Description: In a remote Eastern European town, Amy Johnson, the latest in the long line of Templar Knights, observes a cagefight. Setsuka, carving out her own legacy with her blade, is there also. Events transpire and conspire, and questions are asked--and answered--in the most basic, primal way possible.
Nestled in the shallow northeast corner of the Czech Republic, Ostrava is not the most glamorous of European cities. Generally known for heavy industry, for the dirty work of coal mining in particular, it is not the kind of place that forms a stopping point on any young person's tour of discovery and adventure. It's reputation may be partially undeserved however - it is currently late, the skies dark and bleak, but the city bubbles with life still, lights flaring up from the Stodolni Ulice at the centre of town. Bars, cafés and nightclubs are all open for business. And business is good.
A stone's throw from the bustling nexus lies a squat grey building, bearing all the hallmarks of depressive mid-war construction. A greasy neon sign flickers above a small metal doorway, inviting any disillusioned with the joy of life to enter 'DER KRYPTA'. The Crypt. There must be a hundred thousand clubs with that name, but of them all this is a serious contender for the worst; it doesn't even draw a heaving mass on crucial Friday and Saturday nights.
Inside, currently, there are maybe fifty people, a mixture of young wannabe daredevils with switchblades, and heavily-built industrial workers built as if to bend iron with their bare hands. It's quite a heady cocktail; quite the disguise for the few 'businessmen' who make this place their office. But the real kick is in a rusty corner of the underground bar, where a terribly stereotypical cage sits, with a door half off the hinges and various suspiciously bloodlike stains on all sides. This would be where the entertainment happens. Currently, an audience of a dozen or so is gathered around to watch a huge bear of a man in dirty dungarees take on a smaller, lither customer who swings a short length of chain. For the last ten minutes, they have been circling one another and making testing jabs, with the odd clumsy riposte.
Hardly the greatest display of international competition. One patron in particular looks disenchanted, expression pouting beneath the shade of a floppy beret she wears on her crown. Stood near the cage door, she occasionally fidgets, booted feet tapping the stone floor, fingers twitching at her side. Somebody is on edge.
Ah yes... "Come see Europe", say the travelogues. They show lovely, ancient buildings, happy people. Fields of grain and winegrapes, old-fashioned food made with the old-fashioned ways, traditions reaching back centuries. Really lovely. And Setsuka could care less that where she is, currently, is about the polar opposite of the fairytale "Europe". Then again... the Czech Republic, formerly Czechoslovakia, has never been a peaceful place... and that suits Setsuka just fine.
She's actually been in the country for a few days--a vacation of sorts, for her, as she wanders the kinds of places that most don't go. The places where conflict was. Where she can soak up... not the sun, but the echoes of pain and fear, the ripples of old clashes and violence and hate.
Naturally, she's been disturbed in her meanderings, once or twice, but those disturbances were.. minor. But they did awaken another hunger in her, a hunger that is quite difficult to sate at even the most generous of local feedholes.
But for a woman like Setsuka, finding the places that cater to her needs is not only possible, but trivial. Fighting may have been legitimized and ritualized, but there is little more primal, more basic, than the gutterfight. Down and dirty. Setsuka will be elegant, as always, but -that- is what she craves, not the glitzy, stylized, cleaned-up violence of Saturday Night Fights. No holds barred.
Despite Setsuka's... proclivities, she's actually well-received here; after all, she controls that killing instinct very tightly. The old bartender, the man who sets up the fights... they are acquaintances. There's a short amount of discussion, and then the oddly-dressed woman--oddly-dressed for here, that is--ghosts through the crowd. Occasionally someone bumps; a hot word rises into the throat of a tough until they look into her eyes.. and/or see the blade, a short, katana-like blade, held with quiet, iron confidence, still scabbarded. Thus, mostly unhindered, she walks up to the edge... and waits.
People forget just how dark the original fairy tales were, before the word 'fairy' was synonymous with pink glitter and long before stories were something told only to gasping children. The sinister depths in folklore are still present today; the trolls, the goblins and the mischievous pixies still exist in the hearts of men, and they manifest through their words and actions. Just as they are manifesting now, before Amy's eyes.
The young woman beside the cage possesses a startlingly different world-view to Setsuka, and a far different purpose for being here - at least for now. Passing through on her own tour of the enchanted suburbs, come recently from the closed gates of Strolheim, she has stumbled into this seedy establishment on a whim. She wishes to experience every facet of life, to see the highs and the lows for herself... to make a decision about the world, and the people upon it. Are they worth serving? Are they worth saving? All these questions and more play somewhere in her mind. Colour her dubious.
Amy's faith, and the lessons she has learned so far, see her standing here with much distaste. When she fidgets again, it is only partially through a desire to show these men how to truly fight -- make no mistake, that desire is there, and can be tasted by those with the right senses -- while also through genuine distaste. This is the lowest point she has reached on her trip, and seems to validate so many of her teenage misgivings. Is this really how people treat each other? Tomorrow, this bar's patrons awaken to another working week, another week of toil and hardship made only so that they can experience great things at the weekend. But this is what they choose to experience. This pathetic martial display.
As she watches, simmering, something finally happens. The chain-wielding man screams to a friend cheering behind the cage, and makes a passionate lunge toward his large opponent, wildly swinging the damaged steel links. His hit connects by some blend of fortune and skill, the brute sent flying back against the wall of their prison with a bloodied face. The cage bucks and almost gives in to the pressure as he shoves himself off, leaping off shaking legs to reply with a fierce dropkick. More blood, an explosive torrent leaving the smaller man's face as his own nose breaks; making two in as many seconds.
The fight is over half a minute later. After some pathetic crawling and staggering, both men pass out. A leather-clad Czech with a full beard enters the cage, and starts to drag the unconscious bodies out. Next.
Setsuka's answers to Amy's questions... well, they likely would not please the young woman. Are these men worth serving? Only if they can pay. Are they worth saving? Alternately--no. Or, only if they can pay. Setsuka is very practical in some respects... one might say... pragmatic. It shows in her demeanor; her gaze alone bespeaks of her opinion of the people around her, a sort of casual disdain and disgust. These men? _Fighters_? Nay, that is one thing they are not.
"Pathetic," murmurs Setsuka. A quiet sound, yet clearly audible throughout the scruffy underground bar and the cage--her voice carrying despite its quiet, the word fired like a silenced shot. Naturally, the two men that had just occupied the cage do not respond. But their friends... they turn as one. growling. Reaching for their own weapons.
Until they catch sight of Setsuka. Until the light hits her eyes. And they find them lighted from within. A trick of the light? Perhaps--but the crazed-calm cast of those blue eyes... it makes them hesitate. Of note is the fact that she doesn't draw her blade--doesn't even raise it up. The light of her eyes is enough to counter their protest and stop it cold.
That is, of course, until one skinny man, a dirty, unwashed peasant, makes the mistake of letting his body act without his brain. He charges, screaming, brass knuckles gracing his hand, too big for the digits... and before he can swing, Setsuka moves. It is lightning-fast--almost too fast for the naked eye to follow. The man's charge falters, stumbles, as Setsuka appears to just move to the side.
And then, a *click*--the sound of a blade being re-seated in its scabbard... and the charging man turns to look at his friends... just as the red line of a cut opens his neck from side to side. It is notable that, though he bleeds profusely, it is immediately obvious that he isn't -dead-. The cut was precise, slashing skin, fatty tissue, muscle... but leaving the windpipe and vocal chords intact.
And Setsuka's voice is fired through the room again, with even more conviction.
"Pathetic."
When the tiresome battle ends, Amy does not flinch, does not cheer. She relaxes her posture, sucking in a deep breath and glancing off to one side as the dirty pair are removed in preparation for the next portion of the night's entertainment. It is at this point she catches her first glimpse of Setsuka, just in time for the other woman to make her proclamation. Amy does not catch the word, but she can guess well enough at the sentiment.
She stands relatively unimpressed by the assassin's bold pose and piercing gaze - she is not part of the rabble's tumultuous hive mind - though she is immediately interested in her appearance, so unlike any others in the building. Possessed of some kind of power? Turning slightly at the sound of screaming, the Templar receives her answer sooner than she might have wished. It's over in a brief instant, the display as complete as it's going to be. Nobody moves, silence reigns, and the assassin speaks.
Perhaps Setsuka's grim view would not sit too uneasily with Amy. Her callous answers would almost ring true to her own beliefs; that all men must be prepared to pay, and any who fail to make amends in life will see their toll taken in another place. Those present in this temple to savage depression have their sins to atone for, as do those a distance down the road, sipping expensive cocktails and laughing. A woman like Setsuka may even be the means for atonement - these things can work in mysterious ways.
But what Amy has just seen was not justice, however, nor the avenging hand of an angel. As dark as the light can sometimes be, bloody and passionate before all empathy becomes clear, this was no act of mercy. Amy draws herself up and becomes the first to raise response to the violent scene in the quieted bar, striding forward to catch the man as he slowly, slowly begins to fall backward, breath rattling in his throat through damage or fear; it is unclear precisely which. Composed, the young knight settles him on the floor before she glances over her shoulder at Setsuka.
"The same to you. Why not show them how a real warrior fights? This man may have been nothing in life," she snaps her gaze to either side, ready to settle any argument from the crowd. There is none. "And he died the same way. What have we learned?"
Without waiting for a response, she pushes herself up with strong leg muscles, and enters the cage.
"Perhaps I am your equal, perhaps not. But show them through me."
COMBATSYS: Amy has started a fight here.
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Amy 0/-------/-------|
Amy's judgement is, perhaps, slightly off--not about Setsuka, but about the man. The blade-wielding woman is... quite sure of herself, and her skill, and if that man is dying, then it isn't the direct fault of her blade. Of course there's shock... and if he dies of blood loss, well, then that's the fault of the men who stood there and watched him die, now, isn't it? He may yet live, despite his dire situation. That is beyond Setsuka's scope of attention. It is guaranteed that none of the men are going to act.
Yet, the raven-haired woman merely raises an eyebrow. "I would say," she replies, with a soft, amused smile, "that these men just learned a lesson in fear, and what not to do when faced with superiority... and that they should recognize that superiority lest they fall victim to it." Amy bounds into the cage, talking more, and Setsuka... well.
She doesn't move. "Oh? Are you a 'real warrior'? Do you understand the import of those words?" She still hasn't moved; the man she cut is gasping, rattling, and it seems his 'friends' are too terrified to attempt to go around Setsuka to get to him. Setsuka is still standing where she was.
"Do you think to avenge him? That my actions were inappropriate? Out of bounds? He came at me with a weapon and I replied in kind. That is how the world works." Suddenly, then, she's -gone-... having somehow moved fast, very fast. She's in the cage now, the rusted door swinging shut but not closing, and Setsuka is flicking her blade outwards in a swift arc for Amy's nearer arm--almost a warning cut.
"If you show me something interesting, then I will not kill you." Truthfully? She won't kill Amy anyways, unless the girl forces the issue, but Amy doesn't know that.
COMBATSYS: Setsuka has joined the fight here.
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Setsuka 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Amy
COMBATSYS: Setsuka successfully hits Amy with Quick Strike.
-* CRITICAL HIT! *-
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Setsuka 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Amy
Setsuka's victim may die, he may not. Amy does not wish to take that matter wholly into her own hands; she has done something, more perhaps than any other here will do. She is not here to save or repair lives. She came here for her own purposes, and confronting the sword-slinging woman may well suit them.
Turning once she is well within the boundaries of the chain link arena, Amy raises a loose guard, fingertips curling dextrously against the air. Little trails of smoke billow through her digits - and why not? This is a smoggy dive, after all. There is something vaguely unusual about the way she seems to focus, deep blue eyes dimming momentarily before she tightens her stance, legs spreading evenly upon the brickwork.
"How do you define truth?" She replies then to Setsuka's first pair of questions, making no other acknowledgement prior, though she heard the words well enough. 'Superiority' -- she is /that/ kind of woman. "I'm sure my own is different from yours. I am skilled, though. I can say that without needing to understand anything." She silences abruptly there, and allows the other to continue their conversation one-sided. She is not standing here to discuss what just happened, after all. There is at least some pleasure in the fact that Setsuka ceases her speech, and surges in toward her waiting guard...
Which is blown wide open, that slash carrying power beyond anything Amy has accounted for. Her right arm takes the damage, spurting blood, but her entire body is pulled sidelong by the force of the attack, staggering the Templar girl into the furthest corner of the cage before she can control her screaming nerves and present herself to the challenge of taking on this intimidating foe.
"..." Wordless as promised, she narrows her eyes on Setsuka, momentarily taking a second impression as the other woman doubtless prepares her next attack. Amy does not give her long, moving from a low crouch to a tightly controlled leap as soon as she has mustered breath in her lungs. No kiai marks her own attack, as one booted foot sweeps upward, and then to the side in a fierce slash at the air. Suddenly, power spikes. The smoke in the air surrounding Amy deepens, thickens, and blossoms into life, flaring briefly toward the white before a huge swathe of it peels off from that striking leg.
The resulting projectile is as wide as Amy is tall, screaming fast toward Setsuka even as it loses consistency, grey feathery chi drifting away to settle dreamily around the two combatants.
COMBATSYS: Amy successfully hits Setsuka with Raven's Wing.
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Setsuka 0/-------/---====|===----\-------\0 Amy
Though Amy makes conversational reply, Setsuka has already discarded any need to reply in kind. The fight is joined; the slash lands true. This, then, is Setsuka's truth; the truth she finds within her blade and what she does with it. The swift slash is controlled, carefully, the blade moving so fast that none of Amy's blood stains the blade; there's a rush as the girl's pain is... enjoyed... by the assassin, her eyes half-closing.
But Amy is already attacking... using energy. The kind of energy that comes from the earth, from the sky, from the people around... is it any surprise that Setsuka, being who she is, what she is, and how she is, would find such energy painful, as if the Earth itself were rejecting her? She sees an opening--she thinks--and yet it proves not to be, the haze doing well to trick her. The impact... is astounding, throwing Setsuka across the flooring, tumbling... dirtying that nice dress of hers.
When she rises, however, she seems... largely unimpressed. She wants -interesting-... not just something to blast her around.
Still... Setsuka turns her body towards her opponent, reaching down, gripping the scabbard of her blade in her left hand, just below the mouth.. and her right hand on the grip itself. She moves; there's the barest suggestion of a forward lunge, almost just a strick of the eye...
... and then the blade flashes out, ringing shrill and high, though there's no way she could possibly reach from this distance... until she cuts her -own- arc through the air, a hissing, blue-purple projectile slashing through the mist...
COMBATSYS: Amy fails to interrupt Kuukan Zan from Setsuka with Mist Guardian.
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Setsuka 0/-------/--=====|===----\-------\0 Amy
Landing neatly upon her feet a moment after that fierce wing of energy tears away, Amy fights the impulse to dash in after it. Setsuka is clearly skilled in close combat, and probably moreso than she - that initial strike was not delivered with great effort, and this is concerning. Knowing her possible handicap, the Templar waits, watching with dark, unreadable eyes as the other woman is sent tumbling. She falls, she rises, and then she unleashes her retort.
Energy. Were she a more educated scholar to the ways and means of producing such, Amy might not possess the confidence she does at this precise moment, starting forward in a quick dash to intercept the wave's progress. Her lips part and she almost cries out, the breath instead escaping in a passionate gasp as she spins in the air, hurling her back and side to the blast as she forcefully attempts to emerge on it's opposite side. The chi produced by her attack still lingers about, not dispersed by Setsuka's countering wave, and it moves now, spiralling in toward the woman as she makes her bold attempt.
But as rapidly as it stirred inward, it curls lazily outward, hanging once more in the heavy atmosphere of the bar as Amy is cast to the ground by her opponent's assault. She hits hard, bouncing off her left flank before she can drag herself upright, breathing quickly as she turns to face Setsuka. For a moment longer she remains silent, simply grounds herself and raises her arms, fingers loosely curled in the air. Then, she speaks.
"More."
The mist about her deepens, subtly but perceptibly.
Somewhere far away, there is the faintest sound of a screeching yowl--the sound of a cat, perhaps fighting for its life. That sound, that jarring, inelegant scream--that is the kind of pain that Setsuka's energies create, a reflection of her essential person. And she does not seem inclined to let Amy even have a moment... because, even as the Kinomichi-ist is recovering from her ill-timed attempt to 'take the fight' to Setsuka... the woman with the blade is rushing forward.
She well knows the psychological advantage a bladed weapon brings. Moreso than the fist, moreso than a blunt weapon, a blade--a slashing weapon, a piercing weapon--evokes a razor-thin fear in many. Only the crazy and the supremely-skilled are immune to such a fear--and perhaps not even then.
Perhaps it lies with the sheer horror of such a weapon--a knife, a sword, can inflict the kind of injury or harm that is the most distressing, where as a blunt weapon, while perhaps no less lethal, does not carry the same -immediacy-.
There is an expression, 'cut to the quick'... and while it does not have a sword in mind, it does embody Setsuka's style of fighting.
So it is that when Amy turns to face Setsuka... she'll find the woman already -there-, almost within arm's reach, and then within arm's reach truly; the sword-wielding woman opts to come close, to snap her arms out, reaching for Amy's jacket. If her fingers snare that suede, she'll use it as a grip, drawing the girl forward for an almost... intimate... embrace...
... that will end with Setsuka spinning her towards the chainlink fence, with a sudden, violent, but graceful twist of the body and pull of the arms. The blade, not forgotten, is suspended from a belt, briefly.
COMBATSYS: Amy endures Setsuka's Quick Throw.
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Setsuka 0/-------/--=====|=====--\-------\0 Amy
Fear is a powerful tool, as is the psychic wellspring within Setsuka's soul. Amy eschewed most ill effects of the former when she stepped into this dank-walled cage, but the latter she could never have prepared for; not at this point in her training. It's touch already threatens to overwhelm her senses, and she has retreated to a harder part of her being. Jawline held taut, expression distant, she holds her full focus on this fight and the movements within it. To think beyond action is to question the nature of Setsuka - a dangerous subject when attempting to deal with any more surprises she may contain.
Surprises like these.
The assassin's approach is fast, giving Amy not even the most tenuous of moments to spare. Her grasping fingers are almost clawlike in the dim light, in the mist, but fear does not quite work it's dizzying spell. The young Templar's lips quirk in a half smile as she is pulled inward, allowing the proximity more than resisting it, her own hands lowering to press gently against Setsuka's abdomen. When they spin, Amy's hands do not move. They only move when she is released.
Black hair hisses sharply through the air as this moment comes, the kinomichi practicioner taking quick stock of her environment even while her hands make the decision for her. They rise and lift to either side, providing some form of balance for her flight. The resulting impact is still harsh, and she coughs, spittle flecking her lips, but she does not rebound off the chain links to exacerbate her pain on the stonework below.
Instead she has grasped the cage wall, and in an instant throws herself off with quick pressure from her feet, twisting about in the air to gather torque. Or is that something else? The misty trails all about her swirl in tandem with her movements, clasping at the fabric of her jacket and trailing through her hair, her fingers. When she lands, they seem almost one with her.
With a fiercely controlled cry, she lunges before she believes Setsuka can turn to gather her position. Using the momentum gathered from her leap, she aims to surge /past/ the other woman with a thrust of her legs. It's almost fast enough to believe she has simply transported herself from one location to the other, and as she turns her hands whip through the air, fingers rigid and seemingly beckoning on the myriad tendrils of energy that have followed her route. In fast sequence they are aimed to hammer Setsuka from head to toe, wearing her spiritual guard in a steady rain of blows.
COMBATSYS: Setsuka endures Amy's Stormwitch.
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Setsuka 1/------=/=======|=====--\-------\0 Amy
At last... something -interesting-. Something unique. A surprise. She felt, just for that moment, that Amy had... -allowed- Setsuka to grasp... that the swordswoman had played into a trap. She could have done any number of things in order to subvert or avert Amy's plans. And yet... she was curious. To see this spinning attack, and yet the attack itself... it is very... very similar to something Setsuka herself does. So she remains still... sacrificing defense for the chance to sense, to feel, to know, for that instant.
Even as Amy comes to a halt, perhaps she thinks she's damaged Setsuka. And she has; her spiritual defenses are not, perhaps, what they should be, the swordswoman having had little use for 'spirit' since early on... yet the damage is not so visible. It's mostly pain... and pain is more Setsuka's friend than Amy's. She waits, she listens, she -endures-...
And then when Amy comes to a stop, it's Setsuka's turn to blur forward. She does so swiftly, aimed for Amy's back... to pass by her. Should Amy not be careful, she might find Setsuka's hand caressing her back, just briefly...
COMBATSYS: Amy blocks Setsuka's Yamikaze - Doku.
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Setsuka 1/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Amy
Of course, the touch isn't an attack. But what is left behind -is-... as Amy will feel, shortly, the unmistakable touch of that energy of Setsuka's, on her lower back... a -lingering- touch... and as Setsuka blurs back into being...
... that touch explodes, like a miniature bomb, engulfing Amy's lower torso in a brief sphere of that energy.
Woe betide the warrior -- true, or otherwise -- who cannot sense when an opponent is preparing to play some trick. No matter their creed, a martial artist is trained to use their environment, including the mind and assumptions of their foe, to their best advantage. Setsuka could feel it in Amy, and Amy can feel it in Setsuka the moment her eyes come to rest upon her. Fingertips twitch at the air in the heartbeat before the killer born becomes a blur.
Something flickers deep in the Templar's gaze. Despite the motion, like lightning striking, she tracks her foe as she moves past, and acts on the intent she reads in the other woman's form. Both hands fly to her breast at precisely the moment that Setsuka's hand settles at her back. With a sharp, snapping motion the heavy jacket is removed and allowed to fall away even as the assassin does the same.
Amy springs forward, twisting to face her opponent and throwing an arm across her face. The explosion triggers, and the soulless garment escapes the full brunt of the blast, tossed across the room in a tight bundle. It's owner takes some damage, flung a few feet backward with a spitted curse. "Forgive me," she murmurs as she lands, allowing herself a rare smile through the psychic pain.
Making no move to retrieve her jacket, she remains crouched where she has come to rest, breathing deep and focusing her addled mind. Setsuka's soulfire packs at least as much of a punch as her biting blade.
COMBATSYS: Amy gains composure.
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Setsuka 1/-------/=======|=====--\-------\0 Amy
Tricky.. very tricky. Setsuka allows herself a smile, a slow one. Slow.. and cold, there's something almost reptilian about her as she slowly turns to face Amy. As of just now, the two are in a fairly even match... the fight could go either way. Setsuka is something of a purist--she doesn't fight 'to win', necessarily, and this isn't that kind of fight--but at the core of it... of course she wants to win.
And she begins stalking forward.. slowly. Very slowly, walking a weaving, sinuous path. Those light blue eyes of hers bore in on her target; for Setsuka, the world falls away, except inasmuch as she must understand the environment around her and around Amy, to find the best way to achieve her ends...
Truly, perhaps this one is a worthy opponent... unlike that sickly girl Kiyoko... Setsuka's advance slows further, but never stills, never halts, until she's within blade's distance of the woman, the Templar, dancing slowly, in and out of sword range, smiling all the time. If -she- is fatigued... she doesn't seem to show it... she looks as calm and collected, aside from that almost-too-large smile and that inhuman light in her eyes, as a banker preparing to suffer another day of making large amounts of money.
"Forgiveness is not a worthy objective for ones like you and me..." she murmurs, casually, conversationally, as if trying to insinuate a tendril of thought into Amy's head, to try and wiggle some bricks loose in her mental wall.
COMBATSYS: Setsuka focuses on her next action.
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Setsuka 1/-------/=======|=====--\-------\0 Amy
The feeling is likewise for Amy. She does not know what Setsuka may do, whether the fate of the man upon whose behalf she has interceded will prove similar to her own fate, but were she to stop and think? She would find it doubtful at best. This is a match between fighters of wildly different sorts, but more; between two with their own concepts of honour, and their own points to prove. Where mere mortals argue, warriors do battle.
Watching the assassin circle her, cruel and serpentine, the youngest Templar forces herself to remain composed. Her mind must remain clear, free from distractions, and free from fear of this powerful woman. When Setsuka speaks, she begins to stand, rolling her shoulders and rising smoothly to her feet.
"Forgiveness," she replies, a fist clenching at her side as the other hand makes a brisk beckoning motion in the air, "Is something I must ask. For every err in judgement, for each slip in discipline. But you," Without warning, she moves from conversation to action, launching herself into what seems a low sprint just to fall upon her side, aiming to skid through Setsuka's legs. "You choose your own path."
Her words come breathless, and the true source of her effort will become clear now, should Setsuka turn, or a moment later should she hesitate. From behind the swordswoman an apparition howls through the mist-tainted air, seemingly springing from nowhere. Constructed from a thousand whipping shades of grey, it seems to bear resemblance to Amy, who even now should be rising from the floor a short distance away, leaving her unorthodox projectile to plow into her opponent. "I am no judge of men. Are you?"
COMBATSYS: Setsuka dodges Amy's Night Errant.
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Setsuka 1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Amy
"*I*," replies Setsuka, with a sweet-acid voice tinged with mockery and derision, "do not err in my judgement... and indeed... I do judge men..." Judge, jury, and executioner... when she is paid to be so. But how else should one tend their flock? Weeds are pulled, no matter their beauty. Setsuka still smiles, as if there were something amusing about this, and perhaps it is Amy's naivete and that heroic-sounding nonsense that is the most amusing thing at all. The run, the lunge. Setsuka can see that Amy does NOT intend to bowl her over, and so she doesn't move save to widen her stance.
And though she is not so spiritually inclined, she can feel that rush of energy, feel it slashing through the air at her. So she gathers herself, her legs tensing, and then she throws herself upwards, and back, to flip her body over it. She tucks into a ball, spinning rapidly as she flies backwards, over Amy... and then her feet kick upwards, off the ceiling, sending her slashing downwards, her trajectory and velocity abruptly changed. She will land 'behind' Amy, and as she lands, she is already drawing her blade to draw a cut down along Amy's back. A shallow cut, meant to bleed profusely, but a precise cut that will not cause any internal injuries.. or, at least, nothing fatal...
"Your desire for nebulous 'forgiveness' makes you weak... makes you look to others for your worth... and leaves you open for manipulations of all kinds," she remarks. "Survival demands a colder, harder heart than yours."
COMBATSYS: Setsuka successfully hits Amy with Power Strike.
- Power hit! -
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Setsuka 1/------=/=======|======-\-------\0 Amy
To say that Setsuka's admission stuns Amy would be wrong; the answer, as many things, could easily be ascertained from all that has been shown thus far. This is a harsh, vicious specimen of humanity. Such can only be fought on their own terms, without the restricting grasp of mercy and kindness; sometimes these things do need to be eschewed, cast aside in favour of a lunge into the darker depths of one's nature. It is here that Amy steps as that punishing edge comes down. She fails to turn, or present a guard to the strike, but instead stands firm as it drinks deep of her flesh.
Like a martyr, she clenches her fists and her resolve, but is still driven to her knees by the aftermath. Her legs shake, her spirit buckles, but she gives little. She does not scream. She does not even reply to Setsuka's cruel soliloquy. The first sign that Amy is still intending to move at all comes from within the watching crowd, as all the smoke in the room seems to drift toward the bloody cage, slowly at first - it had already begun when the assassin leapt - but ever more rapidly.
"HAH!" The Templar thrusts herself to her feet with renewed resolve, the rushing mists quickly centering upon her as she spins and hurls a palm past her flank, past her raised left arm, rebelling against all the pain and fear she feels. There is an explosion at the intended point of impact, as all her gathered energy -- and there is more than might previously have been assumed, the bar flooded with tendrils of it -- collects and combusts at a single point, flaring almost pure white.
The intended point of impact... is directly over Setsuka's heart.
COMBATSYS: Setsuka counters Hound of Avalon from Amy with Oborozuki.
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Setsuka 1/-----==/=======|==-----\-------\0 Amy
And yet more interesting things. Setsuka sees the change in Amy's heart. In the way she's fighting. She sees with sudden clarity of a sight that is not vision; her gift, her twist of nature, the power that gives her sudden insight... Amy seeks the killing blow... or at least... the best approximation she can give. Setsuka lowers her blade, as if accepting that rebuke, as if Amy's strike would grant her penance and make Setsuka penitent.
And contact -is- made... but only for the briefest of instances, as Setsuka's body glows, blue-purple, and drops into the ground as if made of water. Perhaps Amy will not notice it due to the explosion of power, an explosion that Setsuka is safe from now, but the swordswoman rises up out of the flooring behind Amy, as swiftly as she disappeared... only with her right hand raised, a blue-purple, vaguely-defind blade of energy extended from her right fist.
A blade of psionic power that is raked full across Amy's back... a cross-cut to match the slash her blade forced into Amy's back.
Casually, Setsuka steps back, taking a moment, withdrawing a handkerchief of the finest silk... and wiping her blade with it, cleaning it of Amy's blood, before tossing the bloodied silk square onto the floor and re-sheathing the blade.
Punishment. Pain to answer Amy's mistake, as though Setsuka were now judging her.
The sudden dispersal of the assassin's form is shocking in itself, and as the last of her summoned energies spiral outward, weak and drifting where they were supposed to remain strong and focused, the Templar knows that her passion has betrayed her.
But there is no need to ask for forgiveness for this turning point in the battle - not now, and not later. The searing energy triggers a screaming in Amy's skull that begs her to concede defeat. True enough, the second strike at her rear is almost a deathblow. Her spirit falters and quails. Her opponent steps back to take stock, and a part of the other woman not now consumed in fire notes this... sends it's own message to the brain.
Moving like a puppet, Amy moves nonetheless. Her limbs jerk into a semblance of confident motion, first turning her about and then sending her forward. Her vision takes in the spattered silk rag as it falls away in the opposite direction, but those deep blue eyes are intent only upon Setsuka.
Her right hand reaches out for the hand now sheathing that sharp blade, to still it momentarily - and to throw her opponent off-guard. It's a moment Amy hopes to capitalise on, as she whips the opposite set of fingers into a violent palmstrike across Setsuka's cheek.
COMBATSYS: Setsuka counters Medium Punch from Amy with Quick Strike.
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Setsuka 0/-------/=======|====---\-------\0 Amy
Judgement... though truthfully, Setsuka is not really in that business even part-time. She is more the instrument, though she has done her fair amount of judgement in the past. The blade has just been returned to its sheath, when Amy rises again. Tenacity... the assassin can appreciate that. And a sense of what is important--restricting the weapon, her main point of attack. The girl truly is a fighter; that question, at least, has been asked.
These thoughts take only a micron of a second to process for the raven-haired woman. And Amy is moving... but not so well. Setsuka's left hand blurs out, and she returns the open-palmed strike before it can connect, her gloved palm cracking like a whip against Amy's cheek, flinging her off-balance and to the flooring.
"I admire your tenacity, girl. But know when you are beaten..." Dismissively, Setsuka turns towards the hinged door of the cage, and takes her first step towards that porthole. Amy did something that few ever do--she forced Setsuka to strike her, physically, with her own hand... indeed. Amy was a worthy opponent--and worthy opponents are the best kind to face again, and again. It is doubtful that Amy will -enjoy- seeing Setsuka again, when she does... but it is guaranteed that she will be seeing the raven-haired woman and her blade, in the future.
It is the moment where many victors have seen their lesser opponent's take a devastating blow to their pride. Two reversals in as many minutes- and not even close to that figure. It is a masterful display by the assassin. Amy's face is not, however, wracked with regret or horror as she recoils from the lighting-quick retort. Her mouth does shift in a hurt rictus, but as she falls first to her knees, then to her side, her eyes continue to track the other woman. Something can be read there; respect, and some form of understanding.
"Ngh." The Templar's teeth grit once the initial impact fades, and with Setsuka already departing she is left with room to breathe, and think. There is certainly no way to turn this battle -- that chance has passed -- and, perhaps, anything she does now may further count against her. Her opponent is also stronger, in experience on the field if not in arm or energy.
Wisely, Amy does not surge upright with the last vestige of her own strength. She does nothing but push herself up on her one uninjured arm, lifting the other to push damp hair from her face. Her jacket and beret lie abandoned in the cage, the latter coming off some unremembered time during the duel, and her leotard is shredded. She's a mess. But she smiles faintly, chest heaving as a sigh escapes her parted lips.
"I do know when I'm beaten," she calls out in a voice beaten by the brawl, but clear enough still, "Can't say I like you, but I like your style. I won't concede it's better than mine. Not yet." The smile momentarily spreads to a grin, a savage expression not filled with mirth but a veritable torrent of other emotions; relief, admiration, resolve, and the desire for another meeting.
"But you're better than I expected. If we meet again... we'll fight again."
COMBATSYS: Amy takes no action.
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Setsuka 0/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: Amy can no longer fight.
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Setsuka 0/-------/=======|
The creaky, rusted hinges of the cage... Setsuka regards the with distaste. The blade flashes, and sings its terrible song; the 'door' falls forward, unbidden. The smiling assassin steps through the portway and turns, her smile enigmatic--but no less inhuman, the suggestion of a monster behind the mask. "I did not take part because you demanded it of me. I took part.. because it amused me. Because you are a soul that cries out for pain..."
Flashes of insight. "When you desire to explore the depths of your pain, seek me out again. I will be more than happy to guide you through the journey. You may not survive." So saying, the raven-haired woman gazes at Amy again, her expression softening, becoming more human, that light of insanity fading from her blue eyes.
Abruptly she turns again; if she had a cloak on it would swirl most picturesequely--and she walks through the crowd. Somehow, after she hits the edge of it... it's like she's gone, plain into thin air. Respect? Understanding? If Amy believes she understands Setsuka... then she is in for a surprise. Respect... well. That may exist in some... altered... form, this is true. There is only one thing that is sure. Amy had best prepare herself for that next meeting.
% Pain... desire...
Setsuka's parting words receive a slow, formal nod from the fallen aspirant. These are concepts she has faced, and continues to face within herself. Can it be that this serpentine being has seen beyond the veneer, or is she merely observant to the subtle nuances that lie without? Either way, it strikes home.
Amy almost forces herself to stand and call out, demand further answers in the here and now, scream 'What do you know of my pain?' ...but this would be ridiculous. She knows it. Such answers, if Setsuka truly understands these things as she claims, will not come today.
She knows this even before the assassin disappears. Quietly she sighs, her head hanging as tiredness is momentarily allowed to take control. Her soul still burns, her 'mundane' injuries beg for attention, but she is strong; and can only grow stronger, whether or not she meets her opponent again. She lifts her head high.
And with that, Amy staggers to her feet, wavering as adrenaline-slick blood rushes to her head. Making for the outside of the cage she ignores the roars of the crowd, and the sight of money changing hands, to stoop next to the man who made this battle necessary. Whatever she has learned from the swirling storm of techniques, whatever her character might have gained from the meditation that follows, what matters here and now is providing what aid she can to the fallen.
She leaves the bar a few minutes later, the injured wastrel hanging at her neck, her arm about his waist.
Log created on 01:24:07 06/30/2008 by Setsuka, and last modified on 12:29:31 06/30/2008.