The Darklight Project — Roleplayer Guild

The Arena of Gurata

Even as everyone on either side of him went to go engage their opponents, Cyril continued to rush forwards. In contrast, the man in front of him walked forwards calmly, his head tilted ever slightly so that the left side of his head was directed some towards the Prince. As the two began to take those last steps to close the distance entirely, Cyril brought his blade up with both hands, swinging down towards the man's head. Only to the Prince's half surprise did the apparently blind man bring up his own thin blade to block, but what truly surprised Cyril was with how much strength the thin man did so. The two stopped there, not breaking from their engage.

"Hm... It seems like you've had a teacher or two, but you found your style on your own." The man spoke calmly, head turning so that neither side was directed more towards the Prince. "Is that about right?"

The Prince blinked, taken a little off guard by the sudden attempt at conversation. He gave a nod, even if it didn't really matter, though he made sure to follow up with, "Pretty much right. Cyril Serio."

"Ah, the Prince of Barcea himself! This is certainly a privilege. Badain. I'd bow but, well, you know." Smiling at his own little bit of dry humor, he suddenly gave a shove with his blade to force the Prince back before Cyril could respond. Grunting, the Prince barely had time to move his blade in position to deflect stabs from the thin, quick blade, forced entirely on the defensive by Badain. The man was good, very good, and clearly had more experience than Cyril. It was all the Prince could do to simply keep up.

Badain's blows were directed in precise strikes at different parts of Cyril's body, forcing the Prince to continue backing away constantly in order to not be immediately and completely overwhelmed. Stabs towards his head suddenly transitioned into slashing at his arms, before slipping fluidly into attempts to gouge his legs. The Prince grit his teeth in concentration as he continued to move defensively, a bead of sweat forming in his temple and dropping down the side of his face as Badain continued to push him.

The slip up came when Badain suddenly feinted with a blow, instead turning it to smash the hilt of his sword into Cyril's forehead. With a slight yell the Prince staggered backwards, but the real pain came when he felt the tip of the thin blade slashing across his torso upwards, before it jumped up to slice into his chin. He jumped back with a stumble, hand coming up grip over the wound over his chin, which was just a little deeper than the slash in his chest.

Badain chose not to follow, instead taking a step back. Briefly, he tilted his head, before shaking it slightly as he flicked his blade out to the side. "Hm. Not quite as close as I wanted to be. I apologize for that Prince, the noise from all the other fights must be throwing me off. Please bear with me." In response, the Prince just lowered his hand back to his blade, gripping it a little more tightly.

Meanwhile, the situation had escalated for Christopher just as quickly. As the battle begun, he brought both of his fists together heavily, a burst of electricity crackling around his hands before he rushed forwards. In front of him his targeted opponent, the woman with the strange green hair, just watched his approach with a grin, her staff still held out to the side...

Just as he entered her range, however, she moved, arm whipping up in a blur. He snapped his own hands up in response, have expected such a move, and caught the crescent moon-shaped blade along the inner curve. His gauntlets crackled as blade collided with plates, sparks leaping around the blade and down the staff. Her grin still on her face, the woman gave a sudden push with her staff, a movement that actually forced Christopher to lean back slightly, to his surprise.

"Oooh, nice reflexes, kid! Honestly thought you were just a charging idiot to begin with there!"

"Gonna take a lot more than that." Christopher grunted slightly, before pushing back forcefully in return, forcing them to disengage. The woman willingly backed up to keep her distance, even as he pursued; using his forearms to block, he constantly angled his arms in different directions to keep her from slicing him with the blade. Her motions forced him to slow his advance, always keeping him out of his own range, though they continued to back towards the wall. Every time he tried to grab the staff to force her to hold it still, she simply twisted it in her hands, sending the blade turning wildly and forcing him release before he got shredded.

"Just hold still, dammit!"

The woman laughed, before actually coming to a stop. However in that same moment she thrust forwards with her weapon, the crescent blade hooking one of his arms and then the other, actually pinning them against his own body. From there she actually swung him around, reversing their positions entirely. Though they were still a fair distance away, his back was now the closer one to the wall, and his eye twitched as he tried to wrench away from the crescent. With a twist, though, the woman managed to keep him locked.

"What's your name, kid? We've got to know what to carve, don't we?"

"Christopher Nocte, and fuck you-" However, even as he finished his curse, a violent change came over the woman. At the mention of his name, her grin turned into a violent snarl as she pushed forwards once again, forcing him to back awkwardly.

"Nocte? NOCTE?!" She snarled these words, and Christopher's eyes widened.

"What the hell is your problem, you crazy broad-?!"

"NOCTE?!" The woman shrieked this now, continuing to force him back. Something was wrong, extremely so; in different places, her limbs were beginning to twitch in ways that they shouldn't, such as in the middle of her limbs, and all over her skin began to writhe, as if something was twisting about within her from head to toe. It was at its worst across her face, before quite suddenly the left half seemed to shred itself, strips of flesh and muscle curling around themselves to form strange tendrils that squirmed rapidly, as if irritated. Christopher continued to pale even in this moment.

"What the actual fuck-"

"The name is Mizra, and this is all I have left to say to you: DEATH TO THE DIVINES!" Suddenly, the blade of the crescent began to glow brightly, a high pitched whine filling the air. Before Christopher could even begin swearing, the light spread down the length of the staff, before suddenly a beam of energy exploded forwards. It enveloped him and sent him flying, crashing into the wall of the arena with enough force to crack and crater it, leaving him embedded in the strong stone briefly.

Coughing, Christopher's head hung briefly before he groaned loudly, trying to pull himself from the wall. Burns were spread over his face, his clothes charred and smoldering in places, especially around his sleeves. However before he could drop to the ground, Mizra was there, grabbing him by the face with her left hand and smashing his head back against the wall. Even from the disorientation created by the blow, he could still feel how the palm of her hand squirmed against him, before it began to rip open and tendrils began to curl around his cheek-

"Little servants like you aren't worth the air you waste." Snarling this, Mizra suddenly took a step back, swinging her staff around. Across Christopher's throat the blade went, slitting his throat with one easy movement as she completed her turn.
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Them Done Horrid Murder on Bloody Stages

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