[Seraph]

The sound was deafening as the streaks of hot light came to the ground with its thunderous fanfare, a strange rainless thunderstorm that blew the winds in such a violent current the angel couldn't help feeling his hair thrown to smack his cheeks as the hot air caressed his cheek. A flash, and the ground was left to smolder, a hit too close as the winged being clenched his teeth, fingers tightening on the hilts of his blades, as long as the enviroment posed an immediate threat upon him, it was true, that he did not have as great a chance to successfully evade both the wrath of nature and of his opponent . . . but there was one option, albeit risky . . .

He could see the man that stood to challege him readying to attack, a gleeful look upon his face, knowing it was himself that caused the distressing change in scene, as the metal peaks of the grand cathedral were smacked time and time again, the sound making his ears ring, feeling like they could start to bleed any moment. His wings then, suddenly, uncurled from his back and spread, bending his legs before his opponent could launch his long-awaited counter, a loud grunt as his clenched teeth grew a tighter hold on his jaw, his muscles forced to flinch and work, pulling against his open wound and sending a splash of blood against the floor.

His body risen, feeling the warm air washing over his wounds, doing little to dry them as his body insisted on keeping his body moving, pectorals jerking inward and back, along with his shoulders and back with each flap of his ivory wing. His body reached a meager leverage of only twenty to thirty feet, before the angel suddenly spread his arms and locked his knees, tilting back his head, his body a strange resemblance of a cross, standing proud with wings trying to stretch to match the way of his arms, completely the image of the symble. His body convulsed, feeling the thunder reaching near him, as well as his opponent readying to send a strike against him, figuring this time, a time when he is taking a strange new stance, would be a sign of weakness.

The red in his eyes, the fire deep in his gaze, was quieted, and replaced with the same shade of his wings, a pure milky white, not even the black speck of his pupil appeared, as his body began to shine with a soft light, the air around his form starting to grow frigid and cool. His head snapped up and he gasped, audibly, his body shook and being pushed back, enough to miss a near attack of Galefore's conjuring, sending it crashing into the wall of the cathedral's front and causing light rubble to rain onto the stoop. At once, from above, and below the angel, a column appeared, what seemed to mimic the sky overhead, a tower of clouds, or, to be more percise, a tower of frozen wind and moisture, swirling above and below him as it exploded to the sky and earth, creating a massive column of clouds from the angel's pure will and wish.

The ground quickly started to frost over, Galefore feeling the frozen air running across his feet, then legs, then thighs, as it thickened the air and washed away the warm air. The similiar appeared to be happened skyward, the frozen air slamming into the thunderclouds hanging ominously overhead, the cumulonimbus suddenly having the heat stolen straight from it as its tiny water particles turned to ice, then snow crystals, a drift starting to fall from the sky. The twin cold waves, one above, and one below, pulled all warmth from the sky, and slowly, but surely, the great claps of thunder started to decrease, although weakened to the mere phenominom of thundersnow for a long minute, with the withdrawl of its much needed warm air current, it couldn't maintain the proper air instability, a key ingredient in the formation of such a violent thunderstorm.

The angel's form broke as he panted, eyes quickly reverting to their blood-red shade as his wings slapped heavily to recatch his altitude, looking down at the grown, the stone of the cathedral's stairs, as well as its walls, seemed to be shining with cold frost as a gentle snow stated to fall from the air, whipped around to hit the two living men's faces and make their cheeks and ears red and sore.

The angel smiled, a small, but evident smile as he lifted both blades once more, the abyssal blade pointed deathly forward, as his own glee, although only just a hint, was quite obvious. His challenger had been able to alter the envirment with his will, whereas Seraph could ruin it with his own . . .