12-09-2015, 01:27 PM
“I’ve had enough firsts,” the nameless warrior whined through clattering teeth. “I was ok at ‘first snow.’ I wasn’t really into my first ‘being old as fuck’ experience, and I had always hoped my first time swimming was going to be at a beach or something.” She managed to lurch out of the path of a few desperate shadow-bolts, and scowled in the direction they came from. “Too many shitty firsts.”
The cold wind now cut through the layers of her clothing and armor, her thick dreads already frozen into stiff, unyielding blocks. The failing command she held over her fingers urged them to hold onto the rifle, though she felt her trigger finger slowing its response. Also, whatever this freshest flavor of prestidigitation was, she felt it draining what little strength she had left. If she was going to win, it would have to be before he could make things any worse.
She had to kill him. Now.
Planting the end of Sledge’s Hammer into the snow, she angled the exhaust towards herself, grabbed the handle, and twisted. The engine’s waterlogged chambers sputtered for a moment before it choked to life. A thick cloud of steam billowed from the tubes before a torrent of flame coughed out, followed by its iconic V8 roar. Though the thick shadow-magic refused to be illuminated by the fire, it could do nothing to drown out the heat.
The bandit cared little as segments of her attire were set ablaze by the immense temperatures that perfused them, nor did she pay heed to the burns that rushed along her skin with the inferno. All that she wanted was warmth enough to move. Warmth enough to fight.
The silence was almost deafening when she finally relented on the throttle. She tore the oversized mace from the earth and spun it into her still-smoldering fingers, stepping into a batter’s stance. She peered into the void that surrounded her, the tips of her armor glowing as red-hot as her anger, smoke and steam billowing off of her shoulders.
“A’ight fucker,” she spat into the inky blackness, “let’s go.”
It didn’t take Magus long to accept her challenge, appearing from the fog in a burst of movement and malicious intention. She swung the hammer towards his smug face, but he dipped low and delivered a strike across her midsection, a few ribs now visible through her skin. Stepping past her as she bent over her wound, he turned and lifted his blade high overhead. Doom raked across her dense back plate, eliciting the caterwaul from the unyielding metal before it was cast aside. She abandoned her maul and twisted around, shooting her spiked pauldron into his waist.
The still-burning protrusions dug into his gut, his skin sizzling as she hefted him off the ground and through the air. Nearly helpless against her brute strength, Magus could only go along for the ride as she charged through the darkness. The outer wall of the Miasma blossomed when they burst through, grasping wisps reluctant to release them as they stumbled into the daylight.
The two crashed to the ground together, sliding gracelessly over the slickness of the frozen ground. His back on the ice, Magus managed to lift his knee up into her chest, then flipped her up over his head. She hit the ground harshly but allowed her momentum to continue and rolled forward onto her feet.
The adept wizard was, as if by magic, already standing when she spun to face him, and halfway through another diagonal cut. A splash of color appeared over the woman’s collarbone, and she couldn’t help but scream as the sorcerer reaped his harvest of flesh. He wheeled the scythe through with brutal elegance, sweeping it around for a downward slash.
Unwilling to take yet another hit, the bandit snarled and tossed herself into him, just inside the weapon’s range. When the blade soared past and sunk itself in the snow, she snatched his wrist and held it firm, preventing him from pulling it free. Using her prosthetic limb, she hammer-fisted it further down, wedging it in the crust.
“Enough of that shit,” she quipped, still holding his wrist, and then backhanded him. His near-frozen fingers released the handle and his head whipped to the side, frost-matted hair tumbling after it. He moved to retaliate, but she brutishly pushed her fingers into his mane and jerked his head upwards.
Grinning maniacally, she rhetorically asked, “Thirsty?” then slammed his face through the ice.
The cold wind now cut through the layers of her clothing and armor, her thick dreads already frozen into stiff, unyielding blocks. The failing command she held over her fingers urged them to hold onto the rifle, though she felt her trigger finger slowing its response. Also, whatever this freshest flavor of prestidigitation was, she felt it draining what little strength she had left. If she was going to win, it would have to be before he could make things any worse.
She had to kill him. Now.
Planting the end of Sledge’s Hammer into the snow, she angled the exhaust towards herself, grabbed the handle, and twisted. The engine’s waterlogged chambers sputtered for a moment before it choked to life. A thick cloud of steam billowed from the tubes before a torrent of flame coughed out, followed by its iconic V8 roar. Though the thick shadow-magic refused to be illuminated by the fire, it could do nothing to drown out the heat.
The bandit cared little as segments of her attire were set ablaze by the immense temperatures that perfused them, nor did she pay heed to the burns that rushed along her skin with the inferno. All that she wanted was warmth enough to move. Warmth enough to fight.
The silence was almost deafening when she finally relented on the throttle. She tore the oversized mace from the earth and spun it into her still-smoldering fingers, stepping into a batter’s stance. She peered into the void that surrounded her, the tips of her armor glowing as red-hot as her anger, smoke and steam billowing off of her shoulders.
“A’ight fucker,” she spat into the inky blackness, “let’s go.”
It didn’t take Magus long to accept her challenge, appearing from the fog in a burst of movement and malicious intention. She swung the hammer towards his smug face, but he dipped low and delivered a strike across her midsection, a few ribs now visible through her skin. Stepping past her as she bent over her wound, he turned and lifted his blade high overhead. Doom raked across her dense back plate, eliciting the caterwaul from the unyielding metal before it was cast aside. She abandoned her maul and twisted around, shooting her spiked pauldron into his waist.
The still-burning protrusions dug into his gut, his skin sizzling as she hefted him off the ground and through the air. Nearly helpless against her brute strength, Magus could only go along for the ride as she charged through the darkness. The outer wall of the Miasma blossomed when they burst through, grasping wisps reluctant to release them as they stumbled into the daylight.
The two crashed to the ground together, sliding gracelessly over the slickness of the frozen ground. His back on the ice, Magus managed to lift his knee up into her chest, then flipped her up over his head. She hit the ground harshly but allowed her momentum to continue and rolled forward onto her feet.
The adept wizard was, as if by magic, already standing when she spun to face him, and halfway through another diagonal cut. A splash of color appeared over the woman’s collarbone, and she couldn’t help but scream as the sorcerer reaped his harvest of flesh. He wheeled the scythe through with brutal elegance, sweeping it around for a downward slash.
Unwilling to take yet another hit, the bandit snarled and tossed herself into him, just inside the weapon’s range. When the blade soared past and sunk itself in the snow, she snatched his wrist and held it firm, preventing him from pulling it free. Using her prosthetic limb, she hammer-fisted it further down, wedging it in the crust.
“Enough of that shit,” she quipped, still holding his wrist, and then backhanded him. His near-frozen fingers released the handle and his head whipped to the side, frost-matted hair tumbling after it. He moved to retaliate, but she brutishly pushed her fingers into his mane and jerked his head upwards.
Grinning maniacally, she rhetorically asked, “Thirsty?” then slammed his face through the ice.
Quote:750
AMAZING FIGHT!