Description: Sunshine City. A modern metropolis full of its own urban wonders. Yet amdist all of that is a temple, an anachronism emblematic of how out of time it is by being in massive disrepair, yet also in part being strangely well-kept. It's here that the Asahishoubu pits master assassin Gen against the Dancing Spider, Aranha, and his partner, the center's own Frei. However, what all three fighters notice -- in their own ways -- is that there is something not quite right about this temple, an uneasiness that reflects itself in the tense battle between them that brings each fighter to the brink... (Winners: Aranha and Frei)
It's arguable exactly what brings the robed assassin to this hidden alcove. The scheduled match? Or the flow of the Earth's own energies throughout the conduits that intersect here. He doesn't use the map provided, he paces down the maze of alleyways eyeing the ground, testing the air, wetting his lips and making rather sour expressions now and again. Hands spend much of their time folded behind his back, each disappearing into the billowing sleeve of its opposite number, concealed by layers of vibrant purple and silver embroidered silk.
The Triad shadow narrows his eyes at the broken cobblestones he walks over, stepping an intricate pattern hither and yon, and then forward, out into the concealed garden. The ancient temple. Once, thrumming with vibrant power, a monument to the strength and beauty monks throughout the ages felt here. Now, it lies... not precisely stagnant, but dissonant, stuck. The note rings hollow, off to Gen. One hand strokes his beard, blank, pupiless eyes studying the ruin, as if deciphering the meanings in its crumbling stonework. There's a slow huff of breath, one which rings far more deeply in the spiritual realm that borders them, that is so close indeed in this place.
Far from unaware, far from insensitive to it, Gen is nonetheless... untouched. Unaffected. His own aura does not sing in this deathly place, does not distort with the waves of dissonance and malignancy that creep through the very groundwater. The elder assassin is much as he always is: a sound that is remarkable for its nigh unheard nature. No fires rushing forth from his hands and heart, no winds surging around him. The wind that fills the old master runs deep, swirls through canyons ancient in their own right, deep into his very soul... locked away from what now surges, chaotic, without. He hmphs lightly, that whispering, cavernous gale sounding a low whistle as his own bulwarks are reinforced, the man a bastion of strength, sensed by only the very subtle.. or the very aware. Not a black hole, drawing madly at what's around him, but a neutron star... condensed in around itself with alarming, all but immeasurable energy, a void of unexpressed power, now waiting. Waiting for the others who must find this place, hands tucked back in his sleeves, behind his back. The old master standing calmly, at attention, to his full, utterly diminutive height.
It's interesting what one can find in Sunshine City. Only through the access of just the right alleys within the maze of the Outer Sunshine, can one find the beauty of a well tended garden and a temple. With it being surrounded by buildings and grime, it seems completely out of place.
Aranha's never been to Sunshine City. Up until now, he has never had a reason to be there. None of his fights were scheduled for there, nor did have business to attend to there. Of course with the Asahishoubu taking place there, he had a reason. Scout potential opponents in the King of Fighters tournament.
When he finally makes his way through that maze of alleys and steps into the garden, he glances around the environment as if this was any other fight. The thing that makes this particular fight different is that there's something nagging at him at the edge of his perception. With his lack of experience in dealing with chi and with a large percentage of what he does know being self-taught, he can't put his finger on what it is, but something doesn't feel quite right.
Then his eyes focus in on Gen. He's heard many things about that particular fighter however he's never seen or experienced Gen's skills first hand. As a result the capoeirista may end up learning a lot about both the strangeness of this place and of the fighter, he and his team mate are about to face.
During the train trip into Sunshine, Frei has some time to think about how the distribution of matches went down, once this little not-quite-charity tournament got itself underway. He'd sighed at Tran's entry, hoping that if the good Doctor was at a school he might not do something TOO insane, for example, and he gave a really critical eye to a match involving Alma and two young schoolgirls because he is forgiving and is fine with the benefit of the doubt, but he's not an idiot. On the whole, though, what really is gnawing at the young sage is the undercurrent of what's going on. YFC4 proved that when Alma gets these ideas in his head, they're almost always the precursor to trouble of some fashion, and he's willing to put the staff (though thankfully, not the clientele) of the Center to the task of looking into what's what. They're not exactly the Metro PD, but it is true that the few, dedicated, experienced fighters who make up the Center's leadership have more than once stepped into the breach for the sake of Southtown.
He'd really rather not have this be one of those cases.
He decides to walk from the Sunshine central station to the temple, meaning that by the time he nears it, he's been walking through 'the Yokohama of Southtown' for quite some time. Raised as he was in a very traditional Japanese household, Frei's always had an affinity for the steel and chrome, brightly colored modernity of American-style cities... not necessarily because he favors them over the austerity of traditional Japanese aesthetics, but because they provide a nice contrast. And slowly, his trip takes him out of the city and toward the outskirts, and then in the middle of urban decay, this temple stands out in more ways than one. Even approaching it, Frei's steps slow, his movements become more careful. The hair stands up on the back of his neck... literally and figuratively. Something is very wrong.
There are those who would say that Frei's sensitivity to the flow of life energy, one he is not necessarily a 'serene eddy' in the middle of, is a great weakness, a sign of inexperience. Those individuals would be, in a word, fools. If anything, that sensitivity is a great source of strength, for him; it may be why, in a world where people tend to imprint their personalities on their chi usage in very regimented ways, that he flows between whatever aspect of it is necessary for the situation; he does not so much control, as sing in harmony with. But like any strength, there is always a commensurate weakness, and because he is the last to arrive, Gen and Aranha see the result reaped firsthand. It's not as if he crosses a treshhold and suddenly everything is terrible; rather, it is as if he is listening to a song where there is a quiet dissonant note, one that is getting louder and louder the closer to the center of the temple garden, the location for the fight, he gets.
By the time he reaches the others involved in the fight, he's already sweating, a little pale, but appears determined not to give the impression that anything is wrong, here.
"Well, then," he says, with a smile. "We're all here."
Gen's eyes shift dubiously to Aranha as the youth arrives, studying the fighter through one stern, arching brow. The blank, pupiless eye beneath it betraying nothing. The seren eddy in the middle of it all? That's the elder assassin. He paces thoughtfully, his heart shielded, his entire being veritable tabula rasa - easy to discount, easy to brush off is the diminutive old man. "So we are." the Triad legend observes of Frei's own forced-casual greeting. A strange sort of musing, dark little smile comes to his features, the opposite brow arching at Frei. He sniffs at the air, as if one of the challengers had some sort of wafting quality about them.
"Unable to place it and unwilling to speak it, ahhh how hopeless it all is." The assassin overdramatizes, but doesn't sound like he even convinces himself of at least the latter portion. "You should embrace it, that sense of the wrongness. How the entire world is out of balance, how the sacred places... scream." The smirk is slightly creepy, given the ominous tone and words. Eyes are still even on Frei, and he paces closer, leaning forward to study the young sage. "You smell... like /him/. The nomadic one. Always, it washes through him, always, the problems of the now, the ebb and swell... it becomes his own. But you are quieter, unsure, unprepared." There's a long sigh at that, "Come on then, tap into it, both of you. Fight." His eyes shift from Aranha, blankly, to Frei, "If you even can." The smile does not dissipate. The assassin's hands remain behind his back.. his posture picture perfect. His own strength suffusing through concealed muscle that belies his age.. and then some.
COMBATSYS: Gen has started a fight here on the right meter side.
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Gen 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Aranha has joined the fight here on the left meter side.
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Aranha 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Gen
COMBATSYS: Gen takes no action.
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Aranha 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Gen
It's in that instant that Frei comes along that Aranha is given a better idea of what is not right. Gen, seems almost unaffected by the weirdness in the temple. On the other hand it seems the man who is to be his team mate is affected immensely. He can see its effect on Frei. The sweating, paleness. And given his knowledge of the chi sage, and the fact that he feels unaffected beyond a sense of things being not quite right, he's inclined to believe that something about the energy flow, the axé, is wreaking havoc with Frei.
He's not surprised when Gen giving voice to what his theory is and ends up confirming it for the young capoeirista. However, knowing better than to comment on something he has no knowledge on he decides to act on what the eldest of the three fighters said after all, that was their purpose here. "You heard the man."
That's when the capoeirista begins to dance swaying in ginga to the music in his head. However those with a higher sensitivity to chi than the Dancing Spider may notice that his chi seems out of sync with his movement. It's as if the timing of the notes are slightly off and as if at times the notes being played are off.
He then makes an approach to Gen before tilting into a handstand and whirling about to strike at the assassin with his feet becoming a human tornado.
Aranha, Frei knows of old. Gen, Frei knows of late... sort of. He's met the mysterious assassin once, and there were not so much introductions as there were greetings and then partings. Still, the old man's words do surprise him somewhat, green eyes widening as he internalizes the not-quite rebuke, and deciding to answer honestly, he lets out a slow breath, before replying, "I try not to make my problems into others' problems when I can avoid it." That much, at least, is true. He didn't know if Aranha or Gen would notice or not; if they didn't, why make an issue of it? "But thank you for letting me know I can relax a bit."
He closes his eyes a moment, taking a deep breath, and thinking this through. Well, that's... just how it's going to go down. He can feel the tension in his muscles, his body's fight-or-flight response kicking in to a threat that 'isn't there' in a sense, already burning precious energy. That, and having to devote some amount of focus to not being nauseous and keeping his head in the proverbial game. "I hope you forgive me later for this, Aranha," is his only nod to the situation, a cryptic warning of things to come.
And then things seem to be progressing, and the red-haired fighter gets into it as much as anything. He's still here as a representative of the Center, after all, and facing down the clearly highly experienced Gen in this state is good training, if nothing else. Ducking forward, he strikes parallel to Aranha, looking to slam his elbow into Gen's stomach, a wave of concussive force riding along behind the attack. A little slower, and perhaps not as potent, as normal... but that's the price he pays for being able to do it at all.
COMBATSYS: Frei has joined the fight here on the left meter side.
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Aranha 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Gen
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Frei 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Gen blocks Frei's Weakened Fierce Punch.
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Aranha 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Gen
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Frei 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Aranha successfully hits Gen with Inverted Tornado.
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Aranha 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Gen
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Frei 0/-------/-------|
"All rivers flow from different points. All rivers are 'alone'. Streams. Then, their waters link with another. With another. With another past that. These waters flow where? The same place. Always, always to the same place. Even when plucked free, consumed, spread about... back it goes." The elder assassin observes enigmatically, not adjusting his stance until the others are nearly upon him. Those arms behind his back come forward, forcefully. Fists clasp anew inside sleeves, in front of the tempered killer. It collides squarely with Frei's elbow, the old master's frame not half as decrepit as he might look - in fact, it's rather like an immovable force meeting an unstoppable object. Feet barely slide, muscle barely gives, the bruising impact reverberates through old, strangely steel-clad bones.
Gen smiles, too evenly, for the instant it takes whirling kicks to drive the old man backwards, his stance suddenly fluid, flowing with the blows as they drive him away, flipping into a too-compact roll clear of the pair. ... for all of an instant. With speed that a man his age should really not possess, the elder assassin is back upon Frei. There's an analytical, intent look not at the swordsage... but as if locked on something just beyond him. There's little time to contemplate that, however, considering that the old man's hand snaps forward. It's three strikes, faster than the sound of their air-cutting force can catch up to each blurring motion. One, into two, into three. One and two are aligned with the space /beside/ Frei's skull, whipping through the.. air? They would not connect, but they could be felt - further destabilizing that which is destabilized, even as a clawlike pair of fingers lance in for the center of the sage's solar plexus. The impact, beyond the physical pain, would ripple outwards through Frei's very aura, a shockwave emenating from the stroke with force enough to launch him clear.
"Good, good. Focus through it, anchor within... will it taint you for your connection, I wonder."
Aranha tilts out of the whirlwind of feet letting his feet touch the ground after running out of momentum on his attack. Aranha is not about to stop moving if he doesn't have to. Considering that the old master has decided to attack Frei, he's going to take advantage of it in the attempt to wreak some havoc his own.
The capoeirista fluidly shifts to one side of the old man and whips the outside of his foot across Gen's face, using the momentum to carry him up into the air as he brings around the other foot in a roundhouse kick to the same location on his opponent's face.
COMBATSYS: Gen successfully hits Frei with Improvised Grapple.
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Aranha 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Gen
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Frei 0/-------/---====|
"Probably so," Frei says carefully, stepping back from his own attack after it impacts on Gen's defenses, thinking about the implications of what Gen has said. Certainly, whatever is going on here is not just Frei's problem. But you can't steer a river, either, not without irreovcably altering the environment. They go where they go. He decides against further comment; for the time being, he'll focus on the fight and worry about just what's going on here later.
On the upside, it doesn't appear to be hampering his ability to handle being attacked any. On the downside, there's still a gap of experience and power to be dealt with, and Frei's attempt to sidestep Gen's suddenly flurry of strikes doesn't go all that well. He's not bowled over, but he does slide across the floor a decent distance, grimacing, putting a hand to his forehead and squinting his eyes shut. There's more than one way to injure someone. A wrecking ball isn't the only path.
Will it 'taint' him? "Good question," Frei murmurs, bringing his hand back and feeling it close around the familiar, smooth wooden 'hilt' of the bokken slung through his belt loops. "I suppose we'll see if I turn into some sort of blood-crazed maniac, won't we?" With that, he surges forward, drawing on the battoujutsu skills he learned as a youth. The wooden sword cuts the air in a parabolic arc, looking to slam into Gen from above, the weapon trailing a silver-gold line of chi -- the essence of metal -- that sings like a struck tuning fork if it hits.
COMBATSYS: Gen dodges Frei's Weakened Houken.
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Aranha 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Gen
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Frei 0/-------/---====|
COMBATSYS: Gen interrupts Strong Kick from Aranha with Jasen.
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Aranha 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Gen
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Frei 0/-------/---====|
No, there's no steering wheel. No way to abort what's coming, no way to change the forces of the Earth. "What one puts in, flows to the whole." Gen does observe, however - a simple response to Frei's half-agreement, even as the swordsage slides backwards. "Certainly one way to tell, if not to prepare." The elder assassin agrees of the idea of blood-fury-Frei. Bokken comes down, Aranha's foot comes around, and Gen moves in fluid synergy with both assaults. Frei's ripping stroke cleaves air, the old master weaving a step aside so fluid he barely seems to make it, instead simply shifting stance in a new position, one foot coming up high, balancing on the other.... far more stably than he looks.
There's a slight lean away, Aranha's kick cracking a glancing blow across Gen's skull... in the same instant that the man's coiled right snaps together. It's a motion that's not so much /punching/ Aranha, in essence, as it seems to be whipping a rock at the young fighter. Gen's fist seems to hurtle forward almost of its own accord, muscle accelerating a mass that's too dense, too formidable, knuckles cleaving into the capoerista's chest, a crushing line ripped straight to Aranha's face. The spider-inspired-fighter's skull is the point at which the punishing uppercut reaches its apex, Gen's own feet anchored strongly to the frozen, terrified garden in a wide horse stance as sleeve whips back to his elbow, revealing in the diminutive man a mighty trunk of a limb. At least, relative to his own size.
As dancing fighter begins the follow through of his aerial attack, he finds to his horror that his foot will not connect completely to the old man. That horror is soon replaced by the horror finding Gen's fist connecting to his chin and sending the capoeirista into a painful, dizzying spin. Aranha's body goes into a roll for a few feet and then he brings himself to one knee before he tries to blink away those two Gens he ends up seeing. If there was ever a reason Aranha to stop moving, getting his block knocked off is one of them.
Aranha eventually gets his bearings together and so he takes a deep breath and begins to sway before he opens a palm drawing blue chi into his hand. The chi flickers for a half instant before he whirls his entire body around and flings that chi at the old assassin in the form of a blue chi spider web.
Delivering swift, unavoidable strikes has never been Frei's forte, that much is clear. He has his own degree of finesse, but that's not the same thing as raw speed. He slowly stands back up after that attack, slipping the wooden sword back into place, and glances over at Aranha, wincing a little bit involuntarily at the strike that Gen delivers to the Dancing Spider. But Aranha is back on his feet soon enough, and back on the offensive... but Frei notices that slight wobble in the web that the capoeirista fires off, and he furrows his brow a little bit at it. Yeah... it's not just him. "What *happened* here?" he murmurs, glancing down at the ground, as if the answers lie buried here, able to be teased out simply through introspection.
Not bloody likely, there.
Shaking his head, Frei seems content for a moment, thinking about taking a brief moment to center himself, attuning to his surroundings and gathering his strength, but seems to abruptly think better of it. "Maybe that's not... such a good idea..." he says aloud, before bringing his hand up, glowing blue-white. Deciding to attack in concert instead, with his teammate, Frei grits his teeth in concentration and focuses... before bringing up his other hand, which he usually doesn't need to do here. However, it's enough; the air around the web suddenly bursts to life with shards of blue-white frost, which will at the very least hopefully make it harder for Gen to evade *both* attacks.
COMBATSYS: Gen blocks Frei's Weakened Hatsuyuki.
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Aranha 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Gen
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Frei 0/-------/---====|
COMBATSYS: Gen dodges Aranha's Web Shot.
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Aranha 1/-------/=======|=======\-------\0 Gen
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Frei 0/-------/---====|
"Here?" Gen inquires of the swordsage, one white brow arching after the other, tapping out an uneven, quizzical rhythm. There is little other inquiry made into Frei's own uncertainty, at the moment, however. The elder assassin simply appends "Much is touched by the passage of a river, swordsman." in oblique fashion. Pupiless eyes narrow at the gathering energy, its resonance twisted, the sounds distorted like they were coming to the old master across miles of deep ocean, a thrum that barely sings the tones that initially made the sound. The Triad legend frowns, and frowns deeply. "If all are to fail in this... little will blossom." He observes, as if coming to that conclusion himself.
"Do try to curb your foolishness long enough to see, or make another see!" He urges the two, "Not that wisdom from the young is more accepted than from the old. Hmph." Over Aranha's web, the old master goes, all but laying down horizontally in midair and blasting through the icy sheath with a forearm crooked across his face, slamming through the sword-monk's energy and landing in an abrupt roll, coming up at Aranha. The attack comes from a wide stance, lunging forward on his leading leg. Left arm shoots out, carrying an eagle claw of a striking hand, fingers aiming to dig into four very precise locations on the capoerista's chest. With the sudden, alarmingly painful contact of those digits would come a grip that's far too penetrating for fingertips, the momentary sensation of being stabbed... of those four knives being twisted within one's ribs, unopposed by bone as they shoot through to the very core with a subtle flick of the assassin's wrist.
COMBATSYS: Aranha blocks Gen's Medium Throw.
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Aranha 1/-----==/=======|=======\-------\0 Gen
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Frei 0/-------/---====|
Aranha's eyes go wide the moment he sees Gen leap up and over his chi web projectile and barreling through Frei's shards of ice in a path towards him. The capoeirista shifts to the side as Gen rolls towards him. It's that slight movement that ends up saving him by giving him slightly more time to react to the experienced warrior. Aranha rocks his entire torso out of the way however, his forearm still gets caught in the powerful grip.
Aranha's teeth grit with a bit of pain but he forces himself to focus and move through the pain as he attempts to swing a roundhouse kick over Gen's grip, bringing his foot across the face before Aranha swings his foot back hooking it around the back of his neck and then dropping his weight downwards to bring the assassin face first to the ground.
You'd think a career philosopher like Frei would feel good about talking in riddles, but in truth he's just as puzzled by Gen's words as he expects Aranha to be. He does blink in surprise as Gen barrels through the attacks sent his way as if they weren't even there, but is relieved when Aranha is able to defend himself. That looks like it hurt anyway, but frankly, having fought the Dancing Spider himself multiple times, Frei knows the capoeirista isn't going to give up easily. Tenacity... it's an important thing.
Perhaps that's Gen's point all along.
He notices Aranha go on the attack, but for himself, Frei decides to take a moment and go back to what he abandoned a moment ago. It's not an idea that thrills him, leaving his teammate alone out there to handle one very deadly old man, but if this fight's going to keep going in here, he's got to know. 'Any who claim to know the grand scheme of it all are fools.' Gen's words, echoing in his head, though that was a discussion about something else entirely. "I guess we'll find out," he murmurs, before setting his feet apart and, probably a little insanely, closing his eyes.
Petals of late-blooming flowers in the well-kept garden are suddenly lifting into the air, then blowing chaotically in different directions, a sudden zephyr being a common response when someone taps the ambient chi. However, his eyes stay closed, Frei's eyebrows knitted in concentration. It's all about harmonizing with what's good, and keeping out what's bad.
A sudden vision of jaws, snapping shut. Red eyes in the darkness. A consuming hunger.
His eyes snap open, but he says nothing.
COMBATSYS: Frei gathers his will.
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Aranha 0/-------/------=|=======\-------\0 Gen
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Frei 1/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: Aranha successfully hits Gen with Face Down.
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Aranha 0/-------/------=|=======\-------\1 Gen
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Frei 1/-------/=======|
Tenacity wins the day, as the continued assault catches Gen off guard. Just by an instant, a hair's breadth... but it is enough. Capoiera-inspired technique crashes into the elder assassin's skull, knocks him to, then fro, then straight down to the ground. He crashes hard, face beaning off the unforgiving ground, even as one palm presses to the earth, blank eyes snap back upwards. Initially, the gaze is locked onto Aranha. Gen all but launches himself back to his feet, flipping up off the ground light as a feather, feet arcing downward to carry him back to a ready stance, one which immediately launches out point-blank at the Dancing Spider. His right hand is already curled at his side, an extended fingertip flexing with strength that reverberates all up the old master's arm. When he lashes out, it's as if he strikes everywhere, all at once.
It's not much exaggeration to say that in a single, blurring instant of uncounted motions, the old master seeks to strike Aranha in his everything. That pinpoint, armor piercing fingertip lashes out for shoulders, for chest, for indeterminable points along the young fighter's ribcage, kidneys, guts, and throat. It's a strike that's full impact would take a moment to be felt, the lashing blows coming down hard, but the daunting aspect... comes moments later. Should Gen's strikes ring true, that moment's passage will leave the chi centers of Aranha's body ravaged, vulnerable... energy no longer carrying, power breaking itself down, nerves screaming as blood all but fails to pump through a crippled spiritual core. But for a few more strokes, it's a strike that could - and would - kill. It's also liable to leave the Spider vulnerable to that which cries in Frei's mind, the attack ending with Gen /staring/ at the swordsage. One eyebrow raised profoundly over one wider eye.
COMBATSYS: Gen successfully hits Aranha with Shitenshuu.
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Aranha 0/-------/=======|-------\-------\0 Gen
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Frei 1/-------/=======|
In an instant, Gen display incredible mastery. Blink and you might miss it. Hell the cameras recording this will need to show this in slow motion to show how Gen devastates the Dancing Spider. Pin point strike after pin point strike delivered all in the time it takes the capoeirista to twitch. And considering Aranha is someone who lives and dies by his speed, that is quite feat.
When it's over, Aranha screams in agony before falling to his his knees. There's a short pause before Aranha vomits blood on the ground. There's a pause. Dry heaving and then more blood hits the cold hard ground. The capoeirista slowly pulls himself to his feet. He croaks out the words, "I... I knew it. Identify the weak link, eliminate them and clean up."
Aranha lets out a hacking cough before he glances over to Frei. "Don't have much time left in this one... Might as well make the best of--" He's interrupted by a coughing fit. "--it."
Aranha draws off of spur of the moment inspiration to likewise draw upon chi from the environment but between the fact that his is rushed and the fact that his inexperience in working with chi works against him, he ends up drawing in the bad. His vision begins to swim but he forces himself to focus on the target ahead of him. His feet glow blue as he swings out kick after kick, but at times the chi engulfing his feet flash, flicker, and fade as he delivers his powerful kick combo before he tilts into a handstand whirling around with a kick similar to his Inverted Tornado attack from earlier in the fight. His exit out of the move is significantly less graceful as he wobbles to the side. He's going to be stumbling off to the side fighting off the wave of nausea.
Aranha says, "Well there was a Canadian OC."
'Weak link'?
There's a sort of vague smile on his face as that comment drags Frei out of whatever reverie he was in. That attack Gen used... something about it caught his eye, too. That's a rare talent, that he just displayed. More to the point, though, Aranha's pain having caused him to say such things as the first words of the match, really gets to his partner for some reason. "If anything, I should have supported you better. Don't worry about it. Plus, well..." Here, he shrugs, and delivers the next line in tones that could be interpreted as either totally serious or completely oblivious, with only a hair's breadth separating the difference: "This place is cursed."
The memory of those eyes in the darkness haunts him viciously, enough so that for a moment, he is visibly shaken.
But now he's going to support Aranha as best he can. Seeing the Dancing Spider leap into overdrive, Frei surges forward too, hands glowing with a dull, purple-black aura, chill to the touch. In a way, he's reminding himself that the darkness, and death, are part of the natural cycle... and that the darkness hiding just beneath the surface here is something else entirely. Rushing in alongside Aranha, Frei snaps his hands forward, palms out, and explodes that chilly burst right in Gen's face, if he doesn't move out of the way.
COMBATSYS: Aranha successfully hits Gen with Royal Flush.
Glancing Blow
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Aranha 0/-------/----===|=------\-------\0 Gen
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Frei 1/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: Gen dodges Frei's Weakened Reiki.
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Aranha 0/-------/----===|=------\-------\0 Gen
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Frei 1/------=/=======|
"Weak link." Gen smiles at that, if a bit darkly. "You are both a bit short on what is necessary." The elder assassin observes, too calmly. "To deal with this. It is why there is more than one of you here." The words are spoken as if implying more than the moment's solution. Death, birth, growth, entropy... natural things. Flowing, powerful elements to the world's energy. What happens here is not about death, not to Gen's senses... not about natural ebb and flow, the change of seasons... but rather the consumption of them, the rampant hunger unleashed on a bountiful harvest of a wide range of energies. As the taint, the unbalanced, sharp chord rips through Aranha and Frei, Gen stands almost impassive.. but anything but unconcerned. Eyes narrow on the two, and he reiterates simply, "Do not be fools." Appended quickly with, "Blessings, curses... resonance of what /is/... or has been... or will be."
The elder assassin does not stand his ground when the attack renews. Instead, eyes, instincts seek out a path through the maelstrom that grows up around him. A weaving lunge takes him out of the path of that chill void summoned by the swordsage, the aura rippling scant centimeters from his features, the dancing backstep keeping him a half-step ahead of Aranha's attack, in nigh-perfect rhythm... the attack, however, is that half-beat early. In this case, it serves the Dancing Spider, catching Gen with several scarce, clipping strokes, feet and energy tearing bruising impacts into the short, robed master's deceptively resilient frame. Gen is slid backwards forcibly with the last strokes, coming up clear of the whirling dervish that follows.
Gen pulls to a lurching stop nigh instantly, wobbling with the sheer force of it on one foot, balancing on the ball as he suddenly slides forward, ripping out at Frei in a high-low series of brutal, two-fingered jabs. A fist is clenched hard behind each strike, right hitting for the swordsman's collarbone, left for his lowest rib. Unlike previous, nerve point strikes... the intent behind this one seems to be to apply brutal, kinetic impact to Frei's very bones, the old master grunting a less-than-enthused 'Hmph' in kiai, all his power burbling within, none escaping... none distorted.
Aranha manages to impact the older man a few times and considering his current condition, that's impressive in and of itself. Aranha's body continues to scream in protest at the abuse by the hands of Gen. His ginga is sloppy and off kilter. And his vision seems to flicker between a single Gen and multiples of him.
With movements that seem almost drunken in its shakiness, Aranha dances towards Gen before swinging out with a powerful, somewhat desperate kick. Unfortunately dizziness takes over after he delivers the kick, and his body topples over and hits the ground.
COMBATSYS: Frei blocks Gen's Combo Attack.
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Aranha 0/-------/--=====|-------\-------\0 Gen
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Frei 1/----===/=======|
There's a moment, a brief pause where the universe seems to slow down for Frei, and then inside that quicksilver moment he's able to regain his bearings and react calmly. One forearm darts low, turning the blow intended for his ribs aside entirely, using only as much pressure as is necessary to channel the great force of Gen's blow aside. The upper strike, intended for his collarbone, is not so easily dismissed; Frei intends to shunt it off to the side and instead simply presents his arm as a target. The blow is stinging, but bearable for the time being. Still, the kinetic force of the blow rings through his body like the tolling of a bell for a moment, vibrations spreading out from the point of impact briefly.
"Human perceptions, human names," he says to Gen, unapologetically. A demon, or a person, or just bad luck; it could be anything, really. But calling it a 'curse' gives him a way to speak about what's going on in a sensible way, for the time being. "I'm confident, at least, that I'm... safe." It's a weird term, but Frei has been the plaything of powers beyond his abilities before; when Shadaloo made him their puppet, and stripped away the parts of him that make him who he is. What he gained was raw strength, but what he paid...
"I don't think I've ever sought power," is his response. "That said, I wouldn't mind finishing this quickly. It's... unsettling here." No point in not being honest.
With that, he suddenly sweeps his hand in front of him, a crescent of scarlet flame surging into being just before him. However, the swirling flame alone isn't the only aspect of the attack; even as he finishes the spin that his tossing of flame began, Frei's hand drops to his side, gripping the 'hilt' of his wooden sword. As the spin brings him back toward Gen again, he draws the sword and slashes it in one swift, horizontal arc, *through* the flame, which clings to his body and empowers the otherwise negligble physical blow.
COMBATSYS: Gen dodges Frei's Weakened Kagerou.
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Aranha 0/-------/--=====|-------\-------\0 Gen
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Frei 1/----===/=======|
COMBATSYS: Gen dodges Aranha's Colossal Kick.
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Aranha 0/-------/--=====|-------\-------\0 Gen
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Frei 1/----===/=======|
The profoundly forceful, all-out haymaker of a kick from Aranha draws Gen's eyes before it's even fully formulated, perhaps sensing the flow of energy in the haggard dance-fu fighter's distorted aura, perhaps simply aware enough of the tactical logistics of the moment to expect the onslaught. Regardless, the elder assassin is in motion. All the myriad multiple visions of Gen leap upwards, legs drawing up beneath the ascending master. As Aranha whirls below, Gen flips forward, the flames erupting where he had stood as he arcs into a somersault over the swordsage's head, landing all but right behind Frei. "That.. will perhaps make you worthy of it."
It's a brief, less than complete endorsement, as hands snap out towards Frei, expecting the young monk to turn to track his motion. The Triad legend's grip goes for Frei's chest, one leg bending up, then shooting down at the swordsman's knee. It's a single, brutal stroke meant to take that joint decidedly out of alignment, to rend tendon and balance into faint memories, before stepping back, and leveraging the insightful chi-prodigy directly into the ground. "Seldom is the quick solution what one expects!" The elder assassin barks crisply.
Aranha slowly rolls over and brings himself to all fours before he coughs. His muscles protest against any attempt at movement. His lungs burn in agony and his teeth clinch in pain. It takes all of his will to bring himself to his feet. It takes resolve that the tenacious capoeirista never knew he had to keep himself standing. It takes a certain amount of grit to attack Gen one last time.
Aranha draws upon the distorted chi of the area one last time. Unfortunately, while his heart is willing, both his flesh is weak and his spirit is thrown too far off kilter. He winds back to throw a sweeping palm strike towards Gen's head, but he doesn't follow through due not being physically strong enough to resist Gen's pressure point strike long enough to do so.
COMBATSYS: Aranha takes no action.
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Frei 1/----===/=======|-------\-------\0 Gen
COMBATSYS: Aranha can no longer fight.
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Frei 1/----===/=======|-------\-------\0 Gen
COMBATSYS: Gen successfully hits Frei with Houzen.
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Frei 1/-======/=======|==-----\-------\0 Gen
He's tougher than he seems. Frei does indeed turn to face Gen, but he doesn't seem to even try to get out of the way; in fact, he actually leans INTO Gen's attack, hoping to find a moment somewhere in the combination that he can leverage to his advantage instead. Working against him is that Gen's strikes are rarely so simple that they consist of a single blow; rather, in this case, the fact that Gen's attack has many small, interlocking parts means Frei takes the full brunt of the blow, slamming into the temple floor with a sharp *THUD*.
When he gets up, it does certainly show that Gen's strike has lasting effect; muscles and joints torn and bent in unexpected ways take their toll, making even moving in some ways painful. Yet it's also obvious that the effect could have been much worse than it is. Even with the lasting injuries taking their toll, Frei's one resilient son of a bitch, for lack of a better word. "'Worthy of it'?" he asks, taking a deep breath and trying to center his thoughts. He spares a glance for Aranha, and while he'd rather have the Spider still up and by his side, at least unconscious he's unlikely to be affected by the temple anymore. "Power is just... a thing. It is what you make of it. And I'd actually wager to say that most who have power probably don't care if they're worthy of it or not."
He likely doesn't have much of a chance against Gen. But perhaps, if he digs deep and simply gives his all in one lasting go, he might succeed against a different enemy entirely.
His hand extends, palm out, and when the sage speaks, it is in a heavy and resonant tone. "O golden light that soars with the sun. Red-plumed wings of crimson flame. Honor our pact and appear before me!" On cue, flames erupt around his feet in a circle, surrounding him. At first, they flicker and sputter, as if this gambit he's trying might not work... but they grow in strength, becoming a raging inferno pillar that rises up around the sage, who is visible through gaps in the flame. "This 'power'..." Frei says over it, smiling pleasantly enough, "isn't mine alone. It belongs to everyone."
And then he's moving. Hand goes to bokken hilt, and the bokken sweeps toward Gen in an arc, but connecting with the actual weapon is the last thing on Frei's mind. The flame around him takes on the shape of a massive firebird, and the sweeps of his blade become the sweeps of its wings, looking to flat-out engulf Gen in a torrent of scarlet fire. "Flames of rebirth, engulf the impure! Suzaku!"
And for a moment, the phoenix descends to earth, and that discordant note is lost in a harmony of fire.
COMBATSYS: Frei successfully hits Gen with Shinra Banshou.
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Frei 0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0 Gen
Torn, terrorized, perhaps one day traumitized by the portents found at this intersection of the Earth's energies, Frei nonetheless finds the spirit to fight - and fight well. "Precisely." is Gen's only offering to the swordsage's observations, apparently feeling they do not debate his previous statements... but simply reinforce them, demonstrate the monk's own realizations. None of which does a great deal to defend the elder assassin from what comes next. Eyes narrow, a defense is raised... but it's too late, it underestimates the power suddenly burning up within Frei. Expecting the restrained, distorted flow he's felt to date, the Triad legend's brows rise as the sensations reaching him are anything but - the full potential wielded by the young fighter, suddenly boiling over, rushing forward in a torrential column of flame. It all but consumes him, sears robes, singes the tips of his beard, blackens bushy white eyebrows.
The assassin soars clear of the impact in little control of his faculties, or so it might seem. He crashes, hard, into a crumbling stone column of the temple itself. More rocks fall free with the impact, but the old master does not slide clear, does not surrender, himself. "We are servants to that balance, never slaves, never to play at being /gods/!" The Shadow-boss intones, hoarsely, pained - crouched, inexplicably, against the vertical surface now imprinted with his arrival. In an instant, he launches right back off it. Hurtling in at Frei, launching back like a missile headed by a little Chinese foot of a warhead. The kick would cleave him clean past Frei, hitting against the altar itself, and bouncing back. A roundhousing spin-kick aligned for Frei's head, Gen's diminutive frame backflipping clear to once more land on a pillar, a different one this time, flipping back the other way and launching straight down, seeking to headstomp the swordsage and somersault clear.
COMBATSYS: Gen successfully hits Frei with Kouga.
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Frei 1/----===/=======|-------\-------\0 Gen
Perhaps foolishly, Frei hadn't really considered what would happen, beyond his strike at Gen, which he expected to be his last of the fight either way. Yet it is not, and so when Gen comes soaring back at him, he turns and grimaces, knowing that reprisal will be swift and painful, especially given Gen's rather cryptic response... and true to expectation, the flurry of dancing aerial diving kicks -- an attack that, for a moment, Frei thinks might be in Aranha's repertoire when he's Gen's age -- slamming into him time and time again, leaving him hunched over and breathless, hand pressed to his stomach.
Every part of him would like to just give this up right now, take a deep breath and admit defeat. It's possible he might not make it through even if he stands up. But as that phoenix of flame disappears, sparks from its wings alight on his body, and he is reminded that flame can be the bringer of life, in its own way, as much as it takes it away.
Thus, despite it all, filled with that warmth, he stands.
"I try to never be more than human," is his response, as he steps confidently toward Gen's intended landing spot, looking to snap an arm around the assassin's wrist. If he can get the grip -- which is no sure thing, for certain -- he suddenly spins Gen through the air in a sweeping circle, launching him straight up... and then pressing both palms upward into the air, catching the descending body with a burst of concussive force, chi of the earth element made manifest.
COMBATSYS: Gen fails to interrupt Weakened Shindou from Frei with Ouga.
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Frei 0/-------/--=====|
COMBATSYS: Gen can no longer fight.
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Frei 0/-------/--=====|
Age and gender have nothing to do with kung fu! At least, that's certainly a mantra that Gen espouses, and exemplifies - the old, short little killer is every bit as deadly, perhaps moreso, compared to his youth. Some fighters hit a wall, some start to deteriorate with entropy and doubt... some push all that much harder, until they are drippy, yellowed, waxy monoliths of ancient fighting prowess. While Gen may not be as aged as some, he's well along in years to say the least... and despite the burning pain in his resilient form, the too-human swordsage faces imminent doom! ... if only that blast of energy didn't catch him as he descends.
Seeking to kick abruptly, brutally through the burst to stomp Frei's face and skull soundly, Gen is instead launched backwards, blasted clear and landing in the dirt, divets of grass flying hither and yon as he slides on his ass and rolls to a halfhearted, unsteady crouch, dropping to one knee, fingers jabbing into the ground. There's the sound of huffing, puffing, the poor, decrepit geezer gathering his breath... to chuckle. "Ah, ha ha. Yes, yes. Very good. Very good. You'll need all that, and more... seek me out, when you begin to see that which you do not yet see." Enigmatic words, the elder assassin sinking back into the grass, eyeing the ruins pensively.
For a moment, Frei simply stands there, hands outstretched, palms out, breathing heavily. It was a hair's breadth that separated success from failure, there; perhaps a reminder that even the mighty can sometimes have ill fortune, or perhaps that the weak can benefit from a moment of good luck, since the chi sage is well aware that had Gen's kick connected, he wouldn't even be pondering that issue... he'd be stone cold unconscious, and thought would be academic.
As it is, he collapses to the floor immediately, the lasting damage of Gen's strike taking its continued toll even as the warm glow of the phoenix's healing flame slowly fights against it. In the end, however, without the stress of further combat, the quick healing of a fighter's physiology -- and Frei is among the tougher in his bracket, appearances aside -- wins out, though the redhead can already feel days of bed rest coming on. This isn't something that is merely over in a day.
For a moment, he looks over at Aranha, to make sure that nothing terrible is happening to the Dancing Spider, who gave his all for the cause in this battle. Thankfully, it seems as if whatever fell force sleeps under this temple has had only a minor influence on him, and is unlikely to cause further damage. Gen, too, seems unperturbed by the influence, even though it is clear he is fully aware of its presence.
And Frei?
As adrenaline makes its way out of his system, and the blood pounding in his head fades, that discordant note sings out again. Suppressed, perhaps, by his brief invocation of a countering force, but impossible to subsume in such a way. Struggling to his feet, he produces his cell phone, calls the YFCC volunteers. He'd rather not leave Gen nor Aranha here to recover when there's a perfectly good hotel room or center bed they can sleep on until they wake up.
It's some time before those volunteers arrive to help, and when they do, they find Frei there, eyes downcast and heavy-lidded, as he stares at the floor in silent contemplation, wondering just what it is that might be staring back at him in the darkness...
COMBATSYS: Frei takes no action.
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Frei 0/-------/-======|
COMBATSYS: Frei has ended the fight here.
Log created on 20:07:40 01/09/2011 by Frei, and last modified on 18:39:15 01/14/2011.