Kadaj pulls his bike to a stop at the foot of the mountains. Jumping off the leans back casually against a nearby boulder, waiting for his counter-part to show up.
"You have? I see. And what makes you think you can take him now?" He doesn't move, still leaning against the boulder, only his eyes following the other him.
"It's sickening. I can feel him under my skin. But no... I will not submit to him. He is not the same person you think you know. He is weak and useless. Mother is ashamed of him."
He smiles- blood thirsty and a bit too eager for this suggestion.
"How fun."
Kadaj unsheathes the Murasame smoothly with the hiss of metal against metal. He hasn't practiced with a sword that isn't souba in a while, but it won't cause for problem. He brings the souba in front of himself in a lose defense, sliding into a low stance. He'll attempt to lure the other into attacking first.
He still doesn't move more than sliding his hand behind his back to grip the handle of the Souba. "Well? Are you just going to stand there and point it at me, and hope I run away?"
Kadaj can't help but laugh- being set against his own snark is rather amusing.
He flexes his right hand fingers, summoning up a matra magic spell. He keeps it subtle, trying to draw not attention to the hand that he keeps half-hidden behind him.
In a flash the Souba is out parrying the other's blade. The spell still intact in his right hand. In a quick snapping motion, he unleashes the spell, fire flying towards his counter-part.
His eyes widen and Kadaj summons up a quick barrier spell, breaking back from the parry and bringing one arm up, in a half-defensive motion.
If it weren't for his partial fire immunity, he's sure this would have hurt a lot more. As it is, a small nuclear explosion of fire magic is enough to even burn the youngest. He makes no noise as the fire breaks and curls around the magic wall to rip at his skin and armor-- all he can do is trying to wait out the effects of the spell in a stoic, if not pained, silence.
The deep red marks on his exposed skin and the rather tale-tell burns on his armor give proof enough he didn't manage the spell unscathed... and the youngest does not look at all pleased, even as the Jenova-cells set to work on healing over the burns. He mutters some sort of curse, sparing no time in lunging forward again, ignoring his wounds in favor of a rather erratic, vicious, and unpredictable series of swings.
His blade flashing to parry all the strokes, he positions it wrong once, and ther other him's blade slashes across his upper thigh. He growls as the Life Stream surrounds it and starts healing the wound. And rams the flat of his palm into the center of the man's chest.
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He paces away from the bikes, keeping his gaze carefully on the other Kadaj.
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"How fun."
Kadaj unsheathes the Murasame smoothly with the hiss of metal against metal. He hasn't practiced with a sword that isn't souba in a while, but it won't cause for problem. He brings the souba in front of himself in a lose defense, sliding into a low stance. He'll attempt to lure the other into attacking first.
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He flexes his right hand fingers, summoning up a matra magic spell. He keeps it subtle, trying to draw not attention to the hand that he keeps half-hidden behind him.
"You're far too impatient."
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"Indeed. Here we are."
He suddenly changes his tactics, lunging forward and sweeping the souba upward diagonally with the intent to interrupt his counterpart's spell.
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If it weren't for his partial fire immunity, he's sure this would have hurt a lot more. As it is, a small nuclear explosion of fire magic is enough to even burn the youngest. He makes no noise as the fire breaks and curls around the magic wall to rip at his skin and armor-- all he can do is trying to wait out the effects of the spell in a stoic, if not pained, silence.
The deep red marks on his exposed skin and the rather tale-tell burns on his armor give proof enough he didn't manage the spell unscathed... and the youngest does not look at all pleased, even as the Jenova-cells set to work on healing over the burns. He mutters some sort of curse, sparing no time in lunging forward again, ignoring his wounds in favor of a rather erratic, vicious, and unpredictable series of swings.
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