Description: Upon a solitary stone bridge admist the beating heart of the world, two powerful wills clash in epic battle to prove their resolve and their might.
It is all Alma can do to breathe evenly.
Down beneath this mysterious island he has descended, summoned by a bizarre letter which had arrived nigh the moment he steeled his resolve to fight again. The further he walked through darkened caverns and along eerie paths, the more he sensed an intense pressure from beneath him, an overpowering energy like countless souls intertwined. Only occasionally has he felt power approximating this, in moments when gates to other realms have opened.
~ Is this the heart of the world? ~
A foolish thought arises as he regards the swirling vortex before him, steadying himself and mastering his overly keen psychic sensitivity. Indigo light casts strange shadows upon his burn-scarred, finely-sculpted face, his red-tinged blond hair rippling as the pressure, this close, takes on a physical force. In the face of a strong-willed individual soul, Alma's passions are excited. But this vast stream of power, whatever it is, is no individual being, at least not one recognizable to him. It is pure energy, somehow harnessed by arcane means, haunted by echoes of identities long since washed away.
It is awe-inspiring, reverence-inducing. It is--
~ Where have I been led? ~
Horrible.
~ And who is responsible for this? ~
The tall man stands, one hand in the pocket of his tailored slacks, and gazes into the abyss, seemingly lost in thought, with the challenge to come forgotten.
"Breathtakink, is it not?"
A feminine voice interrupts the warrior's distracted musing a few moments later, drifting lazily on the energized currents of air that swirl in perpetual motion within the inexplicable vortex. The dull thumping of heavy boots on the rough stone surface of the bridge accompanies the voice as a young woman casually approaches from the opposite direction. Dressed in a uniform that seems to take a lot of cues from early World War-style military design, she presents an authoritative bearing amidst the ominous background despite her diminuative stature.
Franziska offers an overtly warm smile as she draws close, her expression friendly and cheerful to an almost unnatural degree. Everything about the woman seems to radiate a certain presence that draws all attention towards her, from the regal and disciplined manner in which she carries herself to the strikingly beautiful features of her pale unblemished skin that only seem to be magnified in counterpoint to the dark black of her attire. It is her eyes that stand out the most, however; twin blue beads of pure sapphire that burn with a calm cold flame. Her gaze contains an intensity that speaks of hidden wisdom and determination and their piercing stare only further magnifies the intangible aura of attraction that radiates from her.
"Vee stand at zee precipice of a hidden truth," she says, coming to a stop a few feet away. Her hands clasp nonchalantly behind her back, her stance clearly non-threatening. "I do not know vhy vee haf been chosen to see zis now... but it is certainly excitink, ja?"
"Breathtaking indeed," Alma murmurs. "All too literally."
The surging energies before them render all other psychic signatures insignificant by comparison, yet the veteran fighter is nevertheless drawn to the woman who appears. Even if her aura were not so strong, no churning soulstuff can compare to the subtle play of personality, not to one who yearns the touch the hearts of others. And even without the uniform -- or aura sight, for that matter -- she would be an impressive woman.
"I suspect," he continues softly, "what we see here is greater than what lies beneath a single island."
The student of Rose tilts his profile toward her, his gentle hazel eyes meeting her sharp sapphires, exuding a placid relaxation for all that inwardly he struggles with the immense power before him.
"Is there anyone you trust to harness a power as tremendous as this?"
He feels as though he has stumbled somehow upon the heartbeat of the very planet, and yet found it /sentient/, soul-like rather than resembling the force of nature friends such as Frei wield so well.
"When I think of what deeds could be accomplished with this stream of life, I know not whether my heart thrills or quails."
He looks back toward the vortex, into the darkness at its center.
"And when I think of what the master of this place must have wrought to channel this power here, I have a great many questions to put to them."
Needless to say, Alma's posture remains the same, suggesting no aggressive intent or defensive preparation whatsoever.
The question, while perhaps rhetorical in nature, elicits a small smirk and a muted chuckle from the young woman. Her eyes slide shut momentarily as if in deep thought and a hand slides from beneath her greatcoat to rest upon the neatly pressed surface of her lapels.
"Zee only person I trust, vis power or visout, is myself, dear boy."
There is a hint of autocratic pride evident in her tone beneath the thick German accent as if such a statement were a matter of natural deduction. Who else could be worthy of such an awesome power? Certainly there are those that currently hold greater personal power and prestige than herself, beings like Vega who command awesome energies that defy explanation or the notorious criminal mastermind of Southtown whose name is known around the world. But none of them have the same clarity of purpose as she. They lack her ideals, her righteous desire to guide mankind down the path of perfection. All they want is power and she has no doubt that their mysterious host is no different.
Her eyes slide lazily open once more and she peers at Alma through a half-lidded glance as if finally taking the time to size him up, her gaze scrutinizing but not hostile. "Indeed, such power schould only only fall into zee hands of van who knows how to use it." Her head tilts slightly to the side, a coy tone seeping into her voice. "Do you not agree?"
Alma smiles at the young woman's response, but with a hint of wistfulness expressed in the shifting of his brow. Her words are weighted with her willpower, and while intellectually he finds her mentality potentially dangerous, he cannot but be gratified at her conviction, whatever its aim. In all the years have passed, there remains nothing Alma savors more than the sense of the living will of another, reminding him that he himself remains alive. Yet while his smile is thus sure, he knows that he cannot say the same.
"To trust and respect oneself is the finest of things. Such an unconditional declaration can come only from one with a true sense of purpose."
His free hand raises to brush his rippling hair back from his brow, as though to brush away with it his own slightly wry countenance.
"But power, I fear, is not a thing to so concentrated."
His chin tilts up, gaze lifting speculatively, examining the contorting lines about the vortex's center, the blurring of colors there. Where once he might have preached, he is thinking seriously, calm but not certain, not at least about this.
"Politics has changed me," Alma says. "There exist in this world irreconcible differences, conflicts of value without clear answers. In personal matters, I rely upon absolute self-trust, giving me the strength to open my heart to others, to grow deeper. Yet the more power I gain, the more I see my own narrowness--" He pauses. "--amd its inevitability. No matter how sweeping my ideals or open my heart, I live a single time, a single place. And if that is so, even the righteous should not be allowed overwhelming power."
His gaze shifts back to the woman.
"When it comes to power such as this," he concludes, "I no longer think there are any such hands."
Franziska listens quietly to the gentle retort and her good-natured smile only widens further once he has finished speaking. She lets out a soft wistful sigh but shakes her head from side to side setting the loose pale-blonde locks about her shoulders aflutter in the mystic breeze.
"Power is nothink more zan a tool, my boy. It is neizer good nor evil by its nature, zho mankind has often fallen prey to zee temptations zat come vis possessink it." Anyvan who reads zee history books can see zat much."
Her hands move as she speaks, quick expressive gestures accompanying her words as if she can only barely contain the dynamic energy or excitement she possesses. Standing still for any length of time takes discipline, and while she possesses that in spades, there's nothing to be gained by restraining herself here.
"All sings zat matter require power. To conquer your enemies, to change zee beliefs of your society, to gain vealth und prestige; for good or ill, zese acts require zee means to alter destiny." She sweeps her hands out as if to encompass the swirling vortex of energy within her arms in a single grand gesture, her voice building in intensity and speed. "Zat is vat power is! Ultimate control! Freedom."
After a moment she winds down and lowers her arms, clasping them behind her back once more. Her knowing smirk returns and she stares at Alma in contemplation for a few moments. "Do I deserve such a think?" She shrugs and grins. "Perhaps, perhaps not. But... hmmm, vat is zee saying... you cannot vin zee lotto if you never buy a ticket, ja?"
Alma listens quietly.
More than listening, he watches her gestures, their increasing frenzy hinting at her zeal. There was once a time when he thought he understood this world and its people, and thought that his psychic sensitivity granted him greater insight. He was interested in others, but rarely doubted himself. Yet at time has passed, he can come to think that--
"But are we so separate, our tools and we?"
It is one thing to know what he wants and feels, and another to know for sure what it means.
"My body is a tool of my will, or so it seems to me," he continues, raising his hand between them and slowly moving his fingers for emphasis. "Yet it defines my sense of what is possible, and shapes what I find significant and what goes unseen. If power is a tool, could it not also shape our perceptions? And even if neither good nor evil, could power thus not blind us, too?"
His eyes are soft, not pained but concerned. Perhaps it is the place they find themselves, or most likely it is just his nature, but Alma's questions are not rhetorical, and posed to himself as much as her.
"Surely without power I could not aid those in need or resist those who oppress them. And surely it is natural for me to seek more in pursuit of my ideals, or even simply so that I might grow more sensitive to others and bring our hearts closer. But if I were to attain absolute power, such that none could challenge my ideals--"
He shakes his head, and smiles slightly.
"I do not think I would find freedom there."
Removing his hand from his pocket, he crosses his arms.
"Because... even as I strive for a world governed by my ideals... I could not live in one purged of contradiction. A world in which I could actually take all others into my own soul, even if I were to give them shelter, would be a world in which I was the sole true consciousness. A world in which morality might rule, but politics would be impossible. And I think that would be the result of anyone with absolute conviction being granted absolute power."
Now, at last, his smile is sad.
"Thus it is precisely the deserving who should not possess such strength."
Franziska's eyebrows raise slightly at the unexpected argument. She had not come here expecting much in the way of intellectual stimulation. The brutes and tyrants that typically achieved the levels of martial mastery to pose her any significant challenge are not often the philosophical sort so it is a pleasant surprise she finds in Alma's rational comebacks.
"An interestink vay of lookink at sings. But even if power shapes our perceptions, vis out power vee are nothink more zan specktators, helpless to do anysink but vatch as zose vis zee vill to impose zere ideals upon zee vorld around zem shape zee future. Personally, I vould razer be zee van in control of my own destiny. If I stop to concern myself vis every little ripple zat my actions cause in zee grand scheme of zee vorld zen I vill never accomplish anysink. Sadly, you cannot change zee vorld visout sacrifices."
She smirks again and shrugs, peering at him ruefully from beneath the brim of her peaked cap. "I suppose zis vill be somethink vee just haf to disagree on, ja? Let us move on to zee reason vee are here zen," Franziska says, altering her stance into an obvious martial pose. "Vee vill let our convictions speak through combat in zee vay of proper warriors."
Once upon a time, Alma would have forgone the conversation from the get-go, preferring the clash of spirits to the war of words, not from a distaste for reason but an infatuation with pure experience. Violence between the consenting seemed raw and beautiful, true beyond the possibilities of speech. Years of playing by Southtown's rules to do the most good he could have changed that. There seem to him now things much more important than what he is able to feel in his heart or see with his own eyes. The viscerality of such encounters has increased with his psychic abilities, yet its significance has lessened as his perspective has grown.
"Sacrifices..."
But some things never change.
"No, I cannot accept that."
The sorrow has faded from his eyes.
"I am Alma Towazu, and I am sworn to love this world and all those souls who struggle within it, to love every striving will, every fragment of meaning, to love even suffering as I combat it. By loving this world, I will make it a world ruled by love." He says all this embarrassing stuff without even batting an eye, and within the softness of his eyes glimmers an unyielding light akin to her own. "And in this world of love, there will be no more sacrifices."
An image flashes, a collapsing building, Frei and Kula by his side.
"No one will be sacrificed ever again."
His stance shifts smoothly, like the stretching of a cat, and then all at once, as though floodgates have opened, any psychic will be able to detect a tremendous invisible power radiating from him, as though heedlessly challenging even the power of the very world which swirls behind them. His outrageous claims are made without any hesitation. His conviction here is absolute.
"I intend to interrogate the master of this island. We need not dance on his strings and fight here," he continues. "Whatever your beliefs, you may join me as you are. But if you intend to challenge me, know that my ideals will not bend-- and you may break against them."
COMBATSYS: Franziska has started a fight here.
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Franziska 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Alma has joined the fight here.
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Alma 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Franziska
"Hah! Such noble idealism!" Franziska smiles genuinely at the sentiment, not even batting an eyelash at the sappy and embarassing delivery. These are two souls in touch with their own desires and emotions; petty things like shame or modesty are meaningless here. "If you sink you can make such a vild fantasy into reality zen you vill need power! Power zat you vill haf to take from zee clutches of zose who vill stand in your vay."
The woman grins with renewed enthusiasm, the light in her eyes sparkling with intense focus. She seems to feed upon his energy and make it her own, her emotions flaring and in response her own wells of psycho power begin to bubble at the surface though not quite as obviously as Alma's.
"Show me your resolve!"
Franziska moves, dashing across the short gap that separates the two fighters in a swift leap that carries her several feet into the air. She comes down at a sharp angle, her heavy booted foot dropping like an axe towards the top of the young man's head.
COMBATSYS: Franziska successfully hits Alma with Luftangriff.
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Alma 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Franziska
The swiftness of Alma's opponent is startling. His instincts guide his arms upward into a defensive stance, but as he attempts to open his mind to her intentions and increase his sensitivity to her movements, the feedback from the torrent raging behind them shocks his system, causing him to falter at just the wrong moment. Her kick slips just past his guard and slams against his head, sending him sliding back and swaying into a crouch to correct his momentum.
Being out of practice is no excuse. He cannot be distracted by future intentions or even the content of their ideals, either. No, this is what it has always been and will always be: a clash of unyielding souls. He cannot disgrace her efforts with complacence, even with his oppressive surge nearby.
Closing his eyes momentarily, he reaches out with his mind toward the woman before him, his original fascination with her will returning, conquering all, suppressing his distractions. Rising from his crouch wordlessly, he lunges forward and then sways, leg feinting down and with a natural grace rising. It seems a straightforward high kick until it twists and, erupting in a blaze of cherry-blossom pink, he attempts to hook his leg around the back of her head and twist with explosive force, to hurl her across the battlefield.
He may not be able to draw upon the power of this channeled leyline, but he can, if he focuses, attune himself to hers.
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Franziska with Sea of Flame.
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Alma 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Franziska
Franziska's emotions are easy to read for she practically wears them on her sleeve in a psychic sense. She has a clarity and conviction that is startling, almost zealous in nature, but there is also passion and grace. This is almost completely at odds with her fighting style for there is no sign of mercy or good-humor in the direct and brutal attack she launches, her foot driving down hard enough to cause a resounding thud when it hits the bridge once more.
She does not mock or gloat at her success but the result is obvious enough in her energetic movements and she quickly moves to draw back from the aggressive strike but Alma is just a little bit faster. Her arms rise to deflect the kick only to fall into the feint as it hooks around her neck in a sudden surge of motion. Franziska lets out a surprised noise as she is lifted bodily off the ground by the wreching motion of the psychic energy, her slight frame crashing into the hard surface of the stone behind him.
Shaken by the suddeness of the attack, she slowly rises back to her feet and turns to face him again but her energy surges anew in short order and she casually dusts herself off before pressing the attack again. She comes in just as swiftly as before, moving in short bursts of intense energy that launch her small body across the bridge on a direct path for her target, her attacks as unswerving in their focus as her will.
She strikes directly this time, her white-gloved fist shooting towards Alma's chest like an arrow. Her iron knuckles seek out his heart, striking with great force to disrupt his circulation and perhaps throw him off-balance for a moment.
COMBATSYS: Alma interrupts Herzschlag from Franziska with Divine Intervention EX.
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Alma 0/-------/----===|=======\=====--\1 Franziska
Alma cannot but match this power with his own.
He does not pursue as she recovers, taking that time to regain his equilibrium after his all-out attack, and is unsurprised to find her resolute as ever. Perhaps he now doubts his place in the world or the wisdom of his beliefs. Perhaps he no longer knows fully who he has become, or does without knowing whether it is right to be so, having faced too many wills like his own willing altogether different dreams.
"Hah!"
But there are some things about Alma that never change.
She charges straight in, and that shout erupts from his lungs, a spontaneous cry of delight and defiance. Near simultaneous with her movement, acting as soon as he has sensed her intent and momentum, he steps in too. His arm snaps out, aglow with pink now permeated with flecks of rose and purple and burning within a pure white, nearly obscuring his flesh. The strike slips just over her own, deflecting it away toward his side, and just as she impacts against him a beam of light explodes from his hand, slamming against her chest and hurling her away again, leaving him standing tall.
"Nraaah!"
Franziska's cry of pain is loud and clear as the beam of pure willpower takes her square in the chest. The subtle barriers of psychic energy that protect her shatter under the force of the direct assault and she once more finds herself sailing across the narrow battlefield to land in a disheveled heap.
As before, however, the small woman regains her footing in but a handful of seconds, rising to face her opponent with her resolve and confidence seemingly unphased. A small haze of psychic residue drifts up around her body from the viscious attack but Franziska just smiles, her expression calm and placid as if they were training in a dojo.
"Quite impressive," she says, adjusting her hat neatly atop her silky blonde hair. "Your desire is strong... but so is mine."
Inhaling slowly, the German agent narrows her eyes slowly and concentrates on the pain in her chest. Within seconds the searing needles dancing across her senses die down to a dull ache and she lets her breath out in soft relief. The psychic ripples are likely obvious to one such as Alma and the implications perhaps a little surprising - she literally just willed her injuries away.
"Now zen, shall vee continue?"
COMBATSYS: Franziska gains composure.
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Alma 0/-------/---====|=======\====---\1 Franziska
Alma's eyebrows raise ever so slightly. Having a strong will is remarkable in itself, and psychic abilities are rare. But to be able to not simply suppress pain but will it out of existence reveals a mastery of body beyond Alma's capabilities. For a moment, he is thrown back on his earlier reflections. To love suffering is better than to suppress it or to pretend to be above it. But is this not still the reaction of one unable to eliminate suffering altogether? Is the choice to love the world not the recourse of one unable to radically change it? And is not the 'truth' of this inevitability of this cycle just what his own senses, however heightened, have told him?
He is no longer certain. Briefly, he hesitates.
"I..."
But he cannot tear his gaze away from her sapphire eyes.
"Yes, of course."
Whatever is right or wrong, this woman stands before him now, and it is impossible to deny her. Every fiber of his being says that it is so.
"Prepare!"
With his hesitation, he has surrendered his momentum, but such is the flow of battle. Instead of lunging in, he casts out his hand and releases a dart of psychic flame as one might a dove, a wave which crests in on itself as it spirals toward her and aims to collide against her, disrupting her gathering will.
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Franziska with Sacred Wave.
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Alma 0/-------/--=====|=======\=====--\1 Franziska
Like her opponent, Franziska is in tune with the emotions of the world around her though her ability resides on an instintual level rather than a practiced skill which she has tried to hone. Her natural talent for connecting to the hearts of those around her is a talent that springs from her honest desire to remake the world into a better place. Love and peace, happiness and contentment - these things cannot exist without a level of perfection that man does not possess. They are dreams that Alma and countless others like him have sought since the dawn of mankind but without change, with a new paradigm for humanity, they will always been just that - dreams.
The hesistation that he feels is only natural and it causes Franziska's enigamatic smile to widen a little more. But she does not call him out on it; he already knows the uncertainty that lurks in his heart. Even if he should beat her here today in this display of martial skill, she has struck a blow that may never heal.
At his word she inclines her head and rushes once more at Alma, seemingly oblivious to the danger that lurks ahead. The psychic dart slams into her shoulder, staggering the woman momentarily but she regains her momentum almost immediately, shrugging off the wound and closing the final gap. Her fists dart out in a blur, swift but numerous strikes hammering at his bod in an attempt to press him into a more defensive stance.
COMBATSYS: Alma blocks Franziska's Jab Punch.
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Alma 0/-------/--=====|=======\=====--\1 Franziska
Alma's hands blur with her own. From their clash of speed and instincts emerges a unique rhythm, a flow of pressure back and forth which he guides and cultivates, and it is through that rhythm that he redirects her strikes, minimizing and almost negating the damage to himself.
It is not clear where the shift from defense to offense begins, yet it is obvious once it has happened: his own fists are blurring now, peppering her head and body with quick jabs, his tall form swaying back and forth with movements that manage to appear both natural and unpredictable, born from some unfathomable source.
His faith is not what it was; it has at least changed its nature. But in the heat of battle, when faced with the immediacy of her presence, he has no doubts about what is required of him.
He presses forward, toward her heart.
COMBATSYS: Franziska blocks Alma's Spring Shower.
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Alma 0/-------/--=====|=======\======-\1 Franziska
The dance of combat is one that Franziska knows well. Despite her small size, her movements are not particularly graceful or elegant, atleast not in the classic sense. She flows from strike to strike with a fluid momentum that speaks of years of training but her attacks are raw and brutal, straight-armed punches and elbow strikes that pour down upon him like a cascade.
When the momentum shifts the other way it remains much the same. Alma's blinding punches meet the solid wall of her defense, her forearms turning away the blows with simple counter thrusts and cross-strikes, relying on superior strength rather than fancy technique.
But therein lies the trap. In the midst of the exchange of simple punches and close-quarters strikes, almost amateurish in their basic nature, Franziska suddenly takes a step to the side. Sliding off the center line of Alma's attack, her hands lash out at his arm, one seeking his wrist while another goes to apply pressure upon the back of his elbow.
COMBATSYS: Alma dodges Franziska's Gelenksperre.
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Alma 0/-------/--=====|=======\======-\1 Franziska
Against ferocity, grace.
Alma and Franziska are matched in conviction, and from conviction necessarily emerges a kind of ruthlessness, a sweeping away of the comparatively insignificant. Such clarity of purpose can be terrifying whatever form it takes. Yet while each has its own beauty in the eyes of one such as Alma, there is none of her brutality in his actions.
To some, that has only made him seem the worse.
But his mesmerizing dance overcomes her here. With the slightest of slips he slides just out of her grasp, twisting and pivoting, a natural gathering of momentum that could have been a purely peaceful gesture save that it explodes immediately into a spinning low kick, remaining within her reach long enough to attempt to scythe her legs out from under her.
COMBATSYS: Franziska endures Alma's Light Kick.
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Alma 0/-------/--=====|=======\=======\1 Franziska
The white-gloved fingers of his aggressive attacker cinch tightly on empty air and Franziska is left exposed momentarily, her arms outstretched with nothing to show for it. Over-extended and vulnerable she has no where to go when the leg sweeps out to strike at her from below.
From his position near the ground Alma might be able to hear the dull crunch as his foot connects with the German woman's knee. He might catch the subtle intake of breath as she sucks in a hissing breath through clenched teeth to bite back the spike of pain. And he might see the wild-eyed grin on her face as he completes the spin only to find her still standing.
Franziska winces ever so slightly as she snaps her leg back into place, sheer willpower forcing her distended joint to return to its proper alignment. Her intense gaze locks onto the man standing before her even as a palpable surge of psychic energy erupts from her fists. The air distorts and bends around the agent's arms as she draws then back, spurts of psycho-kinetic power dancing across her knuckles.
When she strikes it is swift and brutal. Her right hand comes in from the front in a wicked straight punch directly into Alma's chest and a massive explosion fills the air as the energy collected in her hands detonates. A second strike follows the first, her left fist rising from below in a viscious uppercut aimed at the base of his jaw that brings forth another cacophanous blast that shakes the bridge itself.
COMBATSYS: Alma blocks Franziska's Eisernes Kreuz.
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Alma 1/------=/=======|====---\-------\0 Franziska
The world slows to a crawl.
Alma's eyes widen as he turns, feeling his kick connect but finding his adversary standing as though immune. Only the audible cracking of her joint alerts Alma to the reality: her extraordinary mastery over pain has triumphed again. Within striking range and having just excuted an attack, Alma is vulnerable to a devastating counterblow.
But when her spirit surges, so too, almost simultaneously, does his own. Attuned with her soaring energies, the very tide she turns against him carries him aloft. Drawing upon that power, her own filtered through his vision, he experiences a blaze of insight, a preternatural clarity which prevails over time itself. Her punch rockets toward him toward a crippling point; he sees now that it is intended to debilitate him and will inflict lasting injury.
Knowing its exact target and intention, with the deftness of movements he brushes it aside, giving him time to twist his head and slip just past her rocketing uppercut, dropping to one knee to avoid it. Now it is he who has the initiative, and a moment in which to strike. And so his hand--
"Hmn!"
--strikes the ground, Alma lowering his head as though in reverence. On his knee as he is, he appears to be praying. Is he surrendering at this crucial moment?
The geyser of swirling soul power which emerges under her feet a mere split-second after a telltale surge, its multihued pillar threatening to engulf her entirely, suggests otherwise.
Not at all surrender -- but tribute, of a kind.
COMBATSYS: Alma successfully hits Franziska with Full Confession.
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Alma 0/-------/-------|=======\==-----\1 Franziska
Again, time seems to dilate, each moment stretching into a near eternity as the two powerful wills clash against each other in a titanic struggle. Franziska strikes a powerful blow but it is not a clean hit and the thrust of her mighty combo misses its mark entirely as she brings the second explosion to bear just above Alma's head.
The warrior woman pauses there momentarily, her arm extended as if she knows what is about to happen. The incredible amount of power gathering at her feet speaks volumes and even without looking down she can feel the surge of fighting spirit about to be unleashed. She desperately leans aside, her knee bending in a crouch so as to fling herself out of the way but it's too late to change her fate this time.
"Uwaaaagh!"
The psychic pillar bursts from the ground and for a moment consumes her entirely, her slender body disappearing into the swirling lights. Raw energy tears at her from all directions, overwhelming her senses with sheer blinding pain. Eventually, the pillar fades, leaving only Franziska in its wake.
As before, she remains standing, a thick cloud of smoke wafting into the air around her body though no visible signs of injury can be found upon her in the strange manner of such things. She hunches over and gasps, inhaling deeply like someone who only barely made it to the surface after being submerged in deep water. Slowly, her head tilts up and she looks at Alma, her eyes half-shut from the effort of maintaining her consciousness.
"It... vould seem... zere is much... for both of us... to learn."
She coughs suddenly and staggers, only barely catching herself at the last moment. It is only sheer stubborness and willpower that keeps her on her feet but, despite this, she manages one last act of defiance. Gritting her teeth, Franziska lifts her arm and folds the fingers of her hand into a fist, leveling it at the young man. Her aim is shaky and faltering but her eyes never break from their target, a fierce predatory gleam burning within.
Another swell of psychic energy builds in her arm but this one is far more concentrated than before, raw pure emotion given physical form. The air bends and twists as if she were clenching the fabric of reality in her hands, distorting it to her whims, until finally she unleashes the last of her power. A bolt of raw kinetic force explodes from her fist like a cannon shell, tearing across the short gap between them in the blink of an eye.
Her power spent, Franziska slowly collapses, falling first to her knees and then keeling over on the bridge.
COMBATSYS: Franziska can no longer fight.
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Alma 0/-------/---====|
COMBATSYS: Alma dodges Franziska's Panzerfaust.
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Alma 0/-------/---====|
It is no wonder that Alma went without doubt for so long.
Here, in this moment, he feels what she feels, truer than all else. His intuition approaches such a state of absolute clarity that any time he might spend questioning his judgment is devoted to reveling in the sensation of their colliding wills. Not only is the sensation overpowering but, of course, the judgment is correct. Though her spirit is battered by his own beyond recovery, still she will stand. Though he predicts the trajectory of her oncoming strike, still it will mightily come.
Perhaps, even though this clarity guides him to victory, it does not reveal as much as he thought about the metaphysical limits of the world. Perhaps, though it grants him access to the truth, it indelibly does so in a manner limited by the very convictions which give rise to the intensity required. There are mysteries in this room beyond his understanding, and they are manipulated by a will as yet unknown to him. Perfect certainty is impossible under such circumstances.
But then, it is where certainty ends that faith finds its place.
"Indeed..."
He has slipped by her, his form flickering as he does, phasing briefly in and out of existence in the technique available only to masters of psychic power. But he reveals it now not to evade her but to position himself to catch her as she falls, gently lowering her rather than allowing her to collapse from her knees to the ground. Crouching over her, studying her fair face quietly, he turns then to regard the vortex once more, impassive in the face of their fury. It swirls on, contained here by some strange sorcery but bespeaking infinity.
"That, if nothing else, is true."
COMBATSYS: Alma has ended the fight here.
Log created on 22:05:13 08/02/2014 by Franziska, and last modified on 04:14:34 08/03/2014.