11-26-2016, 10:54 PM
Kablam! went the hand cannon, and soon, the whole world held nothing more than the fighting and the low whistles that invaded his mind. A small reed instrument being blown into his ear, deafening him, blinding him to everything else except from what was ahead of him.
He almost felt his brain shatter alongside the sword as it fell, in pieces, onto the blood-soaked ice. The cons of housing a logic spirit within the tombs of your inner self was that you could never not consider the chances of failure. Even now, with himself in control, his shade sent small pockets of dissuasion, all detailing the shortening list of options to win. With his single-shot wasted, the only outcome now was death.
He stared at the demon as he rushed at him, grinning evilly with his toothless maw. Pounds of crimson muscle, body-grown steel, and bloodlust barreling towards him with elongated, hungry blades. To the rock-star, he looked as if he was in a trance. A stupor from which he appeared to be too deep inside to escape from.
Kuzuru’s smile grew wider. It was time to end this.
But, unlike before, this was not a case of indecision, of a lapse in memory. As his hand dashed for the inside of his coat, the devil’s eyes widened in realization.
He lifted the gun, flicking the bottom of its barrel to ignite the cardinal fire serving as its fuel. Ballad did not hear his screams, nor his own, as he pulled the trigger, engulfing his opponent in flames.
His enemy fluttered past him, the burgundy tendrils licking his flesh with every passing moment. The gunner aimed down and whirled around, surrounding himself in a circle of fire.
Soon, is gun sputtered out some leftover napalm before giving up, but by then, the damage had been done. He blinked, the shrill hissing in his ears dying down, sending him back to reality.
You are most welcome.
What?
If it was not for my proposed action, we would most likely be deceased.
…Good point. That was… actually a good save there.
Just remember to utilize ALL of your weapons before lapsing in judgment.
The flames around him flickered, decreasing in size. He quickly reloaded his flamethrower and stuffed a bullet down his single shot hand cannon right before the flames dissipated entirely, leaving him alone with the monster of a being.
Kuzuru had since extinguished the napalm, having rolled around a bit on ice to do so. He was standing up, parts of his clothes charred to ash and burn marks all over his body. The skin on his arms looked ready to melt off, but judging from the indifference his spirit felt about it, combined with the absolutely livid expression on his opponent’s face, he could discern the injuries were not as bad as they could have been.
“Fire? On a demon? You’re getting poetic here!” he shouted, barely masking the pain, frustration, and most importantly, shock in his voice through gritted teeth and a confident smirk, “perhaps someone will write about this one day. Sing a song about it. How fucking lovely.”
“I procure zero amounts of pleasure for this act of violence, foul one,” said the winter inventor, sliding bullets into his revolver’s chamber, “I am simply doing what is necessary to be extant.”
“Blahdy blah, ‘I procure zero amounts of pleasure from this’ my asshole!” Kuzuru replied, gesticulating in an exaggerated hand motion in a gross parody of the green man’s behavior, “as much as I love listening to you rant about philosophical shit like that, I know that’s exactly what it is. Shit. And it’s real smelly, too.”
His chest thumped, a war drum serving as his heart. It pumped more and more blood through his veins and out the small hole in his torso. He grit his teeth underneath his crimson scarf, smoke steadily rising from his coat sleeves. Waves of pain flushed through his torso and legs as blood drizzled from his wounds.
“Yeah, look at you,” the demon said, pointing at him, “you know I’m right. I ain’t going back on what I said, Ballad. I’m not some pansy running away the truth. I’m a killer, and I like it. You're the same way, just that I don't make excuses!?”
“I’m not making an excuse!” he growled, his hands palming for his pickaxe. He glanced to the side, seeing his only melee weapon had been tossed off into the darkness.
“Oh, quit your bitching and let’s kill each other already!” he said. His retracted his blades, seeing he gunsmith was no longer armed. With that, he ran towards him, fists drawn.
Spur of the moment, wanting nothing more than to tear the bastard who accused him of so-called “excuses” into many, many gory pieces, he met the demon head on. Their fists collided, both of them recoiling from the shock and twinges of pain. The devil greaser recovered first, responding with a thrust to the gunsmith’s midsection. He clumsily sidestepped out of the way. Before the demon could do anything else, he leaped into the air to smack both of his hands against the demon’s head. Kuzuru stumbled back, dizzy. Ballad ran forward, his momentum suffering due to the gashes in his legs as he rammed his fist into the greaser’s face.
The demon toppled to the floor, his nose cocked to the side in an unnatural angle. He got back up, smashing his fist into the floor as he bellowed. He swung wildly in the inventor’s direction, his attacks dodged or diverted several times. Shooting forward, he tried to crash his clenched fist onto some part, any part, of the gunsmith. His heart yearned for that rush of excitement, of accomplishment, that feeling he got in every fight with every punch, blade-lock, and removal of blood.
Predictably, he missed. However, as the gunner tried to riposte, his legs stumbled. He groaned. Before he could recover, Kuzuru grabbed him from both sides, lifted him up, and began to twirl around. After a short period of spinning, which the inventor spent bludgeoning his fist into the devil’s tenderized jaw, he let go, sending him flying.
Ballad crashed into the ground, sliding to the edge of the burgundy light that served as their arena. He tried to push himself back up. His limbs wobbled, and he tumbled back down onto the ground.
The rock-star demon scoffed, walking towards his fallen foe. As the virescent inventor raised his hand, gun pointed at him, he kicked it back down, grinding the barrel into the ground. He took a deep breath, coughing up a glob of blood as two sets of blades squeezed out of his arms.
“Any last words?” he said, his blades poised to end him.
“I… am not a coward…”
Before the demon could reply, Ballad pressed his thumb against the button of his gun. The colored buttons along the barrel lit up, and as he did that, he wrapped his legs around the demon’s own legs. Kuzuru let out a cry as he fell to the floor; the gunsmith rolled away, getting up to escape the oncoming explosion.
He almost felt his brain shatter alongside the sword as it fell, in pieces, onto the blood-soaked ice. The cons of housing a logic spirit within the tombs of your inner self was that you could never not consider the chances of failure. Even now, with himself in control, his shade sent small pockets of dissuasion, all detailing the shortening list of options to win. With his single-shot wasted, the only outcome now was death.
He stared at the demon as he rushed at him, grinning evilly with his toothless maw. Pounds of crimson muscle, body-grown steel, and bloodlust barreling towards him with elongated, hungry blades. To the rock-star, he looked as if he was in a trance. A stupor from which he appeared to be too deep inside to escape from.
Kuzuru’s smile grew wider. It was time to end this.
But, unlike before, this was not a case of indecision, of a lapse in memory. As his hand dashed for the inside of his coat, the devil’s eyes widened in realization.
He lifted the gun, flicking the bottom of its barrel to ignite the cardinal fire serving as its fuel. Ballad did not hear his screams, nor his own, as he pulled the trigger, engulfing his opponent in flames.
His enemy fluttered past him, the burgundy tendrils licking his flesh with every passing moment. The gunner aimed down and whirled around, surrounding himself in a circle of fire.
Soon, is gun sputtered out some leftover napalm before giving up, but by then, the damage had been done. He blinked, the shrill hissing in his ears dying down, sending him back to reality.
You are most welcome.
What?
If it was not for my proposed action, we would most likely be deceased.
…Good point. That was… actually a good save there.
Just remember to utilize ALL of your weapons before lapsing in judgment.
The flames around him flickered, decreasing in size. He quickly reloaded his flamethrower and stuffed a bullet down his single shot hand cannon right before the flames dissipated entirely, leaving him alone with the monster of a being.
Kuzuru had since extinguished the napalm, having rolled around a bit on ice to do so. He was standing up, parts of his clothes charred to ash and burn marks all over his body. The skin on his arms looked ready to melt off, but judging from the indifference his spirit felt about it, combined with the absolutely livid expression on his opponent’s face, he could discern the injuries were not as bad as they could have been.
“Fire? On a demon? You’re getting poetic here!” he shouted, barely masking the pain, frustration, and most importantly, shock in his voice through gritted teeth and a confident smirk, “perhaps someone will write about this one day. Sing a song about it. How fucking lovely.”
“I procure zero amounts of pleasure for this act of violence, foul one,” said the winter inventor, sliding bullets into his revolver’s chamber, “I am simply doing what is necessary to be extant.”
“Blahdy blah, ‘I procure zero amounts of pleasure from this’ my asshole!” Kuzuru replied, gesticulating in an exaggerated hand motion in a gross parody of the green man’s behavior, “as much as I love listening to you rant about philosophical shit like that, I know that’s exactly what it is. Shit. And it’s real smelly, too.”
His chest thumped, a war drum serving as his heart. It pumped more and more blood through his veins and out the small hole in his torso. He grit his teeth underneath his crimson scarf, smoke steadily rising from his coat sleeves. Waves of pain flushed through his torso and legs as blood drizzled from his wounds.
“Yeah, look at you,” the demon said, pointing at him, “you know I’m right. I ain’t going back on what I said, Ballad. I’m not some pansy running away the truth. I’m a killer, and I like it. You're the same way, just that I don't make excuses!?”
“I’m not making an excuse!” he growled, his hands palming for his pickaxe. He glanced to the side, seeing his only melee weapon had been tossed off into the darkness.
“Oh, quit your bitching and let’s kill each other already!” he said. His retracted his blades, seeing he gunsmith was no longer armed. With that, he ran towards him, fists drawn.
Spur of the moment, wanting nothing more than to tear the bastard who accused him of so-called “excuses” into many, many gory pieces, he met the demon head on. Their fists collided, both of them recoiling from the shock and twinges of pain. The devil greaser recovered first, responding with a thrust to the gunsmith’s midsection. He clumsily sidestepped out of the way. Before the demon could do anything else, he leaped into the air to smack both of his hands against the demon’s head. Kuzuru stumbled back, dizzy. Ballad ran forward, his momentum suffering due to the gashes in his legs as he rammed his fist into the greaser’s face.
The demon toppled to the floor, his nose cocked to the side in an unnatural angle. He got back up, smashing his fist into the floor as he bellowed. He swung wildly in the inventor’s direction, his attacks dodged or diverted several times. Shooting forward, he tried to crash his clenched fist onto some part, any part, of the gunsmith. His heart yearned for that rush of excitement, of accomplishment, that feeling he got in every fight with every punch, blade-lock, and removal of blood.
Predictably, he missed. However, as the gunner tried to riposte, his legs stumbled. He groaned. Before he could recover, Kuzuru grabbed him from both sides, lifted him up, and began to twirl around. After a short period of spinning, which the inventor spent bludgeoning his fist into the devil’s tenderized jaw, he let go, sending him flying.
Ballad crashed into the ground, sliding to the edge of the burgundy light that served as their arena. He tried to push himself back up. His limbs wobbled, and he tumbled back down onto the ground.
The rock-star demon scoffed, walking towards his fallen foe. As the virescent inventor raised his hand, gun pointed at him, he kicked it back down, grinding the barrel into the ground. He took a deep breath, coughing up a glob of blood as two sets of blades squeezed out of his arms.
“Any last words?” he said, his blades poised to end him.
“I… am not a coward…”
Before the demon could reply, Ballad pressed his thumb against the button of his gun. The colored buttons along the barrel lit up, and as he did that, he wrapped his legs around the demon’s own legs. Kuzuru let out a cry as he fell to the floor; the gunsmith rolled away, getting up to escape the oncoming explosion.
Quote:Word Count: 1,199
Moves Used:
Flamethrower (Ballad)
Gun Bomb (Ballad)
Demon Blades (Kuzuru/Renji)
Powers Used:
Burst Movement (Ballad)
Tier 2 Super Attack Move (Gun Bomb) used against Renji!
Current SP = 4/6!
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New to OV? Need a question answered? Want a C&C of your work? Send a PM to me!
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