Description: In the aftermath of Vega's attack on Elias's shelter, it is only natural that Shadaloo continues to take some interest in the enterprise. After all, only by crushing the last bit of hope from the residents of Sunshine City, can Shadaloo's goals be met. When Marz's attempt to solve this problem with words fails, she finds herself encountering a true hero in the form of Amy, the wandering templar. The life of a child hangs in the balance, as Marz does her best to send a strong message to all would-be heroes, about the value of hope.
The skies over Outer Sunshine are grey and gloomy on this day, casting a depressant pall across the dilapidated streets - in particular, over a particular shining jewel in the district's crown. The shelter owned by one Elias Patrick. It is a gem whose lustre has faded of late, the diligently restored woodwork splintered, bricks crushed and crumbled. The vestiges of a horrifying power cling still to the ruined building, the outer shell bearing an imposing tone, whilst the inside of the building - reduced to a single storey following the collapse of the second floor - is darker still. The door swings upon its hinges, thumping and banging as it is buffered by the foul weather.
There was little hope for the shelter's humble denizens in the face of such an unearthly might as Vega. Though perhaps, one that is entirely /too/ earthly. A nature so demonic can only arise from a heathen betrayal of purpose. Because it is so often true, that of all the monsters that have stalked the planet's face, man is the most terrible.
Still. Faith springs eternal from the hearts of the stalwart, carrying with it the power to restore that deemed lost. To this end, a raven-haired woman picks her way through the debris inside, lending a pair of strong hands to assist in clearing aside the wreckage. Only a husk of the Father's dream remains alive; but a husk, with belief, can be enough. In spite of the apparent tragedy, she wears a calm, stoic expression as she shifts through the rubble to make space for a collection of makeshift beds. Nearby, a gaggle of expectant, innocent faces await, watching with quietened awe as a lonely pair of adults fights to keep alive the dwindling flame of their lives.
Amy breathes a sigh as she finishes piling fallen beams to one side, glancing up at the fragile ceiling. Tarpaulin flaps in the breeze that infests the charred building, the accompanying cold only dimly countered by the old-fashioned stove in one corner. A kettle begins to boil, warbling a rallying cry as the Templar looks across to the woman she is assisting; a plump little thing, all kindly smiles and motherly hands made calloused by their work. They are opposite sides of a coin, yet working together... the feeling is beautiful.
"I'll finish here, why don't you fix some drinks for the children?"
The matron nods, smiling at the younger woman as she wearily bustles toward the corner, gathering cups and spoons from a box of salvaged utensils. Amy glances toward the group of youngsters, some of whom engage almost silently in play, others whispering amongst themselves, and catches the eye of one; a cherubic boy at the front of the group, bright blue eyes shining as he returns her gaze. Perched atop the picturebook curls upon his brow is a crushed velvet cap that is far too large for him. It is Amy's, and it makes her smile.
Rolling her aching shoulders, she turns back to her work. There is much yet to do.
Man is the most terrible monster, but were the actions of Vega those of a demon, or those of a savior?
Certainly, for the average mind, it would be hard to process the destruction of the shelter as anything other than a tragedy. But for Marz, it would be unthinkable to do that. Lord Vega had an interest in the denizens of this backwards little town, and their sacrifice could help to bring about a glorious new age. An age where, united under Vega's iron rule, humanity could finally put aside its differences. In the name of everlasting peace, what price would be too high to pay?
The purple-haired Doll has been assigned to ... watch the reconstruction effort, and use her judgment in handling it. Dressed in casual clothing, a loose-fitting black t-shirt and jeans, it is only the fact that she is wearing a bluetooth headset and is wearing a tough backpack which marks her out from the crowd. Clearly showing that she is someone who has money, where the others in this area clearly do not.
She has noted the arrival of Amy Johnson, sometimes contender in the Neo League and other fighting events, with some interest. Her files on the girl are sparse. She recollects some basic facts about what /seemed/ to be Johnson's fighting style, but she didn't recall seeing any field reports. So she couldn't be certain of the girl's strength. But there is hope being restored to the lives of Sunshine City's lowest, despite the absence of their so-important Priest and his ward.
Hope, is not part of the plan.
Marz looks young, but, she carries herself with a bearing far in advance of her years, and, drawing a clipboard out from her backpack, she makes her way over to the matron with a very stern expression. Looking up at the tarpaulin, and then to the cracked walls. "Excuse me." She says, "I am with the city council. This building is clearly structurally unsound. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Must the actions of demon and saviour be considered so different? There is but a small step between the two, a single slip upon the ladder of virtue forming the dividing line. Good and evil are not truly so different; the difference, perhaps, is that one merely has the power to say 'no'.
The arrival of Marz is unexpected, and draws a murmur of subdued panic from the already frightened children - the ill sensation doubtless aided by the lingering motes of that dread dictator's energy, and the accompanying spike in such as the Doll inserts herself. It's the sort of subtle effect that all may feel, deep within their souls, but it takes a true master of the mysterious form to register this change. Let alone comprehend its meaning. Amy is the smallest, most insignificant blip upon the radar, and such understanding is far beyond her capabilities. As the frightfully mature adolescent crosses the bounds of the shelter, she draws but a curious glance.
It quickly grows suspicious.
"Oh my..." The soft, middle-aged nursemaid breathes as she is accosted, attention darting across to the Templar with a look that begs for pity even as it seeks to assume an air of responsibility. At a nod from the younger woman, she straightens up, puffing out her substantial chest and responding to Marz with a haughty efficience unfortunately compromised by her show of nerves. "These children have nowhere else to go! Will the city give them somewhere else to live? You know, if it wasn't for Father Patrick and Mr. Towazu, you--"
"Excuse /me/."
Suddenly, Amy's crisp tone rings out across the windswept, rubble-strewn floor. After slicing the air with that last syllable, she releases her burden - a bent, metal-framed bed, with an immediacy that is alarming for the jarringly dissonant ring of rusted iron that follows. Arching her back upward, rising to her full height - which is a great deal taller then the Doll - she strides over to the conversing pair and interposes herself with a graceful swing of the hips, planting both boots firm to the ground as she stares down at the sixteen year old with hard, stormy eyes.
"We're caring for these children in the absence of their benefactor - do you truly think we'd be doing that if we believed we were placing them in further danger? Every second building in this area is structurally unsound. And those that aren't will become so in time. These walls will hold as they always have; because the people within will work to maintain them. In the meantime, please, either help us to help them," she nods toward the opposite wall, where Elias' wards are now completely silent, staring at the scene with mixed expressions of worry and fear, "Or take your red tape elsewhere. It's not wanted."
Marz regards the matron with the cold, dispassionate eyes of someone who, really, could not care less. It isn't that the girl has no capacity for caring. She does. If these were her sisters, or a select group of other human beings, she would not be doing this. But she does not know these children. They are, in her eyes, entirely irrelevant in the broader scheme of things. Where Cammy had some capacity to love, to care for the lives of others, perhaps Marz is more frightening in this regard. They are not needed for Lord Vega's plans. They are unnecessary. They have no purpose.
The doll actually flinches when Amy's voice rings out. A look of irritation passing over her features, as she turns to face the taller fighter. She listens, silently, and her eyes slide to pass over the children who huddle in fear of her. Marz's irritation is clear, and, with a single rap, her pencil tip bounces off the clipboard. Sharp.
"Your intentions." She states, slowly, carefully pronouncing each word. "Are not my concern. Where these children go, is not my concern. What happens to them after they have vacated these premises, is not my concern. In short. Whether you are trying to do the right thing or not, whether you believe these children will die, cold and alone in the streets, or not, I. Do not. Care."
Her gaze turns back to the matron. "I am certain that the actions of Mr. Patrick and Mr. Towazu are very commendable. However. The fact remains that in accordance with city statute nine seven four slash b, I am not permitted to allow children, or anyone else for that matter, to remain inside a building which is not structurally sound."
She turns back to the Templar, then, and ... a nasty smile pulls on her lips. Thin and unpleasant. "I am aware that this means the majority of the buildings in the area. If I had my way, they would all be bulldozed. For now, I am concerned only with this one."
Whilst the cross about Amy's neck proclaims the nature of her faith, she has never been one to abide by every one of its teachings. She is - in short - far from being a perfect Christian, though there are many who would call this fitting. A fact in keeping with her duties as a Knight Templar, a sect who have ever been controversial in their religious standing. This does not keep her from guilt, and yet guilt does not keep her from anger either; and as Marz continues to speak, a fist coils at her side, the pressure of her knuckles turning straining skin to a fierce white glow.
She serves enough masters; she will not bow before such a petty authority. Figures are rattled off, that cold stare drifts back and forth before alighting upon her once more. And... that smile. Her own lips curl in response, derisive, disgusted, as though she has sucked upon the most rancid and bitter of fruits.
"'This one'," she responds, echoing the careless nominitive through clenched teeth, barely keeping her temper in check, "Is under the protection of a force much greater than you or I. I suggest you keep that in mind before you speak again." And if she does not fail at bridling her anger, she certainly is unable to contain it inwardly. The wind howling through the building seems to chill further, carrying upon its turbulence a trace of filmy gray-white, tendrils billowing through the air and glancing off the walls only to twist and turn in unnatural shapes. The atmosphere noticeably thickens.
"I-I believe I have things to attend to..."
Quivering and uncertain, that comes from the poor matron, who bears a frightful expression as she brushes past the Templar and heads toward the children. Pitching her voice at a whisper, she can only dimly be heard telling them they will have to leave, flicking her hands finally at the ravaged doors. Bidding them to hurry along, to avoid the wrath of this heartless councillor. Just as the throng begins to depart, Amy's voice rings out again.
"Stop! We're not leaving." Dark eyes flicker back to Marz. "She is." Breathing slowly outward, Amy casts a glance to the floor and pans back up along the Doll's dimunitive frame, scanning for.. something. It's a little hard to read, beneath the still-shining edge of her barely-tethered, leonine ferocity. "I don't even know your name, you've shown no identification, presented no warrant. There's not a line separating the two of us from the most common of thugs upon the city streets. Leave, /now/, before I start to act like them."
There is, after all, nothing legally binding her to this place. Her actions will be upon her own head.
And there is a savage satisfaction in that fact. Her fist quivers at her side, betraying the emotion.
Marz's brow quirks upwards. She is, despite not often caring about it, very good at reading people. It doesn't take a psychiatrist to see that Amy is angry. What is interesting, is how this rage manifests on the world. Her eyes drift from the disgusted expression, to the clenched fist, to those misty vapors. Fascinating.
"I know who you are, Ms. Johnson."
The words are spoken cooly, with the same dispassion that Marz has shown towards everything thus far. She does not seem intimidated, despite Amy's greater size and obvious attempt to strongarm her out of the area. She does not even address the fact that she has not shown any identification. She doesn't feel the need to.
But the children are looking hopeful again. Amy's words have brought a glimmer of hope against the darkness that Marz represents, and that disgusts her.
"You are a fighter. Registered to 'Team Tanuki' for the King of Fighters tournament. You profess a Christian faith, which I am interested to see squared with this thuggish response to rightful authority. I presume that you mean God looks after these people. That is your 'higher force' yes?"
Marz's unpleasant smile is now downright mocking. Her stance is utterly relaxed, her clipboard falling to her side, arms dangling loose. There's little indication that she could even defend herself, aside from the fact that presumably, she wouldn't be so suicidal as to tempt Amy if she wasn't capable of responding in some sense. Her eyes pierce into Amy's. Challenging. And very, very cold.
"Ms. Johnson, there are children present. What kind of example are you going to set? That it is right to solve all your problems through violence? Don't be a fool. There is no force, on Earth or in Heaven, which can prevent this. Take, your filthy urchins, and leave. You cannot win."
There is a confounding dichotomy in the outward appearance of Marz, balanced against the message that her words convey, with the likewise harsh and unsettling depths of her eyes. Amy meets them without fear, tossing her head as she further emboldens her own stare, dark waves of hair whipping against her shoulders, grazing past the rounded edge of her own unreadable irises. Her passion may be clear in part, but her intent - whether she means to give fight or flight? That much is unclear as she absorbs the cowing words of the Doll.
"Should I be afraid," she murmurs quietly, dropping her gaze for a moment at the implication she is battling for a lost cause, "Of /research/?" She spits the word as though it were most abhorrent, all but hissing as she twitches forward perhaps an inch, drawing a fraction closer to Marz. "That you know who I am only tells me that you've deliberated over this, and it only proves there is no immediate danger to these children save that which you bear. Do you expect me to back down simply because you've proven your actions today are premeditated?"
She snorts, glancing toward the group now being tended to by her gentle, motherly counterpart. Regarding them a moment, she flicks open her fist, relieving her fingers with a supple flex as she brings the hand to her fore, the other clasping it at the wrist. A sardonic half-smile tugs at one corner of her mouth. "I'll tell you what kind of example I'm going to set."
"I'm going to show them," she turns back to the objectionable adolescent, stormy eyes brewing now with a raging fire, "That there is always hope. You're right when you call me a fighter. I've never been comfortable with that term; but perhaps I should be. It's /what I am/. And if that makes me a mere brute, incapable of caring for such innocent lives, then so shall it be. But I will not allow them to be bullied, I will not see those lives destroyed because a stinking bureaucrat deems them less important than rules and regulations!"
"I will allow God to judge me--"
It's sudden, a whiplash motion that sees her bucking forward, swaying from the hip and launching off powerful leg muscles to hurl a vicious haymaker straight for the smug, condescending face of the Doll. The challenge is accepted; and whether the girl can handle herself or not, the Templar does not hold back.
"And /I/ will judge /you/!"
~Forgive me, Father...~
COMBATSYS: Amy has started a fight here.
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Amy 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Marz has joined the fight here.
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Amy 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Marz
COMBATSYS: Marz dodges Amy's Fierce Punch.
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Amy 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Marz
Marz is not surprised by Amy's reaction. It was, within acceptable parameters. Pretty much what she expected to happen. She steps, neatly, to the side of the lunging strike, her clipboard dropping. The Templar flies right past her, her fist smashing through the universal sign of the administrator, shattering the cardboard and sending shredded papers flying everywhere.
"I do not care for your judgment." Marz states, touching her finger, briefly, against the bluetooth headset. Alerting her people that she has engaged an enemy, and may require extraction. Because no matter what the outcome, Marz is determined not to wind up in a prison cell, and despite her cool demeanor, she's still not precisely certain what Amy is actually capable of.
"Hope. Is such an awful thing. It makes people weak. Vulnerable. Makes them happy to wait for another to do their work, to save them."
Marz steps backwards, and her eyes are narrowed. Intently focused on the Templar, she continues talking, but her mind is already running. Calculating trajectories, the speed with which Amy had moved, the implicit strength in her form, those misty tendrils from earlier. Marz's brain is a strange place to inhabit right now. Monologing on the wrongness of hope, whilst trying to determine the exact odds of her defeating a fighter she knows next to nothing about.
"You are lying to these children. They will never have the strength you have. They will never have your gifts. If they stay here, they are just delaying the inevitable. Your actions are more evil than mine. Because they come cloaked in the form of someone who cares. I, do not pretend to care. If they want to live, they will need to work for it. That is the truth. That is life. Anything else, is temporary. Can, and will, be taken away."
COMBATSYS: Marz calculates her next move.
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Amy 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Marz
Though feeling the harsh bite of reinforced board disintegrating against her knuckles, Amy is not distracted enough that she does not pay due attention to the precision and skill behind the Doll's accompanying evasion. She was prepared for this eventuality - proving that she is not a simple administrator, certainly not by the standards of the small, deemed-insignificant crowd watching. And yet neither does she resonate with a howl against the flaring senses of the Templar. It's actually hard to feel anything from the girl.
"Hope is all that some people have." The Templar responds clearly as she draws back from her hapless strike, pulling with a drifting snap into a loose, easy warrior's stance. The heavy material of her jacket is borne without concern - there is strength in her mostly-concealed frame. "But with care and attention, they might turn that spark into potential beyond anything yet realised. Without this shelter, without people like the Father, and this woman-" she jerks her head toward the matron, without removing her gaze from Marz, "-whose strength is far greater than my own, these children may never know /what/ they can be."
They are not the only ones dealing with the unknown. And as one fighter calculates, the other weighs her own mental scales, attempting through the struggles of a rather more mundane brain to determine the very nature of her own opponent. Not a single thing has been given away, save that she possesses a certain quality that only the Templar can hope to match. They possess... strength. Strength leads to temptation, and such temptation can only be refused by the good. That tells her something else.
"In the here and now, the only person trying to take that away is you."
Yet, what does this make Amy?
"Perhaps you should have done your research better. Because I won't allow it!"
The stray, distracting thought is brushed aside in the same motion that drives her determination to crash full-bored into this sinister creature before her. The power of the earth rises at the Templar's command as she steps into a dynamic pirouette, leaping off the ground as she comes around, the drifting mist clinging to her athletic frame. A leg rises into the air, scything high with a breath-taking rush, that gathered, ethereal energy billowing out around the strike only to explode in a broad, sweeping swathe.
The resulting projectile is vague, indistinct tendrils of swept mist barely clinging to the shimmering, hazy form of the raven-haired woman's will as she lands upon her feet, seamlessly dropping into a stance whilst her summoned force seeks to breach this bureaucrat's prickling defences. Mere paces away, wide, innocent eyes of moisture-glinting sapphire watch as hope soars on broken wings.
COMBATSYS: Amy successfully hits Marz with Raven's Wing.
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Amy 0/-------/------=|====---\-------\0 Marz
Perhaps it is the indistinct nature of the projectile which makes it difficult for Marz to deal with. The girl ducks down, and starts to roll away from the attack. But it isn't quite enough. The energy smashes into Marz's ducked form, and she grunts. The blow is enough to confirm in her mind that the fighter is beyond her. This, is not entirely unexpected. Despite her training, Marz is still not precisely a professional. She could deal with some, but not many.
That said, she's not willing to back down from the fight. Not yet. What would Lord Vega think if she was willing to run away just because the odds of her winning are roughly one in twenty?
Suddenly, Marz is lunging forwards. The girl completes the roll which had been interrupted, and comes up with one sharp foot leading the way, aiming to crash into Amy's chin.
Regardless of whether or not that hits, she'll continue to kick out, over and over, as she dances around the woman. Any doubts about whether or not she was a fighter are probably dispelled in that one single move. There's no more words from her, either. Her entire being committed completely to the fight at hand.
She's determined not to let Lord Vega down. These children need to learn that there is no chance of their saviors coming for them, no chance of anyone standing up to them. She /needs/ a display of power right now. It's just that already, she's uncertain that she's going to be able to deliver that display.
COMBATSYS: Marz successfully hits Amy with Fantastic Footwork.
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Amy 0/-------/----===|====---\-------\0 Marz
A bright smile gleams from across the room as that faintly screaming projection of the Dragon finds fleeting purchase. Behind it, the lady knight tightens her resolve, neither seeing the gesture from her cherubic supporter nor possessing the psychic tools to feel his spirit lift. A hand rises, fingers curled, brushing near to her lips as she watches Marz rise through the scattering veil of drifting energies. There is little time to prepare for what follows - it is not a tardy motion, by any means, that skilled combat roll.
"No...!"
It's half-hissed, half-gritted by Amy as she meets the incoming foot with but a sliding backstep, her right boot catching against a chunk of fallen plaster and causing a falter in her stance that costs her dearly. The initial blow is stunning, causing a burst of feedback inside the Templar's skull that makes further efforts worthless; she is prone to the entire barrage, form twisting this way and that as she simply does her best to weather the assault. No, there is doubt about what Marz is, but not about what she isn't; weak.
"I will not--"
As the last kick lands with a crisp, concussive impact, it is met by abruptly seizing hands, dextrous fingertips glancing upwards and aiming to secure upon the retreating ankle. Stormy blue eyes flare defiance as the raven-haired woman seeks to close her grasp and then turns from the waist, leading with her centre into a wide, swinging sidestep that will carry her around to Marz's flank, dragging that captured limb with her. "Lie--" Her own foot glances outward to disrupt what little balance the Doll will have remaining, and with this done Amy follows through with her spin, using considerable - perhaps surprising - physical strength as she hauls the girl through the air toward the hard, unforgiving metal of the shelter's stove.
"/DOWN/ FOR YOU!"
Breathing hard, she gathers herself as she whips a glance toward the gathered brood, frame pouring back into her accustomed stance as the mists coil thicker and more tightly around her. "Get them out of here," is her quiet, firm order to the fretting nursemaid. She has tasted what Marz is capable of. Whoever she may truly be serving, she is right in saying that this is no place for children; not until this is over.
COMBATSYS: Marz dodges Amy's Strong Throw.
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Amy 0/-------/----===|====---\-------\0 Marz
Marz is already moving, which no doubt helps. As Amy lunges for her hand, the girl is already drawing it backwards, and the Templar's grasp closes on nothing at all. Suddenly, though, she's standing up. Narrowing her eyes at the children, it is her turn to raise her voice.
"NO."
It's a harsh bark, so unlike the calm, mocking tone she'd used earlier. "They do not leave. Not until they've seen what happens to people like /you/."
The girl's voice is an ugly hiss, and she glares at Amy. Every inch of her is coiled, tense. She /hates/ this. She hates having to solve all of her problems with violence. Why couldn't this simple ejection go as planned? She wants to report a success back to Lord Vega. It's been so long since she was able to just give him an unmitigated success. Something without qualifications or ifs or buts. She hates it. HATE.
It's, not exactly teleportation. Marz does actually move past Amy, but, it's, blindingly fast. Suddenly, she's on the other side of the Templar, holding up her hand. Her back turned to the woman, and still just as tense as she had been when making her demand...
COMBATSYS: Amy fails to interrupt Psi-Ripper from Marz with Wyrm Waker.
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Amy 0/-------/-======|====---\-------\0 Marz
Marz lets her hand drop back to her side, and then it becomes clear what has happened, as a purple blade of energy becomes visible, before spluttering out of existence.
Amy's clothes across her torso suddenly rip, and there's a splatter of blood. The sharp edge of Marz's power having slashed deep into the Templar, all of her hatred and power having flown out of her at once.
The Doll's sneer is back, nasty, as she looks to the stunned children. "You can run, now."
They do as commanded, the matron's plaintive cry far from a necessity as the band of troubled urchins moves almost as one. The single tiny shape that remains behind is that of Amy's stalwart young supporter, reaching up to inadvertently dislodge the beret from his head as he stands and watches his newfound heroine crumple to her knees. Her windmilling arms have only opened her more widely to the devastating slash of psychic energy, which crashes against her screaming soul with a dawning familiarity to go with the otherwise blinding pain. She has felt it before...
She has even felt the same /taint/ that it bears. Still she cannot make the connection with the stuff that clings to this ruined building, to that which has wreaked so much destruction, but the first inkling has begun at the back of her agonised mind. Tears spring unbidden to her eyes and cascade down her cheeks, as a wellspring of fiercely blended disappointment and rage bubbles up from within. Through watery, bloodshot eyes she spots the boy staring at her, and bites back a curse.
"Run! I'll be okay! I..."
The words die on her lips as Amy draws one knee up, then the other, pushing herself upright with a gasp and turning to face Marz, back buckled and breathing laboured. She finishes the sentence as she pulls her arms up with a tightly controlled grunt, a proud shake of the head scattering the teardrops from her face. "I promise."
Marz turns to face Amy, and the disgust she feels is written all over her features. The doll is still uncertain what to make of the power she had felt from the Templar. She knows she is vulnerable, that a few solid hits would bring her down. But she also knows that her anger gave her strength. Her determination to serve Lord Vega would assist her. She could draw on it. Account for it. She could also play on Amy's weakness.
"Making more promises that you can't keep." She spits. Her hands falling to her sides, her feet dig into the ground, displacing some rubble, and she casts a fleeting look at the boy, before giving Amy all of her attention.
"You have disrupted my operation. Your, interference, was not accounted for. You are an, unwanted variable." None of this probably means an awful lot to Amy, but Marz wants to get it out. To verbalize her frustration, as though this will somehow help her, steel her resolve perhaps.
"Because of that. You will be punished. If you do not run, I will kill the boy. In front of you. And, as you realize how helpless you are before real power, I will kill you, too. As a message to Towazu and Patrick. They must learn that their actions are not assisting anyone. In the long run, they are just creating more pain. Real power, will not be denied."
COMBATSYS: Marz gains composure.
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Amy 0/-------/--=====|===----\-------\0 Marz
Variables. Statistics. Statutes. Rules and regulations.
Despite the soul-searing, psychologically demanding power that this dimunitive warrior evidently wields, it is becoming horribly clear to the Templar precisely how little emotion she herself possesses. How does one appeal to the qualities of such a creature? How can one even purport to stop them? The truly unfeeling may continue not to feel as they are battered and broken, left devastated in a pool of blood they will continue to rise. This is a determination far from the passionate, brooding depths of the Templar's own. It almost causes her to hesitate, to consider her options.
But the truth is that she has none.
Amy breathes out slowly, her lungs and throat quivering as her chest deflates. She knows that she can withstand more punishment even from this dreadful energy, yet what she does /not/ know is how far the threats of this curious, deadly seeming-girl extend. Will she murder in the name of her masters? Clearly there is no city council at work here, or such an ultimatum would not even be delivered. But what is it that drives her, and how is it connected to her own path? All she can say for certain is that her path cannot end here. She must survive; for Father Elias, for Sunshine City, and for this one solitary child.
Sometimes it is the smallest things that make the greatest difference.
"Your 'operation'?" It's echoed in wonderment, the Templar canting her head to one side as she circles around the Doll, quite deliberately placing herself between her and the child who remains in place, now having scooped up the beret and holding it clutched to his tiny, bony ribs. "I've interfered in nothing, save the fate of a few children considered worthless by a hard and unforgiving world. What do their lives mean to you and yours, that you would seize them away so readily? Besides..." She closes her hands to fists, knuckles cracking as she twists her wrists faintly inward, driving the motion home.
"If you have the means and desire to kill them, if that fits the parameters of your /mission/, you will do so whether I stand or fall. Again," she draws her chin up, sighting down the length of her faintly freckled nose, the essence of a champion playing in her stormy gaze, "I say no. I will not lie down; I will not run away. If I cease to stand before you, it seems their happiness and their lives are forfeit. If I am so helpless, then /sweep me aside/."
As she utters the last, a hand lashes forward and outward, a backhand striking at nothing but the drifting mists as it falls metres short of the Doll. But with it, the raven-haired woman spreads her stance, sinking deeper into powerful legs as all around, grey-white swathes draw about the confines of the shelter, carrying with them a curious moist warmth that was not present before. Amy's lips twist into a sneer of her own as she deepens her focus.
"Prove your power, you hateful whelp."
COMBATSYS: Amy draws upon the Dragon's Breath.
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Amy 0/-------/-======|===----\-------\0 Marz
Marz allows herself to relax. Much of the tension flowing out of her as she does her best to center herself. "I am allowed certain privileges." She says, as though carrying on a perfectly normal conversation. Discussing the upsides of her work. She certainly doesn't act like any sane sixteen year old girl, that much should be painfully obvious. "Within the scope of my mission, I am allowed leeway to exercise my judgment. What strategem to employ in the name of the overarching objective."
One hand is raised, and it glows purple again. This time, her power is gathered into the palm of her hand. Glowing there, her eyes meet Amy's. Her physical stance has little to do with the cold hatred that burns in those orbs. Unfeeling is a good word for Marz. Unlike some of Vega's minions, she takes no pleasure in the suffering of others. At least, not most others. Instead, her emotions are muted enough across the board that she is simply willing to do, what she believes she must. Whether that is to nurture a cat to help the togetherness of her fellow Dolls. Or the cold-hearted murder of a child in order to send a message to the so-called heroes determined to keep hope alive in these slums.
It's not personal; just business. But Amy is getting in the way of her business, and she hates her for that.
Suddenly, her hand whips out, and with it, the bright orb of power goes too. Shot from her palm, about the size of a tennis ball, the orb ricochets around the room, bouncing off the floor and ceiling before coming in for Amy's center mass. It's not particularly strong, as these things go, but if it connects, it'll be a stinging punch to the gut, the same hateful energy that had torn at her earlier. All the while, Marz herself is moving around to the side, putting herself directly in front of the oven of the orphanage.
COMBATSYS: Marz successfully hits Amy with Psiball.
- Power hit! -
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////// ]
Amy 1/------=/=======|====---\-------\0 Marz
"Murder is not a privilege."
The reply comes cold and terse, torn from Amy's lungs with quiet disgust as she submerges further in the clammy heat of the Dragon's Breath. Her gaze narrows upon Marz, as in the girl's statement comes final and conclusive evidence that she is a fiend without humanity. That sparking, scathing energy that also infected Farah Tenjou played first testament to that fact, that it would steal the vitality and plainly-worn passion from such a woman before the very eye of the beholder. Here it is again, wielded with clinical disregard. It turns the Templar's stomach, bristles the tiny hairs on the back of her neck.
And then it is coming toward her again, rebounding off the walls, playing havoc with the vestigial field of power left in the wake of Vega, shuddering the ruined walls of the building, scattering plaster and rubble down upon the tragic scene that surrounds the battling women. Flakes of devastation interfere with the sight, and Amy's reaction comes too slow as she struggles against so many mounting interferences. Though perhaps she is simply not ready for the power that Marz wields; not when it is so controlled, so calculating. The tightly wound ball strikes her /hard/, driving her back toward the doorway and the waiting child. It is only instinct that sees Amy drive her heels in deep, coming to a sudden halt as she roars out, dropping down low for an instant...
And then, she is suddenly in front of Marz, covering the distance between them with her battle cry still dying on the air. Before the stove she thrusts her arms out, two palms driving with palpable force against the fog-strewn air. Her eyes find the Doll's, blazing with righteous indignation as she steels herself against this newfound fury. In her own wake come torrents of grey-white tendrils, streaming in twisting arcs over her shoulders and past her hips, lashing out to hammer the dimunitive monster from head to toe.
"But the chance to live... that is a right!"
COMBATSYS: Amy successfully hits Marz with Stormwitch.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////// ]
Amy 1/-----==/=======|=======\-------\0 Marz
Marz has no time for righteousness; the only power worth anything is the power people have themselves. Hard won, coming from within. It doesn't truly matter how much you want something, or how much you feel something is right. It only matters that you are able to grasp it.
But, she is taken by surprise by the strange nature of the attack. Convinced that Amy would try and punch her, Marz leaps... only to be caught by those lashing tendrils. She is picked up, and bodily hits the oven with a resounding thud. The girl hits the floor hard, and for a moment, it seems like Amy might have even won. She doesn't seem to be in a hurry to get back up, at least.
And then, suddenly, she is. Not a word escapes the girl's clenched teeth as she throws herself at the Templar. The attack is somewhat clumsy, but she has the element of surprise on her side, as she aims to grab hold of Amy by the collar, and pitch her at the oven as hard as she can. There's a surprising amount of strength in Marz, given her size, and all of it is used in a strong overhead throw. The oven has already been dented by her diminutive form. If she has her way, she'll break the damn thing with Amy's smug face!
COMBATSYS: Amy blocks Marz's Strong Throw.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////// ]
Amy 1/----===/=======|=======\-------\1 Marz
Despite her often shaky judgement in the heat of battle, the Templar does practice a style that lends itself well to such ponderous manouevres. Though she appears over-extended, leading with both arms and feet gripping forcefully to the ground to prevent her from flying further forwards, she is able to easily sink her posture and rotate into a variety of positions by leading from the centre. A fact she demonstrates aptly as Marz lunges back in, able to quite easily grasp that heavy jacket and haul Amy toward her.
But halfway through the motion, there is a gentle shift in momentum, a rotation from the Templar drawing her left arm halfway out of her garment, seeing it fly loose as she continues twisting and bends her legs upward, further and further overhead until she lies almost parallel with the crumbling wall behind. Her rotation completes as she should strike the unrelenting metal, and her legs come down with a rush of parting air. Rather than blasting bodily into the stove, she completes a flip and lands as though a perched bird, coiling her entire body weight downward.
The effort winds her, momentarily, the accompanying shockwave is almost enough to make her dizzy. But a swift breath is enough to recover - and she leaves the stove with but another pair of dents as she /thrusts/ herself back toward Marz, utilising her gathered momentum to explode forth and upward, aiming to land upon the Doll's shoulders with canvas-clad thighs clapping around her neck. And she then she flips again, but this time she draws her opponent with her, bringing her hands around toward the ground, whipping out to clap calloused palms against the dusty tiles as she aims to forcefully drive that calculating skull into the waiting stovefront.
COMBATSYS: Marz blocks Amy's Strong Throw.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////// ]
Amy 1/----===/=======|=======\=------\1 Marz
Marz's eyes go momentarily wider. Her mind runs through a dozen different potential responses in a fraction of a second. In the end, she sees what she must do. The knees close around her neck, and she allows herself to be lifted up off the ground. But, as she is brought down, her arms close over her head, and she takes the shock of the blow on her forearms. Then, in one twisting motion, she flips away and out of the Templar's grip.
"You, annoy me, Ms. Johnson." She says, clipping the words tightly.
And then she's lashing out. Her foot aims to smash on top of Amy's, crushing down on top of her foot, hoping to hamper her movement, before her fist lashes out to crash into Amy's throat. If both of these hit, she'll leap backwards, putting that little bit more distance between herself and Amy that she needs to be able to take advantage of her primary talents.
COMBATSYS: Amy dodges Marz's Combo Attack.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////// ]
Amy 1/----===/=======|=======\-------\1 Marz
Distance is the one thing that Amy cannot allow her opponent. Proximity is key to preventing harm to the child who waits nearby, and his peers who assuredly lurk just outside of the building - of their home, their safe haven so savagely assaulted and now invaded by a cold, efficient form of evil. The equation, for the Templar, is simple. She need only ensure that she survives, that she lives to interpose herself between the Doll and her would-be prey. In short, she must /be/ the prey, she must be the sacrifice.
Which is no way precludes evasive action on her part. It must simply be subtle. So it is that as she spins back to her feet, fingers of one hand brushing the ground for the all-important illusion of balance as she settles back onto her haunches and then rises, she draws her focus inward - maintaining the centre as her focus. Remembering her training. Those clipped words graze against senses absorbed in other activity, and as Amy stands she is prepared.
"Good," she replies tersely as her own foot glances backwards, Marz's stomp barely nudging against rough leather. The follow-up up punch is avoided with similar aplomb, a raised hand diverting it as the Templar steps in and around, bringing herself deep within the girl's guard. Stormy eyes glare askance at the Doll as Amy unfolds an arm, lashing out with a stinging backhand, knuckles primed to crash into the edge of the windpipe. "Because I /despise/ you. You would slay the innocent without cause or regret..."
She snaps her arm back and turns smoothly, maintaining a guard. "You would kill me without so much as giving your name."
Pivoting easily, she lashes out with a low hooking kick, trying to take the Doll from her feet.
"Who are you, murderer?"
COMBATSYS: Marz parries Amy's Light Kick!
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////// ]
Amy 1/----===/=======|=======\=------\1 Marz
Marz nods her head, simply. "Yes. I would." She states, though, she raises one eyebrow sharply at Amy's question. She can't help but feel that this is some sort of trick. Amy has /just/ said that she would kill her without telling her her name.
" ... Why would I ever tell you?"
And then she's being kicked. Perhaps this is the trick? Whatever it is, Marz seems to see it coming. The girl leaps along with the low kick, and her foot steps neatly on Amy's knee. There's no pain, but the Templar's leg is just used as a staging post, as Marz flips backwards off it. Hitting the ground about three feet away.
And then, suddenly, she coming forwards. The momentum of the kick used to her advantage, as she comes in low. She's not entirely done with speaking, though, because these things demand something...
"Locked on ... Cannon, SPIKE!"
She twists, flying upwards at the last moment, and aiming to kick powerfully into Amy's stomach, and then, use that leverage to climb up the Templar, and strike out with all her might for Amy's chin. Extending her foot as far upwards as she can in a sudden, powerful blow.
COMBATSYS: Amy fails to interrupt Cannon Spike EX from Marz with Mist Guardian.
[ \\\\\\\\ < > //////////////// ]
Amy 1/---====/=======|=======\=------\1 Marz
The unexpected pressure causes Amy's posture to root more deeply than she intended, collapsing into the kick with an instinctive twist of the abdomen, the other leg drifting forward, toe turning outward to counter-balance. As Marz leaps away, her near arm rises, bearing with it fingers splayed outward like readying claws. Stormy eyes track the Doll's motions, predicting her inward motion and signalling the brain to prepare a counter. There is a gasp of summoned energies as the mist flocks to the Templar, rising up before her...
Only to be scattered as she is knocked off-balance by the kick, teeth gritting tight as she eats the subsequent kick, launching backward with a deceptive grace, as though buoyed upward by the dissipating grey-white fog that explodes around the two women with flaccid lack of effect. Amy manages to turn in the air, winded but still very much vital as she lands in a three-point crouch, steadied by a shaking arm. She may be flagging... but she can still fight.
"I suppose," she murmurs as she pushes herself upright, steadying her breathing, maintaining her focus completely on Marz - suppressing the urge to scan about for the boy whose life she is defending so ineffectually - and raising a determined if somewhat flimsy guard. "There's no reason you'd tell me a thing. Without honour, without compassion, without regard for humanity... I shouldn't even be asking who you are..."
She clenches her fingers, knuckles straining, the mists billowing as they thicken in eerie tandem. "I should be asking /what/ you are. You claim to have autonomy, but I don't believe for one second that you're anything more than a servant. Your power, I've felt it before. And I've crushed it before." Dark locks billow against her cheeks as Amy tosses her head, gaining focus and clarity with the raising of her voice. "Ask me again to run away, you hound; you slave; you thrall!"
As Marz recovers from her kick, the girl narrows her eyes. Listening to Amy is, another, slap to her ego. She is not just a tool. She is one of the finest tools in existence. She is not a machine, or a robot. She is a thinking, breathing human being. She is just utterly devoted to her task. To her Lord Vega. This, peon, could never understand that. From having the advantage, proper application of her stratagems has brought her to this. The same, evil, thin, tight-lipped smile that had colored her features when she first spoke to Amy, returns.
"The child is four point seven meters from my current position." She states, causing the poor boy to freeze mid-step. "You have overextended myself. As I said earlier, hope, is a promise that you cannot keep. Because of you, Ms. Johnson, this boy will die. And then, I will kill you, too."
She straightens, letting her arms fall easily to her sides. Relaxed. Cold. Despite the beating she has taken, she shows little sign of slowing down. "Despite what you may think, I am human. I am motivated by a greater power, however. The greatest in the world. You, cannot stand against it. If you recognize it, then you must know what it means."
She decides to confirm Amy's suspicions. Certain that it will push her just that little bit more, force her over the edge, and create the opening she needs to finish things in one final blow.
"Obedience to Lord Vega is the only way to survive, Ms. Johnson. Fall to your knees. Beg me to let you, or the child, live. Admit your powerlessness. I may choose to allow it. I have the ... rightful authority."
COMBATSYS: Marz calculates her next move.
[ \\\\\\\\ < > //////////////// ]
Amy 1/----===/=======|=======\=------\1 Marz
Obedience. That words leaves a bitter tang in the air, already thick and gloomy with the foul departed presence of the conqueror. Submit or die; the way of the true tyrant. And yet here is a most terrible quandary for the Templar, a moral challenge that she is neither able to refuse or obey. She has no guarantee of safety for the poor child, for anybody involved in this mess, should she fold and take her leave. So should she strive forward? It seems obvious. Were it not that her own hand were filled only with the suit of desperation. There is not a weapon at her disposal that can stop Marz in her tracks at this stage - she can hope only to prevent what seems inevitable.
It is hopeless. But hope is all she has.
"If what you say is true," the Templar utters in response, "Then your Lord, your puppet master will eventually come to slay us all. If his lapdog would not stay her hand at this point, why should he? In the fullness of time it seems we are all destined to be dead - or enslaved, like you." Dark eyes narrow as she utters the last, pausing to draw a slow, cooling breath through her nose. A quick glance ascertains the distance between Doll and child, estimates that her earlier pronouncement was approximately correct. There is no room for failure.
As to your /authority/..." She spits the word as she jars a boot forward across the debris-covered floor, leather creaking a faint protest as she lifts her weight over the ball of her foot. "It's a lie. Your authority extends only so far as your leash will allow, and decisions made today hold no assurance in the hereafter. So what am I left with? I have the guarantee of a nameless teenager that she will not take lives that are not mine to control. I could beg, I could plead, and I would only lessen myself through cowardice. If you delight in taking life, you will have mine at your disposal."
Suddenly, she surges forward, erupting into a short sprint as her arms fly backward, fingertips clasping at the fogged haze inside the shelter. And therein lies the only tool she can rely on - as at her subtle insistence the entirety of her summoned mist begins to drift inward, gaining speed with alarming and deceptive rapidity, moving toward Marz in a tightening coil. As though a great breath were drawn, as though the lady knight's chi were most naturally inclined to crush the dimunitive murderess in it's tendrilled clutch.
"You've already told me I'm the only one here who can stop this--"
As she forces the Doll to deal with the impenetrable onslaught of the fog, the Templar speaks in a rush, moving to all but hurl herself before the cherubic boy still rapt in the entranceway. His eyes dart to her as she approaches, and doubtless to him she moves too slowly... the fear mounting in innocent eyes screams out that she is too far away to save him. Yet he believes; because he must, because there is nothing else.
"Then what choice do I have?!"
As Amy swings forward to catch him up in her arms, she for her part can only pray that the crushing embrace of the Dragon's Breath can save /her/ from a horror greater than death. Her life's forfeit would be as nothing to seeing this boy fall by virtue of her failure.
COMBATSYS: Marz fails to interrupt The Dragon's Breath from Amy with Orbital Crush.
[ \\\\\\\\ < > ////// ]
Amy 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Marz
Marz sees what is coming. She didn't expect Amy to analyze her options so thoroughly, but, it hardly matters. She can see the energy coming, and her foot flares with bright, powerful purple power. "Fool." She spits, completing a single, graceful rotation, as she starts to pick up speed. Fully intending to just plough through the Templar's power, rip it asunder, and bring her low.
It doesn't work. The Dragon's Breath is too strong. The energy lifts her up, and buffets her. Breaking her strength, and sending her hurtling into a wall. The girl actually bounces off the wall, hits the floor, and, rolls.
Amy has the boy, but Marz isn't down yet. Her head is broken, blood bathing one side of her face. Her shoulder is at a funny angle compared with the rest of her, but the girl still rises, between the Templar, and the door. Between death, and freedom. Marz's eyes are dead. No sign of the sparkling intellect that had been guiding her is left in them. There is only the mission. She had her target. She could not let Lord Vega down.
Straightening, the Doll seems entirely heedless of her injuries. In truth, her thoughts right now are even more bizarre than they were when calculating all the variables at the start of the fight. She estimates she has an operational capability somewhere less than one twentieth her optimal fighting standard. She had miscalculated. She had made a tactical error. But there is still hope for the mission. Even without any, strictly speaking, will to guide her motions, the girl's body won't /let/ her back down.
Amy had been right in her assessment of the Doll. There is no reasoning with her. She is not a terribly emotional being. She cares only for her purpose, and, even pushed to this, the very limit of her capabilities, she will rise. She will not stop. She is, implacable.
Her assault may keep the sternly mannered girl at bay, but even as she scoops the boy up and turns her step toward the door - Amy can feel that spike of erupting power rise in response, can sense how close she has come to falling inside the bleak and damaged confines of the shelter. It was a gambit made solely with the resolve of the desperate - a cornered rodent leaping, teeth bared against the vicious and predatory ratcatcher. There is that flare of hope however, as she feels small hands bunch against her breast, feels the warmth of the child's breath on her naked throat.
"It's going to be okay," she soothes, almost convinced of it herself before the figure of Marz rises through the mist, so fearsome in spite of her squat stature, the figure of Death appearing at the gallows. The breath catches in the Templar's throat, emitting a faint gasp before she controls the sinking sensation in her breast, flaring with pride and passion as she draws herself to her full height. "/No/." It's spoken with a heavy clarity, echoing from the crumbling walls as she begins to stalk forward, switching her grip so that she bears the rescued cherub against one hip, an arm encircling his waist to bear him as though he were the merest babe. Strength born from her desperation.
"It's going..."
She allows the words to drift from her lips distantly, distractedly as she continues forward, stormy stare transfixed upon the waiting girl. The bogeyman, the monster underneath the bed, the creature lurking behind the darkness of a cupboard; she is no more than that. Nobody will die today. She has to believe that, she has to see this as nothing more than protecting a scared child from a terror that cannot - will not - come to pass. The fingers of her free hand claw at the air, coming up bearing a tendril of thickening, hardening mist. It continues to drift loosely as it forms around the shape of a blade, momentarily flaring white at the core as it comes into being.
"To be..."
The Templar breaks into a bold stride, dark hair whipping against her cheeks and brushing the prickling hairs at the nape of her neck as she explodes toward Marz. A twist of the hip brings her mist-wreathed weapon to bear, drawing it past the child's head, blocking him from counter-attacks with a steady forearm. The reversal comes with a hiss as she thrusts herself in towards Vega's terrible, ceaseless creation, seeking to drive the vapourous blade to the hilt.
"/Okay/!!"
She speaks for her own benefit as much as that of the boy clasped to her torso, using the unlikely word as a kiai as she sinks low, looking to burrow the lash of energy deep into that damaged skull - driving the indoctrinated girl down toward the ground. Her expression, the vicious curve of her lips, the fire in her eyes... it is hypocrisy of the highest form. She would kill this girl to protect her ward. And that alone may cost her dearly.
COMBATSYS: Marz parries Amy's Katzbalger!
[ \\\\\\\ < > ////// ]
Amy 0/-------/-----==|======-\-------\0 Marz
For Marz, there is nothing.
For the Doll, this body knows what it must do. The target brings its blade in towards her, and the Doll moves precisely six and a half inches to the left. The blade slices so close to her, that it actually catches one of her bangs, and the purple lock separates, hairs drifting apart in a slight breeze. The girl could not be closer to Amy and her ward. They can even feel the weak breath passing over them both. Proof that, if Marz isn't human, her body at least requires the same functions to continue to work.
And there she is. Standing, whilst the boy clings to the Templar, facing them both. She only comes up to Amy's shoulder, and yet, in this moment, the Doll may as well take up the entire world. The door is open, the entrance is clear...
But if the Doll has its way, they will never make it.
Her hand is wreathed in that deadly, sharp energy. Sharper than any razor, Lord Vega's power is the only thing keeping her operational at this moment, and without even a fraction of a second of hesitation, the Doll drives its hand forward.
It isn't targeting Amy.
The blade aims to drive right into, and through, the boy. Psycho Power aiming to cut deeper still, of course. That hateful energy intending to finish the matter once and for all, cut the Templar down, complete her mission.
And ensure that, no. Nothing would ever be okay, ever again.
COMBATSYS: Amy blocks Marz's Psi-Ripper EX.
[ \\\\ < > ////// ]
Amy 0/-------/---====|=====--\-------\0 Marz
"Didn't you hear me, you bitch?!"
The Templar, prone to such enigmatic behaviour, is no longer hard to read. Quite the contrary. The scathing fury of Hell itself boils within her, flushing her pale cheeks an angry red that burns with the heat of a thousand suns. Sweat pricks at her brow, blood stains the alarmingly widened whites of her eyes, as with a ferocious snarl she brings the mist-forged blade across and downward. The gathered energy explodes in a blinding streak of light as it meets Marz's shrouded hand, seizing the aura around her hand and drawing it upward as it dies. The resulting shockwave travels through Amy's body, ripping at her every nerve, her knees almost buckling as her being screams for release.
"I said... /NO/."
Yet she stands firm, quivering from head to toe as she stares this hated creature down. The boy presses his innocent face to her breast, beginning to sob in great wracking heaves as his emotions are frayed merely by proximity to such energy. To Amy, the damp patch upon her jacket means only that she has succeeded in fighting for this child's life; that she has bought him another moment upon this earth. It is so precious, and so fleeting, that moment - a thing that could be snatched away a heartbeat later.
She feels the beat of her own heart, and she acts in accordance, hesitating not a microsecond beyond as she lashes out with her raised hand, not even bearing enough heed to clench her fist - simply striking with rigid fingers for the Doll's throat. If she can find purchase, she will /drive/ forward with a flex of her legs, thrusting the too-weak blow as deep and hard as she can. If her weakened body would allow her, she would strive to part the head and neck, leave the broken shell of Marz split in twain as she moved for the door.
But all she has is hope. And all she can buy is a second more. She prays it will be enough.
COMBATSYS: Marz parries Amy's Quick Punch!
[ \\\\\ < > ////// ]
Amy 0/-------/---====|=====--\-------\0 Marz
There is no reaction from the Doll, to Amy's proclamation. She does struggle as much as she can to bring her blade down on the Templar, but it doesn't work. There is no longer any opinion of Amy's tribulations, and that might be part of the tragedy, here. Marz is no longer functioning on a level which will enable her to acknowledge this strength later; she would not recall anything after that terrifying wave of power. But the Doll will continue to fight on, until it is permanently stopped from doing so.
So there is no response to Amy's heartfelt declaration. Instead, the Doll turns, momentarily, to the side. It's entire body swings outwards, and Amy's arm strikes nothing but air. The purple-haired assassin is still within inches of the stalwart guardian, and, ducking down underneath the arm, whilst it is still extended, she comes back up.
The Doll's fist comes forwards in a motion that has been practiced countless times. So natural, it may as well be muscle memory. The Doll drives that fist forwards as hard as she can, in a single blow, aiming to crash directly into Amy's solar plexus, and drive the last of her will to fight out of her.
If the blow hits, the Doll will not stay idle. Instead, accepting that it had come within millimeters of being rendered inoperable, it will roll once more, completing a graceful tuck which will put it back in the doorway.
If, by some miracle, Amy is still standing, and the Doll is still standing, those cold, empty eyes will meet hers. There's no challenge in them any more. The Doll's features are still caked with blood and it's injuries are still just as severe. The assassin is, however, just as impassible an obstacle as Marz has ever been. Even with the injuries it has sustained, The Doll is still estimating favorably the odds that it can complete the operation.
COMBATSYS: Marz successfully hits Amy with Calculated Strike EX.
[ \ < > ////// ]
Amy 0/-------/-======|=======\-------\0 Marz
"What..."
Amy's eyes widen yet further, barely retrained by reddened sockets. Her tensed fingers find nothing, and only then does she stumble, so intent on the follow-through that all of her control - all of her training - is for naught. Her voice is barely a hiss now, as she has not the strength of body for more. It is all she can do to keep the breath flowing through her lungs, all she can do to see that her heart keeps blood pumping.
"What is this...?"
All she knows is that she must get /beyond/ this creature. But the seeking fist is too much, too automatic, too practiced to form any meaningful resistance. The Templar's stumbling legs are not able to gain purchased enough to propel her away, and the blow hammers past the sobbing boy's face, throwing up a wave of delicate blonde curls as it lands firm and true. A pitifully breathless yelp erupts from the raven-haired woman's throat, all that anger snuffed out like a flame as she stares with utter disbelief and horror at the /thing/ before her.
Delirious, scrabbling helplessly, she pulls her previously striking arm back into action, already sinking to one knee with the suddenly increased weight of the boy she is striving to protect. Feverishly shaking fingers seek for purchase upon Marz, trying to draw her close, yank her forward for what it seems to the Templar may be the last action she ever takes. Given the alternative, she almost hopes that it is...
COMBATSYS: Amy can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\ <
Marz 0/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: Marz full-parries Amy's Bitter Crusade!
[ \\\\\\ <
Marz 1/-------/=======|
Amy reaches out to grab Marz, her fingers are almost there, and then, suddenly, the Doll is behind the Templar. For a single moment, the speed she had obtained in protecting herself, was truly astounding. Beyond human.
A second blow hammers into the back of Amy's head, and the Templar hits the ground, hard. The Doll looks down dispassionately. Despite what Amy (and most people) might think, Marz is not actually a cruel person. She does not take any pleasure in this. And wouldn't, even if she was actually thinking, rather than operating on core programming techniques.
Then, the Doll stomps down, hard. Cracking the floorboards of the orphanage with the poor Templar's unfortunate skull. That, should be enough.
Reaching out, Marz's fingers tussle in the boy's hair for a moment. He flinches. Gripping tighter to his protector.
There is a crack.
Moments later, Marz walks out of the orphanage. The operatives she had contacted earlier spot the doll, and two men grab her, helping her into a car, where she falls into blessed unconsciousness. Satisfied that her work is done.
The reality, of course, is slightly different. Whilst Marz will have certainly /hurt/ Amy, it seems unlikely that she will actually have killed the Templar. The little boy, however, that, is rather more certain.
Log created on 03:43:49 02/04/2011 by Marz, and last modified on 15:20:57 02/13/2011.