Infinite Everything (Quark)

He tumbled around in the endless blue, trying to feel for something, anything around that could break his fall.

His wings tired out, White-Hair's only option now was to keep falling. He was falling for about four days; he had no energy. Hopefully his landing will bury him deep, so he can lay for a few days without being bothered. He began to lose his senses next. He no longer heard the whistle of wind in his, or felt the slight pressure of it against his skin...And soon, he could no longer see the vast blue.

Sometime after the endless fall, he opened his senses up to sand. Lots and lots of sand. He hit ground , and was now buried. That much was apparent. More became so after the checking of all his bodily functions; everything was working fine. If he broke any bones in the landing then they were healed now. Now to find his way to the surface.

After about an hour of digging upward, he made his way to the top. The endless blue sky met him at the same time a sea of sand did. He began an image of this planet in his head; a brown blob of sand in the middle of a big cube of sky. Maybe Ao had noticed his treacherous escape plan.

Of course, this was still a fully functioning planet; there has to be some sort of life on it. During the first few minutes of flight, White-Hair saw small sources of water down below. Before he blacked out and all.

He found it hard to sprint on the soft, sun-beaten sand. Every try he found himself falling on his face. Eventually his tries became irritating, so he took to the sky. A couple minutes passed before he found anything at all; some green stuff, and a few bizarre creatures which fled in his shadow.

Ah, his first alien humanoid life-form. Certainly an ignorant idea, but White-Hair needed to have some sort of idea of the combat level of these creatures. He would not kill the creature, but he would engage it in battle. In victory or defeat, he would flee before any harm could be done. Just a simple skirmish.

White-hair tried to moderate his first strike to a low level of power; he had the element of surprise, so the assassin went no faster than fifty mph in a downward swoop, claws forward. In an instant his attack was defeated by this creature, however; in an instant it was sidestepped, his nails as well as fingers stuck in four identical holes along the face of a blade. The blade twisted before his momentum gave out, sending him face-planting into the sand. His bandanna fell off as a result, revealing his alien features. As the creature began to use a voice, something White-Hair would never understand, his wings shot from his back and he disappeared with a gust of wind.

Circling his prey, his eyes automatically began to scrutinize any openings in the creature's defensive posture.

Haze meandered her way slowly through the desert sun, her measly collection of stones a rather discouraging outcome. She'd been running low on metal ores for her business and needed to harvest some more, but the recent sandstorm had buried too many of them. She wondered why she even continued her job as a blacksmith, pondering whether she should actually step out and follow this crazy notion of immortality. It was so odd, this feeling. So out of place, but so... right. No one in their right state of mind would believe the possibility of eternal life, but maybe that's why none of them ever achieved it.

These thoughts were tugging at her mind as she reached the border of the oasis. Her meeting with that old man all those years ago was surely a sign of destiny. Her perception of fate had changed that day, and she'd begun taking interest in the idea of a predefined future. She chuckled at her own thoughts. "If I find evidence of immortality today, I will begin my search. If not, I will continue as a blacksmith." Such a crazy idea, but she was feeling daring. After all, if she was really serious about this she'd have to take her chances. Besides, the odds of such a thing happening were next to none.

The wind shifted its pattern ever so slightly, a giant unnatural gust from behind. On reflex, Haze spun to the side, blade drawn for defense. She only caught a glimpse of her attacker before deflecting its deadly blow were her obsidian blade. The creature slammed into the earth, sending grass and sand in every direction. "What gives!" She shouted on a whim as the creature quickly corrected its posture, standing at its full height. The being had no mouth. "The hell?"

It twitched forward as a pair of enormous wings burst from its back. A singe swoop brought the beat high into the air, circling over her like a vulture ready to devour its prey.

Haze spun her blade in place, ready for its next move. What was this thing? A monster of some kind, an angel possibly? It had wings in its back, but dressed like a human. No mouth? What could it be? These questions were only second on her mind, her primary concern being her own well being. If need be, she could try to lure him back near the city where the guards could aid her fight. However, she wasn't sure what this entity was capable of.

She'd stay and fight, if that was its intention. Whether this was a mindless animal or not didn't quite matter. If it were to attack again, it were obviously hostile. If not, then it could have been an accident. Regardless of the different possibilities, she'd learned to always expect the worse.

White-Hair was eased by the stoic nature of this being, seeming not at all unnerved by his appearance. Perhaps a sliver of confusion, but nothing more that White-Hair could get from the alien facial structure.

He would have fled after the humility of his first strike, if not for the creature's hesitance in assuming a defensive stance subsequent to the defeat. Apparently his own nature was being guessed at. What a bizarre thing.

The circle around the beast began to widen, and White-Hair carefully observed its every move. That did not really unlock any hidden secrets, however, so White-Hair began to close the distance...with considerably more speed than he should have. Apparently he had not fully recovered from the fall, and his mind's eye became a spinning black circle as he collided with the horizon.

White-Hair's newest fall sent him bouncing a hundred yards away from his foe. The burning sand, although it cooled around him, began to seep into his skin through the opening on his back. It was not a pleasant feeling. He jumped to his feet, and brushed the external sand off of his clothes, and shook it out of his hair.

A few bounds brought White-Hair closer to the creature, who White-Hair assumed had no idea what to make of him. He walked calmly toward the target, once more observing the defensive position it took.

In an instant, his wings snapped open and he was speeding forward, claws extended before him. The target rushed forward as well.

The meeting of blades was short but sweet; no physical contact whatsoever. Of course, for White-Hair, the blade phased through his body. However, this being easily dodged his attack. No cheating.

He flew past the graceful beast a while before wheeling and landing. Looking upward to see the look on its face, however, told him that there were not many things on this planet that could dodge an attack so.

Indeed White-Hair was intent on finding out more, using his questionably hostile method.

Odd. Very odd. She could have sworn—no—she knew that her blade passed right through him. Why was it he was uninjured? She knew she'd hit him, she was sure of it. She went into that attack with the idea of countering it, and she succeeded, so why wasn't he dead? He didn't even look wounded. No sign of scratches, blood, or even torn clothing. Her blade passed right through him and he didn't feel a thing. She tried to think through any possible explanations, but the creature was already preparing itself for its next attack. Haze readied her blade again, despite its apparent ineffectiveness to the being. If the same thing happened again, she'd have to find a different method.

She steadied her footing on the ground, bracing for another attack as the winged beast charged at her again. Each foot kicked up grass and dirt each time they hit the ground, slowly gaining speed. Haze raised her blade in a counter-stance, muscles tightening for impact. Closer and closer it came, until the sudden moment of strike. The entity lunged with a powerful thrust, claws extended. Haze dropped to the ground, sliding beneath her foe. She rolled to her feet, quickly slicing through its back as it stumbled by.

The quick counter was a successful hit, just like the last. This time she saw it with her own two eyes, but the result was the same as before. Her blade passed through his flesh as if it were air. How was this possible? This thing, whatever it was, was not natural.

She bore her teeth for a split second, confused and frustrated. She watched her enemy regain its balance for another go, trying desperately to find a weakness. Her blade came in contact with its claws, but why couldn't her blade hit the skin? The creature had crashed into the ground several times, but her sword didn't leave a mark.

Then it hit her: This thing was immortal. It had to have been. Her weapon couldn't harm it. She couldn't kill this thing. It would have been a discouraging revelation for an ordinary person, but this only fueled Haze's desire to fight. If she was right, she couldn't kill this thing, but that didn't mean she couldn't try to disable it. Maybe she would learn of its secrets by bringing it for study to some of the alchemists back in the village. Surely this monster could aid her in some way.

Haze was no longer interested in killing this beast. All she'd have to do is render it defenseless. If she could get its fingers caught in her blade again, she could try bashing its head against a tree or something. Maybe she could find a weak spot, a part of him that her blade didn't phase through. Either way, she'd take him down.

Another flyby told him nothing, but told the other creature even more. This time, it tried to block using the flat of the sword. White-Hair swerved at the last moment, however, and now it seems the being was in on his secret.

Even with the bad footing, White-Hair needed to attempt a long-term confrontation. He glided forward, till the distance between the enemies was nary another bound.

But the distance between them closed in an instant, and they were at it again.

White-Hair was not surprised to see it take a fully defensive stance, knocking all of his would-be lethal blows aside with ease. Now it very much realized one of the extents of his little ability.

The tempo of the dance grew faster. He spun around his scientific experiment in an attempt to slip at least a shallow cut in, and fruitlessly at that. This thing was timid about letting him come even a might bit close...of course, that did make sense. His own blades were a lot deadlier than the slow, unattractive weapon he was being so easily parried by...

Perhaps he did need more practice. And he needed to get used to the footing, as one slip-up could mean something pretty bad to his fragile body. Especially with his trump card guessed.

White-Hair noticed another thing during the time where he should not be noticing anything at all, save the enemy's vitals; the slaps of the blade were decreasing in strength.

At the moment, his frame was larger than the beast's, but it was more muscled. It should have been able to break his arm at this point. Unless it wasn't making a defensive offense, but also observing, quite possibly as deeply as he was, how he worked (although externally instead of internally). Everything about him was the exact opposite of itself. His timeless face, the way he moved, the immateriality of his body...surely he was a sight to see, and mental notes would be a wise thing to take, even in the middle of-

So thorough were his thoughts that he lost track of the battle and caught the blade's face with his own, with more force than anything the wielder had unleashed yet. Before the launching of poor White-Hair, he was able to slash an open spot of skin on the arm. And at that point, his thoughts revolved around how easily sliced open it was...before the pain hit him, and before he blacked out.

Not only was the initial cracking of his skull an eerie sound, but his entire spine screeched as it was launched, with his body, into a large desert boulder.

Blood seeped through his eyes, mouth, claws and talons, drenching White-Hair in crimson. How useful, he mused to himself.

It took him a moment, but he was able to stagger to his feet. The pain was bearable, and although he was not keeping his balance now from a perfect spine, it would not very much effect his ability to fight. He stretched out his wings for good measure. No broken bones there; he'd fly again. But not very long, with this horrible monster around.

Although he may have been a little disoriented from the blood loss...or, he was not a very good judge...because the thing's face shone with excitement.

Bad idea. Haze thought. She figured that getting just a little closer, leaving herself open to a small wound, was worth the effort to land a hit of her own. There were two problems with this plan.

The first problem with her plan was that she did a bit too much damage to the creature. She'd busted his head wide open, his frail body unable to handle the damage. It would make sense, though. If he usually fazed through all of his attacks his body probably wasn't used to actually being injured. Still, she didn't want to kill him, so she shouldn't aim for his head anymore. Breaking his arms and legs seemed to be the best course of action, though maybe his wings should be the first thing to go.

The second problem with her plan was that, although she only received a small scratch on her arm, the pain was ten fold that of any ordinary scratch. She suspected some sort of coating on the claws that was damaging to her blood. She couldn't tell how lethal the venom was, but if the pain became unbearable she might need to retreat back into the village for an anti-dote. She hoped it wasn't that kind of poison. After all, the Exsecror had a high tolerance for pain and great resistance to toxins. Haze wasn't even openly showing her discomfort, but she'd just have to be careful not to receive a wound any deeper than this.

Arms, legs, and wings. The creature was standing again, its emotionless face still hiding any of its true feelings (if it had any at all). Haze braced herself for another strike. She knew this being wasn't stupid. It wasn't going to try the same technique over and over again, so she'd have to continually prepare herself for anything new it would throw at her. This meant fighting tactics, subtle movements, and possibly new abilities as it seemed to be of a species with powers beyond that of an average human.

Haze would remain with her current counter-attack strategy for at least a few more strikes. She needed to know her enemy a little more before taking the direct offensive. She already knew its primary weakness: Blunt trauma. Her original plan was to throw its head against the ground to knock it unconscious, but apparently the flat side of her sword could do so just as well. But because the way its head cracked so easily, she'd have to subdue it by relieving it of its limbs' functionality to prevent from killing it.

Killing it. Was this thing truly immortal, then? If it bled, could it die? If it died, would it still have any use to her? Surely the ability to fazed through sword-strikes would be useful, but what effect did that have on the creature's age?

Her thoughts may have strayed, but she had the mind of a woman: Capable of focusing on more than one task at a time without distracting herself. She was fully prepared for the creature's next flyby.

The assassin lifted off of the rock lightly, and drifted a little closer to the creature.

Although he was not very good at it, White-Hair was going to try to send some images into this creature's brain to gauge the reactions.

As their eyes locked, he telepathed the first image, which was his mental picture of what the aphons looked like; snarling, sentient-hungry monsters that inhabited his lord A'marul's latest planetary takeover. He did not know what sort of face it made, but it was not familiarity.

Next was A'marul, the ever-cloaked demigod whose skin had faded burns that formed runic letters of an alien alphabet, two men wide and three tall. More twistings of those facial features, and some other physical gestures, but nothing more. Apparently his greedy arms really couldn't reach this planet.

Finally, a picture of the creature that looked of this one, although there were some distinct differences, such as the lighter skin and larger build, as well as the lack of hair and bulge in the chest.

Still nothing from what he could gather.

White-Hair would have left a very long time ago if he was not having such fun. And although he had taken far heavier damage, the arm he had cut was now showing some signs of effect, such as a slight twitch, as well as a slight droop.

Either way he'd decide to fight a while longer.

The blood was still coming; good, easier to spread.

Slinking to the right, he disappeared from the enemy's line of sight. White-Hair cut a wide circle around it to come from above.

He dropped his talons a little quickly; the prey spun around in time to block them, however. His body was now suspended over the sword.

And it was the perfect chance to carry out his plan. He dodged past the blade, igniting every drop of blood currently caked all over his body. And the material he wore repulsed the heat; a burning wave of it washed over the creature.

Ooc: By "slinking to the right" I'm going to change it to "darted insanely fast" in my mind.
Reasons being: A: white-Hair CAN do that and B: It's hard to slink out of sight in the middle of a desert while your enemy is watching. xD

Bic:

Haze was bracing for an attack, preparing herself for anything this creature might throw at her, when her mind suddenly began to think up rather strange images. She shrugged them off at first, despite the fact her mind didn't usually conjure up such random images, but then others started showing themselves. Images of creatures she'd never seen or heard of before, at least three of them, popped up and vanished. These thoughts were hardly anything more than subconscious, not taking her mind off the battle, but merely strange thoughts that she knew weren't hers.

Her mind was focused, dead center on her target, when suddenly it vanished. No, it didn't vanish, but instead zipped off to the side. The sand filling grass sent a trail that signaled that, obviously demonstrating his incredible speed, as well as the idea he was going to attack from behind.

Guessing right, she wheeled on her heel and parried the strike with ease. The moment her blade made contact with his talons, she knew she'd misjudged his attack.

She pictured the move in slow motion, her fast thinking process attempting to break it all down as it happened. She could see the blood on his face spontaneously combust, the blood on his body soon doing the same. The surreal engulfment covered nearly his entire body, then expanded outward in an orange wave of heat.

Haze had fast reflexes, but they weren't fast enough for this. She didn't have time to take in this new variable and act on it fast enough. The blast of fire washed over her, giving her only enough time to cover her face before she was thrown to the ground.

Her clothes and hair caught fire as she went down. She rolled desperately through sand and grass, putting out the flames as best she could. Smacking at them and kicking up as much sand as possible did quite a bit. She finally managed to beat out the inferno, though not without receiving mild burns and damaged clothing.

She crawled to her knees, coughing and shaking. The numbing pain in her arm was gone, now, although replaced with a stinging burning sensation that covered her entire body. She groaned and fell to the ground for a moment, tempted to cuddle her wounds and lay there to recuperate.

She didn't have the time to do such. Odds were, the beast was pacing behind her, ready to devour her through his mouthless gullet or something. She pushed herself to her feet, trudging through the pain. She tried to focus on her goal, but that last attack left her in bad condition. Her instincts were telling her to run while she still could. She couldn't fight a creature like this! But she would never forgive herself if she left now.

Haze turned around, facing the monster who looked rather pleased with his most recent victory, or at least from what she could imagine from his expressionless set of eyes.

She was in bad shape, but she could still move freely. She was more pissed over the fact she'd have to get her clothes re-tailored than anything, but her skin was still stinging with pain regardless. Over time, she'd heal completely, but only if she would survive the rest of the day.

The animal was still on fire, making any sort of physical attack a risky one. She'd seen it struggle while trying to move through sand before, then again it could just fly over it again if need be. The trees on the grass could be used against it, but how she'd exactly do that she wasn't quite sure.

Haze took a deep breath, eyes zeroing in on the alien's own. Legs moving fast, she darted forward into the grass, taking her first offensive. She'd managed to endure pain a long time ago. She'd done even more strenuous tasks under the duress of recently broke bones; she could do this on a whim.

Leaping at the monstrosity, she swung her blade. The beast darted to the side, Haze following it by kicking off a nearby tree, using the momentum of her first jump to carry her second attack. This time she got close, almost nicking his side. She figured he'd dodge it, having witnessed his tremendous speed earlier, but she leapt once more off the ground without slowing. This time, her blade aimed for its wings, she was closer than before, hoping to cripple its flight.

Fire hardly affected this creature the way it should have.

White-Hair remembered the tales A'marul would spin about how vulnerable these inhabitants were to the lightest of flames. He said it would sap their energy almost completely, leaving them to lay on the ground, paralyzed for a good while.

The would-be god did not mention anything like this. The flame burned, like it did inanimate objects. They had no resistance to it whatsoever. And it did not paralyze them in any way; it left the creature more active than ever. White-Hair could have melted its face off or something.

Maybe White-Hair could somehow communicate with this creature to say give his apologies...His mind drifted through crazy tongue spoken by the hundred or so species he had seen before. Perhaps one of those so many ways of communication would get through.

As he mindlessly dodged the attacks, a little too mindlessly perhaps, White-Hair tried to match the language he heard this one speak before to others he'd heard.

But once again, he was thinking too deeply, and the target of his thoughts got a well-aimed blow in, directly to the left shoulderblade. He dropped into the sand, his memories dropping with him. As he tried to scramble up, the weapon came up over its owner's head again, going for a concussive blow, the sword singing toward his head.

The assassin, however, would not allow that.

Tattoos on his eyes glowing like full moons, the globe of darkness dropped. An instinctual hestitation, perhaps, or maybe just confusion, allowed him to roll out of the way in time to save himself, and also allowed him another cut, on the same arm as before, and although it was only a bit deeper seeing as this foe's reflexes never let up, it would still prove to be a very menacing thing to deal with.

Before he ran out of time, White-Hair dashed out of the globe to lay his traps; about five circles of blood, as much blood as he could draw from his newly broken shoulder, all around, and covered with sand and in grassy areas.

Going anywhere near the thing who was still in the globe of darkness would be very painful indeed.

Forty seconds passed easily enough. He didn't want to go back in to check, but White-Hair figured it spent its time swinging around wildly, wasting precious energy. Although if it didn't do so, White-Hair could have easily got in more than one shallow attack.

Ah, right. White-Hair forgot all about his telepathic apology for the flames...although it was more of a joke to him than anything. But anyway, perhaps he could get some sort of response out of this creature. And if that was possible, he could conclude the fight when he wished, somehow, and take wing without being pursued.

Facing the creature ahead, he sent out waves of alien speech. He even matched them with the image of whoever's voice it was.

But after a while, White-Hair had to end; his vision was deteriorating in order to tell him he was slowly reaching his limit. He was beginning to feel the effects of blood loss; he would slow down, the binding techniques would finish a lot quicker, and his timeless face would begin to show his nondescript age.

Too much fun.

She'd hit him, as planned. Her reflexes were her only advantage against this thing. If he were to hit her again with that wave of fire, she probably wouldn't be able to move at her best. She'd need to see a doctor when she got back to Soledad, but she'd push through the pain for now.

The enigmatic creature dropped to the sand, struggling to regain his footing. Haze brought her blade up, prepared to break one of his arms to keep him from moving, but before even her own quick blade could strike, everything was suddenly consumed in darkness. She swung her sword at him anyway, but only felt the ground. Her arm began to sting immensely as she felt a sharp pain shoot up it. He'd hit her again, but he'd already left her immediate area.

She couldn't see anything in this darkness, but she knew he wasn't there. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the increasing sting in her flesh, and focused on her other senses. She'd lived in an underground city most of her life. She'd learned to rely on more than just her eyes, but they still made things a heck of a lot easier.

She crouched in place, gently stabbing her blade into the ground to feel for the slight tremors of footsteps. He'd no longer be able to fly with his damaged wing, but he was still very fast. If he decided to swoop in now to finish her off, she would barely have enough time to get out of the way. She could try escaping the cloud of smog as well, but at the moment it was working to her advantage: She couldn't see out and he couldn't see in.

The longer she waited, the more the poison in her arm spread, but the more she also began to feel numb to the pain. She wrapped a small cloth around the wound to keep it from bleeding and spreading to the rest of her body. It would take a few days, but her body would most likely begin to build a natural immunity to this poison. If he hit her a few more times, she'd be desensitized to it sooner. She knew it wasn't a lethal toxin, since the pain from the first strike had almost completely vanished before receiving this new scar. Still, she didn't want to take her chances. She'd have to be a bit more careful about getting hit.

Nearly a full half-minute passed and nothing happened. He didn't run away because she never sensed his foot steps, the sand carrying these slight vibrations quite easily. She knew exactly where he was, now, but just could see him. She'd had time to judge his position, and was already formulating a strategy.

Enough was enough, she had to act before the creature had a chance to escape. She stood up slowly, sure not to make any sound. Steadying her blade, she hurled it out of the black fog toward her target. Before waiting to hear it strike, she lunged from the smog, fist craned back, eyes fixed on her target once again.

As his black orb began to dissipate, White-Hair rose from the ground. Something passed through his body, but a not-so-flat part of the something abruptly jerked him backwards a couple feet, talons tearing through dirt. The assassin slowly turned his head upward.

It was the mortal's weapon. And speaking of which, the mortal was rocketing out of the final fleeting wisps of darkness his trick had produced, on a path directly aligned with the weapon that slid out of his being and onto the ground.

Scarlet running down his torso, the assassin bent down to pick the assailant's weapon off from the ground. White-Hair inspected it for a little while; it was actually a very interesting piece of equipment. His eyes ran across the dense metal, wondering how thick the original slab of the stuff was, and how it was pounded down into this shape. He grabbed it with his left hand, the claws on his right one too long to be able to pick up the weapon without puncturing his own skin.

And if he had a mouth, he would have more than grinned at the sight he saw upon looking up. The enemy was clawing through sand in front of it, attempting to remove its foot from one of White-Hair's circles of blood.

Taking precious time to judge a position where he could not be strike by the creature was a must. Fear must have seeped through the solid skull of this creature by now.

White-Hair mockingly lowered the blade to rest on the creature's shoulder; it must now know that resistance was-

In a flash of movement four of the creature's claws ripped into his left arm, tearing down its long white structure. White-Hair attempted to move backwards, but the other claws wrapped tightly around the hand holding the handle of the blade. With four claw aggressively ripping through the assassin, and his hand about to snap off, White-Hair released the blade and made a further attempt to get backwards, but he was pulled back by a renewed grip on his arm. And by now the creature must have noticed the other major weakness that his phasing had; lack of ability to be active in two separate spots.

Scooping the sword up, claws once more digging into his pale flesh, the creature slashed blade-first into his clawed arm.

Pain rampaged inside of White-Hair; he tried to hold his arm together as he counterattacked, stabbing into some fleshy part of what may or may not be the abdomen. The grip was released almost instantly; he tried to retreat, wings exploding out of his back and pumping vigorously-only to be slammed back down by a fist which hit him square in the middle of his face.

The assassin raised his clawed foot with all of his might into the abdomen, once more striking that spongy flesh. This finally separated the two and ended the mortal combat.

Barely conscious, he staggered to his feet. He did not want to kill this creature...

Could it be killed?

Haze was just about to strike him, but she felt herself suddenly jerk forward and fall to the ground, her right foot caught in something. She hit the ground hard, quickly regaining her stance. Bewildered as to what could have possibly thrown her off balance, she glanced down briefly to examine her foot. Nothing visible was holding it back. She'd apparently stepped into a small, perfect circle of blood, but her foot wasn't snagged on anything. However, despite her effort, her foot simply wouldn't move.

Her full attention was back on the monster. It was examining her sword as if it had never seen one before. He was just out of her reach, not close enough to land any sort of attack. She glanced down at her frozen foot and back at the creature a few times, wondering if it was possible to free herself. It seemed like nothing but the front most part of her foot, the part she touched the ground with, could move. She could defend herself if he got close, but anything more was a joke.

A strong gust of wind hit them like an unnoticed train wreck. Their eyes connected in a short duel of superiority. He certainly had the upper hand here. They had both received their own share of damage, but now she was trapped and couldn't move. She'd killed a man with her bare hands before. Now was no different. If he attacked her, she'd kill him. If he left her alone, and she couldn't free herself, she'd die. She wasn't afraid. If this creature had truly wanted to kill her, it would have done so already, or at least tried to. Now it was merely watching her as if she were some animal trapped in a cage.

The faceless entity slowly strafed around her, his walk seeming almost prideful. It was as if the thing were showing off, which it very well could have been doing. It extended Haze's blade toward her, resting it on her shoulder tauntingly. Its eyes smiled. It didn't need a mouth to show the victory it felt.

Sand was a horrible surface for drawing. The wind had a habit of moving things around.

Haze suddenly felt her foot free. She instantly took the initiative and sidestepped around her blade, bringing her clawed-hand in a downward sweeping motion, slicing into the beast's wrist. She pulled through its wrist, freeing her blade. In one swift motion, she knocked her blade free and had it in hand, gravely wounding the creature in the process.

Somehow, with all five claws striking through him, only four connected, her thumb phasing through his flesh like it were air. Just like her blade. But... why did her other four nails connect? Were there more limitations to this ability?

Quick to act again, She raised her blade, claws digging deeper into his muscle and bone. The blade flew into his arm, nearly cleaving it in half. She half expected it to scream, but it simply jerked back through the excruciating pain. Even as he stumbled backward, his leg abruptly swept up toward her. She managed to hold her arms out to defend herself, his talons tearing through her skin. She winced, gritting her teeth hard as she bit back the pain. She forced herself to remain focused, despite her body's protest.

In an act of desperation, the creature launched its wings out its back in a panicked effort to gain distance. Haze jumped in front of its path, swinging a clenched fist into its faceless face as hard as she could manage.

One last attack from the monster, a swift kick to her stomach, sent the both flying away from each other. They hit the ground at the same time, both in excruciating pain.

Haze screamed, the venom-tipped talons having cleaved deep into her gut. She held her stomach tightly, trying to stop the bleeding, but the pain was too strong and the wound was too deep. Blood was now flowing from her stomach. She couldn't fight this fight anymore, she doubted she even had the strength to flee. She felt like she was going to die.

She was going to bleed to death. Already she could feel herself fading from consciousness. She could see the monster standing above her through blurry tears. Her vision faded to black and her breathing slowed. Her senses were beginning to dull. The wind was muffled, the smell of blood was faint, and the pain was nothing but a subtle reminder that she was dying. The constant hammering of her heart hammered slower, then slower, and then stopped.

The curse is real, young lady. Don't, for a second, think otherwise.

Haze was standing, her left arm still hugging her bleeding wound, but her expression blank and lifeless. Eyes closed. She staggered in place a moment, standing only with the last ounce of her exsecrorian strength. She wasn't even aware of it, but she was standing.

Don't you DARE think otherwise, young lady!

She gasped for air, eyes wide open. She hadn't died, not yet. Her heart began to pick up again. Blood was still flowing from her stomach, but she was determined to live.

Drink the water...

She weakly raised her blade, taking a careful step backward. She just wanted to live.

... and live forever

Just to live.

He could have turned away.

He could have acknowledged the danger he was in.

But, his curiosity got the best of him this time.

White-Hair would finish this now while the poison was still circulating its body, if not for his inability to see straight, and the fact that the tool required to do so was just barely attached to his body.

Now he was beginning to worry about his own well-being. His enemy was still standing, barely conscious as it might be. There had to be a way to defeat it in his current condition.

Blood stained the ground surrounding the two, and although a majority of it was his, there wasn't much he could do with it. Transmuting it into anything would only make him weaker.

White-Hair fought against consciousness as well.

Standing yards from him was the creature who was causing him so much agony. If only he had the strength to even lift his wings anymore, he could charge it fast enough to knock it off of its feet for good.

Or maybe he wouldn't need to. White-Hair was focusing solely on trying to kill this creature, completely forgetting about the reason for fighting in the first place. He needed to find out all he could about this creature, and there was one final test. One final question that needed to be answered.

White-Hair dropped to his knees, and his forehead hit the sand in front of him. His claw dug into the dirt.

And he waited.

OoC: short one. probably because i'm a flamer.

the rest is up to you good sir. if you don't wanna end it right now let me know

Although she was barely holding on to consciousness, the sight of the creature in its own vulnerable state tempted her. She could kill it, right then and there. The battle would be over and she wouldn't have to worry about that thing coming after her. She could do it, but her goal, her original plan, wasn't to kill this thing. She wanted to capture it to possibly learn its defensive secrets, but she was far too weak to subdue this thing and keep it prisoner. Even if she did, she doubted she would learn anything useful from the being. She couldn't kill it, and she couldn't capture it.

She stood motionless for several seconds, knowing that each moment she wasted the more blood she would lose. Should she take the risk and turn her back to the creature? She had to get medical attention before any damage became permanent. The creature still lay in the dirt, just as wounded as she was. Haze carefully, without removing her eyes from the beast, sheathed her blade.

"This fight is over." Her voice was weak. She knew it couldn't understand her, but maybe something would get through. "We lay down our arms and go our separate ways. Just know this: You were the one who attacked me." She took a deep breath, taking a step back, "You brought your misery upon yourself."

Boldly turning her back to the strange thing, she slowly limped her way back toward Soledad. Each step away from the creature boosted her confidence, but she never truly turned her back. Every step back to safety was a cautious move. She walked back to the city, not with a sense of triumph, but with a sense of realization: She was mortal and she would die one day, unless he found a cure.

She wasn't going back home, she was simply going to get healed up and close shop. Her business in the Oasis village was finished. She had to move on, she had to find a way to stave off death. She had to find immortality.

So she walked, always with her guard up.

Infinite ****** fanboys too?