Power Shot v. Safer (Technology Against Magic)

OoC: Man, I gotta defeat you, dude! Let's do this!

BiC:

The dark man walked forward, clutching the gnarled staff between the fingers on his gloved hand. The corridors echoed with the thumps that issued from his iron stick, vibrating through the rooms he traveled between, crossing down the aisles he traversed. The dark man, a giant, sighed deeply, wishing he was not where he was at the present moment. It was strange, he thought, that he should continue on this road, when his mission had already failed. He had not protected, and was thus separated from, the youth he had been charged with. Zorlo had not been harmed, but he should have been there. Many, he had been told, had gone, lost to the void. Now, it seemed, he had been sent to try his strength a second time. He tightened his grip on his giant staff. He would not fail, he vowed silently, passing through a set of wrought-iron doors that led to the trial's setting.

He was in a strange arena for battle, that much was certain. The dark knight passed forward, walking in between the pews and over the velvet carpet draped in the center of the stone building. He could hear his footsteps as they echoed along the concrete walls, vibrating once more. He should know, even within the cowl he wore, his ears were very good. The warrior continued, and did not stop until he reached the beginning of the altar before him. He tilted his masked face upwards, taking in the holy cross that sat above him on the wall. An artifact, from a religion that was dead to him. All religions were dead to the dark man, simply because no God or Goddess could have conceived a being such as he.

He continued to stare, the masked void of his face a mystery. Devoid of any expression, of any emotion even, he surveyed the arena, taking in every detail of the pulpit and church. And still his face did not move from the golden cross in front of him, embodied in gems. He did not need eyes to see the arena, because he did not have them. The dark knight's favorite wish was when an opponent would demand to see the whites of his eyes before they tried, and failed, to kill him. He had none, his cowl his eyes. He checked the pillars standing evenly in rows along the pews heading up to the altar. He saw the rock, with very little concrete. Someone a long time ago had carved much of the church out. Well, the dark knight could not help any damage he would inflict to the building in his mission, only that he would try to damage it the least. But things always had a way of getting out of hand in fights, they always seemed to...

He took up a great deal of space, the dark warrior, as he stood silently, waiting. His right hand, gloved in black, gripped the iron staff, its gnarled surface laced with strange purple lines along its dull gray coloring. Most of the amethyst markings made no sense, their placing on the staff eccentric and without pattern, but the dark knight knew their purpose would be served. His whole, mammoth body was cloaked in darkness, a blackened greatcoat hung over his form. The whole of his body was shrouded, even his facial features, right down to his ears. Only the clumps and spikes of his copper-colored hair, deep auburn with touches of red, were able to suggest something remotely human about the man, though with the slightest sway of his head, they changed back and forth from copper to dull gray.

The left arm of his greatcoat was loose and fluttered lightly when he moved. Below the opened coat, the stump that ended just below his elbow was pinned in the dark shirt he wore beneath. On his black belt, a buckle forged unbreakable fastened his whole uniform together, the symbol of the warrior. An eye, who gaze penetrating and everlasting, colored green sat in place, glowing slightly in the translucent light in the cathedral. Only a few strands of light entered the room, through tiny cracks in the walls and ceiling. Not much, but enough. A normal person could see, and the dark knight needed no light to see.

He waited there, for over an hour. A stone statue, immobile, until something perked his interest; a second set of footsteps were echoing through the hallways he had come from. The giant turned slowly upon discovering the sounds, the noises meaning his opponent had come for him. He did not quiver, did not tremble in anticipation or fear. He simply stood, awaiting the challenge that this new warrior would be. His right, true arm, which grasped the staff, moved the weapon aside, strapping it to the latch he had designed for its safekeeping on his back. It stood straight up, a good six feet in length, but yet the man was bigger by far. The man stood silently, unwilling to speak. That was his way, silent but deadly. He would not underestimate, he would not feel. He would battle as he always did.

The man who called himself Chronos waited. As he did so, a shadow emerged from the hallways, followed by a figure that the dark knight knew by reputation, but had never met. He kept his arm by his side, preparing to attack if needed. But he would wait, pleasantries should be exchanged first between combatants.

He nodded. "Tokumaru Kyô," he said, in a dull hiss that seemed to sink into the very stone of the building, his deep voice inching his way towards his more familiar growl. "I have been waiting for you."

The samurai named Tokumaru Kyô stepped forward.

OoC: Hope this was all right...

Tokumaru sat calmly in the Grand Dome of Miiazu Amphitheatre, his eyes closed in respect to what seemed like was nothing. The grandiose murals that adorned the walls seemed more radiant than usual; light seeping in through the massive ten feet windows gave the paintings within an outer glow of sorts. Although, the Heavenflame Samurai’s mind was not focused on the splendour that was his city’s amphitheatre, but more on the massive, divine figure which sat in front of him, one that only he could see.

“My lord,” Tokumaru said quietly, keeping his head down in respect. “Have you sensed it as well…?”

The bearded cripple of a God nodded. Indeed I have, Tokumaru. This day, our bonds will weaken.

Tokumaru grimaced, his expressing getting more melancholy as the thought of being without fire drew stronger. “Will they forever be shut down? Will I be without the power of Heavenflames forever?”

The God of Fire and Forge shook his head. No, and I don’t believe that you’ll be without my power totally, in fact. It will only be subdued a good amount.

Tokumaru ignored the respect he held, and raised his head to Hephaestus, a look of awe in his eyes. “Can a mortal really do that?”

There are those who can, Tokumaru. It’s when you face those people that you must rely on what you knew when you were Kyronei, before you and I met.

After a slight amount of mental arguing, Tokumaru nodded slowly and stood up, unfurling his wings and resting a hand on the Hinotama. Light surrounded him in a holy aura as the angel levitated in the air, raising himself to the face level of Hephaestus. Feathers dropped down onto the amphitheatre’s floor as Tokumaru flapped his wings steadily.

“May you be with me in this round, my lord,” he said, kneeling in midair. “Your strength is mine.”

My strength is yours.

“Together…”

We are one.

And in a flash, Tokumaru disappeared.

* * *

Emerging in a short hallway, the samurai walked forward towards a light, and opened his eyes to see a man completely coated in a black substance. The man was monstrously tall; Tokumaru rolled his eyes.

I’m having flashbacks of Kenjin-san… haha.

The dark man turned to Tokumaru, and in an awful, monotonous tone, spoke.

“Tokumaru Kyô, I have been waiting for you.”

A small crackle of lightning resonated around Tokumaru’s powerful grip on his sword’s hilt, and suddenly, the pews melted back; the cathedral disappeared to all but the floor…

…and four massive walls closed in where the stone walls used to be, forming a cage.

OOC: Yeah, I know there was supposed to be a corridor to the cage match arena, but I didn’t feel like writing one in.

Chronos observed the smaller man with little heed, despite the fact that the samurai was to be his next target, his opponent in this new tournament round. It wasn’t due to lack of courtesy or rudeness, quite the contrary; Chronos recognized power when he saw it. The force from Tokumaru seethed in drones. It was because of the changing surroundings, the chapel around himself and Tokumaru altering when the samurai approached. The pews surrounding the carpet leading to the altar vanished altogether, the stone and mortar beneath turning into a smooth, but hard, surface. Chronos’ eye, his cowl, looked around at the walls. They drew closer, withdrawing towards the two combatants. Without explanation, the cement and rock that made up their foundation began to transform, turning to hard, cold steel bars, splitting down the middle to create the thin, tough poles. The whole arena shook in response, until the metamorphosis was completed, from chapel to caged wrestling arena. Chronos found himself trapped, even in the wide space.

Iron had replaced the walls, and a mat had taken the place of the stone floor. Opposite him, Tokumaru Kyô surveyed the changes as well, the expressions on the samurai’s face more surprised and interested than Chronos’. The dark knight was indifferent to the matter of scene change, the alteration simply meant there were less things separating him from his opponent, a spread, empty mat was more entertaining than a church full of objects. Chronos looked down, Tokumaru had evidently finished observing the surroundings. He now stood facing the giant, his face tightening with seriousness. Chronos took in everything about his opponent, a much more slender man, in comparison to the metal warrior, with dark hair and hazel eyes, contrast to Chronos’ copper spikes and cowl. Chronos noted the wings, the bright feathery masses attached to the samurai’s upper spine, along with the powerful sword carried in his arm. The Arm Striker detected the magic, had been doing so since Kyô had entered the arena. It radiated off the angel-like being, and the Arm Striker was already pulsating with anticipation. Chronos ignored the needs of the staff, it serve its purpose soon.

Tokumaru Kyô smiled. “Nice scenery change, huh?” he asked, his tone cautious. Kyô’s hand did not for one moment leave the hilt of his blade. “So, I suppose you’re my next opponent?” He narrowed his eyes. “You remind me of someone I know.”

“I am called Chronos,” the dark warrior answered, walking forward. Even in the absence of stone beneath his boots, the ebon knight’s steps echoing along the floor, vibrating off the cage bars, until they found their way outside the ring, the strange void the match was situated in. The darkness did not seep into the ring, somehow lit by unknown means, shadows that spanned infinity sat watching in wait. Chronos paid the void no attention, and continued heedlessly. On the other side, Kyô followed the example, though his footsteps did not create the same amount of noise. “I know who you are, Tokumaru Kyô, and what made you.”

“’What made me?’” the samurai asked, slightly confused. “The only ones that made me are my parents, Chronos. I am nothing more, and nothing less. I am Tokumaru Kyô.”

“No.” Chronos shook his head, stopping a few feet away from the smaller warrior. “You are not human, Tokumaru Kyô. You are a being from another plane, or so I was told. A warrior so infused with magic that it has become a part of you, innate to your body and soul, almost needed for your sustentation. You were given magic in a pact with Hephaestus, God of Fire and forge.” As he spoke, the metal warrior brought up his right whole arm, gripping the Arm Striker, and removing it from its latch. As Chronos levered it before himself, Kyô caught sight of the pinned up sleeve of his opponent’s left arm, and his eyes widened. Chronos shrugged. “Mistake nothing about me for weakness, Tokumaru Kyô, and I will grant you the same discretion. Mankind may have made me, and Godkind you, but I am every bit a challenge.” His tone changed, altering from the monotonous drone to a dark growl. If his will had been weaker, and his manners less, Kyô might have obeyed on Chronos’ word by command alone. If.

The samurai nodded, accepting the terms laid before him. “It sounds like a fair agreement,” the Heavenflame answered, raising the Hinotama’s blade. “Shall we battle?”

***

Chronos began immediately, having wasted enough time speaking, by sinking deep into his mind. He probed and searched, shutting off the portions of his brain that would be distracted by outside forces. His attention narrowed, focusing solely on Tokumaru Kyô, the Heavenflame Samurai. Rapidly, Chronos bombarded his mind with information he had been given on Kyô, taken from Kenjin’s books and histories, everything Chronos had memorized about Kenjin’s former battles. The Encorna, in his strange, prophetic way, had perfectly prepared Chronos for the battle ahead. He remembered the life, the battles, and the attacks of Tokumaru Kyô and, when he was finished, increased the focus on Kyô. The samurai was waiting, standing patiently for the ebon warrior to complete whatever he needed to do.

Chronos obliged the man, raising the Arm Striker with his only hand, his right arm gripping hard against the steel of his staff. He held it by the butt of the weapon, swirling it round his body at all six feet of its full length. Kyô acted instantly to save his hide, much faster than Chronos had assessed from his physical condition, though the records in his head stated his opponent was extremely speedy. The Hinotama, Kyô’s katana, whirled upwards, blocking the heavy blow without any effort speed-wise, though Chronos could tell vibrations were shooting up the Heavenflames’ right arm. The clang that resulted from the weapons parrying echoed and gyrated along the cage’s bars, then deep into the dark void, until the sound reached a place where none would ever hear it again. But by then, more sounds, similar to the first, had joined the original, as the two’s weapons began to battle furiously.

The samurai dodged another hard blow, one that could take off his head if he was not careful, and delivered a fierce slash to the giant’s masked face. The Arm Striker came up, batting the Hinotama away like a twig, sending another jarring vibration shooting through Kyô‘s arm. Slightly annoyed, but in no way discourage, the samurai decided to reply with something slightly more potent and deadly. Flipping backward, to give himself breathing room, flames began to generate in the Heavenflame’s spare palm, the embers igniting to life. With a shout, Kyô unleashed them, sending searing flames against his opponent.

“Flames of Destruction!” the samurai cried, fire lacing from his enchanted arm. The columns flickered to life upon the command, elongating and attacking the ebon warrior. In self defense, Chronos decided to try his new weapon out. The dark opponent raised his right arm, pointing the Arm Striker’s edge directly at the flames, bracing himself for impact.

“MetaSkin!” the dark knight roared, the flames all but drowning him out. Upon Chronos’ command, metal began to form from his bare forearm, and pooled together on his wrist, amassing as one and building density, toughening up. When Chronos deemed it time, with the flames almost upon his person, the metal expanded, taking on the shape of a giant funnel, a giant tube. The funnel continued to increase in size and density, building itself to defend against the flames, to resist the melting powers of the heat. The flames entered the tube, unable to go elsewhere, commanded by Kyô and guided by Chronos, until their embers touched the Arm Striker’s surface.

The moment the fire touched the strange staff, the column was directed straight towards it, almost like a magnet, dragging the flames in a straight line to the Arm Striker. The samurai tried to halt whatever was happening, but something was distinctly wrong. He was no longer in control of his own flames, directing the embers further was not an option, as the vacuum force of the staff sucked the fires into itself faster than it could force Kyô to produce them. Chronos watched as the samurai was pressed outside his will to continue the attack, the embers being trapped inside the chemicals, turned null by the staff’s technology.

Finally, Chronos withdrew the Arm Striker, cutting off its abilities with his own control over the staff. It was made from his left arm, after all. It was part of him. He leaned it along his shoulder as the samurai opposite him fell to the floor, gasping for air. Kyô was feeling a definite lack of power, a chill would soon begin spreading itself over his body. Kyô’s hazel eyes looked upwards, his attention now on the staff. His eyes traced the strange purple lines along its surface, glowing now in reaction to his magic. “What… What does that do?” he demanded, pointing the Hinotama directly at the Arm Striker. “I feel-”

“-Weakened,” Chronos answered, stepping towards the crippled samurai. “The toxins designed into the Arm Striker are created for the sole purpose of removing powers granted outside human normalcy. They will revert you, Tokumaru Kyô, to the being you once were, before the God Hephaestus interfered.” He raised the staff above his head with his right arm.

He struck Kyô hard, batting the samurai roughly across the face. The force from the blow, the velocity of impact, sent Tokumaru Kyô flying, his back slamming into the bars of the cage. He shouted in pain, falling to the matted floor, feeling blood trickling from his mouth in a small stream. But his injuries would take care of themselves, it wasn’t that he was concerned with. It was the Arm Striker’s attack, the strange draining he had felt from his fire blast, he felt when the staff made contact with his face. In that single moment, he felt searing cold burn through his body, a cold like nothing else, destroying everything warm and fiery about him.

His eyes widened. My fire!

OoC: Just a note, Tokumaru hasn't lost all of his abilities. Just enough to notice a significant decrease.