Re: Fission [Open] [Letz Stil Training]

Sat Sep 18, 2021 11:15 am

Uriel Sancroix | Half Blood

There was a terrible beauty to battle, a carnage that painted it's self in the finest colors. For Uriel, it was in the strokes between the brush that he began to understand his opponent. It was in those grandiose arcs that he could truly see the measure of a man. The Knight of Two, the man of two worlds, of two lives, had to admit that he preferred this fight at night. The downgrade of his power, when all the cards seemed to place him at a disadvantage. It brought him closer to scope against his opponent, and make the struggle all the more enjoyable. And for that, he was eternally grateful.

As the burning orb grazed across Alastair's arm, burning muscles and nerves, only for him to turn away from it. A logical move as he sought to turn his blade against Uriel. It would find purchase against his armored midriff, cleaving into the medal and soon flesh. Hardened flesh gave way to empowered Quincy craftmanship, as the sound of flesh being split could be heard. However, the blade would only make it a half-inch inside of him as Uriel flexed into the blade. The Reishi becoming trapped into his body from his muscles, as his bloodied hand shot towards him.

Instead of dodging he committed his time to gripping the sword arm of Alastair, holding him in place now allowing him to move his blade in or out. His Zanapaktou was position behind Alastair, with the Orb flickering at the tip of his sword. Glowing blue irises staring into the infernal eyes of Alastair. A moment of silence would pass if neither moved. Before finally he spoke. "...Thank you, for giving me this." His smooth tenor dropping a level, perhaps even a level of solemn reverence within his voice. A genuine, sincere, grateful thanks given unto him.

In this moment an intense, gathering of Reiatsu was felt behind Alastair. The orb at the end of his Zanpakatou detonated.

The resulting explosion was far different than the earlier one, this one carrying with it hellfire and kinetic force. Enough to send both of them spiraling away from each other to different areas in the Arena, as Uriel had let go. It was certainly weaker than his full power, but the resulting fire and explosion was nothing to scoff at. Had he activated it the moment contact was made, Alastair could probably guess it would have been far deadlier. Regardless, Uriel would be rising to a knee from his position. A noticable change in his energy being felt.

The cape now on his body seemed to be fluttering wildly, fire and reiatsu spewing forth from it nearly uncontrollable. The orange embers which licked at his body earlier now erupting in lines across his body and outfit. His teeth would clench themselves, as he could feel his body heat rising to unforeseen levels. He had reached it. He could feel his power overflowing, his blue irises now licked by flames. A hand slowly moved to the cape on his shoulders, undoing the first last. Upon doing so, a wild fire storm erupted around Uriel- an explosive force of reiatsu emitting. With the same care, his bloodied hand would undo the second latch allowing the cape to fall to the floor.

In that moment, as the full height of his Letz Stil was activated in conjunction with this Shikai, he looked a far different beast. The towering giant of the Vandenreich encased in flames. The floor beneath him seemingly melting from him simply existing, the flames which had drawn lines in his skin now each a roaring inferno. If AlastaIr's Volstandig gave him graceful control of fire, it appeared Uriel's Letz Stil was the overwhelming destructive force of such an element.

Uriel was a walking, breathing, star.

"I can't maintain this for long. Give me everything you got."

The words left his mouth slowly, he smile gone from his face. Instead, there seemed to be a degree of seriousness not seen yet. Although he did not show it, his entire body felt as it was consuming it's self. Each moment he used this tremendous power, it felt as if his very soul was tearing it's self apart. The synchronization of his soul in jeopardy, in peril even, that he would not show Alastair. The curse of being a half-breed.

He leaked blood from his side, the crimson blood dripping onto the floor before sizzling and burning away. His deskinned hand seemingly hanging limply, and almost dried out. The smell of burnt flesh filling the chamber.

END POST | THE KNIGHT OF TWO

Sat Sep 18, 2021 12:58 pm

Fission [Open] [Letz Stil Training] - Page 2 BLVLdyZ

ALASTAIR EISFLUCH | Vollständig

As his window to escape snapped shut in his face, Alastair turned to meet Uriel’s gaze. There was a burning passion in those iris-less eyes, a drive to push onwards that his cold words so seamlessly masked. It was only now, as they held each other in a flaming embrace, did that warrior’s heart shine through the facade of ice-cold indifference. It was not a fair contest, woe to the Administrator if it had been, but it was a pure contest. An understanding between two warriors that went beyond the words they spoke or the actions they had taken, a look shared and a gritting of teeth was all the acknowledgment it needed.

Snapping back to the fight itself, Alastair did not need a reminder that he was in a precarious position. A force far beyond his ability to match had locked his weapon in place, embedded as it was in Uriel’s side, so he simply let go of it. The limb breaking off and dispersing unless Uriel wished now to maintain it, whilst the handle of Falke remained in his grasp. He began to draw in more reishi, intending to summon a new blade whilst still held in place, but the gathering of energy behind him alerted him to the impending detonation. Had he a means to defend against it better then he would have taken it but, restrained as he was, there was nothing to be done beyond simply enduring it. ”My pleasure, Sir.” In contrast to Uriel, whose voice grew only more serene, there was a rumbling fury behind Alastair’s words. Even now his focus was unwavering. His wings emerged once more, having been tucked away to expedite his previous dive, and wrapped around his back in a primitive form of cocoon.

Then, with a resounding crash, the orb detonated. Alastair had expected it to be similar to the first one, in fact it was far from it, and his hubris was rewarded with a searing heat that flooded over his winged shield and wreathed his body in hellfire. He flew through the air, tumbled, rolled and buckled; an evocative image of a fallen angel was probably the most accurate depiction of this unwilling movement; and then he lay there for a moment.

The ringing in his ears ceased just in time for him to hear Uriel’s strained words, but they were strained by his own willpower rather than injury. Alastair could not say the same. His whole body screamed out in protest as his wings pulled him back to his feet, every single fibre of his being was telling him that this was his limit. But he had come too far to fall at the final hurdle. Whatever Uriel had been trying to achieve had been done. The sheer power that he could feel him exuding was great enough to cause him to weep tears of sweat, only for those same tears to evaporate into a fine mist before his very eyes. Cuts and scrapes from the fall covered his body, white flames licking at them as he willed everything to move again. Pain shot through his legs and up his spine, but that was what forced his eyes wide open again.

“Come then. Let us finish this.”

There was a crack in his voice, though his tone did not shift. It was a break in his spirit, as the halo atop his head cracked and split in twain, one half dispersing into loose energy whilst the other still remained. His wings appeared thinned too, the extremities beginning to seep out orange dust in a similar manner as Alastair did blood, but that did not stop them from beating once more.

Falke was still in his hand, the base of the weapon now becoming the focus of his pain-fuelled energy surge. Once more the two limbs of the bow emerged, every drop of excess reishi that Alastair could find now flowing into the weapon. He raised it slowly and summoned up one last Heilig Pfeil. It would all end on this shot. Either he would stop the oncoming monster or it would overrun him before he had a chance to fire again. Knowing this, he poured everything he had into the arrow. The last vestiges of his Vollstanding were sacrificed to the pyre, the halo, the wings, the white haze that masked his irises, all converted into fuel.

He aimed low, roughly the same spot where he knew there was a chink in Uriel’s armour, and then released. But even as it flew free from Falke, Alastair held on to his focus, and turned the arrow into a Blitzfeuer shot. The tip shone brighter and brighter, until it was comparable even to the Flare orb that Uriel had detonated above them, and sought to lay his opponent low with one final blinding blow.

Der Feuersouverän | END POST

Sat Sep 18, 2021 1:41 pm

Uriel Sancroix | Half Blood

It bares worth saying that the tale of Icarus is often spoken of as a warning, a tale for caution. That the idealistic Icarus dared to tread where only the Gods walked. As Uriel, whom bored the name of an angel, watched the crashing visage of Alastair, whom evoked the image of the fiery archangel, he could not help but dismiss that tale. For those whom called Icarus a fool, they themselves where foolish. It is only by the fall of Icarus that the world knows how close they may tread to the sun. Was it not beautiful, and proper, that he was moved by such a sight? Was it not, perhaps, right, that in that moment Alastair had bested Uriel?

As the temperature of the room rose second by second, the feeling of Uriel's soul setting it's self on fire was agonizing. His Zanpakatou roaring a silent battle cry, urging him forward to meet this man. This kindred spirit. As he rose slowly from his slumped state, Uriel stoic face watched him with the utmost candor. How to describe the feeling he felt? The thrumming of his heart, the scream of his soul, and the intensity of his emotions. The crushing weight of his own pride brought to the fore front, as this condition augmented every part of him.

Alastair couldn't compare, not now. In this moment, he was a small ember to Uriel's Star.

And yet, he stood against in. In defiance. Of his own limits, of his own weakness. Pushing himself to limits which shouldn't be possible. It was through his raw intestinal will power that he persisted. He chose to meet Uriel in this fashion. Moisture would form under his eye that immediately evaporated. It reminded him of someone, of a distant figure whom he could no longer call upon.

"Let's."

The word poured out of his mouth among the sound of crackling fire, and burning atmosphere. Spoken with deep reverence and passion betraying the stoic look upon his face. As he struggled to keep himself together, to just hold on a bit longer. To commit every moment of this incident to his memory, knowing that in his most private moments this shall be a cherished one. To meet someone like this by chance, to battle them, and to be blessed with such an outcome. As Alastair took aim at Uriel, he'd bring his bloodied hand to grip his Zanpakatou shakily. Slowly, he'd raise the blade above his hand as the gathering of Reishi was felt. He didn't trust himself to move, so he'd gamble it all on this attack.

He trusted Alastair to survive.

The moment his companion released his attack, Uriel would close his eyes. In a smooth motion he'd draw his blade downward, an orange-reddish line forming through the air. The solar infused sword seemingly pulsating and rippling with flames, exactly like the surface of a star. As he performed this act, a single phrase left his mouth: "Supernova."

The effects where immediate, the world quieting it's self. The air around the arena becoming distorted, warped by the emission of spiritual energy and solar flames. Atmospheric conditions changing instantly as the blade was brought downward, expelling it's gathered energy into an large area. Uriel, being cognizant of their power different, purposefully enacted this attack to merely released in a massive area- rather than focused upon Alastair. As the attack potency if perform in that measure would most certainly incinerate him. Instead, this weaker attack would rupture their training area and bathe both of them in it's aftermath.

The attack was blinding, as well Alastairs. However, a difference remained in their attacks. Although Uriel's had far more raw power, Alastair's was focused. The arrow of his would move true through the carnage, weakened by the atomic reaction. It would find it's target piercing through the broken armor, skin, and flesh of Uriel. A spray of burning blood into the air would happen, not enough to bring him down by it's self- but a nasty wound. Impressive, considering the difference. In fact, one might even call it a grievous wound in other circumstances.

Once the carnage subsided, Uriel armor would be incinerated. His clothing barely remaining even with it's specially made fire resistance. His body baring second degree burns all over it, the wounds he sustained from the fight smoking from the heat which was now being rapidly expended from his body. He'd stumble forward a bit, holding onto his sword lazily, before falling to a knee retching violently. The coppery taste of blood touching his mouth, bringing his injured hand to his mouth while he coughed some blood into it. Despite his sorry state, he had little spiritual energy to do anything. Had it not been for his augmented body, he probably would have collapsed.

Instead, his concern was not on himself though. It was on Alastair, his blue irises pouring over the scene to see what happened to him. His breath catching in his throat.

END POST | THE KNIGHT OF TWO

Sat Sep 18, 2021 7:08 pm

ALASTAIR EISFLUCH | Vollständig

He watched his attack fly true, the arrow sailing towards his foe in one final spark of defiance, and a cracked smile dared to cross his lips before the world around him faded into darkness as consciousness left his body. But darkness did not find him, instead it was an all encompassing white light that enveloped him. A light so pure that it stripped away at his senses and his clothes, until all that remained was just Alastair. Nothing but the man, his broken body pushed towards its breaking point. But, bereft as he was of feeling and attire, he felt almost weightless. Pushing off the ground, which warped and splintered beneath him, there was no resistance as he began to float in the air.

Only then did it occur to him that this was actually Uriel’s counterattack.

It had overloaded his senses to the point at which they had simply shutdown, his mind unable to keep up with the stress of what was being inflicted upon him. But perhaps it was also trying to spare him, as the raw experience of having to endure this great attack might have been too much for his mind to bare even if his body could survive. Suddenly, he was not hovering anymore, he was spiralling backwards like a rag doll with limbs flailing valiantly against the force that drove him away. Over and over and over he turned, losing all bearing on which way was up or down in this infinite void, until finally there was a connection with something and the white gave way to the welcoming blackness of unconsciousness.

Crumpled against the far wall of the training facility, the metal behind him painted black with scorch marks from his impact and the journey downwards that had swiftly followed, Alastair sat in a position of seemingly innocent prayer. His legs tucked away beneath him, his chest doubled over forwards, whilst his arms were outstretched forwards. Blue blood still pumped through Alastair’s sunburnt and blistered skin though, as his blut Vene fought to keep the limits of his injuries at a superficial level and in doing so had certainly saved him from crippling injury or even death. Not to say that his condition was enviable, but he certainly appeared to be in one piece rather than reduced to ash and dust.

A moment passed by as the attack came to an end, Uriel’s gaze no doubt landing upon Alastair’s body as the blinding light had subsided, but the man did not stir. A minute more of stillness, the dust now settling from the devastation wrought, Uriel no doubt making a steady approach towards him to inspect his condition further, but that was not even a whisper from the downed soldier.

The second minute of continued silence was interrupted at last by a hoarse exhale. A rugged breath, if one might call it that, because the air itself was still so warm that even breathing was unpleasant. He did not stand, for that was far beyond him now, nor could he sit or even kneel. Instead, Alastair collapsed sideways and then rolled onto his back to look up at the roof and imagine the night sky beyond it. Uriel had shone as bright as the stars above whilst they sparred, even one single lapse in judgement might have caused irreparable damage to his body, but somehow he persisted. There was no doubt that his opponent had held back, for this was surprisingly not intended to be a duel to the death, but Alastair had thrown everything forwards just to keep up with him.

He wanted to cry out in both agony and ecstasy, to scream away both the pain and the pleasure that came from having survived such a collision of stars, but there was not the air in his lungs nor the strength in his body to do so. In the end, he had sacrificed everything to draw out what Uriel had been struggling to do alone. That cataclysmic display of power and heat. Why had he done so? He could not even put it into words, let alone speak them. They had simply become wrapped up in the experience somewhere down the line, and to get off the train when it was already moving would have only caused more destruction than to see it through to completion.

Besides, in order to rise again from its own ashes and return, a Phoenix must first burn.

Der Feuersouverän | END POST

Sun Sep 19, 2021 7:56 am

Uriel Sancroix | Half Blood

He was alive, and that was good enough.

Uriel would fall to a knee out of relief for the wellbeing of his opposition, his head dipping downwards for a moment. The edges of his vision seemed to fade inward, becoming black, before he shook his head. He couldn't afford to pass out yet, he needed to get Alastair to proper medical attention. So with great effort the giant would force himself to his feet, standing for but a moment, then limping his way towards the man. His heavy hand moving to sheath his Zanpakatou with great difficulty as he arrived to Alastair.

As he collapsed onto both of his knees, he took a ragged breath. His bloodied hand dragging against the charred and broken ground, blue irises had returned to gaze down at the fiery hair'd male. His eyes dragging across their form, the lithe powerful body which had survived his onslaught. Burned and broken in places he didn't need to image, There was a beauty to it, in the strained face Alastair possessed. Perhaps even a small miracle gifted by the saints he had survived this battle.

It brought a smile to his own marred features.

His good hand would move to the top of Alastair's head, scorched finger tips running through crimson hair. In a motion far too tender, far too gentle, then a man such as he should possess. In time his hand would move to under the head of Alastair to support it, letting out a pained chuckle. "Look like we survived, pretty boy." He'd laugh slightly, before coughing tasting copper. With a grunt he'd roll his arm to cradle the head of Alastair. His bloodied hand coming to scoop up the smaller male. In a lagged, broken, motion he'd struggle to his feet holding the Quincy bridal style.

"Let's get you to a doctor." He'd sigh, starting the long journey to a medical area.

END POST | THE KNIGHT OF TWO