Difference between revisions of "2871/WMAT AQ1 Ivraala vs Fudou Moto"

Latest revision as of 18:28, 23 August 2015

Ivraala (679) has posed:
    Heat and dust and dry canyon are not where one would expect ice to form, but it seems that's where Ivraala and Fudou will be having their match today. Will the frosty knight be able to take the heat?

    Judging by the way frost congeals beneath the draenei's dark hooves as she steadily walks to her place on the battleground, probably.

    Ivraala's armored hood remains pulled over her head, with her swept-back horns protruding through holes in the sides. Even then, her cold blue eyes glow brightly in the darkness over her face, paired with the dimmer glow of the purple crystals dangling from her ear to one face tentacle. Her greataxe stays on her back, but the gnarled weapon is drawn as soon as Ivraala comes to her place on the dusty wasteland.

    Slowly, almost casually, the greataxe is lifted from her back before being allowed to dig into the earth at her side, its frigid aura spreading ice along the point of impact. Ivraala's long tail swishes behind her like a serpent, but she otherwise seems content to stand as still as a statue while she waits.

Fudou Moto (784) has posed:
There's something familiar about this place.

    Swirling currents of rust-red dust whirls around the designated battlefield. Fudou sits and waits, his legs crossed underneath his body, large hands resting patiently atop his knees. His eyes are closed, though their lids are shut only lightly, all other senses open to the world around him.

    Ivraala's arrival stirs the Street Fighter. Perhaps it's the sound of her footsteps, or the chill that accompanies her. A great fist presses into the scorched earth, pressing him up to his feet. He takes in a deep breath as the dust shifts all around him.

Familiar heat blossoms in his chest. Fudou's eyes fly open. His posture drops into something that can only vaguely be called a martial arts stance, but may be more closely described as a looming, bestial lurch.

"Whenever you're ready, lady," Fudou says into the storm.

Ivraala (679) has posed:
    "...hm." Ivraala's head tilts slightly as she stares down at Fudou, sending a jangle through her earring. "Archenon poros." 'Good fortune,' thanks to the Multiverse's translation, though obviously not said in English; everything else she says has a frigid Turkish accent to it, but she's obviously very fluent despite occasionally resorting to her own language. "I hope you find yourself satisfied with the battle to come."

    She only holds her greataxe with one hand for now; the other lifts, pointing loosely toward Fudou. The tattoos along her forearm pulse beneath her skin with a cold blue glow, and...she doesn't seem to do anything else, herself.

    The wind, however, acts.

    A howling rush of frigid wind blasts over Fudou from Ivraala's direction, intended to bite deep to the bone with ice. While the attack serves as a direct assault on its own, it also has the unfortunate effect of infecting the victim with Frost Fever; a supernatural disease that consumes the victim from within with gnawing ice over time.

Fudou Moto (784) has posed:
    More cold air. This set is biting, however- the kind that reaches into the bone and freezes the marrow. The kind that grows ice crystals in the blood. Fudou lifts his arms to try and shield himself from it- but a man's hands can't hope to hold back the wind itself.

    His skin chills, a pallor growing across his flesh. The Frost Fever creeps through his body, reaching deep and attacking the all too mortal tissue within. It seems as though this match may be over before it even begins...

And then the fever reaches /too/ deep.

    Ivraala would feel it before she'd see it. A wave of tangible heat and force and blood red strength that suddenly thrums through the air. Fudou's frozen jaw creaks as it hinges open. The muscles in his chest, back, shoulders- everything, everywhere, tenses.

A defiant roar shakes the air.

    Fudou dips, his back leg smashing into the ground underneath him. Muscles taut like mounds of piano wire, he draws his fists overhead like a sledgehammer, and swings them down at his opponent like an angry ape.

"Hitting each other from that far away," Fudou growls as he strikes, "Ain't the sort of fight I'm looking for!"

Ivraala (679) has posed:
    The only reaction Ivraala shows to the sudden flare of /heat/ is a furrowing of her brow and a narrowing of her eyes, but a much clearer surprise lies under the cold surface. That pulse of heat is unmistakable, even in this arid environment; it's not the wasteland, but Fudou himself giving off that flame, whose fury he soon mirrors with a howl and a leap.

    Well, this should be interesting.

    The Death Knight's extended arm quickly bends and braces, and the saronite bracer on her forearm serves as her guard against Fudou's hammering fists. The force buckles her goat legs slightly, and her muscles visibly strain against the blow: while she may not feel pain and may not show much discomfort, she sure can feel the fact that her bones have endured some fractures under that strike.

    Nope, getting hit by these things unguarded isn't going to be good.

    "Then you won't have to worry about that," the draenei hisses, elongated canines flashing under her hood. With a sharp snarl, her arm shoves his fists aside, paired with a twist of her body that sends her strong tail lashing at the base of Fudou's neck in a stunning blow. She leaps, then, kicking out at the Street Fighter's chest with both hooves in succession to open the distance some more.

    "I /live/ for this kind of fighting, you know."

Fudou Moto (784) has posed:
    From this close, it's easy to tell how the air chills in Ivraala's presence. But as Fudou connects his strike with her arm, it's not hard to notice that a similar- but opposite- effect seems to be radiating from the Street Fighter. "Funny," Fudou grunts as leaps back, "I thought the undead didn't live for much of anything."

He immediately regrets this sudden burst of wit.

    Ivraala's tail smashes into his neck, audibly cracking his collarbone. His guard drops just in time for the rest of her attacks to smash home, crumpling his thick torso. The street fighter skids back, seeming to double over in pain--

No. No, wait.

Fingertips clutch at the ground, digging into the dust.

The tip of his toes carve a trench into the earth.

There's a low thrum of force, and then a cloud of dust.

    Fudou surges forward with a furious howl, his shoulder going to slam up and into the hollow of his opponent's abdomen. His hands shoot out to grab at her hooved legs, hips and shoulders twisting as one to smash her back into the ground. The motion carries through his body, causing him to corkscrew around his heels. Pulverizing force blasts through the muscles in Fudou's arms, squeezing the bones within painfully tight as he begins throwing hammerblow after hammerblow at the Deathknight!

    Even still, she can see- his torso has already begun to bruise, blood leaking profusely into the skin and muscle tissue there. But he doesn't show sign of stopping.

Ivraala (679) has posed:
    Quipping at Ivraala about her undead-ness certainly seems to be a hot spot, so to speak, for the draenei. Her frigid gaze turns more into a sharp glare as her strikes hit, and a snarl rumbles from her throat. Paired with her sharpened fangs, she almost resembles some sort of demon of ice.

    She doesn't have much time to threaten, though, because Fudou is barely knocked back before he's back in the fray again. On her end, Ivraala is quick enough in her realization of what he's doing that she can stagger back before his shoulder strikes her, but she just doesn't have the agility to avoid the rest of those rocketing strikes. Her legs are ripped out from under her, sending her crashing on her back to the ground; blows fall one after another, slamming into her torso and causing her armor to...scream? It's a strange, faint sound, perhaps mistakable for metal twisting, but it sounds a little too.../alive/.

    "You - nhh - are blinded by rage, it seems."

    Ivraala, on her part, doesn't seem to react much, save for slight wincing as she gets hammered into the ground, but every hit would be an agonizing blow for anyone who could feel such things. Fortunately, despite the damage she endures, the Death Knight can push through it to act.

    Her free hand suddenly pushes into Fudou's chest, and with another pulse of light through her tattoos, a sickly green blast of unholy energy explodes directly from her palm into the brutal fighter's torso. Her hope is that the blast of shadow will be enough of an opening to let her get on her feet again, because as tall as she is and as unused to being /this/ close as she is, this is definitely a disadvantage for her.

Fudou Moto (784) has posed:
    Unholy energies are not something that pretty much anyone- save for the undead themselves- want to be anywhere near. Fudou yells as the necrotic power slams into his chest, sending him staggering back, even as he grasps for the pallid, rotting skin now sloughing from his torso. There really isn't much that any ordinary brawler could hope to do about an attack like this one--

But Fudou is no ordinary brawler.

    Arcs of crackling green energy tear across the surface of his skin-- but then there is a strange... swelling. A ripple that pulses through the air. Gouts of red-orange energy tear out from underneath Fudou's corrupted flesh-- and the necromantic power that fuels that decay.

And... laughter.

Low, pained, but bloodily determined laughter.

The laughter of a man who puts everything into every round he fights.

    "Blinded?" Fudou growls, spreading his stance, steadying his footing. "I can see just fine," another thrum of power. Fudou throws his arms to his sides, hands tightening around the now-visible, vermilion halos that surround him. "Come on," he roars, blasting again into a rush. He reaches his hands, blood-slicked and calloused, for the Draenei's horns. "I'm just getting started!"

Should he succeed, half his body would curl up into a neat C, arms dragging her head down while his knee shoots up like a piston into his opponent's face!

Ivraala (679) has posed:
    The moment Fudou is knocked back, Ivraala takes the opportunity to kick back and flip onto her feet, landing in a low crouch with her greataxe in her hands. Her tail lashes behind her as she braces, watching Fudou from afar. He's strong, and quick; she needs to be careful, and not leap into battle against someone like this.

    That /power/...

    Ivraala pulls back as he grabs for her, but not quite fast enough; one horn is grabbed and yanked down, and while she can pull away a little, she can't evade that knee entirely. It crashes into her brow, jarring her and shooting stars through her vision. It seems like she might fall over for a moment...

    Until she /roars/, dropping her greataxe and digging her hooves into the ground.

    It's a significant effort, but while they may be gentle creatures, draenei are known for their remarkable strength. Coupled with her height, it makes it a little easier for Ivraala to push herself upright, whirl around, and attempt to /slam/ Fudou down into the earth by making use of his grasp on her horn and pulling her entire body into the motion.

Fudou Moto (784) has posed:
    Fudou is strong. His strength is something he doesn't even fully understand. Ivraala, however, is mighty as well. Like some kind of angry ram, Ivraala twists him into the ground, smashing his back into the red, dusty earth and pounding into his already battered and bloody chest. Bones crack and pop on impact, weakened by the damage they'd already incurred thus far.

    But, he's not done yet. The power that thrums in his veins won't let him be 'done.' It wars with everything, even the bounds of his own flesh. Fudou roars, throwing one heel up and into the Death Knight's abdomen. His arms pull, his leg pushes. He becomes a human catapult or a trebuchet, trying to fling his opponent in a vicious overhead arc!

    Except, unlike those siege engines, Fudou doesn't LET GO.

    If he succeeds, he allows the momentum to carry him up and over, bending and twisting with uncanny litheness to reverse their positions. One can HEAR the bones pop in his body as he twists about, but he pays the pain no heed.

Something vastly more powerful hammers at the back of his skull. Pushing him onward. Driving him further, harder, to the very breaking point and beyond.

Ivraala (679) has posed:
    As strong as Ivraala may be, tanking is not her forte. She can't keep her footing quite as well as some, especially after hurtling her momentum into that throw like that. She manages to catch Fudou's heel in her hands, barely dampening the blow against her abdomen as the muscles in her arms strain to hold back his strength, but she can only do so much. When he pushes even harder, she loses her footing and finds herself lifted up again.

    Fortunately, she can guess where Fudou is taking her, and her hooves come down once more to dampen the impact a little and spare her a broken skeleton. Of course, then Fudou's /above/ her again; this is a position she /really/ doesn't want to be in.

    "I think your fires need to be /cooled/," the Death Knight hisses, her tattoos flaring once more. This time, the ground around Ivraala erupts with bursts of ice, sending frozen chains up through the ground to lash at Fudou's limbs and restrain him, yanking him up and off their master. The frost-lined chains can only last for so long, but it's an opportunity Ivraala pushes herself to make use of.

    A shout of raw effort rages up from her throat. She kicks enough to get on her hooves, but the momentum pushes her further: her head comes down like a hammer, and angled slightly so that the base of one horn leads her charge, she sends a frigid headbutt /slamming/ down on Fudou's forehead with her solid horn!

Fudou Moto (784) has posed:
    Manacles of ice twist out of the frozen ground. Cold bites at his skin, tearing him from his place on top of the death knight. His feet dig into the ice, but find no purchase. Struggling, fighting, rattling at the chains as he tries to pull himself free, Fudou is dragged away...

And Ivraala launches into what could be a fatal charge.

In one heartbeat, he sees her rise to her feat for him. In the next, he watches as she lunges like an angry bull, horn poised to shatter his skull into so much dust.

One more heartbeat.

Thunder

    Fudou's voice crescendos into a rasping bellow as a curtain of tangible fury explodes from somewhere deep in his chest. It pulses from his skin, tearing through the frozen chains. It surges down his arms and legs, shattering the manacles. His hands seize around Ivraala's head, stopping her short. Teeth grind, his eyes burn with wrathful, white light. Fudou pulls his own head back...

And slams his forehead right into Ivraala's face.

Ivraala (679) has posed:
    One of the more forceful draenei advantages is very suddenly and brutally turned against its user. The icy chains half-shatter, half-melt under the surge of power from Fudou, and before Ivraala can slow her progress, Fudou grasps her head and delivers a painfully shattering headbutt.

    Ivraala's hood flies back from her face. Bone snaps and cracks under the impact. No pain strikes through the Death Knight, but her senses are jarred and blurred; something probably broke into her brain there, it's hard to tell.

    The draenei staggers back, one hand to her head as she tries to push through the sharp stabbing to her senses. Hair like ice falls around her face. She pants, but more from adrenaline and force than pain or fear. She needs to try and buy some time for herself while she gets her senses in order.

    Her free hand suddenly lashes toward Fudou, and shadow seeps from her arm and dives into the ground. The earth for several yards around suddenly becomes infested with dark power, seeping up from below to eat away at anyone who steps on it with shadow magic, sparing Ivraala herself. Immediately after, she delivers a strong /stomp/ to the earth below, paired with a fanged /roar/: shadow magic splashes outward, seeping into Fudou's body to make his blood boil for a few precious moments. An attack from outside and inside; that should buy her a second or two, right?

Fudou Moto (784) has posed:
    Corruption spreads across the land. The red sands burn black. The earth seethes with rage, hatred, contempt. He can feel it under his feet, spreading like a cancer, eating away at the fringes of his very soul.

It isn't long until Ivraala attempts to taint his very blood with that same dark influence.

    Blood Boil has the power to transform a man's very blood vessels into deadly foes. Viscera would normally litter the landscape in the wake of such an attack, the vital fluids that had pulsed through it until that point transforming bodies into bombs.

That... is not what happens here.

    It is familiar, this situation. This state. The blighted earth, the boiling blood. It thrums against his eardrums. Somewhere, he's felt it somewhere before. Somewhen before. Fudou's mind burns from the plague, the dark power, the corrupted blood pounding through the winding capillaries that keep him alive- where. Where?

An image flashes across his psyche- of an Earth turned against its children. Of monsters born of beast and stone. Of magma-blood and a great, consumptive maw.

    Ivraala would see his veins pulse black, straining against his flesh-- and then they would flush, suddenly turning painfully, blindingly white. Fudou's hands tremble as his fingers unfurl. A terrible pulse of power reverberates through the air, scattering the dust in a great plume.

Fudou's veins explode.

The blood he bleeds glows. It turns the sands to glass.

    He's already in motion. Shockwaves of red, wrathful energy pulses outward from each step, propagating in pulverizing wavefronts that fortell the coming blow. Crimson auroras twist all around him, resolving into shapes and symbols that burn back the corruption. Fudou bellows as he drives his fist in- one punch, one strike.

    It's delivered with the fury of a thunderbolt, and all the might of a wrathful god. Knuckles crack, snapping, crumbling to dust. Fudou's hand quivers weakly before his muscles seize around the ruined bone. His breath comes hot- the pain no longer registers.

Ivraala (679) has posed:
    Fear is one of the many emotions beaten and twisted out of Death Knights in their transformation. It makes them reckless soldiers incapable of faltering against the most daunting odds, incapable of turning back when their loss is inevitable. They're expendable, after all, and what can be more daunting than an enemy who doesn't fear its own second death?

    In that moment, when Fudou's veins burn away the corruption of shadow and blaze white, searing back the shadowy infection of the earth and turning the sand to glass in front of her, Ivraala feels the closest thing to honest fear that she has in many years.

    She's given pause for just a moment before she swoops down to grab her greataxe. The weapon is clutched in both hands - but Fudou is already barreling toward her. Before she can act, a single obliterating strike impacts against her chest. Bones snap. Living metal twists and shrieks. Frost seems to form only just in time to be shattered by Fudou's fist.

    Ivraala goes flying like a broken ragdoll.

    By the time she comes to a halt several yards away, her injuries are impossible to miss. Blue blood seeps down her face from her brow and down from her chest. Fractured bones pierce the skin here and there. No pain is felt by the draenei, but even she has to notice the foundational damage those broken bones give her. When she stands, it's hunched over; when she grips her axe, it causes further blood to pour free.

    But, like all others forced into the kind of creature she is, even this doesn't seem like it can stop her that easily.

    Where Fudou flares with heat and light, a palpable frozen shadow gathers around Ivraala. Her tattoos pulse below the skin, and the runes engraved along her axe's blade flare as they gather runic energy, but the rest is darkness that coats the stone and sand around her in rime. She forces herself upright, and her hand extends, reaching out to Fudou in a grasping motion.

    A dozen icy hands suddenly appear in the air and clutch at Fudou like the cold grasp of death. Ivraala's hand pulls back, and all at once, those skeletal hands yank to rip him through the air toward her. A frigid aura coats her greataxe. Runic power pulses through the markings along the sturdy, spiked blade.

    And with a last howl like a winter blizzard, Ivraala /swings/ to meet Fudou in his flight, releasing all that gathered runic power in a single, obliterating blast the moment the weapon impacts against his body.

Fudou Moto (784) has posed:
    Fudou's wrath is something primal and visceral. It suffuses every fibre of his being with power beyond his capacity to contain. Ivraala goes flying, and it's almost certain that- were she any mere Draenei- that would have been the end. Fortunately for her, she is not.

    Though the strength that thrums in his veins is tremendous- indeed, looking at him now, it seems that it would only continue to grow without limit, if such a thing were permitted- Fudou's flesh is not. Ivraala's dark magic seizes him, dragging him through the air. She waits with her axe to split his chest like a ripe fruit.

Perhaps to her surprise, she... succeeds.

    Flesh and bone explode as Ivraala's blow strikes true, exposing far more vital components below. Even so, Fudou... marches forward. His breaths come ragged, his arms reach to seize around the haft of Ivraala's runic weapon. Fudou's burning eyes peer over his massive, shattered fist, and stare into the Death Knight's own.

He opens his mouth.

"Good fight."

    ...And then he falls back and topples over, the blood pooling around him now very much red and not at all that strange, burning gold. He's... still breathing. Somehow.

...Despite the fact that he has quite possibly broken every bone in his body. And lost most of his blood.

Ivraala (679) has posed:
    For half a heart-stopping moment, Ivraala questions if her assault simply wasn't enough. Fudou is struck with a blow that would shatter most - that /has/ shattered most of Ivraala's opponents in the past, and yet he steps forward and clutches her weapon in a gesture of absolute defiance. Her breaths come icy and heavy as she stares at him for a few more tense moments.

    ...and he compliments her before falling, seemingly unconscious. At least not dead.

    Ivraala simply stands there briefly, staring and uncertain of how to process this whole event. Soon, though, she manages to lower herself to a kneel, stabbing her weapon into the earth and using it as a sort of cane to prop herself up. Her head kneels in respect, and she lets out a slow, relieved sigh that seeps from her lips in curling whisps of frosty air. "...dioniss aca, warrior." 'Safe journey,' quite literally, though it seems to imply something more than simple travel. "May you recover well, so we may meet again."

    The draenei rises again, replacing her weapon on her back. For a few more moments, she stares down at Fudou, as if recalling something from the distant past. Then, as medical teams start coming down to gather around him and ensure his safety, she pulls her hood over her head once more and slowly strides off to her own recovery.