To rustle the dead leaves a little...

[Lucifer Pyrifax]

Such a stagnant place... anyone dare to desecrate the death of CnCW in a battle? I'd rather not see this place rot into ruin, although I'm sure it's far past its prime.

[Meathos]

F*ck it. I'll fight. :)


Mmkay, so, how long is this going to be? Who's going first?

[Lucifer Pyrifax]

I am ambivalent to it, although a 1-2-1 sounds good, since it's been a while from the last time I've fought.

I don't have a problem with going first, but, if you've got an idea, go for it.

[Meathos]

Alright, I'll think of something, I'm sure.

[Moridin]

Ref present.

[Ultimate Chaos]

rotfl...I remember when we had our fight LP. The quality of our RP's back then were laughable now that I think back :p But I still won! hehe

Good luck to both Diablos!

[Lucifer Pyrifax]

That was a long time ago, I think way before my streak and when I started working with Moebius.

Good God, this place is nostalgia.

[Meathos]

lol, sorry, I kinda forgot about this, Luci.

I have major sh!t coming up, like exams, prom, tequilla sunrise...


You want to go first? If not, it'll be a long wait.

[Lucifer Pyrifax]

Alright then... I'll try to have it up by the end of the weekend.

[Meathos]

Alright, thanks. Take your time if you want.

[Underground Man]

This just so happens to be the match-up I expected in the finals of the latest Grim Reaper tournament.

So, needless to say, I'm excited. Subscribed.

[Lucifer Pyrifax]

Forgive my delay. I fell ill this week and was not in the mood to write until only recently.

Let's not disappoint.

The sudden gust of wind opened his mind to his surroundings. The ever present silence was diminishing as the screams of the world rushed. He sat in a sanctuary of nature, where no man had ever reached. A place that only angels and demons had ever reached, a paradise for those not of this world who were lost in this world. Contained on a crescent sliver of land where the sky opened up to the heavens, an asylum far above the world that gazed across the landscape below, this floating island passed through sky and time untouched. It was once the symbol of unity, where sky prostrated itself and bowed in humility to the mountains which stood up in defiance to spite the sky. Yet, the gods crushed this seemingly heretical sign of nature, and this island was the only remnant that remained of this juncture of divinity and nature. It floated ignorantly and oblivious to the world around. It was bliss.

His meditations confused and disoriented himself. They were awkward, such that he had no place to go but within,which for him was in constant tumult. It was this struggle that had led him to stay on this island for a long time. He himself had lost count of the days as he looked inward to cleanse his own personal chaos. The flora on the island had even begun to grow around him, for he once sat in a wide grassy plain, but now small trees had begun to sprout to his sides.

Each day became more chaotic than the previous. For his meditations were constantly interrupted by Gaia's screams. This island more so than any place in the world was in touch with her mind, for it was a part of her crafted specially to appeal to the heavens above. Here he felt in tune with the world, far more than those silly mystics below that drank, smoked, and sinned their way into "enlightenment."

A shrill black wind whistled around Lucifer. His eyes opened just enough to take in the waning light of dusk, just enough to catch the glare off the horizon far below him. This wind heralded Gaia's screams, for as it gusted around him, her screams were soon to follow. He stood slowly, his legs getting used to rising again. He brushed the grass off his loose-fitting black robes. He pushed back his sleeves to reveal pallid arms covered in the scars of battle and the runes of war. He pushed his platinum-blonde hair out of face, and then he arched his back forward and unfolded his wings to the sky above, the feathers casting a soft white light on the lush green at his feet. He breathed in deeply, taking in the serenity of the sanctuary in one last breath, for he knew that he was soon to leave this place. A cynical smile took shape on his lips, his ice-blue eyes surveying the world around him.

Black lightning arcing between his fingertips, he reached his hand out over the world below him. A small portal opened up underneath his outstretched palm from which his weapon, Redemption, was summoned. The double-edged scythe,the Soul-Stealer, emanated a sickly red colour, indicative of its hunger. It hovered in air for a second, and then it floated to his side without any beckon on Lucifer's part.

He stretched out his arms, and opened his wings and flew up a few feet, taking in the view of the world below the island one last time. He dared not laugh nor speak, lest he break the sacred silence of that place. Instead, he descended to where Redemption still hovered. His eyes closed, and he spoke out to his weapon in the softest whispers.

"This, old friend, is one of our last rests. From here, there is no time to turn back. Even fate has us intertwined around its dainty finger, and without Anastasia, I fear that the coil of destiny can only surprise us now."

His eyes opened and swept across the island. Mostly flat, it had only one peak where there lay a sanctuary to a goddess from times before. Down that small mountain rested one forest that wrapped itself around the rock, and it continued down to the plains where Lucifer had sat. Without turning back to look at the world, he began to walk toward the forest, his mind beginning to wander back to the chaos inside of him, oblivious to the world outside of himself for now.


::EDIT::

I hate Notepad. Sorry for the aggravating read due to shenaniganical formatting. Ridiculous line breaks fixed.

[Meathos]

He sighed, as he was content. He sat, yet was uncomfortable. His back stiffened as he placed it against the downed tree, his flanks prodded by some leather strap that did not exist. An itch tickled his head, buried in a forest of fire-red hair, clean kept and rather short. He rested his eyes, breathed happily, a beaming grin across his face as he was kissed by the sun from below the island, bouncing off the clouds above, yet his leg twitched. Endless torment without torture. His own little patch of purgatory, he had been granted it because of his deeds in his previous life, or else his isolation was part of his stay until Judgment Day.
Alone, he heard nothing but the chill of a wind that had not graced him with its presence since it carried him off to his island. No birds, no bugs, no animals, just plants, for the most part, and himself, of course. He grew tired of resting after the few seconds he was idle, and stood, once again. Armour clinked and sang as it banged and rubbed on itself, leather squeaked at its creases, a sword slapped on his leg. The sun now kissed his rather light plated armour, made of not much more than a breast and back plate, bracers, and some pieces hanging from a belt to protect his upper legs. He stretched, throwing a dark grey cloak back, until it was acting as a cape. Chainmail peeked shyly out of seams of his armour as his arms rose to the heavens, and bravely at the shoulders. His leather trousers were covered by the links from the hips to just above his knees, and also bits of branch and foliage, as he had just been sitting on the forest floor.
The wind persisted, still. It was odd, he thought, as it hadn’t existed before on the island, not as long as he could remember. But, that meant nothing, of course, seeing as he had died in 956, and it was the year… The sun blinded him as a branch danced in the wind. At least something was enjoying the newcomer. He hated this new wind. It changed things, caused him more discomfort. He scratched at a bit of stubble on his jaw line, strong and defined, and cursed the wind further. Why, or where he cursed the wind to, he didn’t know. There was nowhere for it to go but this island, and there was no one there but him…
A stranger approached, this time he was flesh and blood, it seemed. He carried a twisted, dark looking weapon, and he appeared to be deep in thought, stream of consciousness personified in his long, aged hair. Curious, the armoured man began to quietly move towards the black robed man, when just as he had placed an old boot upon the forest floor, a voice wept on the wind, still blowing gently:
“Stay! Do not move further, young one,” the voice was unmistakably unrecognizable, “you know not what you do, nor do you know who it is you are about to confront. Listen, I pray you, and do not move-” the voice hissed, “not until I command you to. I am in quite a predicament, young one, and I need your help, the situation is dire, and if you are to do this, He will ensure your eternal health, from Judgment Day to the end of His will.”
The man stepped forward, deliberately cracking a rather thick stick on the forest floor. He was quite pleased, and surprised, to see that the intruder had not noticed. In fact, not a twitch was observed anywhere in his ancient looking body. Another twig snapped in the wailing of the wind, and nothing was heard but further, louder screams from the air, and still not a response from the comatose stranger. He drew his sword, hanging lazily on his left hip, purposely grinding the flat of the blade against decorative metal trimming of the leather with the caution of a young bird around the edges of a nest- careful not to fall, but curious and brave, wishing to soar higher, to defy the parents, to defy God. And still not a movement besides a stride from the dark. He throated a grunt, and crept quietly forward, now, approaching from the intruder’s right. More sticks were cracked, more wind roared, more unresponsiveness.
With reflecting sunlight from the clouds above piercing dancing leaves and branches of tall trees on the silvery crescent island in the sky, a hand reached out in the chaotic air, fingers stretched for something unknown, attempting contact, reaching for the everything that was nothing at all, and succeeded. A palm slapped a shoulder, fingers squeezed, and a voice cracked and spoke for the first time in a very, very long time.
“Are you lost?”
The silver-haired man spun, grizzly weapon raised, and looked startled. The red haired man stepped back cautiously, slowly, sword pointed to the ground. The wind howled.
After much hesitation, the intruder spoke: “Quite the contrary. I have been here a very long time…”
The red haired man’s brow twisted. “I doubt that,” his eyes studied the other, scars, dark eyes, history… It unnerved him, sent him back to his heels, did something to him that had not been done in centuries. He was afraid, just as he was upon the rolling fields in 956.
“Fate has tied a knot, and our strings compose it. Even now, she controls us, and you.”
“Do not listen, young one. He is nothing but a taint, poison. The realm in which you both are in is one that I cannot enter, not at this time. To open the seals now would interfere with everything. Listen to me, and do as I say. You will soar.” The voice on the wind whispered softly, this time.
“Fate…” The mouth of the armoured man muttered, as though a foul taste had entered. “Fate.” He shot a short blast of air from his nose, and continued. “She has a queer way about her, she takes everything, and loses nothing; Cluttered, her focus fades, and turmoil ensues.” His mind trailed back to the fields…
A stare hit him in the face as his eyes focused once again. “This shall be the end of all things, and the beginning of some. I can do nothing but be surprised now, without my Anastasia.” A dark, sickening weapon moved, and a man scurried backwards, raising a sword.
“I’ve still my anesthesia,” the red haired man said grimly, “and my name. Meathos Alregdia.” He tapped the intruder’s weapon with his sword’s tip, “You have one, or has she taken that, as well?”
The intruder’s wings cracked open, and spread wide. Meathos had not seen them before, even as he gripped the shoulder of the man. “Listen not to him…” The voice on the howling, chilling wind spoke softly again, soothing, brilliant. The sun cascaded from world to world, and another ring of steel echoed as man beckoned his nemesis.


Meh. It'll do. I'm not going for anything fancy yet. I want this to be more of a stepping stone to rebuilding C&CW.

Son of a f*ck. Spacing. Ugh.


Hold on.



READ THIS LUCI

He sighed, as he was content. He sat, yet was uncomfortable. His back stiffened as he placed it against the downed tree, his flanks prodded by some leather strap that did not exist. An itch tickled his head, buried in a forest of fire-red hair, clean kept and rather short. He rested his eyes, breathed happily, a beaming grin across his face as he was kissed by the sun from below the island, bouncing off the clouds above, yet his leg twitched. Endless torment without torture. His own little patch of purgatory, he had been granted it because of his deeds in his previous life, or else his isolation was part of his stay until Judgment Day.

Alone, he heard nothing but the chill of a wind that had not graced him with its presence since it carried him off to his island. No birds, no bugs, no animals, just plants, for the most part, and himself, of course. He grew tired of resting after the few seconds he was idle, and stood, once again. Armour clinked and sang as it banged and rubbed on itself, leather squeaked at its creases, a sword slapped on his leg. The sun now kissed his rather light plated armour, made of not much more than a breast and back plate, bracers, and some pieces hanging from a belt to protect his upper legs. He stretched, throwing a dark grey cloak back, until it was acting as a cape. Chainmail peeked shyly out of seams of his armour as his arms rose to the heavens, and bravely at the shoulders. His leather trousers were covered by the links from the hips to just above his knees, and also bits of branch and foliage, as he had just been sitting on the forest floor.

The wind persisted, still. It was odd, he thought, as it hadn’t existed before on the island, not as long as he could remember. But, that meant nothing, of course, seeing as he had died in 956, and it was the year… The sun blinded him as a branch danced in the wind. At least something was enjoying the newcomer. He hated this new wind. It changed things, caused him more discomfort. He scratched at a bit of stubble on his jaw line, strong and defined, and cursed the wind further. Why, or where he cursed the wind to, he didn’t know. There was nowhere for it to go but this island, and there was no one there but him…

A stranger approached, this time he was flesh and blood, it seemed. He carried a twisted, dark looking weapon, and he appeared to be deep in thought, stream of consciousness personified in his long, aged hair. Curious, the armoured man began to quietly move towards the black robed man, when just as he had placed an old boot upon the forest floor, a voice wept on the wind, still blowing gently:

“Stay! Do not move further, young one,” the voice was unmistakably unrecognizable, “you know not what you do, nor do you know who it is you are about to confront. Listen, I pray you, and do not move-” the voice hissed, “not until I command you to. I am in quite a predicament, young one, and I need your help, the situation is dire, and if you are to do this, He will ensure your eternal health, from Judgment Day to the end of His will.”

The man stepped forward, deliberately cracking a rather thick stick on the forest floor. He was quite pleased, and surprised, to see that the intruder had not noticed. In fact, not a twitch was observed anywhere in his ancient looking body. Another twig snapped in the wailing of the wind, and nothing was heard but further, louder screams from the air, and still not a response from the comatose stranger. He drew his sword, hanging lazily on his left hip, purposely grinding the flat of the blade against decorative metal trimming of the leather with the caution of a young bird around the edges of a nest- careful not to fall, but curious and brave, wishing to soar higher, to defy the parents, to defy God. And still not a movement besides a stride from the dark. He throated a grunt, and crept quietly forward, now, approaching from the intruder’s right. More sticks were cracked, more wind roared, more unresponsiveness.

With reflecting sunlight from the clouds above piercing dancing leaves and branches of tall trees on the silvery crescent island in the sky, a hand reached out in the chaotic air, fingers stretched for something unknown, attempting contact, reaching for the everything that was nothing at all, and succeeded. A palm slapped a shoulder, fingers squeezed, and a voice cracked and spoke for the first time in a very, very long time.

“Are you lost?”

The silver-haired man spun, grizzly weapon raised, and looked startled. The red haired man stepped back cautiously, slowly, sword pointed to the ground. The wind howled.

After much hesitation, the intruder spoke: “Quite the contrary. I have been here a very long time…”

The red haired man’s brow twisted. “I doubt that,” his eyes studied the other, scars, dark eyes, history… It unnerved him, sent him back to his heels, did something to him that had not been done in centuries. He was afraid, just as he was upon the rolling fields in 956.

“Fate has tied a knot, and our strings compose it. Even now, she controls us, and you.”

“Do not listen, young one. He is nothing but a taint, poison. The realm in which you both are in is one that I cannot enter, not at this time. To open the seals now would interfere with everything. Listen to me, and do as I say. You will soar.” The voice on the wind whispered softly, this time.

“Fate…” The mouth of the armoured man muttered, as though a foul taste had entered. “Fate.” He shot a short blast of air from his nose, and continued. “She has a queer way about her, she takes everything, and loses nothing; Cluttered, her focus fades, and turmoil ensues.” His mind trailed back to the fields…

A stare hit him in the face as his eyes focused once again. “This shall be the end of all things, and the beginning of some. I can do nothing but be surprised now, without my Anastasia.” A dark, sickening weapon moved, and a man scurried backwards, raising a sword.

“I’ve still my anesthesia,” the red haired man said grimly, “and my name. Meathos Alregdia.” He tapped the intruder’s weapon with his sword’s tip, “You have one, or has she taken that, as well?”

The intruder’s wings cracked open, and spread wide. Meathos had not seen them before, even as he gripped the shoulder of the man. “Listen not to him…” The voice on the howling, chilling wind spoke softly again, soothing, brilliant. The sun cascaded from world to world, and another ring of steel echoed as man beckoned his nemesis.




Sorry, it's ugly. I can't edit posts in here, because I'm not an ex-mod, which sucks. It'll get your attention, though.

[Lucifer Pyrifax]

Just checking in to let you know that I've read it and I've got the first draft down, but work has been busy so I should have it up Friday afternoon.

[Meathos]

Mmkay, take your time, God knows I did.

[Requiem]

How about we change the name of the thread to, "Perfect Example of a Fight That Will Never Finish" ?

[Meathos]

How about don't SPAM in my fight, Joe?

[Lucifer Pyrifax]

Forgive my delay. I sent a message to Meathos. I had been hospitalized with a combination of appendicitis followed by a bad reaction to the anesthetic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


A brisk wind suddenly swept through from the forest before them. Meathos' eyes seemed to respond to something in the wind, his mind and eyes perking up, his gaze returning to Lucifer's. Yet, his gaze lingered past Lucifer for a moment as he seemed to be listening. Instantly, Lucifer knew.

"You hear them?" he laughed as he turned away from Meathos, facing into the forest. "They are only an illusion. No wonder you're still here. You've been trapped by the ancients. You're nothing more than a plaything to them." Lucifer reached out to Redemption, the scythe responding to his touch by emanating a crimson red aura.

"For this, you have turned into sin in my eyes. My curse, or my own punishment, is judgment on what is left in this holy place. Ready yourself, Meathos."

Meathos' started to stretch his other arm to grab Lucifer's other shoulder, so as to inhibit his movements further, but Lucifer's body began to drop into the ground as a black pool enveloped the ground underneath his feet. Instantly, all but Lucifer's head was above ground, and he turned back to look at Meathos. "I am justice..." his voice trailing as he disappeared from view. Meathos didn't have time to gaze long at Lucifer's disappearing act before he noticed the weapon still hovering before him. He instantaneously reached for his sword, thankfully for him, for Redemption began its unholy onslaught, attacking without beckon from Lucifer. Meathos easily parried the attack, but his eyes were darting around the ground, the duskwoven light growing heavy on his eyes. The black pool began to bubble, and then its shadowy form moved toward the trees like thousands of bugs skittering toward the trees.

The wind rustled through the trees again, and Meathos' eyes seemed to fill with understanding as the wind enveloped him. Although Lucifer could not see Meathos' eyes, he could sense his heartbeat from where he hid behind the trees it began to calm. Surely, the gods that had forsaken him could not use a mortal's soul to fight him. However, he let his curiousity wane as he shifted from one shadow to another as he watched his weapon duel against Meathos.

"Show yourself! Don't let your toy do all your work for you!" Meathos screamed toward the trees, the rage in his voice causing the trees to shake. Lucifer laughed to himself as he jumped from shadow to shadow, watching Meathos' movements, studying his form and his unwavering stance as he parried Redemption's attacks. One attack after another came from the scythe, each parried or dodged by Meathos, his swordsmanship well steeled like his weapon.

"Enough," uttered Lucifer, his voice barely a whisper, yet it echoed as it jumped from the shadows of the leaves of the trees. Redemption suddenly flew backwards into the trees, leaving Meathos standing there, the sweat beading on his brow. Lucifer then emerged, his shadow reaching its thick fingers toward Meathos, the black substance trying to strangle Meathos before Lucifer even touched him.

"I am justice. I am neither angel nor demon, but I will judge your kind. Your transgressions and your tresspassing will not go unpunished." Before the words even reached Meathos' ears, Lucifer had already dashed in, Meathos' passed heartbeat pounding in his ears like wardrums of old. His blows came much faster than Redemption's swings alone, Meathos struggling to keep up with his faster swings. Each parry knocking Meathos back a step, each blow from Lucifer causing torrents of sweat to pour from Meathos' face, each breath Meathos taking getting heavier and heavier. Nature remained silent, the song of the blades echoing far beyond the clouds and into the heavens, an aria to a heresy.

Lucifer's strikes were increasing in strength, so much so that Meathos' own blade was becoming heavier and heavier in his hands. A smile grew over Lucifer's face, the perpetual sadism that ran through his body overcoming him as he could see the struggle in Meathos' eyes. Meathos could sense the balance of the fight easily swaying to Lucifer, yet he had yet to be able to measure Lucifer's true strength or speed, so there was little he could do. In an attempt to throw Lucifer off balance, he reached to grab the shaft of Redemption, hoping to rush Lucifer. He got a hand on Redemption, and he was about to thrust his sword into Lucifer, when a chill ran through his veins. Lucifer could see his eyes light up with that recognition yet again from the voices.

"Enough!" Lucifer pivoted on his right leg, avoiding the incoming thrust from Meathos' blade. His fingers began to pulse with dark energy, his mind concentrating daemonic poisons into his fingers, and his hand quickly snaked to Meathos' neck. He pushed his weight forward, his left leg shifting behind Meathos in order to trip him up. Meathos was caught off-guard, falling to his knees in front of Lucifer. Lucifer dug his fingers into Meathos' flesh, the shadow energy surging through Meathos' body.

"Tell me what they are telling you! How dare they forsake me?!" His grip around Meathos' neck tightening, the daemonic blood of Lucifer fighting with Meathos' blood for control of Meathos mind as Meathos struggled for consciousness. With each pulse of Lucifer's heartbeat, daemonic energy was being channeled into Meathos, and with every pulse of Meathos' heartbeat, he fought to resist Lucifer's grip, struggling to listen to the voices in the wind.

[Meathos]

A look of confusion, fear, and shock passed quickly on Meathos' face, just as a strong sweep of the wind kissed his cheeks and eyes. In its wake, the wind left a smile, a blessing. With sudden confidence, his voice whispered loudly: "They say that they have sent me, a forsaken mortal as you refer, to defeat you, a forsaken mortal." Meathos' eyes narrowed with delight.

Lucifer loosed his grip, and he stumbled back without noticing. He hissed in denial, and then lunged forward to regain his control in the fight. Meathos, however, seized the opportunity, and lunged forward, himself, burying his shoulder into his opponent, and then rolling off to one side. Lucifer fell backwards, but regained his footing, while Meathos clambered to all-fours, and then to his feet, picking up his weapon in the meantime.

“You lie,” Lucifer hissed, “LIE” Redemption arced forward like a tossed branch of a tree, flailing wildly at Alregdia. With a clang, it was blocked, thrown down as a toy. “I am –“

“Mortal.” Meathos throated, smiling harshly. He had the stranger, now, even though he hated the feel of the entire day. Another gust of wind, and another parried blow. “Forsaken!” The smile crept quietly more, cracking Meathos’ otherwise serene and stone face with a jagged, toothed gash. A bellow of denial swept across the crescent island, overpowering the wind.

The voices quieted, as the wind was knocked aside feebly from Lucifer’s scream, which echoed in his head, a haunting reminder of something that suddenly felt so long ago. Purgatory was an interesting place, or rather, an interesting time. The scream echoed once more, and then again, and again. With each reverberation, it evolved. It calmed. The bellow was no longer a shocking, intimidating wail of denial and rage; it was rather a sad, worried whelp, which died out quickly, but left a bitter tasting residue of sadness in Meathos’ mouth. He spat it out.

Lucifer looked at him as though he were something of a mutation. Quizzically, the man’s head irked to one side, like a curious dog, and then he spoke: “What do they say now?” The worry and shame were back in his voice, and it infected Meathos’ mouth once more. He spat again, ridding himself of the taste of pity, but not of the hint of anger rooted within the other’s voice. It continued to fester, to spread, until an electric feeling within his teeth caused his head to ache and his jaw to clench. His eyes narrowed, his voice churned in his throat, rolling backwards into a primal growl. His mouth opened wide, lips tucked into oblivion, his teeth were all that stood, and a roar escaped him that he had not seen in… Millennia.

The thunder rolled from his throat, and he moved as lightning. His blade flashed in the refracting sunlight, it cut the air and wind as it sang an ominous song to the world. It came down with the force of a mountain upon Lucifer, who seemed unamused, bored, although exceptionally worried. He slid to his left, wings outstretched, and Redemption soared to its master, and then parried. “What do they say now!?” Lucifer hissed as he sailed.

Meathos planted himself, and looked to his right, where Lucifer slid to a halt. He then crossed his left foot over his right, dropped his shoulder, and hacked at the man’s midsection, missing as he had slid away again. Meathos stopped his arms, and looked into the dark eyes of his opponent. He listened, and heard absolutely nothing- Just like before. He did make a strange face, though, to purposely cause Lucifer to quiver with either delight or fear, he did not know which. “They say that there is nothing more to speak of; Mortals are not worthy.”

Redemption shot out, and Meathos batted it away playfully. It flexed and bounced off of his blade, and shot backwards into an outraged Lucifer, hitting him beneath his nose but above his mouth. His head snapped back, and his arms moved lazily outwards, just as his wings did, and he stumbled backwards three steps. He then, with one hand at his face, still facing the sky, grabbed Redemption, and had it dance around his hand like a ribbon. His face returned to normal, and his eyes glared at the red-haired man before him in disgust.

“Lies.” His voice whispered on the wind, howling quiet, calm pandemonium, perpetual change in a timeless snapshot of the last fragment of a long-lost land, time, a victim of self-destruction perched high above a rotting, decaying planet full of those destined to reach high to the pit of damnation, dug by their own dirty hands.

There you go, Luci. It's not long, but it gets the jerb dunnnn.

[Meathos]

Just posting as a reminder to Luci. *nudge*

[Tekno]

Don't worry, I already did remind him, over a week ago. I'm sure he'll get to it eventually.

[Meathos]

Yeah... Lucifer?

[X]

You went from addressing him as Luci, to extending the full Lucifer. Ouch.

I promise I'll take less time, and I think my attack should be a large improvement. I'm studying this one, for what it's worth.

[Meathos]

Bumping in case it gets finished.

[Lucifer Pyrifax]

Better late than never, I suppose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He pushed his hair out of his eyes. The wind had shifted with the change in momentum of the fight, and pushed the platinum blonde strands into his face. He could feel the world slipping and the thirst rising in his throat as the hatred in his heart was overcoming him. "They cannot forsake me! I was once a great immortal! This is some trick! Some ploy! Some..." But his thoughts were spinning, and as the chaos in his mind grew, his own daemonic blood began to boil, and he could feel his own consciousness slipping as his emotions began to choke him.

He closed his eyes. In that instant, the past few minutes were all combined and congealed into one distorted painting, the colours splashed onto the canvas in a haste. Time stopped in his mind, and the picture began to shatter and crumble, the portrait set ablaze by the contempt burning through his body. And as this portrait burned, the ashes covered his beliefs and his thoughts in a haze. The picture was no more. The distress was sinking from his mind as the picture was no more, smoldering in the blackness of his mind's eye.

He opened his eyes and smiled. His eyes open to the world around him. But it was not the same world as it was when he closed his eyes. The colours were all wrong and all different. The trees were ablaze in putrid purples and reds, and the ground was white, bleached of vibrant life. The taste in his throat was that of smoke, the crisp and harsh taste of the burnt painting. But, he could feel the energy returning. He could sense the electricity forming in his fingertips, the daemonic energy flowing through him rekindling and reforming.

He closed his eyes again, and he raised his hand above his head. In his mind's eye, he could feel and see the wind stopping. He was changing the direction of the chaos, and it was in his fingertips that he would disprove the untrue whispers of the wind.

"They lied to you, boy," he spoke. Or, he didn't really speak. The voice came not from his throat but from the trees and the wind and the ground. Meathos stepped back, unwary but setting back into defence, not sure why the wind had changed suddenly. The whispers were no longer there, Lucifer was certain of that. This was his wind, his chaos, his momentum... his destiny! "I am far from mortal! And I will be freed from these chains of purgatory as I stain this fragmented world with your blood!"

It was in this changed world before his eyes that he could control. He was not mortal. He was Justice! His eyes opened once more, and the world was still its changed and distorted hues. Whether or not he did this, he was not certain, but he had an epiphany, and he would not lose to a mortal. The blackened sun fell down across the trees, and their shadows in this new world reached toward Meathos, their outstretched hands groping and grasping at his foreign silhouette.

Lucifer's shadow flickered on the ground. He watched it soar across the white canvas beneath him and sink underneath Meathos. Lucifer chuckled as he summoned Redemption to himself, and he began to walk forward to Meathos, still a good 20 paces away. Meathos readied himself, clutching his sword in his hands, but as Lucifer came closer, Meathos felt his body freeze up. It felt as though there were strings pulling at his arms, and that there was a being inside of him that wasn't his own. The sword dropped from his hands, the puppeteer pulling Meathos along, and Lucifer brought Redemption to Meathos' face, scraping one blade of the scythe slightly along Meathos' cheek, causing blood droplets to fall to the ground, staining the white floor of Lucifer's reality a dark black.

A red streak of blood ran down Meathos' face as he looked up at Lucifer, the sadism from before crossing the daemon's eyes. Lucifer pulled his hand back, the dark energy snaking through his fingers, and he pressed it against Meathos' stomach, the serpent of chaos extending from Lucifer's fingertips and into Meathos. The parasite of dark energy took ahold of Lucifer's shadow and it began to pulse one with Meathos' heartbeat, causing him pain at every breath.

"How does it feel? Even my own shadow is strong enough to detain you and control you. How, mortal, is it so that you think you can purge me from this purgatory? I am this world's justice. I am this world's God!" He brought his hand back, and he could feel his dark wind blowing again. Meathos would no more hear the voices, and Lucifer would extinguish his mortal soul from this realm, from his new disfigured world.

[Dark Cloud Star]

looking forward to seeing the end of this match. great rp lucifer.

[Meathos]

Meathos' body convulsed and twisted. His ears rang and screamed with a sort of rushing sound, like wind or water passing over him. The pain crashed against his face and stomach, spreading out to his fingertips and down into the ground. Every muscle spasming, every ounce of strength being drained. Sweat beaded and cooled quickly on his forehead, which flew backwards with his hair. His eyes, wild with pain and fury locked onto his enemy's face, and felt for the eyes. Their black abyss only added to his pain. His chest sunk and he dropped to his knees, only to be propped up once again by a shadow.

He couldn't see anything. All was a wet blur. He couldn't hear much, save the rushing and his own grunts and heaves. He tasted blood and electricity in his mouth, which he swore was smoking. He could smell his flesh cooking. A warm burning sensation began to spread throughout his stomach and into his lungs. The pain subsided. His head was swimming, and he felt numb and lighter.

It was familiar. Meathos swore it was the feeling of dying: He'd done that once before, after all, and nothing else came close to the situation he'd found himself in at that time. His memory reached back to 956, there, on the rolling plains, with the arrows and the steel and the screams, smoke and blood. He'd fallen into a bit of a ditch, a dead man lay beside him. Meathos clutched the blade he had stuck into his enemy's gut.

He looked up at his foe, and felt saddened. He began to weep. Yes, Meathos had been run through and was bleeding out, but he was sad because of the fact that he had killed a man who he had never known before. He had ended his life because of a banner. And that man had ended his. All for what?

He remembered waking up in the dismal purgatory a few seconds later. He felt at peace, but strangely annoyed all the same. He couldn't be upset by it, and that unsettled him, yet he didn't have the capacity to feel anything but disinterest. Meathos remembered shaking his head and assuming he didn't go to church enough, despite his epiphany.

Yet, here he was, in the clutches of what felt to be the deepest evil imaginable. Perhaps he was not in a purgatory, but Hell. Perhaps the Devil had only gotten around to torturing him just then. His eyes found the enemy's, and Meathos glared. Bastard tortured him enough while he was alive, what did he need with him afterwards? There was nothing he had done to deserve literal eternal torture and damnation.

At least the pain was subsiding. Perhaps that was just him shutting down and dying, despite the fact that he-

"I'm not mortal." Meathos grunted through gritted, cooking teeth. He didn't quite understand himself, and thought that his brain had fried and looked something like eggs on a hot plate. "I've died and lived. Have you?"

And there it was, Meathos thought, he'd done it again. The silver-haired demon's face morphed from one of satisfaction to one of puzzled worry, if only just. If only just enough to shake his concentration long enough to let the ancient soldier fall. Meathos fell onto his knees, and then his hands fell limp beside him. His eyes blurred out and he focused on nothing, but his mind was sharp: It kept talking to itself and it stayed awake and alive long enough to...

Meathos yelped in pain as the enemy gripped him once again. Feeling as though he had failed himself and all of humanity, Meathos looked down at his sword with unbearable desire.

"Do not listen to him, young one. I told you that he is a vile poison on you all, and I do not lie. Listen to me very carefully, and I promise you will be saved." The same voice from before entered his head, and washed away the waves of rushing pain. Meathos felt at peace, like he was floating. He slept away from the pain, and into a quiet grove of silent, thick tranquility. "So you see, now? Believe me."

"Something so divine should not need to persuade."

"Mortals bow. You do not bow."

Like an explosion, the world cannoned back into existence. Meathos was hit in the chest with it all, and his head imploded from the pressure. He hung in the enemy's grip, pain surging through him though he did not feel it. Looking up, a smile cracked the old soldier's face once again. "They say that I am not a mortal, and that you are a misguided, lost, childish little angel who took a temper tantrum." The next thing Meathos heard was a powerful laugh. A laugh that seemed to be his own.

"I had told you not to act until I said, young one. You acted. That was your mistake; you are human. But now, it is time to redeem your self. Do what comes natural, Meathos Alregdia. Do it now." The last word was blasted with such horrifying power that Meathos felt truly afraid and mortal. He dropped to his knees and hugged his head in terror. With eyes squinted shut and mouth gritted closed, Meathos began to sink his fingers into his hair, which was wet with sweat. He felt nothing but his heart knocking on his throat, his muscles tensing, and the cold kiss of steel upon his forehead.

Like a soothing damp cloth upon the forehead of a fever, the sword calmed the man and kidnapped his attention. His eyes opened slowly, and his jaw loosened, just as his hands moved towards the object. As his right hand gripped the hilt of the weapon, his whole body relaxed and cooled. Pain rushed from him, and into the ground, darkening it. Taking one last breath, Meathos launched his arm upwards, arcing his blade as wide and as high as he could with such force that he was thrown to his back.

Helpless, Meathos lay spread eagle, looking up at the creature before him. The enemy twisted and shrieked in surprise, looking down at its severed wing. The shadow no longer reached forward to molest Meathos; it lay still in the stain Meathos left with his pain upon the ground. Perhaps the Shadow was now clutching to that which man experienced most and was helpless in leaving anything but a reminder of it behind. Free of the pain and suffering, Meathos rose to his feet and re-armed himself, staring into the eyes of his enemy and foe.

The fiend lurched forward with Redemption, but was unsuccessful: Meathos was feeling much lighter, and had dive forwards, rolling under the attack. When he sprung to his feet, feeling quite accomplished yet disoriented and surprised, Meathos couldn’t help but toss a jab into the silver-haired menace. The slap cracked across the world. A hand soared out and grabbed Meathos’ throat, surprising him more, and beginning to crush his trachea.

At that point, Meathos’ sword was still in his right hand, hanging low, its tip sunk into the ground behind him, as though he were holding it there for some later attack. When the hand gripped his throat, Alregdia paid no attention to the looming weapon named Redemption, but instead shot a hand out and gripped the enemy’s wrist, shortly after delivering a kick to the other’s midsection. As the robed man was knocked backwards some, Meathos snapped into action and brought his sword’s hilt up and around, having it collide with his foe’s head.

A few drops of deep red blood splattered on the blank, white ground.

Meathos had shuffled backwards and was looking at his enemy, who was on a knee with a hand clasped to the left side of his head. Parts of his pristine silver hair were matted down and darkening. Redemption lay pinned under the other hand. At first, the red-haired man was smirking, happy with himself, but a concerned look quickly flashed across his sharp-featured visage. The entity before him was anchored to the stain Meathos had left upon the ground. Wallowing in shadow, pain, misery, death, torture, and sorrow, it seemed he was anchored to the spot, his world.

“You did not change this place, I did. You did not create this place. You do not control this place. You know nothing of beauty; only wickedness and twisted horrors meet your eyes.” Meathos paced around the stain, looking hard at the enemy’s head. “ It has already begun cleansing itself of your influence. It began when I arrived. I know that, now. When you focused your power to inflict pain and misery upon my body, you pulled from the painful stillness this place has endured for millennia.” Meathos looked up at the miscoloured, confused and free trees. “When I endured, so did this slice of purgatory which you had claimed as your kingdom. When I rebelled, so did it. It washed itself clean of your twisted influence, and so did I.”

Meathos Alregdia stopped at his enemy’s head, and looked down upon him. “So writhe in your domain, your patch of pain and suffering. You feed off of it, you thrive in it. The small bit is enough to sustain you, but not enough to quench your thirst, feed your hunger. Eternal restlessness and torment, indeed.”

Rid of the pain that surrounded him, Meathos the man began to walk off, hoping to meet his maker, the voice inside of his head.

What's next, our kills?

[Lucifer Pyrifax]

The world began to flicker again, the hues mutating in Lucifer's eyes as he tried to catch himself. His breathing was staggered and heavy, and he blinked again, trying to make sure that he saw what he wanted, but even he knew that Purgatory itself was soon to be torn asunder. The blow to his head hadn't altered his vision, but now he could see everything clearly.

"No longer will you preach to me about your mortality or lack thereof." Lucifer propped himself on one knee, the other gripping Redemption. "I created this world. I feast on the souls that pass through this Purgatory, and you will be no different. I did not live and die. I simply exist as a creature of death. And your soul will know its eternal rest in my shackles!"

Lucifer wiped the look of puzzlement off his face. Pulling one of the scythe-blades of Redemption into his palm, he sliced across his flesh, the sound echoing across the silenced grounds. He chuckled to himself, the blood falling to the ground, staining the splattered picture a deep blue. The black and white coalesce with this new colour as his blood meshes with the soil canvas, a new picture waiting to be painted. The ground rumbles as Lucifer's blood awakens the soul of Purgatory itself, the daemonic blood coursing into the roots of the trees, up into the rocks of the hills, and spreading out from Lucifer's hands, consuming the uncoloured world.

"I know you can see it now. With my energy and my venom thriving on your life, I know that my twisted and perverted version of this world is yours to behold. I have given you my eyes, Meathos, and with those you shall see the transformation, and you will bear witness to your final demise. There will not be another reincarnation for you!"

Lucifer clasps his hands together, and the world around him begins to crumble and shake. Meathos steadies himself, his eyes carefully eyeing the daemon, waiting for his next move. His hands grip tightly around his blade, and as Lucifer begins to close his eyes again and begins to mutter incantations, Meathos charges in, swinging his weapon at the throat of Lucifer.

A column of black dirt rises up in the path of the blade, parrying the blow to the side. The earth beneath Lucifer's and Meathos' feet begins to bubble, as if the life of the ground below was gasping for air underneath the surface. The ooze begins to envelop Lucifer, and before Meathos can take another swing at the daemon, he has already disappeared under the ground, his cackle reverberating across the ominously shifting grounds.

And, as quickly as the transformation began, the earth and the winds are both stilled. A suffocating calm passes over Meathos, nauseating sulfurous taste in his mouth. With the daemon out of sight, his mind begins to race faster as his heartbeat quickens. Meathos' senses, instincts, and thoughts all quicken and become more alert, preparing himself for the ominous onslaught.

"This is a world of change. Already, with my life force, I have taken root in this island. A seed from my dark energy, its thirst quenched by my blood. I shall not name it, for the tree that grows from this will only be recognized in fear." Lucifer's voice is unsteady, but again bouncing through the air, coming at Meathos from every direction. Lucifer's words are like arrows as Meathos tries to dodge every annunciated syllable as though it were an attack.

"Do not fight what you cannot control. The flora of my new world will feed on your darker emotions, as you shall soon see. The birds will feast like vultures upon the remains of your heart, and the humanity of the world will be extinguished as they crave their own flesh. This is not the world I envisioned, but Gaia knows how to reclaim its world. And, when she does, I will strike at her center, and the true transformation, my Redemption, shall commence." And, as that last word rang through Meathos' ears, he felt his muscles relaxing against his will, and his thoughts were no longer his. It was if the ocean's roar had filled his mind, for he could hear nothing over the chaos outside of his head.

"Thus, the poison holds. Now, you will be consumed." From underneath Meathos' feet, the soil began to ooze and bubble again. Thick black roots began to wind their way around Meathos' legs, binding him to the ground where he stood. The terra firma underneath Meathos' feet cracked, and through the darkness he fell. He tried to feel his way around, but everything he touched felt like warm and wet soil. Yet, he could sense that this new prison was reaching out to him, and when he pulled his hand to his face, he could see the droplets of blood falling from his skin where little pinpricks had torn his skin.

Lucifer's voice again emanated from everywhere, centering on Meathos' chest. Throughout his body he could feel Lucifer's harsh voice shaking his core, but he could do nothing but fall as the roots dragged him through the soil. "There is nothing left now but to embrace your end. Soon you will be totally immersed in the true horrors that you cannot quite see." More and more it felt like he was covered in tiny insects, siphoning more of his blood from the little pinpricks on covering his exposed flesh. He tried to fight back against it, but all he felt was the black ooze around him, a balmy prison through which he was being pulled. Meathos closed his eyes against his will again, but his own spirit fought against the poisonous energy coursing through him.

As the "bites" began to intensify and nearly grow unbearable, through the island's bottom he emerged. He opened his eyes to find himself dangling alongside what appeared to be a large black tree growing downward from the island. However, as his eyes began to adjust to the dusklight around him, he could see hundreds of faces stretched in anguish and agony growing from the bark of the tree. As Meathos passed, they screamed at him, each voice in a different language and tone. His descent slowing, Meathos examined himself, noticing the thousands of infinitesimal marks along his flesh. He gripped his sword tightly as he stopped falling, a platform of roots forming beneath his feet as he stood atop a pedastal carved from the black tree. He stood over the world, his feet firmly anchored by the vines around his calves.

"I wanted to show you what you would become, Meathos." Meathos could not turn to face the daemon, but the wind from Lucifer's wings brushed against the back of Meathos' neck.

"But, it is not fully alive. I will nourish it with one last flavor, and then you will be the first soul, the starting catalyst, toward what the world below us will suffer. You, boy, were so sure of your second life, but I assure you it was nothing more than an illusion." Lucifer hovered around to the front of Meathos, but Lucifer's eyes looked past Meathos, down through the passing clouds to the world below. The wispy clouds wrapping around the two like funeral shrouds. The procession of clouds passing the two as the their eternal march would not be interrupted by the fateful happenings occuring.

"And, it shall begin. The end of the times, in a sense. But, once this passes, it will be a true new beginning. You were useful for one thing. Be grateful of that. You were the Icarus to this myth. You flew too close to me, and your wings were stolen." Lucifer's platinum hair shined softly in the dying dusklight, the wind passing through his wings. Lucifer held Redemption, the Captor of Souls, over his head, each hand spaced apart. With one swift motion, he broke the scythe in half.

In an instant, thousands of screams rolled out over the clouds, all of the wisps scattering off into the dusklight, revealing the world below. The lamp lights and smoke below peeking up at the display in the sky, the daemon's shimmering wings a beacon to the world below. As he broke Redemption, a bright light eclipsed the world, and all of the watching eyes were blinded.

Just as the screams enveloped the two, instantly thousands of vines, roots, and branches stemmed from the trees around the bright light, suddenly surrounding it and devouring it, assimilating the souls from Redemption into itself. And as fast as the bright light and the screams emerged from Lucifer's weapon, it disappeared into the tree. A large and sinister smile reached across the daemon's face as a deep bellowing sound surged through the tree trunk.

"And I have given the tree life. Now alive, it must feed. Goodbye, dear mortal." Lucifer's fingers sparked with his dark energy, and as his fists tightened, so did the roots around Meathos' feet. His other hand spun in the air, turning Meathos toward the tree. Lucifer then created a purple barrier between himself and Meathos, a soft laughter escaping him as the tree came to life, new branches growing from the trunk to Meathos. Each leaf emanated an energy blacker than even the daemon's, and as the vines wrapped around Meathos' body, Lucifer's laughter grew into a cackle, the daemon pushing his barrier into Meathos' back, pushing the mortal straight into the tree. A large abscess opened in the bark of the tree, into which Meathos sank into the bark, his screams muffled by the vines keeping his mouth shut.

As Meathos fell into the tree, Lucifer rushed to the bark around the quickly closing skin of his creation. As he moved to the tree, the monstrosity attacked him as well with its vines. Lucifer screamed in agony, the vines set ablaze as they wrapped around his legs, the darkness igniting the tree's tendrils in dark flames. They recoiled, giving Lucifer time to reach the tree trunk, and with one swift motion, he plunged his hand into the tree. From his fingers, a seal emerged and traced itself on the tree - a six pointed star, in its center a cylinder with the symbols of the elements writ along its curves.

Lucifer gasping for air, the vines hesitantly keeping their distance from the daemon. He growled, and the tree retracted its appendages into its body. Lucifer angrily condensed a ball of dark flame, expanded it, and then hurled it at the tree in spite.

"For now, monstrous seed, I will let you live. But for now, you will only serve my Redemption. You will serve as my weapon..." In one hand, he held a silvery strand of luminous energy, in which the face of Meathos could faintly be seen. In his other, he held the fragments of Redemption. He wrapped his wings around him, unfurling them, flapping them once, and then flying off through the reforming clouds. The apathetic spectators continued their endless pace, trudging across the nightscape as Lucifer would return to his island sanctuary, escaping to his meditations as his new instrument would begin the next act of the play.

And, yes, our kills are up. I apologize for the delay, but summer, and with that hell, is over.

[Moridin]

One more post and I get to ref something for the first time in I don't know how long. Get to it Meathos.

[Meathos]

lol, almost forgot to. I'll work on it