07-05-2017, 12:05 AM
The Sage’s eyes widened as red light tore into his side, blasting a hole just below his left rib. The white floor arena stained black as his inky blood tried in vain to seal so large a gap. The Sage staggered back against the wall for the third time, barely able to stay up long enough to even contest the girl. He needed a different tactic.
“Sorry?” he coughed. His lungs were apparently still functioning, though he could not say the same for the rest of his organs. It was astonishing he hadn’t passed out yet. Just what was happening to him?
“You’re doing quite well at this, no need for hesitation.” The Sage spoke huskily letting slip his dueling cane. The wooden weapon clattered to the ground. His opponent glanced at the discarded stave then back at the wounded Sage.
“You could end it right now.” The Sage said, arms open. The girl had already expressed a hesitance to fight him, he needed time to recover some semblance of his energy. The Majin stood at a short distance, close enough that she could easily strike before he recovered his weapon. Her strange blade poised, face unreadable behind the cracked hockey mask. She did not finish him. The Sage almost felt bad. This ploy was not moral, playing on her mercy, but he needed a chance to recover. The sucking sound of his inkblood trying to cover too large a wound echoed off the walls. The Sage’s vision was leaving, pockets of the white background overlaying with the blue skin of his foe.
“You are already dying.” She said finally, sword discorporating as she eased out of her combat stance. The worst part was, the aging scholar knew that she was right. He had finally reached the limit of his body’s bizarre ability to recover, burned though the miraculous power like a winter’s supply of firewood. He couldn’t allow it to end this way, a tired old man people waited around to watch die. With a growl of pure denial, the Sage pushed himself up from his stupor. The future warrior dropped into a crouch as her foe rose unsteadily to his feet, one hand filling with raw flame, the other pulling out a set of leather bolas.
“Then why don’t we cut to the chase!” he shouted, voice harsh with dried blood. He closed the distance with all the speed he could muster, catching the Majin’s first punch in his flaming hand. The sheer force of impact sent him staggering backwards, but not before he had wrapped her other arm with the leather straps of the bola. He forced himself to stay upright, dodging the follow-up kick, he sidestepped past his foe, yanking on the bola straps and twisting one arm awkwardly behind her to limit the Majin’s options. Grawor’s face was still unseen behind that soulless mask, and only her red eyes could be read to gauge how she would deal with this move. Her answer was to elbow the Sage with her unrestrained hand, causing his grip to slip. The Future Warrior’s follow-up punch swung around and the Sage’s defenses were wide open. The blue fist rammed into the Sage’s gut…and slipped into the hole that the blast had earlier created.
The combat paused for an instant, the Sage suffering immense pain, while Graowr decided how to handle accidentally punching through somebody’s torso. She could feel her hand free in the air on the other side of her foe, and had to repress the instinct to wiggle her fingers a little. This was just a little bit awkward.
“Uh…” She began but before she could say anything, The Sage reached out, hands scrabbling at the hockey mask that hid her face. It was giving her power and hiding her plans, if he could just get it free from her face, he might stand a chance. The infernal mask of the murderer remained firm on the Majin’s face however, and his efforts failed to pry it loose.
“Hey! Get off!” Graowr shouted in surprise, arm stretching as she backed out of reach. The Sage ground his teeth, fighting through the pain as he advanced, his foe’s putty arm still lodged in his body.
“This WILL end!” he growled, hand ablaze. He cupped the infant fireball in both hands, and brought the interlocked fists across in a two-handed punch to the majin’s face. Her neck twisted unnaturally, and a fresh spasm of pain wracked his body as she withdrew her arm from his stomach. Sight fled, and the Sage staggered backwards. He was still looking in Graowr’s direction, still had his arms up to continue fisticuffs, but he no longer seemed focused on her. His voice was distant, more confused than anything else.
“Have you not killed me yet?”
“Sorry?” he coughed. His lungs were apparently still functioning, though he could not say the same for the rest of his organs. It was astonishing he hadn’t passed out yet. Just what was happening to him?
“You’re doing quite well at this, no need for hesitation.” The Sage spoke huskily letting slip his dueling cane. The wooden weapon clattered to the ground. His opponent glanced at the discarded stave then back at the wounded Sage.
“You could end it right now.” The Sage said, arms open. The girl had already expressed a hesitance to fight him, he needed time to recover some semblance of his energy. The Majin stood at a short distance, close enough that she could easily strike before he recovered his weapon. Her strange blade poised, face unreadable behind the cracked hockey mask. She did not finish him. The Sage almost felt bad. This ploy was not moral, playing on her mercy, but he needed a chance to recover. The sucking sound of his inkblood trying to cover too large a wound echoed off the walls. The Sage’s vision was leaving, pockets of the white background overlaying with the blue skin of his foe.
“You are already dying.” She said finally, sword discorporating as she eased out of her combat stance. The worst part was, the aging scholar knew that she was right. He had finally reached the limit of his body’s bizarre ability to recover, burned though the miraculous power like a winter’s supply of firewood. He couldn’t allow it to end this way, a tired old man people waited around to watch die. With a growl of pure denial, the Sage pushed himself up from his stupor. The future warrior dropped into a crouch as her foe rose unsteadily to his feet, one hand filling with raw flame, the other pulling out a set of leather bolas.
“Then why don’t we cut to the chase!” he shouted, voice harsh with dried blood. He closed the distance with all the speed he could muster, catching the Majin’s first punch in his flaming hand. The sheer force of impact sent him staggering backwards, but not before he had wrapped her other arm with the leather straps of the bola. He forced himself to stay upright, dodging the follow-up kick, he sidestepped past his foe, yanking on the bola straps and twisting one arm awkwardly behind her to limit the Majin’s options. Grawor’s face was still unseen behind that soulless mask, and only her red eyes could be read to gauge how she would deal with this move. Her answer was to elbow the Sage with her unrestrained hand, causing his grip to slip. The Future Warrior’s follow-up punch swung around and the Sage’s defenses were wide open. The blue fist rammed into the Sage’s gut…and slipped into the hole that the blast had earlier created.
The combat paused for an instant, the Sage suffering immense pain, while Graowr decided how to handle accidentally punching through somebody’s torso. She could feel her hand free in the air on the other side of her foe, and had to repress the instinct to wiggle her fingers a little. This was just a little bit awkward.
“Uh…” She began but before she could say anything, The Sage reached out, hands scrabbling at the hockey mask that hid her face. It was giving her power and hiding her plans, if he could just get it free from her face, he might stand a chance. The infernal mask of the murderer remained firm on the Majin’s face however, and his efforts failed to pry it loose.
“Hey! Get off!” Graowr shouted in surprise, arm stretching as she backed out of reach. The Sage ground his teeth, fighting through the pain as he advanced, his foe’s putty arm still lodged in his body.
“This WILL end!” he growled, hand ablaze. He cupped the infant fireball in both hands, and brought the interlocked fists across in a two-handed punch to the majin’s face. Her neck twisted unnaturally, and a fresh spasm of pain wracked his body as she withdrew her arm from his stomach. Sight fled, and the Sage staggered backwards. He was still looking in Graowr’s direction, still had his arms up to continue fisticuffs, but he no longer seemed focused on her. His voice was distant, more confused than anything else.
“Have you not killed me yet?”
Quote:800 on the dot according to MS word.
Sage has no defense to enuma elish and takes the blast as best he can.
Sage stalls for time, playing poor Graowr's desire not to just kill defenseless old men.
Sage's manapool recharges, and he uses Gout of Embers, (and kind of sort of bola shot?)
Graowr's ATK means that Sage's attempt at a grapple fails utterly and she accidentally punches through his stomach.
GrapeWar's mallieability allows her to put distance between them while she decides what to do about her arm.
Sage uses a classic comic book move that probably isn't all that useful in a real fight, (but it looks cool and this one's on fire)
Growler pulls out her arm, and the Sage's body is basically shutting down.
That should be all I believe, a wonderful last fight!
If history is to become legend, it first must be recorded.