Description: Dear Diary, today I will be graduating. They tell me there will still be tests all of the time. And trials. And lots of work. But now sometimes it will also mean doing things outside of the base. I do not look forward to the idea of fighting someone using fire though...
It wasn't exactly a subtle performance. 'Dash' made a splash as the stand-in for Kyo and new rumored love interest of one Athena Asamiya-- partly because the white-haired mutant wielded the Kusanagi birthright with aplomb that some claimed outstripped the scion of that flame outright. Look, don't blame K' for any alleged misinformation: fuckers get away with saying all sorts of bullshit on TV. The /point/ of the whole thing is: that stupid-ass pop princess attracted all KINDS of more attention than K-Unit-Fucking-Prime was really looking for when he signed a fake name on the dotted line for a quick paycheck for waiving all kinds of rights and stepping into the ring with an enraged god damned gorilla.
Still, he got away clean, or so K' liked to think: rode an old cruiser from a lot a few blocks from the fight, back out to the very fringe of Southtown. The city can't sprawl any further towards the water, but now and then it tries to lurch a little farther inland, in this case a cul de sac that forms a gated community-- or it will be, in a year. Right now only a few of the houses are finished, and construction works days on the rest. No one's noticed the weapon of mass destruction crashing in one of the finished ones; go fig. It's got everything but operating utilities, a little halfassed campsite set up in an upstairs room, a lovely picturesque view of the woodlands: at least until the next development deal comes through.
It's getting into late night now but K' is nowhere near sleep, instead smoking a cigarette lit from a containment gloved hand's easily flowing fires as he stands on the back balcony of a house that'll never be his, in a neighborhood he likes better now anyway, when it's nothing for miles but maybe another squatter or five and the idle machinery. He's up on the ledge with one leg hanging over the dropoff, dressed simply but functionally right down to the shitkicker boots in a t-shirt and denim; all black, of course. Like K' always is: he's ready to run. Though there is a rather notorious flipside to the flight side of his instincts, where this particular rogue bioweapon is concerned...
While trained in tracking targets, running down prey, and sneaking around without being noticed, the latest addition to NESTS' weaponized humans is not the biggest threat to the rogue project's ability to stay off the grid. No, the biggest danger to that would be the countless operatives dispersed throughout the world. Trained to blend into crowds, frequently flocking to fighting events in search of the latest tidbit of intel pertinent to the Cartel's interests. Recorders, trackers, note takers... the nameless busybodies all funneling their gathered data up the chain of command.
"'Third street in. The dead end.'"
The voice rattled in her earpiece. She was getting close now.
He might not have drawn notice just for participating in the holiday fight festivities except that Athena Asamiya herself, a new fighter in the field with a incredible success rate against increasingly powerful fighters, was on the watch list. Six months in the sport and she had gone completely undefeated as of yet by Halloween. Definitely someone to keep an eye on. That the stranger in the crowd, looking just like any other citizen of Southtown out enjoying the entertainment, realized just who the rising star was teamed up with really was just bad luck.
"'By the forest.'"
This was her first time outside of the labratories. Her chance to prove their investment was sound. Slipping silently through the structural skeleton of a nearby building, her eyes, glimmering dim crimson, the Anti-K' project shifted her attention to the upper floor of the neighboring house.
"I see him."
She whispers. This was just like the countless training missions she had been subjected to before now. But her heart was racing unlike it ever had before. Training... training was preparing for her purpose. But this? This would secure her place in her family. And now that she could see him...
"'Your heartrate is up. Is everything under control, Kula?'"
A yellow gloved hand lifts to her chest, the assassin glancing down in thought. Closing her eyes, she breaths in then exhales slowly, repeating the process twice, as little by little, she slows her own heartrate and breathing as she was taught for maximizing stealth.
"Under control." she murmurs softly.
Moving off the concrete foundation, she slips around piles of raw construction materials, a stack of beams, a box of tiles, beneath the large backhoe of a tractor, moving from shadow to shadow. Adjacent to the base of the house now, she extends her hand, pressing it against the painted exterior of the finished home. It takes only the slightest release of energy to form the ice that allows her to cling to the sheer wall. The process is repeated for her other hand, then her feet, then lifting her hand, she repeats it again.
Her target is the roof of the home from where she creeps along slowly to the back where the balcony was occupied when last she stood at an angle able to see it.
"'Good luck. We've lost a lot-... well, don't fail.'"
She doesn't know the death toll that has been paid in pursuit of this man. She only knows that he is dangerous, wild, out of control. That his flames are powerful and unpredictable. And, most importantly, that she was designed to exceed him in every way.
She wastes no time peeking over the balcony but rather goes in attacking, leaping from a few meters away down toward the railing that she had identified K' being at just before climbing.
The only warning would be the flash of white as freezing cold energy courses down her leather-clad leg and encases her foot in crystalline water in the shape of a scythe dropping down directly for where the K' project renegade was enjoying a smoke just sixty seconds before!
COMBATSYS: Kula has started a fight here.
COMBATSYS: K' has joined the fight here.
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Kula 0/-------/------=|-------\-------\0 K'
COMBATSYS: K' interrupts Strong Kick from Kula with Crow Bite EX.
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Kula 0/-------/--=====|=======\-------\0 K'
They've been hunting K' a long time. Really, it's been a year, maybe 18 months, and the white-haired renegade has been off the grid for a chunk of that time, left as an intriguing and chaotic experiment by the mad head of NESTS-- but it feels like a lot longer to the Beast of Flame. Now his path intersects with the agents of the Cartel once more, perhaps perturbed at the damage he's done to several periphery installations, of late liberating gear, intel... even experiments. Perhaps they've just decided it's time to test out their newest lethal weapon. End result is the same: Agent or agents are sent in, fight or flight results in spectacular fashion that often necessitates ludicrous insurance claims.
She's good, once focused. No more than a tingle on the back of the Prototype's neck, a nagging feeling in the back of his mind for long moments as Kula scampers up the outer walls, gets the literal drop on him. In this case, though, the newest NESTS killdroid would have done better sticking to metaphor. K' is certainly caught beneath her harsh drop, there is that small comfort. The most high-tech in a long line of history's unlikeliest assassins isn't even halfway down when the LED indicator on a red and black limiter glove, a prototype worth nearly as much as either of the living weapons, flares to max and flashes in silent alarm.
It's an instant's warning, a split second before raging orange fire erupts from K''s fingertips, roaring up one flexing arm as he's launched like a rocket from his one anchored leg... and the sheer momentum of unleashing chi, surging forth from its cosmic wellspring with a violent gasp as it consumes all the oxygen in its path-- and devours Kula in that burning void. The ice is melted away like a stinging slap, the brutal impact is one more bruise on the Beast's resilient frame: He turns the impact from his collarbone as he twists a sudden spiral and crashes a haymaker of a right fist up and into Kula instead. It crashes into her midsection, carries upwards into her skull, /launches/ K' up and past her in a brilliant firework of autumn hues as the world's deadliest fucking snowcone is sent flying back towards the rooftop.
The prototype lands, melting shingles where he touches as Kusanagi fire seems to cry to be released-- she probably doesn't need her guages to realize K' is even more of a threat than the last reliable readings suggested. One would reference metaphors of fishes and water, but it hardly seems appropriate. It's only in that instant /after/ instinct kicks in, after he launches a reprisal that could maim a less mighty mortal, that K' really gets a good look at who's coming to attack him this time.
"Oh holy shitchrist." The man was raised with /culture/. "You have -got- to be fucking kidding me." Somewhere between zero and sixty, on the way up from his launch, K' snapped a pair of sunglasses over his eyes-- but the disbelief is clear in his voice, and the shake of his head confirms the sincerity of his addendum: "This is some sick shit, right here."
Training exercises had nothing on this. Even stalking wouldbe targets who knew full well that she would be coming for them found them responding slower than K' does in this moment. The sheer alacrity of his reaction defies the upper limits of all of her programmed combat algorithms, her mind unable to comprehend the limits being broken by the surge to action she finds herself leaping into.
The impact of his hand folds his assailant in half before coursing onward to deal an almost jaw-shattering blow to her chin and leaving her in a wake of fire that burns even hotter than the legends lead her to expect. Knocked back up easily, she crashes down hard against the roof. There's a voice saying something in her ear. It sounds like panic. But her entire head is ringing at the moment and she can't make the slightest bit of sense of it.
If not for her combat armor, she might very well have been broken by the brutal flaming counter strike, but the supple violet leather that covers her form, still smoking from the lingering fire flickering at places, not only spared her some of the direct power of the Kusangi flames, but also reinforced her frame well enough that what would have been a decisive shot proves to be otherwise.
Still, there's no doubt. As she sits up, increasing the power of her frozen aura to extinguish the flames along with a helpful pat along her left sleeve with a gloved hands, the renegade projet will have no problem seeing that his attacker is a slip of a girl seemingly in her mid-teens, with a slight frame and long, loose, crystal-blue hair.
A soft exhale renders her breath visible in the air as she bends her feet beneath her. It's cool tonight, but not /that/ cool. Her right leg is damp where the ice scythe had been given form only to be ruined by pure fire. She's standing now. Shorter than him by half a foot, her arms resting against her sides, fingers flexing in distinct looking yellow gloves; their construct would seem familiar if different, and unlike him, she is equipped with two instead of one.
Finally the yelling in her ear becomes a bit more decipherable as the ringing in her head subsides.
"'Report! Did you get him? Extraction squads standing by!'"
No reply is offered, eyes fixed on K'. Her adrenaline is slowly starting to pump now. It has always been a bit sluggish - a byproduct of her development, one of the scientists had theorized.
"It's time to come home," the girl states, her voice calm, her right hand lifting slowly but deliberately to cup at her chin. Another surge of brilliant white chi courses along her arm at the same time she exhales, her breath launching and then jettisoning a swarm of sharp crystals, razor edged ice shards, and frozen sleet.
She's going to have to cool him off a little. Her combat algorithms have identified him as being far too hot to handle right now!
COMBATSYS: K' blocks Kula's Diamond Breath.
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Kula 0/-------/--=====|=======\-------\1 K'
The readings are likely alarming, manifestations of Kusanagi fire that are almost unheard of out of angry bouts with Kyo and Saishu-- not that NESTS has no firsthand experience with /that/ kind of thing, but then again... K' isn't wearing mechanized eveningwear, either. The Prototype manages a hearty and thoroughly disgruntled sigh as Kula aptly refuses to just... leave him alone or something. Fuck, don't ask K' to list his demands-- no one told him there'd be a quiz tonight. For a moment, he just stands there. Poised to strike, poised to move. Ready to bolt in any direction, or turn violent again in the blink of an eye. Teeth clinch, points behind his shades /burn/. It roars within him, wants to rush out all at once.
That indicator on his glove lingers near its peak, flickering up here and again uncomfortably. It's easy to miss as he heaves that gloved hand into the midst of that swarm, the remnant fires exploding in a superheated shockwave-- though this time, it's flame that gives way, the remnant shared ripping painful, narrow gashes in his face, across his shoulder, bleeding one earlobe-- several scatter in a painful spread across the renegade's chest, blocked only by his shit, moistening with the angry sting. "Yea, this is about the attitude I remember at 'home'." K' intones with ice that almost matches his fun-house mirror's.
"What have they been fueling you up on, Tiny Horsies: Slavery is Magic?" The condescension seems to come as reflexively as the aggression, in tandem with a sudden charge up the incline, launching himself into a lunging blow led by his opposite fist, his stance turning sidelong to Kula as he throws his weight behind it, the fall of one heavy boot splintering shingles as the renegade's teeth clench. "The /fuck/ is wrong with you people!!" NESTS new propoganda point: K' is racist.
COMBATSYS: K' knocks away Kula with Aggressive Strike.
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Kula 1/-------/=======|=======\=------\1 K'
Her stance is as relaxed as one can possibly be, left arm resting calmly against her side, right hand lowering slowly from her mouth, dispassionate crimson eyes observing the impact of her attack, her mind passively calculating adjustments as to how to force him to yield. She doesn't react to his first retort. They said he would be difficult, verbally abusive, and just down right an unpleasant guy to talk with. At least someone had done their homework, because that seems to be a fairly accurate assessment!
But the next statement evokes a blink, mouth opening a little. She was asked a question, afterall, and for the short life she has lived, she has always had to answer immediately what was asked of her as long as the questioner came from someone with authorized clearance for the information. No one considered the importance of making sure she knew some people's questions never meritted response!!
"We don't have horsies-"
Probably not the most important factoid to be focusing on as the Flame Bearer comes crashing in on her, leaving the Kusanagi birthright at bay for the moment, chosing instead to speak with his fist. The files on K' provided exhaustive information about the fire he could control. It was, afterall, what NESTS was most fixated on. The reasons why were beyond her understanding. She didn't really care. But her combat algorithms were chock full of information about his fire.
They were noticeably less detailed about the sheer amount of kinetic force the man in black could strike with. Even as he swings, a routine gets stuck trying to process just the right correction for this situation, leaving the girl pushing down on her foot, attempting to escape the inbound power a split second too late.
The blow knocks the pixie-statured fighter clean off her feet, crushing into her sternum and sending her flying back for the second time this fight! This time she lands on her upper back, tumbling backward, before coming to rest in a low crouch, her long hair spilling down over her face until she snaps her head back and sends it back into place behind her with a swish of sky blue.
The pain in her chest is not unfamiliar. She was put through intense pain in the course of her preparation... and there were monsters within those walls that certainly new the fine art of inflictig pain. But with a single punch? Could even Krizalid-sama accomplish as much? Her left hand rests over her chest for a moment. Even the reinforced leather armor barely blunted any of the blow. But this is no time to pause. He won't hestiate for an instant. And either can she.
Sucking in her breath, she narrows her eyes, turning her left shoulder toward him now, lowering her left hand to her side once more. "More... difficult than anticipated." she murmurs softly, responding to the relentless chirp in her ear. Already she's moving forward again. Her forward movement seems irregular - he might realize only too late that she isn't stepping so much as sliding, her right hand drawing back, more energy pouring into it than she had demonstrated thus far!
The Ice Wielder slides in close before swinging her right hand forward, the entire limb flash-freezing into an icy gauntlet of jagged spikes in the process. Three protrusions in particular launch out as her frozen weapon aims for K''s center of mass, becoming three savage lances clearly designed to run a man through, perceived family or no!
COMBATSYS: K' endures Kula's Critical Ice.
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Kula 1/------=/=======|=======\======-\1 K'
Some things never change. K' certainly seems to think NESTS deserves some serious dressing down-- and that Kula should /really/ know better just... kind of by default. Brows are knit into a scowl behind the frames of his shades, somewhere between conscious consideration and the screaming inferno in his head that spurs every synapse to strike; to kill. It's not a game to the Beast of Flame, and it's written in his DNA; hardcoded into his brain, conditioned and reconditioned. Obstinant as the Prototype proved, some of the right parts clearly stuck. "I don't care what kind of shit they fed you, those people are /fucked/..." It's part of a proposition, but Kula's not as winded as K' expects her to be-- she's up in a flash, on him just as quickly, and the clash is no less visceral than the last.
Blood spatters as one of those icicles is sheathed in K''s shoulder, the upper protrusion digging deep as the other two reave violent, crimson gashes across his chest and stomach, half-shredding the front of his black shirt. The impaling spike doesn't slow him down, he lunges into it, gritting his teeth through the pain. For one fateful split second, there's that tangible twinge of malice and murder in the air, fires that wish to lash out-- to sing a song of dragonsbreath and rage. It only stalls K' for that fraction of a breath, instinct and logic battling in his mind over the hair's trigger on trying to execute the littlest assassin in turn; like they were both programmed to do.
The alternative is only a subtle variation though, really: K' twists in on his other foot and blasts away the remnants of that dissipating ice in a blazing hellscape delivered via reaving left fist, a haymaker sheathed in demonkilling fury. It would be immediately followed by a snap kick from his right leg, ignoring the deep wounds up the majority of that side of his torso, he loses little momentum seeking to deliver that reinforced boot to her ribs-- its trajectory is also that of a volcanic groundswell of Kusanagi flame, spouting in a violent arc as it seeks to consume the other bioweapon in turn.
".. crush the fucking radio, we can break the perimeter. Ditch the mad fucking scientists, we know how to hold 'em off. Stay free." Always trust the hobo who's actively trying to /beat your ass/.
COMBATSYS: Kula blocks K''s Second Shell.
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Kula 1/-----==/=======|=======\======-\1 K'
When the fugitive presses into her attack rather than attempts to avoid the lunching spikes like any sane individual would do, he once again breaks through the predicted routines carefully calculated and prepared in advance for this expected encounter. His shirt and flesh may pay the price, but it certainly allows him to break through the distance the deadly Arctic Lance should have bought her in an instant. Immediately, steam billows up where the flames and ice meet, never permitted to occupy the same space for long before giving way to new substences all together.
Dispassionate eyes flick over the injuries inflicted with all the emptiness of a china doll, passively tabulating his probable condition based on the perceived damage dealt. Her left hand, shrouded in that telltale yellow glove - the common badge of any of NESTS' surviving elemental experiments, lifts, back of her fist forward, prepared to ward off an anticipated punch as best she can muster in a possible close quarters exchange. It is only now, bathed in the light of his fire, that it becomes clear the extent of his damage to his waifish counterpart.
Her leather outfit is clearly designed to be flame resistant, scorched in places from the violent power of the Kusanagi birthright, but by not means burnt through. They thought that far ahead, at least. But there is blood at her lip, trickling down slowly from one corner, no doubt lingering from the crushing blow she took from her ambush. Her hair doesn't seem entirely natural, glinting in the flame-light, as if infused with ice itself, which might explain why, outside several ends having curled in on themselves due to being melted or singed by her brush with hellfire, she seems overall largely unburnt.
It is as if everything about her so-called life was specifically designed to be anything BUT him. The docile, controlled 'personality', the cool, calculated approach to combat, the ice to his fire... through his perceptive, killer's eyes, he will see all the evidence of her creation - she exists because he exists. It is as simple as that.
One thing is clear, however - she's fast. When he swings, she releases the ice encasing her arm quickly enough to bring her right arm up, his flaming fist grinding into the leather sleeve of her combat jacket. Energy surges down her legs, becoming ice along her feet, bracing her against the roof so that she cannot so easily be blasted away by the power he wields.
Fire washes over her as she reinforces her left arm with an outer sleeve of ice, creating another explosion of steam as K''s foot crunches against it instead of her already damaged ribs as intended. Fire washes over the girl but he will see she is actively fighting it as much if it bends and twists around her, held at bay by an aura that must be nothing shy of incredible. Even as she defends herself against his coordinated blend of precision striking and raw, unleashed fury, there does not seem to be fear in her eyes.
Fear, as K' would know well by now, can only stem from the perceived threat of loss of something that matters. She was never allowed to perceive value in her own life, there is nothing he can take that she yet cares about. All that matters is what she was sent here to accomplish. This close to her, he will feel the build up of potential, the air around them becoming frigid and unforgiving, attempting to squelch his flames by temperature alone.
He references the radio in her ear and utters blasphamy. Free? What is that?
"'Disengage the target, these readings are off the chart!'"
"'Kula- Kula? We can't move into pull you out, you need to-'"
"I do not understand..."
She turns her left hand forward, gloved hand creaking as she clenches it into a fist. The ice that held her feet fast a moment ago shatters, crystals sent scattering across the damaged roof as she leans forward, attempting to bury her knuckles into one of the more severe looking gashes on his chest. It's really just intended to be a distraction however.
"What it means - free?"
He needs to worry about that gesture with her right hand, however - reaching forward a little, then clenching her fingers, before pulling it back - only his instincts and the ability to perceive a single manifestation of chi out of the cyclone of power radiating off of both fighters would give him any chance as young Diamond reforms the scattered ice into a razor-tipped spike directly behind his back and suddenly, yanking her right hand backward, attempts to drive it straight into her counterpart's upper back!
COMBATSYS: Kula successfully hits K' with Behind Slash.
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Kula 1/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2 K'
It figures Kula's backup is crapping out. Maybe, under certain parameters, the actual orders were to ensnare K', to bring him back in even if the newest high-tech killing machine, Little Girl Edition, couldn't close the deal. These.. are not those parameters, however. After all, there's a very simple explanation for Kula's utter absence of value for her own life: they didn't particularly care, either. "You know how many fails they throw away from every headcase like you?" Or K'. "It's a fuck of a lot." Truth be told, the renegade isn't even -sure- how many clones and augmented kids have failed to take to this augmentation or that splice of chi-saturated DNA. "Seriously?" Sheltered as shit, meet Kula, she redefines you.
"Freedom's being able to figure shit out and make up your own m-- augh!!" she gets her gouging hand into his chest, she gets her fucking icicle into his back. It drives K' hard to one knee, skewered anew from behind as the razor edge of his funhouse mirror's energy weapon rips a new gouge into his muscles, wrenching blood from flesh. He drops to one knee, he nearly falls all the way to his face, ungloved hand catching him as he lurches forward. The glove is cocked with the flexed arm at his side, his whole body tenses. "Being able to only do /that shit/ to PEOPLE WHO DESERVE IT." Fucked if he's going to let her take him back to NESTS, no matter -how- tragic and tearjerking her boo-hoo disfunction junction tale of woe may be.
There's only so far he's willing to risk it: that Kula's limbs may be on the far side of the scale probably speaks volumes of just how eager K' is for a reunion tour of his alma mater. He launches out of his crouch like a missile, led by that gloved fist, its capacity redlined for some moments, now-- a rolling boil is what comes of it. The lunge is accompanied by a singular, wild strike of violent knuckles, accompanied by a dreadfully swift surge of roaring flame, enough to encircle the trajectory of that hurtling fist, and send a luminescent, superheated shockwave off in all directions along the rooftop K' suddenly traverses with that one brutal motion. "I'm /NOT/ going back there, window's -closing- dipshit!!" This is what, in the biz, we call the hard sell.
COMBATSYS: Kula fails to reflect Heat Drive from K' with Diamond Shell.
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COMBATSYS: Kula can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Her gloved fist is drawn back, blood trickling over her knuckles as she finishes driving the railroad spike of ice into his back. In this contest of elements, it won't last for long before being melted away like all the rest of the solidified water she begins to bear, but there's no denying the severity of the wound all the same.
What was he saying? About making up her mind? He stumbles forward as she shifts her posture, right hand held slightly forward, fingers splayed, prepared to ward off any attack with brutal efficiency. She has yet to lean on her more defensive techniques - she certainly has them. But coming into this exchang, she had expected to have a much stronger control over the renegade. Afterall, her family said she was prepared for this, and they certainly wouldn't steer her wrong?
"Deserve it?" Her voice still calm in spite the torrent of energy surrounding the two, ice and fire in constant battle to survive every bit as the two conduits that wield such power. Frigid currents circulate around the girl only to be warped and superheated as they draw near the original project's own burning aura. What does deserving it have to do with it? She doesn't hate him anymore than she loves herself. Orders are orders, purposes are clear, and every thought in her mind is dedicated to that end.
It seems as if perhaps she has already succeeded. He's falling. It won't take much more to force him to yield, either to reason or unconsciousness. Or so her processing determined. The truth proves to be quite different. The surge of heat is easily felt, her hand still extendd, prepared to ward off that energy with perfect defense.
Which is why when he moves, it is already there - a subtle flash of white, a mirrow of flawless ice, exists in his path. It is against that his knuckles slam even as the Ice Maker lifts her right hand and pushes it forward as well to join her left. It is in that moment, his fire beginning to billow out, its brilliant orange reflecting against the plate of solid ice between them, that the bloodied corner of her mouth twitches into the faintest of smirks.
Maybe she /does/ enjoy something.
The power behind his zero-to-sixty mometum is enough to blast through the first barrier, but by the time he has, a second one, several times thicker, larger, and shaped in the form of a hemisphere of perfected defense has replaced it, this one opaque. He wouldn't see the building grin of satisfaction.
Nor would he see the spike of alarm when his hellstorm explodes right on through the solid shell. Shingles shatter and go flying at the detonation of forces in play. The entire scene is lost behind a shroud of smoke and steam as shattered shingles go flying out from the cloud in all directions. Having put her all into her barriers, Kula Diamond had not accounted in the slightest for the remote possibility that he would actually just break right through.
The featherweight is the next thing to fly out of the cloud, a form sheathed in flame that comes crashing down against the roof and slides several meters before coming to rest near the edge. There is a sound of wood giving way, of the shingle-wreathed surface between their feet finally surrendering to stresses beyond its design as the roof begins to collapse into the upper floor of the model home.
The battered weapon moves after landing, all the same, turning onto her side, fighting off the flames before they can consume her wholescale. Pushing herself to her feet, the increase in threat is evident, stronger currents building around her as vapor in the air freezes simply for getting into proximity of the burnt child. A sweep of her hand extinguishes the flames on her leather armor as crimson eyes seek K' out once more. A step forward is taken. She can ignore the shattered ribs, the burnt flesh beneath her armor. She still has more she can unleash. She will leave this building buried in ice and him frozen solid. "I WILL defeat you!" She will-
A beam beneath her foot shatters and the girl plummets into the house below, arms raising in alarm, a soft cry of surprise escaping her lips, before she vanishes beneath a pile of shattered wood and clay shingles.
Log created on 23:24:27 11/19/2014 by Kula, and last modified on 03:06:03 11/29/2014.