Match of the Millennium

Description: Within the forests that surround Southtown, danger is growing as a mysterious man begins to create portals to other worlds. What he brings through may portend horror for those in the city under Jedah Dohma's Spire

[VAS]
Southtown is best known for its towering skyscrapers and its unparalleled selection of professional fight venues. But aside from the tall buildings and the beautiful coastlines, there's a great deal of territory that's less glitz and glamour than it is easily overlooked.

One such area is this hill overlooking the western outskirts. It's easy to forget that hills are a thing, until you're trying to scan the horizon in sight of Mt Fuji and this big ol' hill jumps in the way. Covered in a mix of broadleaf and confer trees, the hill doesn't seem like it would have much value aside from its oxygen-rich, carbon-dioxide-munching properties. Maybe to -hikers-, though; there are a number of paths criss-crossing their way up to the peak. It'd be a good place to spend the night, for someone who wants to avoid the bright city lights, or maybe just can't afford the hotel room.

Maybe that's what this guy's doing here -- though he looks more than a bit out of place in tailored slacks and a cotton blazer. He stands six foot two, with slicked back hair, European features, and olive-toned skin. He doesn't have a beard, but his chin is lined with a fair degree of stubble. And what's more... he's got no luggage of any kind. No food, no provisions, no sleeping bag.

He seems to be lost -- or perhaps there's some other reason he walks up the hill for a few minutes, and then looks back to the city, reassessing his position. Perhaps he's looking for a particular skyscraper, or ... maybe an ideal place for birdwatching. At 11pm at night. That's not... suspicious at all.

[GALLON]
Nature's promised refuge from the gleaming light and clanging clamor of the cities of Man. Deep forest, rolling hills, the base of a mountain marred by violence, carrying the scars of a war fought for a people's survival. A nation invaded by force, and now potentially invaded through silver tongues speaking behind sharper teeth. Finding the winner of the last Majigen incident has proven unhelpful. This leaves Gallon with little plan but to attempt reconnecting with his erstwhile "student", Bulleta.

Trails to Southtown, to where the spire itself is, but Gallon is not yet set to wander into the enclave of humanity. He has long ago lost his human shape, and lately he has been considering his long hermitage in seeking a return to it. He isn't about to stroll openly through Southtown during the day. But the pleasant forests surrounding Southtown reminds him of what he has lost. And it reminds him a great deal of how similar this place is despite being so far away from Britain and France.

He rests beneath a tree, sat cross-legged, hands on his knees and eyes closed. His chest rises and falls with steady rhythm. He focuses on the mental image of the city and the night sky, seeing the simularities between city light and stars above. Meditation on the nature and notions around him.

Nostrils flare, a new scent, something coming through the forest. Something coming near. A man smell. Gallon's yellow eye snaps open and focuses on the dark of the forest; acclimating to the depth of the night. Deep in his chest, he feels a rumble of a growl. Instincts kick up and Gallon swallows it down, the Man rules in the moment, and the Beast's initial hackles quiet. But he cannot simply sit and wait, Gallon has been hunted too long to allow himself this moment of naivete.

He pulls himself to his feet, adjusts his sash of a belt, and doesn't stalk so much as walk with a slow and methodically purpose after this smell, seeking out the man who joins him on the hillside. Claws sharp, teeth gleaming, eyes bright in the night.

[VAS]
The tall stranger continues his staggered ascent up the mountain for a time, only occasionally checking his position and distance. When he stops and looks, he moves his head side-to-side as if confirming that he has a good view of the city. But as he winds up the hillside, one thing becomes clear -- he's only interested in stopping at places with a clear view of the center of Southtown.

He smells faintly of cologne. His blazer and slacks are brand new; his shoes a bit less so. Most wouldn't notice, of course, but a keen nose would be able to detect, intermingled with the scent of dirt from the hillside trail, the unmistakable scent of blood.

The stranger's sense of smell is, however, not so strong; he doesn't seem to have noticed when Gallon had started trailing him.

But once Gallon steps closer...

The stranger turns towards him. His irises are charcoal. His pupil, lit with a faint red glow. His breathing stills, as he stares back at Gallon, studying the werewolf for a moment.

"Can I help you?" The low, baritone voice stands out in the still of night.

[GALLON]
A sightseer? The views from the hills are wonderful, especially at night. Gallon himself had taken time to appreciate the shimmering array of buildings and streets. Now, though, his attention is strictly on the living and breathing moment. The present weight of the man and his curious scents. The cologne, a cover, the body, the dirt and forest surrounding. It spoke some of what he was and where he had been. But mostly, the blood, the iron tang screams loudest on a person.

The nose of the beast was a gift, but it was the man side that thought and questioned. It was clever enough to fool itself. It was clever enough to concoct possibilities of the scent. To tell stories and narratives that confuse the man. Though the beast remains ever present to cut through the potential and think of nothing more than 'blood'.

Gallon's eyes narrow and his hands open and close, ready, tense and with a coiled spring anxiety ready to burst. He's moving into the clear, through the dark and into the limited light. Gallon's eyes are clear in the dark. And with a moment's consideration, eyes as bestial and inhuman as this strange man's.

Gallon's ears flick in consideration and curiosity. At the least, this strange man, and if Gallon was honest with his suspicion - Darkstalker, isn't afraid of him, and isn't reacting with fury. Maybe for once in a night, Gallon wouldn't have to worry about the harassment from the SNF committees.

So it's with ease that he speaks, low, rough toned, but peaceable. "Most likely not," his voice still carries his native accent, "Bar helping my curiosity. Not many salarymen wandering the forests at this time of night."

[VAS]
The sight of a werewolf tends to provoke similar fear responses across the human race, with few exceptions. The insane, undoubtedly. The innocent, naive and curious. And those with the skills necessary to defend themselves from attack.

The tall man blinks back, impassively. Innocence and naivete don't really jive with the scent of blood. And if he's insane, it's the kind of insanity that keeps words from forming, not the kind of stark raving insanity that ought to have bubbled to the surface by now. He's just not showing any fear at all, possibly thanks to Gallon's non-threatening tone.

He does, though, look around behind him, out of concern that a salaryman might be wandering the forest that he hadn't noticed before.

His dark eyebrows knit together as he returns his gaze to Gallon. "... No." He adds, after a pause, "I haven't seen any, sorry." His tone is dry, devoid of the usual markers of sarcasm or wit.

For a moment, there is silence, save for the sounds of nocturnal insects and their chirpy mating calls.

Vas looks away for a moment, in the direction Gallon had approached from.

"... Do you live here?" His tone is as level as it has been through his other utterances, except for the faint lift at the end to signal a question.

[GALLON]
Madness, rationality, the questions of such things are of little meaning to the moment. The moment where the beast is, the man attempts to be in hopes of making the most of the beast's immediacy. Gallon looks to the man with the strange eyes, in the strange location, for unknown purposes. He considers, and he questions.

He could simply leave. Not a whit of this matters to him, nor does it stand to matter. It is just a thing, and it doesn't even get in the way of his overall goals. The man is suspicious, but it isn't Gallon's problem.

With no word, no response for the man's question, he turns. His ear flicks, and his lip curls, but he leaves. Suspicious as he is, he isn't going to allow a confrontation here and now. There is no purpose to it. It was easier still to disappear into the forest and to go toward the isolation he had been party to for so many years.

[VAS]
The werewolf had gone through some trouble to get Vas' attention, so he seems a bit perplexed when his question goes unanswered and unheeded. His forehead wrinkles, and his lips press into a firm line. He finds himself rubbing his hand along his inner sleeve, fidgeting for a few moments as Gallon returns to his self-imposed isolation.

Some part of him seemed as if he might venture the gumption to say a farewell. And yet -- that would detract from the task at hand. He stands in place for a good minute or so, watching the forest in case that Gallon makes a sign of wanting to resume the halting conversation...

But as he does not, Vas turns on his heel and begins walking his way up the hill. He walks for a good three or four minutes or so, making another wide loop around, gaining another few dozen feet in elevation.

And then he leans against a tree, pulling a small flip phone out of his pocket. His gaze focuses on the Majigen Spire, in the business district. And he dials.

"Area is clear."

And then he snaps the phone shut, pitching it a good dozen meters away from him. The phone ricochets off a tree trunk, thudding to the hilltop floor a moment later.

And a moment after that -- an aperture, ringed in ichorous blood, ripples into existence around the phone. The aperture grows from the size of a wedding ring to the size of a truck tire, swallowing the cellphone whole.

And Vas remains against the tree, watching with crimson-lit eyes, as the portal continues to grow. A moment later, a figure marches out of it -- as if the portal led directly to the top of a staircase. The ghastly being, seemingly little more than an armature coated in half-melted wax, carries a large egg in his arms, a meter across and a meter and a half in height. The egg is black obsidian, encrusted with what looks like fibres of rusted metal.

Vas yawns, casting his eyes down the hill, and resumes prodding his finger at the end of his sleeve. Is that a loose thread he's found...?

The ghastly being lugs his egg to a nearby tree, setting it down. And not long behind him, there is another companion, also carrying an egg. And before long, a third, and a fourth...

[GALLON]
It was less attention seeking, more an announcement of his presence. Alert the man, see if there was threat, decide, and leave. Gallon has no purpose here, or so he thought on the surface. The nagging instinct of the beast gnashed at the man's mind even has he stalks back to the comforting darkness of the forest deep.

The beast wins out over the man's indifference. Ears flick, the werewolf slicks into the shadows of the towering trees and skulks after the strange man in a place he should not be. The strange man with the eldritch eyes and using a cell phone.

Curious and curious still is the sudden appearance of a rupture on the air itself. Gallon remains quiet, crouching low, claws dig against the earth as his deep yellow eyes stare with a fiery purpose. Darkstalkers. Ones that may yet bode ill for the fate of the people within Southtown. He hopes intently that this is just a Darkstalker who appears a deal worse than he is. After all, he would not wish the harassment he's faced on anyone that wasn't an enemy.

Eggs? One by one by one? Gallon watches, he licks his teeth and scents the air. The beast is pushing forward, and the beast is cautious. But the beast is not the man and does not thrust possibilities forward where there are none. In this moment, it considers the eggs as nothing more than eggs, but the cautious and constrained curiosity keeps the werewolf close at hand. Just to see where this is yet to go, and not anxious enough to intercede.

[VAS]
The ghastly ectomorphs continue toiling away. From the way their thin frames shudder, and their muscles twitch after release, it appears that each egg might weigh as much as 300 pounds. The eggs bear a strong scent of sulfur and iron, while the thin laborers themselves reek of formaldehyde and decay.

Vas, for his part, seems utterly disinterested in supervising the goings-on, his focus fixated on the irregularities in his suit.

The first laborer, now empty-handed, returns to the portal -- but as the aperture flares up with the onset of an impending arrival, he steps aside to patiently wait his turn.

A new laborer appears, carrying an egg of his own. Once he makes it through, the first laborer makes his exit. But this new laborer... doesn't have a good read of the hilly landscape. He misses the fact that there's a root directly in his path -- tripping over it. As he falls, he drops his payload against the ground.

The egg cracks once.
Then a series of cracks begins to spread, glowing orange from within.
The cracks tick-tick-tick... and the furrows become irreconcilable.
With a shrill screech, the eggshell explodes open.
And within... is a mass formed out of raw muscles and sinew, dripping wet with a glowing, red-orange fluid. As it twitches and moves, bits and pieces of the obsidian shell are hurled off into the surrounding trees.

Vas delivers a grunt, pushing away from his resting spot with a look of concern. With a voice of unwavering authority, he echoes out to the ectomorphs: "... All stop. Contain and escort."

The creature roars -- a shrill, high-pitched scream -- enough to give Vas pause. As it rises up, its shape begins to resemble that of a young insect, with six spindly appendages and a head barely protruding past its body. And as it screams, the four little antennae on its head begin to twitch.

An instant later, the stunned ectomorph, frozen with panic, starts to clamber back to its feet. The creature senses movement... and -leaps- onto the ectomorph. The sound of blades slicing through flesh can be heard in an instant -- and the ectomorph's hands both fall away, severed clean in the center.

Vas's pace is swift and deliberate. He reaches the blood-covered creature in a matter of moments and drops his fist in a hammerblow to the creature's back. Its carapace, still slick and soft, buckles -- and the creature screams again. It -releases- the ectomorph, convulsing in panic; enough time for Vas to pause in his attack and consider.

That gives the creature just enough time to release its pincers from the ectomorph -- and bound away! It lopes through the forest, zig-zagging through the trees like a wild animal. It swerves left, and right...

But then it stops. Antennae twitch.

And then it begins bounding towards -Gallon-.

[GALLON]
The eggs swiftly prove worth attention. Insects birth forth, breaking free and bursting outward. The sight, and smell, is enough to raise the hackles on Gallon's neck. He leans forward, toward the showcase before him. His claws dig deep into the ground, his lips pull back, showing the fangs in his maw. The beast is angered by this strange development. The man is allowed the theorize.

And in the moment, both man and beast are in agreement: these things are not right for the world. But the inhuman man, the one that Gallon blames for leading the portal, for bringing these things and the ectomorphs forth, stops one of the insectile creatures. But it isn't enough. The insect escapes. And it lashes through the forested night, cutting through the air and setting itself on Gallon's position.

The creature hurtles toward the werewolf, and the receives it the way he receives many threats. Like lightning, he springs forth with a howl the pierces the night. Rolling forward, he flashes with an iridescent burst of energy enveloping him like an armor and rendering him a veritable projectile of claws and teeth. Fight the creature as a creature, take it as a beast. Lashing and striking with the Beasts weapons, and honed with the Man's fighting edge.

[VAS]
Vas's inhuman eyes were already tracking the insectoid, but he makes no sudden move to follow it. Even if he were swift enough to catch up with the newborn creature, he appears to be unwilling to rush himself overly much to do so. Especially after the howl, which brings about a pause in even his slow, plodding pace.

Energy surges around Gallon like a protective shell. And that same energy plows into the carapace of the newborn creature, flexing the shell while forcing a halt to its ferocious charge. The creature flips backwards after impact, but the neophyte is not adept enough to account for its surroundings, careening off the side of a tree trunk before righting itself. Landing on four of its legs, the creature rises up, lashing forelimbs out to either side.

It becomes obvious that the form of a beetle was only a starting point for this species' evolution. Blood gurgles out from the creature's joints -- but then, almost -violently- coagulating in rapid measure, the arms adopt a new form, some four times their prior girth. The moonlit sheen on the limbs dulls as the fluid cools rapidly, leaving behind chitinous armor with a prominent ridge.

The newborn swings its bladed forelimbs at Gallon like twin scythes. Lupine claws clash against chitin-like iron, setting off a dazzling array of sparks. The creature fights on pure, raw instinct, unsullied by such concepts as "strategy" or "civility" -- fighting for the more primal sense of "territory."

Vas, meanwhile, turns to the ectomorphs and their eggs, making a motion for them to resume their work. Cocky bastard, or maybe just overconfident in the newly-birthed creature's skills.

COMBATSYS: Newborn has started a fight here on the right meter side.

                                  >  //////////////////////////////]
                                  |-------\-------\0          Newborn

COMBATSYS: Vas has joined the fight here on the right meter side.

                                  >  //////////////////////////////]
                                  |-------\-------\0              Vas
                                  >  //////////////////////////////]
                                  |-------\-------\0          Newborn

[GALLON]
Raging through the creature to the other side, Gallon rolls through the air and splays. His claws spread and dig deep into the earth. Furrows dig up, scraps of twigs and undergrowth fly up as he skids to a stop in a low slung bestial position.

Eyes bright, wide, teeth bared, ears up, Gallon opens his senses to the forest around him. His tail lashes, he looks sharp. He felt the strength of the creature's shell. And there's always the strange man nearby. But little matter, Gallon cannot allow this threat to corrupt or destroy. He had been someone to simply allow to be, so long as it didn't directly involve him. That is no longer who Gallon is. He will never move beyond himself, he will never regain a human form of worth, not so long as he cannot master his bestial state.

So be it, he will master himself by honing against one enemy at a time.

COMBATSYS: Gallon has joined the fight here on the left meter side.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Gallon           0/-------/------=|-------\-------\0              Vas
                                  >  //////////////////////////////]
                                  |-------\-------\0          Newborn

[VAS]
If it were a newborn animal, it wouldn't be like this. It might be blind, or frail. It might be terrified. But no -- this creature is alert, bright-eyed, and agile. And as Gallon moves about, it responds accordingly, squaring up roughly to Gallon. The bladed ridges on its arms gleam in stark contrast to its ruddy-colored shell as it steps closer, warily.

And then all of a sudden, the creature lurches forward, brashly confident in its motions. One bladed arm scythes outward, with the aim of carving down and across Gallon. The creature lumbers forward further, swinging its opposite armblade in a lateral swipe. Should the two prior attacks land, it would seek to drive -both- blades forward in a stabbing motion.

Newborn falls asleep.

COMBATSYS: Gallon blocks Newborn's Fierce Strike.

[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Gallon           0/-------/-----==|-------\-------\0              Vas
                                  >  //////////////////////////////]
                                  |-------\-------\0          Newborn

[GALLON]
Gleaming blades, the vicious insect comes for him, shine in the dark. Gallon brings himself against the monster. Close in, to break past the reach of the blade. The cut slices thick fur and opens a slash of flesh. The pushing blades come close, but not enough to cut too dangerously.

Gallon, close in, uses his foot to propel himself away from the insect. Springboarding off and away from the monster. Up toward the trees. There, he catches onto the thick old growth and bursts off the branches with a howling pounce.

In the air, he erupts in a protective shield of chi, his cry piercing the night once more as he spirals down with claws and fang to strike the insect once again.

[VAS]
Newborn wakes up.

COMBATSYS: Gallon successfully hits Newborn with Diving Beast Cannon.

[  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Gallon           0/-------/---====|-------\-------\0              Vas
                                  >  ////////////////////////      ]
                                  |====---\-------\0          Newborn

The newly born insectoid, freshly imbued with confidence, presses to close the distance after Gallon leaps away. Its wing-covers spread apart, and slick wings unfold, still dripping with fluid from the egg. For a moment, it seems as if it might take flight.

And then the multi-part eyes are dazzled by the sudden flash of chi. Antennae twitch -- and the wings fall inert. The feral missile slams headlong into the insectoid, causing its limbs to flail out to either side as it's plowed backwards, slammed across a tree. Three blood-red furrows are torn into its chest from the strike.

The creature ends up flipped onto its back in the exchange. In only an instant, the creature rocks sideways onto its front, and then whirls around in primal instinct. The bladed ridges whip out -- a scything blow from one, followed immediately by a backhanded sweep from the second!

COMBATSYS: Gallon interrupts Bloodforged Cleave EX from Newborn with Climb Razor ES.

[       \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Gallon           1/-------/=======|-------\-------\0              Vas
                                  >  ////////////                  ]
                                  |=======\===----\1          Newborn

[GALLON]
Gallon hits the dirt, he kicks hard, pivots on her hand and throws his legs out behind himself. He grinds his claws into the dirt to position himself. He has to be ready and close to take on this vicious creature. Still slick and viscous, dripping from it's birth, the insect's stench is strong on Gallon's nose. It makes it easy to follow. The beast demands Gallon focus on his senses and to move with instinct honed by the man's diligent training.

Blood and ichor. The strike had hit home. But it isn't over, the chiton hasn't been cracked. And true to form, the creature bears down on him with its slashing claws.

Gallon's ears flick, yes, it's brutal but young and unfocused. Ill prepared is the insect for dealing with Gallon's preparation and skill. The man slips past the beast. Momentum is read. Gallon leaps back and upward. He flips himself. His sharp toeclaws rake and gouge upward against the Newborn's breast. Deep, cutting gashes as Gallon arcs away from the cutting scythes. He may be scuffed, but even now those gashes are clearing and cleaning of their own volition.

The werewolf may heal, but he doubts the newborn has the same tenacity as himself. It is young prey, young prey brought into the world to be hewn swiftly along with its potential brethren.

[VAS]
Experience is a valuable teacher -- and not one that the neophyte has had the benefit of learning under. But perhaps it will learn discretion in choosing its targets -- as both Vas and Gallon have proven to be more than a match for the scrappy youngling. Gashes are carved into the creature, dripping with blood and ichor as it's knocked backwards, flipping around and -slamming- into one tree, rebounding off it hard enough to ricochet off a second branch, and then a third, before finally thudding into the ground. One wing cover is wrenched off in the process, gushing a fountain of blood as the creature pushes itself off the ground.

But the flow of blood slows almost as quickly as it began, with the congealing blood rapidly adopting a silver tone. The creature lists sharply to one side, lurching forward.

And Vas approaches, with a disaffected expression and an almost lazy gait. He winds his path amongst the trees, viewing the battle as less of a life-and-death struggle and more of a distraction. "Sorry about that. The young ones are dumbasses."

True to form, the creature shakes his head roughly from one side to the other. The bleeding has stopped -- with all of its wounds now solidfied into a dull metallic sheen. It's quite possible that Gallon might not be the -only- one who can regenerate from his damage...

And then, without any further warning, the creature surges forward, suppressing its own pain. Blades are unleashed in a relentless barrage -- a high overcut, a low reverse swing, a veritable -whirlwind- of slashing attacks. Vas watches on from a near vantage point, his mere presence suggesting an intent to join the fray.

COMBATSYS: Gallon blocks Newborn's Crimson Stained Battlefield.

[          \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Gallon           1/-----==/=======|-------\-------\0              Vas
                                  >  ////////////                  ]
                                  |-------\-------\0          Newborn

[GALLON]
The strange man speaks. It garners little from Gallon's attention. He seems careless that his minion is in pitched combat. The man is, by all behavior, the ringleader, some form of Darkstalker that seems bent on destructiveness and importing these things. Perhaps his face will be one to point to Gallon's student for particular attention.

The insect races, slashing and striking, each cut hews at Gallon's deftly moving parrying arms. Slash and cut and hack. The deep slashes stitch in the short time they're made, the werewolf snarling and gnashing with his teeth from the pain surging through him.

He must act quickly, and act he does. A swift motion, twisting and strike, turning, swinging in place and raking a violent, heavy claw across the savage insect's carapace. To cut it clean open and expose the inner workings to the world outside of its exoskeleton.

COMBATSYS: Newborn blocks Gallon's Fierce Punch.

[         \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Gallon           1/-----==/=======|-------\-------\0              Vas
                                  >  /////////                     ]
                                  |==-----\-------\0          Newborn

[VAS]
"Bladereavers," states Vas, his voice a gravelly contrast to the shrill utterings of the beetle-like creature slashing its blades against Gallon. "They're persistent assholes once they get broken in." He frowns, as the broken wing cover seems to be flopping around with each of the creature's swings.

The bladereaver raises its forelimb, tilting the broad side of its forearm ridge against the claws. Sparks fly as claws slide across the rail of the blade, forcing the creature backward and forcing a shudder throughout its frame. The creature pushes back --

And then a high-pitched whistle is heard from Vas. Almost immediately, the beetle draws back warily, pivoting so that it can sight both Vas and Gallon. It keeps its distance, for the moment...

But that's when Vas steps into the fray, rushing in with an elbow aimed to crack against Gallon's jaw.

"Quick learners, too," he comments, seemingly apropos of nothing.

COMBATSYS: Newborn takes no action.

[         \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Gallon           1/-----==/=======|-------\-------\0              Vas
                                  >  //////////                    ]
                                  |==-----\-------\0          Newborn

COMBATSYS: Gallon interrupts Seismic Smash from Vas with Moment Slice.

[         \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////        ]
Gallon           0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0              Vas
                                  >  //////////                    ]
                                  |==-----\-------\0          Newborn

[GALLON]
A whistle, the creature breaks away. Close in, Gallon was already near to savaging the creature. But it makes good on its escape while its master gives out its name. "Ostentatious," Gallon judges with a disregarding dismissal.

He limbers, then resumes his crouch, nearing ready to bring down the verminous quarry. However, the master finally enters the fray. A quick attack, a heavy elbow. The master is quick.

Gallon, however, is quicker. He moves like lightning, a claw dripping with chi cascading as light catches Vas' from stem to stern, up his belly and chest and toward his neck. And the wolf howls for his gashing rend. He leaps back and away, invigorated by the strike. He licks his teeth and he scowls at the suited man.

"I will brook no trespass on these forests," he warns Vas.

[VAS]
Fine Italian fabric shreds away like tissue paper to Gallon's sharpened claws. The imposing master is rebuffed, knocked back a few steps from the vicious slash. And, for one flicker of a moment, expresses some modicum of mood other than abject boredom.

The moment is fleeting, abated once the Italian brushes his hand across the bloody wounds. He bleeds; it stands to reason that he can be killed.

"Took you long enough to answer the damn question," comments Vas, the barest hint of a smirk on his lips for the moment before he spits a glob of his own blood onto the nearest tree. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he continues -- raising both hands in a warding stance -- "Too late now, though."

One might recognize the stance of Krav Maga, as he lunges forward, keeping his stance taut and unyielding. He takes another stride, before twisting to slam his shin forward at Gallon. If he connects, he'd couple the blow with a second kick, a full extension intended to knock Gallon over with sheer force.

It might also become apparent that the man's skin turns an ashen grey as he strikes -- his body hitting with the impact of a stone club.

COMBATSYS: Vas successfully hits Gallon with Medium Kick ES.

[               \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////        ]
Gallon           0/-------/--=====|======-\-------\0              Vas
                                  >  //////////                    ]
                                  |==-----\-------\0          Newborn

COMBATSYS: Newborn takes no action.

[               \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////        ]
Gallon           0/-------/--=====|======-\-------\0              Vas
                                  >  ///////////                   ]
                                  |==-----\-------\0          Newborn

Newborn falls asleep.

[GALLON]
Sharp kick. It lurches Gallon to the side. His focus isn't on Vas. He isn't up for speaking up to the man's chiding conversation. He is here to fight, to defend this forest, to tear and rend.

The hit was hard, painful, throbbing and sent aching waves through Gallon's ribs, the beast called for a rebut, but the man holds firm. He needs to focus and steady himself against a single enemy, not fight a pack.

With a howl, he surges forward, not at but past Vas. His pouncing body wreathed in a glistering energy as he hurtles toward the Newborn with claw and fang.

[VAS]
Newborn wakes up.

COMBATSYS: Newborn dodges Gallon's Beast Cannon.

[                \\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////        ]
Gallon           0/-------/--=====|======-\-------\0              Vas
                                  >  ///////////                   ]
                                  |==-----\-------\0          Newborn

With Vas leaping into the fray, the newborn had a few moments to cool its heels, taking in the fight through its compound eyes. Fresh from the shell, the creature's just now realizing that Vas and Gallon are quite possibly beyond its capacity to deal with. Flight is not a consideration, but it's giving 'fight' a second thought.

Vas's eyes, red beacons in the darkness, streak into a sideways blur as he pivots to keep track of Gallon. Hesitation keeps him from obstructing the wolfman's surge, drawing his face into a mild scowl.

By this moment though, the neophyte creature has recovered its wits. Three pairs of legs press down, creating six small craters in the forested hilltop as it leaps up and out of the way. The creature chitters in outrage as it flips up, reorienting its feet to land on a branch.

After a moment of reorientation, the creature launches -off- the branch, swinging its fearsome armblade in a guillotine-like slash downward at Gallon!

By this point, Vas has taken several long-legged strides to close the gap. He doesn't mess about with anything fancy -- just hauling back and driving a powerful haymaker into Gallon, hoping to attack simultaneously with the insectoid creature's assault!

COMBATSYS: Newborn successfully hits Gallon with Eviscerating Slash.
- Power hit! -

[                   \\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////       ]
Gallon           0/-------/=======|=====--\-------\0              Vas
                                  >  //////////                    ]
                                  |====---\-------\0          Newborn

COMBATSYS: Gallon dodges Vas' Fierce Punch.

[                   \\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////       ]
Gallon           0/-------/=======|======-\-------\0              Vas
                                  >  //////////                    ]
                                  |====---\-------\0          Newborn

[GALLON]
Rending slashes open Gallon wide. Blood streaks to the dirt and grass, splattered against the old growth forest around. The werewolf stumbles, slowed by the sudden assault. His claws rake at a tree for support. The ragged slice slowing the healing. The blood oozes with the thick fur pelt covering him.

Ragged breaths, tired breaths, two on one is never favorable odds. He has to recover from this, and he has to even the odds immediately.

A surge from the tree, a twisting strike from the tree with a sharp clawed kick. Snapping directly with the training and the focus of the man, not with the fury and blind assault of the beast.

COMBATSYS: Gallon successfully hits Newborn with Strong Kick.

[                 \\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////       ]
Gallon           1/-------/=======|======-\-------\0              Vas
                                  >  /////                         ]
                                  |=======\-------\1          Newborn

[VAS]
A blade scythes through flesh, as Vas' punch whistles through heated air. The stolid sentinel's gravelly voice rumbles, "Not a talker. I get that." He squares his footing, raising both hands into a ready stance and preparing for the next strike.

And when it comes, it's in the form of a brutal kick into the insect's exoskeleton, a powerful blow that sends the many-limbed creature flailing backwards. There is a loud, sickening crunch as the shell plows into a tree, ushered along by the wolfman's paw. The insect creature doubles over, four legs planting into the forest floor, wheezing.

Vas closes in. As he gets close, his skin once more turns the color of dark, granite grey. He swings a wide right hook, the air blurring from a mild heat. A left hook follows, smoldering hotter. He steps forward, delivering a right straight, and then a left, seeking to finish off with a hard right uppercut.

From behind, the creature staggers out one wild slash with its claws, aiming to rake its blade across Gallon's legs. But not long afterwards, it would collapse to its feet, its wounds bubbling over with a gray fluid -- halfway between blood and iron.

COMBATSYS: Newborn can no longer fight.

[                 \\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////        ]
Gallon           1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0              Vas

COMBATSYS: Vas successfully hits Gallon with Magma Surge.
- Power hit! -

[                      \\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////        ]
Gallon           1/----===/=======|=====--\-------\0              Vas

COMBATSYS: Newborn successfully hits Gallon with Random Strike.

[                         \\\\\  < >  //////////////////////        ]
Gallon           1/--=====/=======|=====--\-------\0              Vas

Newborn falls asleep.

Newborn wakes up.

[GALLON]
The damned thing is down. Gallon stands, hunched over the body of the creature. His breaths come quickly and deeply. He's gulping as the gash has dug something harsher than he's felt in a while. His claw lowers. His exposed.

Difficult to react when the pair make a coordinated assault, final in the case of the insect. The gash hooks. And it holds long enough for the heavy fists of stone from the strange man to crack hard and shocking. Gallon lurches, he feels a fang fall free. It will return, but Gallon cannot hope to continue this fight.

The beast takes hold, and it runs, loping on fours, making good on using what energy he has left to escape. To disappear into the forest like a wounded animal. The beast runs, but the Man will remember, it most certainly will.

COMBATSYS: Gallon takes no action.

                                  >  //////////////////////        ]
                                  |=====--\-------\0              Vas

COMBATSYS: Gallon can no longer fight.

                                  >  //////////////////////        ]
                                  |=====--\-------\0              Vas

[VAS]
Vas's stony fists glow a faint red as he draws away. He may not have much to say -- but he made a statement all the same. He stares back at Gallon, gauging his next move...

And as the werewolf lopes away, his expression is left with a grimace. The very slightest glimmer of remorse. Quietly, he fixes his gaze on the form of Gallon as he murmurs quietly, the baritone possibly carrying further than human ears can detect.

"Run while you can. For there will be no retreat once the armies are in place."

As Vas's skin tints back to the olive tone of his birth, he glances down to the fallen neophyte. He gives the creature a light nudge with his toe, satisfying himself that the beast is still alive -- albeit in a state of regenerative shock. He grunts, glancing back over his shoulder -- taking quiet note of the ectomorphs and their ghastly payloads.

Perhaps the wolfman has run -- but the site is at least partially compromised. He closes his eyes, running his hand across the injured flesh of his chest, raw and red. He's sure this isn't the end of the story -- that the beastman's revenge will come when he's -not- ready.

After a moment, he delivers new orders. "Last load. You two -- grab this one. Everyone else, prepare to return home."

He turns back towards the direction Gallon had fled, expression full of consternation.

COMBATSYS: Vas takes no action.

                                  >  //////////////////////        ]
                                  |=====--\-------\0              Vas

COMBATSYS: Vas has ended the fight here.

Log created on 11:41:19 06/19/2019 by Gallon, and last modified on 11:53:58 07/09/2019.