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Post by Kismet on Nov 22, 2009 15:58:34 GMT -5
Iskra stood composed in the center of the ancient stone arena, her eyes closed in quiet prayer. She felt hollow and dejected in this distant land, far away from the warm light of her Emperor-but no force on Heaven or Earth could break the bond felt between the Imperial Revenants and their master. With a calming inhalation of air, Iskra centered herself, filling her mind with the sense of cold, terrible purpose that preempted battle. Her feelings of loneliness left her, replaced with the unshakable knowledge that she served the Emperor, lord and master of the mighty Kirmizi Empire. Even in this world, impossibly far from her fellow Revenants, she was home. Surrounded by the ghosts and memories of fellow warriors, she waited for her opponent, a flickering fire of happiness shining within her.
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Post by serraskai on Nov 22, 2009 16:13:02 GMT -5
Millica walked solemnly to the arena that her destiny had so rudely forced her into. Before her was her opponent, another nameless figure to her. This person, her new enemy, would stay that anonymous foe until they prove themselves worthy of her time, of the Kerensky.
As she made her way into the arena she readied herself for whatever her opponent might have. Her previous foe had played her too willingly for her to simply let this new type take her by surprise.
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Post by Kismet on Nov 22, 2009 16:29:52 GMT -5
At the sound of her opponent’s arrival, Iskra opened her eyes. Her last opponent had died in her arms without ever having even seen his killer. The time in life they’d spent together had been utterly impersonal, devoid of the respect warriors deserved of each other. And so she had been compelled to give it in death. But that would not be the case here. No, respect here would be earned and gauged with sweat and blood.
“I pray that you do not take offense to what I am about to do to you.” Iskra said, speaking for the first time in the tournament. “The sacred creed of my Emperor prevents me from granting you mercy, though I wish this were not so. Know that you died by the hand of Iskra Likhovich, Imperial Reverent of the Kirmizi Empire.”
With that, she charged forward, her right hand clutching the short sword in its sheath on her back.
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Post by serraskai on Nov 22, 2009 16:33:45 GMT -5
Millica took three hopping steps back, moving her weapon into a position to stab at her when the charging foe reached her.
"Of course not, I understand. Nothing personal, this is strictly business."
With that said, Millica stepped forward and stabbed as soon as her opponent was in range of her weapon.
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Post by Kismet on Nov 22, 2009 16:54:22 GMT -5
As her foe thrust her blade at her, Iskra’s drew her short sword and parried the blow, using the added speed of the draw to deflect it away from herself. Your blade may be larger, but my short sword is faster! Iskra thought, keeping her blade applied to her target’s as she lunged forward. The motion of her parry had placed her foe’s sword arm across her body, blocking her other arm from use. If she was going to retaliate as Iskra moved into close range, it would likely come from either a kick or an elbow. Keeping this in mind, Iskra angled her blade against her opponent’s sword to lead into a stab of her own.
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Post by serraskai on Nov 22, 2009 22:58:24 GMT -5
As soon as her opponent deflected her weapon, Millica executed her plan.
Before this girl could grab Millica, she released the bulky, cumbersome device in favor of a very different strategy. As her opponent came forward, Millica dropped back, allowing the grapple attempt to simply come up short. As soon as this occurred, she pulled her arms in close and turned them palm-forward towards her enemy.
From these palms came one thousand needles, rushing out from the eather about her hands, shooting towards the enemy that was already so close to their point of origin.
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Post by Kismet on Nov 22, 2009 23:17:40 GMT -5
(OOC: I imagine you’re quite tired of seeing this technique pop up by now…don’t hate me.  ) Clever girl…Iskra muttered angrily to herself. She now had two options. She could either charge straight through in a brazen surprise death charge, or she could evade the attack. Individually those needles are probably quite weak…But at this range…Swallowing her pride, Iskra rearranged her subatomic structure, loosening the molecular bindings that held herself together. With an angry snarl, she leapt straight forward, passing harmlessly through both her opponent and the wave of needles she’d unleashed. As she landed behind her foe, she reassembled herself and spun on the ball of her foot, slashing savagely at the back of her target’s head. Though her opponent didn’t know it, it would be quite dangerous to attempt that trick again any time soon, lest she permanently damage her subatomic structure and risk complete disintegration. I’ve underestimated you. I promise I won’t do so again. |
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Post by serraskai on Nov 22, 2009 23:25:27 GMT -5
Well Blake be a bitch on Thursdays.
This opponent could do the same thing her last one did, this time at an instant. That didn't bode well for the rest of the match.
Before Millica could collect herself, she was sliced, cleanly, her head removed from her body by a shining silver blur. Any normal person would have met their end then and there. But a Kerensky was far from normal.
Hand-springing from what would have been her place of death, Millica regained her feet and even managed to catch her weapon as it fell, turning again to face her opponent. With a smile, she wordlessly bragged that she could do the same thing, hiding from her foe the tense headache that such a maneuver had caused.
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Post by Kismet on Nov 22, 2009 23:42:45 GMT -5
Well I’ll be damned. Iskra allowed herself to smile, appreciating the irony for what it was worth. Unfortunately, all good things had to come to an end. Lightly tossing her short sword into the air, Iskra caught it and reversed her hold on it, clutching it blade down, and charged her opponent again.
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Post by serraskai on Nov 22, 2009 23:48:31 GMT -5
Her opponent charged her again, and that was fine. Millica dropped her stance and held her weapon away from her enemy this time, but didn't move. No stabbing motions, no slashes. She stood stark still as her opponent came at her.
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Post by Kismet on Nov 23, 2009 0:03:01 GMT -5
Iskra tossed her sword from her right hand to her left and landed on the balls of her feet, just outside her opponent’s sword range. While she stopped, however, not everything on her person did. A single grenade sailed forward from her belt, seemingly detaching of its own accord, and landed at her target’s feet. Her right hand now free, Iskra flipped her specialized pistol holster on her hip forward, and fired the gun without drawing it. The round pierced the wayward grenade, causing it to explode at almost point blank range.
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Post by serraskai on Nov 23, 2009 0:08:18 GMT -5
Without the slightest idea as to what the object was at her feet, Millica felt little inclination to dodge it. She allowed it to land beneath her willingly and paying it no mind.
She payed dearly for this.
When the shots were fired, Millica leaped to avoid them, unaware of what exactly was about to happen. The resulting explosion rocked Millica and sent her toppling back several feet, but failed to knock her unconscious, as she still had the sense enough to throw her bulky weapon through the flames and hopefully in her enemy's general direction.
Slamming into the soft dirt just outside the arena, Millica rolled and caught herself as she assessed the damage done- it had actually burned her. It should have blown her apart, but obviously her blood rights had done their job. She was alive, but aching already from the fight and now, weaponless.
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Post by Kismet on Nov 23, 2009 0:16:33 GMT -5
When the women hadn’t reacted to the grenade at her feet, Iskra had honestly expected her to simply die right then and there. Her opponent’s hurled sword filling her field of vision changed that assumption. A Hyper Reaction Impulse seized Iskra, forcing her body to react without conscious thought the instant danger was perceived; and as such, it took Iskra a moment to realize why her body was diving to the side. Fortunately, the blade missed, if by a hair, and she regained bodily control in time to roll lightly to her feet.
It had taken longer than she would have liked, but the flow of battle had settled in her favor. She had the momentum, and she was going to keep it. For the third time, she charged her opponent, her short sword clutched in one hand and her pistol blazing in the other.
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Post by serraskai on Nov 23, 2009 0:24:09 GMT -5
Her opponent rushing her so soon was expected of such a warrior. The weapon that blazed wasn't.
The first of the bullets pounded her shoulder pad, the second tore reflected from the angle of her breastplate as Millica returned the enemies charge.
When one shot sliced her side, she leaped- there was no other choice. If she continued to charge she would be cut to ribbons, but retreat was not an option. And so, Millica took to the air, rocketing at her foe with all the ferocity of a wild animal, wounded and simply trying to survive, coming down at her with an open-hand palm strike to try and jar her opponent's soul enough to give her the upper hand, if even for a moment.
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Post by Kismet on Nov 23, 2009 0:43:28 GMT -5
www.imeem.com/artists/apocalyptica/music/T0rz7ske/apocalyptica-cohkka/You…you’re like me…Iskra realized as her opponent blazed forward. No retreat. Poison coursed through her opponent’s veins, a circle of paralysis ten centimeters wide spreading from each wound, inhibiting her movements. No dishonor. The summoning seal on Iskra’s pistol burned red, and it disappeared into her holster. With a cry of rage, Iskra coiled her leg muscles and launched herself into the air, meeting her opponent head on. Victory or death. Iskra thrust forward with her right fist, aiming to meet her opponent’s open palm with the her own. But then, the Active Camouflage of her Battle Uniform sprang to life. Normally, it changed colors to mimic Iskra’s surroundings. This time however, her entire uniform turned pitch black, save for her left arm-the arm that held the blade. This emitted a neon stream of different colors, red, gold, green, yellow, a brilliant “look here” display. As a poison spring loaded blade appeared in her right hand, aimed squarely at her foe’s onrushing palm, all she needed was for her opponent to glance away for an instant, to the wrong hand. Come, sister. Let there be an end.
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