his own life force- the very source of his power returns towards him. He spreads his arms, exposing his chest
to his returning power. Garland grunts, his glowing hues wide with fear. Those souls surrounding his corrupt chaos energy-
so many souls in one vessel would surely kill him. Garland roars and extends both palms, pressed together at the wrist, prepearing
himself to return the gargantuan ball of chaos. Sparks dance about his fingertips as he gathers up the remnants of his strength,
creating a sphere no bigger than a basketball. The massive sphere connects with the fresh one, as Garland struggles to turn
the strengthened attack back on Serfius, let alone keep it at bay. His muscles tense under the immense pressure, his hands
burn as the souls surrounding his life force dart in and out of his fingertips. Garland releases a bloody warcry, as the smaller
orb wraps around the other, crushing the surrounding souls, and he grunts a sigh of relief, as his power returns to his body,
wrapping around his form, and repairing his shredded flesh, leaving a glossy black coat.
Serfius nears Kaine with a wide grin, all the muscles in his body flexed tightly. He raises both swords above his head,
slamming them down onto Kaine's neck, chopping it into two seperate pieces, his head falling to the ground. Serfius lowers
himself, bending his knees, and with eyes widened, he rips his hand into Kaine's neck, pulling and tugging away at an unseen
object. Suddenly, Kaine's entire spine is ripped from his body, and thrown off to the side of the road. Serfius begins to
shake with laughter, he reaches in once again, this time a bit of blood spurts from the orifice in the neck, and when Serfius'
hand is pulled from the limp and lifeless corpse, a heart is pulled. He puts the organ to his lips, slowly opening his mouth,
and biting down on it like some sort of ripe fruit, blood splattering all over his naked upper body and the ground all around
him. When he is finished with his dinner, Serfius, lifts the body by its neck, and throws it into the tavern wall, and stands
back and watches as it splatters then wobbles to the floor.
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