11-08-2015, 06:32 PM
The very time around them seemed to lag in anticipation of the shot Wakka found himself attempting. Viewers drifted to the edge of their seats to get that first glance of the outcome, while Dante found himself staring in wonder at the incredibly wild twist the blitzballer had thrown himself into. He had to admit, even for him, it was pretty cool. Perhaps something he should learn one of these days, Dante figured. If a man could pull it off with a pair of burnt legs, it couldn't be too hard for the nephilim to work out.
That being said, those thoughts were all assuming he would walk out of this alive. Wakka's kick strained through the air, his ankle pushed into the ball, and that ball went flying. The projectile being too fast to dodge, Dante resigned himself to putting up his dukes and bracing for the impact.
Nope, still didn't have Royalguard.
Wakka's marvelous, impossible kick defied the expectations and smashed into the devil hunter relentlessly. The very form of the blue-and-white orb seemed to distort before the force transmitted into Dante. He was sent recoiling right out of his guarded stance with a garbled cry of distress. As the nephilim tumbled back off the steel platform, the blitzballer who made the shot only had the briefest moment to witness and revel in his victorious effort. Then, his hang-time expired, and he too dropped like a stone into the murky pits below.
A pair of falling yells echoed from their section of the massive Colosseum, and all those who witnessed their fight were suddenly left stunned with conflicting emotions. The athlete called Wakka had made the shot, and in his final effort had also fallen. The stylish warrior who named himself Tony Redgrave had dominated the fight, and yet found himself defeated by his own hubris. Where bloodlust had thrived, disappointment now rocked the crowd.
Until Dante managed to regain his senses, and found that he was not falling into the abyss. Instead, the red-coat had been saved literally by own red coat, which had snagged onto an errant hook dangling off the platform. Recovering his composition, the half-devil glanced once again into the miasma of toxicity, and it stare right back into him, the haunting howl of Wakka's fall echoing in his brain.
Could a man survive a fall like that? It was hard to say. In the Omniverse, it seemed entirely possible - but then, what of the sinister chemicals that permeated the air? The athlete would be alive, yes, but left crippled and choking on pestilent gases until he was retrieved, if ever.
In those moment, Dante knew he was alive, but he was uncertain if he was truly living. For that matter, he wondered if he had actually really 'won' this battle at all.
You are alive. Is that not a victory? Do you not get to fight another battle?
Oh, shut up.
Groaning in exasperation (and strain of his aching muscles), Dante awkwardly reached up with one arm to grip the hook the hung from, and began to pull himself up. As his other hand pierced through the horizon of floating iron plates, the audience suddenly erupted into roars and applause, serving to indicate that yes, Dante had won this round. The nephilim heaved and flopped onto the platform, and groaned again.
Oh, don't tell me you're not enjoying this.
Shut. Up.
What if his next opponent was just pure evil, or something? Dante considered this hopeful idea as he finally picked himself up to haul his sorry ass back to the gate he emerged from. If he just fought someone with no redemption whatsoever, then perhaps he would have to feel remorse over killing them. It wouldn't make the two-sided half-devil feel particularly better, but at least he wouldn't have to feel so bad.
That being said, those thoughts were all assuming he would walk out of this alive. Wakka's kick strained through the air, his ankle pushed into the ball, and that ball went flying. The projectile being too fast to dodge, Dante resigned himself to putting up his dukes and bracing for the impact.
Nope, still didn't have Royalguard.
Wakka's marvelous, impossible kick defied the expectations and smashed into the devil hunter relentlessly. The very form of the blue-and-white orb seemed to distort before the force transmitted into Dante. He was sent recoiling right out of his guarded stance with a garbled cry of distress. As the nephilim tumbled back off the steel platform, the blitzballer who made the shot only had the briefest moment to witness and revel in his victorious effort. Then, his hang-time expired, and he too dropped like a stone into the murky pits below.
A pair of falling yells echoed from their section of the massive Colosseum, and all those who witnessed their fight were suddenly left stunned with conflicting emotions. The athlete called Wakka had made the shot, and in his final effort had also fallen. The stylish warrior who named himself Tony Redgrave had dominated the fight, and yet found himself defeated by his own hubris. Where bloodlust had thrived, disappointment now rocked the crowd.
Until Dante managed to regain his senses, and found that he was not falling into the abyss. Instead, the red-coat had been saved literally by own red coat, which had snagged onto an errant hook dangling off the platform. Recovering his composition, the half-devil glanced once again into the miasma of toxicity, and it stare right back into him, the haunting howl of Wakka's fall echoing in his brain.
Could a man survive a fall like that? It was hard to say. In the Omniverse, it seemed entirely possible - but then, what of the sinister chemicals that permeated the air? The athlete would be alive, yes, but left crippled and choking on pestilent gases until he was retrieved, if ever.
In those moment, Dante knew he was alive, but he was uncertain if he was truly living. For that matter, he wondered if he had actually really 'won' this battle at all.
You are alive. Is that not a victory? Do you not get to fight another battle?
Oh, shut up.
Groaning in exasperation (and strain of his aching muscles), Dante awkwardly reached up with one arm to grip the hook the hung from, and began to pull himself up. As his other hand pierced through the horizon of floating iron plates, the audience suddenly erupted into roars and applause, serving to indicate that yes, Dante had won this round. The nephilim heaved and flopped onto the platform, and groaned again.
Oh, don't tell me you're not enjoying this.
Shut. Up.
What if his next opponent was just pure evil, or something? Dante considered this hopeful idea as he finally picked himself up to haul his sorry ass back to the gate he emerged from. If he just fought someone with no redemption whatsoever, then perhaps he would have to feel remorse over killing them. It wouldn't make the two-sided half-devil feel particularly better, but at least he wouldn't have to feel so bad.
Quote:Wakka is still alive, but just unconscious/disabled at the bottom.