07-09-2015, 02:02 AM
One swift movement of his hand was all it took to snatch the sword from his opponent’s blood-washed hands. Within the second, a startling wave of energy clasped through the metallic rims of his fingertips, ignited with light, and was followed only by the the shine of steel breaking apart. Shattered mirrors clattered to the ground, reflecting the shocked look back to the Roman’s eyes.
Gildarts let his eyes remain on the Roman soldier. The brute didn’t take the time to revere the Prime’s power, but instead, the foe readied a battle axe that had been slung on his golden back. The violent swirl of motion daunted downward in a swift gust as the Roman chopped through the air. A grating, rigid cackle sounded as the sharpened blade skimmed his silver shoulder and sliced at his black cape. The seething thirst of blood was lit afire, emanating from his enemy. Its unrestrained power, intimidating; the pure intensity, frightening; and the opaque sense of destiny in this one moment fell quaking on the man’s golden boots. This battle, this challenge, everything in this world somehow fell into life, death, or rebirth.
WHOOSH!
Another startling swing.
SWISH!
Again a flash of air burst a little too close to his messy auburn hair. Gildarts blurred with the fiery tide of battle and gently, the mage’s movements slid with the wind that carried them. Combat was what he lived for, his akin eyes searched for the right moment of faltering interception as he seamlessly dodged the guillotine swings.
“What’s the matter Prime ’fraid of a secondary? Where is that demise you so confidently spoke about?” Gildarts saw it. He would extort the warrior’s hubris. What a sticky sense of pride that latched and thrived on every thought that swallowed the Roman’s mind. A scathing growl began to form low in his throat, yet it was too late, the adapting Gildarts had timed his fist to the flowing increments of battle. There would be no escape for the fated Roman. The blow would not be enough to kill the man, but it would shatter every bone on the front side of his body.
The great fist rolled with the power of the immortal’s stance, it started in his feet and extended from his elbow to land the crippling blow into the man’s already crumpling chest. The shockwave erupted in the man’s body, but no cry escaped his open lips. A weight fell on Gildarts’ arm as the warrior’s limp body completely collapsed on top of the still-standing Prime. In response to the mage’s blow, the inflicted muscles should have actively recoiled but instead, had fallen forward. It was only at this angle could the Prime surmise what had happened, and determine where the Thwoom...THWACK! sound originated from; he was now able to catch a glimpse of the back of the man’s gleaming helmet.
A feathered arrow. Sticking out from the nape of his neck, a slivered patch of skin where armor and helmet would not fold together, essential to mobility but unseen by even the closest eyes. Whoever had tossed these arrows was an excellent strategist, and an even better shot. They had to be, for the only way any arrowhead could have fit through that surface without skimming either creased lip of metal, was if it were sliced in half. Gildarts didn’t have much time to notice other part of the halved arrow had torn through the golden helmet and landed a headshot. Half arrows. The two chutes of wood stuck out of the man’s upperbody, yet Gildarts immediately let him drop as he caught a fleeting scent of danger; as soon as his opponent hit the ground, another charging foe swung at his back. The Prime chose to dodge and dipped himself low over the corpse of the fallen warrior as he formed a counterattack.
He took this time to curve a swing upward and half expected his hidden archer to immediately kill the three that had ambushed him. The air around him was vacant, leaving Gildarts time to throw his swing into the closest, who was still recovering from the slow withdrawal of a missed attack.
Gildarts let his peripheral view of the three feed him information, as the blasting movement fell on the assailant. Next, a grip landed on the shoulder of a man who seemed to think he would use this as an advantage, his muscles tensed and slowly the spiked bat in his hand swung forward, aimed directly for the perfect blow into the Prime’s face.
Gildarts’ gray hand crushed the bone of the foe’s freshly fractured shoulder before he followed through with a charged head-butt. Ferocious dark eyes didn’t flinch as the powerful force struck sharp into his thick skull and cracked into the bat-bearing man’s. The spiked weapon immediately was thrown from his loosened wrist but Gildarts had already felt the grating iron scratch the skin from his skull.
The thin scratches painted lines of scarlet into his already reddened hair. Pain lapped in his mind as he felt a crushing blow fall on the left side of his body and blast his ribs. Sent off his feet, the Prime fell into the dusty ground. His spinning eyes didn’t need to move to catch sight of his assailant. It was the only one who remained of the three, a woman.
Blonde hair cascaded down her armored shoulders, as she readied her next blow while he was down. It would have been a good tactic, to strike him while he was low, but only if he hadn’t kicked her ankles and caused her to slam into the same hard ground he had.
“Oof.” The exhaustive groan was muffled as the breath escaped her lips. Gildarts felt a pang of sorrow as her revolt towards him echoed with the anger of her words. The woman's eyes struck like daggers, “Some gentleman you are.”
His eyes remained on her yet he reminded himself that he would not forget that this was a place of battle. It seemed, however, she had known just what to say to make him cease his next move. The words, like her icy eyes, held him there. Their shared silence created a distance from the rest of the chaotic arena.
“Why are you doing this?” If her answer was anything like the Roman’s there would be no persuading her, however, Gildarts retained his honor, and always, always tried to offer a chance. Nor after all his years did he have any idea what ran through a woman's mind.
“To defeat you.” Cold, harsh words. He could taste the callous hatred on her iron tongue.
“Go ahead, try to kill me like the rest, see where that gets you.” His eyes told her of the dead soldier that currently touched her toe. “Instead, you could be my ally.” Gildarts candidly offered as he showed her mercy with a hopeful sense of reason. Though his motives weren’t all that honorable.
The warrior woman thought hard as her eyes darted at the invisible options streaming through her mind. Finally, a response formed. “You’re a man someone could spend a lifetime with, and not know a thing about what is running through your head.”
“Is that so bad?” Gildarts asked, the unsaid words that neither of them spoke were read through the lines of their subtle tones. The blonde slowly blinked as Gildarts determined whether it would be considered a threatening motion to move as a few clashing men stampeded around them. To his brief relief, no one grew any closer.
Underlying truth ridged the stagnant air around them. It seemed, the girl had enough logic to reconsider her choice to kill him. Or, perhaps she was a perfect distraction. Gildarts held onto the more optimistic notion and believed that people were fundamentally good.
Her response to his question was but a carefully growing smile. Her blue eyes warmed, if only just for a second before the arrow pierced through her skull.
A cold current of ice crippled his heart. Her name... What had been her name? The man scrambled over to her spot on the ground, which offered just enough time for Gildarts to unknowingly dodge a ball of fire that had been sent straight into the place he had remained idle in for too long. He held her face in his hand, as the ball of fire that would have engulfed him flew by with a wave of immense heat. His gray fingers swept through and parted her beautiful pale hair. In his organic hand he held her face and caressed the smooth line of her jaw as his thumb brushed her cheek.
Gildarts looked to the resting place of her two fallen comrades, he certainly couldn’t ask them. Sorrow was tempted to leap out from the depths of his stomach, yet suddenly his emotion became numb and he grew increasingly calm. She had been willing to have a change of heart in a game that meant life or death. Change against all that it meant. It counted, for something. Gildarts seemed to carry her with respect, so as she would not lay on the bloodied ground. He lifted her closer to him and another skimming touch with his good hand left a streaked mark on her cheek. He frowned, death had such a cold touch.
Her name would never be known. But he would not forget.
By the time he stood, several other warriors had found their way to him and formed a large mass as they surrounded his position, cornered by a circle. The Prime’s mind was elsewhere. His gaze turned over his shoulder, his eyes filtered with only red to the direction of the active archer, bearing the the carefully 'chosen' arrows that told of mystique. “Is there no arrow for me?” It seemed nothing would ever end the destruction that only grew around him.
Gildarts felt the curse shudder through him as the ground began to crumble seemingly at the weight of the woman in his arms. His eyes remained on her and he noticed how her skin had grown pale to match her near-white hair as it became painted with damp stains of scarlet, meanwhile the armed gladiators around him hesitated, perhaps basking in their ability to finally reach the Prime after combating against the competition.
With the crowded audience’s shouts, they too, cheered at the chance to slay the Prime who was currently preoccupied.
“DON’T JUS’ STAND THERE! KILL ‘IM!”
"ONE THOUSAND OMNILIUM TO THE ONE WHO SLAYS HIM NOW!"
“WHAT THE FROOK YOU WAITIN’ FER?!”
“CAN’T RELY ON THESE AMATEURS TO GET THE JOB DONE, I SAY WE GO DOWN THERE AND GIVE THE PRIME A PIECE O’ OUR MIND!”
“YOU IDIOTS, A FINE LADY JUST DIED. SHOW SOME RESPECT!”
“ARCHER, WHY DON’T YOU JUST KILL THAT BASTARD AND CLAIM YOUR PRIZE?!”
Someone from the crowd had become wise to that which had occurred on the field. The untold malice of the Prime’s still-dark gaze hung in the air and targeted the girl’s murderer with something less effective than arrows, but its challenge transcended even time. He was unable to see whoever it had been that had fired the shots, however, he didn’t need a face to attach his hatred. Not even that seething fire would calm his rage now.
Slice.
Blood poured from his shoulder, yet he could not feel the sudden hole. Dark, dulled eyes fell on his attacker, the menacing eyes told the soldier that the Prime had no time to squash flies as a backhand creased into the man’s neck and sent him flying nearly ten feet over the bleachers. The crowd oohed and awed at the hurtling man before their ravenous cheers beckoned the Prime for more battle.
Sharp static broke the ground beneath him and crackled in an immense wave below the armed ‘fans’ that had formed around him. Someone was now close enough to slash him and Gildarts bowed away, offering the same treatment to the flying man’s friend. The earth was crushed around him, some of the perfectly cubed rocks propelled into the air as the coliseum erupted with thunderous vibrations. His wrath became all that was around him.
Doom.
Cracks formed in the bench seats that the audience sat on and endangered the slowly compromising structure of the stone stadium. Growls of destruction ruptured as dark clouds began to form overhead. The audience, more oblivious than that of the characteristic Prime, jeered enthusiastically, ready for the action that would prove to be their money’s worth. The clouds crackled with thunder and streaks of lightning started to storm above him.
“Fucking idiot.”
Someone snarled as Gildarts was clubbed over the head, the corners of his vision grew blurred with black as his knees didn’t even bother to buckle before he hit the ground.
Gildarts let his eyes remain on the Roman soldier. The brute didn’t take the time to revere the Prime’s power, but instead, the foe readied a battle axe that had been slung on his golden back. The violent swirl of motion daunted downward in a swift gust as the Roman chopped through the air. A grating, rigid cackle sounded as the sharpened blade skimmed his silver shoulder and sliced at his black cape. The seething thirst of blood was lit afire, emanating from his enemy. Its unrestrained power, intimidating; the pure intensity, frightening; and the opaque sense of destiny in this one moment fell quaking on the man’s golden boots. This battle, this challenge, everything in this world somehow fell into life, death, or rebirth.
WHOOSH!
Another startling swing.
SWISH!
Again a flash of air burst a little too close to his messy auburn hair. Gildarts blurred with the fiery tide of battle and gently, the mage’s movements slid with the wind that carried them. Combat was what he lived for, his akin eyes searched for the right moment of faltering interception as he seamlessly dodged the guillotine swings.
“What’s the matter Prime ’fraid of a secondary? Where is that demise you so confidently spoke about?” Gildarts saw it. He would extort the warrior’s hubris. What a sticky sense of pride that latched and thrived on every thought that swallowed the Roman’s mind. A scathing growl began to form low in his throat, yet it was too late, the adapting Gildarts had timed his fist to the flowing increments of battle. There would be no escape for the fated Roman. The blow would not be enough to kill the man, but it would shatter every bone on the front side of his body.
The great fist rolled with the power of the immortal’s stance, it started in his feet and extended from his elbow to land the crippling blow into the man’s already crumpling chest. The shockwave erupted in the man’s body, but no cry escaped his open lips. A weight fell on Gildarts’ arm as the warrior’s limp body completely collapsed on top of the still-standing Prime. In response to the mage’s blow, the inflicted muscles should have actively recoiled but instead, had fallen forward. It was only at this angle could the Prime surmise what had happened, and determine where the Thwoom...THWACK! sound originated from; he was now able to catch a glimpse of the back of the man’s gleaming helmet.
A feathered arrow. Sticking out from the nape of his neck, a slivered patch of skin where armor and helmet would not fold together, essential to mobility but unseen by even the closest eyes. Whoever had tossed these arrows was an excellent strategist, and an even better shot. They had to be, for the only way any arrowhead could have fit through that surface without skimming either creased lip of metal, was if it were sliced in half. Gildarts didn’t have much time to notice other part of the halved arrow had torn through the golden helmet and landed a headshot. Half arrows. The two chutes of wood stuck out of the man’s upperbody, yet Gildarts immediately let him drop as he caught a fleeting scent of danger; as soon as his opponent hit the ground, another charging foe swung at his back. The Prime chose to dodge and dipped himself low over the corpse of the fallen warrior as he formed a counterattack.
He took this time to curve a swing upward and half expected his hidden archer to immediately kill the three that had ambushed him. The air around him was vacant, leaving Gildarts time to throw his swing into the closest, who was still recovering from the slow withdrawal of a missed attack.
Gildarts let his peripheral view of the three feed him information, as the blasting movement fell on the assailant. Next, a grip landed on the shoulder of a man who seemed to think he would use this as an advantage, his muscles tensed and slowly the spiked bat in his hand swung forward, aimed directly for the perfect blow into the Prime’s face.
Gildarts’ gray hand crushed the bone of the foe’s freshly fractured shoulder before he followed through with a charged head-butt. Ferocious dark eyes didn’t flinch as the powerful force struck sharp into his thick skull and cracked into the bat-bearing man’s. The spiked weapon immediately was thrown from his loosened wrist but Gildarts had already felt the grating iron scratch the skin from his skull.
The thin scratches painted lines of scarlet into his already reddened hair. Pain lapped in his mind as he felt a crushing blow fall on the left side of his body and blast his ribs. Sent off his feet, the Prime fell into the dusty ground. His spinning eyes didn’t need to move to catch sight of his assailant. It was the only one who remained of the three, a woman.
Blonde hair cascaded down her armored shoulders, as she readied her next blow while he was down. It would have been a good tactic, to strike him while he was low, but only if he hadn’t kicked her ankles and caused her to slam into the same hard ground he had.
“Oof.” The exhaustive groan was muffled as the breath escaped her lips. Gildarts felt a pang of sorrow as her revolt towards him echoed with the anger of her words. The woman's eyes struck like daggers, “Some gentleman you are.”
His eyes remained on her yet he reminded himself that he would not forget that this was a place of battle. It seemed, however, she had known just what to say to make him cease his next move. The words, like her icy eyes, held him there. Their shared silence created a distance from the rest of the chaotic arena.
“Why are you doing this?” If her answer was anything like the Roman’s there would be no persuading her, however, Gildarts retained his honor, and always, always tried to offer a chance. Nor after all his years did he have any idea what ran through a woman's mind.
“To defeat you.” Cold, harsh words. He could taste the callous hatred on her iron tongue.
“Go ahead, try to kill me like the rest, see where that gets you.” His eyes told her of the dead soldier that currently touched her toe. “Instead, you could be my ally.” Gildarts candidly offered as he showed her mercy with a hopeful sense of reason. Though his motives weren’t all that honorable.
The warrior woman thought hard as her eyes darted at the invisible options streaming through her mind. Finally, a response formed. “You’re a man someone could spend a lifetime with, and not know a thing about what is running through your head.”
“Is that so bad?” Gildarts asked, the unsaid words that neither of them spoke were read through the lines of their subtle tones. The blonde slowly blinked as Gildarts determined whether it would be considered a threatening motion to move as a few clashing men stampeded around them. To his brief relief, no one grew any closer.
Underlying truth ridged the stagnant air around them. It seemed, the girl had enough logic to reconsider her choice to kill him. Or, perhaps she was a perfect distraction. Gildarts held onto the more optimistic notion and believed that people were fundamentally good.
Her response to his question was but a carefully growing smile. Her blue eyes warmed, if only just for a second before the arrow pierced through her skull.
A cold current of ice crippled his heart. Her name... What had been her name? The man scrambled over to her spot on the ground, which offered just enough time for Gildarts to unknowingly dodge a ball of fire that had been sent straight into the place he had remained idle in for too long. He held her face in his hand, as the ball of fire that would have engulfed him flew by with a wave of immense heat. His gray fingers swept through and parted her beautiful pale hair. In his organic hand he held her face and caressed the smooth line of her jaw as his thumb brushed her cheek.
Gildarts looked to the resting place of her two fallen comrades, he certainly couldn’t ask them. Sorrow was tempted to leap out from the depths of his stomach, yet suddenly his emotion became numb and he grew increasingly calm. She had been willing to have a change of heart in a game that meant life or death. Change against all that it meant. It counted, for something. Gildarts seemed to carry her with respect, so as she would not lay on the bloodied ground. He lifted her closer to him and another skimming touch with his good hand left a streaked mark on her cheek. He frowned, death had such a cold touch.
Her name would never be known. But he would not forget.
By the time he stood, several other warriors had found their way to him and formed a large mass as they surrounded his position, cornered by a circle. The Prime’s mind was elsewhere. His gaze turned over his shoulder, his eyes filtered with only red to the direction of the active archer, bearing the the carefully 'chosen' arrows that told of mystique. “Is there no arrow for me?” It seemed nothing would ever end the destruction that only grew around him.
Gildarts felt the curse shudder through him as the ground began to crumble seemingly at the weight of the woman in his arms. His eyes remained on her and he noticed how her skin had grown pale to match her near-white hair as it became painted with damp stains of scarlet, meanwhile the armed gladiators around him hesitated, perhaps basking in their ability to finally reach the Prime after combating against the competition.
With the crowded audience’s shouts, they too, cheered at the chance to slay the Prime who was currently preoccupied.
“DON’T JUS’ STAND THERE! KILL ‘IM!”
"ONE THOUSAND OMNILIUM TO THE ONE WHO SLAYS HIM NOW!"
“WHAT THE FROOK YOU WAITIN’ FER?!”
“CAN’T RELY ON THESE AMATEURS TO GET THE JOB DONE, I SAY WE GO DOWN THERE AND GIVE THE PRIME A PIECE O’ OUR MIND!”
“YOU IDIOTS, A FINE LADY JUST DIED. SHOW SOME RESPECT!”
“ARCHER, WHY DON’T YOU JUST KILL THAT BASTARD AND CLAIM YOUR PRIZE?!”
Someone from the crowd had become wise to that which had occurred on the field. The untold malice of the Prime’s still-dark gaze hung in the air and targeted the girl’s murderer with something less effective than arrows, but its challenge transcended even time. He was unable to see whoever it had been that had fired the shots, however, he didn’t need a face to attach his hatred. Not even that seething fire would calm his rage now.
Slice.
Blood poured from his shoulder, yet he could not feel the sudden hole. Dark, dulled eyes fell on his attacker, the menacing eyes told the soldier that the Prime had no time to squash flies as a backhand creased into the man’s neck and sent him flying nearly ten feet over the bleachers. The crowd oohed and awed at the hurtling man before their ravenous cheers beckoned the Prime for more battle.
Sharp static broke the ground beneath him and crackled in an immense wave below the armed ‘fans’ that had formed around him. Someone was now close enough to slash him and Gildarts bowed away, offering the same treatment to the flying man’s friend. The earth was crushed around him, some of the perfectly cubed rocks propelled into the air as the coliseum erupted with thunderous vibrations. His wrath became all that was around him.
Doom.
Cracks formed in the bench seats that the audience sat on and endangered the slowly compromising structure of the stone stadium. Growls of destruction ruptured as dark clouds began to form overhead. The audience, more oblivious than that of the characteristic Prime, jeered enthusiastically, ready for the action that would prove to be their money’s worth. The clouds crackled with thunder and streaks of lightning started to storm above him.
“Fucking idiot.”
Someone snarled as Gildarts was clubbed over the head, the corners of his vision grew blurred with black as his knees didn’t even bother to buckle before he hit the ground.
![[Image: -Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif]](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/35600000/-Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif)
"I have never met a strong person with an easy past." -Atticus