596/Grudge Match: Psyber vs. D

Grudge Match: Psyber vs. D
Date of Scene:	15 September 2014
Location:	Summer
Synopsis:	Psyber has a fight to pick with D over his actions recently. The two agree to meet in Summer for a duel under the moonlight. The grass is stained red with their blood.
Cast of Characters:	12, 85, 152, 232, 253, 347, 365

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Psyber (253) has posed:
    The time of meeting is at hand. Psyber had chosen a fairly nice area of summer to have a fight in, if one was going to have one in such a relaxed location. A modest field, the grass short and thick and smelling of summer. Despite the sun having gone down over an hour ago, there's still a palpable heat in the air and the bright, shining moon overhead lights the field of battle easily.

    Not too far off of the field is a beach and its grass-covered dunes slowly break into sand. On another side, the field brushes up to a lush forest. Despite the heavy rainfall the area receives, this particular night is meant to be clear in the area they are fighting in.

    Psyber arrives unceremoniously, a quiet marching over one of the beach dunes as his coat, which he wears regardless of weather, moves in an easy ripple around him. Against the dark backdrop of night, his normally ruby red eyes glow a bright crimson as he steps foot into the field, grass crunching under boots as he eventually comes to a stop.

    He doubts he'll have to wait long, but while he does wait, he cautiously pats at himself, checking first to make sure his firearms are all in their right locations. And then a hand comes up to grip the massive greatsword he wears across his back. Hand tightens around the hilt of it as he calmly looks over the field. He does hand an envelope to his second, though.

    "If I don't make it out of this, give this to Elliana. If I do, give it back to me."

Mordred (12) has posed:
    MYSTERIOUS HEROINE X is with Psyber.
    Who is she? Why does she look so familiar?
    Oh wait it's just Mordred, sorry.

    Baseball cap, bluh and gold sweater, really cool blue and gold scarf, black shorts and boots, she's got her arms crossed until Psyber hands her something. She glances at it, strongly considers opening it, and then decides not to. What a terrible abuse of her renewed knightly vows.

    On the other hand, given a Servant's enhanced senses, speed, and her extremely high resistance to magic, it'd take quite the thing to get past her and strike Psyber.

    "Sure, sure. Don't slack, I don't want to get bored."

Procyana (365) has posed:
Procyana finds herself a nice tree on the edge of the woods and climbs up to settle on one of the larger branches, leaning back against the trunk. What, she's a raccoon. Climbing trees is practically instinct. That and it gives her a really nice view of the indicated open field for the fight as Psyber comes walking in from the dunes. "Oh, this is gonna be good." She settles back to get comfortable, tail dangling lazily off the branch itself.

She just wants to see a good fight.... of course, there's always the potential that these things don't go as planned either....

Abstractum.Net (347) has posed:
    Adjudicator, the greatsword, is strapped to Pback, as is by now per the norm. The blade's dragon-styled inscriptions are lit up by the eye's soft red glow in the darkness of night, adding a strange third spot of red to Psyber's form. "Mmmm. I see now why you made your selection. Sensible. I will do what I can to ensure it is not necessary."

    Mordred's own blade makes frustrated, growly noises of chaotic desire to get in a fight, but it seems that Mordred's done whatever needs doing in order to calm it down, at least for the most part. A lot of impotent carnage desire, but the huge sword can't do much of anything about its User's decision here, at least not while its User denies Shift so much.

Mordred (12) has posed:
    There is a large pouch of blood connected to Bloody Amhar by a bendy straw hanging from Mordred's waist, yes. Mystery resolved.

D (232) has posed:
    Muffled hooves can be heard approaching. The nearby waves sometimes drown the sound, but in lulls between the crashes, there can be no doubt as to who is drawing near. Two electronic yellow lights shining out at the height and interval of a horse's head all but confirm it, in case Psyber had any shred of skepticism. No one else rides a horse like this but D.

    The horse's body is one great black shadow; D's own stretches up from it like a strange growth. Tall, broad-shouldered, and straight-backed, he rides as naturally as Psyber handles a gun. From what Psyber knows, D's grace extends to his swordplay. After four thousand years, he would have to have mastered at least two things, and like any good Vampire Hunter, D has chosen to master his weapon and his steed. No doubt, he's got more than a few other tricks in his bag, but in these he's almost unequaled, in his world.

    Though the moonlight illuminates the expressionless lower half of his regal countenance, the rest of D's face is obscured in the shadow cast by his wide-brimmed hat. Unlike Psyber's, his eyes do not yet shine with any crimson hue. D's eyes gleam like cold, hard steel, and with a keen edge to rival that crafted into his sword.

    A similar gleam is reflected in the dark jewel serving as his weapon's pommel nut. Crowning the elegant hilt curving up from behind his shoulder, the jewel shines with a bloodthirsty intent.

    D stops his steed and drops from his saddle in one fluid motion. His cloak ripples as it settles at his heels. The moonlight reflects inside the blue pendant hanging at his chest, providing the only relief from all the stark blackness clinging to him.

    "Psyber." D's head turns. He brings his fingers to his hat's brim, and tips it slightly in a warmer greeting meant for Mordred.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Faruja's here, leaning on his cane, and still looking injured. Why? Observation, and being a priest. Just in case someone dies.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    Perhaps those with some sort of spiritual sight would see her arrival, but to most, Kagenashi simply...appears from behind D once he dismounts. She steps out from behind him, standing beside the dhampir. Without her own shadow cast by the moonlight, she almost seems to be his scarlet shadow, silent and keeping close to his side.

    With her mask, her expression is impossible to make out, save for the bright gleam of silver eyes seen through the mask's holes. A low bow is given in greeting to Psyber, then Mordred, but nothing more. Nageki is pulled free from its tucked position behind her, but she keeps the cursed blade in its scarlet sheath as she holds it at her side. Her hand doesn't grasp the hilt; its own desire for bloodshed is best kept minimal, at least for now.

    The nogitsune looks aside to D, her head forced to lift slightly due to his much greater height. Her only words for now come in a brief murmur to him, repressed of any clear emotion as she retains her forced calm. "Be cautious."

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "D." Psyber's response is equally brief, staring down the other Hunter from across the field. He remains neutral in expression, only briefly taking his hand off the sword he's holding to reach into his jacket and pull out a silver flask. He unscrews the top and takes a long drink from it before handing that to Mordred as well. Kagenashi gets a stare, but he doesn't give her an overt greeting.

    "Whatever this is gonna be, it's not gonna be boring," He assures to Mordred, passing off the flask. He then puts his hands together and cracks his knuckles loudly. Then his gaze returns to D.

    "So we're clear as to the rules. One on one, no outside interference from bystanders but otherwise no rules. Match ends when one person cannot get up," He says in a slight monotone, as if reciting something he's practiced multiple times. Then again, no one ever asks how many grudge duels Psyber has fought in his life, so maybe he really has practiced it.

    Psyber's hand comes back up to grip the sword on his back expertly, drawing it in a smooth motion and then bringing the tip of the blade down on the ground, "Adjudicator. Power Strife Drives." While he does dominantly use guns now, the blade was always Psyber's first choice. He's eager to show that off here.

    "We will start when you are ready, D."

Abstractum.Net (347) has posed:
    Konoe, around Kagenashi's neck, is currently quiet; presumably, it simply doesn't have any means of reconciling Kagenashi not being the most important person in the situation, and has therefore gone through a mental "blue screen". Hallowed Gaze, for its own part, is also silent, but is silent primarily for the sake of respect; this sort of thing doesn't need a lot of commentary, especially while they're doing the talking.

    Adjudicator's eye-gem lights up. "Powering Strife Drives." A soft glow turns into a harsh red fire that suddenly rushes down the blade, turning the entire sword into a brilliant flickering lightshow, as if the blade were lit aflame by some ethereal red blaze. Jude itself is quiet now too. Its focus is entirely on making Psyber's first attack as powerful as possible; that bright red flame will impart tremendous, superhuman force, like being hit by a train, when it's swung.

Procyana (365) has posed:
Procyana gives a brief wave in Faruja's direction. But she's not taking her eyes off the fight, either. Don't want to miss a moment of the action here.

D (232) has posed:
    By answer, D brings his hand to his sword's handle. His ungloved fingers look bone white wrapped around the dark hilt, but they are nothing compared to how bright and pale the blade shines beneath the moon's radiant glare. The silvery reflection skitters like spreading flame across the blade's surface as more of the curved sword emerges from its simple scabbard. Not a scrape can be heard; the weapon is as silent as its wielder. As if to dismiss the shimmering light yet clinging to it, D gives his sword a hard flick whenever he lowers its tip almost to the ground beside his right boot. The sharp gesture is made to signify his ready acceptance.

    "I will not kill you unless my hand is forced," D murmurs. It might have been an expected kindness, but saying it out loud makes it hard for D to later go back on his word. "I believe you already intend to treat me the same."

    Those are the last words spoken before D leaps into action. Two quick steps propel him across the field in a silent, sudden rush. The steel in his hand, now a dark length hardly touched by the moon at all, curves back behind him in a menacing arc. The same arc snaps around with incredible speed to loose a horizontal slash across Psyber's figure, like D means almost to bisect him. There is no emotion on the dhampir's face as he carries out this initial salvo.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    The battle begins, and Kagenashi quickly steps back moments before D flies into the field. She's already well aware that she would not be able to endure a direct strike from either of these combatants, so staying out of the way is the only real option for her now.

    A deep breath is taken, and the nogitsune silently watches and waits from the sidelines. Her grip on Nageki's sheath tightens, and the fingers of her other hand curl and flex as if eager to take hold of it's banded hilt. She stands as still as a statue, all her attention focused on the battle at hand. It's uncertain whether she'll actually need to jump in, but just in case, she keeps every sense alert and every muscle prepared for a moment's notice.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "I have no intent to deliver a killing blow," Psyber responds to D firmly, confirming that he's not going to finish D off or actively attempt to kill him in this fight. And then the fight is beginning.

    When D advances, Psyber presses forward in kind. For most who know Psyber, he's a very different person right now. His normal, affable demeanor is drained from him and has been replaced by a more rarely seen cool professionalism and detached attitude. Easily able to wield his greatsword in one hand, Psyber has no hesitation in his strike. And he, most oddly, makes no attempt to block D.

    "Jude, tell me when we have enough for the paradigm." He commands to the sword. This calm statement is all Psyber says before D's blade rakes across his midsection. It easily cuts through Psyber's jacket, shirt, and digs DEEP into his side before his own counterattack can even land. Blood pours from the wound like a fountain as the blade finds its way about halfway into bisecting Psyber by the time his counterattack has landed. There's the faintest grimace on Psyber's face as the blood and pieces of organs seek to the ground, but not a cry of pain.

    His counterattack may be something to trouble D, though. All the power Adjudicator was attempting to frontload into its opening maneuver is focused into a powerful upward swing, a bladed uppercut of sorts that tries to catch D mid-swing and slice through him like a hot knife through butter. Psyber's plan, at least from the outside, is to take a powerful hit in order to land a much more powerful hit of his own.

    As he swings, he says firmly, "Then I would still have this consolation- my joy in unrelenting pain- that I had not denied the words of Most High."

Procyana (365) has posed:
".. If that is not going for killing, I don't want to see what -trying- to be lethal would be like." Procyana comments as both combatants come out with powerful blows. Pauses, ponytail swishing to the side as she cocks her head slightly. "I take that back. Would love to see it. Wouldn't want to be the bloody fool on the receiving end of it though."

Faruja (152) has posed:
Faruja, himself, is quite silent even if he returns Procyana's wave. There /is/ a nod though to the woman in agreement, even as he observes and generally mutters low prayers. For which combatant? The rat's not telling.

D (232) has posed:
    One surefire way to ruffle a vampire's focus is to spill your blood in front of him, but D doesn't so much as bat an eye at what's spilled from Psyber's wound. Either he is too intent on the duel, or Psyber's Adjudicator has created a more shocking distraction. That Psyber isn't entirely human could have something to do with it, too, or -- maybe D isn't hungry? Whatever could have happened for that to be the case is too horrifying to contemplate.

    Red droplets stream from the tip of D's sword only to fall to the ground like crimson raindrops. Adjudicator slices through the spray to carve a gout of gore and blood from D's midsection. Staggering below the force of the strike, pain creasing his stoic brow, D bends backward to thrust his weight onto his heels. His left hand snaps out to the side to catch the trailing end of his snapping cloak inside a tight fist, and in a fierce whirl, he brings the garment around himself like a bat drawing in its wings. The cloak's fabric is heavy, almost leathery, and whatever weave comprises it enables it to sustain surprising blows. Wrapping it around Adjudicator's blade in a sudden tangle could serve to disarm Psyber, if D's gambit pays off.

    Even failure might be sufficient to take Psyber's eye off the dark sword slashing up from the ground in a diagonal flash. His cape moves one direction, and his sword another, but his attack has the superior momentum, carrying D in a stumbling twist to the left. He leaves himself open, but there's no helping it; until his body recovers and begins to regenerate, he's going to have some difficulty. That cut's nasty, to say the least, and that he can move at all normally is testament to his incredible resilience.

Abstractum.Net (347) has posed:
    The uppercut doesn't even need to hit D to show off its power; the titanic swing cuts a lengthy gash into the field below. The full destructive force it is saturated shows its strength as the blade blasts a thin, deep crevace in the ground. Bisected stalks of grass drift on the wind a dozen feet from the tip of the sword; as it impacts the heavy cloak and is stopped by the leathery cloth construction, a massive shockwave is released from the sheer force, blasting dust from that impact all around.

    The tangles threaten to snag the blade, but there's a soft grunt and a brilliant rush of bright red energy. It blasts force out from around the blade, doing its best to detangle from the cloak for convenience's sake. It might not work! But hopefully it'll give Psyber a fighting chance at it.

    "It is past threshold. I will continue to accumulate it; call out the signal when you need it activated."

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber is yanked forward by the cloak wrapping around his blade. And for an instant his balance is thrown off, but it's then that he reveals that perhaps the sword isn't only a sword, "Adjudicator, Gauntlet." Psyber commands, the blade withdrawing and folding up his right arm to form into an armored covering.

    It provides almost no defensive capabilities, however. And so the flashing glint of blade again draws a massive wound over Psyber's body, this time going from hip to shoulder and opening up his shirt to reveal a deep, bleeding wound across his chest that can even allow ribs to be seen as specks of white amidst red. Both that wound and the wound in his side can be seen slowly knitting themselves shut, a macabre self-repair as blood pours from them.

    "Right," He says to Adjudicator before he looks hard at D, hopping back and away from the hunter, "So how does it feel, your current arrangement? Are you happy there?" He asks as he shrugs off his jacket, letting it fall to the ground around him in a few instants. And then he flexes. Across his back, the spirograph partial sun of his scar glows a dim blue across his back.

    Rather than follow up with a sword move, Psyber simply steps in towards D again and coils back his fist. With inhuman speed and strength, he moves to close the distance and deliver a crushing haymaker to the center of his chest with the armored hand.

D (232) has posed:
    "Impressive." It's the first thing D's said in awhile that hasn't been communicated by his sword's edge. The dull gleam in his pained eyes shines no genuine interest in Adjudicator's transformation, but his lip service at least demonstrates some respect for the duel's terms. He wants to at least appear to honor his opponent; if the emotion doesn't move D's heart in truth, does it matter, so long as he is willing to play by the rules?

    His cloak snaps back over his shoulder once the shockwave's last echo ceases to shiver across its surface. Throwing the garment into its original drape reveals the wide gash carved through his torso. Like Psyber's body sees to itself, so does D's. The blood soaking his side and pant leg is evidently all he'll have lost in the exchange, aside from some innate endurance. Though pain yet shudders along his nerves, D is well on his way to recovery.

    The dark arc forming his weapon of choice is lifted into a horizontal line held up at chest height. "The details of my arrangement are no business of yours." D utters without any feeling but a certain matter-of-factness reserved for men who make their way in the world through selling their sword. He's a pragmatic one.

    Too pragmatic to hold still for the kind of attack Psyber unleashes. D throws himself backward at the same instant Psyber's fist meets the flat of his sword. Sparks explode into the air, and a terrible force drives D into a mid-air sprawl. Despite the impact, much of the force is deflected by the sword and the leap, and so Psyber's fist deals only a glancing blow.

    In this case, a glancing blow serves to crack the dhampir's ribs. D flinches.

    He lands about twenty feet away from his starting position, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, his heels skidding back several feet more, his left hand down and dragging through the field to help slow him. As soon as he stops, he lunges forward.

    His eyes become like red embers. The aura surrounding D is always chill and unnatural, but now it becomes a ghastly, howling wind. The frigid temperature of the grave emanates from his every pore. D lets a crushing Presence wash over Psyber, his very being as a prestigious Noble no doubt the kind of thing which would pulverize a human will with absolute terror.

    For Psyber, it's no doubt nothing more than a warning before D's sword strikes from above. D's leap carries him down from the skies so quickly, he passes by Psyber in a blur, his sword no more than a brief glint in the darkness.

Abstractum.Net (347) has posed:
    Adjudicator's form rapidly folds. "Form: Gauntlet." It says in its deep voice, with professional tones. The wave of force, though D only suffered its glancing effects, tears up the flora of the ground a full 20 feet in front of Psyber's fists, ripping it up and annihilating the topsoil layer in a huge gush of dust. Adjudidicator's strikes come with a rocket-powered-like boost, offering jabs, swings, and generalized punches a TREMENDOUS boost in sheer power. Any solid impact is going to have a near-explosive effect, like being impacted by something that came out of a rocket launcher.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "You're right, they're not," Psyber says as D flies backwards, having waited to respond until the dhampir was already in the air, lest he break his own focus with banter. His hand slowly clenches and unclenches after the attack, cracking the knuckles while he watches his opponent go back, "Someone else made that their business. My business with you is revenge, pure and simple. You betrayed Beli."

    Psyber's look is different from D's as they stare eachother down and D lets his aura and presence run free. A presence that would instill fear in a human instead brings Psyber's blood to a boil. His stance gradually shifts, hand closing and eyes piercing the darkness as he scans the field. He has the the cautious look of a mongoose in an engagement with the most dangerous of snakes. Careful, methodical, but definitely in his element. While not a literal presence, Psyber's counterweighted stance and bearing to D's is that of the ultimate apex predator, forged over centuries for conflicts like these.

    Psyber's fighting strategy towards now has been a careful gamble, a coldly calculated assessment of his own durability versus D's offensive capabilities and his own. A give and take of trading powerful hits for other counterattacks in careful weighting. He may have a plan for that, Mordred may suspect that plan. Who knows?

    As D descends, Psyber tenses up his body. A slow, wheezing breath escapes him as he focuses. The blade comes down and he steps to the side. It digs DEEP into his left shoulder, a rending strike that splits through his collarbone and deep into his chest from the power and speed of the strike. He grimaces from the impact of it, narrowing his eyes and grunting before he brings up his gauntlet-covered hand. He's aiming to put a single shot square on D's chin with that offensive boosted weapon.

    More of his blood stains the night grass a dark red as they rustle through it in their fight.

Mordred (12) has posed:
    Mordred, having withdrawn just far enough not to interrupt the fight, has been watching quietly. Good swordplay between two good swordsmen is something that needs to be appreciated without disturbing, after all.

    She does, idly, reach for the blood pack and bendy straw, sipping. She immediatly coughs the blood out and then glares down at her Abstractum.

    "This is disgusting! God damnit."

    Bloody Amhar's emergency food is returned.
    Mordred produces a juice box and sips from that instead. She does, in fact, wonder if Psyber is gearing up for that incredibly annoying move or not.

Abstractum.Net (347) has posed:
    You can almost feel a near-palpable grim reluctance from Psyber's gauntlet, but it's not holding back. Revenge may not be the right motivation for dealing with D, but D does deserve what's going on, and so, in the end, the sword-turned-gauntlet can't say anything too substantial in opposition.

    Instead it continues its own efforts; if it can land square on D's chin, it'll be with enough force to blast the man back several dozen feet, perhaps launched into the air. It's like being struck by a meteor or something like that; the hand moves FAST, and seems to release tremendous force whenever it touches its targets.

Procyana (365) has posed:
By this point Procyana has shifted position to lay out on the branch she's been watching from. But that's all she's doing, this fight is too good to spoil the moment with any sort of peanut gallery commenting.

Abstractum.Net (347) has posed:
    "Hey, you don't see me talking shit about your juice." Amhar says, its eye rolling as its jaw works the straw of the pouch back into the blade's toothy maw. "Besides, you're right, a bit. Not near enough carnage to the blood." To Amhar, the taste is like lukewarm soda left out for hours; sweet, nourishing a little bit, but lacking the key of the taste.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    Kagenashi has been standing almost perfectly still since the battle began, but even the disciplined nogitsune begins to waver slightly. Excessive tension stiffens her form, starting when so much blood begins to be spilled and only growing when D's overwhelming Presence makes itself known. While the blood splattering across the grass is of little concern to Kagenashi herself, it is a great source of agitation for Nageki. The sword cries in her mind like a hungry child, demanding that the blood spilled not be wasted, demanding that she go into battle herself. Coupled with D's dark nature, the nogitsune feels herself goaded and pressed to leap into assistance, even if that would be contrary to the duel's terms.

    Only her remarkable fortitude allows her to endure both and remain standing where she is, her free hand clenched into a tight fist. She takes a breath, then exhales, attempting to exert some sort of calm. A mumur is given beneath her breath, intended for no one but the sword in her hand. "...be silent."

    Tense though she is, Kagenashi continues to stand by, watching and waiting.

D (232) has posed:
    Betrayed?

    The force issued from Psyber's fist explodes across D's jaw to dazzling effect. D's perspective becomes jumbled confusion, the world spinning like a top. The shrieking agony in his jaw is a distant wail compared to the overwhelming shock tumbling him backwards to the ground. He is struck so hard his hat is knocked free, baring his full face to the moon above and the bloody light cast from his eyes. He doesn't realize his jaw has been broken until he has to bring his hand up to his chin and set the whole thing right, and this he doesn't do until the fireworks cease exploding before his vision.

    Despite the blow, D is able to stumble back to his feet, and he never does drop his sword. His grip must be like iron to hold onto the weapon through all that. When he realizes he's standing up fifteen feet from where he started, an appreciable surprise lifts his brows.

    None of it strikes as hard as being reminded of his betrayal. The word rings inside D's mind, and the force of Psyber's conviction beats his spirits low. D sweeps his cloak back, and brings up his sword yet again. Darkness builds around him, the shadows seeming to grow into a thick barrier behind which he disguises his despair. Nothing of his turmoil breaches the red shining through his eyes, or takes away from the sharpness of the fangs bared at Psyber in a wordless, tense snarl.

    By now, the jagged rents in his shirt reveal whole, pallid skin marred only by faint pink lines that are soon to fade; his jaw seems slow to heal, however, and there is an obvious physical dizziness marring the agility in his next high leap.

    Rather than risk his pounding head introducing mistakes into the duel, D flicks his left hand twice, each flick loosing a stinging spray of rough wooden needles from his grasp. These are thrown with enough force to be piercing, if Psyber stands still and lets himself be hit, but they aren't very dangerous to someone of his kind -- these are a distraction, nothing more. The needles arc in a path meant to guide Psyber in one particular path, a path that ends with D's sword carving a double slash through Psyber's torso. He aims for Psyber's shoulder especially, like he means to disable the arm bearing that dangerous gauntlet.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber allows D the time to get to his feet again, not pressing the assault. Instead, Psyber takes the time to reach into the pocket of his pants and pull out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, one of which gets placed in his mouth and then lit. The tip of it glows a cherry red in the dark field. He slowly exhales smoke.

    Psyber practically snarls back at D as the hunter snarls at him. His free hand comes up to wipe at the wounds on his body, revealing them to be healing up just like this. He flicks his wrist, letting that half-clotted mass of blood be thrown to the grass next to him. He takes a deep breath and exhales, smoke filling the air around him as he gets a feel for his current levels of reserve energy.

    When D begins to throw needles, Psyber easily rolls to the side and dodges them, moving right as D expected him to and into those sweeping slashes of his. The first digs DEEP into his arm and shoulder, almost taking his arm off his body and leaving it hanging by a tattered few inches of muscle and skin, the bone cleaved through. He turns before it can be all the way severed, though, and takes a hatchet-like hit to the chest that causes an 'oof' to escape him as he's sent tumbling back in the grass.

    As he pushes himself to his feet, the injury is all the more apparent, a ravine having been opened right on his chest just below the collarbone to match the deep gouge through his arm. So deep is it that the cleaved ribs can be seen through the two-inch wide wound, as well as some of Psyber's internal workings, so to speak. As if to prove a point, Psyber takes a long drag off the cigarette in his mouth. Only instead of the smoke coming out of his mouth later, as he inhales the smoke begins to waft out of the cut in his chest that D just opened. He takes the cigarette out and flicks it to the grass, snuffing it out under his toe.

    "It's time, Adjudicator," Psyber whispers to the blade before putting his left hand onto the right-hand gauntlet. The rare moments when his ambidexterity helps him are always relished, "Sword form."

    Swinging the sword in his left hand, Psyber charges in towards D again, thrusting the blade in a straight-jab for the dhampir's chest, "Morality Paradigm! LEX TALIONIS!"

    The rest will be for Adjudicator to describe.

Abstractum.Net (347) has posed:
    "MORALITY PARADIGM: LEX TALIONIS."

    Adjudicator's unique function- the Prime Resonance "Paradigms of Morality: Right Makes Might" - has limited capacity of effect. Typically only effective in combat, and only in combat when one of the relevant 'Morality Paradigms' is applicable to the situation. However, there are certain cases where it can be quite effective. This is one of them, however artificially the scenario might have been wrought.

    What comes next is a rush of horrifying corrosive and damaging red fire that tries to rush the blade through to impale D, and then, subsequently, blast through his torso and perhaps his entire body. The Morality Paradigm of LEX TALIONIS causes this fire to be empowered with the conceptual weight and strength of previous strikes D has made against Psyber; the blade consumes the accumulated resonant energy D has stacked up onto Psyber and tries to blast a rough equivalent into D.

    If an attack before was like being hit by a truck, this one's like being hit by a truck full of blenders; the scale of damage D inflicted on Psyber previously should be applied, abruptly, all at once, or at least a substantial fraction of it ought to take.

Procyana (365) has posed:
"..." Procyana sits up and takes notice when that attack is brought out, eyes widening a bit. She's never seen anything quite like that, and she's seen some pretty seriously strange weapons in her time due to the line of work she's in. That, and she's rather a bit of a weapon afficinado in general, even if she mainly prefers firearms. "What in the bloody blue hell did he just -do-?!"

Abstractum.Net (347) has posed:
    Bloody Amhar is the one who speaks up with an answer to Procyana. Its mouth is still sipping on blood, but it doesn't actually use it to speak. The sword at Mordred's side has a gravelly, rough, deep voice. "'Morality Paradigms'. The sword uses the angel's concept for some kind of justice attack. 'Eye for an eye'. Damage up to however much they're injured." There's a hearty, nostalgic, arrogant laugh from Amhar. "Huheheheheh. Once got into a game of blood-loss chicken with him doing that once! We infinitely looped damage going up! Gwahahahahaha!"

Procyana (365) has posed:
Procyana whistles softly at the explaination. "Remind me to never get on that bloke's bad side."

D (232) has posed:
    By now, the pattern's become more than apparent. D expects his attacks to land unchallenged, and for Psyber's immediate retaliation to take any possible advantage of D's momentum, trajectory, and intent. This deep into the battle, D had prepared himself for the anticipated counterattack by keeping light on his toes. Like a striking viper, he recoils the same second his attacks have been dealt, and takes up a defensive, wary posture he is certain will serve to intercept and parry aside anything Psyber could deliver from his fists. His cuts are aimed to disable and to therefore slow Psyber's counter, too, but of course in this exchange Psyber takes his time about responding, and the precaution proves unnecessary.

    A fell wind sweeps across the battlefield, carrying the scent of cigarette smoke and bloodshed. D narrows his crimson eyes against the acrid stench. He straightens, rising above the battlefield, his shadow so dark by night it is like he is a slice of the abyss made real. The power he loosed before lingers around him yet, imposing an ominous silence on the field. Even the roaring ocean waves seem more distant.

    The stillness breaks. Psyber's feet beat across the ground. He charges ahead with his righteous brand lighting his path, heedless of any danger waiting for him in the form of D's dark blade.

    D flicks his wrist. His sword buries itself point-first into the ground several inches. Liberated from needing to hold onto it, D spreads open his arms as if welcoming the coming storm.

    As Adjudicator plunges toward his chest, illuminated by and wreathed in an electric cloud of furious power, D plants his feet and slaps his hands together to catch the sword's tip between his palms. Waves of force blow back his cloak and hair into a wild frenzy. D, his jaw locked in a rigid snarl, his eyes blazing with only a fraction of the energy Adjudicator and Psyber together wield against him, clamps his hands together like a vise -- like he means to crumble mountains inside his palms.

    Gale-force winds whip the two opposing forces locked together. Tension hums in the air, rising in a swift and sharp crescendo threatening to break at any moment. D's arms tremble. His feet slip through the grass, dragging shallow trenches into the field, first one inch, than two, than several more. What begins as a resistant growl spirals up into a forceful shout. D's hands begin to slip, and as his mouth opens to let loose its feral cry, another pulse of pressure sends an explosion of dust and fragmented grasses in all directions.

    Molten bubbles of light appear shining from the Hunter's back -- pinpricks only, at first, but the bubbles join together, growing larger and larger, until a single immense bubble bursts, letting out a column of ravaging heat and justice to scorch the earth behind him.

    When the light fades, D is on his face in the field -- alive, judging from the ragged, desperate breaths he takes, but not much liking it. His gaze is senseless and dark. The only conscious act he seems capable of taking is to reach for his sword with shaking fingertips.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    Kagenashi was not expecting nearly this kind of force from the two combatants. Billowing winds whip around the pair like a localized storm, a miniature hurricane of overwhelming power barely contained by their mutual strength. The very earth beneath them rips and tumbles away, the winds stretching far enough to send Kagenashi's scarlet clothes billowing and fluttering behind her. Stunned though she is by the outpouring of power, the nogitsune still braces slightly where she stands, prepared to move away at a moment's notice.

    That preparation ends up being a good idea. The motes of light are the only warning she has to leap aside before a torrent of swirling justice blasts through D, an assault Kagenashi is forced to leap aside to avoid. Thankfully, she's not struck...but D clearly is.

    The woman in red lands, and her hand immediately goes to Nageki's hilt. She doesn't touch the cursed weapon, though; her hand only hovers above it, poised to grasp it if need be, but unwilling to take hold of it until that moment. Her breath comes heavily from adrenaline, but she retains her focus. Her gaze is fixed on Psyber, for the moment, to see if he makes any further movement, but it flits over to D now and then to see if he may end up rising. Or, if not, to figure out how best to get him off the field, since that seems like it will fall on her shoulders at this point. That he's breathing after that attack is remarkable in itself.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber's gaze is hard and he lets out his own angry cry as he plunges the blade towards D in a straight thrust. Its an intense clash as the wind whips around the two of them, Psyber's hair rustling and flowing as he stares down D with that single-handed sword thrust that was meant to be his trump card against strong opponents.

    In the aftermath of it, Psyber takes a long few moments to process just what happens. He looks at Adjudicator, "He caught you. No one's ever been able to catch you. Even Samael had to dodge you rather than deal with you directly," Psyber says in slight amazement, blood running from the corners of his mouth as he wipes it away with his slowly regenerating right arm. He groans a bit and then looks to Kagenashi as she looks to D.

    "This one is done." He states, trying to figure out what to do next. The sword is there, and he's tempted to go after it. But it would also undermine most of his credibility with the gathered Feds, so instead Psyber elects to use these brief moments where D does not have sword in hand to finally say something.

    It's a gravelly tone he speaks in, wheezing from his wound, "If you can still hear me... An outcast trusted you as her friend and companion, and you betrayed her. You broke her heart and you set foot on the land she fought so hard to claim as her own. You not only led an assault on her world, but you sieged and damaged what confidence she had managed to build up. And still I do not believe she can hold much malice against you."

    Psyber puts the sword across his back and clutches at his side tiredly, walking over to where his jacket lay in the grass and slowly sliding it on, "So I will do what she will not."

    Psyber sits down on the grass and takes a deep breath, "Romans 13, Verse 4. For he is God's servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God's wrath on the wrongdoer. "

Abstractum.Net (347) has posed:
    Lex Talionis, and all its energy, is... Averted, at least partially. Adjudicator was grunting with effort for as long as D was able to hold it back, roaring and grunting until the energy finds its place. And then everything calms. The Strife Drives flicker out as it seems the duel seems to be over, and the sword heaves with deep breaths. "I... I had not expected it. But it is sensible. My blade is not one best used for revenge. And yet... That must be great strength, to hold me back that way."

    It slips into place at Psyber's back with an exhausted look; the expression is of a person brought to collapse after effort. It would seem that Psyber's burst of pure offensive energy exhausted even Adjudicator's massive bandwidth for power.

D (232) has posed:
    The Holy Word is an ancient, forgotten myth in D's world. Symbols remain, such as the crosses standing up around a village to offer some protection against the night's monstrosities, but nobody could explain where the crosses had come from or what their original purpose was meant to be, and the Nobility had long ago tampered with human genetics to wipe out any understanding given by external sources such as ancient books or a careless vampire. D had been given a fresh reminder on entering Castlevania and finding there a far different place rife with human religion and fears.

    Agony clouds his mind, but Psyber's recitation pierces the clouds like shafts of sunlight to leave D reeling under a different kind of pain. "Beli -- " he gasps, but his voice ends in a disgusting gurgle, and anything else he might have said is drowned in another choking rush of blood. D's left hand claws at the ground; his right finally takes up and grasps his sword like he would a life line.

    There is no chance of him returning to the fight. Smoke still rises from his injuries, carrying the pungent smell of roasted flesh, and his movements are slow, jerked about by pain and a confusing tempest of thoughts and images he can't sort out.

    Have fun carrying this home, Kagenashi.

Kagenashi (85) has posed:
    The nogitsune's attention turns back to Psyber when he speaks. She watches him, poised and alert, prepared to act at a moment's notice...and, thankfully, she does not have to.

    Kagenashi slowly releases the tense breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her body relaxes, and her hand moves away from Nageki's hilt. The longsword is tucked under her obi on her back, then, kept out of the way now that it's no longer needed. It grows somewhat more quiet there.

    The black fox turns her attention back to D, watching him smoking and struggling for a moment. What thoughts enter her mind from seeing him felled are not voiced or made apparent through any other means. With only a faint sound of delicate footsteps taken through the grass, she moves toward him and crouches down by his side, a silent aid in his weakness.

    However long it takes, she will help ease him to his feet and move him back to his horse. She will lift him onto its sturdy back and ensure its movements will not make him fall off. Then she will guide the beast carefully back to Castlevania, where D will no doubt need to find recovery once more. Even if it takes hours, she remains patient, speaking only brief assurances if needed and otherwise wordless in her vigil.

    Whatever thoughts she holds from tonight are kept to herself in voiceless contemplation.

Mordred (12) has posed:
    Well, it's finally calmed. Mordred crushes the empty juice box and tosses it aside, glancing town at the blade hanging from her waist. "God, fine, if you're that hungry..."

    She walks up to Psyber, as Kagenashi evacuates the fallen D.

    "Yo, my sword's hungry. Can it lick the blood off you?"

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber looks over at Kagenashi and gives her a nod as she takes D off the battlefield. He then pushes himself to his feet slowly and looks to Mordred when she walks over to him, "No he cannot. However..."

    Psyber puts a hand on Mordred's shoulder and then... abruptly hugs his 'Confederate Daughter' against her will and without her expecting it, probably smearing her with a good quantity of the blood he had from his fight, "Now he can lick it off of you."