The virus spreads...
Jan. 19th, 2009 04:10 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
astro-dust.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
zg_shadowsYes... it's more Soul Calibur/ZG fic.
Short panting breaths seemed to time the adrenaline pumping though his body. Rushing forth, Patches closed the distance in less than a heartbeat as the sweet rush of Luna’s rage swept through him. In the same motion he struck out with the strange fighting shards as fluidly as if they were his own fangs, blow after blow rushed from Patches’ weapons, punishing the fomori beast for its effrontery to Gaia’s law. Each time it would swing its immense axe to cleave Patches in two, the twin weapons would strike at the brute’s immense mass of corded and distorted muscle.
**
Patches took stock of the battle, his pack was not with him, but that did not seem to matter strangely enough. More strangely, he was not in Hispo form, not even in Crinos. Perhaps it was the terms of this challenge that he fight in Homid. His skin was a darker tan than he knew of himself and his hair had been bleached to a dark chestnut brown from a sun his home country had never really known. He readied himself into a fighting stance, and raised a strange weapon in each hand; things that looked like a strange blend of bone and crystal. Was Patches truly fighting this battle? Or was this the echo of a past life? That couldn’t be, this was not one of his fore-mothers, he was still quite certainly masculine...
**
Suddenly the blunt top of the axe thudded into his abdomen. The grating of the floor slipped away as Patches was lifted off the ground, hurtling through the air on the tip of the colossal axe. The walls of the cage blurred as they spun around him as he swung around, the force of the axe pinning him on its blunt top, only to swiftly descend into the metal floor with a sickening crunch.
Luna’s blessing to ignore the stabs of pain must have aided him, as there was a numb acknowledgment of suffering (and almost loss?) rather than the searing fire that would accompany several fractured segments of his spine. Rolling swiftly to the left to avoid a thundering cleave of the axe raining down on his believed prone form, Patches came to his feet at an almost dead run. His weapon shards moving in a series of attacks unknown to his usual battle style, Patches vaulted into a forward somersault, the wicked tips of his weapons slicing at the fomori’s tainted flesh twice before his feet returned to the ground.
The light of the torches illuminating the challenge guttered and grew dim, all radiance faded for a brief instant as the only light and fire seemed to exist around that great monstrosity of an axe the fomori held. Patches could sense dark power building towards a surely devastating strike. Already Patches was charging ahead, trying to get inside the creature’s guard, two more steps and the young Adren launched into another somersault, the tips of his weapon shards slicing into the creature’s flesh three times before his feet landed once more onto the metal grating. The axe heaved forward and knocked Patches back a stumbling step, the blade of that great axe cleaved across his chest in what would have been blazing agony if not for the blessing of his auspice.
Patches knew he had to end it now, a few more hits from that tainted weapon and he would be joining Jerusalem-ryah and Sulien-ryah in the list of London’s dead. He sprung forth, colliding his body into the brutes, the force of the rush actually toppling the mockery of life to the floor. Pinning each hugely deformed shoulder with his knees, Patches brought each spiked tip of his fighting shard to either side of his opponent’s throat.
“This is Justice!!!”
**
Sand danced in the air of the desert night sky, the scents of oil burning in the ceremonial torches marked the wind with perfumes long since soured. Tall bars of iron caged the rooftop, leaving a roofless open sky above, Egyptian monuments perceivable in the silvered light of Luna’s full face. But the cage marked this rooftop for the battleground that it was. The great beast lay there, its immense brutish bulk heaving as it suffered from the fight. Was it a fomori? It seemed likely, baleful eyes glowed dully likes coals above a bizarre steel mask that encased its lower face. A still beating heart protruded from its chest in an obscene mockery of Gaia’s creations as it still feebly grasped for its great axe as gargantuan as its defiled wielder.
Something stirred in the skies beyond the cage as Patches cast his golden wolf eyes past the bars. It was the kind of movement that had no physical state, maybe a presence? A stray wisp of a scent flew past in the breeze. A scent that was chillingly familiar. A scent of spices and oils, mixed with human she-musk...
“Sulie...”
**
Patches awoke. Thankfully back in Lupus form he kicked away the blankets... Blankets?? He was not in his den. That’s right, he had agreed to stay at Ylli’s house and the kin had fussed at him, insisting that he curl up on the couch. Soft monkeys. No wonder he was having such crazy monkey dreams.
But was it just a monkey dream? He had been sent dreams of prophecy before. The gathering of the departed had gone accordingly, he had seen to that himself. But for the rest of the night, Patches could not sleep. He crept out of the house and made his way back to his den on the Bawn. In those hours walking as he returned to the Caern, his mind was plagued by the thought of souls that did not wish to rest...
Short panting breaths seemed to time the adrenaline pumping though his body. Rushing forth, Patches closed the distance in less than a heartbeat as the sweet rush of Luna’s rage swept through him. In the same motion he struck out with the strange fighting shards as fluidly as if they were his own fangs, blow after blow rushed from Patches’ weapons, punishing the fomori beast for its effrontery to Gaia’s law. Each time it would swing its immense axe to cleave Patches in two, the twin weapons would strike at the brute’s immense mass of corded and distorted muscle.
**
Patches took stock of the battle, his pack was not with him, but that did not seem to matter strangely enough. More strangely, he was not in Hispo form, not even in Crinos. Perhaps it was the terms of this challenge that he fight in Homid. His skin was a darker tan than he knew of himself and his hair had been bleached to a dark chestnut brown from a sun his home country had never really known. He readied himself into a fighting stance, and raised a strange weapon in each hand; things that looked like a strange blend of bone and crystal. Was Patches truly fighting this battle? Or was this the echo of a past life? That couldn’t be, this was not one of his fore-mothers, he was still quite certainly masculine...
**
Suddenly the blunt top of the axe thudded into his abdomen. The grating of the floor slipped away as Patches was lifted off the ground, hurtling through the air on the tip of the colossal axe. The walls of the cage blurred as they spun around him as he swung around, the force of the axe pinning him on its blunt top, only to swiftly descend into the metal floor with a sickening crunch.
Luna’s blessing to ignore the stabs of pain must have aided him, as there was a numb acknowledgment of suffering (and almost loss?) rather than the searing fire that would accompany several fractured segments of his spine. Rolling swiftly to the left to avoid a thundering cleave of the axe raining down on his believed prone form, Patches came to his feet at an almost dead run. His weapon shards moving in a series of attacks unknown to his usual battle style, Patches vaulted into a forward somersault, the wicked tips of his weapons slicing at the fomori’s tainted flesh twice before his feet returned to the ground.
The light of the torches illuminating the challenge guttered and grew dim, all radiance faded for a brief instant as the only light and fire seemed to exist around that great monstrosity of an axe the fomori held. Patches could sense dark power building towards a surely devastating strike. Already Patches was charging ahead, trying to get inside the creature’s guard, two more steps and the young Adren launched into another somersault, the tips of his weapon shards slicing into the creature’s flesh three times before his feet landed once more onto the metal grating. The axe heaved forward and knocked Patches back a stumbling step, the blade of that great axe cleaved across his chest in what would have been blazing agony if not for the blessing of his auspice.
Patches knew he had to end it now, a few more hits from that tainted weapon and he would be joining Jerusalem-ryah and Sulien-ryah in the list of London’s dead. He sprung forth, colliding his body into the brutes, the force of the rush actually toppling the mockery of life to the floor. Pinning each hugely deformed shoulder with his knees, Patches brought each spiked tip of his fighting shard to either side of his opponent’s throat.
“This is Justice!!!”
**
Sand danced in the air of the desert night sky, the scents of oil burning in the ceremonial torches marked the wind with perfumes long since soured. Tall bars of iron caged the rooftop, leaving a roofless open sky above, Egyptian monuments perceivable in the silvered light of Luna’s full face. But the cage marked this rooftop for the battleground that it was. The great beast lay there, its immense brutish bulk heaving as it suffered from the fight. Was it a fomori? It seemed likely, baleful eyes glowed dully likes coals above a bizarre steel mask that encased its lower face. A still beating heart protruded from its chest in an obscene mockery of Gaia’s creations as it still feebly grasped for its great axe as gargantuan as its defiled wielder.
Something stirred in the skies beyond the cage as Patches cast his golden wolf eyes past the bars. It was the kind of movement that had no physical state, maybe a presence? A stray wisp of a scent flew past in the breeze. A scent that was chillingly familiar. A scent of spices and oils, mixed with human she-musk...
“Sulie...”
**
Patches awoke. Thankfully back in Lupus form he kicked away the blankets... Blankets?? He was not in his den. That’s right, he had agreed to stay at Ylli’s house and the kin had fussed at him, insisting that he curl up on the couch. Soft monkeys. No wonder he was having such crazy monkey dreams.
But was it just a monkey dream? He had been sent dreams of prophecy before. The gathering of the departed had gone accordingly, he had seen to that himself. But for the rest of the night, Patches could not sleep. He crept out of the house and made his way back to his den on the Bawn. In those hours walking as he returned to the Caern, his mind was plagued by the thought of souls that did not wish to rest...
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no subject
Date: 2009-01-19 11:53 pm (UTC)That's really sweet :)
I'm now trying to work out which character you used there. Only being really familiar with SCII is not helping :) I am disturbed that the moves look awfully Voldo-ish...
no subject
Date: 2009-01-20 12:05 am (UTC)As much as I'd like to leave such things to mystery, I cannot abide the thought that anyone would think I write _Voldo_ fic... (shudder)
It's Patches vs Asteroth. Patches was made using Talim's move set, but his lupus brain doesn't know the word for 'tonfa'.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-20 08:07 am (UTC)This is the problem with trying to recognise moves using a hazy memory of SCII; Talim wasn't in it :)