Description: A great and rising nation, a single mask split in twain, a pale blue turban lost amongst entrails... Foul hatred and righteous indignance rage against one another, and in the darkness, men perish. A warrior sacrifices his life to stop an assassin, and in his failure, the future of India itself becomes uncertain. Dark days lie ahead.
Summer in the southern hemisphere is no joke, Saab.
The buzzing of fans and of flies is the only noise to be heard in the New Delhi office of the Indian National Congress, home of the ruling party of modern India, one of the most populous nations in the world. Government in such a diverse and teeming land is as hectic a process as navigating the streets of the city, but the incessant honking of those perennially clogged streets is far enough away to not be heard. For that, at least, the slouching guard at the gate can be grateful. Sweating profusely, waving futilely at the insects that swarm about him, the dark-skinned uniformed man gazes with a lazy eye at the still garden that surrounds him. His is a perfunctory position. As peaceful as the courtyard appears around the fine, colonial-era building -- somehow extant mere blocks away from slum and chaos, as is the nature of this nation -- he knows there are state-of-the-art security systems installed about the walls that protect this haven from the outside world, and a gatehouse where a man as idle and probably-maybe-unbribable as he checks the identification of those entering.
Nothing has ever happened here. It's a good job.
In the distance, an unfamiliar dab of bright blue begins to grow and glitter on the horizon. The bored guard squints to make it out, and his eyebrows raise as the image comes into focus -- for that blue is a brilliant, electric-toned robe, and that glittering is the sparkling of metal in the light atop a magnificent high-stacked turban, the headwear extending almost a full foot off the man's head. As he approaches in a steady gait and with proud bearing, he is revealed to be visibly carrying two curved swords, though he disturbs the silence of the garden with the rhythmic clinking of metal possibly scattered about his person. His gaze is unblinking, and he does not seem to notice the heat; he does not even glisten with sweat. He approaches the guard, towers over him.
"Sikh-saab," the guard says with a tone of respect and a greater tone of indolence, "what brings you to the National Congress headquarters?" He's not worried. If this man got in, he's already been checked out. No one would miss an outfit like that anywhere. The Alkali do not hide themselves.
"I am your replacement," the Sikh warriors says, his voice deep and stern. "The Prime Minister has been considered by recent terrorist activity. He asked for the best of the warriors of the Golden Temple to come to protect his successor, Radel Gandhi." He is silent for a moment. The introduction is implied -- that's him.
The guard squints, a little irritated that he's momentarily lost his cushy position but, upon reflecting that really this heat and these insects are not so cushy, just shrugs. "Fine. I'll head back to the gatehouse."
The Sikh shakes his head. "No, you stay here," he speaks in the voice of one accustomed to command. "I will first enter and pay my respects to Mr. Gandhi." In the silence, the flies buzz. Slowly, the warrior's gaze turns to the gathered insects. In a flash, he is glaring, his eyes suddenly wide and intense. The insects promptly disperse.
The guard's jaw grows slack.
The Sikh sweeps by. "W-Wait," the guard stammers after him, overwhelmed. "Who are you, anyway? What's your name, Alkali-saab?"
The turbaned man does not look back as he ascends the stairs.
"I am called Kartar Singh."
He moves back expensive and beautiful works of art without looking, pays no need to the fine architecture or wood paneling. Without distraction or hesitation, he moves for Radel Gandhi's main office, expecting only to briefly pay his respects and introduce himself before returning to stand stoically by the front door. But when he leaves the foyer and enters the correct hallway, something unfamiliar stirs within his breast, a sense allowed to lie dormant at the Golden Temple, where he was in charge of security, awakening.
he door is slightly ajar.
Kartar Singh, at the risk of tremendous rudeness or misunderstanding, obeys his instincts unthinkingly. One hand drops to the sword on his left hip. All at once, his clanking ceases, his movements becoming stealthy. Slowly, surely, he approaches the ajar door to Prime Minister's successor's office -- and throws it upon, his eyes widening fiercely.
A good job in past, but no longer... The sweating guard has, in his complacency, allowed the worst kind of predator to slip in. Not a coyote, wolf, nor majestic mountain lion - he has let /man/, assuming that state-of-the-art security systems are infallable in the face of human error, to penetrate the defenses of the New Delhi office, the invasion undetected so far.
Within the cool sanctuary of stone and expensive oak furniture, the attendants have already met their great Creator: Their tongues have been torn out, and so the men choked to death on blood, any alarming screams silenced by the agony they had felt. Gandhi himself was left to the very end, and he had cowered under a highly-polished desk, pointlessly pushing a red button - his only hope. Unfortunately, the wire had been cut earlier, and the cameras pre-programmed...
No one will save him in time.
Dragged out from his hiding place by the scruff of his neck, the man begged. Begged to live, promised to step down from office, and everything inbetween. His attacker, a masked individual, ruthless and beautiful, sat him down in the chair and ordered Gandhi to write with his own essence, slicing off the man's fingers at the first knuckle, delighting in his pain. What was written on paper was later tucked away in his suit jacket's pocket, and then the fun began.
Everywhere, there is blood. Splashed artfully on the walls, ceiling and floor, the largest puddle lies under what remains of Gandhi. He is a head and shredded torso, arms and legs placed at the four corners of the office. Intestines and other such innards hang from the mangled form of what was once a living being, and he has been impaled to the wall by a large spear through his skull.
The last beat of his heart, the final moment... is when the door ajar is pushed open. Then, Gandhi dies.
Calm and collected, but almost giddy in the midst of masacre, Balrog stands painted with blood. He admires the crimson on his fingers, resolving to take a long shower - it does not suit his beautiful form. Turning towards the entrance, long braid swinging from his shoulder, he notes the newcomer with a snort of mirthful laughter, "And so you too have come to greet the end of your pathetic existence." Green eyes, fierce in the depths of his steel vizard, observe this man with an insane, insatiable hunger. Uncaring of sword-in-hand, the assassin springs forth, claw drawn back. He attempts to rake the three-pronged, bloodied weapon down Kartar's face. Perhaps even cut out his eyes, if it's possible.
COMBATSYS: Balrog has started a fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Balrog 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: KartarSingh has joined the fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Balrog 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 KartarSingh
COMBATSYS: KartarSingh just-defends Balrog's Medium Strike!
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Balrog 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 KartarSingh
The stench is overpowering, but it is nothing--
"/You./"
--compared to the overpowering presence of Kartar Singh.
The bearded man's eyes are as black holes, exuding a soul-crushing pressure as he bears witness to the obscenity before him. The fearless warrior does not even flinch at the sight of blood and viscera that would induce vomiting in an ordinary man. From his very posture, the elite Sikh warrior, greatest of his esteemed kind, suggests he is anything but.
"You have brought harm to the innocent."
Even as Balrog leaps for him, the tall man in the electric blue robe, reaches with a powerful thrust into the depths of their folds, seeking out some hidden implement without a hint of fear in the face of that bloodied, terrible weapon. Of course, his statement is oddly naive for a man who has lived in India his whole life. Even Radel Gandhi, known as a soft-spoken man, could hardly be considered 'innocent' in any respect after becoming a politician.
But Kartar Singh, sworn on his steel bracelet to devote his life to the service of those in need of protection, has a broader vision than that, despite his provincial origins in the Punjab.
"The people of India," he says gravely, intensity and outrage vibrately through even this self-possessed man's voice, "were to be served by this man. You have deprived them of a leader -- and disgraced me."
A flash of light; a metallic glint.
His reaching into his robe was conspicuous -- too conspicuous. It is his other hand that lashes up to meet Balrog's outstretched claw, having drawn a small buckler shield, the traditional defense of the Gatka sword style, up to neatly and suddenly deflect the assault. Only then does his dominant hand emerge, trailing with it, of all things, what appears to be a long metal ribbon of a sort, so thinly folded and carefully constructed that he appears able to whip it and coil it about. "I will crush you," he whispers, "and you will suffer for your crimes against my country."
Whereupon he lashes out with that bladed metal implement in an effort to entangle Balrog's legs, keeping him at a distance while cutting into the masked man's body, aiming to swiftly bring him to the ground. Struggling to contain his incredible fury, Kartar strives only to end this confrontation quickly.
COMBATSYS: Balrog dodges KartarSingh's Snare of Blades.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////////// ]
Balrog 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 KartarSingh
Ha, innocent.
The masked man's laugh is eerie, muffled by the vizard over his impossibly handsome face. His claw meets the buckler shield with a clang, the sharp noise echoing off bloody walls back to them, creepy and distorted. Balrog's ears also ring briefly - proof that he is attuned to his surroundings, acutely aware of all noises, sights and the overpowering stench of death. It's wonderful.
"Only a foolish fool would find these men innocent." He says, springing easily back, rendering Kartar's attack utterly useless. Is that a sword or whip? The braid swings again, and the light shows that it is even red with the essence of these deceased men. Landing on the desk, Balrog kicks the papers and such from it, "We are born from sin," The assassin caresses the sharp metal of his claw, "In sin, we live."
With a neat hop, feet carried over his head, the Spaniard hits the ceiling with his blood-soaked loafers. He defies gravity there, neck twisted, mask facing the Sikh, "Finally, we all meet our end. Your country, your /people/... will always find a new leader to guide you to sin." Balrog plummets, falling like the Angel of Death, slashing brutally at the man who dares to defend himself.
"Wallow in your disgrace." The Adonis says, his stunning green eyes locking onto those of Kartar, "And try to crush me, if you can."
COMBATSYS: Balrog successfully hits KartarSingh with Flying Barcelona Attack.
~~ Alluring Hit! ~~
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////// ]
Balrog 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 KartarSingh
Kartar Singh's eyes flicker in surprise. It is the first time the otherwise impassive man has expressed any sentiment other than fury. The man's agility is unearthly. The Sikh warrior takes a step back, unsettled, as he regards the bloodied Spaniard hanging from the ceiling, making his disturbing pronouncements. That stained braid dangles back and forth like a pendulum ticking away the seconds of his life.
Singh is not a man who knows fear.
"Urgh..."
But--
Like Lucifer himself, Balrog falls from above, bringing his condemnation with him, his claw slashing out. Kartar hurriedly raises his shield again, his reflexes taking over, but the psychopath locks eyes with the Alkali and he hesitates, those green eyes boring into him.
"You..."
He has never fought anyone like this -- capable of this.
Though a great swordsman, and the strongest of a mighty order, Kartar's loss of composure is his undoing. The masked man's strange presence gives him the moment he needs to cleave down, and it is all Singh can do to twist away, taking the blow in his shoulder, eliciting no cry of pain or distress even as bright blood spurts from wounds in triplet. He spins away, hopping back to the door. Even if this man seems to revel in gore, Kartar must not allow him to flee. To have allowed this disaster to occur is disgrace enough.
"You are mad," hisses the redoubtable bodyguard, his voice admitting to none of the agony he must feel at that wound. "The words of a coward who hides his deeds behind a mask are meaningless. I will tear that away -- and reveal your foul visage to the world!"
It is more than the middle-aged Kartar normally allows himself to say in combat. His silence is broken by the horror of what he witnesses and the bizarre nature of his opponent. White teeth grit against dark skin, the furious swordsman reaches up and seems to pluck one of the chakrams from his turban, the weapons literally stacked atop his head and ready for use. In fact, what emerges is a glowing replica of a chakram, which then multiplies into a veritable storm of four or five whirling energy blades as Kartar cries out and aims to rip Balrog to pieces with his overwhelming assault.
"Gurus aid me!"
COMBATSYS: KartarSingh successfully hits Balrog with Shining Chakram Storm.
Grazing Hit
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////// ]
Balrog 0/-------/--=====|====---\-------\0 KartarSingh
On this day, it will be his great pleasure to introduce Kartar to all that has been missed in life: Pain, fear, suffering and despair...
"Oh, will you not scream for me?" Balrog whispers savagely, claw embedded into the Sikh's shoulder briefly before he draws back, bouncing. His entire body, powerful and toned, is like a coiled spring, "Your comrades tried, as they lay dying. I cut out their tongues, you see..." One actually happens to be by his foot, but it... doesn't really look like it belonged to a man. The lump is a blackened spot on the carpet, left discarded. It reeks.
Coldly eyeing Kartar at his insistence on protecting the door, this is also laughable. Balrog spent many days analyzing his mission, deciding on appropriate escape routes, ways to avoid the cameras and patrols alike... This assassination required the utmost privacy - a dented plan now, in retrospect, but nothing he can't handle. He will not be prevented from leaving, under any circumstances.
Laughing again instead at the remark that his appearance is foul, Balrog does not remove his mask to prove otherwise. Pushing his braid of what is normally honey-coloured blonde-brown hair back, the Spanish ninja flippantly dismisses his defiant opponent, "This mask is only for my protection, but think of me as a coward, if it makes your death easier to accept." He is truly mad, and not for the dead strewn about their 'playground'... Balrog is the ultimate narcissist.
Collecting his arms around himself, the whirling chakrams close in on their target. He flexes, but the blades nick at the muscles of his arms and chest, blood trickling into the mouth of the purple snake tattoo across his breast. Balrog's piercing green eyes narrow dangerously, "Is this..." He thrusts the claw through the energy illusion, shattering it and escaping, "The best you can do?"
Twisting, rising, his foot meets a bookshelf, and the springy ninja is away, soaring through the air. Extending both long legs with their stained leggings, he moves to land on the Sikh's shoulders and attempt to lock his ankles at the man's back. Balrog then forcefully leans back, pulling Kartar off his feet and to the unforgiving floor beneath him, Spaniard on top. "There are no /Gurus/ or /God/ here." Beneath that steel, expressionless vizard, he is surely smiling with sick satisfaction.
COMBATSYS: KartarSingh blocks Balrog's Rainbow Suplex.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Balrog 0/-------/-======|=====--\-------\0 KartarSingh
Two swords gleam, unsheathed.
"God is always watching."
Their light is reflected in Kartar Singh's eyes.
"He will rain down judgment upon you."
The Alkali warrior stands as a man committed to being the vessel for that heavenly fury. With righteous indignation suffusing every fiber of his being, his left sword slashes through the air -- only to, upon Balrog changing the arc of his descent to land upon Kartar's shoulders, dig the point of that valiant blade into the carpet and floor beneath him. Bracing against the masked man's grip, Singh resists by digging in, refusing to be budged, literally lodged into the earth.
"Hmph!"
It is then, perhaps before Balrog can release his grip, that Kartar Singh slashes out with his right blade, cutting up and above him, aiming to slice the blood-stained Spaniard in twain. He pivots then, following whatever motion the ninja attempts, and almost slips in a pool of gore and viscera draining from the dismembered body of one of the Shadaloo lieutenant's unfortunate victims. Even then, the bodyguard does not flinch. Stabilizing himself, he lashes out with both blades simultaneously, aiming to crush through any possible defenses his evil adversary might mount. His goals are obvious, and twofold: keep Balrog away from the door--
"Grrahh!"
--and cut his mask to pieces.
COMBATSYS: Balrog fails to interrupt Crushing Strike from KartarSingh with Scarlet Terror.
> Determined Hit! <
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////// ]
Balrog 1/-------/=======|=====--\-------\0 KartarSingh
"Then where was your Almighty Creator moments ago? Why does he not protect the weak? Why is your country rife with poverty, and your currency worth nothing?" The nasty curling of his lip can be clearly pictured as he flips off and away, jumping around like a demented grasshopper, albeit a very deadly one. Judging from the slice and its apparent path, Balrog has perhaps saved himself from losing a leg, but... "Your people move everywhere, they spread like a festering disease, covered in hair and stink. You all repulse me."
Keeping two steps back, the ninja plots... He'll need to be very careful, green eyes darting around the room when the Sikh closes in. Both blades break through a defending flash-kick, which was futile and knee-jerk, finding his mask past legs, arm and claw. There's a crumple of the metal on his face as Balrog falls back to the floor, then it splits fully apart, cleaved in two...
Before he hits the carpet, the handsome man, with his stunningly bright emerald eyes, smiles beautifully up at Kartar.
The Spaniard does not lie prone afterwards, though he has been injured, arms more than just nicked due to poor defense and pure reaction. He rolls instantly, somersaulting backwards until pushing off his hands, adjusting the golden gauntlet grip of his lethal weapon as he touches down. "I suppose you are satisfied, now?" Balrog says, wiping the spots of blood from his face with... more blood, "This is the least I can do for you... One final lasting image of beauty before your end."
Kartar Singh is silent, weathering Balrog's taunts as a statue. The question, of course, as to how or why a perfect God would allow evil to persist in this world has been a predicament since religion first emerged. There have been many answers, and just as many counter-objections. Singh, for better or worse, will not have his zeal affected by such pronouncements. His very being, since his birth, has been wrapped up in the cornerstones of his faith; he was bathed in the Pool of Nectar at the Golden Temple, trained since childhood to uphold the glory of God's name and the honor of his fellowship. He will not falter.
It is this determination, however simple, that fuels the Sikh's blade as it cleaves Balrog's mask in two. His disgust for the Spaniard has only mounted the more his enemy continues to speak. The man's venomous words might otherwise be shed like water, they are so deliberately hateful. It is not the hate but the hypocrisy of the assassin's words that causes Kartar's lip to curl in loathing. "You speak of stink," he scoffs darkly, "as you lurk among the corpses of your victims."
It is for the best that Singh is not more of a talker, for Balrog's visage, when it is revealed, does indeed shock him; the narcissist may well revel in the bearded warrior's surprise. The Spaniard is, indeed, very beautiful, perfectly formed. For Kartar, brought up in a culture where pale skin is prized as a hallmark of wealth and class, there is indeed a part of him that cannot help but see the assassin as a magnificent specimen of a man. There is a moment where Kartar hesitates, just out of sheer confusion; beauty and evil will ever be unsettling bedfellows, however compatible.
But soon his disgust redoubles.
"This is what you do with the body God has given you?"
He spits this out, the only way he can articulate his true sentiment: that there is something unholy, some kind of /universal/ hypocrisy, in the union of Balrog's physical form and his filthy soul. As though rebelling against that reality, without another word Kartar lunges forward, the mighty man moving with surprising swiftness and expert conservation of movement, aiming after a brief feint with his sword to brutally bring up his buckler and punch Balrog directly in the face, the Sikh's eyes glinting with rage. Now he cannot help but succumb to a third, overwhelming motive.
Reduce this monster to nothing.
COMBATSYS: KartarSingh successfully hits Balrog with Buckler Strike.
Grazing Hit
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Balrog 1/----===/=======|=======\-------\0 KartarSingh
'Is this what he does with the body God has given him?'
HA!
God turned his back on Balrog the eve of his mother's death, so the Spaniard saw fit to do the same...
He has turned his back on God.
His beauty exists due to his own efforts, not that of some judging, unfit, weakling higher power. The matador protects and covets his appearance, then trains his body to the perfect physique presented here today. Maybe, had he not been shunned by this loving, blessed One, then Balrog would be far kinder... and not a blood-thirsty maniac, foot on an attendant's corpse, digging his heel into the dead man's stomach. Blood bubbles up from the deceased's throat, dribbling out his mouth.
"Had I the choice, I wouldn't be here at all. You, my friend, are why I have not left." The Spaniard literally treads on his victim, a single snap signifying the breaking cartilage of the man's nose. He presents Kartar with a wide berth by moving around him, stalking like a predator...
Striking at this hiccup in the great Cosmos, as the Sikh brings his buckler swinging in, it does not punch the beautiful man's face... But he does not escape unscathed. What happens is that a horrible, anguished noise bursts free from Balrog as the very edge of the shield catches his cheek. Skin rips - a slight cut - but it's enough to send the ninja into near hysterics, "How dare /YOU/!" He shrieks, stumbling back.
"I will make you suffer until you BEG me for your /LIFE/!" Balrog howls, and rage claims him. He dives in, claw-arm raised, then thrusts the three-pronged weapon at Kartar's back. If successful, he tears it out, throwing the Sikh overhead with a strong arm. Hell is not over there - the viper stands beneath his newest victim, shining, sharpened steel tips just waiting for certain individuals to impale themselves upon them.
COMBATSYS: KartarSingh dodges Balrog's Red Impact.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Balrog 0/-------/---====|=======\-------\0 KartarSingh
"Gghhh--"
Kartar Singh may be stalwart and fearless.
"What--"
But he is unprepared for this fury.
The otherwise seemingly self-possessed and ice-cold murderer immediately reverts into a kind of animalistic rage. Only Kartar Singh's well-trained reflexes and many years of weapons practice prepare him for the storm that follows. A series of wild clangs and clashes go unheard through the halls as weapon meets weapon, Kartar Singh desperately parrying the assassin's ferocious assault and doing his utmost to prevent the man from diving at a blind spot, constantly pivoting to avoid a back attack. Sweating now, despite seemingly immune to the heat, Kartar deflects the last blow-- and trips over a corpse behind him, stumbling back through the door of the office and into the foyer, tearing the fine wood of its hinges with his bulk.
"Gghhh..."
Knowing that he cannot afford to halt for even a moment, though he is lying on his back in a pool of another man's blood with splinters about him, desperately Kartar plucks a real chakram from his turban and hurls it at Balrog, hoping at the very least to occupy the man. His eye rolls down toward the stairs... and he knows that if the guard cannot hear their combat, he will surely not hear Kartar's cry. Besides...
Kartar knows he would just be leading the poor man to slaughter.
COMBATSYS: Balrog blocks KartarSingh's Thrown Weapon.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////// ]
Balrog 0/-------/--=====|=======\-------\0 KartarSingh
Yes, bring in the lambs. Secrecy is the point of this mission, but if he must, with this disturbance, the murderer will cut down all in his path as necessary.
... Or be an intelligent man and spare their lives, Balrog does not care.
His claw, gleaming and as lethal as the assassin himself, is parried, deflected here and there, preventing him from finding the opening in which he seeks, reason lost to overpowering fury. This makes him even angrier. The Adonis' green eyes are wild, and as Kartar crashes through the doorway as a result of his efforts, the Angel of Death stands illuminated in the destruction. His bloodied braid hangs over his shoulder, damp strands sticking to his crimson-dotted chest.
He smiles a pretty smile, "So." The Spaniard begins smoothly... That's about when the chakram is hurled at him.
Defending quickly, his claw meets the thrown weapon, redirecting it to the wall. Balrog glances at the object, then back. His smile grows even wider, "As you lay there, do you wonder..." He asks, stepping fully into the foyer, pulling the deadly, three-pronged sidekick back, "'Where is your God now?'"
He is swift in movement, grabbing for the ceremonial collar or whatever it may be, turning to coldly hurl Kartar back into the masacre... Right at Gandhi's shredded torso. The note dislodges itself from the suit jacket's pocket, visible to those who dare to venture close enough to pluck it free. The Spaniard laughs, high-pitched and disturbing, cupping his unclawed hand to the injured cheek, gingerly testing the deepness of the wound.
It should heal fine, and without scarring.
COMBATSYS: KartarSingh interrupts Quick Throw from Balrog with Sovereign Sword.
[ \\\\\ < > ///////////////// ]
Balrog 1/-----==/=======|=======\=------\1 KartarSingh
Kartar Singh, though he lies prone, stares in stony silence, unafraid.
All he fears is the possibility of the ultimate disgrace: to allow this man to leave and live. Better even to sacrifice his life than to allow this insane man to persist in this world, whoever he may be. In the name of the Alkali Sikhs, no, in the name of India itself, Kartar resolves without question to stake his life in this confrontation. Courage singing through his veins, when Balrog lunges in--
"Hrraahh!"
The Sikh explodes from his fallen position, returning the assault with one of his own. As the assassin grasps him and throws him back into the room -- unfortunately switching their places, and positioning Balrog closer to the door -- Kartar is able to lash out with his sword and tear into the Spaniard's tattooed body, even as the middle-aged warrior lands sickeningly close to the corpse of the heir apparent to the position of Prime Minister. He finds himself staring into the sightless eyes of that man's torn-apart body, and it is a sight of Kartar's true warrior spirit that he does not flinch, even if the stench alone would compel any mortal to retch. In fact, it is the /note/ that Kartar notices, as what seems out of place.
Without taking his eyes fully off the assassin, hoping to ensure that if the man even thinks to turn his back and flee Kartar will be hurling chakram after chakram right after him, the Sikh plucks the note from the corpse's body without visible disgust, refusing to please his enemy with any sign of discomfort. "What is this!?" he demands, even as he glances to it occasionally, clearly attempting to scan it without fully dividing his attention. Slowly, the turbaned man again begins to rise to his feet.
Though the throw returns the Alkali back to the horror house, it would appear that Balrog has made an unfortunate miscalculation... Not a deadly one, mind, but he may not be able to continue this battle for long. His very life could soon be at risk, and that will never be surrendered to someone so insignificant, so ugly - Kartar Singh is not powerful, nor is he beautiful. The Sikh shall not succeed in taking down his genetic superior!
Cutting deep into flesh, the more resiliant parts of his body protect vital organs from penetration. Bones and the like, really. Blood seeps past fingers of the hand he holds against his wound, and the assassin leans upon the wall inside. His green eyes take in the masacre, admiring his handiwork with a bemused smile, and Kartar taking the note from Gandhi's corpse, "It says, 'All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.'"
Throwing his head back, it is a hearty laugh, Balrog finding an amusing measure of irony in those blood-written words, "Your future leader was a coward - he would've abandoned you all to save his own worthless skin. He wanted to do so much..." And now Rahul Gandhi is dead.
Suddenly, claw lifted, it is buried into the wall, pitching their world into darkness by severing the electric connection. The only light that penetrates the office sanctuary comes from high windows and the foyer - they only offer slight columns of sight, sadly... Balrog takes to the shadow in an instant, somehow in silence. He moves quietly over the dead still strewn about, his laboured breath lost...
The ninja's senses are so refined, his understanding of the room so impeccable, that Balrog finds Kartar perhaps by his heartbeat alone. Time for speech or mercy (ha ha ha ha) is over - he just attacks. Lightly springing to the wall, when the Spaniard flies in, it is to grab the Sikh around the neck, wrap him up in a hellish embrace, then repeatedly flip him over, crashing his turbaned head into the carpet over and over again.
His laugh echoes back, vibrating off the walls, as if there were a thousand Balrogs, cackling in maniacal unison...
COMBATSYS: KartarSingh fails to interrupt Hari Tsuki Rolling Izuna Drop from Balrog with Defend the Innocent.
- Power fail! -
[ \\\\\ < > ////// ]
Balrog 0/-------/------=|======-\-------\0 KartarSingh
Kartar Singh understands at last--
"What...!"
He faces here a true predator.
The indomitable warrior never imagined, even though Balrog clearly was able to evade the considerable security systems in place, that the man would be so conscious of the room's design that he would, as a precautionary measure, know exactly where to strike to sever the electricity illuminating the room. Perhaps it was an educated guess -- but Kartar has no way of knowing. He knows only that he has fallen into a terrible trap, and he has no choice but to listen to the madman cackle.
"Gghh..."
The turbaned warrior glances this way and that, but his efforts are to no avail. Brave Kartar grits his teeth as he realizes he cannot discern the assassin's location at all. That voice, that laughter, echoes throughout the room, its source impossible to pinpoint. He must blindly make a decision: trust in his faith, trust in his tactics. He can come to only one conclusion.
"Hmph!"
Grunting in frustration and defiance, Kartar concludes that this would be a perfect opportunity for Balrog to escape his clutches, humiliating him. In a way, pride fuels Kartar as much as righteousness; he cannot bear to imagine that his quarry might elude him and leave him without excuse. He leaps toward the entrance, whirling his sword out with all the will to defend the innocent invested in him flashing in the form of a golden glow, that illuminates-- his mistake.
For Kartar underestimates Balrog's desire to kill.
It is too late when Kartar understands that Balrog would rather kill him than escape at this point. He is hurled to the ground again and again, his weapons scattering, various implements falling from his robes. In the darkness, amidst the blood and the gore, Kartar's world spins, and when he struggles from that grasp he scrabbles furiously for his weapons. Dazed, fatigued, possibly having sustained a concussion, still he perserveres, grunting in the dark, struggling to triumph, to survive.
Bouncing away, if it weren't for the numerous layouts of this building and such received, which included some pointless informantion like breaker locations, patrols beyond the walls, and what Gandhi usually eats for breakfast... he would hardly be an effective killer. Balrog has acute attention to even the stupidest details, because you never know what the situation will require, and he is nothing if not adaptable. The ninja is tactical and intelligent, in addition to cruel and beautifully savage.
He is not a common predator. He is utterly OBSESSED.
Blood now flowing freely from the fresh wound, it soaks his crimson sash and purple-gold tights. The thought becomes more apparent to him that an escape should be made relatively soon, maybe even earlier than now... Like after knocking Kartar silly! But something holds him back. His very desire to kill overpowers the reason that Balrog is unable to continue. The assassin also hates to leave any man alive, and Vega would be very displeased. That would be bad. It steels his resolve to push himself further.
He swiftly surges forwards again, against the protest of his body, against his mounting fatigue, leg winding back. It is brought up and over in an axe-kick, to cut Kartar down at his neck, and send him into the deeper recesses of darkness. The Adonis does not need his eyes to find his opponent, who is drawn to the light like a moth to flame... The noises the Sikh makes, scrambling to find his weapons, are more than enough to take full advantage of.
But Balrog isn't perfect, even in his obsessions. He could always miss.
COMBATSYS: KartarSingh blocks Balrog's Light Kick.
[ \\\\\ < > ////// ]
Balrog 0/-------/-----==|=======\-------\0 KartarSingh
At last, Kartar finds what he is sikhing.
"Hmph!"
In a split-second before Balrog's foot crashes down upon his head, the Alkali warrior grasps his fallen buckler and lifts it up, deflecting the strike with a sharp and powerful blow. Rather than waste time desperately seeking deadlier weapons, the redoubtable warrior, fully trained in all the possible uses of his signature small shield, promptly attempts to rush his opponent immediately after impact.
"Grrahh!"
He cannot follow Balrog now, the way that Balrog follows him. He can only pursue where the assassin has been after he has been struck, and this assassin so far has been obscenely agile. Nevertheless, Kartar, otherwise a hulking man -- if only, perhaps, due to the sheer mass of weaponry he carries -- is keen to take the initiative in moment such as these, and his improvisation with the very implement he used to parry the predator's kick may take him unaware.
Rushing forward, the Sikh will attempt to check his lighter-weight adversary with his shoulder to unbalance him, and then hammer out with one more buckler strike to the head in a savage attempt to at last incapacitate his foe.
He cannot lose here!
COMBATSYS: Balrog parries KartarSingh's Power Strike!
[ \\\\\ < > ////// ]
Balrog 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\0 KartarSingh
Sikhing? That is probably the worst pun ever.
And terrible puns are deserving of death.
The loafer heel strikes the buckler hard, rebounds audiably, and true to form, the agile assailant makes a stealthy retreat. He slips back into the room's many shadows, pulling them around him like a veil of darkness. What Kartar attacks afterwards is only an impression - he lacks perception, or senses honed to detect that near-tangible killing aura. Balrog shifts undercover, stemming the bleeding with the ends of his sash, pressing it to his torn flesh. He doesn't need to dodge further, the Sikh is nowhere near him.
Finally, stepping into the light, outlined clearly, Balrog chuckles, "Do you feel abandoned? Like a sheep guided from its flock into the wolves' den?" His form shifts, dissipates - the ninja can't possibly teleport, can he? Or are his movements simply too fast for the average human eye to follow? "Even your screams are ugly, just like theirs."
What was lost can soon be found, for he reaches out to claim the man by his hair, tearing the turban from his head. Upon the success of this, Balrog hurls his opponent at the ceiling, leaping to follow him. His crimson fist buries itself in Kartar's clothes, and the assassin forcefully throws the man like a ragdoll, flinging him into bodies, the desk... Whatever lies in his path, really. "Hmph!" He says, a soft grunt of effort.
COMBATSYS: Balrog successfully hits KartarSingh with Stardust Drop EX.
[ \\\\\ < > // ]
Balrog 0/-------/--=====|=======\=------\1 KartarSingh
Even his shining sword could not pierce this darkness.
Of course, Kartar Singh's swords lie elsewhere now, discarded, wreathed and hidden in shadow. He lashes out at nothing with his shield, jerking his head about in a desperate effort to follow that echoing voice, keeping himself as silent as possible. It is not enough: somehow, the assassin can always find him. The Alkali Sikh's magnificent turban is ripped from his head, his long uncut hair pooling down about him as his chakrams scattered, and the man is flung first against the wall and then crashing into the blood-splattered desk, reducing it to splintered.
Despite his best efforts, he feels his strength begin to leave him. Lying amongst the corpses of those he failed to save, the brave warrior allows his breathing to slow, calmly and rationally conserving what little energy he has left. Knowing this may be the last time he opens his eyes, he offers a final prayer to the God and the Gurus which have guided him, finding peace in the knowledge that he did not turn and flee, that he did not allow this man to escape without offering up his utmost beforehand.
But he is not yet finished.
Quietly, listening carefully for a hint of Balrog's movements, Kartar reaches up for the last resort of any Sikh warrior: the kirpan, the symbolic knife that a Sikh is taught to wear about his neck, another emblem of pride and preparedness. Soundlessly, he unsheathes it, and grips it tightly in his right hand. It is just a knife. Hardly a weapon with which to deal with such a formidable opponent. But--
At the slightest sound, with the last of his remaining strength, the warrior sworn to defend the innocent lurches to his feet and slashes out with the knife, and from it emerges a glowing blade of radiant light, extending from the knife to cleave suddenly through whatever might lurk there. But Kartar will not remain fully conscious to comprehend whether or not he has cut down or driven off the attacker. He will stumble and fall amidst the corpses, his breathing shallow, his valiant effort spent.
COMBATSYS: KartarSingh can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\ <
Balrog 0/-------/--=====|
COMBATSYS: Balrog dodges KartarSingh's Victoria Cross.
[ \\\\ <
Balrog 0/-------/--=====|
Ah, the kirpan. The holy knife, kept close to one's heart - it is sacred, and should never be touched by dirty hands, especially those stained by blood... But Kartar is on the verge of finding his own death. May his God forgive him this one trespass.
Landing, absorbing the impact fully with a wince, Balrog's heavy braid hits his back with a dull thump. That is likely all the sound the Sikh needs to come rushing at him, and the predator's senses are overcome with the scent of weakened prey. "At least you have fought well." The assassin admits, bright light shining, then passing... Somehow, the ninja is there when Kartar falls unconscious mid-run, catching the other man by his hands and body.
"For someone so brave, I offer you a merciful end." Fully aware that the Sikh cannot hear him, Balrog continues, "May you find this God who chose to turn a blind eye to your plight." The killer flips the kirpan around in his opponent's fingers, forcefully thrusting the dull blade into the man's stomach.
He abandons the brave Kartar there, along with the rest, sparing only one glance back to the darkened sanctum. The beautiful Adonis smirks faintly - Vega did ask for a private meeting, but this will certainly be satisfactory. How he is glorious in victory, bathed in crimson... Dressing his wound now that he's able to temporarily with the red sash, Balrog springs into his escape route: The building's ventilation. Hardly a fitting departure for an assassin, but a necessary measure to ensure that his task is completed without alerting the entire country in the process. It is done.
COMBATSYS: Balrog has ended the fight here.
Log created on 15:01:31 01/09/2011 by Balrog, and last modified on 04:51:21 01/11/2011.