Match of the Millennium

Description: "The Grand Champion of Mortal Kombat, and supreme prince of Outworld's greatest warriors the Shokan, has risen from his throne, and will now hold grand audience. A grand battle to realize the final fate of your dimming world. In three days time, Prince Goro will battle the Dahlia at his throne room and lair beneath my palace."

[HONOKA]
The Scarlet Dahlia could no longer find solace within the confines of Shang Tsung's palace. Perhaps it was sheer arrogance that led her to even attempt to sleep within the halls of the enemy, even with the protection of her band of merry mercenary men. It had worked -- for a time, but no longer.

Four days it's been since she's been able to truly rest. It's mostly obvious in her half-lidded eyes, weariness tucked away in the folds at either extremity. She might have been able to conceal the dark wells around her eyes if she'd still felt safe applying cosmetics. She might have felt up to brushing the kinks out of her matted hair, now descending well below her shoulders in length. She might have done any number of things to improve her appearance...

Then again, her skin is marvelously radiant. Not only is it a bright honey hue not typically associated with any particular race or creed -- a hue matched by the soulstone affixed to the sash on her right hip. But even in the dim, torch-lit environs of Prince Goro's Throne Room, it becomes even more obvious that her skin is literally aglow.

Despite the weariness evident in her eyes and face, the soft footfalls of her mocassins upon the stone steps shows no indication of fatigue. Her gait is as calm, controlled, and regal as it has been for any of the Dahlia's prior appearances in the palace of Shang Tsung, and her faint, detached smile is almost out of place for a room of such gloom and desperation.

She sees no need for fear. Behind the yakuza advisor march twelve attendants; under casual inspection, only their armor would seem out of place. The two columns of three nearest her are Ainu warriors, bearing shields and spears of two-hundred-year vintage, their eyes hollow and bearing no irises. Flanking those soldiers, three on either side, are much more imposing figures; samurai of a much more ancient bearing standing seven feet tall, with monstrous scythes glistening in the dim torchlight.

Further inspection would show that all twelve warriors -- and their weapons and armor -- are slightly transparent. The only thing non-transparent about the entourage is the sword carried by one of the warriors in the center -- a dark-tinted sword with a hilt wrapped in red cord. The weapon is wrapped in an ancient sheath, held with the point down -- but the blade is much too large to be held by any of the cerulean-tinted Ainu.

The Dahlia's nose wrinkles at the dank air of the subterranean chamber. In one sense, she feels underdressed, or poorly dressed -- her tattered, sleeveless robe could certainly have been improved upon, had she not been forcibly evicted. But she doesn't let such a minor thing stop her.

"In accordance with the edicts of the Elder Gods, I, the Scarlet Dahlia, stand now before you."

A smile dances across the Ainu advisor's face as she surveys the room, drinking in the sensations of those present.

[GORO]
"I know who you are."

A warrior's topknot shifts slightly in the damp air.

The half dragon sits swathed in red at his throne, a truly massive form bristling beneath layers and layers of cloth. A mouth cracked with ages stacked upon ages of war draws tight, a thin pressed thing that glances over the arriving Dahlia and her ghostly entourage much like a man might regard a troublesome spate of weeds that cropped up in his gardens.

Of the Dahlia's regal composure but less-than-regal attire, he chuffs, the sound of an angered stallion, before grousing mildly. "So this is whom the Elder Gods have chosen to represent the interests of Earthrealm.. a farce to end all farces. Evidence that I cannot be defeated has driven them to do this thing, bringing this pretention to the very foot of my throne... how many more limbs must I tear off of Earthrealm's warriors before the gods give up their puerile meddling...!!"

And then, he stands.

One could easily imagine the Shokan to be tall enough that he may hunch at the ceiling, but the high arches are clearly cut to accomodate him, as is the bones of the men whom last he challenged, hanging from shackles off of the limestone. The dominance of his height brings him to bear across all of the arrayed warriors that the Dahlia has levelled against him, and the shadow he casts reaches far indeed. One hand, thick with muscle and short on fingers extends one leather-wrapped fist beyond the darkness of his cloak, unclipping it.

He is the king of all gladiators, the barbarian prince held dominant over all of Mortal Kombat. The inhuman warrior's lower left arm, one of four, each thick enough to crack a man's skull between their biceps, casts aside the cloak. "I am Goro, prince of the Shokan race, and grand champion of the Mortal Kombat tournament. Now has arrived the end of your life." First and second arms lifting up and bracing, third and fourth lowering dangerously to check the blades at his belt, the dusky skin of the Shokan prince casts an unearthly pallor in the light cast by the ragged Dahlia. He wears nothing more extravagant than the leathers of a gladiator, and nothing more ornamental than the glitter of blades.

"May your death come with a warrior's honor..."

COMBATSYS: Goro has started a fight here.

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Goro             0/-------/-------|

[HONOKA]
The Dahlia knows well of the Champion's stature -- it's not as if the statue weren't one of the two showpieces of the palace's welcoming chamber. No doubt, many have shuddered at the fearsome sounds, wilted beneath the Shokan's withering glare. The Ainu tusukur's response is considerably less shaken, though. She clears her throat, a product of the stale air. Her eyes remain fixed upon those of the Shokan Champion.

The end of her life.

The five-foot-five Ainu snorts back in mild derision.

To speak of an end of life, a short distance away from the process of death's reversal.

To speak of honor, in the halls of those with none of it.

"If I may be so bold as to question the Champion's words..."

Her voice rings out loud, echoing within the chamber with a volume, a -presence- far exceeding that which might seem possible from someone of her slight stature. Her right hand extends, while her left hand slips back, unsecuring the sanjiegun at her left hip. As the chained weapon whooshes into a circular orbit behind her, the fingers of her right hand splay outwards.

And then golden flames ripple across her form. Her eyes shine with the intensity of the soulstone upon her hip, while the earthy tones of her humble clothing are cast into silhouette.

"... May the Elder Gods and the armies of History favor me in Kombat today," she announces with a confident smile, slowly stepping sideways in preparation.

Her ethereal servants -- the cerulean blue Ainu and the sanguine red-and-black samurai -- swiftly fan out in arcs to take positions all along the circumference of the room. The sword -- the katana of a man named Kenshi Takahashi -- glistens once in the blur of motion.

The Scarlet Dahlia flinches not -- she simply stands, ready to strike -- willing to let the four-armed Champion take the first strike. Or strikes.

COMBATSYS: Honoka has joined the fight here.

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Honoka           0/-------/-======|-------\-------\0             Goro

COMBATSYS: Honoka equips a supreme Honey Yellow Soul Shard.

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Honoka [E]       0/-------/-======|-------\-------\0             Goro

[GORO]
Question him?

"--if you don't mind terribly losing your tongue!!"

The Shokan is of a completely different mind than most the Dahlia would have had a chance to exchange words with over the course of the tournament. While the sorcerer is all too eager to trade witticisms and smooth repartee with those foolish enough to cross his path and touch his interest, the prince is of truly royal bloodlines, and an alien culture that does not brook casual dissent so easily.

"I've no patience for the smug wordcraft of someone so far beneath noble station so as to aspire to one day be the foundation stone of the dungeon beneath its throne," Goro opines, his growl dripping with acid bile enough to melt the stone beneath the pads of his bare feet. Slowly, a jewel flares at his belt, angry red filling the chamber. "If you wish to gain standing before the Gods and for your realm, sorceress, then show it with your bare hands and my blood!! To arms!!"

Goro moves as an avalanche might, bearing no further room for wit, only will. The gladiator surges towards the Dahlia, closing distance with his size with three positioning steps. He doesn't try to lead with his arms less as he tries to break through Honoka's guard entirely with his chest, his body swelling with force. Only when he forces her off-balance will he move to break into her space and pummel her with fists that may as well be cut from stone. The art is far from beastly--as his first and second punches lead through in a pair of hammerblows for her shoulders, he tries to grasp onto her middle to bodily throw her across his lair. There is a martial bearing and calculation to his moves, and each blow is fired off like a rocket from the battery.

The avalanche of flesh falls fast upon her.

COMBATSYS: Goro equips a supreme Rose Soul Shard.

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Honoka [E]       0/-------/-======|-------\-------\0         [E] Goro

COMBATSYS: Goro blitzes into action and acts again!

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Honoka [E]       0/-------/-======|-------\-------\0         [E] Goro

COMBATSYS: Honoka channels the fortress of the steel will.

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Honoka [E]       0/-------/-======|-------\-------\0         [E] Goro

COMBATSYS: Honoka blocks Goro's Prince of Pain.

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Honoka [E]       0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0         [E] Goro

COMBATSYS: Honoka blocks Goro's Front Punch.

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Honoka [E]       0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0         [E] Goro

[HONOKA]
Losing her tongue.
The Dahlia smiles back in return -- a saccharine and thoroughly insincere expression, reflected in the dismissive shrug of her bare, honey-hued shoulders.
She never did enjoy talking while fighting anyway, so she can't really find fault with the Prince of Shokan for his enthusiasm. He's a loud braggart -- let him boast.

If she were not empowered by the armies at her beck and call, she might be less confident -- but as it is, she stands up to his onslaught without so much as budging from her spot. Her stance is elusive and ready -- a variant of a 'soft' style of wushu that would allow her to redirect blows. The counter against someone with two arms, reliant upon usage of leverage against predictable attacks.

It is less useful against a veritable wall of hardened flesh, backed by a fortified skeleton.
But that is why the acrobat relies less on her trained defense, leaning more heavily upon the skills infused within her soulstone. Her skin flashes brilliantly, honey giving way to flaring veins of iridescent pink for the instant that the Shokan Prince's chest slams into her leading palm. She is, nonetheless, shoved backwards a foot: a fact evidenced by the jangling chain of her sanjiegun. But she is none the worse for wear, even daring to smirk at the aggressive charge.

The hammerblows that come slamming down for her are met with similar confidence: instead of meeting her shoulders, the Shokan's meaty fists will instead slam into upraised palms, and the same flare of light that enables the nimble fighter to have the fortitude of hardened titanium.

She did not forget about the chained staves; they hover behind her, held aloft by momentum and her own projected will.

It would seem that she has, sadly, run out of arms. The three-fingered hands of the Shokan are able to take advantage of the momentary opening, latching about her middle. Here, too, she is more fortified than the average woman her size -- but there is no resultant flash, no brightening of light.

Flying through the air proves to be no such liability to the practiced performer, who is able to flip herself about in midair. Here, she seeks not to only avoid damage -- but land upon the outstretched palms of her nearest Ainu follower.

Said follower draws his hands back, coiling as if a spring.
Said follower launches forward sharply, reversing her momentum entirely. The Ainu general is fired forward, as if from a cannon. Her right palm is outstretched, and reinforced with her left hand wrapped tightly about her wrist. As she hurtles forwards, a gout of pink and purple flames blossoms around her, a bloom that only grows larger as she approaches the intended point of impact: the same chest which slammed into her a moment ago.

If she makes contact, she will unleash a furor of agonizing pain directly into the Shokan's nervous system. If he were an average man, it would be enough of a psychic impact to shock him into a coma for months on end. It will do quite a bit more than tickle, even against the Shokan's might.

COMBATSYS: Honoka channels the glare of the vicious eye.

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Honoka [E]       0/-------/-======|=------\-------\0         [E] Goro

COMBATSYS: Honoka successfully hits Goro with Pon-itak Ki.

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Honoka [E]       1/----===/=======|======-\-------\0         [E] Goro

[GORO]
A battle of souls, it seems.

The Shokan relishes any opportunity to battle, and this will not have been the first sorcerer he's fought against. The Dahlia responds smoothly and quickly to his attack. As expected against the domineering that the elder gods have wrought through the tournament. His light hammer blows bouncing off of the Dahlia's imagined defenses, he throws her away more out of irritation than any sort of aggression now, his guard raised against her inevitable response.

The form of sorcery she uses is powerful, enough to ripple across the battlefield as the prince absorbs her charge right into his bared chest. Her mass is nothing to him, and his body barely buckles beneath it. Even so, the energy that she releases into him is more than enough to assure his fingers tingle with pinkish energy many moments after her impact. The energy is one he's familiar with, the soul-channeled force that even Shang Tsung himself used, but even the demon would have commentary to make on the gladiator's sizzling flesh after the Dahlia's strike. Raising a fourth hand across his agonized flesh pointedly, the gladiator gives Dahlia a stout glare.

Then he tries to hit her in the jaw with the back of his first hand.

The blow comes fast, without warning, and is enough to send stars flooding into the most hardened warrior's vision. He leaves precious little room for thought as he steps into the second blow, a strike with his fourth arm into her middle, which seamlessly transits into the whole monstrous warrior leaping for her, to pounce onto the Dahlia's body with all of his might and force, attempting to cave in her middle with body weight alone, the shining of his jewel bearing down on her, and threatening to cut through the honey glow she casts.

If she likes the sky, he will cut it off for her.

COMBATSYS: Goro channels the strength of the killing fist.

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Honoka [E]       1/----===/=======|======-\-------\0         [E] Goro

COMBATSYS: Goro blitzes into action and acts again!

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Honoka [E]       1/----===/=======|======-\-------\0         [E] Goro

COMBATSYS: Goro channels the strength of the killing fist.

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Honoka [E]       1/----===/=======|======-\-------\0         [E] Goro

COMBATSYS: Honoka channels the spread of the lightning nerves.

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Honoka [E]       1/----===/=======|=====--\-------\0         [E] Goro

COMBATSYS: Goro successfully hits Honoka with High Punch.

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Honoka [E]       1/----===/=======|=====--\-------\0         [E] Goro

COMBATSYS: Honoka dodges Goro's Titan Krush.

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Honoka [E]       1/----===/=======|======-\-------\0         [E] Goro

[HONOKA]
The Dahlia's lips part as her flaming attack lands true: a breath is drawn inward, the pleasant satisfaction of a tactic working as intended. She is cautious not to let her zeal for battle get the best of her though; she reminds herself once again of her fatigue from several days without sleep.

Rebounding to her feet, she drops into a low crouch. Pivoting on one foot, she spins around like a helicopter while rising. The robes, collected more loosely at her feet than at her waist sash, flutter loosely in the wake of her sudden movement.

Unfortunately, she's about to get a lot more spin to her spin, owing to the precision-timed crack of a backhand against her jaw. Her eyelids narrow, as she focuses her will. Nevertheless, bone cracks -- it's a good thing she'd already resolved to keep from talking a whole lot, since the pain lancing through her mandible would be more than enough to discourage her from it now.

The impact takes her off her feet, knocking her back a few feet, but she's able to gyroscopically correct herself due to the spinning momentum. As Goro's stride carries him forwards, she reaches out with her hands.

Wind whistles.
A blue zephyr rushes past -- no, =through= Goro.
Rather than cause injury though, it is one of the Ainu spirit general's warriors aiming to sweep her away to safety -- carrying her just scant centimeters out of the intended body blow. She winces once more from the sheer -heat- of the blow, breathing a quick prayer to the gods that allowed her to avoid such a strike and, judging from what she can sense of the intent, the followup that would have accompanied it.

The Scarlet Dahlia dares not dwell on that, though -- with her zephyr-like soldier releasing her, she calls silently upon one of her crimson samurai, standing just behind Goro. As he steps forward, the avatar of vengeance leverages his scythe, sweeping it down in a strike aimed to ravage the Shokan warrior's well-muscled back.

That would be a diversion, however -- for the Ainu general has already flipped forward. One axial revolution later, the heel of her foot is poised to strike at the Shokan's sternum. Her fingers glow with pink energy, spectral simulacra giving the impression of oversized gloves. Falcon-like talons of will-borne power would dig into the Shokan's flesh in ways that her mortal fingernails could not even scratch. And if she manages to gain purchase, she would rock herself backwards, using those talons to wrench Goro backwards with all her might -- the bigger they are, the harder they fall -- sending him careening head-first into one of the many display pieces throughout the opulent throne room.

COMBATSYS: Honoka channels the strength of the killing fist.

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Honoka [E]       1/----===/=======|======-\-------\0         [E] Goro

COMBATSYS: Goro channels the fortress of the steel will.

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Honoka [E]       1/----===/=======|======-\-------\0         [E] Goro

COMBATSYS: Honoka successfully hits Goro with Wakka Pururuse.

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Honoka [E]       2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|=======\===----\1         [E] Goro

[GORO]
The gladiator rages absent reason as he lands on nothing, the calloused pads of his feet cracking the wet stone as surely as if they had been hit by the sledge. Warrior prince though he may be, the elder gods must truly have ill at mind to conceive of such a scenario, where he must endure the indignity of such a child mustering such forces against him. Is it the demon's will to toy with his life so?

Enough of it, he'll have not an ounce more.

But then, the battle-mad warrior is flanked by phantom soldiers. A scythe cuts into his back, but his response is not to scream. Instead, it is immediate and merciless. One fist, cut through with brutal flame, smashes through where the ghost's skull would be, in a blow that would decapitate a mortal man. Even as the Shokan prince bleeds profusely from almost being cut open at the back, what the Dahlia will notice is an almost supernatural will, one thousand years of pride strangling off any potential of conceding any ground to the sorceress. Any other would have been cut in half. But he doesn't even break a single tear.

It is as he said. Honor is bought only through blood.

Trailing ionized wisps of spectral force, the bruiser's body slams against murky grey stone, the weight of his passage smashing a withered body shackled to the wall to dust, the only opulence in this, a dungeon of despair yet called a throne room. The gladiator prince rests his third and fourth hands against the wall, a powerful motion at his core leaving his blood in his wake as he forces himself free of it. One whirling motion, then the next, and one may have occasion to see why he is called grand champion.

"I ..."

Goro channels the fire of his half dragon heritage in his fists brutally, advancing on the diminutive girl with intent. There is no soldier of no army who can stop his charge now, all limbs devoted singularly to the purpose of cutting ghosts in half and crushing any skull that stands between him and the Dahlia, flame trailing with every blow. It is a rampage cut from a battle-mad warrior's hands, one that would spill blood by the gallon if it were mortals between he and the girl. As it stands, there is nothing but air. But make no mistake.

"... am the MASTER OF KOMBAT!"
Against the barbarian prince, even air bleeds.

It will take everything the Dahlia has to check a charge like that, because he intends to break each and every one of her pawns on the way to her if needed. It is important to stop him, because should he through some factor of surprise fold her underneath his boot and send her sprawling to the ground, it may be as simple as that. Because Prince Goro intends to do nothing less than to grip the Dahlia by each ankle and wrist to her name.

And begin pulling limbs off, one by one.

COMBATSYS: Goro channels the glare of the vicious eye.

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Honoka [E]       2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|=======\===----\1         [E] Goro

COMBATSYS: Goro channels the strength of the killing fist.

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Honoka [E]       2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|=======\===----\1         [E] Goro

COMBATSYS: Goro channels the veins of the burning blood.

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Honoka [E]       2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2         [E] Goro

COMBATSYS: Honoka channels the glare of the vicious eye.

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Honoka [E]       2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|>>>>---\-------\0         [E] Goro

COMBATSYS: Honoka channels the fortress of the steel will.

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Honoka [E]       2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|>>>>---\-------\0         [E] Goro

COMBATSYS: Honoka interrupts Shokan Amputation from Goro with Iomante.

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Honoka [E]       0/-------/---<<<<|>>>>>>>\>>>>---\1         [E] Goro

[HONOKA]
Not only was the vengeful samurai spirit successful in distracting the Shokan Champion from the Ainu general's attack, he was also successful in earning Goro's deadly ire. The force is enough to knock the kabuto backwards, taking armor and skull alike clear from their shoulders, pulverizing the spinal column and the lacquered armor alike in a hollow, bone-crunching echo. The decapitated body falls to its knees, but it vanishes into a murky cloud of red and black mist before its shoulders can hit the floor.

The Dahlia tenses her jaw at the feeling of life departing her soldier, but the lancing pain just serves as a reminder that, unlike her spectral warriors, there may be no one to bring her back from the brink. Battle weary, she flips back to her feet, hands spread out to either side as her nostrils draw in a sharp intake of breath. At any moment, her body is overdue to collapse -- though, as she understands with the entirety of her being that such an action would be a death sentence, and -then- some.

Reminding herself to focus on her opponent, her hands motion about as if tied by strings to her subordinates. While the Mortal Kombat Champion uses brutal, primal force, the Dahlia's battle strategy is focused on speed and battlefield control -- and that means repositioning her pawns into optimal positions, thinking two and three moves ahead of her opponent. After all, two additional arms will mean little if she stays out of his reach, after all...

Exhaling through narrowly-parted lips, she hops backwards, extending her right hand out to one side. As bidden, the spinning sanjiegun -- left hovering in midair a few moments prior -- is pulled to her, guided aloft by a faint blue haze. The weapon returnd to her hand, she arches an eyebrow at her opponent...

Is... this actually a dream, she wonders? So many times, over the past few days, has she played out similar scenarios in her mind. The mindless brute, driven by fury -- all is proceeding according to plan, to such a degree that the Dahlia begins to question the reality itself.

And yet, one thing becomes clear --

In her illusive, dreamlike scenarios, the Champion had never shouted.

The Dahlia grins -- a gesture which is sure to be infuriating to the longtime champion.
But that is when four samurai barrel into him -- two from his left, two from the right. The blades on their armor are not sharp enough to pierce the champion's thick hide, but they will be enough to provide purchase -- weighing him down. As before, they will be like rag dolls tossed in the path of a raging bull -- their spectral flesh only slightly more elusive than the meat and sinew the Champion is used to rending apart.

Their sacrifice, though -- is only intended to slow down the charging Shokan. As all four are working together, their sacrifice may not be as final as their brother's -- but it will be enough to prevent the rampage from hitting the Dahlia with its full furor. Her arm snaps upwards, flaring with cerulean blue light as the smooth staves -- instead of her wrists -- are ensnared by Goro. Her arm is jerked outward, just the same -- but when the grip comes for her second arm, she meets it by using her left forearm as a battering ram, bashing it aside with a second flare of blue light. She does not have to overpower his might -- just redirect it away from herself.

"... Nothing lasts forever." she whispers through barely-parted lips, her rasping voice amplified by the force of her will.

Faster than mortal eyes, she moves forward with lightning accuracy, her sanjiegun slipping out of the Shokan's grasp and then slamming against him. Observers -- those of Shang Tsung's retinue -- would only be able to see the staff moving as a rapid blur as it hammers repeatedly into the less hardened parts of Goro's massive body. The base of the neck. The plateaus of the cheekbones. The base of the skull, the ears, the sternum themselves. Faster eyes would be able to notice two Ainu warriors guiding the Dahlia's strikes, correcting her form, aiding her precision and adding to the lethality of the blindingly-fast sanjiegun.

And her left hand glows with bright pink and purple, as it reaches out for Goro's lower abdomen. A pink blossom, beautiful in its own macabre way, grows larger with each morsel of agony drained from the Shokan champion. And just when the bloom looks to be ready to burst -- Goro may actually find himself lifted upwards.

It will be a temporary inconvenience -- as the Scarlet Dahlia leaps into a backflip, her moccasin connecting with the blossom.
And exploding it, into a shower of petals -- and an ear-splitting whine, as the gathered agony shrieks outward, searing through Goro with the fury of sending every muscle into convulsions simultaneously.

She lands in a low crouch, panting. Her arms extend to either side, draped over the forms of two Ainu warriors, now clearly visible as their celerity is no longer needed.

The Ainu help her rise to her feet. "Are you tired of winning yet?" she rasps, condescension dripping in her voice. Another targeted strategy, as she continues to give silent signals to her forces -- already repositioning them for the next gambit.

[GORO]
The prince expects pawns. The sorceress, drunk off of the boons of the elder gods, was hellbent on avoiding the four quick and brutal deaths the prince had in store for her just off the top of his head. It's not the first time he's been surrounded before, as a warrior accustomed to not just this, the height of ritualized kombat, but the greater battlefield and war at large. The emperor preferred his, the Shokan race, to all else on the battlefield for just that reason. They were gods of war, and those surrounding them were simply in mortal danger.

Endless, ceaseless is the Shokan enmity. But it has little to do with the relatively inconsequential meandering of the woman and the placement of her advisors and spirits. As mentioned before, the prince is used to it, and the crush of pride the titan feels even as the Dahlia breaks his grip is not of the sort that Dahlia can reproach with a small smile or two. No, to consider that he may lose to the Dahlia is not what enrages him. If she were to beat him thus, she would have earned it, imperious though Goro may be.

What truly angers him is that if he dies today, it will not be in a battle decided by his own strength, but of the whim and games of the elder gods. Even the great demon Shang Tsung should have foreseen this. And if he should have foreseen this... Goro would not put it past him to think that every part of this moment, much like so much else in these tournaments, has been predetermined already. Is it possible that he has been betrayed...

There is no space around Goro that is safe at any time. But even so, should the samurai be as wise as they are dauntless, they should weather the onslaught of the prince without losing anything untowards. Instead, the energy of the Dahlia is enough to tear his flesh from his bones. Breaking his hold, she attempts to batter him, to find a weak point. It is easy to believe he has none, as whether hitting him in the ear or the neck, the brisk thud of steel against flesh seems no more effective than striking him square in his lean, muscled chest. But slowly, and surely, her onslaught, and the blue forces that perfect it even as she moves, take hold in concert. Slowly, like tipping the mountain, does Goro's form crack at its foundations.

The psychic energy forces his muscle to rip itself from its ossified moorings, agonized contractions forcing the gladiator god's body to spray blood into the open air, great wings of viscera blooming in the air as Goro's heart threatens to break his ribcage from inside his stomach. It does this, far in excess of what this energy is supposed to do. It does this far in excess of what is reasonable, and what is thoughtful. Because for all of the dreams and illusions the sorceress has ideated in her head as to what would transpire from this point onward... that time has ended.

Lower arms slam into the earth, crumpling stone as the barbarian half dragon holds against that powerful force of energy she kicks off into him, leaving his muscles with no other option but to rip themselves from his bones. He does not rise. Not an inch as she has dreamed. He stares into the coruscating, damning light, his eyes narrowing, cold and deadly in it. No matter what whims the elder gods have.... Prince Goro is not so easily made a fool of. And in the force and energy of her passage, she may realize that no matter how strongly she manages to hit him, she made the mistake of not completely annihilating him.

"Your childish braying ill suits the power that your ancestors and the gods have given you to squander.."

Slowly, enormously, the gladiator prince rises, the master of kombat a dark, impossibly tall and alien silhouette in the remaining light, flaring from the belt at his hip. He reaches forward, before the light eats him entirely. Did she dream of this moment? Does she think to control everything? Is she aware of anything at all? If she does not believe, even for a second, that Goro's pride is larger than hers. If she thinks for a moment that the prince of the Shokan race is not capable of killing everyone and everything in that room. If she thinks of anything other than how to survive the next few seconds of her life, the four armed half dragon will snatch her bodily from her guards. He will crush her ribcage and her lungs between his third and fourth arms. He will grip her head. If she for a moment believes that 'this much is enough, and I can think of what else to do next.' If she thinks that she can afford to withhold anything. Goro will get ahold of her, he will crush the blue fields protecting her and enhancing her. He will crush her ancestors.

And then, when she realizes her folly, he will crush her head between his bare hands.

COMBATSYS: Goro channels the strength of the killing fist.

[        \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////                         ]
Honoka [E]       0/-------/---<<<<|>>>>>>>\>>>>---\1         [E] Goro

COMBATSYS: Goro channels the glare of the vicious eye.

[        \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////                         ]
Honoka [E]       0/-------/---<<<<|>>>>>>>\>>>>---\1         [E] Goro

COMBATSYS: Goro can no longer fight.

[        \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Honoka [E]       0/-------/---<<<<|

COMBATSYS: Honoka channels the fortress of the steel will.

[        \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Honoka [E]       0/-------/---<<<<|

COMBATSYS: Honoka blocks Goro's Krusher.

[           \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Honoka [E]       0/-------/--<<<<<|

[HONOKA]
The Scarlet Dahlia is acquainted of the injustices of war only from secondhand accounts -- the spoken words of ancestors, the written words of historians. And yet, unlike many of her tender age, she has taken the lessons to heart. War is hell, and the margin between victory and defeat can be bridged by the blade of a single sword.

The Ainu tusukur was in doubt before. But now, as she draws her bloodied sanjiegun away, she is now more than ever convinced that the gods smile upon her actions. Without their support, she would never have made it so far. The sprays of Shokan's blood spatter across her bland-colored garment; flecks of crimson mottle her face in a pointillist display.

Hands crater the earth beneath the Shokan. Her smile does not fade in luster, nor does her intense glow, as she spins the sanjiegun. Her weapon becomes as a rapid disc, balanced delicately upon an extended finger as the Dahlia paces backwards, affording the Shokan a measure of space.

Her word choice is called into question. Her head shakes slowly from side to side, as another free hand rises to stroke her fractured jawbone. Her voice is low -- but who dares speak during a battle of such momentousness?

"Look, I had to focus my training. I could either kick your ass, or I could trash talk like the wrinkled fossils you're comfortable with."

With a casual, dismissive gesture, she sends the sanjiegun aside; the disc floats a distance away. The professional performer has a great deal of experience juggling multiple moving objects at once -- but now, she seems hellbent on demonstrating just how she would, in Goro's words, 'squander' such gifts. She sets expectations of mismanagement, of misallocation.

And Goro challenges that weakness -- supposedly catching her off-guard for that one moment. In an instant, he will find victory -- and the Dahlia -- within his grasp. Three-fingered hands will press against her blood-spattered locks of hair, will crush her arms to her side.

But she will not break. Her acrobatic frame is not as weak as it appears -- her skin has the consistency and resilience of bronze. Her skull -- for now -- forged in titanium, for all intents and purposes. Her eyes -- locked upon Goro's -- display an off-guard expression. Remorse. Weakness. With the power of the elder gods and her ancestors at her beck and call, she could have reinforced herself even stronger -- to become as diamond against the pistons of raw power that most would call fingers. Blood begins to drip from her nose -- forced out from the insane pressure applied to her cranium. Wheezing for breath, she begins to buckle, lowering herself under Goro's withering assault.

And then Goro will begin to feel the distinct fingers of spirits piercing into his lower forearms.

And then Goro will realize that the Dahlia -allowed- herself this measure of pain, this moment of weakness. Within his expansive reach, he will find that he has wrapped his arms not around one -- but around three. The forms within are revealed -- two cerulean warriors in Ainu armor, wrenching the lower arms outwards, preventing the leverage that would be necessary to continue crushing the Dahlia any further.

Sweat beads on the Dahlia's forehead as the unabating pressure continues -- though Goro will find two -more- pairs of hands applying viselike compression to his arms, tugging them away. The gnarled, weathered hands: brethren of the fallen red-and-black avatar of vengeance from before.

When Goro seeks for an explanation in the Dahlia's eyes, he will find that her expression has changed. No longer hopeless; instead, she is manic, filled with sadistic glee as she resists. The position of weakness was little more than a trap -- the tusukur's manipulation to force Goro to turn his hand, so that the Dahlia could reveal her own final trumps.

The Dahlia's skin burns with nuclear intensity, her skin membrane becoming just as solid as it needed to before. The chroma of her radiant glow shifts from blue to brilliant white. As her body resists and repels the Shokan, so too do her soldiers grow in might. As Goro's grip gives way, left only with the whispering touch of her raven locks as they are pulled away by the rising Dahlia.

With four soldiers maintaining their hold on the Shokan's arms -- two hulking avatars of vengeance pulling his upper arms back while two Ainu poiyaumbe deny his lower arms their prize. Even with the Dahlia's deceitful reapportionment of energy, it might still be possible for the Goro's immense energy reserves to press forward, to topple even her newly-empowered vassals.

And yet, even looking death in the eyes -- the Dahlia seems unimpressed, right hand rising up to tousle the distressed locks of hair back into some semblance of order. She rotates counterclockwise, her left palm supinating for no apparent reason.

Goro will then find his knees giving out -- blunt impacts from the hafts of spears delivered to the backs of his knees, forcing his head down to her own eye level. Where before she showed weakness, she now radiates dominance -- eager to drink in the reversed fortune. Goro's arms remain held fast by four spectral warriors, his knees pinned by two more -- and he would find that any surge of strength would be mirrored by a resultant surge in his captor's abilities. Just enough to give him false hope -- and nothing more. Whether the Gods granted her power, or her ancestors, or her Earthbound accomplices -- it matters not.

Eye to eye with the tenuously captive Champion, she speaks with the duplicitous voice of a serpent.

"I give thanks to the ancestors and gods for allowing Earthrealm to stand against Outworld's tyranny."

The soulstone at her hip glows -- the clear conduit of energy. The observers might notice that four gilded strands radiate outwards to the warriors holding Goro's arms fast. Two more strands, though, project through Goro's chest...
Those strands pull tight.

And in an instant, the point of Sento's blade pierces through Goro's ribcage, just slightly off-center.

The Dahlia closes her eyes as she is showered in the Shokan's blood. The blade of Kenshi Takahashi pierces through the Champion's chest with ease, pulled rapidly though his body through the machinations of the Dahlia. Where she posed weakness, she was orchestrating an opportunity.

While the obvious and immediate effects of the blade's penetration are little more than loose blood and a few small fragments of bone from the Shokan, the ancestral sword continues to press forward. Soon, there is more evidence of its fatal journey through Goro's chest cavity: the katana's tsuba plunges through, showering bone fragments, cardial matter, and bile onto the elm-bark trappings of the Dahlia. Blood coats her head, and the rapidly-discoloring regions left bare by the champion's meaty fingertips. Her left palm welcomes the flat of the blade, as her right hand separates itself from her raven locks, pressing down onto the hilt's blood-soaked ito.

Thoroughly saturated, the Ainu will glean no greater pleasure from tormenting the Shokan further. The rapturous emotion of loss -- of such a proud and noble warrior experiencing his own murder first-hand -- will have no greater encore than that provided by a swift end. Her hand tightens around the hilt, as she spins in a tight, counter-clockwise spiral. The blade glistens in the light as it describes a deadly arc.

The blade bites down first into the left of Goro's neck. Leathery skin bifurcates at the behest of the ancestral heirloom, a blossom of blood erupting from within. The blade carves downward at a slight angle, cleaving clear through the neck muscles and spine, its otherwise perfect path ruined as the blade glances off the Shokan's right clavicle. The blade whistles harmlessly past her steadfast assistants, its path brought mere centimeters away from shearing them apart in similar fashion.

The Dahlia, more used to blunt weaponry, was unused to the relative ease in which the assassin blade's fine edge slices through the hardened veteran. Sento voices its distaste for being wielded in such a fashion as a series of warbling vibrations; its cries fall silent as the Ainu woman loosens her grip accordingly. Blood spatters across the stone as she wheels the blade back around, trading the weapon's grip to her left hand. She orients its point towards the floor; her tacit acknowledgement that she currently lacks a proper scabbard for the weapon.

The only sounds in the subterranean chamber are the incessant gurgles of blood, the flickering torchlight, and the whistling of the sanjiegun some ten feet away from the two combatants. She raises an open palm to the Shokan's head, enveloping it with wisps of pink and purple light. Only now does the Dahlia issue the psychic command to release the Shokan. Only now does the inanimate, decapitated body of the Champion sink to the ground -- inundated with blood loosed from the severed base of the skull that now hovers incredibly above it.

The Dahlia's eyelids, slick with the Shokan's blood, part to allow her to lay eyes upon the disembodied head. The hardened, blood-spattered flesh hangs as testament to the awesome powers vested within her soulstone -- for without them, she would no doubt have been dismembered by the raging Prince, her bones pulverized with ease into a fine porridge. She knows the bargain she has made - the bruising will become more evident once the sheen of blood is cleansed away.

Several days she has gone without rest -- and with this victory, she knows that her journey is not yet at an end. But with vindication lifting her lips into a lopsided smile, she manipulates her fingers as if turning a dial -- the resultant action being to turn the Shokan Champion's rictus mask towards the observers, demonstrating the net effect of the psion's power. She could offer deference to the position -- but in her madness, she sees no further reason to hide her -true- emotional state of mind. She sees no reason -not- to flaunt her power. To demonstrate her superiority beyond the shadow of a doubt. To quell any would-be assailants.

With only a twitch of the Dahlia's eyelid, her spectral soldiers array themselves in a defensive phalanx -- concentric circles, pointing outwards, as a pointed discouragement to anyone who might seek to take advantage of the victor's state of fatigue. So too does Kenshi's sword lift from her hand, elevated in similar fashion to her sanjiegun, which only now snaps into a taut and nearly-straight staff, so to act as a cousin of the forged edge. The Shokan's head floats towards her awaiting grasp. She takes grasp of the now-former champion's topknot. Her trophy is thrust high into the air; the ground before her is inundated with a deluge of fresh blood.

Her voice booms: defiant and imperious.
"Such is the fate of mad tyrants, who would usurp the wealth of sovereign nations."

COMBATSYS: Honoka has ended the fight here.

Log created on 15:32:07 02/17/2017 by Honoka, and last modified on 08:22:14 02/23/2017.