06-24-2018, 05:31 PM
A cacophonous chorus split the air--as well as the attention of the clashing swordsmen--as the meddling mercenary unleashed his payload, calling out to no one in-particular. Deadpool’s blather was followed soon after by a swarm of plumbic hornets planting their stingers in his enemy’s side.
“Easy there, Hemingway,” the masked mercenary jeered from across the arena. “They’re just bullets.”
Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Erik quickly cast his sights outside of the arena, instantly eyeing what he would need. As Kenpachi turned his maniac grin back toward the psion, he had but a second to react as a broken katana embedded itself into his chest.
”Oh, please tell me that counts toward my score,” Wade hollered, only to sigh as the sound of synthesizers met his ears and he felt the familiar pang of a Welsh blade tearing into his cancerous flesh. “Well, the cameo was nice while it lasted.”
“This is kinda funny to me,” Kenpachi mused, a devilish smile crossing his mug despite the ample blood drooling from the blade nested between his ribs. “You remind me a lot of the last guy who told me I wasn’t worth shit.” He paused, glancing down at the battle-worn nodachi clasped tightly in his grimy grasp as he discarded Deadpool’s blade with his free hand. “He was himself a shinigami. I murdered that guy and took this sword from him, imprinting my soul onto it. You could say that was when I became what he was, a ‘god of death’.”
“Heathen!” the zealot spat, eyes smoldering with violet fury. Emboldened by righteous indignation, Vrell hurtled toward the towering ronin, bringing his blade down with lethal intent. “You’ll not deify yourself in my presence!”
“I don’t give a shit who you pray to,” Kenpachi boomed, his giddy glee beginning to mingle with ire of his own. The shabby shinigami reached out with his free left hand and caught the psychic’s blade in his palm, seemingly oblivious to the steel tearing through his flesh and down to the bone. “Loudmouths like you who hold themselves above their enemies really piss me off. You’re not the first person to tell me that I don’t deserve to call myself a shinigami; I cut that guy down, too, hundreds of years ago, surrounded by his own men, and took his title and their respect for myself.” He wrapped his spidery fingers around the boy’s blade, gripping it tightly as he tipped his own sword toward the bloodied pile of cloth he had discarded upon the arena floor. “That jacket symbolizes my station as Captain and the name I’ve earned for myself.”
“The idolatrous beliefs of your sect are the lowest filth to me,” Erik spat, struggling against Zaraki’s grip. “I’ll bury you, heretic!”
The robed ronin’s eyes narrowed as the believer finished his harangue, in an instant leveraging his wingspan to lift the boy into the air by his sword as he delivered a grievous slash across his opponent’s belly. “The ‘Kenpachi’ title is held by a single shinigami, the strongest of their time,” he continued, tossing the boy aside. “I’ve never known a real name or family since before I clawed my way out of the gutters of the Zaraki district.” He was now almost screaming. “Everything I am, I’ve earned by tearing the throats out of pricks who think they’re above me!”
Frothing with rage of his own, the violet zealot was back on his feet in an instant, charging toward his towering foe with all of the fury afforded by his conviction. He held his sword aloft as fanged fetters unwound from his chest once more, striking out like a nest of angry cobras. Kenpachi planted his feet, taking his pick of the rusty bindings and grabbing hold as the rest ensnared his legs and sword-hand. Though a sneer crossed Erik’s face as he found his foe caught, it soon faded as the savage swordsman gave the cabling a sharp tug, dragging the diviner into range before taking hold of his head and bringing it down hard against the stone tiling.
“Back!” Vrell soon bellowed, his command cemented by another psionically-induced shriek assailing Kenpachi’s eardrums. His prayers to the madness god had granted him more than enough might and endurance to stagger the shinigami for a moment. “Now, presumptuous heathen,” Erik got to his feet and cocked his fist back as the towering swordsman regained his senses in time for an augmented fist to shatter his jaw. "Fall!”
“NO!” Kenpachi barked, delivering a savage kick to the boy’s lacerated gut that sent him skidding across the tile. His mangled maw displayed a grisly grin as he brought his sword to bear. “I’ve been called a beast, a butcher, a demon; I couldn’t care less.” He drew in a deep breath through his nose as the boy hastily steadied himself, Zaraki bringing his blade down upon the tile before Vrell had a chance to react. “But you will acknowledge me: Kenpachi Zaraki!”
“Easy there, Hemingway,” the masked mercenary jeered from across the arena. “They’re just bullets.”
Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Erik quickly cast his sights outside of the arena, instantly eyeing what he would need. As Kenpachi turned his maniac grin back toward the psion, he had but a second to react as a broken katana embedded itself into his chest.
”Oh, please tell me that counts toward my score,” Wade hollered, only to sigh as the sound of synthesizers met his ears and he felt the familiar pang of a Welsh blade tearing into his cancerous flesh. “Well, the cameo was nice while it lasted.”
“This is kinda funny to me,” Kenpachi mused, a devilish smile crossing his mug despite the ample blood drooling from the blade nested between his ribs. “You remind me a lot of the last guy who told me I wasn’t worth shit.” He paused, glancing down at the battle-worn nodachi clasped tightly in his grimy grasp as he discarded Deadpool’s blade with his free hand. “He was himself a shinigami. I murdered that guy and took this sword from him, imprinting my soul onto it. You could say that was when I became what he was, a ‘god of death’.”
“Heathen!” the zealot spat, eyes smoldering with violet fury. Emboldened by righteous indignation, Vrell hurtled toward the towering ronin, bringing his blade down with lethal intent. “You’ll not deify yourself in my presence!”
“I don’t give a shit who you pray to,” Kenpachi boomed, his giddy glee beginning to mingle with ire of his own. The shabby shinigami reached out with his free left hand and caught the psychic’s blade in his palm, seemingly oblivious to the steel tearing through his flesh and down to the bone. “Loudmouths like you who hold themselves above their enemies really piss me off. You’re not the first person to tell me that I don’t deserve to call myself a shinigami; I cut that guy down, too, hundreds of years ago, surrounded by his own men, and took his title and their respect for myself.” He wrapped his spidery fingers around the boy’s blade, gripping it tightly as he tipped his own sword toward the bloodied pile of cloth he had discarded upon the arena floor. “That jacket symbolizes my station as Captain and the name I’ve earned for myself.”
“The idolatrous beliefs of your sect are the lowest filth to me,” Erik spat, struggling against Zaraki’s grip. “I’ll bury you, heretic!”
The robed ronin’s eyes narrowed as the believer finished his harangue, in an instant leveraging his wingspan to lift the boy into the air by his sword as he delivered a grievous slash across his opponent’s belly. “The ‘Kenpachi’ title is held by a single shinigami, the strongest of their time,” he continued, tossing the boy aside. “I’ve never known a real name or family since before I clawed my way out of the gutters of the Zaraki district.” He was now almost screaming. “Everything I am, I’ve earned by tearing the throats out of pricks who think they’re above me!”
Frothing with rage of his own, the violet zealot was back on his feet in an instant, charging toward his towering foe with all of the fury afforded by his conviction. He held his sword aloft as fanged fetters unwound from his chest once more, striking out like a nest of angry cobras. Kenpachi planted his feet, taking his pick of the rusty bindings and grabbing hold as the rest ensnared his legs and sword-hand. Though a sneer crossed Erik’s face as he found his foe caught, it soon faded as the savage swordsman gave the cabling a sharp tug, dragging the diviner into range before taking hold of his head and bringing it down hard against the stone tiling.
“Back!” Vrell soon bellowed, his command cemented by another psionically-induced shriek assailing Kenpachi’s eardrums. His prayers to the madness god had granted him more than enough might and endurance to stagger the shinigami for a moment. “Now, presumptuous heathen,” Erik got to his feet and cocked his fist back as the towering swordsman regained his senses in time for an augmented fist to shatter his jaw. "Fall!”
“NO!” Kenpachi barked, delivering a savage kick to the boy’s lacerated gut that sent him skidding across the tile. His mangled maw displayed a grisly grin as he brought his sword to bear. “I’ve been called a beast, a butcher, a demon; I couldn’t care less.” He drew in a deep breath through his nose as the boy hastily steadied himself, Zaraki bringing his blade down upon the tile before Vrell had a chance to react. “But you will acknowledge me: Kenpachi Zaraki!”
Quote:850 words even, according to Google Docs.
Kenpachi used SWOOOORD.
Erik used Mageslayer, False Emperor's Sting, and Paracusia.
Using Energy Wave (Tier-I Super) on Erik. 1/5 SP remaining, though that's kinda irrelevant at this point.
![[Image: G3vODOp.png]](http://i.imgur.com/G3vODOp.png)
![[Image: oQAQ9Jn.png]](http://i.imgur.com/oQAQ9Jn.png)
![[Image: sfSJ19f.jpg]](https://i.imgur.com/sfSJ19f.jpg)