Description: A Devil never gets crossed twice. At least, that might be the intended lesson for Ayame when a nightmare from her past decides to pay a visit, hellbent on collecting blood long since overdue.
Ayame has been around since a certain someone picked up the trail of her new life in Southtown, Japan. From the occasional Saturday Night Fight where various fighters took great pleasure in pummeling her half to death, to an all expenses paid trip to Strolheim castle to fill in for some random loser's bracket match, the girl has been all over the place. She certainly found a way to move up in the world too. From a hole in the wall hovel that barely even constituted an apartment to the penthouse suite of one of Southtown's taller high rises. There she stayed for some time even until it suddenly became inhabitable not long ago.
The teenager had returned 'home' only to find it in that state with no knowledge as to why or where Shihong was. She drifted for a few days, using what little money she had left over from her fight appearances to get a cheap hotel room until she got a call letting her know where Shihong was staying now. The new place occupies the the twelfth floor of a narrow condo highrise. The occupants: One mysterious twenty-something Chinese woman steeped in activities for the Southtown Syndicate and one eighteen year old teenage cheating con. It makes for an interesting duo to say the least.
The new place isn't entirely moved in yet. Lots of still packed boxes cover the floors in the various rooms. The kitchen appliances aren't even in place yet, several sitting on the countertops. One of the walls appears to be in the state of being only half painted. The carpet is brand new, the entire interior redone for the new residents. Recessed lighting in the ceiling is still being hooked up, which means that stationary standard floor lamps will have to suffice for the time being.
At least the TV is hooked up and even has cable. Internet is good. There's a very comfy couch. And a coffee table for Ayame to place her laptop. What more does a girl need, really? Only one of the living room lamps is on, leaving her face to be lit up by the pale blue screen of the laptop in front of her as the girl types away at something intently.
Whatever she's typing up, she reaches a pausing point, leaning back on the sofa and releasing a soft exhale before pushing herself up to her feet. A tour of the kitchen takes a moment as she shuffles through some boxes to dig up a glass which she fills with filtered tap water before returning to the living room, sipping thoughtfully as she goes.
She pauses once back in the living room. The television is on, but the volume is muted, images of the nightly news and various fighting event recaps flashing by on the screen. The girl glances toward it for a moment, memorizing an on-screen summary of all the fight results from the week. Never know when those statistics will come in handy after all.
Looking away after the one second it takes to commit the spread of numbers to memory, she wanders over near a large sliding glass door out to one of the suites multiple balconies. A thoughtful gaze into the heart of Southtown keeps the strawbery blonde occupied, cup of water at her lips, thoughts of her encounter with a modern day living mystery reviewed in her mind. A soft 'Heh', escapes her lips as she lowers the cup, the girl shaking her head. He showed her something she can't forget. He showed her what she could become.
TSouthtown glimmers as an ocean of jewels set upon incandescent streets and a soft murmur of sleepless industry. Even a city as filthy and corrupt as this can seem enchanting when viewed from the right angle. From the high-rises above in the dark of night, the city is a work of art.
The translucent reflection stares back at her, mutely repeating the question drifting in her thoughts. What could you become? What more to life is there than this? Is there a greater destiny set before her than living in and out of the apartments of others? Carving out a meager existence from the folly of others?
Who is that girl staring back at her? Who could she be? What has she been?
Most importantly... Why isn't she holding a glass of water too?
"Do you think we've forgotten?" The image quietly whispers in the girl's own voice, tilting her head forth as her reflected eyes stare through her, "Do you think we've forgiven?" Ethereal fingertips glide along the glass in a vaguely similar manner to Ayame's own movements, no longer a perfect mirror. Staring as if through the looking glass darkly.
Is she going mad?
The image's eyelashes flutter, a sing-song giggle escapes her lips as if the very idea of her is amusing. This place. This setup. This adorable lie. "We can't escape ourselves forever." The girl in the mirror's voice is quiet, as if offering a secret. Leaning closer to the window, as if attempting conspire with herself alone.
The sound of talking heads and financial forecasts cut off abruptly to the tune of faint static. The girl's own escaping breath becomes faintly visible past her lips, though her mirror betrays no such frigid air. Even the lights of Southtown beyond the image seem to grow dimmer somehow, muted. As if something was draining the color from the world, an eye blink at a time.
Those who experience lucid dreams frequently will suggest that there's a trick to it - a certain awareness of being presented with an impossible situation that snaps them into a conscious control over what transpires in their dream. Such experiences can be facinating for the dreamer, as they traverse a magical, boundless experience limited only by their creativity.
The encounter at Alcatraz, as she'll probably come to think of it for the rest of her life, might have changed everything. Or maybe not. The choice seems to be hers to make. But which will lead to a winning end game? Is this really the time to be making shifts like that? When she hasn't even really regained who she even is?
She's about to turn away, half closing her eyes, when she suddenly snaps her attention back to the window, eyes narrowing slightly. Something isn't right. The reflection... isn't. And then it speaks. Interesting. She must be dreaming. She must still be asleep on the couch. It's the only explanation. Her initial reaction is to shake her head. She's not in the mood for this. Now's not the time for idle dreaming.
Her hand lifts, resting against the glass, "Cute. But not now." Now she need only to make it go away. Force herself to wake up. To get back to typing up her latest ideas for inventions. Her eyebrow twitches slightly after a fleeting moment when all does not go back to as it should. She can't wake up. Taking a step back from the false mirror, her mouth curls into a frown. "Strange."
She takes another step back, still calm, but tense. This doesn't make sense. She stares intently at the other her. Why can't she wake up? She's never had problems doing so before, always so perfectly in control of her mental faculties to the point of being borderline inhuman. Her brain like a computer missing one of its drives as of late, sure, but the same sharp mental control has still been there.
"Either I'm dreaming and I'm along for a ride I have no control over... or..." She doesn't believe in ghosts. Or spirits. Or hauntings. Which means it's an illusion? A halogram? She's long suspected that with the right amplifiers, she might be able to make images out of chi herself. But this is beyond anything she can practice. Something isn't right here. She glances to the side toward the television, seeing static. No... that won't help her ascertain if this is merely a dream. Hrn.
Ayame's laughter is her reward for her calm dismissal. As the girl turns, as she shakes her head.. the reflection moves not. Translucent fingertips press against the glass forcelessly as she presses her forehead to the window pane. Eyes half-lidding in amusement as they follow her movements, replying to her own intellect with a simple, "If it was only that simple."
It is an error. A lapse of mental control that cannot be refuted or denied. A failure in logic that cannot be explained so easily or simply.
As that 'Or' hangs in the air, the image turns. Her back presses to the window, neither stirring nor sounding the glass. Hair gathering at her neck as she half-slides downwards while breathlessly sighing, "A bit of underdone potato? More gravy of me than the grave?" An amused chortle as the image looks back over her shoulder slyly to herself, "No .. We aren't dreaming.."
Turning once more as she slides languidly back upwards, folding one arm behind her head with the other gliding high on the glass itself, "..Nor are we in control. Does that frighten us?" Ayame's image whispers through pleased lips. Stalking the frame slowly, like a wolf searching for a way into the bird's nest, "Do we even remember what fear means? We should be afraid.. We should.." The voice remains a whispered secret, feeling as if the words themselves crawl into her ears as palpable things, sending tingling sensations down her neck.
"Do we remember the things we did in the dark? The people we worked for? What horrible things we were made to do?"
Reflection's eyes disappear into shadow.
She glances back to the other her as the voice picks up where she left off, right narrow eyebrow raised ever so slightly. She looks over the glass sliding door idly. It's locked, like always. Neither occupant has had cause to step out on the balcony in the dead of winter since moving in after all. Her mind is racing, gears turning, trying to decipher what it means, how she can not have control over her own dream. It's hers, after all. Who /else/ could claim that control?
She blinks a couple of times, taking more steps away from the door. What is this? Should she know? Should she remember? "I find it easier to let the past go. Best to not obsess too much." she replies, forcing her expression into a hint of smile. She can fix this. The illusion has to have an explanation. Magic doesn't exist; only tricks. Of this she is certain.
It isn't some type of playback. She's never said these things. She'd rememb-... or maybe not. "Should we..." she replies on the matter of being afraid. "IF you're real... then you can be dealt with via mechanics that are also real. And if you are not, then being afraid of you is foolish." She's rationalizing, trying to think her way through the unexplainable. But she's also backing up slowly to the couch.
Her brow furrows, her racing mind unable to explain what her eyes and ears insist are real, what her /instinct/ says is real. She isn't dreaming but this is still a nightmare. "It must be something I did or said..." She hehs softly, her breath visible vapor in the suddenly chill air. Is a window open somewhere? It's getting cold. "If you've come to find remorse or guilt, you're going to be severely disappointed." She continues thinking, ruling out explanations left and right as she cites evidence contradicting all of it.
The only thing that seems to remain is that she's hallucinating. She's gone crazy. Whatever brain damage caused her memory loss is getting worse. Her right hand goes to rest against her temple. Is that headache coming on?
The reflection pauses at the edge of the sliding glass door. Haunting fingers trailing over the lock soundlessly. Ayame looks to herself, her lips mirroring that growing smile as if sharing that confidence. Even if the posture of this illusion is entirely different. Leisurely, relaxed. The chill of the air touches not her unblemished youthful skin or her sultry demeanor. Leaning against the glass again, pressing her forearm to the surface as she tilts her head askew, "What if the past obsesses about us?"
"What if the past spends every waking minute.. Thinking. Brooding. Over and over how it was wronged. We may choose to let go.." The reflection's eyes slowly unhide from the shadows..
... Revealing a pair of wicked, glowing golden orbs. Utterly inhuman, monstrous things glistening with baleful hate.
"But the PAST-" The voice jolting from its whisper, rising and warping into something else. Deepening, booming and twisting in the air. The word punctuated with a quick shriek of metal as a pair of long slender spikes impale the window's lock, extending from the fingers of the illusion just on the otherside. Metal bits falling softly onto the carpet just beyond the window itself.
"-Never forgets."
The illusion -slides- the door open in a rush of motion. The image wiping away and revealing the truth behind the glass as the winter winds buffeting the high-rise immediately flood into the room with a screeching gale.
Standing in the image's place is a woman.. Looming in the window as a living shadow. A dark kimono flows slowly in the winds, rustling around her like a blackened, living thing. Her long ebon hair is carried aloft by the wind, slithering slowly through the room like swimming black eels. Her face would be beautiful, if it was not the very image of cold cruelty and malice. Wicked eyes burrowing through the young thing standing before her, backing away.
The Devil had stalked Ayame for some time. Slowly but surely, word had begun to reach the creature of the young girl's whereabouts in Blackjack's aftermath. The young thing had always been on the move since then, moving from accomplice to accomplice, ally to ally. Country to country. The Devil herself had many things to take care of, many plots to stew and plans to consider. Tracking the girl down always simmered in the background, but never took high enough priority to pursuit in full.
When she finally got word of where the girl roosted in Southtown, Marise finally decided to rectify the situation. Ayame's allies are known to her, which is why care was taken in how to approach and when to do so.
It does not matter who's coat tails you ride upon, no one is ever safe from The Devil. No one.
"Remorse? Sympathy? From you? ... Oh no.. Little girl no.." The Devil whispers in that haunting, reverberating tone.
"I've come to collect that which is owed."
She brings up the past again and Ayame blanches slightly. It isn't the first time her horrible history has caught up with her. Time and time again she's suffered injury by those paying her back from something she did. Crushing her ribs, spitting in her face, taunting, teasing. She's been through it all and throughout it all she had to accept that whatever it was that brought them to that point, she probably deserved it.
The past is the one thing she can't control. It can't be changed or mutated, it can't be deceived or conned. It simply is what it is, and each day she has stepped outside, she's never been quite certain what element of her previous life's story would haunt her during that outing. She stares back at those eyes as the shadows lift. Yellow, unnaturally shaped pupils. Interesting, but ultimately meaningless to her, and the uncertainty is written on her face, slipping through her manipulative expressions unexpectedly.
Her eyes widen as the transformation takes place. One illusion replaced with another? It's hard to tell anymore what's real or not. A spectre from the past... not just her past but the distant past, dressed properly for an era long before Ayame's time. As the lock is shorn, the girl gasps, stumbling back a couple more steps. She needs something real to grab hold of. Her hand drops to the cushions of the couch as she leans against the armrest to keep herself standing, fingers closing around cool titanium as she lifts her collapsed staff from its resting place on the sofa. At least that's real - her truest ally - Anathema.
Oh what the hell did she do this time? What could bring this monster to her window? The kidnapping was pretty bad. She's been made vaguely aware of it over time, though the particulars continue to elude her. But that wouldn't have spawned this malevolent force. Of that she is quite certain. Furious at her inability to remember, the girl shakes her head, her long hair framing her face as sharp brown eyes stay focused on that which no one should ever have to see.
This high up, the wind outside whips through the now unsealed condo violently, tossing papers, receipts, and any other loose objects to the floor. What debt could she possibly have racked up to deserve this?? Her mind continues to reel, trying to explain the unexplainable but lacking the data to do so. "W-whatever it is, I'm sure I can find a way to pay it back." she answers, her voice hovering on the edge of cracking, her steel-like control being pushed to the edge of reason.
Is it strikeable? Her mind theorizes that it is. It broke through the lock rather than simply passing through the glass. This suggests that it is quite physical in nature. That it doesn't care to smash itself against a thick glass pane. That it has certain limitations or inhibitions. Her mind begins trying to categorize what it is she sees but keeps coming up with nothing natural. "I don't believe in zombies or ghosts." she murmurs, reminding herself moreso than speaking to the banshee before her eyes. "Vampires or wraiths."
Her right hand tightens, fingernails digging into the flesh of her palm sharply. The sensation hurts, but it also sharpens her mind and fights off the lack of knowledge beginning to cloud her thoughts. She can't be driven by panic and fear - to do so is to surrender and lose.
"But we believe in you." Comes the mirthless reply from the terrible figure.
With movements so smooth she seems to glide, the Devil approaches. A slow, encroaching thing as her writhing, shadowy locks dance slowly in the winds. Her kimono rustling with her violet-tattered obi flowing in the breeze.
This creature knows something of the past. Ayame's reluctance to face her comeuppance is certainly understandable. How many of Marise's enemies have been made sorry for what they had done in the past? How many wish they could go back and change what they did.. Knowing now what it cost them? The doom of men is that they forget. That they silence the little voice, reminding them of what they are. What prices they paid and warning them of the future.
Who they are and what they have done catches up to all humans eventually. Of this, Marise ensures. She does not forget, nor does she forgive. Not ever. She lives in the past, a constant reminder. There can be no moving on, no future. Not for those who've wronged her.
And Ayame? Oh yes. She is wise to start begging.
"'Whatever it is' .. You say." The creature repeats the words in a sing-song tone. Fingers waving in circular dismissal through the chilling air, "Your memory seems unclear on the matter, child. Let us wind back the clock, yes?"
A shadowy tendril suddenly slides the glass door closed. Silencing the howling winds and allowing a measure of stillness return to the room.
The creature's tresses continue to flow in the now-unfelt winds.. silently.
"I admit girl, of all Miss Elle's choices in minions.. You had the most potential. Compared to many, you served me well for a long time. I dare say.." The creature continues to stalk closer, looming over the shorter girl imperiously. Appraising her with humorless, inhuman eyes. Lips occasionally revealing the glint of fangs when her voice rises, barely restrained, "Of my warriors, you were the greatest. You did my bidding with distinction. I actually began to trust you to the little matter of collecting the children for me." Leaning forward just enough achieve eye level, "With your help.. the experiments upon them were a rousing success. Why don't you tell me what happened next.. Hmmn? Why don't you tell me about how you invited your... 'friends'?"
Kidnappings? Yes. It seems the girl was involved in them.
And she did so at the behest of this monster...
She moves like a thing long since dead, drifting rather than walking. Ayame's back is to the wall. She should have run. Why didn't she run, she chides herself. What did she do to attract this thing's attention? Did she, as the saying goes, sell her soul to the Devil? Is that where her razor sharp mind, her effectiveness as a fighter, her flawless memory came from? Are they not gifts but rather goods, purchased at a price so steep this horror drifting toward her has come to collect? If there were someone else to hate, she would undoubtedly do so now. Someone to blame besides that other her in the past. But she gave up on that long ago, gave up on regrets for acts she no longer even remembered. It was irrational. There was nothing to be done for it.
But then the creature speaks of that past; of what she did, and it begins to come together. Ayame has, over the months since she awoke, mending from injuries on a bed of an unknown man, begin to put the as much of the picture together as possible. Each new encounter with someone who seemed to know who she was proved to be an opportunity to find out more about herself. How they remembered her, how she factored into their lives, how she did something to make their lot harder.
She's watched her own fights. She's found or replaced most of the weapons she saw herself use in those videos. She's even, over time, adopted the same style of wardrobe, hair, and jewelry as seen in the videos. On a certain level, however, it's a ruse. She doesn't remember. She's just putting on a really good act. And at times, the act is hard to maintain, the facts she needs to bluff not at her finger tip.
Zach mentioned kidnappings. That she was responsible. K' referenced the same before caving in her rib cage a few weeks prior. Something about some girl named Shurui. That there was torture involved. Ayame wasn't sure. She didn't really ask for specifics. Zach made it clear that no one had died though, so she figured the issue largely settled. Apparently her previous employer feels otherwise.
Marise reviews her tour of duty. The name Elle means something to her. A prior employer. This creature is a new piece of the puzzle however, and as her mind works feverishly to fill in the gaps, they all keep coming back to her. So this is why she was kidnapping people. It was for this fiend. But something happened. Ayame stares back at her blankly, lost in her thoughts. Of 'friends'... she knows of only one that she would classify as friend without reservation and they're standing in her condo. Shihong would've told her of Marise if she was among the 'friends' Marise speaks of.
Which means... she must have betrayed the woman. The why she can't imagine. Especially in light of what she's looking at now. That deathly presence, the fanged maw. What madness lead her to betray a demon? Was she not thinking? Or was she really thinking for the first time when she did that? What lives must have been spared because of whatever she did. Maybe she should feel proud that in her horrible life prior she might have done one thing right, that maybe there's hope for redemption, that maybe she's not all bad.
She doesn't feel a thing.
"I betrayed you." the girl replies, her tone becoming as icy cool as the temperature in the room. That she did thing at this monster's behalf tells her even more than one might imagine. It tells her that she was /needed/. That she gathered children for this creature because this creature could not. Her voice suggests she remembers what happened rather than derived it, but it would be hard to tell the difference. "And you're here for revenge." The corners of her mouth curl up at the slightest of angles; self-satisfaction at piecing it together.
"I told them how to get those kids out." she's guessing, but she's speaking from intuition now, and her intuition feels so very true. Oh what horrible hell she must've been involved in before. She must've known this day was coming. Must've made preparations for it before she lost her memory. Must've had
a contingency plan. If only she could figure out what it would've been! Unless... she didn't think she needed to worry before... unless there was no /need/ to...
Her pulse quickens, her breath coming in shorter gasps as she presses her back to the wall that seems stubbornly uninterested in budging to give her more room. "You're not even supposed to be here..." she whispers.
It would be difficult indeed to tell the difference between a ruse and truth. Ayame is so adroit at bluffing, so skilled at concealing her motives and how much she truly knows, that the Devil herself would require all her attentive skills to discern that something is amiss in the young girl's recall.
Not that Marise cares particularly.
This little vermin led those Gedo Street thugs to her doorstep, she was the one who gave that damned Adelheid the information to get in. Kiryuu's grandson confirmed it with his own lips, betraying the girl's confidence as if it was assumed he would do anything else.
If it wasn't for the fact that Marise will wear that boy's skin for a shawl, she could almost thank him.
The Devil nearly died there. Only surviving by convincing the children that they had, in fact, vanquished her. Evil such as her's is not so simple to kill. Greater men than they have tried and failed.
"Disappointed, dear?" Marise replies in a faux-apologetic tone, lips forming a sympathetic pout as she tilts her head forth. Looming now even closer to the cornered vixen, "Sorry to see that those boys couldn't finish the job? Yess.. I'm sure you are now.." Her voice dissolving into a cruel growl.
The creature puzzles over why Ayame would so blatantly confirm her treachery. Smugly confident in herself is she? Maybe she thinks her former priestess powers can hold her at bay. Maybe she thinks scuffling with impudent fools like that Aranha gives her a chance against her?
Ayame's back pressed to the wall suggests she believes otherwise.
"You gambled poorly, child. You believed they could defeat me and you were wrong." The haunting figure lifts a hand, her long-nailed fingertip hovers closer to the girl's svelte throat as she tilts her head back. Inhuman, monstrous eyes appraising the youth once more.
"I should butcher you and splay your entrails on the walls for your recent companions to find.. However."
That finger lifting high, "However." The voice holds back a tidal wave of rage, ready to surge forth and overwhelm this girl in an instant, "I will give you.. One. More. Chance."
The Devil's offered hand clenches into a fist, "I will renew my offer of forgiveness to you if.. And only if.. You help me destroy Tenma Kiryuu and Hakuya Suigetsu. It was Tenma.. After all.. Who betrayed you to -me- as well."
Marise could kill her, and she'd certainly like to. However.. That would be a waste of fighting skills. No... Those demon hunters are more problematic than this girl is, and if the Devil still has leverage over her.. If she fears her yet..
Maybe she can kill three birds with one pact.
She forces herself to stare at the creature's inhuman eyes, forces herself to keep trying to read her even though every base survival instinct bids her not to. Don't look the cobra in the eyes, or bare teeth to the snarling hound. But she musters the wherewithall to do so anyway. She can smell the hatred, the anger beneath the fel thing's mask. That she hasn't already attempted bloodshed means there's something holding her back, and Ayame has a pretty good idea what that might be.
If only she could figure out which boys she was talking about. That would be good information to have to help maintain the rouse. She doesn't want the woman to know of her weakness, of the massive vacuum in her mind of all the events she is referring to. People would take advantage of that. She knows she sure would.
Marise looms over her and Ayame remains fixed, back pressed against the wall. Her left hand grips her collapsed staff at her side, knuckles white with the amount of pressure. She can use the weapon even at this close range, taking advantage of its telescoping nature. But the question really is - does she need to? She isn't one who fights for thrill nor does she consider herself obligated to write the wrongs of the world. If she doesn't have to fight this spectre to get out of this situation, all the better.
She mentions the gamble - that treachory that brought the wouldbe devil killers to her lair and Ayame remains silent. When Marise moves that fingernail of hers closer to her throat, she nearly pushes the strawberry-blonde into attacking. She can only play this game for so long... she can't give the monster an opening strike to such a vulnerable location. But she holds her breath, grits her teeth, and stays put, resisting striking in that moment only by the barest of margins.
Two names are given. A hitlist, as it were. That must be them. One Tenma and one Hakuya. She remembers the name. One of the many fight videos included him as her purported partner in a SNF up until he turned his bloody chi-laced bokken on her instead of their opponent. With the voices too muted to make out, she had wondered what that had been about. Now she knows.
The offer is clear, the terms... vague but implied. She doubts this truce would last beyond the deaths of those two boys. She would need to figure out some other solution before the Devil woman turned on her. But it buys time. The gears of her mind turn, making estimates and guesses as to how best respond.
She could be flippant cocky. She could point out that she was certain the only reason the woman wasn't trying to kill her was because she needed her. But she suspects that she would too easily push her over the line. She could be docile and kowtowed, but after the exchange thus far, it would come across far too disingenuous. Surely her previous employer and taskmaster knew how untrustworthy she was...
"Fine." she utters, turning her face to the side, tearing her gaze away from those yellow irises at last. Her tone is one of stubborn resignation, of one cornered into something but seeing it as the only option by which to go forward; fear of being controlled subdued by fear of dying. It's convincing, because of all her possible reactions with which to respond, it's the closest to how she really feels. "I owe Tenma payback anyway." she growls, staring off to the side, seemingly no longer watching the woman if one wasn't to notice the way she studies the reflection in a glass cabinet's shelf.
"Whatever you want me to do. I don't care." she continues, her mind guarded, wary. This seems too easy. She perceived the malice, the furious hatred in her unwanted visitor's demeanor. Is she that desperate for her help as to be able to hold it in check? Or is this merely the first step toward a more frightful revenge?
The indignant look to the side from the girl causes the Devil to half-lid her eyes in a moment of suspicion. Violet-painted lips pressed in a line as her ominous tresses slowly flow down her back in waving gestures, like pensive cat tails.
Yes the girl betrayed her before. No Marise does not trust Ayame as far as she can throw her - And this is an awfully high building she can be thrown from. However, trust was never a currency that the Devil traffics in. There are other ways to ensure obedience. Fear, has ever been her favored currency. This brat has seen what she does to the foolish for even the smallest slight. She should know just how truly desperate her situation is. But even now, the girl tries to assert a measure of control. Her back to the wall and death itself scowling over her.. She still has a shred of hope.
"Hold out your hand to me. Then." Marise orders in a slow, even tone.
No, the girl needn't point out the obvious. The horrible creature is in need of alliances now that her old outfit is finished. The reputation of this apartment's owner is not forgotten either. This 'Shihong' is known to Marise, as Elle's files of her crime syndicate rivals have ever been extensive. Having access to what that woman is up to and having an ear in her court would be a boon. Not to mention whomever else that Ayame may encounter, knowing the girl's mercenary ways. The fact that she would so readily betray anyone at the drop of the hat can be quite useful. Ayame, in her own little way, has managed to squirm her fingers into many pies. Rather than simply murder the girl... Taking a share of her resources and hard-wrought contacts is far more useful to the Devil now.
The creature throws her hand aside then gestures upwards in a deft motion, allowing the sleeve of her kimono to sleep to her milk-white elbow. Lowing her spread fingers slowly to the youth, razor-sharp fingernails spread widely like a trap awaiting a mouse.. waiting for the girl to offer her own hand in turn. Inhuman eyes hard, not brokering further compromise or conversation.
No. Trust is not something Marise deals in. And if this girl does not fear her completely enough to obey her implicitly, there are other ways to make certain the Devil is not betrayed so easily again.
She isn't sure how the woman is going to take it. She doesn't seem like the compromising type. She doesn't seem like the sort to take anything in the way of flack. But there's only one way to find out and that might very well be the most painful approach. But she isn't the girl that silently took orders a year ago, heading out to spread misery or havoc according to the Devil's whims. She's lost something since then but gained things as well. Friends, for one. Shihong has taken her in with no apparent thought of how it would benefit her, a concept entirely foreign to the young bandit.
And a vision. A lesson, example, whatever one might call it. Something was learned when she found herself pinned down in the unforgettable seal of the Ryouhara's making and even now that experience is shaping her reactions to the demands made. Buying time, that fight to survive at /any/ cost. Or so she thought. There might be a cost too great. A price she would have paid before but will not now.
The deathless creature's hand extends, waiting expectantly, and Ayame's sharp eyes snap to it, studying those fingers, contemplating the implications. Something tells her Marise doesn't want to shake hands. A blood oath, perhaps? A cut in her palm like some traditions have used to swap blood between 'brothers' in a rather unhealthy ritual? That doesn't seem her style either.
There's a catch. She doesn't know what it is, but she does know that the monster didn't come all the way here just to forgive and forget. Oh no. No... there's definitely more to it than that. She lifts her right hand slowly, arm trembling. The ghost had said she gambled hard before. It's time to gamble again. It's time to put it all on the line. There is a price too great to pay after all - the price of her /freedom/.
"You want to control me..." she murmurs, extending her right hand slowly, fingers stretched forward. "No one gets to do THAT!" The motion is instant, the transformation just as fast, as she goes from cowering prey to avenging angel, her right hand snapping back to avoid being caught as her left hand rises, spinning that collapsed weapon around so that one end of it points to the wall behind her. And the other end is aimed at the woman's center of gravity in her mid-torso...
And then she extends it. With hundreds of pounds of hydraulic pressure, the telescoping staff expands out, one end of it bashing nice hole in the wall behind the girl. The other end? The end speeding toward Marise's sternum? That remains to be seen. "Get out!!"
COMBATSYS: Ayame successfully hits Marise with Random Strike.
For a long moment, The Devil’s hand remains outstretched. Claws at the ready to accept Ayame’s sign of supplicance. Inhuman eyes half-lidded, baring an expression of indifference and noblisse oblige. That this little coward would bend to her will goes without saying. Marise knows her well enough, she is a survivor after all. A craven little rodent that will bend whichever way the winds are blowing, quick to descend on bended knee to whatever greater power that confronts her next. As it should be. The girl is smart for her age. All things considered, Marise can’t even blame the girl for betraying her so smoothly. Deception on that level takes a measure of skill and precision that the Ancient Ninja can’t help but admire, even when it delivered a knife into her own back. Yes.. If this wretch does what she is told and assists her in destroying those Demon Hunters, she can overlook that past.. indiscression.
Or so the Devil had thought, until the girl begins to speak once more. Her head tilts as her claws slowly begin to close. Nails sliding closed to the tune of grinding scissors, a warning of her rapidly diminishing patience.
”Know your place you pathetic little-” The Devil murmurs the words, spitting past those beautiful lips, dripping venom. The pulse of Chi within her is unmistakeable. This little fool actually intends to...
...She’s fast.
Marise only started to move out of the way, eyes bolting wide as that staff springs out instantly. The hard metal impact echoes out as the ghost is thrown away like a ragdoll, all tattered blackness and coiling shadows. Soundlessly she impacts against a nearby sofa, sliding the rich furnishing several feet across the fresh carpeting until grinding to a halt.
To any other living person, their ribs would have been shattered. Marise?
Now she’s just mad.
The monster sits there at the foot of the couch, her trailing kimono flourished about her and limbs akimbo like a porcelin doll with her wires cut. Inhuman eyes staring at her with baleful will as the words slowly rise up from within, “...Control goes only to the strong, you impudent fool..” The creature begins to rise, limbs bending at odd angles, like a broken spider slowly reassembling itself upright, “... What I did to those children will pale before what I do to you.. You wretched sow.” A soundless step forwards, fingers spreading once again at her sides as the sound of a dozen grinding knives fills the air, nails extending like thin swords. That harrowing voice regaining an unreal cadence, growing in malevolence as those eyes narrow to glowing golden slits, “...If you won’t live as my slave.. I will devour you whole, you pathetic MAGGOT!”
A rush of blackened cloth and whistling blades, The Devil speeds across the distance with hands extended, joining the battle in full as she attempts to tackle into the girl, whipping her oddly elastic arms around her. And should the girl suffer that cold grip, Marise’s snarl splits her mouth wide, displaying wicked fangs and will begin to demonstrate to the child just what she means by ‘devour’, right at the base of her neck.
COMBATSYS: Ayame blocks Marise's Combo Throw.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////// ]
Marise 0/-------/----===|=------\-------\0 Ayame
Cornered against the wall, but not unarmed, Ayame makes her stand. Willing to cooperate for only so long, the days of her turning her ultimate destiny over to the hands of monsters and tyrants are gone. She knows she might not be strong enough to back this up, and the sheer terror at taking such a chance - to play the hard odds with her life - is only barely kept at bay, forced into the back of her mind. She knows she can't be driven by fear. The creature before her will not be sated by just that.
Her staff protrudes from the wall, one end of it embedded in the newly painted surface, the other end of it jutting out to where it had struck Marise with enough force to knock her away. Brown eyes focus on the fallen woman, mouth set, corners of her lips curled up in a possibly unrealized smirk. "That's just the problem," she replies, her tone firm, no sign of the fear that might force a stammer in one with less of a steel trap mind. "I've /found/ my place." She's made the creature furious. It's what she expectred just based on what she had observed in their 'pleasant' time together thus far.
Furious people make mistakes. Furious people don't usually try to bite your neck out with inhuman fangs either though, so it might be safe to say that all bets are off. "Strong enough to control me now? I don't think so." she growls, realizing a moment too late that her own emotions were slipping into this, pushing a certain level of fury to the surface of her mask. She needs to cage those. Furious people make mistakes, after all.
With the woman collapsed but definitely not detered, the girl acts fast. A tug on her staff reveals it to be a tad too stuck to the wall for her to mess with. She lets it go for now, forced to find something else to defend herself. With almost no time to spare, she rushes to the side, to a nearby in-set counter, her right hand sweeping down to grasp something small. And in that moment her assailant is upon her.
That's the advantage of not being caught on tape, flaunting and showing off one's techniques. For all the videos Ayame has reviewed of her broadcast matches, this woman has never shown up in a single one, leaving her almost no idea how she fights. What style she might adopt, what techniques she can draw upon. She's going to have to figure it out as they go.
Those arms seem to move in unnatural ways, leaving the girl's mathmatical mind at a loss as to how to defend against the tackle. Another illusion? A trick of the mind? Or something else all together? It hardly matters as she finds herself in their grip. But her arms are loose, and that's all she needs as that constricting hold tightens. Her left arm comes up first, her forearm horizontal, locking beneath Marise's chin just in time to stop that attempted frightful bite short.
Her right hand comes up next with a quick slashing motion, bearing a small razor that had been used for opening boxes, threatening to carve the woman a diagonal line if she doesn't defend herself quickly. If it's enough to shake the woman's hold on her, the fast thinking girl will bring her left arm out from under her chin to wrap around the woman's neck, falling backward and to the side to try and tumble her off to the side against the floor.
COMBATSYS: Marise interrupts Random Combo from Ayame with Onigumo no Dokubari.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////// ]
Marise 0/-------/-======|==-----\-------\0 Ayame
Anger is power.
TFear. Hate. The dark emotions can infuse one with greatness if one allows. The Devil bathes in it. It grants her clarity and purpose.
So many try to deny their emotions. Hold them in check, keep them at bay, terrified that it may cloud their judgement. That, in itself, is giving into fear in a way. To truly master hatred means to embrace it, let it fill you and keep you warm in a cold world. Cold, calm logic is doomed as this is not a rational world. Numbers do not add up. Humans are not creatures that obey mathematics or quantitative analysis. We are madness incarnate. For all the veneers of civility and ideals men place upon themselves, it is all in the vain hope that they might one day forget that they are, indeed, animals. Monsters. Fiends.
This little one clings desperately to her truths. Believing she can out-think the world. That if she sat down and cogitated long and hard enough, all the universe will be revealed to her.
And she thinks she's in control?
The Devil grapples with the girl for frightening moments, her grip freakishly difficult to manage, worming and slithering around her defensive grip. Glistening fangs held barely at bay by the shoving forearm as the creature's pale neck and upper chest is exposed for the attacking.
The box cutter slashes neatly, leaving a line of crimson along the beast's milky collarbone. Offering just enough of an opening to put the monster in a brief headlock and cast her aside.
The ghostly thing screeches in rage, her limbs unwoven from the girl as she falls back and to the floor in a low crawl. Her ebon tresses slithering around her like masses of serpents while golden eyes glare back upwards to the standing youth.
"Feh... I should not have expected much from you.. whelp. The stench of Shinto is too strong in your blood.." Slowly rising then, getting to her feet in unhurried movements. The line of crimson along her pale flesh already gone, as if it never occurred.
Which is when Ayame will notice several long black needles jutting up from her shoulder. A purplish discoloration slowly spreading upon her own skin, as does an aching pain.
Where did those come from? The creature's hands were accounted for at all times...
"Who do you think had you trained, girl? You fought for me... I had you grow from being a meaningless urchin with delusions of grandeur to a -true- warrior. You were nothing until you were lain at my door, worm. For your insolence.. You shall be returned to the nothing from whence you came!"
A slash and twist later, and she's cast the woman off of her. It's the opening she needs to run. She doesn't need to defeat the Devil, she just needs to run faster than it. She can do that. Run through life so fast she doesn't even look over her shoulders anymore to see what's chasing her. She thought maybe she could change things from how they were before. But that forgotten past refuses to stay left behind.
But something she hears makes her pause, eyes narrowing, the look on her face one of confusion too powerful to go stay hidden, "S-shinto?" she stammers, eyes widening slightly the moment she becomes aware of a deep ache in her shoulder. "Ah!" The pain runs deep, the discoloration evidence of something horrible beneath her skin. Is it poison? Her right hand snaps up, gripping the needles. She knows the venom is already delivered, simply pulling them out will mean nothing here. But she isn't going to leave those skewers in place all the same.
There's something about the taint they leave, however. Poison isn't the right way to describe it. The girl shakes her head slightly, concentrating, fighting a battle within, her formidable aura - a relic of her childhood birthright - fighting against the woman's touch. "Should be careful what you raise," she growls back, casting the needles to the side. "Never know when your progeny will decide it's had enough of you." She turns her right shoulder toward the woman, eyes narrowed, fists clenched.
No, she's done running. She's going to finish this. "I don't owe you anything." she spits. "You should have gotten out of here when I gave you a chance!" She'll turn this around. She'll make this ghost feel fear. She'll make /her/ run! She bolts forward, shaking off the pain in her shoulder. Her right hand can make that razor blade dance, but it's with her left knee that she leads, attempting to drive Marise's defenses low before spinning in with a right handed slash.
By the time she finishes turning all the way around, her left hand has grabbed an expensive clock from off the wall, and in one smooth motion, attempts to bring it crashing down against the Devil's serpent-haired head!
COMBATSYS: Marise Toughs Out Ayame's Assault and Battery!
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////// ]
Marise 0/-------/=======|===----\-------\0 Ayame
The Devil rises tall. Looming over the child even as she puzzles over what sorcery courses through her veins. No, no simple venom or toxin this. That which savages her system from within bares similarity to the seals that the Ryouhara scion inflicted upon her. A seal of unmaking, a mark of arcane annihilation. A technique dissolving her aura from within, dismantling her lifeforce little by little with a semi-conscious will of its own. A small death injected under her skin, eating its way through.
Though, the devouring plague doesn't seem to spread as quickly or as potently as it does many. A strength even she only barely comprehends.
If Marise was paying closer attention, she might have grasped that shocked blurted exclaim. As is, she's content to hear that the girl is beginning to understand the depth of her miscalculation. Instead she calmly begins to approach, a certain serenity to her step even in the midst of such wanton violence. Her hands outstretched, as if openly seeking embrace though her expression possesses not a shred of warmth. Beautiful lips curled in a disapproving scowl, predatory eyes narrowed to glowing slits. "Obedience is all. A lesson I thought you had learned." Stepping over the carpet as she gains inch after inch upon her quarry, "Of my kind, such disobedience is punished most severely. Words such as yours are never.. Never spoken twice."
As the girl marshals her rage, Marise's eyebrows lift. She makes not a gesture to defend herself, "Oooo..." Crooning in a low, murmur of approval even as that knee slams audibly into her middle. Doubling the creature forth and allowing that vicious razor to slash straight across her face, a spray of blood splattering over Ayame's own visage in crimson benediction. And then, as the beast is still reeling.. The heavy clock piece -smashes- over her head. Staggering the darkness and forcing it a step back..
..But no further.
No cry of pain, no declairations of the child's imminent demise.
Instead.. Only a simple gesture as Marise curls her fingers upwards from a good three feet away. Those nails -shoot- out like a quartet of slender spears. Shrieking immediately at point blank, seeking to impale the girl in non-vital places amidst her center.
The ones that hurt more.
Regardless of the success, the Devil then tilts her head back. Revealing that hellish gash across her beautiful face from the shadows, "...Better.." Definitely pleased at the youth's surging of hatred for her. A long, lewd tongue slithers forth to wipe the blood from forehead to chin.. the wound mostly closed already.
COMBATSYS: Marise successfully hits Ayame with Shinigami.
- Power hit! -
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////// ]
Marise 1/------=/=======|======-\-------\0 Ayame
Once properly impaled, the Devil pulls back her arm. Reeling in the girl so the monster woman can look her face to face, serpentine eye to human eye. Wicked black slits focusing to the girl's own as she whispers now, twisting the chi-disrupting claws ever so slightly, "No little girl. No. It was you who should have run. Scream. Yessss... While you can." Hideous gold narrowing a fraction more, murderous claws pulling the girl closer, "Squeal. Beg for your life. Beg forgiveness.. BEG. And.. I may yet forgive you.."
When the evening's horrors got started, Ayame was convinced what she was seeing as a nightmare. A dream waiting to be controlled, directed back into something far more palatable. She had been convinced otherwise eventually. But now she's stuck wondering again, her mind reeling at the very idea that she's being dragged closer to her demise by claws too long to be real.
Her mind's eye reviews the events meticulously. The three strike combination she tore into the freakshow with, culminating with the clock she smashed against her head before she released hold of it. Brown eyes glance to the side at the broken time piece right where it should be as she furiously tries to check every detail, every fact. The clue to controlling a dream is to identify it as such by finding something amiss...
But all the details are in place. She tried to move, to avoid those savage spearing claws, but they are dug in deep now, and the pain is ever so real. The woman's blood drips down the girl's cheek as she fights for traction, attempting to find any means by which to free herself. The agony is excruciating to the point that she can't keep from gasping, small cries of hurt escaping her lips in spite her efforts to stiffle them. She grits her teeth. She wants to scream and in the back of her mind she quickly calculates the chances of anyone being range to hear. And if they were, would anything be done in time? A call to the police would take too long and may mean nothing in the end anyway. No, she needs to act on her own...
Again that horrific offer is made. To beg her way out of this. It was never hard before, the girl begging if it got her what she wanted. Pride was fake, something other people had to worry about. She had no such thing. And now, as she's pulled forward, she prepares to toss away what shread of self-respect she had gained.
In the end, she determines she can't pull away, it's only delaying the inevitable. But if the woman's claws are in her, perhaps she'll be less able to defend herself... A chance she takes, gritting her teeth as she pushes forward slightly, "You're not strong enough to control me," she hisses. Her right hand swings again, the motion a quick blur as the girl attempts to land yet another gash on the wraith, to paint another line in her flesh.
COMBATSYS: Marise dodges Ayame's Quick Strike.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////// ]
Marise 1/------=/=======|======-\-------\0 Ayame
"Oooooh.." The Devil murmurs at the girl's defiant air. Lips pursing as her wicked gaze allows an iota of contemplation to betray what's otherwise a fearsome scowl.
What has gotten into her? Ayame was never this blatantly insubordinate before. She was always easy to control... Her desires simple to discern, her motivation was straightforward. Always willing to trade service than risk terrible harm... This odd swelling of pride is disconcerting. Its almost as if she was a different person somehow. Did her new found allies from Southtown Syndicate give this to her somehow? An unwise gift, to be sure. It will be the death of the child yet.
As the youth takes another swipe with that blade, The Devil employs a different defense in the form of shoving the girl -away-. Pushing with her claws while retracting them, the jarring motion yanking the blade-like lengths from her body and putting the ex-priestess at arm's length. Just enough room for the Devil to tilt her head back, the blade missing her austere nose by an inch. The creature seems unconcerned.
"So.. Soooo very unwise." Sweeping her hand outwards quickly, Ayame's blood flicks from her nails and paints the nearby wall with four thin streaks of red. "I was going to kill you. Now.. I'm going to do much.. Much worse.." Fingers brought to her lips, her tongue lashing the last of the crimson from those nail-like blades as she steps forward. Always moving towards her, always closer. "You value your freedom? I will take it from you for all time. I will carve your legs off and throw them to the dogs... Your hands.. your lovely hands.. They'll be eaten by maggots before your waking eyes. I will ruin you in ways you did not know human beings could be ruined. For years on end you will look back to this day.. Screaming in your tongueless, jawless head.. Hating yourself for all time for not begging when you had the chance.."
The creature's voice a cruel whisper, detailing every atrocity without hesitation or flinch. If Ayame prides herself on being able to read her opponents and know what they're thinking by expression and voice alone.. Then she should know this.
This ghouls is not lying. Not for one second.
All the while the creature's hideous eyes glow that baleful glow. Monstrous things piercing straight through her, leaving her naked before their gaze. The abyss itself staring straight through.
COMBATSYS: Marise focuses on her next action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////// ]
Marise 1/------=/=======|======-\-------\0 Ayame
The shove with the claws provokes another pained gasp as her razor slashes nothing more significant than empty air. And while the withdrawl of the sharp nails forces another flash of raw agony, the sensation of having them no longer sticking through her is worth the pain. Blood seeps through the gashes in her blouse, but she has no time to tend to the injuries just now. Compared to what the woman intends to do with her, the gouge wounds are of trifling concern.
Given the chance, she springs backward, furthering the distance between them, feet sliding to a stop as she slips in next to her staff imbedded in the wall. Planting her right foot against the wall, she grips the weapon tightly, pulling it loose as damaged stucco scatters across the expensive, wooden floor. "Che." The horrific fates are are heard, recorded forever, perfectly, word for word. And for once, Ayame wished she could simply forget them. Kicking backward, her staff in hand, the girl springs over the sofa's armrest, sprints across the couch, and leaps off the other end, taking her near the glass sliding door Marise had entered earlier.
All the while, the Dark Woman advances, closing the distance between them, ready to make good on the unspeakable horrors. Her mind tries to shift back to focusing on her next action, what options she has to execute in order to survive this... but for once, she's found herself shaken by another's words. Trying to force them aside strikes her as being way more difficult than it should be. Shaking her head quickly, the girl closes her eyes for the briefest of moments. She has to act. She has to take control. Is this fear?
Her staff gripped in her left hand, the girl reaches to the right. A small nightstand sits there, stacked with an array of objects awaiting a better place once the cabinets get set up. Unfortunately many of them won't be lasting that long. The space between her and Marise is filled with anything she can get her hands on. An expensive vase. A small crystaline figurine. A potted plant... But in that storm of items is the real threat - a small throwing knife the girl slipped out of from under her wrist guard in the flurry of motion. Unlike the distractions, it's aim is more precise, its target squarely in the center of the approaching demon.
"Too late. I'm out of here." she growls. The sound of glass shattering is heard as she drives her staff through the large sliding door window behind her. Wind from outside rushes in, scattering the safety glass across the floor and over the balcony outside. She thought she could settle down with this new life. But it seems, like before, it's time to go back on the run. To disappear into the underworld, to vanish amongst the vagrants and wanderers of the world. Of course - that the balcony is eight floors away from the concrete sidewalk below is a bit of a problem.
COMBATSYS: Marise fails to interrupt Sudden Fling from Ayame with Random Grapple.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////// ]
Marise 1/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Ayame
The ghoul details what horrors will be inflicted upon the girl without a shred of mockery or a hint of laughter. This is the price the child shall pay for her audacity. The Devil does not offer forgiveness lightly or casually to anyone. For it to be thrown back in her face.. No living soul is allowed to do that twice. Of course, her 'forgiveness' came with more than a few visible strings attached, but that does not influence the magnanimity of the offer in the slightest in the creature's opinion. Stalking ever closer to the youth, unhurried in her ever-graceful movements. As the youth leaps and spins away deftly, the Devil simply turns with ethereal grace and follows. A grim, terrible patience in her demeanor and ghostly step. Her judgement grim and inflexible.
"I should have known you would be worthless to me. As many of you are. Children of this age.. Pampered. Spoiled. You know nothing of value.. You know nothing at all." The monster proclaims in a low, accusatory tone. Her words are interrupted by a hailstorm of designer luxury furnishings and small appliances. Clocks, lamps, pots and at least three pens are flung at her like a cloud of debris. The Devil minds it little, tiny objects bouncing off of her unhealthy pale skin with hardly an impression or gesture of discomfort. The larger item, a potted plant is swatted away with a back-handed motion, "You delay the inevitable you fo-"
THUNK. The knife plants itself neatly beneath the Devil's neck. Squarely planted at the apex of her breasts, earning a sincere gasp of surprise.
Only a moment. Vicious eyes narrow as a thin rivulet of red ichor begins to pour down over white velvet skin. The knife a distraction itself, within a hail of distractions, as the girl's true strategy is revealed.
"There's nowhere you can go!" The creature sneers, taking a quick step forth and gesturing her hands forward in clutching motions. A tsunami of darkness follows as her long hair -rushes- over her shoulders and whips across the air like a dozen black tentacles. The youth hurtles onto the balcony with countless silken whip-snaps following at her vaulting heels. Unable to stop her from getting to the edge, the creature shrieks into the biting cold winds, clawing at the air, "RUN THEN! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE! I will -find- you! WHEREVER YOU GO - YOU CANNOT HIDE! You hear me, worm!? YOU CANNOT HIDE!"
She makes it out of the newly made opening just barely in time, her shoe-clad feet coming to a rest at the edge of the balcony. She can swing off of it. A flip, twist, catch, yank, and she can pull herself into dropping on the balcony beneath her. She can fly - one floor at a time. She can escape the moment her feet touch the pavement. The fierce wind whips at her long hair, tossing it about her shoulders as the teen bandit prepares to escape. She's already thinking three steps ahead. Get down. Disappear. Change her name, her location, her life. She CAN run. The witch's screach howls out from the thrashed living room behind her.
'So... are you going to run?' The Ryouhara had asked her when she sought to retreat from his presence without a fight; without a struggle.
'Unyielding is a word for people who bargain their life without fear.'
The words from her exchange with the enigmatic ninja whisper to her softly but without reservation in stark contrast from the deafening howl behind her. She was thinking too far ahead without considering all the vectors. What if she runs? What if that /thing/ behind her waits here? What if Shihong walks into an ambush? Silently the girl stands, one foot on the rail of the balcony, her other foot on a deck chair right next to it. Her left hand grips her staff tightly as she plays out the worst scenarios possible in her mind.
'If you can bleed for your teammate, then you know sacrifice.'
When she whips around to face the Devil, she stares directly into those inhuman, yellow irises, her jaw set, her stance tightened.
'Unyielding is a word for people who bargain their life without fear.'
It's her life to gamble. Her blood to risk. If it means not abandoning the only woman to ever give her a chance, she has to take the chance. "No." she whispers. A shimmer of red ripples across her polished metallic staff. "NO!" she exclaims. The gentle chi flares into crimson flames, mirroring the fiery spirit burning within the girl. "I'm done running from the likes of you!!"
And then she's back on the offense. Bolting back in through the gaping opening left in the door, a trail of lingering red in her wake, the girl spins into a violent combination of swift, wildly unpredictable strikes. Glancing blows at first, as if to throw the woman's defenses off, before culminating in a horizontal, full bodied spin aiming to slam that titanium weapon into the side of the woman's tendril covered head. The Requiem was her father's signiture technique. Modified as it might be by her own personal touch, it still may serve her well.
With each strike comes the threat of a small explosion of chi, sparking into the air and leaving lingering particles even as Ayame completes her spin, filling the space around the duo with a storm of blossom-like energy blown about by the wind rushing through the room!
COMBATSYS: Marise blocks Ayame's Requiem For Fallen Blossoms.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////// ]
Marise 1/-----==/=======|=======\-------\0 Ayame
%What?
Marise snarls in frustration as the slippery girl has all but made good her escape. The Devil already knows what will happen. A drop from this height will be nothing the girl cannot handle, perhaps sliding down a drainage pipe or acrobatically making her descent balcony to balcony beneath. The girl may even try to hide beneath the balcony hoping the Devil will move on.. Little does she know how futile all of nonsense is. The monster's luminescent eyes aren't merely for show, they serve a purpose. The Kinmagan cannot be fooled by mere earth, stone or flesh. But even that is unnecessary.
No, Ayame is a creature of habit, as trapped by her sense of logic and intellect as she is freed by it. She can't help herself, a devoted slave to cold reason. Ayame will return to her petty life of crime, she will find another place to live, another name and another life.
Marise will hunt her down.. Eventually. A long life gives one perspective beyond the day to day of the young. Sooner or later, she will cross paths again and the Devil will make good on her threat. Her hatred is inexorable - neither time nor distance can quelch its flame.
No. Marise won't expend the effort of running after her once she flees. The child will fall back into her claws sooner or later.
However.
A contingency arises that the ghost did not intend. The girl stands her ground. Digging in her feet and staring back right at the very heart of darkness itself. A fountain of courage erupts within the rogue, followed by a surge of her inner powers the Devil's gaze witnesses.
In that moment, in that split second that Ayame turns and barks her defiance at the creature... Marise flashes a look of alarm. She can see that defiled holy power rise within the girl.. And the monster cannot help but feel a touch of fear in turn.
Claws tremble, lips press firmly in a tight frown as golden eyes widen in surprise. In this moment.. the dark woman doesn't look so big. So invincible. So powerful.
"M..Miserable fool!" Marise blurts out in a trembling rage. Unwilling to surrender her terror-induced control, the beast charges forth. Grace cast away as the Ninja employs haste and deft movements instead now that her aura of menace begins to crumble. Meeting the girl head on, the Devil quickly deflects the whirling staff with her forearms and claws. The nail-blades harmlessly brush aside the crimson energized chi-explosions.. But the strikes on her bare flesh? Those -hiss- as if burning pale flesh like acid.. Even though the winds possess no heat at all, as they touch that milky skin smoke and cinders rise from her. The life-energy nature of her power searing the creature, even striking -near- her.
"This mistake is YOUR LAST!" The monster is not done yet. If the girl is so interested in knowing the meaning of 'sacrifice' then she has not yet begun to -bleed-.
After barely protecting herself from the flailing motions of that empowered staff, Marise's clawed hand reaches to the side. Fingers convulsing with a bolt of power as crimson lightning dances amongst them. Her other hand reaches forth for the youth, attempting to grab the girl's nearest arm and twist her about in a close hold..
Then a sound fills the air Ayame almost assuredly will never want to hear twice in her lifetime. A screeching echoes throughout the apartment as if Hell itself is torn open into the world and loosed. The energy that generates into Marise's clawed hand is wholly unnatural. The most twisted, loathsome chi a living being could hope to wield. Shrieking with a hundred suffering voices - a choir of eternal damnation, roiling in a black-crimson ocean of screaming, agonized faces.
This terrible thing the monster tries to -SLAM- into the girl's back.. And should it land, it will -blast- straight through. Erupting from her front in a pyre of raw demonic pain. Whole not physically damaging her organs or leave any gaping wound should it connect.. It will do the spiritual equivalent instead, nearly rending her priestly aura assunder!
"-DIE!-"
COMBATSYS: Ayame stops Maou Satsujinken from Marise with Midsummer Fantasy.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////// ]
Marise 1/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Ayame
She saw that flicker of doubt in the creature's eyes when she stormed back at her. That moment of acknowledged uncertainty. So she can be beat. Something that has never lost wouldn't know what it means to fear. Something that cannot be hurt wouldn't understand that circumstances /can/ change. With aggression she charges, swinging her staff, spinning the weapon about her, carefully avoiding collisions with the ceiling and walls, controlling that six foot long weapon as easily as some can their very limbs.
The air is a cloud of blossom like petals as Ayame spins into the final sweep of the staff dance; blossoms intermixed with the acrid smell of burning flesh. It barely registers to her what that smell means as her toes touch down force, the agile girl landing out of her most graceful technique. She may not have delivered a clean strike as she had been hoping for, but at least she drove the creature back even if just slightly.
She whips her staff around, regaining her balance in one smooth motion, leaving a trail of that drifting energy in its wake. The Devil pushed is the Devil ready to finish this exchange and that much becomes clear as that blood curdling scream reaches her ears. She's about to strike again, not inclined to let up now. She has to keep striking, again and again, until the demon is defeated. If she knew the blood that ran in her veins, she might understand she had never come closer to her true calling than in this moment.
But before she makes her move, the woman seizes her arm, pulling Ayame off her balance and twisting her limb behind her. "Erk." she gasps, her initial struggle for nought. She doesn't even know what's coming next, she just knows she wants to be free of it. Perhaps the woman is going to make good on her threat after all. Maybe she's danced her last dance. Maybe she's fought her final fight. A flicker of a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. At least she went down fighting. Maybe it isn't so devoid of meaning as she had insisted to Seishirou it would be - to die for something. Maybe it really is something after all.
The air around her is torn asunder by a cacophony of a thousand tortured souls. This is it. The end. The lingering chi whips by her, driven by the fierce wind driven as if by a vortex throughout the apartment. It reminds her of another time years ago. Of lying on her back in grass. Late spring turning into Summer, the cherry blossoms in the trees overhead still lingering due to a late winter that year. Her right finger traces a line of fine red chi through the air over her. So precise is her control that she can shape it, drawing complex kanji. Words such as 'Free.' 'Destiny.' 'Effort.' 'Learning.' Her left hand lifts and begins to draw as well. Every bit as precise as her right, but the trail of chi is a soothing blue in contrast to the red. 'Control.' 'Power.' 'Knowledge.'
Only, in her mind's eye, she isn't an eighteen year old girl but rather twelve. Gone are the gaudy, attention seeking clothes she wears; replaced by the demure, modest, simple and humble attire of a miko. And she isn't alone.
"Two kinds of energy." a man's voice speaks up with a soft chuckle. "My red chi, your mother's blue. And such fine control too." She can see him. He looks older. He is her father, she knows. "Such ability..."
"Energy is energy." she speaks up, her tone distant even then. "It's not so hard if you can see that."
A patient chuckle comes from her father. Not patronizing, but not accepting her glib dismissal of her ability either. "No... energy isn't just energy. There exists chi that has been twisted, corrupted, defiled. The tool of demons. Though we haven't seen such a thing in our generation... well. One never knows." The robed man clasps his hands behind his back. "You might have to wield your chi against theirs. Your chi control will be both your shield and your sword as it was for your ancestors."
"Someday, you..." His voice is hard to make out over the howl of the hellgate opening behind her. The Devil will pierce her body with that gout of bloody hellfire and destroy her. "...us proud." She can feel that horrific charge. It resonates with her aura, her soul.
"Father." the girl beneath the raining blossoms speaks up.
"Father." Ayame whispers. Her free hand makes the move, stretching forward. All that lingering energy... the air is charged with it and for a moment, it feels as if merely an extention of herself. As if she were difting among those petals of so long ago, a wayward spirit.
She extends her free hand, no longer fighting the woman behind her. Where did that memory come from? Where was that place? Chi from all around her is drawn to her palm, forming a small spiraling vortex centered there. Acting more on the instinct of her birthright than any calculated planning, she closes her hand over that gathered chi. The energy courses through her - a burst of potential - a barrier from within against that assault from without.
The twisted energy splashes against her as Marise brings her hand forward, but it doesn't go through her torso as intended. Changed in an instant - purified, turned, cleansed, that defiled power rendered harmless as it explodes past the girl into the rest of the room, becoming blue as it passes through that filter that is the barrier around the girl, before it explodes into fine mist and joins the chi blossoms in one final dance before the wind steals it all away back out into the crisp night air.
With a defiant yank, Ayame twists her arm free, springing back a step from Marise as that energy she drew upon fades. Her brown eyes are wide, barely focused on the twisted being in front of her. Her breath is shallow, her mind reeling, her face pale. What was that? That memory? That energy? She gasps as she remembers to breath again, her left hand still gripping her staff, her right hand going to her nose to wipe away a small trail of blood trickling down from her right nostril.
"You're a demon." the breathless girl whispers as if realizing it for the first time. "You are what I am meant to slay..."
Before, The Devil very much was going to carry out on her threats of torture and long, agonized life. That was when she thought she was in control. That was when she thought terror of Marise was dominating Ayame's judgement and driving her before the monster. Fear is power.. As long as the fearful continue to be afraid. To the Devil's insidious credit, there are a great many reasons to fear her. The risk of defeat at her claws, far and beyond the chance any sane mortal takes. Even those whom could theoretically best the monster avoid doing so.. For fear of the chance she might get the upper hand. No one wishes to be helpless before a fiend who thinks nothing of devouring the flesh and souls of weakened opponents.
Without the terror, without that veil of wickedness.. Her edge is lost. As the girl stands her ground, transcends into something more than the craven thief she was by some new ideal... Marise loses what power she held over her. Now it is a fight between peers. A battle of even ground, eye to eye. Something the creature is loathed to do... But no longer has a choice. The Devil possesses no honor. The very notion of bushido, of honor between warriors, is anathema to her. She only fights the weak, the helpless. She is a predator and such beings are uninterested in testing their might - Only in being fed. If a Bull runs from the Tiger, he is doomed. If he turns to fight, the Tiger flees and seeks more cowardly fare.
Now, The Devil is just trying to dispose of her. Obliterate her utterly before the girl can truly test this newly wrought ambition and turn the tables completely. The Satsujinken is not an implement of torture or fear - It is a weapon of murder. Pure and absolute. One of the forbidden, Hellfire techniques that only the most repugnant of beings would dare master. Even used now, at a fraction of its true power due to Marise's current weakness and decrepitude, its capabilities are devastating. Futaba the Younger wielded a shade of the technique and left legions of great warriors in tattered ruin. Only a handful of beings alive could possibly know its flaw. The one weakness in a power derived of pure evil.
"I..Impossible!!" Marise stares, her jaw slackened as she looms behind the girl. Her palm pressed to her back.. Witnessing the explosion of energy through the youth as the Satsujinken is -sanctified-. The great, forgotten power of Sacred Priestesses. The ability to consecrate the unholy. To redeem that which is dark. The terrible power of suffering is silenced. The choir of Hell immediately changes into a beautiful tone of joyful renewal as the positive power flows through her and returns to the World.
Marise offers no resistance as Ayame twists away. Stumbling a step awkwardly as her hand remains outstretched.. A look of near horror over her beautiful features as she whispers, "No.. No.. Not possible.. Not possible!"
In this modern world the Devil has met only one TRUE Shrine Maiden in all their great powers of old. The thrice cursed Chizuru. The one being the Devil fears with all her blackened heart. The one being who could reseal her away, this time forever, with but a gesture of her hand. She knows of a handful of other supposed Demon Slayers. The Kiryuu and Suigetsu heirs, that bumbling fool Mizuki. She knew Ayame came from a similar family... Such blood cannot be hidden from the Kinmagan. However..
"Y..You turned your back on that destiny..." Marise gestures at her, pointing an accusatory claw at the girl. Panicked spittle flying from her lips, "YOU TURNED AWAY! Who do you think you are?! You had forsaken that power!" Desperately trying to regather her spirits. Collecting herself and regain a measure of composure here as she meanders a few steps back and away.
Ayame may have shades of that old power.. But she can't possibly know how to Seal the Devil. Not without more training.. She ran away before she could complete it. Didn't she? ... Did she? .... The Devil does not know. If this would-be resurgent Miko DOES know.. She needs to flee immediately. But if she doesn't.. she can still carry the day..
It is this lack of knowledge, this terror over such holy powers that its Marise's turn to be controlled. Terrified into inaction and indecision.
COMBATSYS: Marise gains composure.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////// ]
Marise 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Ayame
What did she just do? Such a vivid memory - it could not have been a dream. She hears the sputtering, stammering confusion - the scream of frustration coming from the woman who had sought her life in that instant. Confusion reigns in her startled mind. For once, she has to agree with Marise. What just happened... should not have been. She had no control over that. That defense was flawless, perfect in its counter to the horrific, vile energy the Devil sought to spear through her. She had always had a knack for unraveling attacks flung her way. Even the brilliant Seishirou struggled to find ways to surprise the tricky girl, to get around her swift defenses. She would be proud to claim that she just pulled that off - that she had defied that killing technique using her sharp mind and vast intellect... But it didn't come from her. She didn't do that.
And that flash of inspiration, that life saving burst of potential - that didn't come for free either. A headache rages in the girl's mind. One born not just of confusion but exertion. The blood trickling from her right nostril a token outward sign of the price paid within. Years of neglecting what she should have been all along have taken their toll.
She doesn't even know what she is anymore. She had been putting together the pieces of her past, recreating the image that everyone knew her by, able to deceive even those who should have been close enough to the girl to detect her lapse in memory. But her clues only went back so far. There was that gaping void that was the first fifteen or more years of her life that she couldn't remember in the slightest. Yet, oddly enough, no one around her seemed to care or notice that her young life was shrouded in mystery. Only this woman, of all fel things, seemed to have the slightest idea...
Ayame's eyes are unfocused, as if she barely sees Marise anymore. She had toyed with the prospects of killing before. Other people were nothing to her. They didn't matter. She could do without them gladly. But there was always something that stayed her hand - that great unknown of what lies beyond kept her from ever induldging in the occasional impulse. She couldn't bring herself to send someone to a place she wouldn't know about, or to leave herself wondering if they existed beyond the shedding of their blood...
But this thing in front of her? For once she feels differently. It isn't with apathy that she regards Marise but rather a desire to end her; a deep call resonating within her cold, degenerate heart. To lock her away so that she can never hurt anyone again. The entire sensation seems so out of place to her - the idea that she would care what happens to anyone else. Caring about her teammates was a struggle enough for the misanthropic girl. But random people? What are the faceless masses to her? Nothing, that's what.
The shocked Devil's words open her eyes to the truth. She had had a different destiny at one time. That memory of hers - the iconic clothing, the orchirds of cherry trees likely bordering on some remote village shrine...
She /HAD/ turned away. It wasn't her right to call upon that power. But perhaps that power called upon her all the same. "I did." she admits, her eyes refocusing, her expression masking away the confusion as the calculating girl rapidly regains control. "I walked away from all of it." It had to be true. No miko would have the track record she had left in her trail, the bits an pieces of the life she had put together through months of careful study and intuitive guesswork.
"But it's still a part of me..." Something she didn't know. Something no one could have guessed except for those poor abandoned parents of her past. She tightens her grip on her staff on her left side, her right hand free. "A part of me I need to control just like any other..." She tenses up. She's going to attack, of that Marise can be assured.
The girl grits her teeth. The thing before her has changed in nature... No... her perception is what changed. "And I think I know how to start." By satisfying that call. By doing the one thing she was meant to do all along. Destiny. The concept had always offended her before. The Ayame of a year ago may very well have died at the woman's technique. But this time she didn't have that mental shield up to block away her past. This time there was an opening left for her destiny to collect on past debts.
She springs forward, intending on pressing the assault as the creature wrestles with her confused state. Her staff slams down against the floor, allowing the girl to vault herself forward, right foot leading the way as she tries to drive the Devil woman back with a heel to her sternum. Her mind continues to calculate, to plan. She needs to figure out how to capitalize on this unexpected gift from her past.
COMBATSYS: Ayame successfully hits Marise with Light Kick.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////// ]
Marise 1/-----==/=======|=======\-------\1 Ayame
The girl's dream-like expression does not go missed. While the Devil has not pieced together the girl's state of mind, she can hazard a guess at a few possible truths. The sudden well-spring of sacred power is unmistakeable, the rogue is calling upon her old heritage against all the principles she's gained in her life. Once a miko, always a miko... It would seem. Of all the Devil's enemies, this is one she cannot afford to combat without a measure of assurance. Marise has been defeated by the children of this time, yes. As much as it galls her to think about, she's ended up humiliated by many. But none of them could bring an end to her. None of them have an inkling of what it would truly take to terminate her wicked life. Marise ultimately feared them little. Accursed Tenma and Hakuya are the ones who came closest, but even they had not enough training to finish the job.
That is not a risk Marise cares to take twice. She cannot be sealed again, not in part, not -ever- again! It is a fate worse than death. There are those who think they know Hell, but have not a shred of understanding what true horror is.
It is nothingness. It is to be locked away in the blackness. No sound. No sight. No feeling. Deprivation of all sensation. To be apart from the world and denied journey to the next. One cannot be more alone. Even terrible agony is joy compared to such a thing. Beat her. Cut her apart. These things Marise can simply laugh away, only reminding her further that she's still alive.
That Ayame could potentially promise the Devil such a fate.... It cannot be risked. She should flee, now. Not confront her again until the monster finds out more. She can hire someone else to kill her. She can find another to destroy her. She can kill the girl in her sleep. A hundred other ways to take her revenge without jeopardizing her unholy existence.
The only thing that stays her immediate flight? A familiar scent of iron in the air. The Devil's fearful eyes start to focus, spying the trail of redness trailing from the girl's dumbstruck face.
So.. The youth's training is not complete after all. Undoing the Satsujinken was almost too much for the girl.. The monster is not as doomed as she fears confronting her. This fight is not yet over. The girl may yet come to rue her bold choice.
Marise's expression mirrors Ayame's own grit, regaining a modicum of her previous composure as her hands lift into the air, clawed fingers spread and at the ready. "Come at me then, you arrogant sow." The Devil rasps, contemptuous venom dripping from every word.
And the battle is joined anew. The vaulting attack is met with a quick movement to the side, the creature attempts to slip away from the high-flying kick.. Only to get caught right at the edge. The kick slams right at the monster's midsection, staggering her back a step, but only a step. A snarl flies from her lips as the creature lunges forth with her claws, taking two quick swipes that fall far short.. Attempting to train the girl's defenses lower. Feints only.. Hoping to blind her to the true attack - Which is unprecidented by any conventional standards to say the least.
Marise's style is one of morbid surprise and secrecy. Her attacks.. unfathomable and unpredictable unless you've seen the like before. How could Ayame have predicted such a vector as this? As Marise's tongue -lashes- from her lips, slipping downwards to whip around the handle of the knife, still plunged into her chest, unminded until this moment. Using the added limb to attempt to -stab- the girl right in the arm at the base of the shoulder with her own blade. Hoping to wound her, slow down the movements of that whirling, defensive staff.
COMBATSYS: Ayame dodges Marise's Random Weapon.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////// ]
Marise 1/------=/=======|=======\-------\1 Ayame
Betrayed by the trickle of her own blood, Ayame's inexperience - her incomplete training in the ways of the priestess, becomes a bit more clear. She doesn't know how to use it. How to finish the ritualistic sealing. She doesn't even know that here /would/ be one. Killing a demon can't be any different from ending another life, can it? That there would be divine rites invovled doesn't even cross her mind as she charges bravely, albeit it naively forward, perhaps even goaded on slightly by the creature's slights.
The vaulted kick delivered, she snaps back down to the ground, drawing her staff forward after her, the movement of her body still entirely coordinated even if her mind is suffering from a very rare case of abject confusion. She's fighting differently on some level - conscious of her attacks, techniques, skill, and options. But she isn't in such direct control over them, letting her limbs do the thinking - letting instincts honed by rote habits years ago drive her forward.
For one so typically controlled by cold reason and rationality, it's almost exhilarating every bit as much as it is terrifying. To let go and just act, to push herself forward without restraint, to change the game of her life from chess to roulette... the only way she can keep going is to keep herself from thinking about it, for in that moment she'll seize up, crippled by indecision.
And that state of mind pays off too. Her thinking mind wouldn't have seen that tendril of hair moving with such precision control; she wouldn't have connected the earlier snaring and entangling capacity of it with the ability to move it with prehensile-like accuracy; she would have simply struck again, and in the process, suffered a grevious blow.
Springing backward, a soft gasp escaping her lips, Ayame slides to a stop a few yards away, a trickle of blood seeping from hairline thin slice near her shoulder. Her eyes don't even shift to notice the blade in the woman's hair until after she had made her escape, as if prompted to do so by something other than conscious thought. A glance at her shoulder follows, eyes narrowing slightly at the narrow gash. It was close. If she had been counting on purely her ability, in her present, near addled state of mind, she would have been crippled by the blow.
The girl shakes her head quickly. She needs to pull herself together. What is she even doing? Does she see herself as some kind of holy warrior now? Years of living like a scoundrel, ne'er-do-well, good for nothing, conniving thief? And now she thinks to take the high road of divine purpose in felling this wicked entity? "This is ridiculous," she whispers. Is the cry of freedom /this/ important? Are her teammates /this/ important?
But she made up her mind when she turned back. One foot on the balcony railing, she was ready to take flight and vanish into the night. But she came back. And Ayame is not one to change her mind once she's made it up. The sounds of the world seem so loud now, as if she can hear the slightest stir in the busy city. A distant shout. A honking horn. The rush of wind or the whine of a car engine. Energy flows all around, invisible most of the time, except when channeled and controlled. The teenaged girl can hear it now. The sounds closer by. The telltale signs that she should be picking up on. She should have noticed the dark lady had lost her edge.
"You're afraid." she declares, eyes focusing back on those yellow, demonic irises. "You don't even have any idea what I can do. What I cam capable of." She begins to channel it like she saw that easy going monk do so long ago. Energy building up around her, an aura of rose colored chi at her feet, blossoming up into violet, then soft, gentle blues as it raises to the level of her shoulders.
"You can't stop me now," she declares, her voice carrying unshaking confidence. "You spoke of mistakes and their finality earlier. This ... coming here tonight... this will be forever remembered as yours." Her staff glimmers with chi, shifting shades just like her own. Reds, blues, yellows, greens. Each color in turn made manifest under her precise control as she slowly starts to take control again.
Strained, exhausted muscles are soothed and the ache in her head ebbs slowly, gradually diminished by the infusion of pure, untainted energy. Her eyes clear. She's never seen better in her entire life. A smile of courge graces the edge of her mouth. She can't help but wonder if somewhere, her parents would still be proud of her even now; their wayward child's fearless stand against the Devil. If she falls here, if Marise gets the upper hand... will that thought still console her?
COMBATSYS: Ayame gathers her will.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////// ]
Marise 1/------=/=======|=======\====---\1 Ayame
Perhaps for the first time in her short life, Ayame is feeling what its like to truly be alive. To leap into the absurdity of risk. To stand triumphant over fear and doubt. Logic cannot hold against the overwhelming onslaught of madness. Rules and systems are fabrications, comforts that sound-minded people use to sleep at night. Creatures such as Marise cannot be understood. They cannot be calculated or comprehended by mathematics or sciences. Agents of Chaos that exist solely to see the world burn.
Only by reaching deep within to find that sleeping maiden - the holy being that was long-since forgotten - can a demon be beaten.
Ridiculous? By any rational standard, absolutely. Rationality has nothing to do with a woman who uses her hair to stab people or drink their spirit like wine. Only by embracing the deeper, inchoate humanity - The instinctive things mankind learned to guard themselves against that which roamed the dark - Do beasts like Marise become vulnerable. In the process, tapping into this source may remind Ayame what it means to be human.
The Devil retorts the accusation of fear with a loud hiss through fanged teeth, lips quivering like a mad dog. Eyelids fluttering in berserk fury at this outrage. The knife is dropped from those tresses which continue flailing behind her like a storm of shadows. Claws flexing in tune with her heaving breath, puffs of faintly incandescent mists swirl beyond her lips.. Angry enough to vent fumes of stolen life-force. No verbal retort or words of denial, only a -roar- of rage as the monster -howls- in cacophonous reply.
The monster recognizes the gestures the returned priestess uses, the powers she now invokes. Summoning forth all the colors of the world to her aid, her spirit becomes a literal pyre of life-energies which the Devil cannot repel should she succeed in gathering it all.
But at the same time, she is vulnerable. A moment of weakness where she must focus on the summons. A tiny window of opportunity the predator cannot allow to lapse untaken. She must commit now.. Or she is doomed.
"SKRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHRRRRRRR!!"
Marise shrieks with a terrible wail as she -pounces- ahead. The dark thing crossing the distance between them in an eye blink.. But her hair moves faster than that. Like a tsunami of shadows, her tresses eclipse Ayame's vision like a tidal wave of black.. Attempting to overwhelm her and encircle her in a tomb of ebon strands. Bind her utterly and irradiate her in the Devil's unholy power before that exalted ritual can be completed!
COMBATSYS: Ayame blocks Marise's Onigumo Wanami.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Marise 1/------=/=======|=======\====---\1 Ayame
That built up energy continues to invigorate the girl. The enthralling sense of being connected to something else for once. Confidence, and even a sense of fullfillment fills the teen as she basks in the power gathered by her own force of will. She almost forgets about Marise entirely, her mind starting to wander again. Maybe she's delirious, she starts to wonder passively. It feels good to let go a little. It makes her do something she hasn't done in a long... long time.
In the center of her seal of spiraling energy, Ayame laughs. Not a sarcastic, mocking sneer. Not a smirking chuckle at someone else's misfortune or defeat. But a real laugh - one of joy, of happy, fond moments remembered. It isn't targetted at the fel thing that shares this damned suite with her. It isn't targeted at anyone or anything at all. The mirthful sound, almost alien coming from the normally bitter, cynical girl's lips, resonates from her position even as Marise rages, howling in frustration and fury at what the pest had managed in keeping herself safe from harm thus far.
She doesn't seem ready to defend herself as Marise pounces. She's certainly making no effort to move. The shriek drowns out that light sound of laughter before it cuts out entirely. Living shadows threaten to engulf the girl, blacking out the room from her sight. It seems she's doomed to being consumed, her body infected with that vile power as she holds her ground.
But they will be met with resistance before their victim is reached. That churning energy acts as a barrier, holding the foul tresses at bay. Ayame's expression has changed again, as the girl iterates through one mood after the other, grasping for control but finding that she doesn't really mind when it slips out of her grasp time and time again. She stares back through the barrier, expression grim. It can't hold forever, however. The crushing force of Marise's formidable drive to stop the girl finds breaches in her defense and at last the tendrils begin to cut through.
Her arms are ensnared, then her neck, the squeezing force threatening to deny her all ability to move at last, leaving her easy prey for the monster. But all that energy isn't about to go to waste either as Ayame finally attacks back, not pulling but pushing, bringing her chi infused staff into play. A cone-like spiral of deep crismon energy flows over the weapon, causing the end of it facing Marise to appear more like the head of a spear than the butt of a staff.
To move within the constraints of the hair is taxing, draining Ayame's ability to defend herself with each passing second as she channels all of that chi into her most trusted ally - her staff - Anathema. "This is it," she whispers, "The moment our exchange has all been leading to." The built up power whips at her hair as it spirals furiously around her staff.
And in that moment the girl slams the weapon forward, attempting to drive it into the torso of the beast, hoping to deliver a finishing blow. The Winter Solstice - an end. Not just of a day, or month. It heralds the passing of one year, offering the hope of the next one to come. Until the final one comes; the reaper's revenge; the ultimate, absolute finale from which no new days can be hoped for.
It is with that finality that the girl tries to plunge the weapon into the Devil. To grind it deep, before all that spiraling energy will be sent home into her chest. Maybe this will be the end of the woman once and for all. Or maybe the poor girl just has no idea what she's really dealing with here!
COMBATSYS: Marise endures Ayame's Final Solstice.
[ \\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Marise 1/=======/=======|==-----\-------\0 Ayame
The girl's incomprehensible mirth and distracted laughter only seems to drive the Devil to greater heights of hatred. Mockery, the Devil can appreciate on some level though it annoys her. Such evil, twisted emotions are sympathetic to the malignant being's own thoughts. The pure, contented laughter is what sets her off the most. That real, true joy can exist for Ayame - A girl that by all rights should be nearly as damned as the Devil herself - drives her to manic fury.
She has no right to be happy. -No Right-. Marise will rip her face off, dig that grin out of her skull and shovel the meat from her bones until the walls run pink with her shredded viscera! Of all the fates the loathsome being would ever see upon someone, wholesome happiness is the very last. No one can ever be child-like and care-free in Marise's presence, -NO ONE-.
The Devil crouches low like a gargoyle, claws digging into the floor for added anchorage as her wicked locks do their worst. The girl's barrier is difficult to pierce but not impossible.. The hateful locks slither and drill their way through the cracks, like a crumbling dam holding back a black ocean. Fanged teeth grit tightly as great effort is thrown into the contest of wills, pushing hard as her feet start to crack the floorboards. Black tentacles start seeping closer and closer.. one after the other finding purchase around the girl's limbs.. Slowly but surely starting to consume her wholly in shadow..
Only then does the Devil realize she is undone.
As Ayame's weapon is then pointed at the anchored woman, the sanctified, demon-slaying spear tip leveled directly for her. Her own tresses chaining her to the girl, whom now has a perfect shot at her heart.
The monster sucks a breath, inhuman eyes hardening. The only immediate, audible reply to the girl's declaration of victory.
A nigh-perfect thrust. Stepping towards the beast and a fine strike, her form ... perfect. The spear is driven -through- the monster.
The energized end bursts from the Devil's back. A horrific sizzling sound fills the air as gouts of burning, acrid smoke billow from the terribly mortal wound. Marise's bolt wide as she chokes, flecks of crimson fly from her surprised lips. Her tendrilous locks twitch and spasm like the bodies of serpents with their heads cut loose. Claws twitching in the air, hovering over the impaling shaft as if in disbelief of what just happened. A perfect stroke.. except..
The Demon moved precisely half a step to the left. Just enough for the girl to miss that most vital organ in murder. She missed the heart.
Demon claws clutch at the still-energized staff. Steam hisses and blasts from those fingers, but the monster ceased caring about such trivial wounds. No.. Blood gushes from the monster's lips as she coughs. No.. Not coughing - Laughing.
Wicked golden eyes glow brighter, narrowing into intense focus as she -drives- that spear deeper within her, consequently pulling the young girl closer.
"I. Am. FOREVER!"
Those hideous tresses snap back to attention, once more under the control of its wicked mistress. With the girl literally pinned into place, over a hundred of those individual tendrils pull back like countless curling scorpian tails. Giving the youth just a moment to wonder how in the world this mad thing can still be alive before they -lash- forth. Loosing countless dark, soul-poisoned needles directly at her at point-blank!
COMBATSYS: Ayame reflects Onigumo no Kokufuu from Marise with Dream Breaker.
-* CRITICAL HIT! *-
[ \\\\\\ < > //////////// ]
Marise 0/-------/=======|=------\-------\0 Ayame
She needn't see to know that the chi infused spear struck home. Even as the weapon plunges into the center of the monster, Ayame closes her eyes, taking in the stench of flesh aflame and the sound of blood sizzled against the portion of her crafted weapon imbedded in her target. She had read the underground books, the nefarious websites, the articles no decent person would read all detailing how to kill a person. It wasn't that hard. The human body is, in the sum total, a frail thing when one knows how to strike it. But until now, never once had she ever put that knowledge to use. As deadly as her strikes against opponents and victims had been, aiming a killing shot had never come to pass.
Devil though she may be, Ayame is certain at the center, beneath that pale skin, those inhuman eyes, that mane of prehensile hair, the woman in front of her is still subject to the same limitations of ultimate organ failure as anyone else. And for the first time ever, she aimed to cause just that. And out of respect for that, her eyes are closed, her head bowed, her hands gripping the end of her staff, her mind taking in the moment. Just how hard is it to end a life? Both easier and more difficult than she could have ever imagined it would be.
That moment of contemplative silence almost costs her. She's poured her all into every instant of this exchange, pushed her mind to its limits, experienced emotions she didn't even know she had, dug memories to the surface from a time long forgotten - of a life abandoned, and uncovered there may be more to her destiny than she had ever imagined. The thought of having to fight any longer feels impossible at this point.
That's when the laughter is heard; not the sound of one keeling over, giving their final gasp, but of triumph, of her crowning moment within reach. Ayame forces her eyes open, lifting her head, her face framed by long locks of hair damp and sticky with blood and sweat, that trickle of blood over her upper lip from her nose... The girl looks like hell, but she's not finished. And either is Marise.
Her staff is pulled forward, putting her use of her trusted weapon into jeopardy and causing her to lean in closer to that gruesome chest wound. Neck throttled, wrists and forearms gripped by those ebony locks, her feet planted in place as she tries to pull back with every last bit of strength she has left.... She can't move. She can't stop whatever it is the demon is going to do. This is it!
Her father's words echo in her mind's ear once again - her precise chi control would be both a shield and a sword in fighting monsters like this. That's right... she has an option! The scorpion-like tresses draw back, raising over the trapped girl, readying for the kill. And in that instant, Ayame acts, her motions so fast as to be a blur, acting not on terrified instinctual survival as before but rather a very specific, precisely calculated plan of action conceived in an instant. To the eye of the normal man, it would be impossible to descern everything that transpires in the space of under a second. But Marise would know. She would see it. Every. Last. Detail.
The chi coursing over her staff is shaped once again, the cycloning spear head collapsing as all that energy rushes down to the other end near Ayame's grip, its color that of deep crimson, flowing like a river of blood to the opposite end where it once again is forced to take shape - those who have fought Ayame at her most violent would recognize this new form carved from the flowing blood colored fluid: the blade of a scythe. Her left hand keeps a grip on the weapon while her right hand releases its hold and draws itself over the vorpal edged energy, severing the tendril-like locks slowing her movements with ease, scattering the devilish hair to the wind.
Her right hand freed, the girl goes for the neck of her blouse, fingers deftly slipping within and back out in the blink of an eye just as the tense raised hair casting a shadow over her strikes, driving a hail of needles forward at horrific speed. A snap of something metal heralds the opening of a traditional styled Japanese War Fan. A blurringly fast, sweeping, circular wave of her right arm, and instead of the helpless body of a teenaged girl, several thousand of those needles find themselves imbedded in a discuss of pink left in the passing of that fan. Countless fly right on past, planting themselves in the floor at her feet and the wall behind her. But those that would have struck her are caught, suspended for a second in that field of energy - Ayame's last ditch gasp at defense.
Translucent, it would be possible to see her face then; her expression - her smirk not unlike that many of her hapless opponents have seen in the past the moment the ruthless girl secured an unbeatable position in a fight. She's not a good person. Some might question if a decent thought has ever even occurred within her warped mind. But when it comes to saving her life, decency and kindness have nothing to do with it.
Each one of those caught needles flares, infused with the very energy that stopped their advance.
"Checkmate."
And with a sweep of the fan, those captured needles return, driven back toward the creature that created them, each one bearing with it a small portion of that almost sanctifying rose colored chi. Her left hand shifts, pressing a point that only she knows, and in that moment her staff retracts, collapsing back down to its smaller form, yanked free from the Dark Lady's torso in the process.
COMBATSYS: Ayame successfully hits Marise with Reflected Onigumo no Kokufuu.
-+- CALCULATED HIT -+-
[ < > //////////// ]
Marise 1/-----==/=======|=------\-------\0 Ayame
This is it.
Hedged in at all sides, her speed and resources finally exhausted - Ayame is doomed. A costly gambit, but a terrible wound is a small price to pay to eliminate one’s enemies. An enemy this girl has declared herself, and so she shall be destroyed. The worm embraced a destiny she had once denied and for her foolishness she will suffer the consequences. If its any consolation to her at all, her bravado has forced the Devil to inflict upon her the mercy of a quick death - a less begrudged praise can not be forced from this monster.
It all happens in one second. A blink of an eye, faster than most could ever register. The hailstorm of terrible needles flies from point-blank range, blotting out the girl’s vision.. Only to be captured one after the other by a whirling motion of color. The Kinmagan flares as Marise’s eyes widen in absolute incredulty. Her lips only beginning to transform from a cruel sneer to a howl of outrage! The shorn, shadowy locks register not on the creature’s face as they grow back to the previous length in mere moments after they’ve been cut.. Though the girl is now free to move.. And move she does!
As the flash of energy finally fades.. The Devil stands riddled with countless glowing pins, simmering a heated pink like searing needles.
She had her.. She -HAD- her! This isn’t possible! How could she have?? IMPOSSIBLE!
As that telescoping spear yanks itself free with a loud mechanical yell.. The Devil stands motionless as a spray of blood immediately erupts from her. Staggering backwards a moment later as a hand absently moves to the wound.. Her whole body beginning to sizzle and fume at the sacred energies radiating through her.
The Devil can’t beat her. Damn it all.. she was so close..
The Monster continues to stagger away from her. Nearly tripping over the couch and bumping against the frame of the sliding glass door. Her voice strangled with a gurgling hiss as her eyes continue to glare with absolute hate, “... You’ve won girl..”
And with that.. She simply topples backwards. The shadowy thing slipping over the edge in a flourish of shadows and ash.
Weither or not this is the last the Dark Priestess sees of this creature... Time will tell. One thing is for certain.. Marise will think twice before doing so. What hold this beast held over the girl has been shattered for all time. Whatever terrible things Ayame did in the monster’s name.. At least she found a measure of redemption.
The barrier that saved her in the final moment fades, collapsing out of the air in the form of falling pink rain that vanishes before it reaches the floor at Ayame's feet. It worked. Down to the wire, every resource, every skill, even memories she didn't know she had all factored into her surviving the attempt on her life - a visit from a creature birthed in a darker age born again to destroy man. The titanium collapsed staff in her hands is wet with the thing's blood, coating the girl's hand and dripping into a thick mess in the carpet and over the top of her shoes.
Splashes of blood from that final plume of crimson victory that sprayed from the woman coat the front of the girl; dripping down her cheeks and against her shoulders. She looks like the survivor of a horror movie bloodbath - or maybe the cause of one. Her expression is sober, grave, eyes fixed on the balcony over which the Devil departed. She knows better than to run up and look over the edge to the street below. For as bad as she hurt the Dark Lady, she knows she didn't kill her. That must take something more than her current knowledge, her current skillset to accomplish. "For now, perhaps." she whispers distantly. A victorious battle means nothing if the war is not yet over. "For now."
She falls silent. She has a lot to process. More of the person she was before this lapse in memory struck was revealed by her previous taskmaster, but she also discovered more of who she was even before that - /way/ before that. Her origin, her past beyond the street rogue.
She manages to stay standing for a long time, her left hand gripping her sticky weapon, her right hand resting against her side, that bladed war fan still gripped in her fingers. The fan hits the floor first, her knees secondly as she collapses at last, resting Anathema across her lap.
Head bowed, eyes closed, she lets her mind wander, hoping in vain to recover more of her memories - another glimpse at that different time, when someone out there was proud of her ability and cared who she was. But for all her effort, only nightmares float to the surface - a labyrinth; the screams of a tortured girl; n elaborate underground arena; the life of a gladiator for a period of time... Another woman, covered in scars that mapped her path through life and a head of white hair...
"Che," Ayame grunts, forcing her eyes open at last, taking in a slow, deep breath, the agony of the last several minutes rapidly catching up with her. The pictures dismissed, she shakes her head, already starting to refocus her mind into what it is she needs to do to next. Clean herself up. Tend wounds. Find another place besides this blood splattered living room to wait for Shihong's return. Her mask reapplied, her calculating, always in control mind back to moving her forward, one plan at a time.
"Nothing more than the figmants of a dream." she murmurs, rising back to her feet.
Log created on 23:06:38 01/02/2009 by Ayame, and last modified on 02:20:16 01/20/2009.