Pride before the fall

[Phenom]

Sean Flynn was well-liked. The type the neighbours would say was "friendly, but kept to himself most of the time". The kind of guy you could borrow the proverbial cup of sugar from. He had come to the town of Pride-- a small northern mining town -- from "the big city" he claimed, and immediately adhered to the old credo of "when in Rome", taking up work in the coal mines just outside of town, much like most of the male population in town.

He was first down the hole at 4:30 a.m, and the last one out as evening fell. He got along well with his co-workers. He bought the boys a round at the town watering hole when it was his turn without complaint. A handsome young man in what many guessed was his early-thirties, Sean was a popular target for the women around town but never paid them much attention. This, among other things, raised red flags with the people of Pride.

Nobody really had any idea where he had come from, or why he chose to settle in Pride. A humble bunch, nobody in Pride ever felt bold enough to ask him about the numerous scars he had on his arms, the odd tatoos on his shoulders, or most conspicuously, the gigantic cleaver-like sword that he had mounted in his living room above his fireplace. He spoke of no family, and lived alone in a wood cabin on the lawn of the forest that bordered the town to the west. Sometimes neighbours would spy Sean going alone into the woods in the middle of the night. Despite his unexplained personal life, he was a kind man and a fine worker. Pride was proud to have him around. They were saddened when almost three years to the day of his unexpected arrival in town, Sean disappeared in an instant, taking only the sword above his fireplace. His departure left Pride in a state of confusion, but there was no attempt to conduct a search. Sean Flynn was a good man, but Pride would live on as it always had.

Sean Flynn had left no significant mark in Pride. Where he was going, he had left so much more. His identity, his family, his aversaries and his livelihood.

Sean Flynn, as one might guess, was not the mysterious stranger's true name. Sean Flynn, to this individual, was merely a symbol of a failed attempt to segregate himself from a world he hoped to leave behind forever, but could never succeed in doing so. Three years before Pride, he mined not coal, but souls. He didn't buy rounds for co-workers at the bar, he brought agony to those who opposed him on the stage of war. He was a warrior's warrior who mocked the laws of mortality twice over and at one time was royalty among those who spilled blood. Before he left for Pride, he fought for it. He lived in the Gunjin, a world unfathomable to the people of Pride or anywhere else on earth.

The patriarch of a notorious family of mercenaries, theives and ne'er-do-wells, he valued nothing more than glory in victory and respect in defeat. Seldom did he go without at least one of the two. However, in response to a great cataclysm within his soul, the man who humans only knew as Sean left his family, legacy and enemies in attempt to reinvent himself in a life of seclusion. Of mortality. This would ultimately serve to benefit all those concerned. Or so the warrior was led to believe.

A fire burned within him. An enraged beast grown irrepressible over the past three years. The beast wailed names uncommon to the human ear, but all too familiar to the man Pride knew as Flynn:

"ERRRRRRDAWWWWWWN! WYYYYYYYYBOOOOOOOOOORNNNNNN!"

"SCRIPTURRRRRRREEEEE! GAAAAAIDDEEENNNNN! JOOOOOOKER!"

The names of these adversaries and allies among countless others were recounted day-in and day-out in the man's mind. To ease his soul, to truly free himself of these mental shackles. He had to return.

And so, three years after his exodus, Phenom Vendetta returned for a cup of tea with old friends.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Not exactly the quality return prologue I was going for, but it's late and it'll have to do. Those who know the author will hopefully remember I have some chops.
After three years, I've come to find that, at times, I miss writing about ol' Phenom. And more importantly, I miss writing about ol' Phenom locking horns with the likes of you guys. I doubt there are many people around here anymore that remember me vividly, but if any of my old friends wants to, how about a fight for old times sake?
I'm three years removed from the last time I wrote in this manner, and as a Journalism major I'm supposed to be sharp and concise, but I feel like getting verbose for a little bit.
So if some of the good ol' boys are still kickin' around, come by and say hello, and maybe we can set up a brawl that'll knock some sense back into this dusty, semi-forgotten place...

[The Willful Wanderer]

((This is the first challenge even vaguely open for a while that I've been able to get to before it gets jumped over like the moon in a famous poem.

No, I'm not one of your old foes. However, my introductor to BBS battle was someone you knew well- Shinigami. When you and he fought for a championship in the NLBFT, 'twas I to whom he brought his post draft, and asked to look over it- most likely because I've always been kinda anal about English and grammar and spelling.

BUT ANYWAY.

I'd like to know if you're willing to accept me as an opponent for this match.))

[Galefore]

(Holy ****, it's Phenom. Welcome back, man, I think everyone here has been waiting for you to come back. Get ready for it, because I think a flood of challenges with your name on 'em will be filling this forum rather soon.)

[Phenom]

I accept your offer Selene, I hope it's alright with you if I make the first entrance seeing as how I still have some loose ends to tie up with the return of my character and such, but feel free to choose a battlefield.

Thanks for the warm welcome Galefore, and congratulations on your title of moderator here. I'm a little miffed at the lack of activity, maybe some people will come out of the woodworks if they know I'm here for a visit. This return is not full-fledged I must digress, but you will see me much more often than once every three years I reckon.

[The Willful Wanderer]

Works for me. And my choice of battlefield is whatever you choose. I wanna see how rusty you may or may not be.

[Erdawn Il Deus]

Well, well. Phenom my good man. It has been a while. I don't suppose you're interested in a brawl? I haven't exactly been stomping around lately, but, ah, as I recall, you owe me one still.

[Phenom]

OoC: Good to see ya Erdawn, if you want to jump into this one...hell if ANYone wants to jump into this one and make it a melee or something, fine with me. This really just serves as my semi-unretirement so I'll fight as many of you as you want as long as you make it a good row.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Contrary to most monumental changes in lifestyle, Phenom's decision to forsake mortal ambiguity and return to the exuberant world of combat was not the result of guilt and anxiety building within him in a crescendo manner. His disappearance from Pride and return to pride was in fact decided upon one night in a euphoric, knee-jerk epiphany that came (as most epiphanies do) in the middle of the night. Sean Flynn ceased to exist, and Phenom had packed his warrior essentials in a span of time that could not have been more than fifteen minutes.

The wave of realization did not wash over Phenom in the form of homesickness for his brothers; though they took lodging in his heart, he knew they were capable of thriving in his absence and his soul was eased in that notion. It was not in his remorse for scores unsettled with old foes of the battlefield (though once he was back in the line of fire it was indeed his top priority to square up with certain notable adversaries). Nor was it the result of some superficial desire to be crowned "champion among champions", "king among kings" or even to receive his previously favorite fictitious praise: admiration. The real reason that Phenom Vendetta was currently walking alone through monotonous plains, infinitely gaping valleys and conquering any plateau, hill or mountain between him and where he deserted three years previous stemmed from the one mortal state of mind that could be considered worse than death itself.

Quite simply, Phenom Vendetta was bored as hell.

There was no romance, valor or other overzealous buzzword that could be attributed to the Deadman returning to his old stomping grounds. To say he had a certain bloodlust for the glory of battle or a soul that had hollowed out without the juices of competition to fill it would be not only be a revoltingly verbose piece of literary fluff, but a total lie at that. Phenom left the world he saw in Pride: one dominated by money, sex and ambivalent gossip and stone-cold conversation to a place where actions speak louder than words and the only currency is respect.

In his current physical state, veteran denizens of the battlefield would be somewhat hard-pressed to recognize Vendetta at first glance. His short, dirty-blonde hair was a thing of the past as a thick mane of black hair cascading nearly to his shoulders was now his style of choice. No longer did he attempt an air of optical mystery, with his piercing blue eyes on full display (they were perhaps his most striking feature) and no longer hidden behind dark sunglasses. His last few years spent primarily to perform strenuous manual labour was no secret, with his formerly slim and chorded physique forsaken for a more strapping frame, though nothing that would indicate that he was any stronger than your average athletic human specimen.

The only physical aspect that remained the same about Phenom upon his return to the field of battle was his choice of ensemble remained distinctly charcoal in hue and as a result was entirely unremarkable to any fashionista. Jet black combat boots and pants paralleled by his upper body with a tattered black undershirt covered by a black leather jacket with a black fur collar to keep the wind out. Any passerby could easily mistake this noir-themed style of dress for an extra on the set of any movie from the matrix trilogy. Phenom knew as well as any battle-hardened man that fighting was not a photo shoot, and ultimately blood ruins any “look” in the end. Quite simply, Phenom Vendetta looked dirty and fought dirtier.

It had been at least a fortnight since his exodus from mortal obscurity in Pride that Phenom’s pilgrimage came to a definitive end. After his descent from a particularly sizable mountain, the Deadman came upon a vast meadow the shadow of the range that stretched far beyond his line of sight. Though it seemed similar to the dozens of other plains that he had traversed in the past two weeks, Phenom was immediately aware that he had finally come home to roost. For as he took his first step from the rocky terrain he had come from and stepped down upon the lush green grass of the mountain meadow, a profound jolt rifled through his otherwise useless veins, filling the Deadman with a sense of primal vitality that he had not felt in over a thousand days. There was energy here. Monumental, unfathomable supplies of aggression, rage and power that no where else he had been could be so tangible, so electric in the air around him. This sense of anticipation was long forgotten by Vendetta, but immediately he remembered this unmatched feeling of euphoria. This was truly the calm before the storm. It was a brand of unadulterated tension that surpassed the feeling before a heavyweight title boxing match ten times over. The raw emotion that welled up in him at that moment was nearly enough for cry, had he any tears within him. Instead, Phenom Vendetta only cracked a rare smile.

“Home sweet home…”

Drawing his Thunder staff, the large rod that often played second fiddle to the gaudy presence of the Death Sentence, Phenom drew a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, closing his eyes and coaxing an almost trance-like state from deep within. This trance-like state would not block out the inevitable onslaught of pain and agony he knew was soon to befall him, but it evoked in him something that had remained dormant within him for several years: a feeling of apathy for any other life form in his path. It was a fatalistic devil-may-care state of mind that a sociopath would only dream of attaining. If there was any indication that Sean Flynn existed, the salt-of-the-earth small town coal miner and neighbour had effectively been exorcised. Flynn was purged from the body of remorselessness and bloodlust as the last sense of human morality. Here was a place where no medals for courtesy were awarded; where nice guys didn’t finish last, they were merely finished off.

Phenom now let out an unearthly stream of laughter that was seemed to be an off-putting mix of gas escaping the body and some sort of lupine howl. His misty blue pupils dilated to twice their regular size and his nostrils flared as a monstrous wave of adrenaline washed over him like a mainline injection of heroin. He twirled his menacing staff above his head like an undead parade Marshall, releasing the considerable storage of pure electric energy harbored within the weapon, spewing waves of lightning and flaming discharge all about, causing small grassfires within a one hundred yard radius and creating a fantastic light display in the maroon sky caused by the setting sun behind the hills.

“Hello old friends!” the Deadman bellowed as loud as he could over the hill-laden meadow and beyond the horizon to all who could hear him, all who could sense his irrefutable presence among them after a lengthy hiatus.

Letting out another diabolical guffaw, Phenom brought the Thunder Staff down to strike the ground in a swift overhead motion. Connecting with a resounding Clap! Waves of electricity were sent in all directions, scorching the earth and sending clumps of formerly lush green turf in the air to reveal deeply singed soil beneath.

“Waaaaaarrrrriorrrrrrssss….Come out and plaaaaay-eeee-aaaaaayy!”

[The Willful Wanderer]

Ghosts could not so move.

A bizarre, bobbing smoothness brought the white-cloaked figure across the plains, a stride of not so much steps as gentle undulations of position. There was cloak- far too much cloak, nobody had any right to be swathed in so much cloth without suffocating, but there it was. Weapons, too, it brought with it, far too many weapons. A pair of simple sword-hilts dangled about its neck on a strand of twine. A huge black cleaver-sword rested at one diagonal, and the staff of a polearm the other across the back. Obscured by the billowing of the cloak, several times a pair of automatic pistols flickered into view, and assorted other strange handles and melee weapons.

White trailed like an especially solid mist, and even as the cloak's bearer walked, the garment itself seemed to stretch out behind. The urge to imagine it gradually expanding to reach all the way back along the trail walked was strong, for the purity of whiteness dulled shadows under the clear sky. The traveler seemed without any perspective- and then stopped, some thirty meters distant from the deadman.

A hand, clad in a brightly-purple padded glove, reached up from.. somewhere...

...grasped the cloak by its attachment about the neck, and flung it wide to one side. More weaponry than a regiment had any business wielding went with it, but in sheer defiance of nature the mass of metal and plastic refused to drop with its own weight. The garment fluttered up into the air and drifted into the distance swiftly. Much too swiftly.

The figure thus revealed was bizarre by any rights. Skin of unblemished alabaster exposed through various open spaces on a complex bodysuit that seemed part mesh and part leotard. A heavy belt that by all means ought to have chafed the exposed sides of hips, and boots that lent an incredible weight to the highly-shapely figure, seeming almost to anchor the ghostly-pale woman down. Straps of white, buckled heavily, bound the boots into place- though the boots and bodysuit- even the belt- matched the bright, vibrant purple of the gloves. Yet, more. Almost wet-looking draconic wings shifted behind her as she hefted the immense black cleaver-sword to one side, hands gripping tightly about the hilt. Balance maintained, she leant out to the side opposite her weapon, and lips painted the same purple as her garp parted.

"You called for warriors."

Her features were exotic, to say the least, bright electric-blue eyes and vision-scalding brilliantly sky-blue hair pulled back into a ponytail- but most of all, the wings. Even from the distance Phenom regarded her, he could spot here and there seams, and the fleshy flatness (if that emphatic purple could be considered flat) of the membranes contrasted strongly with the slick, plasticky look of the spurs themselves.

One wing flapped slightly in an adjustment, and the shoulder moved with it. Immense gears, seeming embedded in her shoulders, shifted- not rotated, no. In a way, they appeared almost as empty clamps, ratcheted out from both the collarbone and the arm side of her shoulders, larger ones guarding the long pointed white ears and smaller bracing just before the bicep, their centers missing and rendering them coggy loops of pointlessness.

What a farce she seemed! Scant five feet of albino, lushly formed and seemingly thin-clad in the most brilliant purple imaginable! Technorganic wings and those useless cogs about her shoulders! Such heavy boots, in contrast to the bodysuit that seemed as much gone as there! And wielding that ludicrously huge sword- no, this seemed quite a joke.

Phenom, of course, knew better. One could see such ridiculousness out upon the battlefield easily- one had only to turn one's head slightly. No, if anything, the sheer apparent ridiculousness of the white-toned woman was an indicator that he should be wary. People around here had a way of causing... surprises.

As if in answer to the thought, the edges of the massive black blade lit up with an eerie neon red light, and a quiet crackling came from the heavy weapon- and heavy it must be, from how its wielder was displaced in a lean against it.

"Ly'ry'll Shuir'oi." She named herself, inclining her head a bit. And then? Then, she waited.

[Phenom]

Sorry for the wait, I'm in the process of making a somewhat permanent move across the country which has me bound at the moment, but I think I can squeeze in a fitting first strike in the next day or so. If anyone else wants to make this a free-for-all, with Selene's blessing of course, feel free. However, I think it best one waited until my next post. Once again, apologies for my tardiness...

[Joker]

This topic makes me want to write !!

[The Willful Wanderer]

It's still your post in *our* battle, ya old fart. *grump*

[Phenom]

OoC: This would likely be the last chance for anyone else to jump in. If not, I am more than pleased to do battle solely with Selene. Let's see here...how rusty am I?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Ly'ry'll Shuir'oi made her resplendent entrance into the fray, materializing from an otherworldly substance into an impressive (if not bizarre) warrior, Phenom Vendetta stood his ground in his infamous air of nonchalance. As Ly'ry'll Shuir'oi made her brief and succinct introduction to the Deadman, he remained stone-faced as he reached within his coat’s inner-pocket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches. Taking his new adversary as one who wouldn’t care for a dart, he withdrew a single cigarette and snapped a match off from its book, never once averting his gaze from the pale-skinned wonder that stood a few feet away and seemingly awaiting his acknowledgement. With out so much as a bat of the eye, Vendetta quickly struck the match violently down the side of his battle-scarred face, igniting it with an act of macho theatrics that would cause many to scoff at its gimmicky appearance if they were unaware that Phenom Vendetta lived to impress no one. With a steady hand, he placed the cigarette to his lips, lighting it with the match before closing his hand on it and snuffing the flame out. Still boring a proverbial hole through his visitor’s head with an unwavering glower, he drew in long and deeply on his cigarette. In fact, his drag was so profound that the ember on the end of the cigarette rapidly burned through the tobacco so that when the Deadman finally exhaled a lengthy cloud of smoke, the entire product had been reduced to ash. His ceremonial habit concluded, Vendetta finally broke the silence that had drawn on for a small eternity.

“Ly'ry'll…Shuir'oi…” Phenom repeated aloud his opponent’s name, annunciating each syllable with exaggerated diction and feigned difficulty. Amused at his sporting attempt, Phenom’s emotionless face was breeched with a slight grin as he let a dark chuckle escape him.

“How very…eccentric…”

Phenom again began to laugh, this time much less inhibited and genuine. He leaned casually on his Thunder Staff, studying the woman in the colorful bodysuit before him. She did not seem to find her name nearly as humorous as he did. She merely stood perfectly still, supported by her gigantic cleaver sword that still cast an ominous glow that permeated the early night sky with its neon hue.

“Please take no offense from my comments, madam…You must understand that for the past three years I’ve come across my fair share of Toms, Joes and Bills; and quite a few women named Jane, Sarah or what-have-you…but surprisingly enough, Ly’ry’ll is a rather uncommon name in human society.”

Phenom’s cackle became slightly maniacal once again as he showed appreciation for his facetiousness. However, as sharply as he had begun to laugh, he ceased. The emotionless disposition returned to his body language as he slowly twirled his staff in his left hand, causing the hair on the back of Ly’ry’ll Shuir’oi’s neck to stand on end in response to the static electricity each revolution of the staff caused.

“Pleasantries aside now, I thank you for your promptness in your arrival. Three years is a long time by any stretch and I didn’t think I could wait a moment longer.”
Phenom proceeded to fling off his overcoat, leaving him clad only in his black undershirt, revealing the chorded muscles of his bare arms, nearly covered in full with tattoos that displayed the archaic insignias of factions and tribes that the Deadman had belonged to and forsaken countless years ago. Wrought with the anxiety that engulfed him before battle, the veins in his body dilated and the crude artwork on his skin seemed to glow a brilliant blue that when mixed with the light emanating from Ly’ry’ll’s blade and the rays of the setting sun, created an incredible homage to aurora borealis in the evening sky.

“I have no reason…to hate…you…warrior…”

Phenom spat out as muscles from all over his body began to twitch involuntarily. His brilliant blue pupils were fading away and for the time being his eyes were a blank sleet of white. His speech was hindered with the vast volume of adrenaline that channeled through him. His staff now revolved so swiftly in his hand that it appeared as an oval shaped blur to the naked eye.

“Be that…as it may…I owe it to myself…to take your life!”

Upon finishing the sentence with some difficulty, Phenom let out an otherworldly bellow as he raised his Thunder staff vertically, and the energy that he had garnered so violently and without warning was transferred from his body and into the weapon. The previously solid state of the mahogany shaft began to ripple as if a liquid as three years of power coursed through its interior, begging to be unleashed upon a foe. Phenom’s pupils had returned to their sockets, but now glowed so divine that one could have mistook the Deadman for some sort of ethereal being if not for his demonic demeanor.

“Leave nothing…Kill me if you must…Just ease my soul.”

Phenom pleaded, his voice cracked and with an erratic tone of pitiable desperation that was apparent for seldom a moment before it was replaced with the more familiar brand of the Deadman’s furious intensity. Leaving the ghostly Ly’ry’ll no time to contemplate the bipolar tendencies in his mysterious monologue, Phenom leapt forward, sailing high in the air above with his pulsating Thunder Staff reared behind his head with both hands and ready to come down upon his adversary with ruthless aggression. The strike never found its target however, as Ly’ry’ll brought her massive blade up with surprising ease, defending herself at the last feasible moment before the surely cataclysmic impact of the charged Thunder Staff. The result of the collision between sword and shaft was unprecedented.

At the moment of impact, it seemed as though all time went on hiatus. Color was sapped from everything in the world, leaving the still frame of the battle appearing as a conceptual sketch of black and white. Suddenly and violently, both time and color were returned, and Phenom, erstwhile suspended in mid-air, saw his Thunder Staff explode into thousands of splinters, releasing an unholy wave of pent-up energy into the atmosphere.

KRACK! BOOOOOOM!

The unfathomable reservoir of power that resonated within the Thunder Staff escaped in the form of an explosion comparable to a large land mine, and both warriors were sent careening. Phenom flew back in a large burning arc, brilliant in its juxtaposition with the young night sky. Ly’ry’ll and her sword were sent skimming a hundred meters along the ground, creating a body-sized trench of earth along the way before friction took pity and caused her to stop. Phenom landed with a blunt thudding sound that knocked the air out of his lungs. After laboring in the breathing process for a few seconds, the Deadman, shaken but far from stirred, rose to his feet and was quick to put a small fire out in his hair, leaving it singed, ironically, in the sideburn area. Dusting himself off, Phenom wasted no time in drawing his own cleaver-like primary weapon, the long-inactive Death Sentence from its sheath on his back. The Thunder Staff was evidently too weak a vessel to carry such a large reserve of energy in a stable manner. In the future, Phenom would take note and go right to his “bread and butter” repertoire of weaponry. This was no time to dwell in hindsight though, as Phenom narrowly evaded a horizontal swipe of the quickly recovered Ly’ry’ll that would have otherwise left him without a head as well as a staff.

Phenom quickly reciprocated the sentiment with a wild swing of the sword of his own at Ly’ry’ll, who was singed and covered in earth much like himself from the preceding blast. The bodysuit-clad warrior proved to be agile despite her heavy sword in hand, and dodge the vertical swipe with a quick leap to the side. The two engaged in an impromptu fencing match with their respective blades, each needing both hands to handle the excessive weight of their weapons. Neither could gain the upper hand in the matter however, as each attack was met with a parry equal to the task. Drawing back her sword for another joust at the Deadman, Ly’ry’ll was caught off guard as Phenom dropped his sword as she plunged her blade forth, primed to impale her opponent through his ribcage. Free of his weapon, Phenom leapt straight up, landing with remarkable precision on the flat of Ly’ry’ll’s outstretched blade, his feet at her eye level. Wasting little time, Phenom punted his formidable foe in the face, sending her head snapping back and stumbling several steps in reverse from the savage kick from his steel-toed combat boot. Landing once again, Phenom snatched up his blade and assumed a defensive stance with his sword stretched in horizontally in front of him.

He took the interim time to catch his breath and only then did he realize that he was fighting again. Singed and aching mere moments into what was certainly destined to escalated into all-out war, Phenom could not help but grin. If he was to die, he would literally die with his boots on.

[Marilink]

Wahay, it's Phenom. Still got Nameless access?

[The Willful Wanderer]

"Hmph."

The brief grunt given by the white-skinned woman as she straightened back up was the sort that might be considered dismissive. However, something about the tone of it told that it was more in self-confirmation. Confirmation of what precisely would not be known, but there it was all the same, a brief, quiet sound as she stared at Phenom. Bizarrely, she seemed not at all perturbed by the caved-in state of her nose, an almost luminescent white fluid- presumably her blood- flowing from the wound. But perhaps, this was more understandable than it initially seemed- even as she brought her sword down into a thrusting position, left leg crouched forwards, right extended behind, her face reconstructed itself.

The quiet popping sounds of cartilage snapping back together, and shards of bone realigning before fusing together carried just enough to be heard by Phenom, a gristly celebration of his successful hit. Perhaps, given time, he would contemplate what was happening to his adversary, but time for this was not given.

Launching forwards with a swift flex of her bent leg, Ly'ry'll darted at Phenom in a very light-footed sprint, practically dragging the light-edged cleaver she wielded with her, fists trailing behind on its hilt though the point of the massive thing was well before her own head. An eyebrow quirked up on the elder warrior as he considered how obvious the attack was- the white-and-purple woman had proven much more skilled than that during the brief fencing match. If, that is, you can call two people swinging thirty-pound cleavers at one another anything so delicate as 'fencing'.

So he was, to a point, ready when Ly'ry'll suddenly halted just outside of his reach, the black weapon gripped suddenly in only one hand and trailed behind her.

"HUAH!" She kiai'd, planting her feet and *shoving* as all her momentum suddenly carried into the huge sword. Abruptly, instead of charging to spear Phenom, the bluenette was performing an aerial somersault, the sword swinging about her in a full loop- and then slamming down into the already-upraised weapon of her opponent. Even braced as Phenom was, the abrupt pressure was immense, and the sheer leverage meant the flat of his own blade slammed into his head, several of his fingers temporarily numbed into releasing their grip on the hilt of the weapon- a horrible thing for someone attempting to maintain control of such an object.

Something Ly'ry'll was clearly ready to take advantage of, as one massive boot lashed out to stomp on the Deadman's hands with bonecracking force. It was as though the woman had turned briefly into a miniature typhoon, twisting near-impossibly to leave her pressure still on the crossed blades even as she smashed her right heel into Phenom's hand. Gravity, however, could not be simply ignored, and so in the next instant, she rotated yet again. The screech of metal was loud, whatever the strange force at the edges of her sword was grinding against the Death Sentence bitingly as it had all through the earlier clashes.

In moments, her right foot made contact with the turf, and then she was away, the damage done. A long leap aided by her wings, she almost seemed to drift back down to terra firma, trailing that blisteringly sky-blue hair in a loose mass as she completed the graceful arc. Perhaps she should have pressed the brief advantage, but she was not so sure- and any lack of surety was enough reason not to risk.

Again, she took up her ready stance, leant to one side to hold the immense blade vertical, point to the sky.

[Phenom]

The succession of thought in Phenom's head shifted erratically three times in a matter of seconds following the earth-altering outset to the duel. What began as a euphoric revelation of intensity gave way to genuine bewilderment as his opponent exercised what he could only describe as some sort of facial reconstructive telekinesis, nullifying his previous attacks ailments in the blink of an eye. Soon after, bewilderment melted briefly back into the adrenaline-laced enthusiasm of battle, the result of which was mind-numbing pain as his hand was the recipient of a swift and blunt brand of rough justice courtesy of his adversary’s boot. The final distinctive thought in Phenom’s head was a reprise of bewilderment, as Ly’ry’ll opted to relinquish her clear advantage in the exchange rather than taking further advantage of her momentum. The Deadman became momentarily hung-up on this final fact, but was quick to catch himself and re-focus. While combat is indeed a game where mental rigor can prove to be the difference between victory and defeat, excess thought in the heat of battle can also mean a swift demise.

Looking down at his mangled appendage, Phenom truly came to appreciate the power of his opponent. Not only had Ly’ry’ll clearly broken several bones in his hand, but his middle and forefinger were broken so severely that the joints at the tip of both fingers were snapped backwards at a 45 degree angle. Wincing in discomfort, Phenom set down his sword and proceeded to snap both fingers back into proper alignment with his undamaged hand, each finger snapping like a dry twig back into place. As his hand began to swell rapidly, Phenom was well aware that while Ly’ry’ll had relented in her assault temporarily, the effects of her attack had shifted the tide of battle for the long-term. Even as strong as the Deadman was, he would have to maneuver his massive weapon-of-choice henceforth without the full services of his broken hand.

Spitting in frustration, Phenom raised his eyes from his decimated appendage to the source of its disfiguring. Having wasted precious recovery time already, Phenom unsheathed his Death Sentence from the ground he had thrust it into with his remaining serviceable hand, and sprinting much like Ly’ry’ll had moments before, Phenom let his sword trail him as he closed in on his enigmatic counterpart. Ly’ry’ll stood her ground in perfect stillness, sword still held vertically towards the heavens. Unlike their previous exchange however, Phenom did not pull out in his linear charge, instead using the momentum he had built up, spinning in a full circle without breaking stride, causing his massive cleaver to swipe horizontally in centrifugal motion at Ly’ry’ll at a resounding speed. Ly’ry’ll was privy to such a basic assault, and at the last moment before tasting cold metal leapt skyward, seemingly floating effortlessly in the air, as Phenom staggered forward as the momentum from his swipe and the weight of the Death Sentence pulled him forward after missing its target. Touching down behind the Deadman, Ly’ry’ll immediately thrust her blade at Phenom like a lance. Despite his compromising position, the Deadman was somehow able to pivot himself to face the attack, using his Death Sentence to slap the jousting sword away from him, the weight of the swords colliding sending both combatants lurching to the side.

Contorting herself once again in an inhuman manner, Ly’ry’ll was the first to recover and swiped her sword low in an effort to relieve Phenom of everything beneath his knees. Once again in desperation, Phenom was able to thrust the tip of his blade into the scorched earth directly in front of them, causing Ly’ry’ll’s weapon to be halted in its path. Unfortunately for Phenom, the Death Sentence was driven so deep into the soil, that at the frantic pace the duel was currently dictated by, he had no time to unearth it as Ly’ry’ll swiped again with her dark blade, this time intending to decapitate the Deadman. Rolling forward, Phenom evaded the attack but distanced himself from his only means of defending himself.

Ly’ry’ll was again swift in composing herself and was immediately upon Phenom who now lay prone on his back. The purple-clad warrior raised her blade vertically, ready to drive her blade through her elusive opponent’s torso and out the other side. Her miss was by such a slim margin as she thrust her sword into earth, that Phenom could hear the metal plunge through earth as he rolled along the ground to dodge the surely-fatal blow. In his final act of base survival, Phenom grabbed a handful of loose dirt, still smoking from the initial attack of the battle, and flung it upwards, as Ly’ry’ll raised her boot for a second debilitating stomp. The clump of turf found its target in the eyes of the female duelist and in the brief instant that she found herself blinded by Phenom’s dirty tactics, the Deadman sprung to his feet with a sheepish grin on his face. Leaping into the air, Phenom’s vertical ability was on full display as the two-hundred pound man sailed in improbable majesty over his opponents head. Cascading down the other side, Phenom thrust both his legs out behind him, delivering an unorthodox double-legged dropkick to the spine of his opponent. The kick itself was devoid of any style or aesthetic grace, but it did enough to send Ly’ry’ll tumbling head over heels to the ground. With not a moment to spare, the Deadman sprinted to the Death Sentence, still firmly embedded into the ground. Clasping both hands around its hilt, Phenom grunted in agony as his damaged hand crackled into a grip. Thrusting the cleaver from its momentary resting place, Phenom turned around, his pupils dilated to comic proportions from the excitement of the previous exchange. Ly’ry’ll had risen from the ground, her face devoid of emotion as seemed to be the status quo throughout their time together, and wiped the remaining dirt from her snow-white face. Phenom grimaced, his head throbbing from his Death Sentence slapping against it moments before. Standing with his Death Sentence preceding him; his gimped hand drooped limply at the side while his sword-bearing arm was laced with bulging veins from his tiring forearm.

Three years removed from such spirited warfare, Phenom was showing signs of rust but no deficiency in resourcefulness. Time and time again he had proved he was the dirtiest player in the game. This particular chain of events had proved that it can be taken in a very literal sense as well.

[Phenom]

... :-(

[Dhampir]

Gaiden said, "Well ****'s sake I wish I were paying closer attention."

[Dhampir]

Oh ****, I just looked at the timestamps. Phenom, if you want to have a battle with short little mini posts, I'd be down. Just reply to this sometime in the next few weeks or so

[Erdawn Il Deus]

Zach I still owe you an ass-whoopin.

[Dhampir]

B1tch don't step if you can't stand to fall... yeah that's a challenge, I already made the topic