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originally posted in:The New Dojo
10/30/2016 1:36:16 AM
298
[b][u]The Wanderer | Dojo Gates[/u][/b]
[i]Alister...
Alister.
Alister!
ALISTER![/i]
The last thing he remembered was seeing the boy he sought to protect being smashed brutally in the back of the head by a sword's pommel.
And then the world was set on fire.
...
With a gasp, the man wakes up spread-eagle outside the Dojo Gates. A heartbeat after, he rolls forward to his feet and looks around, one hand on the mechanical katana sheathe at his waist.
"ALISTER!"
The man's apparel was quite peculiar. A long black leather overcoat draped past his knees, with ceramic shoulder pauldrons and joint guards placed upon the coat. At his waist was an Oriental scabbard modified by machinery near the upper half, holding such things as a napalm barrel and a gun trigger. The two other items of note were the ornately engraved Mateba revolver and a runic gas mask - all equipment strangely reminiscent of... [i]him.[/i]
He looked around frantically, hazel eyes wild as sweat dripped down his weathered Asian skin. Long, black hair was matted wildly in a mess under a wide-brimmed hat of the same colour.
His age was indeterminate, possibly around mid-thirties to early forties. But all of his features made him an oddly similar, yet older, version of the Old Lieutenant.
But it couldn't possibly be him... Could it?
Silence. He looked at the large gates of the Dojo, easing his grip out of slight awe and fear.
"Are these the Gates of Hell?... No, no get a hold of yourself. Believe in monsters, not the fantasies of men. Find him."
He finally let go of his sheathed blade's handle. His coat sleeves were rolled up, revealing lean arms riddled with slashes and bullet holes.
The smell of brimstone wafted through the air.
Blue fire sprang from each wound, searing each laceration and bullet hole shut with a sickening smell. The man rolled down his sleeves as he looked around for anyone in sight. The madness in his eyes faded to a simmering charcoal of composure, a flame hidden amidst the ashen facade of calmness.
The sickening scent stopped.
It couldn't possibly be him...
[i]Could it?[/i]
[spoiler]Open to all :)[/spoiler]
English
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"I think I'll be fine, thank you." Lucien gives a slight bow of respect to Xavier before hurrying into the Dojo, the same look of panic from before returning to his eyes. He would find the boy. If he had to fight everyone in the Dojo to, then he would if it came to that.
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[i]The Anomaly turned it's head just in time to avoid it's eye being shot, but it still hit it's head. Meanwhile, the golem slammed it's fist down again, this time it accidentally blocked the bullets that Lucien fired at Xavier. He started climbing the golem's arm as it tried to get it unstuck. And soon after, when Lucien slashed at the golem's legs, it didn't seem affected by them.[/i]
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RealIzing that the golem was the greater threat at the moment, Lucien dashed away from the beast and called out to Xavier. "Xavier! Catch!" Lucien spun and somehow threw his sword to a position near Xavier on the golem's body, sticking it in the rotten flesh as it began to burn due to the katana's napalm edge. "It's superheated, rip it apart while I take it from down here!" He was no stranger to battles with larger Infected alongside allies. Lucien fanned the rest of his bullets at the beast's face before quickly reloading and dodging, taking potshots at the golem to distract him while Xavier was on top.
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Edited by Tamedfrog: 10/31/2016 10:01:46 PM[b] [/b]
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[i] The Dojo gates were certainly impressive symbols of..gate things. The towering structures were ornate and intricate, like they were made for beckoning. Yet..those weren't the most interesting thing in the area. Or the most attention grabbing. The sensation, the way the environment reacted when he'd gathered his bearings wasn't natural.. The shadows of the trees, animals, the gates themselves seemed to lengthen unnaturally, almost eerily. The wildlife quieted, the sun seemed to dim, even the wind ceased to blow. An almost oppressive sort of energy overcame the atmosphere, stifling and raw, like the air had thinned and the temperature had dropped ten degrees. The very energy seemed to bear emotion and power..the energy wasn't necessarily malevolent or evil, but it certainly wasn't pleasant. Or friendly for that matter. [/i]
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"Who are you!" the man shouted, panic returning to his voice momentarily. He raised his hands slightly above his holstered armaments like a gunslinger, with his footwork taking upon the positioning of traditions a swordsmanship: one foot forward slightly bent, the other facing outwards slightly diagonal. The man took a deep breath before regaining his composure. He would not be taken off guard again, even if he could feel the presence. His voice became calmer and more inquisitive, underlined by a tone of lethal urgency, "Where am I?"
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[i] The shadows that had previously seemed to lengthen, now in fact, did. The stretched off of their host's, from trees to the walls to animals, and seemed to leap through the air and take on a wispy and almost airy quality, pooling in a spot a few feet in front of the man. They beckoned upwards, stretching and pulling themselves until the took the shape and silhouette of a human, before being blown away by an invisible breeze, cast aside and eventually evaporating. What was left..or who was left, was quite the sight. The new arrival stood tall, at about 6'2", clad in a form fitting, pitch black armor that was glossy and matte black respectively. Almost assassin in nature. On the breastplate of the armor, a yin-yang symbol over crossed swords sits. At the man's hip lie three katanas, not unlike the other man's weapon, but with less mechanical innovation. The first is a vibrant white and gold; quite the contrast to his dark attire. It almost gave off its own light, gleaming and shining spotlessly. The second is a more at home blade, completely and utterly black. No..black would imply color. This was the epitome of shadow. Devoid of color, like it wanted to devour it's brother's light. The third and final blade is rather drab compared to the other two, an olive green. Though, the pommel is in the shape of an oriental dragon head. One of the more peculiar things about the man was the visage the man wore. A traditional Oni demon mask, a concept the other oriental man would be familiar with, made of contorted and twisted black metal, with sprouting horns. The few steps the man took, it was clear he thought highly of himself, and his skills. His presence and the way he carried himself reeked of confidence and capability, like his form was merely a vessel for unrestricted power. It was almost elegant, his bearing. If death was graceful..this man was the living incarnate. https://imgur.com/a/MiiYp https://imgur.com/a/CdM6F https://imgur.com/a/SXcJq [/i] "You're at the Dojo." [i] A simple line from the shadowy figure, metallic and filtered through the visage he wore. Cold and hard, with an edge. Like razors on ice. Enough to make most people's skin crawl.[/i]
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The man looked at the newcomer and analyzed every part of him with lightning speed. [i]Exosuit and weapons, Old-Earth? But that one blade... It reeks of darkness. An Abbatial relic, perhaps?[/i] "The Dojo? What part of Mons am I in?" A heartbeat passes before the man's posture grows more tense, taking a closer look at the newcomer's high-tech gear and blades. "The Iconoclast sent you, didn't they? Tell them to give me back the boy. I am done with negotiating." The same fire reignited in his eyes, like a wild animal backed into the corner. Whoever this boy was, it seemed that the man would find him at any cost. "I would prefer not to have more bloodshed. But mark my words - you will not take him from me." He looked to be undeterred by the man's radiance of confidence, sounding somewhat experience with borderline cockiness. Yet he did not return the same feeling, exuding a sense of a hermit's humility hiding a deadly nature; the look that was glanced upon in the man's hazel eyes.
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"I don't know what boy you're talking about, nor what place you speak of, or what the Iconoclast is. You're on a planet called Tatakai." [i] The man spoke, almost lazy and bored. Chances are the newcomer had ended up here on accident, like so many other people. Yet, this guy wasn't like any other person. He was capable, and dangerous at that. The stance he took when he'd felt threatened, one where he hadn't drawn a weapon. People only did that when they knew one, they themselves were a weapon, or two, they could draw their weapon whenever they needed. [/i]
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"Tatakai... That can't be possible. I'm on Olympus Island, I was..." The man trails off, finally realizing the gravity of the situation. He looks at his left hand as if to check if it was all just a dream. "Very well then. Have you seen a boy come through these gates earlier then? Dark brown hair with eyes of the same colour. A workingman's clothes underneath a discarded Tribal-" He froze, cursing himself silently. How could he trust a man wearing armour and having gear only a top Iconoclast mercenary would have? "If you truly are not aligned with the Iconoclast, then allow me passage into this Dojo of yours. You would not refuse the offer of a wanderer, would you?" The man's eyes kept on scanning the newcomer's dark sword. It exuded a presence of malevolence, similar to the Abbatial zealots and their weapons harbouring their own beasts. Of course, such a thing could easily be taken as a prize by any nomad mercenary if they had the right tools to contain it. [spoiler]Of course, this guy doesn't know fight to gain entry ;)[/spoiler]
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[i] The man straightened his shoulders slightly, taking a more comfortable stance.. a fighters stance.[/i] "No, I haven't seen someone matching that description. Perhaps he's inside, but here.." "We fight to gain entry." [i] The man pops one of his katanas loose in it's sheathe with his thumb, the drab olive green one. A half inch of steel is exposed when the man questions him. [/i] "I believe in knowing the name of my opponent, and vice versa. My name is Ronin." [i] He says, performing a traditional swordsman bow with his hand on his blade's hilt. [/i]
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He thought before he recalled reading something relating to the man's name in an Old-Earth document. "Ronin? Like the masterless samurai? Interesting that you would take upon such a name. Perhaps you and I are one and the same, wandering beasts with the faces of honourable warriors." The slightest hint of a smile breaks through the tight line of his lips. "Or perhaps not." "If we are referring to each other's by titles," the man continues as he turns around and pulls down the collar of his coat and shirt, "then I shall tell you one of mine. The Tribals captured me once. We made a deal, them and I - they would brand me to warn others of the beast and I would not kill them" On the back of the man's neck was a brand that was hard to make out from the distance, but it looked like some multiple-headed beast with wings engulfed in a consuming flame. "Lucien Farcòn, known to many as the False Prophet."
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[i]Farcòn.. Ronin didn't know if there was any correlation, but he'd stay away from it for now. [/i] "Most say don't judge a book by its cover, but I tend to judge a man by his blade. So far, you aren't so bad." [i] A grin made it's way through Ronin's tone. [/i] "If we're formal, then this Ronin's name is Lance May. Pleased to make your acquaintance." [i] He says, drawing the sword from it's sheath fully and holding it down, and out to the side. The steel was simple, except for the edge. It had a certain rippling quality, almost like Damascus steel.[/i]
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Lucien took note of the dragon-pommel katana that Lance drew, cataloging it away in his mind for later. A slight look of bother formed upon his face as he twisted a simple and almost unnoticeable black ring on his finger. If one observed the ring however, they would notice three small razor-sharp spikes that ejected themselves out. Even stranger, they faced inwards towards the palm - eerily similar to an Old-Earth shinobi's assassination ring. "I find the use of my blood somewhat displeasing, but I would rather use that than wake that [i]thing[/i]." he mutters, looking down at his sheathed katana. Quickly, Lucien places his spiked right hand over the inner part of his left forearm. He slices downwards towards his hand and draws blood, which quickly coagulates into a cinder-like substance with blue fire cracking in its midst. This ash forms in Lucien's right hand into a crude, stick-like object before his hand leaves the surface of his arm. In Lucien's hand was now a Chinese sword-breaker with a traditional Oriental hilt. It was comprised of the same ashy material that escaped Lucien's body as he brought forth the weapon from his arm. He gave a similar bow and levelled the blunt weapon, keeping its diamond-hard point at an angle towards Lance. Yet his hand still remained poised over his waist.
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[i] The blue fire.. it wasn't Phoenix. He was dead, but this guy was so eerily similar from the tales he'd been told.. [/i] "Shame." [i] Ronin utters, actually wanting to see that sword drawn. He shrugs, his front knee bending before a blast of air erupts around him, launching towards Lucien. The speed..it was remarkable. Faster than what should be humanly possible, he'd just closed fifty feet in no more than a second. That fifty turned into three as he did something odd. He sent a closed fist, Left hook at Lucien's face, sword still at his side. [/i]
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Even without the perception-enhancing herbs of the Tribals, Lucien could still barely make out Lance and his speed. So in retort to the man's fist, he performed an equally - if not more - trivial maneuver. Ronin felt a [i]crack![/i] as his velocity-fuelled fist collided with the left side of Lucien's jaw, rending bone from flesh as the left part of his lower jaw burst free of his mouth through his skin, hanging on afterwards by mere tendons. During this however, he did not stand his ground. Before Ronin's fist collided, he took a few steps forward and then shot backwards with surprising force to match Ronin's momentum. So while Ronin broke his jaw... Lucien drew his revolver with his off hand, keeping the olive katana at bay with the catching teeth of his sword-breaker. He fired four rapid shots into Ronin's visor, the .410 shotgun shells of the Raging Judge doing their work. Some kind of electricity arced across Ronin's face as the shells collided. If they did not get through the visor, they would at least put it out of commission. After having his jaw nigh torn off, Lucien uses his sword breaker to still keep the blade away as he promptly pistol whips Ronin away whilst backing up. He coughs blood from his ripped open mouth - no, he wasn't coughing. [i]He was laughing.[/i] A much more sinister tone spoke through the remnants of Lucien's mouth as the tendons began sowing itself together, marrow being burnt back into place with flashes of fire melding them shut. "Masterless samurai... Do you wish to feast upon the fruit of a False Prophet?" The last words became normal as the piece of his jaw melded itself back into place, ash gathering at the seams making his face looking akin to fractured clay quickly glued back together. He levelled his sword-breaker at Ronin once more, crimson fluid still dripping from the ashes covering his scars. Something about his posture said that this time, he wasn't on the tactical defensive anymore. Something in his eyes told that if Ronin wanted to expose the demon that lay beneath, he would have to rip him to pieces to find it.
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Edited by Will: 10/30/2016 5:42:33 AM[i] Ronin's head snapped backwards, the shells colliding with his visage and spiderwebbing the metal. Lance jumped back a few feet, metal falling away in pieces as more and more of his face was shown. By the time the metal fragments were lying in the grass at his feet, his face was fully exposed. Young, no older than thirty. Chocolate brown hair topped his head with a lock falling in his face, between two icy blue eyes. Eyes that were frozen with anguish and sorrow, but blazed with rage and power. On top of that..he was grinning.[/i] https://imgur.com/a/fZl5P "I rather liked that one, but it's a small price to pay for this kind of challenge." [i] He sounded almost gleeful, and in that moment, Lucien saw a man who lived for the thrill of a good fight. Thrived off of it.[/i] "Although, I'll have to pass on the feasting. Doesn't sound very appetizing." [i] Ronin said, guessing it was a figure of speech but being snide all the same. He held out his left hand, wispy shadows conjured from his fingertips crawled and floated to his palm, pooling there until they formed a shadowy black ball the size of a softball. The darkness stretched and writhed, like it wanted out of the shape it was in. Ronin promptly reared his arm back and hurled it at Lucien, the projectile pulsing and getting more volatile as it flew towards the man. Whatever it was.. probably wasn't a good idea to get hit by it. [/i]
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[spoiler]-blam!-ing baseball player 😂[/spoiler] Lucien spun and threw the dense sword-breaker straight at the shadow-ball, flying straight through the air and making contact with the consuming sphere. Lucien was willing to sacrifice the amount of blood it took him to make the weapon in order to gauge the power of Ronin's shadows - after all, a battle was an exchange of blood, was it not? After that he reloads his revolver quickly and fluidly, putting a variety of different rounds into the barrel. "My mentor called this a 'trail mix' technique. Allow one's revolver to carry varying types of ammunition. When I asked him why he called it that he admitted it was named after an Old-Earth meal. Suffice to say, such humour has worn off on me. But I must say - the trail mix is quite deadly used with the right bullets and the right person." Something about Lance's armour was wrong. Any shielding or onboard electronics began being temperamental after being hit by the shells from before. "I've dealt with armour like yours before. The Iconoclast had black projects that developed Old-Earth power armour and exosuits. If you killed for them, you got your hands on them. They also had a plethora of other black projects that were in development... Before I raided the compound and took the blueprints, of course."
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[i] When the weapon collided with the shadowy ball, it simply dissipated into wisps while the weapon fell to the ground. Something told Lucien something far different would've happened if it had hit him though.. Lance's armor was powered by a tytritium system, the most efficient and cost effective element in the world. While whatever shielding and electronics he had would be spotty for the time being, they wouldn't be out of commission..unless he took any more of those shots. On top of that, he had no face protection, and this guy was playing for keeps.[/i] "You may have seen armor like mine, but you've never seen anyone like me." [i]Lance says, reaching his left hand down and withdrawing the white and gold katana, the blade that seemed to give off its own light. This one too, had an interesting pattern along the edge akin to Damascus steel.[/i]
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[i]It only interacts with organic beings. Interesting. [/i] "Old-Earth systems... A far cry from the pale imitations the Iconoclast has created then. I stole plans for ammo meant to have wetware programs that would release on impact, releasing shockwaves that would screw with servos and shielding and all of that. Too expensive for any mercenary company, but for me it was perfect. However it seems that I'll just have to stick with the classics." A flash of hands and the exchanging of bullets showed Lance the change in ammunition from Lucien. But what did he change his bullets to? He holstered his revolver and ran his hand down his inner arm again, slicing through flesh and summoning another sword-breaker. Once again, he levelled the Chinese weapon at Lance as his other hand remained empty but at the ready. Lucien charged at Ronin with speed rivalling that of his first attack, attacking with a barrage of blows reminiscent of a fencer striking rapidly with a rapier; the sword-breaker was at eye level with Lucien and repeatedly thrust forward aimed at Lance's exposed head. He drew his revolver quickly at the beginning of the blows, constantly firing shell after shell point blank at Ronin's lower body. What was strange however, was how he lowered the barrel every shot as if he was also ready to put the gun away at any moment. With his sword-breaker's hard point lashing at Ronin's head and his revolver firing shells at his torso from Lucien's hip, he continued his flurry all whilst observing Ronin, watching both swords and the hands that held them.
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[i] When the bullets started flying, Lance's shielding systems came to life. What was operational anyway. Arcs of tytritium leaped off his armor, zapping the bullets and disintegrating them. Meanwhile, Lance weaved to and fro, his skills coming to surface now. His body blurred as he avoided the thrusts, a particularly fast one batted away each time by his right hand katana. The sword seemed to have a life of it's own, almost instinctively leaping to Lance's defense. The next thrust that came in, Lance's blade ignited in a blue light that blazed with heat..Cobalt colored fire. Very, very similar to Lucien's own abilities. The blade superheated, instead of batting the thrust away, he brought the sword up and cut sideways, planning to slice the weapon in half. [/i]
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[i][b]CRACK! CRACK![/b][/i] The remainder of Lucien's shells blasted against Ronin's armour, all being destroyed by his shielding. Lucien smiled - perfect. Ronin's superheated blade cut through his sword-breaker and he flinched. Not because his weapon was disabled, but because he wielded flames eerily similar of his own. But he could not get distracted by such a trivial thing - it was impossible that anyone else could carry the same virus strain as himself. Little did the man know, he was using EMP shells - much different from the experimental wetware he was utilizing earlier. Instead of relying on pellets that merely carried disrupting components that could still physically damage, the EMP rounds releases electromagnetic pulses upon fragmentation - the pellets inside were all actually connected by micro-wire, acting as capacitors to amplify the EMP. Normally one itself wouldn't suffice, but he had just unloaded 6 consecutive EMP rounds into Ronin's shielding. Even better that they were released by the shielding itself - two birds in one stone. He attempted to stab Ronin with the jagged, broken point of the weapon before letting go and jumping back. For a moment it seemed as if he was hovering there: flying backwards and away from Ronin as he now swept his left hand along his right inner forearm, and Ronin realized somewhat... He had another spiked ring on his left hand, but coloured to look like his skin. A flash of viscera was all it took to form three bloody kunai of ash in Lucien's left hand, which he promptly threw downwards at Lance's face as he sailed back through the air.
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[i] Lance cursed silently as he felt his systems shut down. They were Emp rounds, but there wasn't much he could've done. His shields were automatic, so they destroyed the rounds, like it or not. Lance's armor was lightweight though, and no matter that the shields and HUD were down, he still had protection. He also picked up on the man's flinch, a minor movement only a trained fighters eye. So maybe there was a connection.. Lance batted the last stab to the side, and his eyes followed Lucien into the air as he threw his projectile. With a swift, almost elegant movement, Lance bright his white and gold katana across his body vertically, a wall of hardlight trailing in it's wake. The kunai impacted with the shield, causing a scattering of light particles and flashes. Not wasting any time, Lance brought his sword back over his shoulder and slashed diagonally, sending a massive hardlight projectile at Lucien. [/i]
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Though he had never actually face hardlight technology, he read up on some Iconoclast research into the possibility of developing it. So he knew some of its properties - not like that would help him if he were to be hit by the projectile made from it though. After jumping back through the air he landed on the ground and quickly took to an Iaijutsu sword drawing stance before a deafening crack followed by a white light ignites from Lucien's position: a flashbang. A sword draw so fast that it was covered by the detonation of the flashbang, Lucien's blade cut through the hard light through the blinding of the detonation. The first thing would Ronin see after the flashbang would be three kunai knives aiming for his face whilst a blue-flaming sword sliced upwards across his torso.
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[i] Damn, he's fast. Lance thought, but his evaluation was cut short as the kunai came flying at his face. He leaned backwards, hands planting on the ground behind him as he went into a back bend, knives sailing inches past his body. The sword that would've came up and across his torso now slashed across his thigh diagonally, biting into the armor but it quite reaching skin. Lance flipped backwards, the whole thing an impressive show of acrobatics. He landed on his feet, swords on his shoulders as he scanned over the man.[/i] "Where did you learn to fight like that, Lucien Farcòn?" [i] Lance asked. The question wasn't meant to distract or take away from the fight; it was legitimate curiosity. [/i]
