Open Challenge (As usual, older member.)

[Galefore]

Wyborn hasn't responded to my other. (He has reasons, so he can forget about that one if he wants too.) So this is essentially the same thing, Except I'm going to use Galefore. His bio is on page 8 of the BoW. You should probably know by now, but *List of things*

1: One year of experience required.

2: Basic Gunjin Fare. The rules are the same. No healing or ultragodmoding.

3: LONG posts required. It's been a bit too long since I've done any and my posts in the "War" and Challenge of the Flood topics are going to be small. So, as usual, vibrant posts.

4: You choose battlefield.

5: Meh, you can open first if you want, or make me do it.

[Galefore]

Errrrmmm. Well, anyone gonna accept this, or is it required that I beg?

* Galefore begs.

[Seraph]

I guess I could accept this challenge . . . although the last time we fought was in that three-way fight where you eventually let it drop off the page.

I am feeling a little steeped in faith and medieval architecture, therefore I will choose the battlefield to be a large, monolithe of a cathedral, a quite large one as well, complete with spires, a grand steeple with great brass bells three times as large as any regular man, with tilted roofs, fortification walls, and of course the heart of the cathedral itself, filled with the great room of worship, basked in the light from the hundreds of stained glass windows. If that would be sufficiant, I will start.

~

Soft, leather boots, tinted in silver metal, stood in perfect balance upon the very tip of a spire, the figure standing on those feet taking a moment to take in the grandure of his surroundings. Below him, in front, and behind him, wide pathways of fortification walls sweeped around and back into the building that was the bulk of the cathedral itself, the doors to the innards of the building not even visible, as the pathways actually dissapeared into oversized tunnels, that led into the shadows before reaching the wall, and beyond those shadows the large, finely craved and crafted wooden doors, worn from the years but still as splendid as the rest of their surroundings.

Fingers flexed, and glexed in their soft, black leather fabric, ornated with the same silver that decorated the rest of his skin-tight leather wears, the only skin showing being the top half of his head, his mouth and the bottom of his nose hidden by a large collar, giving way to the bridge of his nose then up to a pair of piercing, blood-red eyes. From this height, the wind easily swept and brushed his long, flowing blond locks, making it float to the side, flapping, much as the fate of his cloak, as it pushed and hitched wildly in the breeze, doing little of its job to hide the fact of his large, ivory wings, even though they, themselves, were partially open, as if ready to fall and take flight as a moment's notice, each feather shifting as it is kissed by the thoughtless wind that caressed his wings selfishly, nearly groping his feathered limbs like a leecher.

Something caught his vision, his ears burning beneath the locks of blond covering them, his head turning, sure he has heard something from the side of him, although at the present moment, his eyes give nothing away, he is just starng at empty space . . .

[Galefore]

OoC: Sorry, the reason was because my character was being rather ignored and beat up. In the end, I was going to let you and Vapor have that match to yourseves, but it dropped off the page, and alas, it was over. This challenge will hopefully not meet the same fate, eh? My post will be here tomorrow. I'll work on it over night.

Alright go galefore.

[Galefore]

OoC: Alright, if this doesn't quite fit your setting, just tell me.

In the fierceness withheld in the eyes and heart of a somber warrior, there is a remorseful glare that peeks behind the threshold on sanity and biting and hard insanity. A song, perhaps of silent contempt, plays and flutters about with the intensity of the suns glare, and this song sings, ‘I have seen the other side, where fire burns and incinerates, and that side doth hold my fears, where I hope never to pass into Hell’s gates.’. This song summarizes the fear that had locked itself within Galefore’s heart and soul; he gave up his chance, and repented. Now, he stared down this cathedral, where he came not to fight a normal battle, but to fight a battle of chance. He had never hoped, by any means, to find such alienation, when he was a child, but as the elemental he was, a battle here and there in despair and seclusion was impossible to avoid. Thus, Galefore had his reason now, and he had felt the presence belonging to his opponent, which he felt so inclined to ignore. Architecture and silence, two marvelous things, met here in this Catholic Church to create beauty.

But, as known by the observant and intelligent, Galefore was not of a silent remorse. He had a veteran of war’s look to him, and he seemed a bit shaken by sights and sounds, but Galefore was far from silent. He carried about his personality a cocky idealism, which he always made painfully clear and loud. In this cathedral, however, he was reverent, and he was not to be cocky and evil here. Though his own Christian faith was not of Catholic sort, the element of Lightning still found this place suitable to pray to his God and Savior. Galefore kneeled, silently and quickly, and then rose, a glint of a smirk on his worn face. He sat on a pew deep inside, and then hoped to see his opponent. He had, in fact, just missed him on the way in.

After a few minutes, he rose to explore.

He admired the inner church, his eyes scanning the pulpit and the seating, and his mind audibly admiring the architecture through a series of ‘wow’s and ‘huh, cool’s.

“So, a battle here would be sacrilege? Hope it ain’t gonna happen.” spoke Galefore, his mid-pitched voice echoing through the empty hall.

“Anyone here?” No answer, despite the red-eyed one’s presence.

“Well, no-one’s here, it seems. Better get outta here.” Thought the lightning master. He began to let his eyes wander about as he spoke, almost in a whisper, those words.

Galefore mutely checked his cumbersome equipment. His sword was in perfect condition, and he ran his hand down its silver blade. He had brought with him, at least this time, a Katana instead of a scimitar or claymore. The katana was his newest weapon of choice, and his spear was his backup weapon. The spear, three pronged and jewel encrusted, was motionless, despite it’s seemingly impatiently made holster, and its loose position. Galefore held his hand up, checking for electrical current and useful objects that conducted electricity, and then he stood up and walked back outside.

He waited there for an opponent’s attack, as if he, the mustached one with the shoulder length black hair, expected an unwelcome fight, in which he would fight in the steeple of a church, with giant bells and beauty…

[Seraph]

A shiver ran up along the length of Seraph's spine, making his back arch and his teeth grit behind the high collar of his leather covering, fingers flinching and making the hilts of his weapons, a long, silvery, almost mirror-like sword, and another, longer sword, more gnarled and gnashed made of a black metal so dark, it seemed to pull in light, shudder against his belt. A human . . . no, more than that, and less than that at the same time. A defilement to the splendor of this monolith of faith, like a single speck of pollution in a crystal stream. The feeling was like pin pricks along the angel's arms and legs, as his blood eyes, flashing like a wild inferno of hellfire, turned and looked down, upon the stoop of the cathedral, that was where the pollutant resided.

The cloak was flung back by the mighty push of ivory feathers, grand span of wings flexing against the high breeze, as the muscles of the angel's legs relaxed, collpased, and allowed the figure to fall forward from the spire, and toward the opposite dark figure trying to flee after causing such a shadow to befall a high holy place. Wings pulled back, as his speed increased, sending Seraph into a divebomb toward the grounds, gloved hand reaching to his side for the silvery hilt of his blessed weapon, taking it in readiness and arms pulling back, to take the end by both hands, leaving the blade of stygian darkness to rest in it's sheath.

At last, stealth had run out and the sound of the angel's plummet to earth had made the ears of the pollutant figure ring, looking up in near shock as a winged beast of a man with hair like liquid gold and eyes as like the circles of hell, came before him, and continued to near. He drew his blade, readying himself, as Seraph pulled back with his arms, in one solid move spreading the ivory tapestry of his limbs, slowing himself, and lashing forward, muscles flexing as the blade came swinging down to enter combat.

To block such a swing, even with the force of a falling angel, would not of been hard with one of solid stance and pure srength, but then, the angel was already quite aware of this when he picked the blade of a mirror's reflection, instead of the blade of endless blackness.

The full-swing suddenly shifted in its arc, as the length of the blade convulsed, and then, split apart, into several segments, breaking apart from many nooks that ran around the flesh of the sword, each segment held to the hilt by a length of hard chain, clinking together like a heavenly wind chime, as the length rammed downward and struck around the sword drawn to defend. It started to swing, the chain, as segment after segment mades screeching sounds, rubbing against the katana, until finally, the last two segments and length of chain dig into the man's wrist and arm, catching him and giving him no chance to escape, even if he were to forfeit his weapon.

Heavy leather boots slammed to the stone of the cathedral's stoop, the angel's arms flexing once more, growling in the exertion of strength as he pulls his clasped hands forward, bringing with it the mirror hilt, the length of chain, the segments of sword flesh, and katana it has captured, along with the owner of that weapon forward, smashing him against the steps of the grand cathedral stoop. Wings flexed, flapped, then pinned against Seraph's back, hiding under the flowing cloak of black, as he gave a gutteral roar, swinging his body hard to the side, along with the length of weapons and opponent, behind him, twisting his wrist and feeling the chain slacken and recoil back into the hilt strongly, with is, the edges of the blade segments slicing deep into the dark man's hands, letting him go to fly into the air and his back slamming against the large, brilliant wooden door of the cathedral, knocking it back and open with pure force of motion, and being tossed to skid across the finely polished floor, decorated with hundreds, thousands of shining tiles, as he rolled about himself, his body desperately trying to stop.

The angel stood in the doorway, the sun to his back as the light poured in around him like a great flood, merely a black shadow bathed in light, as he watched the tailend of his new opponent's fall from grace against the floor of the holy arena.

[Seraph]

OoC: Waiting for reply.

[Galefore]

OoC: It'll be up within tomorrow or the next day. Sorry for the wait. Please check back with this topic either tomorrow or the next day, as I am loaded to the gills with homeowrk tonight.

[Galefore]

Krrrsnnnnnnnsqueeeeeekkkkkkk….FOOM.

Galefore’s head noisily hit the stairs to the podium in the church, and he grunted with a curse punctuating its noisiness. Galefore took a minute to regain himself from a nearly to come coma, and then he used a vibrantly colored, almost neon, blast of lightning’s fury to regain his composure and balance. He angrily stared forward at his enemy and the creative and deadly weapon which the beast toted about him; the one that had torn his arm apart and almost knocked him out.

Galefore checked his wounds, all bleeding and dripping, messily soiling the ground underneath him; a crimson red creating an elaborate painting of reddish glory and a strange mirage of courage. Galefore’s body didn’t really have TOO much damage done to it, but the wound to his wrist was detrimental. The chain blade had slid underneath his blue-and-gold armor, cutting him near his main artery of the arm, and near his elbow, almost puncturing the arteries and veins that flowed like major rivers through the arm that he was in such need to use. Angrily, Galefore charged out of the cathedral and back outside to face his attacker.

Galefore drew his mighty spear from its loop, the leather loop making an awkward sound as he drew the spear that would have normally made a brilliant ‘shiiiiiiiiiiiinkkk’ against its older loop of metal, which had been torn from Galefore’s leg in a previous encounter of angelic kind. Galefore seemed to have to fight angels allot; he had faced Scar the Angel in a cavern a year ago, and he had fought a few more unnamed enemies with wings and angelic quality. This one would most likely be just as unwilling to speech as the beasts he had fought, unlike Scar, who spoke often and loudly. What a trip…

Galefore had just made it out when his opponent swung the mirror hilted chain-sword at Galefore again. Seraph took a measure of speed to this one, a bit fiercer than the last assault. Out of the studs on his gloves, Galefore released a powerful blast of lightning, hovering with its glow over Seraph’s head. He had a positive charge, as opposed to the grounds negative, and this created reactions within Galefore. Though his power was magnified by this, he had to use it sparingly as not to overload himself. He swooped down, dodging the chain, and stabbed with an amount of fury similar to Seraph's, swooping back and forth while still stabbing and missing, showering the enemy with smoldering sparks of with and crackling bolts of energy as he went. Seraph was being electrocuted many times over, and even his immortally annoying chain-blade wasn’t doing much good at this point. Galefore poured more lightning in his assault, a gleam to his eyes as he attacked.

“Now what, Angel?” he spoke.

The angel looked up, his eyes terrifying to behold. The lightning elemental’s heart jumped to his throat for a moment. He feared a powerful counterattack, just as Galefore’s spear finally connected with Seraph’s left arm, digging in and drawing blood…

This is getting good.

[Seraph]

OoC: I haven't forgotten this fight, I already have a good idea what my next move will be, but I just need to think out the details, I am sorry for taking so long, life has been a bit hectic lately and my free time has been cut pretty short as of late.

Long posts they hurt, They hurt.

[Seraph]

The face of the handsome angel was creased with pain and concentration, a slight but noticable grunt of s truggling warrior falling from his lips, slightly showing over the ridge of his collar as blood trickled down the curves of his shoulder and across his side. Seraph, as quickly as the angel could, had shoved his arm up, along with the holt of his blade, catching the side of the handle against the edge of the spear, but there was little for his hilt to catch on, and even now, the spearhead dug a quarter inch deeper into his flesh, causing the angel to gasp loudly, his hand hand shaking, mirrored blade high in the air where it could nto be used, if he were to move now the spear would completely impale his arm.

There was no alternative.

His second hand left the hilt of the sword, crying out as the spear did indeed drive just a couple hairs deeper, more blood staining the leather of his armor, moving quickly to latch his fingers against the dark blade, the hilt of the sword of metal so black it seemed to absorb light . . . which was a little more true then just the image portrayed. He unsheathed it with a cry, pushing back with the mirror blade, feeling the spear head slide and push against his hilt, with no catch, one wrong move could have the hilt completely slip free, but he needed just an inch more . . . just an inch . . .

The ebony blade, as twisted and gnarled as the blackest souls of hell, was suddenly raised, even higher then the edge of his mirroed blade, in fact, it even seemed to stretch, like it was alive and just waking up from a long sleep to stretch out its tired muscles. The tip struck into the ball of condensed lighting hanging overhead, and as the blade seeped through, instead of acting as a conduct, it did quite the opposite, it propelled the energy. Suddenly, it wasn't a matter of having his movements inhibited, of having that painful pins and needles of thunder running through his body. The energy couldn't hold together, couldn't keep constant as the black blade pierced it, instead, it just started to dissipate into useless strands of electrons, like a sparkler as it simply rained down harmlessly on top of the two grappling fighters.

Wings hitched, then sweeped backward, the angel's mobility restored as his knees bent, pulling his bleeding shoulder roughly from the spear, grunting instead of crying out as the tip slashed a shallow wound into his flesh. His hands fell back, along with both weapon, and in a flash of mere seconds his fists, clenched to the hilts of his weapons, hit the hard, stone floor, legs back and coiled, in just enough time to lash out with his left leg, slamming the sole of his leather boot into Galefore's stomach to send him back and break his concentration.

His legs swing into the air, although his agility slightly hindered by delivering the kick with his left side, using it to his advantage as his right side seemed to find eart first, slamming down his foot and drawing back his arm, the mirror hilt shining in the bright sun, before his body swing, his left foot finally finding the floor, his cloak billowing, trying to settle behind him. The mirrored blade attacked, like the waiting body of a cobra as its body stretched, chain and linked chucked on sword as the whip shot out in an arch to wrap around Galefore's calves, around again and then once more, to slice right into the side of his ankle with the last, sharp edge and point, ever side of the blade trying to cut into skin.

Seraph renewed his stance, breathing hard as he could still feel the shockwaves, the shivering of his skin from the painful electric torture, the mirrored hilt in one hand, and reaching out with his other, still holding the ebony blade, letting two fingers free to take a hold of the chain, pull it taunt, and then tug at it, causing the blades already digging into his skin to burrow deeper, and then pulls at it, hard, wanting to get the warrior off of his feet.

[Galefore]

^Wow. I'll have to work for a bit to counter that. Give me two days, or more depending on how much homework I end up with, and then I will show my fury!

[Galefore]

Galefore fell. He fell hard, bleeding, grunting, yelling, cursing, and ever feeling eager to dig his spear in the Angel once again, and though now he only had his Katana in hand, Galefore was still completely infuriated and subdued at the same time; he knew that Seraph had the edge in this moment. Galefore had to get rid of that chain-blade, its pestilence of an attack continuing like the disease it seemed to be. Galefore stood up again, after prying the blade loose with reverse electromagnetism, and then he held out his hand again, blue light being the only thing Seraph saw for a moment, an all encompassing field of electricity surrounding him like a crackling and popping bubble, and electric sensitivity causing Seraph to feel uncomfortable and his hair to stand on end.

This bubble, as Galefore called it the Ionic bubble, was a testament to skill and perseverance. Galefore had spent years training for such brilliant moves, but was unable at first to do them because of lack of skill-control. Galefore in his middle-age wasn’t about to let skill pass him by, so he learned a bit. This was his exact move to which he accredited several victories.

A twitch from Seraph, a gesture from Galefore, a huge amount of lightning like a novelty crystal ball flying towards the center, and that center happened to be Seraph. The angel’s body danced about for a moment, his blood drying and his mouth foaming, but suddenly, Galefore realized that Seraph was no longer in the center of the spear. The angel walked out of it, breathing heavily, wide-eyed. Galefore cursed loudly, causing Seraph to look up.

“I ain’t believin’ this…” muttered the Lightning elemental. There was no inkling that this would happen, no clue, no anything…

Galefore charged with his silvery katana, which glittered against the enemy’s mirror hilted sword. It clashed furiously with the Katana, after bringing back the blade to reform a sword, and Galefore fought with a style reminiscent of a Samurai’s power and stature, despite his usually wild style of swordsmanship based upon speed. Galefore used precise cuts, hitting Seraph slightly a few times, and being nicked several times as well.

Still, despite the painfully insulting fact that Seraph had escaped the Ionic bubble, there was no reason to panic until Seraph counterattacked. No reason at all?

Or was there a really, REALLY good reason?

Galefore was cut across the chest as he pondered this. He fell again, and then levitated away to a safe steeple, waiting for Seraph to follow. Galefore sheathed his katana and prepared to attack with lightning, and purely lightning. He ran along the rafters, shooting glimmering bolts of the electronic phenomenon at Seraph, and then he released a ball of orb lightning, which he controlled to use as a psychic attack against the seraphim that fought him.

BOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM…..

The orb exploded, the dust settled, and then…

[Seraph]

The ground below the angelic body quite literally turned to gas under the force of the electrical energy, streaming and smoldering and releasing a torrent of grey and black smoke, like a veil, over ground zero, to which the angel had been occupying, leaving Galefore in the dark about the outcome, left to gasp and pant for air, trying to see what had become of his angelic attacker. The scent of smoke filling the grand arena, clouds of dust wafting through the air, as if the covering cloud was lingering on purpose, with no intent or reasoning behind it other then to draw out suspense, like a cosmic joke or the work of some playful demon lingering around, invisible and mischevious.

The first thing to appear from the lingering cloud was the image of a spider web . . . well, not quite, to be honest, it seemed to hold more of a shape similiar ro an umbrella stripped of its cloth, left with nothing but its wires and handle, a deep, endless black color, just poking out from the grey smoke. More smoke cleared, and, beyong Galefore's belief or understanding, as smoke was pushed out by deep breathes, originated from the lips of the angel, standing, looking only slightly stunned, his collar ripped away and showing his beautiful mouth to the open air, the strange black devise in his hand none other then the gnarled flesh of the black, abyssal sword, ever strand and length pulled apart halfway up the blade and spread out to break the force of the oncoming lightning, using its construct to repel all energy like a super anti-conductor and stopping the current from being able to do any more lethal damage.

Seraph's wings were half-opened, and flapped slightly, sending clouds of settlign dust and lingering smoke away from him, looking up, and smirking, though only slightly, at the look of shock on Galefore's face. Of course, the attack had done some damage, but the bulk of it being repelled, the angel could grit his teeth under his soft lips, masking the pain as it felt as if his muscles were being pricked by pins, fingers flinching around the hilt of the black blade, the spread lengthes suddenly moving, as if of their own accord like something organic instead of sword flesh, and gnarled themselves back into the shape of a sword, just like before, wrapping around itself and becoming still once more, although something was strange about that sword . . . although, just lifeless metal, it almost seemed to . . . 'breathe?'

Galefore stood for too long, as, soon after the sword kept him distracted, its opposite, the mirrored blade, was launched back, as the Seraphim pulled bakc his arm, feeling his muscled stretch, before he suddenly pushed all himself forward, feeling the hilt shudder as the chain escaped its hilt and shot forward, before him, as the swords pulls itself apart and moves to intercept Galefore with a deep vengence. Only too late, did the flicker of light against the tip of the blade finally catch Galefore's eye, making him flinch, and then cry out as the tip of the blade, the last chunk of sword pushed right through the shoulder of his arm holding the katana, and the backward points catching on the other side, piercing the warrior clear through and locking him in tight, no escape and blood dripped down his body and arm, pooling on the floor.

Seraph wasted, no time, as his opponent was caught and locked in against his sword, as his wings flapped, his feet leaving the ground, though only a few feet, and a few stray fingers holding the hilt of the dark, abyssal blade pushed and gripped the chain right near the hilt of his mirrored sword. His wings collpased, folding in against his back as his legs coiled up, then threw down to launch his weight back into the crater of dust and soot, giving a remorsless pull against the chain and brutally extracting the caught tip of his sword from Galefore's shoulder with a shower of blood spraying forward from his body, the sword, steeped in red, recoiling and slamming back against the hilt as one, solid weapon once again, as Galefore himself, pulled off his feet with the strong pull, was forced to fall forward onto his stomach, grunting as his body landed on the hard, bloodied floor of the cathedral . . .

Attacking like he was, with his control of lightning and energy, merely gave the angel the perfect way to both defend and attack, a beautiful and deadly alliance of offense and defense that left Galefore painfully open for a counter, as he was expiriencing now, bleeding on the floor . . .

[Galefore]

It seems I didn't have as much time last night as i had originally thought. Bare with me, I'll post sometime soon.

[Galefore]

At this time, Galefore angrily stood up, still drenched in his own arterial fodder. He felt an amount of pain high and disquieting, thus he grunted with his every step, and he panted for air with his lungs. His arm was unmovable, or at least the damaged arm, and this was a rut indeed. He pulled from his sheath the spear which had before damaged the angel of death, and he held it with his functioning arm, still bleeding and staining the holy-floor. Galefore took it upon himself now to figure out another way of attack, of which he had absolutely no inkling of as of yet, but this enemy would die eventually, of some wound or perhaps of a stroke caused by too much exposure to the lightning. Galefore stepped once again outside, dodging deftly an attack from the segmented sword, and staring blankly at the black sword that had blocked his own onslaught. As soon as he had reached the outer area, he stared at the angel, who was now exiting the chapel.

“You ain’t playin’ around with those blades, are ya? Those things are a little too odd; My guess is you bought ‘em off of some greasy old ogre in happy fairy tale land?” said Galefore, a smirk crossing his face as the angel stared in wonder. This man was utterly insane, or at least he seemed so to the angel that was Seraph.

Seraph lunged forward again, his blades both doing their usual anomalous thing. Considering that both of the two warriors were attacking in pattern, there was a sense of predictability in the swords that the enemy used. One was a chain-blade with mirrored hilt and blade, such distracting weaponry but such deadly attacks, and then there was the black sword, which could act as a conductor and stop lightning in its tracks. Galefore had no choice but to attempt to either take away the enemy’s weapons, or face the painful consequences of war and be killed.

Galefore moved swiftly, his ornate spear now spinning in his hand, and he moved ton attack Seraph, who launched the chain. Galefore used the spear to release a high concentration of electro-energy, which Seraph considered foolish. He pulled his evil sword up and it once again split to block the electricity, but Galefore jumped as high as he could, coming down, his spear hitting the enemy as he concentrated on blocking the energy, his armor pierced, and a grunt which came forth as Galefore’s spear slid through the breastplate and entered t5he chest of Seraph. Galefore left his spear in place, and backed away using levitation, a grin on his face. Seraph’s eyes were wide, and blood was dripping, as he stared at the shaft of the spear sticking up through what was once a slight crack in his armor.

Galefore was now without any sort of pain, as he felt triumphant. He watched as Seraph pulled the spear out, throwing it aside, and then pulling the black blade back together, grunted and walked forward. Galefore decided to overload the angel, and he released a charge into the air, which began to cause the sky to tremble with thunder, and to flash with lightning. A violent and rainless lightning storm caused a rift in the sky, and lighting poured from Heaven, striking right next to Seraph. Now it was dangerous only for Seraph, as he would have to throw part of his concentration to blocking lightning if it were to strike him. Galefore would act as a conductor if the lightning hit him, and he would use it as strength and help to his former situation.

As Seraph started to dodge the bolt, Galefore began throwing lightning as well, endangering and possibly killing Seraph if he were struck. Of such power, Seraph seemed not to be in fear, but he ran and didn’t attack for a while, uncaring and still bleeding. Galefore once again grimaced at his own wounds, which he could already feel again. He sniffed the thick and humid air, which was now how the air was, and sweated a bead or two before he gave chase to Seraph.

The angelic enemy was being attacked left and right by painful electricity. He black sword could only protect him so much now, now always. So, now was Galefore’s perfect window of opportunity.

So much for the perfect way of attacking or defending.

[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 . . .