10-28-2015, 04:03 PM
"Always gotta side me with the demons," Dante complained, staring rudely at the sigil of Diablo. A moment later, still staring, he recalled the apparent context of this fight that he had been briefed on. So, technically, the demons were the good guys? For what, kicking the Empire's butt? Fine, whatever.
That said, it wasn't as if Dante's particular siding came without benefits, he noted when turning his gaze to the armory of demon-flavored weapons. Hellfire cannons, volcanic polearms, a jet-black whip... nothing he personally recognized, but all tempting nonetheless. That artillery gun looked awfully powerful, but the devil hunter doubted he would turn to it even in a pinch.
The brass ring of the gong sounded, and Dante broke into a run. Ultimately, the armory wasn't worth it; he'd forge his own path to victory. Here, though, came the tricky part: fighting reliably on this asteroid field of metal surfaces and stations. It reminded him of one of the first hells he visited, a white void like the Nexus with many stone chunks to walk on - and very little else. The nephilim made the same promise to not fall off, and he threw himself forward off the first platform. At least, he was fortunate in his super-powerful ability to jump, only barely whiffing the threat of the roiling clouds below before planting his feet on the next metal surface.
On the other side of the battlefield, Wakka shared some of Dante's sentiments, but not his maneuverability. Scrambling to regain his balance, the blitzballer managed to fall onto the actual platform of the steeled edge he had jumped for. Any doubt the athlete had left about this event was long gone, replaced mostly with anguish. This rank gray battlefield was a deathtrap in and of itself, even without an opponent to fight. It was so much that Wakka had actually forced his hands to slip a couple of the foreign weapons to his belt. Just in case, he kept telling himself.
"What kinda fool comes up with 'dis crazy stuff?" The blitzballer lamented out loud, crouched under four metal sheets vaguely arranged into a sort of shelter. He peered out the card-slot of a window cut from one of the walls, eyes quickly darting to peek at the battlefield. The red-coated man, his match for this round, was hopping and running across the metal plates with relative ease even to the athlete. Wakka tightened the arm holding his blitzball, silently praying he didn't lose it so soon...
Closing the distance between himself and the shelter he saw his foe dart behind, Dante held up for a moment to bound dramatically into the air. Spreading his arms into useless wings, he aimed for the shacked platform with the cheers of his renewed supporters. With Dante out of Wakka's sight, the latter wisely assumed the worse and backpedaled out of the shack- just as the devil hunter crashed down feet-first on the roof.
"So, what's your deal?" The half-devil asked, as if they weren't enemies and he hadn't just super-jumped onto a metal shelter. Wakka quickly doubled back, leaping back to the lower platform where he came - and in response, twisting around and chucking the sport ball into Dante's face. As his opponent cried out in painful shock and stumbled off the roof, the fire-haired man punctuated that fall with a catch of his rebounding sphere.
His accent called to Dante, "How's that fo' ya'? A Blitzball don't taste so good, eh?" On the far side of the metal shack, Dante's head lay dangling off the rim of the platform. In any other fight, he might already be down there, regretting a lot more. Gazing wide-eyed into the murky abyss, heaving up the scent of arid fumes, his resolve realigned itself.
"I know I asked for it, but damn..." the devil hunter spoke in mild surprise, then with more firmness, "No fooling around, then."
Wakka was about to taunt his opponent again when the sudden shriek of metal-on-metal rang out. Cringing at the shrill noise, the athlete grit his teeth in expectancy. What he wasn't expecting was the metal shelter being cut in half, and the top half being kicked at him. The blitzballer dove in panic off to another platform, scrambling spreadeagled to the center while the metal plates crashed along the surface behind him.
Daring to look up, Wakka witnessed Dante walking out from behind the lower remains of the shelter, brandishing Rebellion in challenge. "Wanna try that again?"
That said, it wasn't as if Dante's particular siding came without benefits, he noted when turning his gaze to the armory of demon-flavored weapons. Hellfire cannons, volcanic polearms, a jet-black whip... nothing he personally recognized, but all tempting nonetheless. That artillery gun looked awfully powerful, but the devil hunter doubted he would turn to it even in a pinch.
The brass ring of the gong sounded, and Dante broke into a run. Ultimately, the armory wasn't worth it; he'd forge his own path to victory. Here, though, came the tricky part: fighting reliably on this asteroid field of metal surfaces and stations. It reminded him of one of the first hells he visited, a white void like the Nexus with many stone chunks to walk on - and very little else. The nephilim made the same promise to not fall off, and he threw himself forward off the first platform. At least, he was fortunate in his super-powerful ability to jump, only barely whiffing the threat of the roiling clouds below before planting his feet on the next metal surface.
On the other side of the battlefield, Wakka shared some of Dante's sentiments, but not his maneuverability. Scrambling to regain his balance, the blitzballer managed to fall onto the actual platform of the steeled edge he had jumped for. Any doubt the athlete had left about this event was long gone, replaced mostly with anguish. This rank gray battlefield was a deathtrap in and of itself, even without an opponent to fight. It was so much that Wakka had actually forced his hands to slip a couple of the foreign weapons to his belt. Just in case, he kept telling himself.
"What kinda fool comes up with 'dis crazy stuff?" The blitzballer lamented out loud, crouched under four metal sheets vaguely arranged into a sort of shelter. He peered out the card-slot of a window cut from one of the walls, eyes quickly darting to peek at the battlefield. The red-coated man, his match for this round, was hopping and running across the metal plates with relative ease even to the athlete. Wakka tightened the arm holding his blitzball, silently praying he didn't lose it so soon...
Closing the distance between himself and the shelter he saw his foe dart behind, Dante held up for a moment to bound dramatically into the air. Spreading his arms into useless wings, he aimed for the shacked platform with the cheers of his renewed supporters. With Dante out of Wakka's sight, the latter wisely assumed the worse and backpedaled out of the shack- just as the devil hunter crashed down feet-first on the roof.
"So, what's your deal?" The half-devil asked, as if they weren't enemies and he hadn't just super-jumped onto a metal shelter. Wakka quickly doubled back, leaping back to the lower platform where he came - and in response, twisting around and chucking the sport ball into Dante's face. As his opponent cried out in painful shock and stumbled off the roof, the fire-haired man punctuated that fall with a catch of his rebounding sphere.
His accent called to Dante, "How's that fo' ya'? A Blitzball don't taste so good, eh?" On the far side of the metal shack, Dante's head lay dangling off the rim of the platform. In any other fight, he might already be down there, regretting a lot more. Gazing wide-eyed into the murky abyss, heaving up the scent of arid fumes, his resolve realigned itself.
"I know I asked for it, but damn..." the devil hunter spoke in mild surprise, then with more firmness, "No fooling around, then."
Wakka was about to taunt his opponent again when the sudden shriek of metal-on-metal rang out. Cringing at the shrill noise, the athlete grit his teeth in expectancy. What he wasn't expecting was the metal shelter being cut in half, and the top half being kicked at him. The blitzballer dove in panic off to another platform, scrambling spreadeagled to the center while the metal plates crashed along the surface behind him.
Daring to look up, Wakka witnessed Dante walking out from behind the lower remains of the shelter, brandishing Rebellion in challenge. "Wanna try that again?"
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