10-15-2015, 04:30 PM
Apparently, the Colosseum was a really popular thing to behold, according to the roaring and blathering of the bloodthirsty spectators. Dante himself could relate somewhat, considering his fighting style was in itself usually about two steps away from spectacular gladiatorial combat. The half-devil honestly hadn't come here to have fun, but if the crowd wanted a show, then who would he be to deny them that?
His opponent, meanwhile, was something else entirely - spiked green hair, pointed conch-like ears, and a stout, grisly face. That man was definitely here to fight, and the crowd behind him recognized that, if their hyena yells were any indication. He carried himself tall and hefty, ready to face down Dante, who himself instead relished in the thought that this first opponent would be someone who could possibly hold their own against him. Even then, who knew what tricks either man had up their sleeves?
Cloth padding on brass made the sound of engagement, and the two combatants kicked off.
A grand fissure separated the two fighters, but in the interest of not making this a shooting gallery, the devil hunter put forth a different idea: He slowed down, bending his knees to brace himself, and jumped with such incredible flourish over the earthen scar that divided the battlefield. A maneuver so impossibly daring earned a few hollers from the many astounded among the crowd.
The cone-eared combatant stepped out from behind his gray barrier, brandishing a large firearm to the blood cries of his supporters. Yet it was too apparent Dante would not be fazed - even as his opponent cried out some bullcrap about him being 'rebel scum' and 'attacking "King" Mar' - even as the firearm let loose a pulse of sinister flames that sought Dante's mark. The Son of Sparda didn't care what titles this man held, only what feats he could accomplish.
Moments later, when Dante stood none the worse for wear besides his clothes, his opponent acknowledged that - then immediately began to shuffle back.
So engaged the game of "keep away," as in, "keep myself away from the furious sword-swinging guy." To Dante, it only knocked the man's reputation down a few notches. How fitting that this man called himself a "King," if he couldn't even bring himself to fight up close and instead preserve his distance. Rather than pursue, the red-coat instead followed complacently, allowing Jak to make his next move: pulling a crossbow off the wall and attempting to charge it with the same dark energy as his firearm.
"What's your name, rebel?" The opponent probed at Dante, clearly stalling for time but undeniably curious. The question was met with a loud, judgmental hum from the devil hunter. He lifted Rebellion, inspecting his weapon as if it was suddenly foreign to him. Then, as Jak took aim, Dante suddenly pointed his sword forward and burst through the air with unexpected speed.
The cone-eared fighter only got his one shot off before he was forced to roll aside, Rebellion's wake of air whipping him in the face as he righted himself. That left Dante very vigorously stabbing the solid stone perimiter, with the addition of a bolt firmly lodged in his right shoulder. With almost casual frustration, the Son of Sparda yanked his blade free, turning to Jak. In a single pained wrench, the half-devil grabbed and snapped off the wooden shaft with little more expression than a grunt.
"Depends," Dante finally responded to the question, "Which name do you want?" Jak furiously set about winding up the crossbow for another shot, stepping back cautiously. As he opened his mouth to reply, Dante firmly interjected, "No, I have a better question. What would it take for me to see your real power? Your, full potential, say?"
The elfin-looking man had to pause to really absorb that sentence. Having clearly caught his attention, Dante began to pace forward again. Still believing he was in some sort of Shakespearean, Jak barked back, "You won't mock me, you dirty rebel! What makes you think you've any right to see my 'true power'?"
A bare hint of a smirk lit up Dante's cheekbones, and the Son of Sparda calmly sheathed his sword behind his back. "Two things," the red-coat answered, and clarified by drawing Ebony and Ivory. Jak's eyes bulged into tea-saucers and he scrambled backward, away from Dante's encroaching hail of gunfire. Without a fully loaded weapon, the "King" was forced to seriously run away to avoid being turned to bloody swiss cheese.
His opponent, meanwhile, was something else entirely - spiked green hair, pointed conch-like ears, and a stout, grisly face. That man was definitely here to fight, and the crowd behind him recognized that, if their hyena yells were any indication. He carried himself tall and hefty, ready to face down Dante, who himself instead relished in the thought that this first opponent would be someone who could possibly hold their own against him. Even then, who knew what tricks either man had up their sleeves?
Cloth padding on brass made the sound of engagement, and the two combatants kicked off.
A grand fissure separated the two fighters, but in the interest of not making this a shooting gallery, the devil hunter put forth a different idea: He slowed down, bending his knees to brace himself, and jumped with such incredible flourish over the earthen scar that divided the battlefield. A maneuver so impossibly daring earned a few hollers from the many astounded among the crowd.
The cone-eared combatant stepped out from behind his gray barrier, brandishing a large firearm to the blood cries of his supporters. Yet it was too apparent Dante would not be fazed - even as his opponent cried out some bullcrap about him being 'rebel scum' and 'attacking "King" Mar' - even as the firearm let loose a pulse of sinister flames that sought Dante's mark. The Son of Sparda didn't care what titles this man held, only what feats he could accomplish.
Moments later, when Dante stood none the worse for wear besides his clothes, his opponent acknowledged that - then immediately began to shuffle back.
So engaged the game of "keep away," as in, "keep myself away from the furious sword-swinging guy." To Dante, it only knocked the man's reputation down a few notches. How fitting that this man called himself a "King," if he couldn't even bring himself to fight up close and instead preserve his distance. Rather than pursue, the red-coat instead followed complacently, allowing Jak to make his next move: pulling a crossbow off the wall and attempting to charge it with the same dark energy as his firearm.
"What's your name, rebel?" The opponent probed at Dante, clearly stalling for time but undeniably curious. The question was met with a loud, judgmental hum from the devil hunter. He lifted Rebellion, inspecting his weapon as if it was suddenly foreign to him. Then, as Jak took aim, Dante suddenly pointed his sword forward and burst through the air with unexpected speed.
The cone-eared fighter only got his one shot off before he was forced to roll aside, Rebellion's wake of air whipping him in the face as he righted himself. That left Dante very vigorously stabbing the solid stone perimiter, with the addition of a bolt firmly lodged in his right shoulder. With almost casual frustration, the Son of Sparda yanked his blade free, turning to Jak. In a single pained wrench, the half-devil grabbed and snapped off the wooden shaft with little more expression than a grunt.
"Depends," Dante finally responded to the question, "Which name do you want?" Jak furiously set about winding up the crossbow for another shot, stepping back cautiously. As he opened his mouth to reply, Dante firmly interjected, "No, I have a better question. What would it take for me to see your real power? Your, full potential, say?"
The elfin-looking man had to pause to really absorb that sentence. Having clearly caught his attention, Dante began to pace forward again. Still believing he was in some sort of Shakespearean, Jak barked back, "You won't mock me, you dirty rebel! What makes you think you've any right to see my 'true power'?"
A bare hint of a smirk lit up Dante's cheekbones, and the Son of Sparda calmly sheathed his sword behind his back. "Two things," the red-coat answered, and clarified by drawing Ebony and Ivory. Jak's eyes bulged into tea-saucers and he scrambled backward, away from Dante's encroaching hail of gunfire. Without a fully loaded weapon, the "King" was forced to seriously run away to avoid being turned to bloody swiss cheese.
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