Description: Heroes can be so easy to manipulate sometimes, can't they? While her teammates and friends are doing their own thing, Farah has been mired in her own problems and is especially receptive when a note calls her out to Sound Beach for a midnight meeting. When she arrives, however, she faces a trial for which the young psychic may be entirely unprepared...
Darkness, darkness. It's a funny thing. Though ever-lurking in the corners of the night, it can be difficult to locate a truly black spot amongst the bright lights of an urban existence - there is always some electric beacon to illuminate from near or afar. And yet, to those that fear the dark, the easy availability of so much vibrance serves only to heighten even the smallest absence. The merest hint can be enough to terrify.
As the dim of twilight fades deeper still, Sound Beach stands so lit by the hazy glow of the nearby boardwalk. Though the moon's pallor reflects off the lapping waves of the sea, shadows creep across the listless sands, lending a shroud to the motley collection of figures gathered thereabouts. The most predominant is not a living thing, but a broad flatbed truck - equipped with massive wheels capable of traversing the sand, and bearing upon its back the recently tarpaulin-covered form of a sizable speedboat.
Gathered about this misplaced vehicle are two human figures, surrounded by the indiscernable shape of their equipment. They have been here for some time. Waiting, when not carrying out their evening's work. And now, one crouches or sits, swaddled in a thick coat, beside the dying embers of an extinguished bonfire. The other leans against the sleek hull of the covered boat, the face of a male barely visible in the moonlight, upturned lips parted and still as he stands in seeming repose.
It's an odd picture, particularly to those in pursuit of the illicit...
It has been, as they say, a long ride.
In fairy tales, when someone overcomes a great darkness within, there is no 'afterward,' no healing period, no indication that evil in whatever form existed in the shell of something ostensibly good. What Farah Tenjou is finding out the past week has been that you can't turn into a raging lunatic with a personality that took a sharply perpendicular turn from the standard without having to answer a lot of questions, account for a lot of behaviors and -- perhaps most commonly -- do a lot of apologizing.
But it is something she has tackled with typical zeal. Phone calls were made, small cards with handwritten apologies got sent out. But more importantly she had time to reflect on what's happened as she was forced to relive it, and to think about the implications of how her teammates 'saved' her from a darkness for which she still has no real name. What she really found was that everyone, perhaps, is a little broken inside, and that sometimes a common goal is more important than having a 'connection.'
It was during a jag of letter writing that she found the envelope with her name on it, and no address, and the warning that a grave threat would manifest itself on Sound Beach tonight, at this time. Of course the first thing she did, with her teammates and the looming KoF on her mind, was to try and contact them, but the effort was futile. Wang proved unreachable, perhaps still mourning his now-lost h-games; Farah didn't meet Sakura long enough to get contact information, and Denji and Makari likely don't even know what a cell phone is *for*, let alone actually possess and use one. Thus, out of necessity rather than desire, she would have to go this one alone.
Flash forward to now, the dusky-skinned Egyptian standing on the boardwalk, looking out over the beach for any sign of what she's supposed to be meeting. Her left hand is up near her forehead, while her right hangs at her side, the long tails of her cobalt blue ribbon fluttering along behind her in the sea air. The light from the boardwalk serves only to highlght the darkness of the beach rather than dispel it, making Farah feel a sudden chill, but after a moment more of observing, she steps onto the sand.
She tries her best to bring a light into the darkness... but for now the unknown is hungry, ready to swallow her up.
Solitude is a comfort to some, and a hefty burden for others to bear. Farah herself has experienced both sides to this coin in her recent tribulations - and with this may come a certain degree of wisdom. She may even know, in her heart of rapidly beating hearts, that her actions on this night are already far from well-advised. That her single step may lead to a plunging chasm. Because the thing about coins... is that they have an edge, as well. No matter how confident they may feel, no matter how accustomed they are to their burden, a person must always be prepared for the improbable. The unexpected.
For that which thrives most in the darkness.
To one possessed of psychic sensitivities, the scene upon the beach calls an immediate warning. Despite the calm silhouettes of both figures, neither seems to radiate anything in the least bit comforting. There has been violence here, and still there lies a lurking intent to cause more; though it does not seem to come from any obvious source, a veil hanging over the senses as though the very ground and air were muddied and blurred like a ruined portrait.
Still, the message is clear. Something is wrong.
As the young Egyptian approaches, neither the standing man nor the indistinct, hunkered-down form of his companion make especial movement. The wind picks up slightly, however, and catches at the material of the latter's overgarment. It pulls taut with a snap, and starts to pull away, trailing through the air just hard enough to dislodge from the indistinct roundness of a shoulder. The response is less than might be expected, though the figure does shift an inch or so to one side. Asleep, perhaps, and made restless in dreaming by the sensation of the cold sea air?
Any wonderment over the fact will be cut off by a sudden creak, as the same breeze catches the opened driver's door of the flatbed. It falls closed with a *slam* that comes bewilderingly loud in the still of the night. It is just hard enough to send a reverberation through the trailer, the speedboat shifting against the back of the upright man. His response is a groan, and a lolling of the head that sends a trickle of slightly frothy fluid from the lowered corner of his mouth.
She was right to come alone.
She wishes she weren't alone.
The sudden sounds and sudden movement make stark what Farah had, up to this point, taken for granted. The sounds of gulls overhead, and the roar of waves upon the sand. Even the distant glow of the amusement park and the sound of some of the more winter-friendly rides currently in use. To now they were background details, things that slid behind awareness to become a sort of grey harmonic. Now they stand out. EVERYTHING stands out. Most of all, *Farah* stands out.
She doesn't try to maintain composure when the man's head lolls to the side, because that would be disrespectful. Instead she gives in to her natural response, grimacing, turning slightly. Inside, her Soul Power abilities are slowly tying her up in knots, too; Farah might be blind to the course of the Earth's energies, but her power gives her another sight entirely. It all 'feels' wrong. She can sense things that the poor victim(?) in front of her couldn't possibly be feeling, though she has neither name nor source for them. But they are definitely confirmation that here is where she should be.
And so she steels her nerves, and stays where she is, trying to stand defiant. She'll take a light into dark places, but only if they refuse to come into the light on their own. "Show yourself!" is what she demands, surprised at the iron in her tone.
There it is. The voice in the darkness. At the most primal root of the human being is the desire, the /need/ for companionship. Even those most given to solitude accept it unto themselves in the certain knowledge that society is never far away - or if it is, they remain oriented to its presence. There is not a person alive who does not maintain an awareness of his or her fellows, an instinct driven by pure necessity. Because no matter how strong man becomes, survival will always be key, and there are things in this world that none can handle alone.
Farah's shout may ring with tempered metal, but it does not take a psychic to know that she falters before the delivery. Somewhere, esconced within the chilly tableau, a set of straight white teeth bare in a wild grin. Something awakens. A subtle veil is lifted, baring a sensation of controlled fury to the Egyptian's probing mind as her ears are granted only the oh-so-faint noise of crunching granules as nearby sand is disturbed by the motion of a flexing leg. A second howl of icy wind carries the sound away before it can develop further, masking any mundane attempt to locate the hidden beast.
But then, as the buffet drops to a level breeze, the entire flatbed moves. As though lifted from below by the shifting of tectonic plates, it writhes - in as much as a mechanical thing can - and lists through the sea of sands. The motion rocks the speedboat, which in turn deals a hearty thump to the back of the lolling man. He starts to fall aside, his eyes catching in the glow of the boardwalk as he slips toward the ground. For a single, harrowing moment his face is lit up -- and those eyes, they are dead. Rolled back to reveal only whites, shot through with the same blood that drips from his mouth.
He hits the beach with an unceremonious, deceptively soft thump.
And in that same instant, the air moves behind Farah. A human breath brushes at her neck. A /third/ figure drops from the skies, a black meteorite searing toward her with a fierce exhalation of breath. These are the only warnings she will have in the instant it takes for a set of leather-edged knuckles to descend upon the spot marked by the shiver-inducing heat of her aggressor's breath. The blow is staggering, primed to send an explosion of pain down the length of the spin through sheer kinetic force alone...
Rather more literal in its explosiveness is the accompanying bloom of fiery chi. As though calling it that alone were enough to do it justice - there is a savage might to this stuff, a numbing edge of wrathful bitterness that carries through in the heavily accented tone that follows the ambush.
"You should spend more time looking up," It's certainly African. Farah might place the region, though it is always tough with the transition to English, "And less gazing at your heels." White teeth flash against dark skin to startling effect as the woman before her drops into a fighting stance, lifting one fist close to her mouth as she watches Farah with hard eyes that do little to echo the mocking amusement in her tone "They told me you were a seer, little girl."
COMBATSYS: Brihan has started a fight here.
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Brihan 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Farah has joined the fight here.
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Brihan 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Farah
COMBATSYS: Brihan successfully hits Farah with Strong Punch.
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Brihan 0/-------/------=|=====--\-------\0 Farah
A seer? What could one see...
"Agh!"
...looking directly into the sun?
It is there, an awareness of the woman who seems to appear out of nowhere, but there is so much to take in that the split-second awareness that Soul Power affords Farah does her little indeed. At best, she whirls, letting her intuition carry her away, an arm coming up to knock aside that fiery punch, but it's effectively for naught; the blow catches her in the side as she turns rather than the small of the back, but the end result is more or less the same. That flame washes over her, the punch sends her staggering, and Farah struggles to catch up with the sudden torrent of sensory information that she is suddenly awash in.
Physically, all that appears to happen is that the Egyptian plants a sandal-ed foot in the sand, pivots, and faces her attacker, looking at her with violet eyes luminous in the half darkness. Inside, however... there is something else. That velvet voice that led her down a dark path, recently, was perhaps her first experience with what she might consider 'real evil'. But that was selfish, power-mad. It sought control, domination, power. As the young psychic looks at the dark-skinned woman opposite her, Farah can only see one thing:
An inferno, raging wings of flame like an eclipsed sun, which seeks to burn everything it touches to ash.
It's an image that will haunt her for many nights to come.
Farah does not attack; she readies herself, searches within for the poise she knows she will need. Around her, the darkness becomes aglow with the starry-night faerie fire of her Soul Power surrounding her, a hazy line of blue the color of the dusk sky. "Why did you kill that man?" she demands, all avenging angel.
COMBATSYS: Farah focuses on her next action.
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Brihan 0/-------/------=|=====--\-------\0 Farah
'Why?'
It's a word that means nothing in the darkness. There can be no meaningful answer to a question that pleads for understanding from chaos itself. But ever will the plaintive cry ring from within those who stand against the night, desperate for a reason to continue their battle - even as those in opposite march ever onwards without need for justification. Or at least without the need to explain it. And so it is that Farah meets nothing but dull mockery as she begins to summon her strength, watched for a moment by that implacable grin, by the eyes of one who regards a very small thing before them.
And whose only stray thought is that they might like to squash this thing.
The fist near Brihan's mouth strays closer, a knuckle brushing against one ivory tooth before it lifts away. Her teeth, as a whole, part from one another; and then come down upon her knuckles, pressing down hard. That cool brown gaze intensifies as she pulls away with a feral snarl, entire body swaying in an expression of mounting ecstasy. "He died," she says, her accent making the words as thick as they are merciless, "Because he had no purpose."
As Anemoi beholds Egyptian, she sees her own form of poetic vision.
"Like you, little mouse who stands in the burning shadow of the sun."
The tiny bones in her hands pop as she unfurls her fingers and closes them once more to fists. Her neck bends, cricking to one side as she begins to step around her prey, a smirk still lingering about her lips - touched now with as much excitement as bored amusement. There is so much enjoyment in reaching out and breaking... 'things'. "Now you'll let me ask you a question."
It sounds absolutely nothing like a request for permission, and indeed the Ethiopian is already moving, flashing across the shifting sands like a well-dressed panther, covering the distance between them in a blur. It might be easy to miss the second twist of her neck, this one lithe and circular as she closes in. A turn from the hip drives home the completed motion, a broad, implausible calloused forehead launching forward for impact with Farah's undoubtedly pretty nose. An ill match for her foe's.
"Why do you /care/?!"
In the last possible instant before impact, more of that devastating energy erupts from the woman's skin - and now that Farah is placed to see it, such is the effect. It is not summoned, but seems to bubble from her very pores, as though it has sat dormant and were forced forth by the aggressive approach. It would almost be eerily beautiful, that dirty orange glow, if not for the pain.
COMBATSYS: Farah fails to counter Giant from Brihan with Deneb Kaitos EX.
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Brihan 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\1 Farah
The strike is brutal, swift, and merciless. Farah knows she is outmatched from the get-go, but in its own strange way, the knowledge empowers her, or at the very least emboldens her. For each movement that this strange, fierce woman makes that is crude, violent, and brutal, the Soul Star strives all the harder to maintain poise and grace. Her ribbon is still making an erratic, beautiful pattern in the air when Brihan's head impacts with her own, the explosive burst of it driving the two women apart, but Farah regains her footing and slips back into stance swiftly. It takes all her energy to do so; a second blow like that and she'll probably just be unconscious.
But until then, she is alive, and awake, and will not stop.
A hand comes up; her left, the one without the ribbon, and it wipes a trickle of blood from her nose as the psion stares down her opponent, unflinching for the moment. Inside, perhaps Farah is not so strong or brave, but she is *trying*. Perhaps that's all that's needed. Plus... the woman's question demands a response that does, truly, pull from some wellspring of unflagging justice inside Farah.
"Because life is precious," the Egyptian says, standing tall. You don't always have to win a fight to make a point. "It's a gift we're only given once. You had no right to take it from him!"
Such brutality should satisfy the woman, it should cause her hackles to lower, and yet it seems only to buoy her mood further. Each body-rending strike is just reason to strive for another, the delight of vigour crawling across the tainted warrior's expression as she is forced apart from her prey. She recovers with equal aplomb, but lesser grace, all but stomping into the sand to root herself. A gloved hand lifts toward her face, brushing a weblike strand of aroused saliva from the prominent flesh of her lower lip. All the while she continues to stare at Farah with soulless eyes.
"I agree."
Two words are spoken with such weight, so swiftly as the girl draws herself upright, bolstered by her faith in righteousness. Brihan lifts her own posture in perfect mockery, pulling her hand away to gesture broadly in the night air, "Everything is a gift. And we must all protect what we have. But to fail..." She trails off, and starts forward, her back sloping like that of a stalking lioness, steps becoming swift. "To fail is to lose everything, Farah Tenjou!"
Suddenly, she is /right there/, before the Egyptian, reaching out with a strong, dominant hand to haul her clean off her feet by the scruff of her throat if necessary - not afraid to pinch skin or even draw blood with her poorly trimmed nails as she tightens her vicelike fingertips. She moves with such speed, even, that her flesh burns, more of that dread energy flowing from within. Causing her very hand to glow.
"And you?" She spits at close range, thrusting her face uncomfortably close. "A girl who sparks riots across Southtown, who causes cars to crash, who injures her dearest friends?!" Once more, blazing white teeth are borne to the elements, lighting up the smooth ebony of Brihan's hard visage. The expression is not necessary when her words carry the weight well enough - she has been watching. She knows. And she is not impressed. "No purpose!!" She barely raises her voice, but the exhilaration of madness flickers in her tone as she jerks her forehead forward into Farah's own, burning with dirty orange.
"Two!" The assault does not end there, further exclamation bringing with it a sudden outthrusting of a powerful, dark-skinned arm. She holds her prey at full extension for a moment, ferociously grinning behind the haze of her own diminishing energies, before launching off her back foot into a forward lunge, using the added momentum to powerfully toss poor Farah toward the waiting side of the nearby flatbed. She may hit the floor of the truck - her head may bounce off the speedboat above - but the important part...
"/Of a kind/."
Is that she will rebound into the horribly cold, still lap of the murdered man.
COMBATSYS: Brihan successfully hits Farah with Charged Combo.
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Brihan 0/-------/----===|=======\=====--\1 Farah
Does she land, beaten badly, in the 'lap' of the murdered man? Yes. Is it, in some uncontrollable way, a revolting feeling, to know that the dead and clammy skin underneath hers is all that is left of a living person, an empty shell with no hope of salvation? Assuredly.
Will Farah flinch? Never.
She looks almost as dead as the man that this woman has killed. Worse, actually; the man likely died in an instant, a non-fighter's body unable to keep up with the sheer terrible force of a trained fighter's ability to inflict pain, particularly when this African warrior's attacks are fueled by the dark, explosive flame. Farah can endure it, and thus she's actually the worse off, bloodied and burned. But a hand touches the side of the truck, and slowly she pulls herself free of the grisly embrace, standing straight, stepping from the ruins gingerly. She'll respect the dead, then.
"No," the Egyptian responds, wiping blood and sweat from her face and arms. Her voice falters at first, unable to stop the doubt that swells within, lingering from her recent experiences, but the more she is forced to grapple with those images, the stronger her voice becomes. "To stop trying is to lose everything." She doesn't question how this woman knows about recent events; at this point, nothing is as it seems, and knowing the answer would be pointless. "To stop striving is when we really fail! If you know so much about me, then you know I was a victim of my own doubts and fears. I stopped trying to overcome them and gave in."
Her hands come up over her head, wrists touching, fingers curved as if she were collecting some round object from over her head. The tails of her ribbon streak out behind her in some unseen wind as her violet-eyed gaze locks on this woman. She was tricked here, that much is clear. To what end? To break her again? To remind her anew of her failure? To drive her back from her purpose?
The shining mass of sparkling Soul Power in her hands, undimmed and unmarred, like a tiny slice of the Milky Way, says all that needs saying about that.
"I may be flawed but I won't stop fighting to become better!" she shouts, before twirling and extending both hands, the swirling mass of starlight spiralling across the distance toward Brihan, looking to strike not just at this dark firelord's body, but her very spirit. "Go, sacred light!"
COMBATSYS: Brihan fails to slow Sacred Heart from Farah with Hypervelocity EX.
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Brihan 0/-------/--=====|=======\=====--\1 Farah
To what end indeed. As she stands in the wake of her continued assault, Brihan draws in a breath, her broad nostrils flaring as she drags deep upon the frozen air. It is not a lungful of composure she seeks, but the sensation of that bitter chill against the warmth that rages both without and within her muscular form. Her chest pushes against the supple material of her vest as she falls back a step, snapping back into a ready stance with a manner of brutal grace. One fist raises before her as the other plays satellite to her jaw, fingers flickering in and out of her palm as she stares restlessly at Farah.
Her words wash over the Anemoi, proving as ultimately unsettling as a miraged pool in the desert. The ever-shifting sands stir by their nature, and so it is here; the merest smirk greets the girl's philosophy. This verminous insect has already been judged worthless. Brihan only begins to outwardly react when the glowing, ethereal sheen of the Egyptian's power greets her eyes. It's different to the earlier display - more compelling, more resounding in purpose. "So, this is it..."
"If you want to become better, little mouse--" Her accented words tumble off into a thick hiss as the woman throws herself forward over the leading leg, the rear whipping up a wave of shadowed sand as it draws level and sets firm. Both hands dart forward, a snorted expulsion of breath empowering a double thrust of the palms. It's a swift, practiced motion, and yet the accompanying bloom of explosive power fails to pierce the flame of Farah's soul. The resulting backlash of energies drives Brihan back across the beach, enshrouded momentarily in a plume of fierce orange smoke.
When it clears, she is stood with hands lowered, cold stare fixed upon her risen prey. The former is all the sign she will give of her pain; the only concession to her own failure. "Then come and hit me again." Suddenly those teeth flash once more, and she draws her head and her guard up in the same motion, already starting to move toward Farah - not allowing distance to play a role in this ambush that has so swiftly become a battle. "Prove that you have some purpose in the future of this world, or lie down now and die!"
In that split second, there is that moment of something that is the core of Soul Power, perhaps the thing that sets it slightly apart from other ways in which psychic power manifests itself. In Farah, it is a wild talent, undirected and still burgeoning, but in this instance, it's enough. As Brihan's defense falters just for a moment, and as Farah's spirit touches hers, the Egyptian and her opponent are connected.
But the vision she sees...
If a person is the sum of their experiences, then the lifetime of this woman is a dark formula indeed. The images are brief, fleeting, and not always delivered in the sense of words and images and sounds. Sometimes they are just impressions or ideas, thoughts and feelings. Hunger and anger, murderous rage, betrayal and fury. The feeling of not having eaten in a week. The knowledge that someone, somewhere, has brought you lower than you thought a person could ever go. The smile one finds on a predator. Dark streets and cold nights.
From the expression she makes, and the sudden catch of her breath, you'd think it was Farah who was struck by that blow.
The score was far from evened in that moment, but the Egyptian -- once she's had a moment to catch her breath and recover from the shock of that moment -- stands strong. She will see this through to the end. And, perhaps, because of all that suffering, there is a way in after all. "Everyone strives," Farah says quietly, head bowed, before it suddenly snaps up, the girl's gaze penetrating Brihan's own.
Now Farah is running across the sand, moving with a swift grace compared to the sudden, violent bursts her opponent prefers. "There's a better path for you!" is all she says, before suddenly pivoting on the landing of the nearest step and twisting to the side in a circular pattern, driving one open-palmed hand out toward Brihan's stomach before twisting into another circular step, striking a second time, and then finally twirling into a third position, striking out with both palms.
COMBATSYS: Farah successfully hits Brihan with Summer Storm.
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Brihan 0/-------/=======|=======\=====--\1 Farah
If Farah is struck by her vision, then for her own part Brihan could hardly seem less bothered by the return sensation. Inwardly, that connection carries an unsettling tone - but those overwhelming sensations that the Egyptian experiences? The total sum of her foe's existence? Such a lifetime toughens the spirit and the soul, or at least hardens them. The flatness of her stare is as much a defence as the worn, leathery flesh upon her forehead and the brittle cartilege of scar tissue across her nose.
The Anemoi's visage might come from a nightmare, but it is one Farah is willing to face. The two clash in the midst of the beach without further preamble, the girl's voice left to carry away on the wind, alone and unanswered, as Brihan drives in to meet her and finds herself struck by the first seeking palm. Teeth gritted, she bucks against the blow, all but hurling herself into the second and third strikes with two vigorous grunts that resound less than healthily deep in her aesophagus. The finale does drive her back, but she resists with equal force, /launching/ herself in against those retracting palms to speed her re-entry into Farah's personal space.
"What do you know of my path?" She is angry now, spitting the words, her ire raised. Burning with a palpable ferocity, her fangs bared in a ghastily rictus, she twists her brutally-conditioned torso and bends from the waist, throwing caution through the winds and into the lurking ocean current. Her only defence is her complete dedication to destruction, as she cranes her neck just enough to bring the top of her head careering into the delicate expanse of Farah's throat. Hard, unyielding bone strives to meet tender windpipe.
But this is only the beginning.
"Your power is as worthless as you are!!"
Rearing back from the crippling strike, counting on the opening she has created, Brihan cycles her hips and shoulders, turning an opposing arc as she retreats only to use the momentum to /explode/ back into proximity. Now standing at her full, not insignificant height, the dark-skinned woman thrusts her meteoric forehead forward with such speed and force that a violent swathe of dirty orange surrounds her from the shoulders up, bleeding from her bare skin before it is horribly, inevitably transferred to Farah. The totality of it strikes like a warhead, driven home by the very physical mass of her cranium in a serious effort to restructure the heroic girl's face.
And from behind the violence, that grin lurks. That anger lurks.
"You strive without meaning, when you can only hope to fail. Lie /down/, little mouse."
COMBATSYS: Brihan successfully hits Farah with Supergiant.
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Brihan 1/-------/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2 Farah
There is no escaping it. Not that Farah doesn't try, but soon enough she's hit with what feels like a meteorite strike, one that launches her across the beach to land on her back in the sand. Physically, it's the blow that is beyond her endurance, one that should lay her out unconscious for good. Never mind that the African woman's harsh words are just as nasty to endure as her fiery, vicious strikes. But Brihan doesn't know the events of the last few weeks. She doesn't know the grappling Farah has done with the nature of her own power and its relationship to the world. As she lies on her back in the sand, staring glass-eyed up at the night sky, doubt does creep into Farah's heart again.
Maybe you should stay down. Look where fighting got you. Perhaps you are a mouse, in the den with a lion.
Her eyes squeeze shut, wet at the corners. Her inner doubt flows together with borrowed, fractured memories of Brihan's, of a life that is nothing more than a series of furious, desperate amber and black streaks of light against a backround noise of the tide of blood in the ear. But it is that moment of connection that galvanizes the Soul Star back into action.
Slowly, unsteadily, she gets to her feet. Her voice is clear, if choked with fatigue and pain; she does not hide how hurt her body is, but refuses to let it diminish what she has to say. This woman... came from somewhere. Something made her like this.
And then she's standing tall, and unlike before, where the starry night sky-colored aura of her power was a faerie flame, now it is a halo, an incandescent expression of her power. It spills off her in sparks like stars shooting across a velvet sky. Her body may be broken, but Farah's will fights on undaunted.
"Come," she says to Brihan calmly, getting into stance. "I will show you that as long as I continue to strive, I will not fail."
COMBATSYS: Farah prepares to take her last stand against Brihan!
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Brihan 1/-------/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2 Farah
COMBATSYS: Farah focuses on her next action.
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Brihan 1/-------/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2 Farah
No - she knows no little of Farah's struggles, as in so many ways she knows little of any but her own. There is a fierce pride to his lioness; who has walked and hunted alone for much of her existence. Separated, at birth, from the pride. A lone wolf is one thing, rangy and quick, cunning and desperate to survive. But Brihan is an entirely different beast. Moving in measured steps through the dissipating bloom of her strike, stalking toward the downed girl, she does so with a measure of the same resolve that draws her prey to climb to her feet. Perhaps they share a similarity or two.
But that would be all. Whatever the Ethiopian warrior may have been, she is now a beast in truth. Her body and soul burn with a barely subdued passion for the kill as she closes in, her reply to Farah's patient bidding a laconic snap. Her verbosity is mitigated by brooding, boiling fury. "I'm coming." It's all she says, doing exactly and precisely that. Her pace quickens, slow steps becoming a rapid stride, but as she moves she drops to one side suddenly. A fiercely grasping hand comes up bearing a burden she should not be able to lift so casually - the heavy-coated body of the man who sat by the dead bonfire upon the beach. The man whose flame has been extinguished, like his partner's.
"Rrrrrgh--"
Driven by the searing mass of power barely constrained within her mortal flesh, Brihan slings herself forward as she lifts the broken, pitiful body aloft. The man's face becomes visible as his hood falls away, and two sets of eyes meet Farah's for a moment. The cold blaze of the Anemoi, and the utterly lifeless, void, lolling stare of the slaughtered man; who is, as it happens, barely more than a boy. His youthful, dismal face is visible only for a half-second before his entirety is consumed in a storm of smoky orange. Chi explodes from the woman's arms, and with a mighty swing she brings the corpse down toward Farah's waiting person.
"/RRRRRAGH/!!"
She feels no remorse in the action, willing her wrathful inner fire to spread from the dead unto the living without a single misgiving, given fully to the action of piledriving this girl's hopes and dreams - with the shattered remains of another's.
COMBATSYS: Farah reflects Aggressive Strike from Brihan with Soul Evocation EX.
- Power hit! -
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Brihan 1/---====/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2 Farah
The fiery weapon never reaches its target. Instead, from the ground around Farah, blue light erupts in a rough circle, reaching for the starry sky which its luminence so resembles. Lifeless, devoid of flame, the body Brihan so callously chose as a weapon drops to the sand, unharmed by the light. The African wielder of flame, however, is another story; the blue light seems to use the orange flame like a channel, reach out, drawing her in. And inside the center of the circle, Farah stares at her with a serene face, her feet lifting slightly off the ground.
Her normally violet-colored eyes are now the exact cobalt shade of her Soul Power, and when she speaks to the woman held fast in the grip of that shield of light, it echoes with harmonics that seem to pierce straight to Brihan's very soul.
"I have seen what is in your heart. But perhaps you have not seen what is in mine."
It's a daring new use of her powers, one she would not have had the courage to try before, but having been profoundly altered by her recent experiences, it is a gamble Farah is willing to take. If Soul Power connects hearts and minds, then assuredly it cannot only be one way. If she can hear the roar of fury in Brihan's heart, then perhaps Farah can share a little bit of herself in the same way.
What assaults Brihan is not the searing force of psychic power, but all of the joy and determination Farah feels simply for being alive, expressed in those same abstract terms. The images are fast and disjointed, feelings alone as often as they are pictures. The pain of feeling like you are so different, so disconnected, that you can only be alone... and the bittersweet joy of realizing that you are not alone. The warm, bright sun of the Mediterranean coast on a summer morning. The smiling faces of friends she's made. And most of all, the discovery that as long as you have the will to fight, there is always hope.
And in the 'real world', Farah brings her hands to her chest and clasps them together, eyes fixed on Brihan. "Sacred light, throw open the doors of the heart! Soul Evocation!"
The column of light flares, expands, and then disappears, hurling Brihan back the way she came even as Farah, exhausted and trembling, settles back onto the sand, taking deep breaths.
It would bring Brihan to her knees, were she in control of them. Her eyes simmer white-hot as she glares through the light-bound sheath, their darkest depths lit by the wondrous cobalt backdrop - and if these are, as they say, the eye to the soul, then the sorely tested psychic must surely have found the route to this terrible woman's heart. Yet still her lower lip curls in derision, still muscle visibly twitches in her arms as she silently fights the spell cast upon her. Love and beauty. Peace and serenity. Wonder and desire.
The dawn of happiness.
A lofty sum of imparted joys, none of which she would undoubtedly have considered hearing out should her limbs be unbound and her voice not stayed by this bizarre and curiously comforting stasis. Comforting, at least, to the part of her that is truly human; the tiny innermost place that cries out for everything that Farah extends in offering. Even the most monstrous of men have such a space within them, and the Anemoi are no different in this manner. Indeed, it is for the best. One must understand humanity completely in order to wreak the most destruction; men, themselves, do make the best monsters.
But for an instant at least, it seems this monster will be unmade. Released from her prison in a burst of cleansing, purifying blue, Brihan is flung across the beach to topple awkwardly, landing upon her back and flipping onto her side before she stills. Her breath comes ragged as this new breed of pain - couched in a conflict, a doubt, an uncertainy that she should not have in herself - works its astoundingly merry way through her body and her spirit. By the time the Egyptian has caught her own third wind, there is silence from across the shadowed sands. Eerie, forbidding silence.
It is soon broken by a low, coughing chuckle.
A gloved hand slams down, palmfirst in the sand, whipping up a torrent of granules that soon scatter on the chill wind. Which seems to blow just a little colder now. The chuckle becomes clearer, expressing clear and rigorous laughter that gains in pitch and volume as the leader of the Anemoi pushes herself upright, her shockingly white teeth bared against the black of her skin. The darkness that consumes her returns as though it were never diminished, as her cackling becomes sporadic and begins to subside. A hand runs back across her head, smoothing back dishevelled strands of hair, pushing down oiled strips of crimson and black.
"Oh, little mouse," her tone is distant and mocking, seized at its undertone by some kind of rapture as Brihan flings back her head, sighting Farah down the broken length of her nose, "My heart has never been closed. But I /thank you/!" She bites those words off with relish, tossing her head as she lifts her hands, closes them to fists and brings them pounding together before her breast. Coppery smoke erupts in a visceral bloom around them. "For opening my eyes to the absolute certainty of YOUR-- /FAILURE/!!"
Howling the last, spittle flecking from her lashing tongue, Brihan breaks into a headlong sprint, carrying the scream into a hellish warcry as she covers the distance to her prey in a pitch, red-streaked blur. Her fists end up thrown to either side as she leads with her forehead in a flawlessly frontal assault, striking with utter and complete abandon - once more for Farah's pretty, heavily tenderised features. Nose, mouth, eye; she doesn't even care.
COMBATSYS: Farah counters Hypernova from Brihan with Deneb Kaitos.
- Power hit! -
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Brihan 0/-------/----===|======-\-------\0 Farah
Surprisingly, it's over in almost the literal blink of an eye.
Brihan's assault comes head-first, and thus it is that what passes before the African's eyes, moments before she would make impact with her opponent and deliver that final, cruel blow, is a sweep of cloth the same color as the light that stopped her before. Farah's arm arcs through the air, the tails of her ribbon glowing brightly as they wrap around her opponent like the coils of a whip, redirecting her momentum in a circle around Farah as the two spin in a brief dance. With a second motion, Farah twists her arm away, the ribbon uncoiling and slingshotting the other away from her, a burst of Soul Power accompanying the gesture for good measure.
The final sweep of it all brings Farah's body carriage low, almost into a bow, before she stands up again. She would like to feel calm, serene; instead, she is exhausted and injured, having pushed her body past limits it should endure through the resilience of her will alone. But what does it say about Brihan's power that, rather than respond to the taunting that preceded this exchange, that Farah instead lurches forward, coughing blood onto the sand with a wet, ragged sound?
"Someday you will see," she says, voice an intense whisper. "Until then, I will perservere."
The berserker-woman's expression is priceless as she finds herself entrapped by such an innocuous, insignificant object as Farah's ribbon. To any lesser creature it would be humbling, brought low by the very opposite to their own breed of dangerous cruelty. Even the graceful pirouette that sends Brihan away is insulting by its very nature, that psychic energy flaring against a mind already fighting off its effects - and doing so apt a job that far from calming, far from taming the beast, it sends her into further conniptions.
She strikes the sand with a roar, spitting out the invasive granules as powerful muscles bunch and release to send her springing immediately upright. Dark eyes, once cool and detached, are now fixated upon Farah; the light of bloodlust within. Entirely ignorant of any mounting wear upon her body, contrary to the last, Brihan surges forward in brash, violent steps.
"Is this the limit of your strength?" Her thickly accented voice is a growl, teeth gnashing against each wrathful syllable. "Everything that you have?" Her fists raise, the leading hand quivering noticeably as she draws to an abrupt halt just a few feet hence of her agonised foe. A burning gaze regards Farah for a moment before the Anemoi emits a sharp, stomach-churning hiss. "I'm not /waiting/, you pitiful rodent! You want to persevere?! Then persevere-- NOW!!"
Her lungs are left bare by the gasped exclamation, and the dark-skinned woman twists as she hurls herself foreward, spinning through a complete rotation so quickly that she appears no more than a blur, the red streaks in her hair slicing virulent scars through what otherwise amounts to little more than a shadow. As she comes around, the full extension of her right arm brings down a thunderous hammer-blow, a bone-crushing backfist that - by itself - would be overkill. As would the initial eruption of foul, tainted chi.
But this is not a mercy blow. She means to cause this girl pain.
COMBATSYS: Farah fails to reflect Neutron from Brihan with Soul Reflect EX.
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Brihan 0/-------/--=====|====---\-------\0 Farah
COMBATSYS: Farah can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\ <
Brihan 0/-------/--=====|
And the pain comes. A moment after the strike should send the Egyptian plowing bodily into the compacted sand of Sound Beach, any chance of a concussion is compounded further by two further explosions - one after another, each resounding forth from the dissipation of the predecessor, driving Farah deeper and deeper. As the third and final blast tears at her beautiful, bruised body, Brihan springs away, back across the sands now shifting and flowing to fill a six-foot crater with their choking mass.
From behind it all, Brihan watches, the focused fury of her rage beginning to coil and die as she forcefully suppresses the worst of it. For whatever reason, it seems she will stay her hand from further assault, not reserving for the girl the sad fate of the two men who have already died this night. No, Farah will not die today. Not if she has the courage and the resolve to muster one last act of defiance from her worthless body. This is her chance to make her own future. Has she earned that much respect, has she reached the tender innermost of this monster, or is it mere curiousity that will see them meet again?
Ivory whites flash as the appointed leader of the Anemoi grins to herself, watching her handiwork for a lingering moment before she begins to turn and walk away into the darkness.
"Better start digging, little mouse."
That will stay Brihan Bogale's secret. For now.
Even the strongest spirit can only sustain the body for so long. In this case, Brihan may be hurting, but she has yet to rebound for unconsciousness yet... Farah, on the other hand, SHOULD have been on the ground a while ago. She would like to turn Brihan's dark power back on her a third time, but it is not to be. Even as Farah starts to move her arm, it is too late, and in short order she is on her back in a crater of sand that looks like a meteor hit it... and given the fiery nature of Brihan's powers, that's not too far from the truth.
The African's final warning is a dim awareness on the edge of Farah's perception as she clings to consciousness... heard, remembered later, but now just a collection of sounds.
As she stares upwards, vision clouded, Farah nonetheless sees the clear night sky overhead. Here on the edge of the city, the light pollution is less, and the numerous pinpoints of stars overhead seem to glitter in endless asterisms, shapes her fading awareness builds. She stood against it as long as she could, but now she is going to rest, intentionally or otherwise. There is strength she is going to need in the near future.
Her eyelids close, and Farah slips into unconsciousness troubled by nightmare visions.
Something dark is coming.
Log created on 19:28:17 01/28/2011 by Farah, and last modified on 22:00:21 02/12/2011.