Mortal Kombat - The Wicked Witch
[Toggle Names]Description: Having retreated deeper into the island to nurse her wounds, the Chaos mage Sorcha finds herself beset by a foe who wishes to finish the job. He lies in ambush for the mutant in the ancient cemetary, intent on sending her to the great beyond, but is it he who will find his final rest here instead?
[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar has been quietly tailing the servants of Shang Tsung and the nefarious forces above him about the island very carefully since he's first arrived. He knows they see him, but they don't respond, which he found curious at first. Until he became aware that it was practically encouraged to have fights that were outside the scope of those officially announced. This has made him paranoid, but worry has not been his way since he escaped Venezuela after the assassination of his parents. No, he has been sharpened into a hardened blade since then, perhaps by the Elder Gods that Shang Tsung speaks of. Perhaps it has always been his fate to be on this island, dying here. If it means pricking at least one beast in the side for a death later, causing them to harm one life least in their evil existance, then Bolivar now understands his place in things.
Sorcha had come to his attention, from whisperings in his sleep in his humble room in the palace. He had asked about with the servitors about the palace serving food, learning about her. A girl turned into a fiend by the black magic that swirls about the darker channels around the world. If he were in the jungles of the Amazon, as a distant line of his ancestors were, before they were converted to Christianity by force, he would hunt her their way. Smoking a potent shamanic cocktail that was a hallucinogenic compound inducing DMT, to have a vision of the witch. But these ways were reputed to be savage and unreliable by the witch hunters of Europe. Even pagan. No, he had to hunt as the Church had designed for centuries, and now with the science of modern secular law and jurisprudence. And a healthy component of Italian Machiavellian rationale that turned his stomach as he sensed the NetherRealm's presence here.
Bolivar waited behind as Mausoleum, after having manipulated a cafeteria worker to drop a hint to her subtly. The servitor's boss was cruel, and Bolivar used a prison trick to get the overseer beaten by the guards. Then, all the servitor had to do was quietly mention the Tower past the Palace, with the graveyard and the Living Forest between. The Living Forest was improper for an ambush, causing Bolivar no end of paranoia. So it would have to be the graveyard.
Bolivar's sunglasses shielded his eyes as he waited with his back to the Tower, watching across the graveyard for the spider witch to approach. He was on his knees, a shade of a tree cast across him and his closely shorn hair and mustache slash beard. The whites of his eyes would normally give him away, save for the shades.
[SORCHA]
It is quite some time that the lurking assassin waits before his quarry makes herself known to him. The small witch makes her approach with no attempt at subtlety or stealth, winding her way through the hodge-podge of weathered bits of stone and wood that dot the otherwise featureless landscape. Equally barren trees sprout up through the hard soil at haphazard intervals their gnarled branches twisted into crooked arms with dozens of boney fingers splayed out as if prepared to snatch up anyone foolish enough to wander beneath their boughs. The masoleums, silent towering structures of cold stone that seem to radiate an unnatural chill, provide no relief from the bleakness of the surroundings, their ancient surfaces adorned with naught but cracks and the occasional signs of scoring where some forgotten soul attempted to carve a final farewell into the surface.
Few people in their right mind would seek out such a place without pressing need, fewer still would even consider the possibility to lingering for any length of time, which is precisely what makes it such an excellent place to hide. The dead have no power save that which is granted to them through sorcery and seeing as she never got around to learning any necromancy, the witch isn't terribly concerned with the old bones lurking beneath the ground. The souls of the departed may wail and cry from time to time but that is all they can do.
However, it is not only the dead that haunt this realm of war and murder. The faceless monks that serve the slippery sorcerer who rules here seem to have as little fear of the dead as she does. Twice now she's been caught off-guard by their patrols and been forced to flee into the forest leaving a few more bodies for the soil to claim in her wake. Why, exactly, they seem so keen on chasing her down is beyond her understanding but Sorcha's never been one to pass up on the chance to have a little fun.
Even she has needs that must be tended to from time to time, however. In the wake of her last 'official' fight, she found herself waking in a great deal of pain and down an arm. Neither of these things were particularly unusual but even the gifts granted to her by the whims of Chaos were not enough to completely shrug off those wounds. Infact, it is a wonder she survived at all, and something that she has been pondering for some time. Did she just get lucky? Did the gods step in and grant her their favor? It's not like they have a ton of champions running around spreading the touch of Chaos. It is a mystery, though all things considered, not one whose answer is terribly pressing.
Sorcha crests a hill some ways off from the hiding place of her would-be ambusher coming from the direction of the forest. She moves quickly but cautiously, pausing every so often to scan her surroundings for signs that the guards might be lingering about. As she comes closer it becomes obvious that the girl, or what used to be a young teenger, is wearing practically nothing. Only a length of long rectangular white cloth tied about her neck like a cape provides any sort of cover for her body. Her arms make this almost a worthless effort as they stretch out in various directions, pushing the length of cloth up and over her shoulders and leaving her tar-black skin completely exposed from the front.
Though it is difficult to see in the darkness, there is evidence of several long ragged gashes across her torso. Dried crusted ichor or perhaps blood stands out in scabby relief upon her dark skin in messy patches where she appears to have attempted to staunch the injuries with leaves or grass. On her left side, one of the arms ends suddenly in a ragged stump somewhere along what was the bicep, the cut close to her body leaving only a few inches of bone and flesh. This wound looks even worse for wear. Thick cloudy puss oozes from the cracked mess of a half-formed scab dribbling tainted fluids onto the ground. A cloud of flies, perhaps the first signs of any sort of indigenous life on this blighted island, whirls around the mess of flesh in a buzzing maelstrom of activity.
Sorcha reaches down to scratch at one of the cuts, peeling a thick strip of scabby material away with her clawed fingers. She pops the gooey mess into her mouth and chews idly as she wanders towards one of the many stone buildings, drawing slowly but inevitably closer to Bolivar.
[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar's mouth slowly thins as he sees Sorcha, observing her quietly as his fingertips atop the brown grass and acursed soil tighten through the dry earth. He blinks once at her claws moving over her previously existing arm, his teeth clenching to his right in repressed disgust. He's been in a deep south prison operated by a corrupt police corporation (which ones aren't corrupt?), but nothing prepares him for a sight like that. Feeling his stomach tighten and flip, he slowly stands up, moving out from behind the tomb and slowly walking towards Sorcha, sidelong, watching her with a mild, slow strafe around her. He's dressed in a khaki suit, the only concession from style being his black combat boots, a utilitarian decision always, given his job as a United Nations special assassin and bounty hunter, for the worst of the worst.
Bolivar stops in her path, merely facing her in the center of the trail. He does not exchange pleasantries or parlay, instead merely moving into a fighting stance, his long painter's fingers curling into loose fists as he lifts his left arm before his right, stepping backwards on his right foot and shifting his balance into a defensive movement. That is his signal of intention. Whether or not Sorcha accepts, he will see. But from mere sight alone, not sufficing study or previous reconnaissance, he knows she will likely accept such a battle. Bloodthirsty ones always do, especially when they are lured to darkness with pacts they do not understand.
He is a pact she does not understand.
COMBATSYS: Bolivar has started a fight here.
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Bolivar 0/-------/-------|
[SORCHA]
The moment that the man steps from his hiding place, Sorcha's entire demeanor changes. She whirls to face him, stopping dead in her tracks, arms lifting up to menace the air. A bright sickly glow swirls about in her left eye, the entire thing shimmering with a neon pink energy that is mirrored by each of the eyes embedded into the palms of her hands. There is a brief moment of wariness as she sizes up the person who has so foolishly chosen to confront her but her expression quickly melts into a broad shark-toothed grin as he casually takes up a position opposite her and drops into a fighting stance.
"Ahahaha! What are you, stupid? You waited for me all alone and didn't even try to ambush me? That's a special kind of dense!"
The witch's stance widens a little, her feet digging small furrows into the ground with her heels and deadly nails. She shows no signs of fear or worry despite her injuries. If anything, she looks eager. Hungry.
"Been a while since I had a good meal. Ha hah! You look like you got some meat on ya! Two all beef patties, fresh off the grill! And here I was just thinking I'd go get some takeout but you saved me the trouble!"
Sorcha opens her mouth and flicks her tongue out, a long slender black dagger of sticky flesh dancing across her lips. Her fingers begin to work in the air, flicking about in strange gestures that leave blurry images in his mind should he attempt to stare at them. Black fire begins to crackle to life in her palms and she cackles loudly, her voice echoing through the vast empty space.
"Just park your keister riiiight there and we'll get the barbeque going!"
COMBATSYS: Sorcha has joined the fight here.
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Bolivar 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Sorcha
COMBATSYS: Sorcha equips a warm Red Soul Shard.
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Bolivar 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
COMBATSYS: Sorcha charges her next attack!
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Bolivar 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
COMBATSYS: Bolivar equips a luminous Flaming Yellow Soul Shard.
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Bolivar [E] 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar's right hand bursts into yellow light flare of light as he begins advancing on Sorcha, his hands loosening as she does not take an offensive action. He senses the image in his mind, gritting his teeth and baring them, pausing briefly as he makes the sign of the cross with his fore and middle fingers. "Very well, witch. You will be banished from this mortal plane. Perhaps you will be forgiven, if there are those that do such a thing beyond this world," he says lowly, with a narrow hiss coming through his tightened face. He jumps forward with a spring, landing on the ground and moving forward at Sorcha with a dash.
"HAAAAAAA!" he shouts, mostly for his own sake, the darkness and evil of Sorcha's figure and abilities, along with the flies and the scent of her oozing fresh, requiring him to build his courage with bravado.
Diez's right hand comes down at Sorcha, held out in a blade chop at the side of her neck. He breathes through his mouth to avoid the scent that surrounds her, perhaps a mistake with such a being before him, but he knows he cannot stand the scent. His left hand remains ready, should he have to defend himself. But one thing is certain: she has an advantage with her number of available limbs, and her terrifying appearance versus his comparatively quiet one, however menacing and sinister.
COMBATSYS: Bolivar channels the strength of the killing fist.
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Bolivar [E] 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
COMBATSYS: Sorcha blocks Bolivar's Ruby Carnation.
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Bolivar [E] 0/-------/-------|===----\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[SORCHA]
Sorcha's sneer grows even broader at the religious motion that her attacker carves into the air, contempt that his belief that such empty superstition will aid him practically radiating off her in waves. Combined with the stench of rotting flesh, festering wounds, and dried blood, it becomes a struggle just to be near her without feeling nauseous.
"Kyahahaahaha! You think that will save you? It's been a while since I had a believer in such nonsense attempt to strike me down. It's almost nostalgic," she says with a wistful sigh.
Bolivar's warcry cuts off any further insults she might hurl at him and she hunches slightly in preparation as he lunges forward to strike. The hand-chop is intercepted by the uppermost of her spindly arms, its downward force arrested by a counter-swing. The impact smarts something fierce but compared to the pain of her missing arm, it's hardly more than a flea's bite.
Thrusting her two remaining arms forward, the chaos mage unleashes twin blasts of searing black flame into the assassin's chest. The roar of explosions fills the air as both of the projectiles ignite into dark suns almost the instant they leave her hands turning the space infront of Sorcha into a smoldering inferno of dark magic!
"Kapow!"
COMBATSYS: Bolivar blocks Sorcha's Empowered Chaos Magick!.
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Bolivar [E] 0/-------/-----==|===----\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar's torso swings to the right faintly as his hand is knocked away, leaning back to reassess the situation. As the hair on the back of his neck stands up with the ionization of the unseen, he crosses his arms before him in an X, and it soaks up the twin blast of chaos magic, sending him flying back off his feet but soaking up most of the damage instead of allowing it to hit his chest or face. He slams into a tall grave marker with a statue of St. Jude atop it, landing with his back against it. Slowly, Bolivar Montero Diez climbs back to his feet, his arms sizzling with burnt fabric and steaming with energy. He flickers his arms quickly to get some movement back in his hands, his fingers going limp before stiffening into a pair of ready and dextrous weapons.
"What did the dark one offer you, child?" he asks quietly, as he moves back forward, his arms down as he stalks at Sorcha.
Boliver's right hand flares to life again, as he pulls his hand back, hand lengthening into an edge again. He sprints back into close range with the spider witch, skidding to a halt with his left body forward as he gets close, then reversing the posture to thrust his right shoulder and arm forward, torso pivoting with a churning twist to jam his fingers into Sorcha's throat. His entire arm alights with yellow flame, his arm blurring.
COMBATSYS: Bolivar channels the glare of the vicious eye.
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Bolivar [E] 0/-------/-----==|===----\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
COMBATSYS: Sorcha channels the fortress of the steel will.
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Bolivar [E] 0/-------/-----==|===----\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
COMBATSYS: Sorcha fails to interrupt Choking Cobra Strike from Bolivar with Shadowflare.
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Bolivar [E] 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[SORCHA]
Sorcha stares across the gap as if the question was one of the stupidist things she's ever heard. After a moment, she just tilts her head back and laughs again. Her arms sweep down to gesture at herself as is presenting the sight as evidence of some great boon.
"Is that some sort of a trick question? Or did you hit your head a little too hard there? Ahaha!"
The witch drops back into a crouch as he comes at her again, hands gathering power with subtle flicks of her clawed fingers. Just as he comes within striking distance, she lowers her arms and thrusts them forward again, this time pressing them together to create a triangle of ominous glowing eyes. Dark magic flares to life in her palms but before she can unleash its destructive warping might into the assassin he strikes, his slender knife-like fingers sliding past her arms to slam into the soft flesh of her neck.
The girl lets out a gurgle of shock and staggers backwards. Her arms flail out to the sides as she takes a step to steady herself and the vile energies pour into the ground and the air around her rather than Bolivar's face. The dirt hisses and burns with the eldritch flame and several of the ancient grave stones shatter or melt into piles of bubbling ichor.
Sorcha sputters incoherently for a couple seconds as she attempts to regain her balance, giving her attacker a potential opening to exploit, if he's quick enough.
[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar yanks his arm back after the successful strike, stepping through the swirling eldritch energies, his arms at his sides as his slender, swimmer's build flexes and coils beneath his scorched khaki suit. Sunglasses hide his baleful gaze, mouth in a rigid frown as he walks forward towards Scorcha. "Magick is faith at first, child. If you wish to escape your dark embrace from the spectral suitor that claimed your mind, you must apply science. Or else you will become a puppet." The ways of St. Cyprian of Antioch are strong in South America, via Spain and Portugal, and the Christian magicians there. He suddenly bolts forward, overcoming the sputtering witch girl's retreat.
There's a surge of power, not from the shard ring but from Bolivar's own controlled aggression, as he attempts to shove both arms into Sorcha's shoulders as he lurks overhead by his noble Spaniard's height, to overwhelm her and knock her under him. Should he be successful, he pins her beneath a straddle over her stomach, and pins her head to the ground with his left hand, then pulling his right hand back and giving her a solid shock to the temple with a fast, rapid jab that hammers downwards.
"You will think over your error in the afterlife."
COMBATSYS: Sorcha dodges Bolivar's Combo Throw.
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Bolivar [E] 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[SORCHA]
Magick is faith? What nonsense! Faith is what fools lean on to fill in the gaps between their beliefs and reality. She has all the proof science could ever want at the snap of her fingers. Raw chaos flows through the marrow of her bones, the very fabric of the universe in its undistilled form answers her call, surging freely from the void into reality as she wills.
Sorcha recovers from the throat strike quickly, coughing out a chunk of disgusting phlem onto the ground. When the man lunges at her with his arms outstretched to tackle her to the ground, she is prepared for his assault and turns to face him. While the Chaos powers have granted her many gifts, a keen understanding of martial arts is not among them. Fortunately, it doesn't take a grizzled genius warrior to figure out how to use leverage against someone.
Bolivar takes her to the ground and she rolls flat onto her back, dispersing the impact with a simple arch of her spine which causes the pair of them to rock backwards as they fall. The witch lifts her taloned feet up and drives them into the assassin's stomach as they roll hurling him away from her with a simple but powerful extention of her legs that amplifies his forward movement sending him flying overhead.
"Violence is knowledge, altar boy!"
COMBATSYS: Bolivar channels the spread of the lightning nerves.
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Bolivar [E] 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
COMBATSYS: Sorcha successfully hits Bolivar with Medium Throw.
Glancing Blow
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Bolivar [E] 0/-------/---====|===----\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar is sent flying off of Sorcha, rolling across the ground in a somewhat utilitarian ballet spring across the ground as his body glows yellow. It would have been a perfect manuever, had he not smashed into the wall of a nearby mausoleum. The structure shakes as Bolivar bounces away from it, landing on the ground on his side with his leg outstretched, propped up by his hand. He adjusts his sunglasses as he stands, shaking off the shock of the move.
"An altar boy is one thing I am not."
Bolivar reaches beneath what remains of his left sleeve to a leather bracer, and pulls a long, narrow Israeli knife out of a sheath along the inner arm. He approaches as he shifts the knife into a downward grip, frowning at Sorcha with scrutiny and distaste as he watches her. He will give her credit for one thing he has noticed; she is resistant to the culture that caused the death of his parents. The concept of Christian organized charity caused his parents to die at the hands of Hugo Chavez's enforcers. He may be trapped within the Catholic Church, but she has clearly pushed against something he was terrified of offending. A deity that lorded over him as a child, with rules he did not yet understand.
Perhaps, he still does not yet understand, because the others following this deity's rules, and the scars across his soul.
Bolivar slices across Sorcha's face with a fore blow with the back knife, then following with a horizontal stab across the previous current of the blade. For a third cut, he twists the knife inwards, and attempts a quick, hard stab at Sorcha's neck, where it meets her collarbone, before he pulls the blade out after a brief insertion.
COMBATSYS: Sorcha blocks Bolivar's Delta Slash.
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Bolivar [E] 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[SORCHA]
"Oh yeah?"
The witch sneers again, her lips peeling away from the jagged mess of razor sharp teeth beneath revealing a smile that stretches almost from ear to ear. Nothing about the expression is natural and the idea that it might be a display of amusement is equally disturbing.
"Well, when this is all said and done, you're gonna be on your knees regardless!"
The presence of a new weapon earns a glance from Sorcha, her chaotic eye narrowing slightly on the blade, but otherwise she shows little regard for its presence. Judging by the ragged wounds on her body and her utter disregard for them, it seems unlikely that she's going to be intimidated by something as mundane as a knife, no matter how big or curvy it might be.
This is reinforced in the manner which she meets Bolivar's lunge as he drives his wicked blade down at her the slender girl's body with killing intent. The intial slash is avoided entirely as she takes a step back but that first manuever is little more than a feint to draw him into overextending. With sinewy grace, Sorcha weaves to the side to flank her attacker and his broad sweeping cut does little more than knick her in the side, drawing a faint line of wetness across her narrow ribs. The shift in position forces him to realign as well for his final thrust but her footwork has rendered his position quite awkward and she has little trouble catching the wrist that holds the knife with two hands, stopping it cold mere inches from her throat.
"Lookin for a little poke, are ya? Just like you Jesus freaks, you talk all high and mighty but you're all a bunch of freaks! Kyaaahaha!"
Sorcha's grin manages to widen even further somehow as she leans in close, the malevolent glow of her chaotic eye washing over the face of the assassin. Her aura crawls across his body like a living thing, the mixture of magic and foul odors creating a heady perfume of death and corruption.
"But, hey, who am I to talk?! Ahahaha! Give momma some sugar!"
Opening her jaws wide, the witch bares the zipper-like formation of deadly teeth and shifts sideways. Her gaping maw comes down at the juncture between head and shoulder, aiming to clamp on to the thick curve of Bolivar's neck in what might be considered something of a love bite... if you're a shark.
COMBATSYS: Bolivar blocks Sorcha's Gimme Yer Neck!.
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Bolivar [E] 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar growls in close quarters with Sorcha as his knife is caught before Sorcha's throat, staring into her eerie eyes, his sunglasses reflecting them back at her. He yanks backwards with the knife just in time to get it away before the wide jawed bite comes for the side of his neck, pulling back. He twists about and pulls away, the teeth digging into his flesh but scraping along skin as he pulls away. Nonetheless, her maw leaves a litany of bloody marks along his neck as he stumbles away, grunting in pain as he feels wetness trickle down his back and wetten his jacket and the pressed shirt beneath it.
Bolivar, still gripping his knife, turns back about and lashes out with his left hand, attempting to grab Sorcha by what passes for her shoulder. He attempts to force her to bend forward with a grunt and a rude push down, before his right knee slams upwards, aimed at the spider woman's stomach and the base of her ribs. His lower lip curls downwards cruelly, showing his teeth to the spirits of the graveyard as he completes the manuever. His knee glows yellow as he does so, blurring with the soul power that courses through him, courtesy of the Elder Gods.
COMBATSYS: Bolivar channels the glare of the vicious eye.
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Bolivar [E] 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
COMBATSYS: Sorcha channels the fortress of the steel will.
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Bolivar [E] 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
COMBATSYS: Bolivar successfully hits Sorcha with Junkyard Knee.
Glancing Blow
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Bolivar [E] 0/-------/-======|====---\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[SORCHA]
Sorcha growls as her teeth bite down shallowly, the thick juicy lump of neckflesh that had been her target sliding just out of reach. Blood trickles onto her tongue and lips and she drags the sweet copper fluid into her mouth with a slurp even as she is pushed away. So close! But the hunt wouldn't be any fun if her prey died so easily!
The witch hunches over slightly as she starts to move away but her quarry mounts a swift reprisal and his hand latches onto the knobby bulk of her upper shoulder with a firm grip. The sudden shove easily overpowers the scrawny girl and she tilts forward with a lurch, unable to catch her balance in time to avoid being bent over like a naughty child.
Sorcha is not so easily pinned down, however. The light in her mutated eye shimmers with unnatural power even as Bolivar's glowing knee rises up to smash into her ribs. With a sudden wrenching twist, the mutant hurls herself to the side, breaking free of his grip and casting herself out of the way. Mostly, atleast. The knee strike clips her shoulder as she slides to safety, sending her into a spiralling tumble to the ground, but well clear of his reach.
She lurches back to her feet without missing a beat, popping off the dusky ground without so much as a hint of effort. Her hands immediately begin to flick through various arcane symbols once again and the invisible pressure of her chaotic power starts to swell as she draws raw magic into her body.
"Heyheyhey! I've got a present for you! It's magick, with a K!"
COMBATSYS: Sorcha gathers her will.
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Bolivar [E] 0/-------/-======|=======\=------\1 [E] Sorcha
[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar slides his knife away into its home, watching Sorcha carefully as she gathers chaotic extraplanal powers. Aware that the eldritch powers could potentially be the game changer in this fight, he lowers his head and shoulders faintly, his hands open as he bends his knees, ready and watching her, breathing slowly. He must proceed with caution. He briefly bites his bottom lip, a hidden squint as he watches her hands. And then, he advances, as she charges her energy.
"Felis Navidad."
Bolivar's right leg flashes out with a low sweep for Sorcha's quarter of legs, not attempting to get her off the ground (with that sort of stability, it is an exercise in painful futility), but rather to pin his body against her for leverage. His right body sidelong with her, and his leg pinned on one side, he then stretches his left leg into a flexible bend taught to him by practicing Zipota (Spanish kickboxing, the high kicking variety of Savate, French kickboxing), and lashes out with his right arm on her other side. He aims at her pelvis, just above the hip and into her side, snapping forward with his leg withdrawing to pull a leg forward. A simple spin into a better position for the next blow, pulling his limbs back and standing up forward, with a pop of his forehead at the side of hers.
COMBATSYS: Bolivar successfully hits Sorcha with Improvised Throw.
- Power hit! -
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Bolivar [E] 0/-------/-======|=======\===----\1 [E] Sorcha
[SORCHA]
There are time when channeling the power of Chaos itself is absolutely amazing. The very touch of it's power, a thing not meant for mortal hands, it a force of change. To most people, they would call it corruption. They see things to which they are not accustomed, forces that operate on different assumptions than their own feeble minds. Beauty and power, these things can take on many forms, can come to those who seek them in unexpected ways. The gods of Chaos do not subscribe to fashion magazines nor care for the ideals held up by the likes of men. Function and form are beauty unto themselves and anything that provides an advantage is something to be treasured.
Then there are times when Chaos seems to exist solely to spite those that would believe themselves worthy of its gifts. Times when every facet of the universe turns against any marked by its touch. For every boon there is a price and that price is collected at the whim of powers beyond understanding. Perhaps there is some grand plan behind it. Perhaps the gods simply amuse themselves with petty cruelties.
This is one of those times where Sorcha can see that something has gone horrible wrong. She sees the attack coming easily. Her opponent has not yet proven one who leans upon subterfuge or surprise. He has speed and talent but little grace and that makes him rather predictable. There are only so many ways to flail ones limbs at a target, after all. Despite her careful planning and precautions, however, something just doesn't click. She commands her limbs to move but they seem heavy and sluggish as if held down by a great weight. The witch can only watch with a strange detached calm as the assassin's leg whips out, his complicated attack landing the first blow with nothing to stop it.
Sorcha weathers the strikes and twists as best she can. Each impact sends a wave of piercing pain through her body that crescendos and wanes as it passes over the half-healed scars of her recent wounds like a salty tide. She squeezes her eyes shut, concentrating only on maintaining her control over the volatile forces that course through her body. A single moment is all it would take to lose her grip on the carefully wrong magicks that keep the void in check and then neither of them would have a very fun afternoon.
The headbutt strikes Sorcha in the temple and she staggers sideways, her eyes sliding open as the final blow lands. Her vision swims slightly from the mixture of pain and the concussive impact but that surging tide of sensation also provides her fuel with which to fight. She channels her emotion into the mix creating a turbulent concoction of raw chaos. And then she turns and unleashes it upon him.
"Aahaaaahahahaa! This power tastes like LEMONS!"
The witch thrusts all three of her arms towards Bolivar as she shrieks with insane laughter and the world simply distorts under the sheer weight of the arcane energy in her grasp. Black fire explodes around her arms and surges forward into a violent maelstrom of hellish nightmare power. The entire graveyard for a hundred meters in all directions simply ignites at once, stone and barren trees burning with equal intensity as though little more than kindling for an unimaginable bonfire. The earth itself begins to crack and splinter, tiny chunks of rock and soil levitating into the air on the updraft of fel energy only to disentigrate in the blazing heat of the miniature dark sun.
COMBATSYS: Sorcha channels the glare of the vicious eye.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////// ]
Bolivar [E] 0/-------/-======|=======\===----\1 [E] Sorcha
COMBATSYS: Bolivar channels the fortress of the steel will.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////// ]
Bolivar [E] 0/-------/-======|-------\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
COMBATSYS: Sorcha successfully hits Bolivar with Let The Galaxy Burn!.
! VENGEANCE !
[ \\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////// ]
Bolivar [E] 1/--=====/=======|-------\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar's body glows bright yellow as the black blazing torrent of hellfire slams through him, the soul power the only thing keeping him from completely immolating. He's sent shooting backwards in a twisting spin, slamming through headstones and face first into a tree. The timber slams to the ground in a loud, wrenching snap, as Bolivar is left face first on the ground, his body smoking. A tale of pain is told all across his shaking body as he pushes himself off the ground, exhaling heavily as he turns about to face Sorcha again, from across the battlefield. He's covered in black burns, his sunglasses gone. Wracked muscles twist and clench and quiver beneath the rags of what used to be a fine khaki suit, as he begins stalking towards Sorcha slowly, stepping over broken stone, retracing the path he took across the battlefield.
The slow stalking, as pain begins to replace itself with calm yet stoked rage, becomes a rapid walk, and then a dash. He takes on a soccer player's field strike, before he shoves his leg directly upwards as he closes in, and then twists around to the side, turning around in a spinning partial mule kick, the toe of his boot aimed to strike Sorcha in the side of the abdomen with a hideous torque. He twists about after the move is performed, moving into a low guarding position, staring at Sorcha with his cold brown eyes.
COMBATSYS: Sorcha dodges Bolivar's Toe Kick.
[ \\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////// ]
Bolivar [E] 0/-------/--=====|-------\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[SORCHA]
The twisted corruptive fireball lasts but only a few seconds of horrific searing light and pain before its wrath is spent. With as much violence and fanfare as it arrived, the unnatural sun collapses in on itself. A great wind follows in its wake as the air rushes in to fill the void where the gasses of the atmosphere had simply been boiled away. Concussive force slams in from all directions to smash into the slender figure at the epicenter of the terrible magick. Sorcha steels herself as best she can, bracing her body against the battering aftermath with arcane shields. The potent shockwaves detonate upon the glowing bubble of sigils that floats around her, successfully dispersed into nothingness, but the effort is draining and leaves her momentarily winded.
This gives Bolivar all the time he needs to recover and launch a new offensive. Some might question the logic behind this particular choice. Here he is, still able to stand and move despite being given a frontrow seat of what the apocalypse might look like one day. Most would count their blessings and cut their losses. There's always another day to fight, so long as you're alive. Instead, he throws himself at the mercies of the vile witch once more. Bravery or stupidity?
Sorcha manages to recover herself well in time to see the danger of the man running at her with wild abandon. She smirks, flashing her teeth again, and drops into her fighting stance, slightly hunched over with her arms outstretched to cast or strike from multiple angles. The kick hits nothing but empty air, though Sorcha seems to be still somewhat sluggish in her reactions. Perhaps that attack had taken more out of her than she thought.
The foot whizzes past her by mere inches but her preparation is enough to get her past the length of Bolivar's leg and up close where her claws can do some real damage. You don't need a lot of skill with a handful of tiny knives at your disposal. Sorcha cackles again as she rips into the assassin's exposed flank, slashing her fingers at him in a wild frenzy.
COMBATSYS: Bolivar full-parries Sorcha's Strong Strike!!
[ \\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////// ]
Bolivar [E] 1/-------/=======|-------\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar's left arm snaps upwards beneath the claws, catching the arms and suddenly standing, lifting them up, along with Sorcha's guard. He breathes slowly and calmly despite the pain and the horror of the duel, and looks at Sorcha, with a split second signalling his intent. He surges with yellow energy, and while he has her guard partially open, he shoves his right hand up at Sorcha's head, aiming behind the jaw with his fingers. It's a quick, dirty blow past the bone and into the mouth and tongue's home inside the skull, with a sharp, flowing motion from his body. He flows through the motion, his left arm dropping and allowing Sorcha's arms to drop after the quiet, but deadly move is complete.
COMBATSYS: Bolivar channels the veins of the burning blood.
[ \\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////// ]
Bolivar [E] 1/--=====/=======|-------\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
COMBATSYS: Sorcha blocks Bolivar's Quiver Palm EX.
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Bolivar [E] 0/-------/-----==|==-----\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[SORCHA]
It seems like Bolivar has forgotten something in the heat of the moment, just a tiny detail really, a small matter of his opponent have roughly fifty percent more arms than he does. The sweeping block manages to catch two of the witch's wild swings but he misses the last one leaving it free to protect the small girl from his potentially devastating attack.
The fist drives up towards her jaw but instead finds itself slamming into the splayed out hand. There is a hideous squealching sound as his extended fingers drive into the soft center of the chaotic eye in her palm, crushing it into a messy pulp. Odious black goo splutters out from the wound like a geyser as if it had been contained under a great deal of pressure and the foul mess coats his arm and chest. The smell is indescribable. There might not even /be/ anything that will get this stench out. That worry, however, may not be one he has for long.
Sorcha winces at the sensation of having her body violated in such a manner but the pain can't compete with the building sense of anticipation she has for what comes next. Her smile becomes positively devilish as she leans in, slipping her arms free of the human's grip and wrapping them around his body with all the strength she can muster. The remaining two eyes in her hands press flat against him and she squeezes him close, pressing her ruined hand down against his to pin that arm in place.
"Spoilin' yer afterNOOOOON~!"
In unison, all of the chaotic eyes in Sorcha's body erupt with arcane energy. Black fire surges into Bolivar's body at point blank from her hands, her arms, her mouth. It spills out of her in a tortential outpouring until the pair of them are a searing pillar of deadly magick that only Sorcha is prepared to ward off.
COMBATSYS: Sorcha channels the glare of the vicious eye.
[ \\\\\\\\ < > //////////////// ]
Bolivar [E] 0/-------/-----==|==-----\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
COMBATSYS: Bolivar dodges Sorcha's Got My Eyes On You.
[ \\\\\\\\ < > /////////////// ]
Bolivar [E] 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar retches at the stink of the eye rupturing, a brief convulsion that Sorcha takes advantage of with the blast of chaos magic from multiple sources. Bolivar's veins along his neck and temples pulse with blood as he is brought into a momentary focus, and he throws himself down and away, the thrumming fonts of power shooting overhead and barely above him as he rolls along the ground. He rolls to his knee just as the beams pass over him, his left hand on the ground on his fist. He grits his teeth, staring, before he bursts off his knee in a sprint's rush tackle at her.
Bolivar twists to his left as he draws his blackened arm across his fore, moving into a standing rush as he wipes his torso to the right, sending his arm across the upper quantities of her body in a side wrist slam, aimed to knock her to the side. He's using simpler moves now, in an apparent desperation, only raw ire driving him now. He's rapidly run out of options, and he's near death. He has never been this close in his years of planning and scheming and evasion, this battle a poorly chosen one, but one he is willing to fight for, if not just to banish this demon back to the pit. Perhaps, the girl inside's soul may be free, making this war something worth his sacrifice.
COMBATSYS: Bolivar successfully hits Sorcha with Hammer Hare Strike.
[ \\\\\\\ < > //////////// ]
Bolivar [E] 0/-------/-----==|==-----\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[SORCHA]
Instead of an express ticket to Hell for two, Sorcha ends up being the only person who turns into a candle. She hisses her annoyance through clenched teeth as Bolivar rolls away and prepares to lunge after him, unwilling to let the man escape when she's so close she can taste his succulent flesh. Instead, he beats her to the punch, literally speaking.
Sorcha flies sideways from the leaping lariat and hits the ground in a sprawl, just barely missing braining herself against one of the remaining headstones. There is little left of the thing save a pile of still cooling rock but it's hard enough to do the job. For a moment, she half considers just lobbing the thing at the man but she's not quite so far pushed into a corner that she need resort to such barbarian tactics.
Pushing back to her feet, though noticably slower than before, Sorcha doesn't spare any breath for further banter. She simply whips her arms forward and snarls, unleashing a withering barrage of fist-sized darts of fire that corckscrew through the air like drunken missiles.
"DIE ALREADY!"
COMBATSYS: Bolivar full-parries Sorcha's Chaos Barrage!!
[ \\\\\\\ < > /////////// ]
Bolivar [E] 0/-------/---====|==-----\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar turns to follow Sorcha as he sends her flying, pulling his slim kapap knife back out of the bracer on his left arm. He inhales and holds his breath as she gets up, before exhaling and then charging forward through the hail of spiralling fire darts. He dances and turns through them, sliding about gracefully as he avoids them while simultaneously getting close to Sorcha, even as she continues to fire them. As the last of them is shot at him, he is nearly in front of her. He looks at her with a hard, low look, pausing for a moment, his knife in his hand pointed upwards. He bends his knees with a faint grunt, shoulders hulking as they flex.
"Not so easily, child."
Bolivar goes charging forward in what looks to be a spear tackle, until he surges upwards with a scream of mortal fury, attempting to shove the blade up into Sorcha and lift her along with him as he straightens out his spine and muscles.
COMBATSYS: Sorcha blocks Bolivar's Rhino Knife EX.
[ \\\\\\\ < > //////// ]
Bolivar [E] 0/-------/---====|===----\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[SORCHA]
Running out of steam and patience, Sorcha begins to give in her rage at how things have started to turn out. Despite turning the man into a deep-fried fritter, the bastard just won't go down! Even worse, he seems to have gotten some strange burst of competance that wasn't there before. Perhaps knowing his life is on the line is enhancing his drive to succeed. She doesn't really have that. Death is just yet another form of change, an unknown which she will pass into without fear as the waiting arms of Chaos draw her in.
Right /now/, however, she's getting really tired of this guy! The knife slashes up from below and once more the witch interposes one of her arms between its biting blade and her soft organs. The powerful strike digs deep into the muscle, cutting straight to the bone and sending another spray of dark ichor into the air. Sorcha growls like a wounded animal but instead of retreating she pushes forward, flying into a crazed frenzy of aggression and perhaps a little desperation.
As before, her hands becomes a fan of knives, claws ripping and tearing at his exposed flesh. Her teeth join in the party this time as well as her taloned feet, boney elbows, pretty much everything she can throw at him she does in a whirling frenzy that looks something like the cartoon Tazmanian Devil were it brought to horrific life.
COMBATSYS: Bolivar full-parries Sorcha's Turbo Violence!!!
[ \\\\\\\ < > //////// ]
Bolivar [E] 0/-------/-======|==-----\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar releases the knife and lets it stay inside Sorcha, as she resists him and the spewing sludge sprays all over him. As the claws and teeth and the fury of violence come into play, Bolivar growls and uses both arms to wrestle with Sorcha, his left hand pushing her back by the side of her neck, thumb along the base where her collarbones meet, using the sign of humanity still left in the gnarled, twisted form that was once a woman to prevent her from getting the advantage. And then, as soon as she extends an arm towards his right side, he grabs the wrist. He grunts and twists about, turning about as he attempts to flip her over his body, dropping to his knees as he does so to increase the force with an intense fulcrum movement, attempting to use torsion against the arm in his grasp.
COMBATSYS: Sorcha parries Bolivar's Dragging Limb Flip EX!
[ \\\\\\\ < > //////// ]
Bolivar [E] 0/-------/--=====|===----\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[SORCHA]
Her violent offensive stopped before it could even begin, Sorcha wriggles like a beached fish in the powerful grip of her opponent. Her teeth gnash and her claws flex but he manages to hold her at bay long enough to shift his position and turn the tables on her yet again. The sudden yank as the assassin unleashes a martial throw upon his small assailant causes her to lift completely off her feet and her body flips up and over on a direct collision course with the ground.
Except she never hits, atleast not in the manner he intended. Twisting about painfully in the air, Sorcha allows her arm to pop out of place so as to give her the ability to turn and face Bolivar as she falls to her feet, nimbly as a cat - with a twisted arm. She snarls at him, half in anger and half in anticipation as she brings her free hand with the still intact eye forward and presses it straight against his face, digging the nails of her clawed fingers into his flesh.
"Who's badass NOW?!"
The witch's hand erupts into black fire for perhaps the final time, intent on turning the agent's head into little more than roasted meatball.
COMBATSYS: Bolivar blocks Sorcha's Darkflame Cannon EX.
[ \\\\\ < > //////// ]
Bolivar [E] 0/-------/-======|====---\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar rises from the skillfully avoided throw, looking up in shock as the hand with the eye comes right for his face. The nails dig into his cheek and the magic courses down the arm and into him, giving him a split reaction between life and death. Instead of the rational move he's been trained for, pulling away, he snaps his arm up and grabs the wrist, pulling it away and and turning his face. The blast skims right across his face, charring his eye shut as he moans in pain, a painful howl as he falls to the ground, losing his cool. He falls sidelong into the ground, clasping his hand over the burns on his face as he's partially blinded.
Bolivar turns about and pushes off the ground, charging at Sorcha as he groans and heaves with sobs in pain at the shot of black magic directly to his face. He attempts to tackle her around the waist and lift her off the ground by a foot, standing and shifting about. He aims to hurl her to the side, right into a crypt door engraved with an image of a satyr.
COMBATSYS: Sorcha blocks Bolivar's Rebound Throw.
[ \\\\\ < > ////// ]
Bolivar [E] 0/-------/--=====|====---\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[SORCHA]
Not enough! It's still not enough!
The smell of burnt flesh wafts through the air and it's all Sorcha can do not to drool openly at the thought of devouring this fool. It isn't even a matter of sustenance at this point, she'd do it just to spite him for giving her such trouble. Her fingers tear thin lines into the skin of his face as her hand is pushed away but Bolivar's strength is enough to free himself at the last moment. Regardless if he manages to walk away from this, he won't be doing it in one piece any more. The witch has left her mark upon him for all to see. Perhaps he will wear it as a badge of honor. Perhaps others will see it as such, a mark of bravery and courage against a terrible foe. He'll know the truth though, assuming he lives to care.
Sorcha's shoulders heave with exhaustion as she staggers away. The excessive use of magick has left her weary and spent. If the guards were to come along at this point, it's unlikely she would be able to evade them. Perhaps that was their plan all along, maybe this is just some fool they got to distract her! Fresh annoyance floods into her veins as hot fire and she turns to summon up her strength yet again. It hurts everywhere, but pain is no barrier that she cannot overcome. She'll unleash her wrath upon him again and again and again, as much as it takes to burn him to cinders!
Something similar must be going through his own mind as he launches himself bodily at the girl, face burnt and body failing. Neither of them have much to say any more as they go down into a messy pile. Bolivar gets another scratch for his efforts but he manages to hold on and heave the fiesty witch like a bag of rocks. She hits the door of the mausoleum with a dull thud and flops to the ground, teeth grinding and eyes full of hate. Lifting her good hands without even bothering to rise, she spits a foul curse in a language that he cannot understand and dark fire dances to life in her palms, spraying in broad jets of flame which she sweeps haphazardly in his direction.
COMBATSYS: Bolivar dodges Sorcha's Chaos Magick!.
[ \\\\\ < > ///// ]
Bolivar [E] 0/-------/--=====|====---\-------\0 [E] Sorcha
[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar winces as he feels the side of his mouth seperate at the lips and severe the tendon controlling his face behind it, dropping to the ground briefly after the throw. He pushes himself up, staring at Sorcha with one eye, his arms hanging from his shoulders with his legs still ready, as he watches her. Refusing to admit defeat against the monstrous fiend that is now less than a person to him in his mind, his arms snap back into play as he bends down, before he leaps into the air over the torrent of fire. He lifts his arm up as he comes down at her, landing before her and drilling his right fist down at her, with a mighty punch, directly at her mutated eye atop her head.
COMBATSYS: Sorcha fails to interrupt Fierce Punch from Bolivar with Shadowflare.
[ \\\\\\ <
Bolivar [E] 0/-------/--=====|
COMBATSYS: Sorcha can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\ <
Bolivar [E] 0/-------/--=====|
[SORCHA]
The flames dance madly about in the air as if unsure in their purpose, failing to share the conviction of the one who wields them. Bolivar takes to the air, finding it in himself the strength for one last great leap over the deadly hurdles and with a single terrible blow brings the confrontation to its close.
The witch attempt to stop, lifting her tired arms up as she calls upon more power. But, this time, the power does not come. The fires dies out and the humming energy that flows through her veins slowly goes still, leaving her cold and empty inside. For that brief instant in time during which her attacker lingers in the air, fist withdrawn and prepared to strike, she realizes that the path has been chosen for her. Chaos has used her all up, grown bored with her antics and needs. She has served her purpose, whatever that might have been.
A plaything for the gods? A tiny cog in the machine of some greater machination? Maybe they didn't even notice her and she's just been riding the tides.
The girl smiles, her lips peeling back in an ugly smirk. She opens her mouth to laugh, getting out a single shrill bark before the fist crashes into her face. The light of her mutated eye explodes into a swirling storm of sparkling motes as the weak flesh containing it explodes like a fresh grape. Thick cloudy juices splatter upwards in a small geyser of gore, accompanied by a dark black fluid that might be some kind of blood.
The girl immediately goes into a sharp spasm as the life floods out of her in a rush, spilling freely into the air like the fluids that pour from her many wounds. There is sharp violent hiss as if the pressure has been released on a valve and without warning the blood suddenly ignites into black fire, quickly consuming the crumpled mass of flesh and bone as if it were made of flash paper. Acrid smoke fills the air, further enhancing the already present smell of burnt meat as well as the hideous odor of the witch's rotten wounds.
Ding dong, the witch is dead.
[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar falls to his knees after the punch, staring downwards with his remaining right eye as Sorcha goes through her death rattles, any horror he may have felt consumed by the stress of the assassination he has just performed. He watches, quietly, pulling his hand back and letting his fists hang at his saids as she's consumed by the same powers that once claimed her. "Once a child, then a witch, now dead. Rest in peace, child. You were taken by things you did not understand." Shivering from pain but pushed on by purpose, he lifts his left arm and reaches into his bracer, pulling out a small glass vial of holy water. He reaches over the vile remains, and uncaps it, spritzing it over her.
"Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed by thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who have trespassed against us. Now, and at the hour of our death. Amen." He performs the sign of the cross, and then adds, "Lord, please pray for this lost soul."
He pauses, staring at the dead spider hag, and spreads his arms, looking up at the sky and emitting a baleful scream of horror. It echoes in the distance, amidst the stormy skies, before he slowly drags himself to his feet, and moves out of the graveyard, back towards the palace, shivering in the cold with his clothing ruined and the side of his mouth and his left eye maimed.
She was somebody's child.
They all are.
COMBATSYS: Bolivar has ended the fight here.
Log created on 17:07:49 10/22/2016 by Sorcha, and last modified on 20:55:02 10/26/2016.