[Unofficial TP] Gilgamesh: WORLD TOUR - Part 1
WHO: Caim, Gilgamesh
WHERE: Lesalia, Imperial Capital of Ivalice
WHY SHOULD I READ THIS E-PEEN CONTEST: I don't know, jerkass! Maybe you like watching two end-boss level characters punch and punch each other until everything is on fire and someone doesn't get back up. :|
The capital of Ivalice is bustling center of commerce, politics and spirituality for the oft-turbulent country. Peasants wander in the cobblestone paths attempting to bargain (Or in other cases, steal) items as simple as bread from uncaring merchants while aloof nobles pass by in litters, utterly oblivious to the world they deem below them. A fitting hierarchy, thinks a currently silent observer, finding this world much more appropriate than another in several senses. Those above always look down those below in ascending order. The peasants are looked down on by the merchants who are in turn looked down upon by the nobles who find themselves kneeling to the one called King.
And of course, the only -true- King this sorry land has ever known (For however briefly) looks upon all in question, crimson eyes showing nary a hint of interest as they flit from sight to sight.
Servant Archer of the Fourth Heaven's Feel, known otherwise as the King of Heroes, Gilgamesh, stands perfectly poised upon the tip of a jutting citadel, too high for any meager guard to even think of casting his eyes skyward. A small frown mars his youthful features, already impatient for lack of spying what he seeks. Reasoning that it was only natural that Saber might find her way to a world more resembling the era she came from a place such as this fell upon the first lowly lands the ancient king resolved he would make richer with his presence. Yet he felt no signature here, nor did he see traces of her presence. It was possible that she might be hiding..or she could indeed not be here at all. It seemed there were many, many worlds in which to search...and while his patience was short, he had plenty of time nonetheless. Still, he wouldn't write this world off until he'd turned it upside down in search of his belonging.
A cruel smirk now worked its way across the former servant's lips. It might even be -fun-.
On the streets below, one figure moves among the throng. His dress and look would declare him peasant, his carriage and the blade strapped athwart his hips a noble... and the air around him something Other. A small clear patch follows the One Eyed Man as he walks through the streets, commoners and those lesser nobles on the streets shying away instinctively, though he remains nonaggressive. He's not here for a slaughter. He's looking for something.
Caim pauses in one of the open squares, regarding the fountain in the center absently, not really seeing it, the ragged and dirty travelling cloak around his shoulders stirring in the faint breeze generated by hundreds of people milling about at ground level. He knows something's here, he can sense it...
That Something that makes the natives of this plane draw away is like unto a blazing bonfire to those that have the senses to look. Heat and fury, darkness and power, twined and twisted and blended in ways that defy language. A bond of some kind, though to what...
A bright, feral blue eye lifts almost without thought to scan the skyline, drawn upwards by a feeling its owner cannot explain. He knows you're here...
Hm, what was this?
Amidst the hundreds of ants streaming on the ground beneath his feet lurked an insect of a slighltly different hue; On iconoclast. On it's deemed no more significant by the Golden King's sensbilities than any other speck, but set against the backdrop of such loathsome uniformity...well, it can't help but stand out. Hatred, rage, pain, torment...all these sensations are indeed palpable, the manic writings of a chained beast driven feral by captivity. "Tch." His lips twitch for tic or two in irritance, as if he'd just caught wind of a foul draft. What a vulgar thing to set foot in his presence. He ought to crush it on principle alone.
However...could it be? No, not exactly, but...
Upon a second 'glance', though Gilgamesh is loathe to admit it, on the basest level there is a certain similaritiy between this spiritual presence and the one that belongs to his erstwhile fiancee. Though an explanation escapes him at the moment, he intends to have one soon. His image wavers and vanishes just as he leaps from his arrogant precipise. For those who know it, the sensation associated with the Ancient King grows only stronger...closer. The feeling of excess, of the sun bearing down too hardly on one's back, seems to come from all places and nowhere at once. The commoners themselves seem able to pick up on it, suddenly wondering why their meager surroundings seem somehow brighter than before, more luxurious. Unknowingly they congragate as moths to a flame just as they are driven away as such by the swordsman's opposing aura.
....There. Standing atop the point of the central fountain with unnatural pose, the crimson gaze of the King of Heroes bears down singularly upon Caim. His gilded armor catches the sun's light brilliantly, his is a precence that exceeds mere wealth. The look on his face is domineering, arrogantly sneering downwards with a hint of annoyance, aggravated that he must lower himself to speak with such a one.
"You..." Utterly uncaring to the presence of the rabble, there is somehow no doubt as to who he speaks, "You remind me..in a very small way..of someone else. But yours is not the beast I seek; There is another like it." His chin raises, expressing regal certainty in his next demand, "If you know of her, you will tell me."
It's moving...
Uncertainty stirs the herd, instinctual aversion warring with near-religious attraction. Some are driven away by the stink of rage and darkness lurking near the cobblestones. Others are pulled out from under the shadows by the tempting warmth of the sun come out from behind the clouds. But one way or the other, attention begins to congregate towards a central point.
The One Eyed Man turns his eyes, one brilliant blue, the other a dull, scar-crossed and glazed white, towards the gleaming figure atop the fountain. And he does not look away nor bow his head.
Nostrils flare, like a beast taking a scent from the air, and Caim's gaze narrows slightly upon Gilgamesh. Interesting. He had not thought it to be one such as this... But there is something familiar. Where has he felt that before?
The Golden King's demands, sadly, are left unanswered, even apparently unnoticed, his only response being the scathing examination of the Bloody Handed Prince.
The reprobate is looking at him.
Looking. At. Him.
Not cowed, not humbled, but simply the wary stare of a beast. An animal would have an excuse at least, but for this vagabond to look at him so...for one who held himself King before all others, there was no greater insult. Wait, no, he seemed to be ignoring his question too. That's twice the normal level of unforgivable, making Caim an irredeemable criminal in the eyes for the former Servant within seconds.
"Mongrel." The word seeps with venomous indignation, serene young looks contorted into an expression of dangerous intent and barely checked outrage only a manner of nobility can muster, "Do not put me on the same level as you." In an instant the radiance of the sun becomes cruel, too much for any mortal to behold, a whirlwind of golden prana and aether swirling about Gilgamesh's spiritual self in much the same manner as the one-eyed man's.
Ten flashes of light herald the appearance of ten weapons of various design: Swords, spears, axes and polearms. All are jewled and regal, all exude a power beyond that of mere mundane weapon. And all hang perfectly still in the air, angeled malicious toward the offending swordsman. Venting some of his anger the sheer release of this power, the ancient ruler remains nonetheless displeased, "You have already exhausted my capacity for mercy, low one. Give me an answer, or I shall extract what entertainment I can from scattering your body to the winds." At this ominous threat (And not to say the least the sudden armoment) fear ought to wholly overtake any sense of awe and send most running, if not screaming.
Blades have been drawn.
So be it.
Those that did not begin to flee at the appearance of Gilgamesh's weapons certain do so at what happens next. The dark-clad swordsman regards the show of power much as he regarded the gilded Servant earlier, with a calculating but otherwise unimpressed air. In fact... he sneers. And then puts his hand to the hilt of his own weapon. That massice, two handed warblade is not gemmed, not gilded, has no delicate chasing or intricate designs wrought upon it. It is a brutal, dark thing, dark-forged steel with a notched and scarred edge that speaks of years, decades of battle. And an aura stinking of blood and death all its own. This blade has been the end of countless soldiers, entire armies scythed down in its wake.
And it hungers for more blood.
Once more, the only answer offered to the Golden King is silence. Or... no, this time he gains something more.
Caim lifts his sword, and points it. You have been chosen, accept your fate and let it end quickly.
Though he'd expected no better, Gilgamesh remains unamused by the course of action Caim has chosen, his face a casting a sternly disapproving a glare. Those poised blades seem to quiver in anticipation, or perhaps this is another manifestation of the divine king's indignation. Still, once that blood-soaked (metaphorically, if not literally) blades comes to bear along with all the reckless bloodlust it radiates, the golden one believes he understands. Yes...although this man certainly did not have the unique signature of a servant, his 'heroic' characteristic was undeniably linked with that of Berserker, the spirit of fury. A reckless force that sought only destruction, incapable of negotiation.
Gilgamesh did not like Berserkers.
"So, you are nothing more than a mad dog." The Heroic Soul concludes, losing none of his unflappable confidence and certainty, though an edge of derision in his tone remains constant, "Very well, then. As King, the duty falls to me to put you out of your misery. Foul creature, begone!" A wide wave of his gold-plated arm hurls each weapon at a speed faster than a blink of the eye, all aimed at various parts of the swordsman's person. Precise, deadly and without mercy shall they attempt to strike home with the fury and report of artillery fire, cratering themselves firmly in the ground should they somehow miss.
You critically strike Caim with your The King's Barrage attack.
If it means anything, Caim doesn't care for the chatty sorts, either. Indeed, Gilgamesh's continuing diatribes have brought a somewhat irritated curl to the One Eyed Man's lip as he stands there waiting. Shut up and get on with it, already.
Ah, there we go.
Blades slam into flesh, burying themselves in his form, but not like a normal man would be pierced. The weapons instead embed themselves as though they had impacted a tree, or perhaps a statue, crashing into a resiliance that goes beyond anything even remotely human. Caim staggers under the impact, one foot sliding back.
And then he straightens, the weapons still sticking out of him as he glares up at the Golden King.
The challenge has been issued.
So shall it be answered.
Muscles bunch, and the dark swordsman launches from the ground like a bird of prey taking to the hunt, his blade a howling, dark blur in his hands, the sunlight glinting off the gilded weaponry now decorating his form as he strikes at their owner.
Caim misses Gilgamesh with his Blade of Pain and Fear attack.
A normal man would be dead. Even a -servant- would be dead. Yet ten noble phantasms had struck true into this mongrel and he'd barely lost his footing. The grinding of Gilgamesh's teeth could likely be heard if not for screams of peasant, merchant and noble alike as all ran for cover from this otherworld quarrel. Who was this man, to stand before the fury of a King and not die? The former Archer-class did not know, nor did he care..but he would take no satisfaction this day until there was nothing left of his opponent but ashes.
The sheer ferocity of Caim's attack is enough that no sane being would wish to be caught in front of it; Though the same cannot be said of inanimat object unable to move. The fountain upon which the Golden King stood is utterly demolished, stone fragments bursting in all directions as if burst from an explosive amidst the horrid sound of shattering granite.
The Sumerian however is nowhere to be found amidst the wreckage, landing a few meters behind Caim with typical grace, brows steeped downwards in anger. This battle was beginning to take a similar tone to one he'd experienced before, one he did not care for. "Do you try to put me on equal footing with you? I, who exist at the top?!" More swords appear at the crest of Gilgamesh's anger, aimed and deadly, "As if your prior insults were not already deserving of death...I will leave not a shred of your existenc intact!" All motive of his search momentarily forgotten, sword upon halberd upon spear fire with same merciless tracjectory as before. Lets see how well this cretin and keep up.
You hit Caim with your STORM OF SWORDS attack.
Boots scuff against cobbles as Caim lands from his lunge, bits of shattered fountain pattering around him as water gurgles up from underneath, washing over the street and carrying the dark curls of the One Eyed Man's blood away where it ripples around his boots. Congratulations, Golden King. You've drawn his blood. Not many have earned that distincting and survived.
Will you survive?
Teeth bared in anger and mounting battle-madness, the swordsman swings around at the words from behind, shrugging to dislodge a spear sticking out of his shoulder almost absently. Letting it clatter to the ground like so much firewood, ignored. But then Gilgamesh strikes again, and Caim's mouth opens in a soundless roar of fury and pain as blades once more pierce his flesh, others embedding themselves in the ground around him.
You seem intent on pelting him with weapons. He shall have to return the favor.
One hand takes hold of the hilt of a glintind sword sticking out of his gut, and pulls it free, wielding his own zweihander in a one-handed grip that would be simply impossible for a normal man.
And again he lunges to the attack, a whistling net of dark steel and glinting gilt sweeping all before him.
Caim misses Gilgamesh with his MAIM KILL BURN combo.
Would the insults never cease?
Caim's own anger and rage may be the stuff of legend, the terror of the battlefield..but Gilgamesh's temper was no slouch, and the one-eyed fighter insisted on finding new and odious ways in which to brake it. The sheer sight of his filthy hand laying hold upon one of his own possessions is enough to put King of Heroes beside himself with silent, stewing discontent.
But before he can voice it, the swordsman is upon him. Yet these reckless and bloodthirsty blows are a trifle for one of his caliber to handle, no matter the power behind him. Like a ghost, the former servant dances just out of range of each potentially decisive strike, placing a more respectable distance between them after the last. "There was a fool once before, like yourself, who thought to touch one of my treasures." The Sumerian's face is a calm mask of wrath, a purity of sorts, "Shall I demonstrate his fate to you?" As if to punctuate the question, a small curved blade appears in his hand where the was but nothing before. A broad, horizontal slash yields an utterly unexpected blast of freezing gale force wind, enough to freeze solid what water is left in the fountain and afflict Caim with a none too pleasant case of frostbite.
You hit Caim with your Jotunheim's Gale attack.
Again and again steel rips through only air, though the screams of the blades' passages might as well be the wails of the dying. Perhaps he wounds the very air itself with his rage. Rage that only builds with every missed strike, every swift dodge. Rarely has he encountered a foe that would last even this long, much less one he was unable to strike, and it drives the Pact Warrior into a frenzy.
The gilded blade slams into the cobbles, burying itself there in the stone like an axe into wood, and Caim's own blade screams against the ground in a curving trail of sparks as Gilgamesh ducks out of the way of one more nearly fatal swing. Caim's one living eye fixes on his foe, gaze seething with an unspeakable fury that knows nothing of pain, or fear, or remorse. Only death.
The frigid wind tears at him without warning, blasting his cloak away from his form, ripping at his clothes, his hair, his skin. Ice forms around his feet, frost rimes his blade and the weapons that remain embedded in his body, but he still does not fall. In fact, as the gale quiets, steam begins to rise from the chilled warrior. A herald of something far, far worse.
For a fleeting instant, it might seem as though something could be glimpsed behind and above Caim. Something huge, and reptillian, and winged. Something ancient. Something terrible.
Bloody lightning crackles, arcing between the swords that protrude from Caim's flesh, the air around him seeming almost to writhe in pain. Then he lifts his free hand towards the King of Heroes, and the world became as FIRE.
Caim gets a glancing blow on Gilgamesh with his He Spake as a Dragon attack.
You take 14 damage.
He was still standing. Gilgamesh was becoming increasingly frustrated with this particular mongrel. Who had ever heard of a bug that refused to be squashed?! However, that curious phenomenon shall momentarily dispell the King's increasing fury with a single raised brow. What did this fool think he was doing? His prana (Or what the Sumerian perceived as such, anyways) was rising immmensely. In fact, it was not just his alone...no..this was something else, something far, far more potent...
Crimson eyes widen in sudden realization. Unlike Saber, this one's soul didn't just bear the shape and form of a dragon, but was actually linked to a millenial beast? There no way, no way a brute such as this could invoke the most fearsome of the Phantasm Races!
But the reality of the conflagration outweighs any further refutation on Gilgamesh's behalf. Flame claims the half of the courtyard in a roiling, roaring gout of unquenchable combustion. The ground is scorced pitch black, all traces of life purged from the vicinity, hovels burned clean as if they had never even been there before.
And in the epicenter stands the Golden King, immaculate as ever and looking not too worse for the wear. A golden shield is held outwards in one hand, the ornate face of some God molded upon it: Aegis, the ultimate defense that avoids an attack by way of reversing causality, effectively blocking an attack before it actually landed.
Only, in this case..it didn't fully seem to work. The shield itself smoulders, along with rest of Gilfamesh's armor, which is blackened in some places. His skin seems slighty sunburnt, and the tips of his hair are scorched. His face is mute with shock, outraged and murderous intent.
"You hit me."
Aegis slams into the ground, thrown as if utterly useless.
"You...-dare- hit me, the King of Heroes?!"
Every weapon stuck in Caim, lodged in the ground or otherwise cast aside by the Sumerian vanishes. A sinister red line tears rent in reality from the ground up and as high as the eye might see, directly behind the gilded servant. Growing, opening, the entire sky behind him takes on that vermillion hue, the sound of the material world itself being compromised as the openining of an incrompehensible, monolithic gate. It -is- a gate. A personal one.
Like ripples in a lake, the innumerous treasures of Uruk usher forth into the present; The sky over Lesalia is filled with instruments of death. Gilgamesh smiles, his anger given away to a pure, unrelenting resolve.
"I will obliterate you."
You switch armor modes to Gate of Babylon.
The roar of the flames is like unto a beast in itself, the very air shuddering and rippling in the heat, thunder rolling through the streets as though lightning had come to earth. And at the source, a man straightens, smoke wafting from his body as though his own blood were burning away.
The battle-madness has relaxed its grip on him somewhat, with the release of the flames. Some of Her rage given form, forced out into the physical world, no longer boiling and clawing at the back of his mind like a spider of molten glass and shattered steel. A deep, slow breath is taken in as the flames clear, the heat-mirage dissipates.
His foe remains standing. So be it.
As the weapons fade from existance, the Bloody Handed Prince rolls a shoulder, as though working a kink from his muscles. His lips ripple in a disdainful, downright disgusted sneer.
And then the Gate begins to open, and Caim's eyes widen.
...there. Yes. YES!
An unholy, insane glee lights the man's features, his lips pulling back from his teeth in an expression that resembles a smile in the way a rabid wolf resembles a common dog. His teeth part in what would undoubtedly be some nerve-jarring cackle, were there any sound behind it at all.
And then he charges.
Distorted air and ash smear behind the man with the speed of his rush, giving the suggestion of those great, batlike wings once more, and a sound that is not a sound makes the ground tremble as Caim rears back in an overhand strike that has been the very last thing many a soldier has witnessed.
Caim hits Gilgamesh with his SPLIT THEM OPEN super.
You take 50 damage.
He shows this pitiful creature the nature of it's doom...and to the best Gilgamesh can determine, it -laughs-? Did this mongrel truly seek death with such single-minded resolve? Well, the King of Heroes will be all too glad to provide that, but before he can even call down the rain of the heavens, the half-maddened warrior is upon.
He was fast. Faster than before. -Too- fast.
The mere thought that the berseker was holding back until now is so foreign and unacceptable the golden king refuses to even allow the notion to ferment itself inside his head. No doubt such a complex stratagem would be well beyond his opponent's facultures, from what he'd observed. At the last second a blade appears the block the descending blown. Then a second, a third.
Not enough. These not-insignificant noble phantasm are cloven straight through by the fury, the sheer -power- of that incredible blow, the earth shaking under the might of the impact as dust and dirt fly up in a storm. Gilgamesh stands still, his armor crack across the breastplate, dimmed all around. A gash in the side of his face bleeds profusely...he bled. Those eyes burn with the same fire that had consumed mere moments ago.
"WORM."
Another ripple, but instead of a weapon a scything, snaking chain seeks enwrapt itself wround Caim's left arm. Should it find purchase, similar chains from nowhere will do the same to his other three limbs, his body, his neck. Enkidu, the Chain of Heaven, would the dragon's soul be close enough to divinity for it to have a desirable restraining effect..or would it simply be unto a normal chain? Even if the latter, the sheer volume with which it aims to grasp the deranged prince may be enough to keep him down for a few moments.
You miss Caim with your Enkidu stun.
He felt it. Felt the impact in his arms, can taste the blood in the air as time seems to slow, the battle-madness upon him in truth now. Caim's single living eye is wide, staring, fixed, his lips peeled back from his teeth in a rictus grin as he follows through with his strike. That horrid black blade tears its way free of the lower edge of the Golden King's breastplate and continues through the ground, rending a cleft through the very stones of the plaza as the crescent completes, shattered stone and riven earth erupting behind the Pact Warrior as his blade comes loose of the ground behind him, ready for the next strike.
But then his momentum is arrested, Enkidu snapping taut as it halts what would have been a scything reversal aimed to part Gilgamesh's torso from his hips. Caim snarls soundlessly as more chains snake around his body, yanks at them as he feels them tighten.
And there is a sound of thunder.
This is not fire, though it scorches and burns. It is not light, though it dazzles the eye and seems through blast the very shadows into the surroundings. Pure, howling, cascading force tears its way from Caim's body like a tidal wave of sound, some great blood-caked temple bell fallen to earth from a great height, scattering all as it crashes to the ground.
In the aftermath, Caim stands hunched forward, his blade still in hand, his breathing heavy, with glittering links of sundered chain embedded in the ground and what buildings remain standing nearby.
Then his head lifts, and that unblinking, feral, horrible regard fixes once more upon the King of Heroes.
Caim hits Gilgamesh with his Song of the Goddess super.
You take 46 damage.
A grim look of satisfaction overcame the Hero King's face when the rabid beast in guise of a man fell into his trap. He would enjoy far, far too much the process of reducing this mongrel into ash by whatever means pleased him. None could escape when in the grasp of Enkidu, a weapon he trusts even more than his own, personal blade...which he shall not waste on this unworthy man, no matter the circumstances.
Then, the impossible happens.
he breaking of Enkidu is like a slap in the face; The chain itself is impossible to destroy, but the symbolic -act- of disrupting it in the presence was a slight among slights for one with pride as touchy as the Sumerian's. But again, before his ire can make a reprisal the former servant is blown back off his feet by the erupting blast of forces, bowling back over end and striking his head as he is temporarily put at the mercy of that furious tempest that holds the pact warrior at it's epicenter.
Enough was enough. It was time to end this.
Whatever Caim thinks he may have done, the fighter just made on serious error: Creating distance between himself and an opponent who specializes in long-ranged attacks. When his lone eyes sights the King of Heroes, he'll see him...along with his restored armor, having expended the mana necessary to restore it. Gashes and bumps be damned, he would -not- slay this fool while looking like him.
A golden bow is stretcted to it's utmost in the Archer's grasp..but instead of an arrow, it carries a gloriously shining sword as it's payload, the legendary sword of light itself, Irish twin to the holy blade Excalibur. The further he pulls back, the more it seems to glow, searing light gathering at the blade tips with fearsome alacrity.
"I will not tolerate your offensive presence on second longer." Utterly without hesitation he fires, the blade transfiguring into a potent, unrelenting torrent of destructive golden power that strips the cobble right off the ground as it homes in on the pact warrior with deadly purpose. Hit or miss, the buildings behind him (And quite possibly the ones behind -them-) will not see the morrow.
You hit Caim with your Claiomh Solais super.
Bits and shards of debris begin to rain from the sky, finally coming back to earth after their meteoric and sudden flight upwards. A nearly-whole cobblestone crashes to the ground between the two combatants, making the One Eyed Man flinch not at all.
For a timeless moment, he is calm. He takes a breath in, straightening, the point of his blade whispering against the ground, a haunting wail lurking just outside of actual hearing.
And he sees the bow.
An archer. He's always hated archers.
Before he has time to charge, to even formulate a counterattack, the bolt is loosed, and all Caim can do is silently howl his defiance in the face of the onrushing torrent of light, the Pact mark on his tongue thrown into sharp relief for that frozen moment...
Before he is engulfed.
But as the light of Claiomh Solais' strike fades... he remains. Bloodied, ragged, with his cloak and most of his shirt utterly gone and skin showing rents that sizzle even as they bleed. But he remains. He /stands/.
He staggers, rights his balance, and lifts his head, defiant still. And he smiles.
There you are.
Once again, the warrior charges, his blade screaming through the air once, twice, again, almost too fast to see, certainly too quickly for any mere human to avoid. But it has been proven that he faces no mere human, and so he pours everything into the fulisade of steel. All his rage. All his pain. All of it.
All for you.
Caim juggles Gilgamesh with his Howling Fury combo.
You take 29 damage.
Caim juggles Gilgamesh with his Howling Fury combo.
You take 15 damage.
Gilgamesh breaks Caim's combo.
Somewhere along the line, the simple warriors joy of battle began to subtly overtake the arrogant king's overwhelming sense of curiosity. Don't get the wrong impression; This mute brute is -still- a pathetic mongrel and still deserves death...but that tenacity is beginning to catch Gilgamesh's interest as a challenge to overcome. "So, still standing, hm?" Anger seems to be gone, the same arrogant smirk from earlier now asserting itself, "I've never seen such a strong wish for discipline. I will make sure the next hit puts you down."
The bloody prince however acts before the Golden King has a chance at getting that next hit, again displaying a speed comparable to that of a servant. The first hit is only barely parried by a a non-descripted blade, the force of the hit actually causing pain to the wielding arm. Gritting his teeth, the Sumerian was better poised to shake off the second blow, though using the same arm doesn't do him any favors.
Two strikes are enough for him to read those movements, however reckless they are. His laugh begins with a sidestepping dodge and grows more maniacal with each hit he may manage to land on the warrior, battle-lust being contagious. First he strikes with a sword, then a scythe, then an axe, his blows growing increasingly wild, eyes alight with their own unique manner of madness to growing tide of his own amusement, "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Tens of blades descend from the sky in the grand finale, piercing whatever flesh they can find.
You juggle Caim with your Gate of Beatdowns combo.
You juggle Caim with your Gate of Beatdowns combo.
Caim breaks your combo.
Now, battle is finally joined in true.
Caim doesn't despair as his blows begin to cleave only air again. If anything it helps fuel the fire, his own strikes growing wild, flailing wide, the sort of attacks that would cut a wide, bloody swath through an army, the sort of tactics that are as instinct to this warrior. The sort of combat where, no matter where you swing, you will find a target.
One of Gilgamesh's counterattacks is parried not so much by design as the fact that his blade and the Bloody Prince's just happened to intersect, the impact crashing up both blades and flinging sparks into the air to join the dancing ash and drifting shards of stone. Another of the Golden King's strokes traces a bloody track across Caim's face just below the eye, red 'tears' painting his teeth as he snarls at his opponent.
And the sky falls upon him.
Pierced through again and again, ten times over, the Pact Warrior staggers once more, sagging, actually supported briefly by the weapons stabbed through him, their points resting on the shattered and scorched ground. Is it over?
No. Not yet. Not now.
Another of those terrible, reality-bending notes ripples away from the One Eyed Man, and the blades embedded in him creak, vibrating in unwilling harmony to that horrible tone... before they shatter, a storm of razor shards howling around the man, light and heat building in their dancing embrace.
As the note goes silent, a storm of fire and steel howls outwards, flaying the ground, scourging the heavens, and laying waste to all in its path.
Caim misses Gilgamesh with his BY MY FURY YOU SHALL KNOW THE GODDESS' NAME super.
The heat of the battle, the destructive flames...yes, this is what being a King of Heroes was truly about! In his long years waiting for the beginning of the neat Grail War he'd nearly forgotten about the excitement, the uncertainty, the thrill of crushing one's foe! He could -almost- thank the pact warrior if his sheer ignorance didn't continue to offend Gilgamesh on some level, but that part of him is too deeply buried under the fight now.
"Fine, die standing up if you like!" His smile is delighted now at the other warrior's resilience. He may not have found Saber, but he -did- at least find some worthwhile entertainment. Still, he felt he was beginning to become accustomed to even the most unpredictable of the prince's attacks. Feeling the metaphysical 'tide' before the storm of force unleashes, the King of Heroes leaps straight up into the sky, soaring woefully above the reach of said attack..and poising him in a perfect position.
Every weapon in the crimson sky turns downwards, towards the courtyard...towards Caim. "You put up an admirable display, for a mongrel.." A bit of a sneer sneaks back into Gilgamesh's face, looking down from on high as he re-asserted some of his regal roots, "But I grow tired of our game. Let none say Uruk does not share it's treasures with all!" One by one, every hanging blade in the sky fires towards the earth with increasing speed untill all remaining fire at once, striking with such explosive force that the effect is not unlike a multiple carpet bombing of the local cityscape, "Do you desire my treasures? Help yourself to as many as you like, as many as you can stand! Heh heh...ha...haha....hahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!"
You miss Caim with your King's Treasury super.
This isn't working. He's not fighting an army, as much as this man hits with the force of one. Slow down. Think. THINK.
...where did he go?
Shaking his head to clear it at the center of that blasted and scourged courtyard, Caim looks around for his foe, a frown forming as he doesn't spot the Golden King immediately. Where...?
Then he hears the taunting cry from above, and his gaze whips up.
Oh.
The first blade is smashed to the side, the second sent careening into the third, but he is only one man, and no man, no matter how powerful, could hope to stop that tide of death.
The steel rain falls.
When all grows quiet, it is like some odd forest of gleaming metal. And at its heart is a small hill, hilts jutting out at strange angles, smoke rising from between the densely clustered blades.
no
NO
NEVER FORGIVE
Light begins to spear outwards from that lump that should be a corpse. A strange, bloody light that holds colors that sanity refuses to identify.
It moves.
As Caim stands, the swords slide free of his flesh, crashing to the ground one after another, the blood he leaves on them combusting as it contacts the air until he is wreathed in a pyre of blades. Fire leaks from his wounds, between his teeth, from his very eyes as he pushes himself back to his feet.
He opens his mouth, and sings one note of the Song that would end a world.
Caim hits Gilgamesh with his o/` super.
You take 40 damage.
"Oops, did I over do it again? My mistake! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" The capital burns amidsts Gilgamesh's laughs, blades of all shaper, size and manner stuck in every conceivable nook and cranny of the ruined courtyard. The red splotch in the sent of his kingly wrath is the sweetest thing the Sumerian has seen since his final battle with Saber.
Except...
Why did he feel the presence of the beast again?
"Tch." He sneers, "It's not possible." There was no way. Some things simple couldn't not be accomplished.
A burst of flame so hot it burns white, Gilgamesh has just enough time to look shocked before being enveloped, "BLASTED MONGREEEEEEELLLL!!!!"
The resulting explosion lights up the sky with a fury painful to look at for several seconds before it fades. The King of Heroes is nowhere in sight to be seen, nor can he be sensed. Is that it? Has the Pact Warrior again emerged victorious? Has the Golden King's quest for his lost betrothed stopped before it even begin?
A discordant throb in the void left by the spiritual absence of the former servant. A pulse. An explosion of mana and fury.
No. It was not over. Not even -close-.
From a smoldering crater in the ground does the haggard, singed Gilgamesh emerged. The upper portion of his armor is entirely blasted away and he does not bother restore it, ritualistic tattoos in his flash burning like hot iron brands; The mark of divinity. His eyes settle squarely on Caim, burning with the urge to destroy, the wrath of a an outrage God.
"You...not since the Grail War have I...for this..." He seems to reach for something and, for a moment, a terribly power not glimpsed yet even once peers into reality..but only for a moment. "NO!" He withdraws his hand, chiding himself, "No....you...are not worthy." Only a King may die by that blade. Instead...
A long black spear appears in the blonde warrior's hands, notches and carved with ancient runes and oaths now glowing red as he pours all the mana he dares into it. Gugnir..the spear of the Father of the Gods. When cast in the air, it never missed it's target. It always struck true. -Always-.
"Never miss." He charges, waiting for the right step, for the point of greatest exertion.
"NEVER MISS." He arcs, tilting the great spear at the angle for highest velocity, fullest penetration.
"Never miss." A thunderous roar rips across the ruined land, a burst exceeding that of even sound overtaking the air. He wills it, guides it's path, envisions it piercing the wretched mongrel and pinning him to the castle wall.
You hit Caim with your Gugnir super.
For a long moment, silence reigns. The blasted, echoing silence of a wasteland, yes, but silence. Time for Caim to draw a breath. For the fires to fade. For the sizzling fury of battle to cool somewhat from his mind. Time enough for him to lift his blade and resheath it, preparing to leave.
...no. It isn't over.
The Pact Warrior pauses, uncertain, before he turns to face the voice that calls out to him. So. You still yet draw enough breath to give speeches. He'll have to rectify that.
But before he can end a life, before he can even draw a blade, before he can do any more than take one step towards the smouldering Golden King, the Spear is there.
Caim's eyes widen as it begins to move.
And then there is pain.
For a blinding instant, time refuses to move. The spear's tip is resting lightly against Caim's chest, just to the left of his sternum, and he looks down at it almost curiously.
Time resumes.
The force of the strike catapaults Caim off his feet, hurling him several yards away from his foe, pierced clean through by the Spear, mouth and eyes wide with pain and shock. He crashes to earth, tumbling loose-limbed like a doll cast aside, and comes to rest in a heap, the haft of Gugnir sticking up out of him at a crazy angle.
The air stands still.
And he moves.
One hand twitches, fingers clench against the shattered ground, and the Bloody Prince forces himself up off the ground, blood leaking from his mouth as he forces himself to stand. Staggers. Regains his balance, still with that Weapon clean through him.
He lays hand to the haft... and draws it free, almost leisurely. He's in no rush. He has all the time in the world.
you must not die
That blue, horribly bright blue eye lifts, and finds the Kind of Heroes.
you promised
The arm holding Gugnir draws back.
And lashes forward.
The Spear flies once more.
Caim misses Gilgamesh with his The Father's Spear super.
The King of Heroes can only twitch in low-key anger as this warrior -refuses- to know his place. Struck through with the spear of the All-Father himself and -still- he refuses to stay down? What would it take, short of the power of Ea?
Oh. He was throwing it back at him now. This would be fun.
The Sumerian King does nothing. Rather, he merely crosses his arms and waits as the spear speed towards his chest, aiming to return the favor just visited upon his for. This was...no, not even Saber fought this fiercely. The King of Knights was too dignified for this manner of combat, too delicate to fight in the true manner of men for all her attempts othewise.
Hm? Oh right, the spear. It vanishes an inch away from the Golden King's person, dismissed to the Gate from whence it came along with all the other weapons thrown and seemingly destroyed.
A look of utter calm at the standing swordsman...perhaps not absent an extremely limited form of admiration. No speeches this time, no oaths of destruction. Just a commanding snap of the finger.
A rush of of precedes the hopeful impact of a swinging stone hammer right into the side of the pact warrior's head.
You critically strike Caim with your Hammer of the Gods attack.
Caim has been knocked out!
He can't even howl in frustration as he watches the spear wink out. He's so very tired...
He can't even stand upright. Caim's posture sags, the gaping wound in his chest leaking liquid fire and light, as though some hellish foundry resided within the man instead of the normal viscera.
His weight shifts. End this. Have to end this. Have to.
He takes a step forward. But that is as far as he gets. The hammer of stone crashes into his skull, driving the Pact Warrior to one knee, his hands landing on the blasted ground.
Must... must...
Can't.
Between one moment and the next, the strength leaves the warrior's limbs, and he slumbs to the ground. Not dead. Somehow. Barely. He clings to life with an unearthly tenacity, refuses to let death take him. He promised.
But he cannot fight any more.
The sky fades back to a dismal gray ochre; The Gate of Babylone once again closes it's doors. The wounded and fearful gradually worm their way out of the woodworks, sobbing of shattered homes, shops and even more numerously lost loved ones. It is a tragedy of horrendous proportions. As if in sympathy, its begins to rain in a modest amounts, quenching whats fires still raged.
Gilgamesh cares not a bit for the damage caused. His only interest remains settled on the fallen opponent, who -still- is not dead. Using the mana he has left to re-manifest his armor, he'll stride towards the pact warrior. The wounds to his body will take more time to heal....but heal they shall. Standing before Caim, he'll look down haughtily, eyes steeped with pride, pretending not to recognize how close this battle came. But they know, they both know it was a razor-thin margin.
A sword appears in his hand, and the people who'd already given them a wide berth begin to cower again. Raising it...he hesistates...and lets the weapon vanish.
"Don't get wrong idea." The King of Heroes shakes his head with a derisive look, "You escape with you life today only because I find you stubbornness...curious, enough to overlook your vulgarity this day." Additionally...with power like his, Saber may be drawn out. For now though, it was clear she was nowhere in the vicnity, else she'd surely have interrupted them. Regardless, he will have to keep an eye on this man. "Next time, i'd learn some proper manners." He turns to leave...and it may be off to note that no matter how much rain falls, not a drop a seems to touch this somewhat tarnished, shining figure, "Not being able to talk hardly an excuse. Use signs." He mutters under his breath, "Pathetic mongrls."
The form of the Golden King flickers, becomes indistinct..and vanishes, along with all traces of his spiritual presence. This time, it would seem, he is truly gone.
WHERE: Lesalia, Imperial Capital of Ivalice
WHY SHOULD I READ THIS E-PEEN CONTEST: I don't know, jerkass! Maybe you like watching two end-boss level characters punch and punch each other until everything is on fire and someone doesn't get back up. :|
The capital of Ivalice is bustling center of commerce, politics and spirituality for the oft-turbulent country. Peasants wander in the cobblestone paths attempting to bargain (Or in other cases, steal) items as simple as bread from uncaring merchants while aloof nobles pass by in litters, utterly oblivious to the world they deem below them. A fitting hierarchy, thinks a currently silent observer, finding this world much more appropriate than another in several senses. Those above always look down those below in ascending order. The peasants are looked down on by the merchants who are in turn looked down upon by the nobles who find themselves kneeling to the one called King.
And of course, the only -true- King this sorry land has ever known (For however briefly) looks upon all in question, crimson eyes showing nary a hint of interest as they flit from sight to sight.
Servant Archer of the Fourth Heaven's Feel, known otherwise as the King of Heroes, Gilgamesh, stands perfectly poised upon the tip of a jutting citadel, too high for any meager guard to even think of casting his eyes skyward. A small frown mars his youthful features, already impatient for lack of spying what he seeks. Reasoning that it was only natural that Saber might find her way to a world more resembling the era she came from a place such as this fell upon the first lowly lands the ancient king resolved he would make richer with his presence. Yet he felt no signature here, nor did he see traces of her presence. It was possible that she might be hiding..or she could indeed not be here at all. It seemed there were many, many worlds in which to search...and while his patience was short, he had plenty of time nonetheless. Still, he wouldn't write this world off until he'd turned it upside down in search of his belonging.
A cruel smirk now worked its way across the former servant's lips. It might even be -fun-.
On the streets below, one figure moves among the throng. His dress and look would declare him peasant, his carriage and the blade strapped athwart his hips a noble... and the air around him something Other. A small clear patch follows the One Eyed Man as he walks through the streets, commoners and those lesser nobles on the streets shying away instinctively, though he remains nonaggressive. He's not here for a slaughter. He's looking for something.
Caim pauses in one of the open squares, regarding the fountain in the center absently, not really seeing it, the ragged and dirty travelling cloak around his shoulders stirring in the faint breeze generated by hundreds of people milling about at ground level. He knows something's here, he can sense it...
That Something that makes the natives of this plane draw away is like unto a blazing bonfire to those that have the senses to look. Heat and fury, darkness and power, twined and twisted and blended in ways that defy language. A bond of some kind, though to what...
A bright, feral blue eye lifts almost without thought to scan the skyline, drawn upwards by a feeling its owner cannot explain. He knows you're here...
Hm, what was this?
Amidst the hundreds of ants streaming on the ground beneath his feet lurked an insect of a slighltly different hue; On iconoclast. On it's deemed no more significant by the Golden King's sensbilities than any other speck, but set against the backdrop of such loathsome uniformity...well, it can't help but stand out. Hatred, rage, pain, torment...all these sensations are indeed palpable, the manic writings of a chained beast driven feral by captivity. "Tch." His lips twitch for tic or two in irritance, as if he'd just caught wind of a foul draft. What a vulgar thing to set foot in his presence. He ought to crush it on principle alone.
However...could it be? No, not exactly, but...
Upon a second 'glance', though Gilgamesh is loathe to admit it, on the basest level there is a certain similaritiy between this spiritual presence and the one that belongs to his erstwhile fiancee. Though an explanation escapes him at the moment, he intends to have one soon. His image wavers and vanishes just as he leaps from his arrogant precipise. For those who know it, the sensation associated with the Ancient King grows only stronger...closer. The feeling of excess, of the sun bearing down too hardly on one's back, seems to come from all places and nowhere at once. The commoners themselves seem able to pick up on it, suddenly wondering why their meager surroundings seem somehow brighter than before, more luxurious. Unknowingly they congragate as moths to a flame just as they are driven away as such by the swordsman's opposing aura.
....There. Standing atop the point of the central fountain with unnatural pose, the crimson gaze of the King of Heroes bears down singularly upon Caim. His gilded armor catches the sun's light brilliantly, his is a precence that exceeds mere wealth. The look on his face is domineering, arrogantly sneering downwards with a hint of annoyance, aggravated that he must lower himself to speak with such a one.
"You..." Utterly uncaring to the presence of the rabble, there is somehow no doubt as to who he speaks, "You remind me..in a very small way..of someone else. But yours is not the beast I seek; There is another like it." His chin raises, expressing regal certainty in his next demand, "If you know of her, you will tell me."
It's moving...
Uncertainty stirs the herd, instinctual aversion warring with near-religious attraction. Some are driven away by the stink of rage and darkness lurking near the cobblestones. Others are pulled out from under the shadows by the tempting warmth of the sun come out from behind the clouds. But one way or the other, attention begins to congregate towards a central point.
The One Eyed Man turns his eyes, one brilliant blue, the other a dull, scar-crossed and glazed white, towards the gleaming figure atop the fountain. And he does not look away nor bow his head.
Nostrils flare, like a beast taking a scent from the air, and Caim's gaze narrows slightly upon Gilgamesh. Interesting. He had not thought it to be one such as this... But there is something familiar. Where has he felt that before?
The Golden King's demands, sadly, are left unanswered, even apparently unnoticed, his only response being the scathing examination of the Bloody Handed Prince.
The reprobate is looking at him.
Looking. At. Him.
Not cowed, not humbled, but simply the wary stare of a beast. An animal would have an excuse at least, but for this vagabond to look at him so...for one who held himself King before all others, there was no greater insult. Wait, no, he seemed to be ignoring his question too. That's twice the normal level of unforgivable, making Caim an irredeemable criminal in the eyes for the former Servant within seconds.
"Mongrel." The word seeps with venomous indignation, serene young looks contorted into an expression of dangerous intent and barely checked outrage only a manner of nobility can muster, "Do not put me on the same level as you." In an instant the radiance of the sun becomes cruel, too much for any mortal to behold, a whirlwind of golden prana and aether swirling about Gilgamesh's spiritual self in much the same manner as the one-eyed man's.
Ten flashes of light herald the appearance of ten weapons of various design: Swords, spears, axes and polearms. All are jewled and regal, all exude a power beyond that of mere mundane weapon. And all hang perfectly still in the air, angeled malicious toward the offending swordsman. Venting some of his anger the sheer release of this power, the ancient ruler remains nonetheless displeased, "You have already exhausted my capacity for mercy, low one. Give me an answer, or I shall extract what entertainment I can from scattering your body to the winds." At this ominous threat (And not to say the least the sudden armoment) fear ought to wholly overtake any sense of awe and send most running, if not screaming.
Blades have been drawn.
So be it.
Those that did not begin to flee at the appearance of Gilgamesh's weapons certain do so at what happens next. The dark-clad swordsman regards the show of power much as he regarded the gilded Servant earlier, with a calculating but otherwise unimpressed air. In fact... he sneers. And then puts his hand to the hilt of his own weapon. That massice, two handed warblade is not gemmed, not gilded, has no delicate chasing or intricate designs wrought upon it. It is a brutal, dark thing, dark-forged steel with a notched and scarred edge that speaks of years, decades of battle. And an aura stinking of blood and death all its own. This blade has been the end of countless soldiers, entire armies scythed down in its wake.
And it hungers for more blood.
Once more, the only answer offered to the Golden King is silence. Or... no, this time he gains something more.
Caim lifts his sword, and points it. You have been chosen, accept your fate and let it end quickly.
Though he'd expected no better, Gilgamesh remains unamused by the course of action Caim has chosen, his face a casting a sternly disapproving a glare. Those poised blades seem to quiver in anticipation, or perhaps this is another manifestation of the divine king's indignation. Still, once that blood-soaked (metaphorically, if not literally) blades comes to bear along with all the reckless bloodlust it radiates, the golden one believes he understands. Yes...although this man certainly did not have the unique signature of a servant, his 'heroic' characteristic was undeniably linked with that of Berserker, the spirit of fury. A reckless force that sought only destruction, incapable of negotiation.
Gilgamesh did not like Berserkers.
"So, you are nothing more than a mad dog." The Heroic Soul concludes, losing none of his unflappable confidence and certainty, though an edge of derision in his tone remains constant, "Very well, then. As King, the duty falls to me to put you out of your misery. Foul creature, begone!" A wide wave of his gold-plated arm hurls each weapon at a speed faster than a blink of the eye, all aimed at various parts of the swordsman's person. Precise, deadly and without mercy shall they attempt to strike home with the fury and report of artillery fire, cratering themselves firmly in the ground should they somehow miss.
You critically strike Caim with your The King's Barrage attack.
If it means anything, Caim doesn't care for the chatty sorts, either. Indeed, Gilgamesh's continuing diatribes have brought a somewhat irritated curl to the One Eyed Man's lip as he stands there waiting. Shut up and get on with it, already.
Ah, there we go.
Blades slam into flesh, burying themselves in his form, but not like a normal man would be pierced. The weapons instead embed themselves as though they had impacted a tree, or perhaps a statue, crashing into a resiliance that goes beyond anything even remotely human. Caim staggers under the impact, one foot sliding back.
And then he straightens, the weapons still sticking out of him as he glares up at the Golden King.
The challenge has been issued.
So shall it be answered.
Muscles bunch, and the dark swordsman launches from the ground like a bird of prey taking to the hunt, his blade a howling, dark blur in his hands, the sunlight glinting off the gilded weaponry now decorating his form as he strikes at their owner.
Caim misses Gilgamesh with his Blade of Pain and Fear attack.
A normal man would be dead. Even a -servant- would be dead. Yet ten noble phantasms had struck true into this mongrel and he'd barely lost his footing. The grinding of Gilgamesh's teeth could likely be heard if not for screams of peasant, merchant and noble alike as all ran for cover from this otherworld quarrel. Who was this man, to stand before the fury of a King and not die? The former Archer-class did not know, nor did he care..but he would take no satisfaction this day until there was nothing left of his opponent but ashes.
The sheer ferocity of Caim's attack is enough that no sane being would wish to be caught in front of it; Though the same cannot be said of inanimat object unable to move. The fountain upon which the Golden King stood is utterly demolished, stone fragments bursting in all directions as if burst from an explosive amidst the horrid sound of shattering granite.
The Sumerian however is nowhere to be found amidst the wreckage, landing a few meters behind Caim with typical grace, brows steeped downwards in anger. This battle was beginning to take a similar tone to one he'd experienced before, one he did not care for. "Do you try to put me on equal footing with you? I, who exist at the top?!" More swords appear at the crest of Gilgamesh's anger, aimed and deadly, "As if your prior insults were not already deserving of death...I will leave not a shred of your existenc intact!" All motive of his search momentarily forgotten, sword upon halberd upon spear fire with same merciless tracjectory as before. Lets see how well this cretin and keep up.
You hit Caim with your STORM OF SWORDS attack.
Boots scuff against cobbles as Caim lands from his lunge, bits of shattered fountain pattering around him as water gurgles up from underneath, washing over the street and carrying the dark curls of the One Eyed Man's blood away where it ripples around his boots. Congratulations, Golden King. You've drawn his blood. Not many have earned that distincting and survived.
Will you survive?
Teeth bared in anger and mounting battle-madness, the swordsman swings around at the words from behind, shrugging to dislodge a spear sticking out of his shoulder almost absently. Letting it clatter to the ground like so much firewood, ignored. But then Gilgamesh strikes again, and Caim's mouth opens in a soundless roar of fury and pain as blades once more pierce his flesh, others embedding themselves in the ground around him.
You seem intent on pelting him with weapons. He shall have to return the favor.
One hand takes hold of the hilt of a glintind sword sticking out of his gut, and pulls it free, wielding his own zweihander in a one-handed grip that would be simply impossible for a normal man.
And again he lunges to the attack, a whistling net of dark steel and glinting gilt sweeping all before him.
Caim misses Gilgamesh with his MAIM KILL BURN combo.
Would the insults never cease?
Caim's own anger and rage may be the stuff of legend, the terror of the battlefield..but Gilgamesh's temper was no slouch, and the one-eyed fighter insisted on finding new and odious ways in which to brake it. The sheer sight of his filthy hand laying hold upon one of his own possessions is enough to put King of Heroes beside himself with silent, stewing discontent.
But before he can voice it, the swordsman is upon him. Yet these reckless and bloodthirsty blows are a trifle for one of his caliber to handle, no matter the power behind him. Like a ghost, the former servant dances just out of range of each potentially decisive strike, placing a more respectable distance between them after the last. "There was a fool once before, like yourself, who thought to touch one of my treasures." The Sumerian's face is a calm mask of wrath, a purity of sorts, "Shall I demonstrate his fate to you?" As if to punctuate the question, a small curved blade appears in his hand where the was but nothing before. A broad, horizontal slash yields an utterly unexpected blast of freezing gale force wind, enough to freeze solid what water is left in the fountain and afflict Caim with a none too pleasant case of frostbite.
You hit Caim with your Jotunheim's Gale attack.
Again and again steel rips through only air, though the screams of the blades' passages might as well be the wails of the dying. Perhaps he wounds the very air itself with his rage. Rage that only builds with every missed strike, every swift dodge. Rarely has he encountered a foe that would last even this long, much less one he was unable to strike, and it drives the Pact Warrior into a frenzy.
The gilded blade slams into the cobbles, burying itself there in the stone like an axe into wood, and Caim's own blade screams against the ground in a curving trail of sparks as Gilgamesh ducks out of the way of one more nearly fatal swing. Caim's one living eye fixes on his foe, gaze seething with an unspeakable fury that knows nothing of pain, or fear, or remorse. Only death.
The frigid wind tears at him without warning, blasting his cloak away from his form, ripping at his clothes, his hair, his skin. Ice forms around his feet, frost rimes his blade and the weapons that remain embedded in his body, but he still does not fall. In fact, as the gale quiets, steam begins to rise from the chilled warrior. A herald of something far, far worse.
For a fleeting instant, it might seem as though something could be glimpsed behind and above Caim. Something huge, and reptillian, and winged. Something ancient. Something terrible.
Bloody lightning crackles, arcing between the swords that protrude from Caim's flesh, the air around him seeming almost to writhe in pain. Then he lifts his free hand towards the King of Heroes, and the world became as FIRE.
Caim gets a glancing blow on Gilgamesh with his He Spake as a Dragon attack.
You take 14 damage.
He was still standing. Gilgamesh was becoming increasingly frustrated with this particular mongrel. Who had ever heard of a bug that refused to be squashed?! However, that curious phenomenon shall momentarily dispell the King's increasing fury with a single raised brow. What did this fool think he was doing? His prana (Or what the Sumerian perceived as such, anyways) was rising immmensely. In fact, it was not just his alone...no..this was something else, something far, far more potent...
Crimson eyes widen in sudden realization. Unlike Saber, this one's soul didn't just bear the shape and form of a dragon, but was actually linked to a millenial beast? There no way, no way a brute such as this could invoke the most fearsome of the Phantasm Races!
But the reality of the conflagration outweighs any further refutation on Gilgamesh's behalf. Flame claims the half of the courtyard in a roiling, roaring gout of unquenchable combustion. The ground is scorced pitch black, all traces of life purged from the vicinity, hovels burned clean as if they had never even been there before.
And in the epicenter stands the Golden King, immaculate as ever and looking not too worse for the wear. A golden shield is held outwards in one hand, the ornate face of some God molded upon it: Aegis, the ultimate defense that avoids an attack by way of reversing causality, effectively blocking an attack before it actually landed.
Only, in this case..it didn't fully seem to work. The shield itself smoulders, along with rest of Gilfamesh's armor, which is blackened in some places. His skin seems slighty sunburnt, and the tips of his hair are scorched. His face is mute with shock, outraged and murderous intent.
"You hit me."
Aegis slams into the ground, thrown as if utterly useless.
"You...-dare- hit me, the King of Heroes?!"
Every weapon stuck in Caim, lodged in the ground or otherwise cast aside by the Sumerian vanishes. A sinister red line tears rent in reality from the ground up and as high as the eye might see, directly behind the gilded servant. Growing, opening, the entire sky behind him takes on that vermillion hue, the sound of the material world itself being compromised as the openining of an incrompehensible, monolithic gate. It -is- a gate. A personal one.
Like ripples in a lake, the innumerous treasures of Uruk usher forth into the present; The sky over Lesalia is filled with instruments of death. Gilgamesh smiles, his anger given away to a pure, unrelenting resolve.
"I will obliterate you."
You switch armor modes to Gate of Babylon.
The roar of the flames is like unto a beast in itself, the very air shuddering and rippling in the heat, thunder rolling through the streets as though lightning had come to earth. And at the source, a man straightens, smoke wafting from his body as though his own blood were burning away.
The battle-madness has relaxed its grip on him somewhat, with the release of the flames. Some of Her rage given form, forced out into the physical world, no longer boiling and clawing at the back of his mind like a spider of molten glass and shattered steel. A deep, slow breath is taken in as the flames clear, the heat-mirage dissipates.
His foe remains standing. So be it.
As the weapons fade from existance, the Bloody Handed Prince rolls a shoulder, as though working a kink from his muscles. His lips ripple in a disdainful, downright disgusted sneer.
And then the Gate begins to open, and Caim's eyes widen.
...there. Yes. YES!
An unholy, insane glee lights the man's features, his lips pulling back from his teeth in an expression that resembles a smile in the way a rabid wolf resembles a common dog. His teeth part in what would undoubtedly be some nerve-jarring cackle, were there any sound behind it at all.
And then he charges.
Distorted air and ash smear behind the man with the speed of his rush, giving the suggestion of those great, batlike wings once more, and a sound that is not a sound makes the ground tremble as Caim rears back in an overhand strike that has been the very last thing many a soldier has witnessed.
Caim hits Gilgamesh with his SPLIT THEM OPEN super.
You take 50 damage.
He shows this pitiful creature the nature of it's doom...and to the best Gilgamesh can determine, it -laughs-? Did this mongrel truly seek death with such single-minded resolve? Well, the King of Heroes will be all too glad to provide that, but before he can even call down the rain of the heavens, the half-maddened warrior is upon.
He was fast. Faster than before. -Too- fast.
The mere thought that the berseker was holding back until now is so foreign and unacceptable the golden king refuses to even allow the notion to ferment itself inside his head. No doubt such a complex stratagem would be well beyond his opponent's facultures, from what he'd observed. At the last second a blade appears the block the descending blown. Then a second, a third.
Not enough. These not-insignificant noble phantasm are cloven straight through by the fury, the sheer -power- of that incredible blow, the earth shaking under the might of the impact as dust and dirt fly up in a storm. Gilgamesh stands still, his armor crack across the breastplate, dimmed all around. A gash in the side of his face bleeds profusely...he bled. Those eyes burn with the same fire that had consumed mere moments ago.
"WORM."
Another ripple, but instead of a weapon a scything, snaking chain seeks enwrapt itself wround Caim's left arm. Should it find purchase, similar chains from nowhere will do the same to his other three limbs, his body, his neck. Enkidu, the Chain of Heaven, would the dragon's soul be close enough to divinity for it to have a desirable restraining effect..or would it simply be unto a normal chain? Even if the latter, the sheer volume with which it aims to grasp the deranged prince may be enough to keep him down for a few moments.
You miss Caim with your Enkidu stun.
He felt it. Felt the impact in his arms, can taste the blood in the air as time seems to slow, the battle-madness upon him in truth now. Caim's single living eye is wide, staring, fixed, his lips peeled back from his teeth in a rictus grin as he follows through with his strike. That horrid black blade tears its way free of the lower edge of the Golden King's breastplate and continues through the ground, rending a cleft through the very stones of the plaza as the crescent completes, shattered stone and riven earth erupting behind the Pact Warrior as his blade comes loose of the ground behind him, ready for the next strike.
But then his momentum is arrested, Enkidu snapping taut as it halts what would have been a scything reversal aimed to part Gilgamesh's torso from his hips. Caim snarls soundlessly as more chains snake around his body, yanks at them as he feels them tighten.
And there is a sound of thunder.
This is not fire, though it scorches and burns. It is not light, though it dazzles the eye and seems through blast the very shadows into the surroundings. Pure, howling, cascading force tears its way from Caim's body like a tidal wave of sound, some great blood-caked temple bell fallen to earth from a great height, scattering all as it crashes to the ground.
In the aftermath, Caim stands hunched forward, his blade still in hand, his breathing heavy, with glittering links of sundered chain embedded in the ground and what buildings remain standing nearby.
Then his head lifts, and that unblinking, feral, horrible regard fixes once more upon the King of Heroes.
Caim hits Gilgamesh with his Song of the Goddess super.
You take 46 damage.
A grim look of satisfaction overcame the Hero King's face when the rabid beast in guise of a man fell into his trap. He would enjoy far, far too much the process of reducing this mongrel into ash by whatever means pleased him. None could escape when in the grasp of Enkidu, a weapon he trusts even more than his own, personal blade...which he shall not waste on this unworthy man, no matter the circumstances.
Then, the impossible happens.
he breaking of Enkidu is like a slap in the face; The chain itself is impossible to destroy, but the symbolic -act- of disrupting it in the presence was a slight among slights for one with pride as touchy as the Sumerian's. But again, before his ire can make a reprisal the former servant is blown back off his feet by the erupting blast of forces, bowling back over end and striking his head as he is temporarily put at the mercy of that furious tempest that holds the pact warrior at it's epicenter.
Enough was enough. It was time to end this.
Whatever Caim thinks he may have done, the fighter just made on serious error: Creating distance between himself and an opponent who specializes in long-ranged attacks. When his lone eyes sights the King of Heroes, he'll see him...along with his restored armor, having expended the mana necessary to restore it. Gashes and bumps be damned, he would -not- slay this fool while looking like him.
A golden bow is stretcted to it's utmost in the Archer's grasp..but instead of an arrow, it carries a gloriously shining sword as it's payload, the legendary sword of light itself, Irish twin to the holy blade Excalibur. The further he pulls back, the more it seems to glow, searing light gathering at the blade tips with fearsome alacrity.
"I will not tolerate your offensive presence on second longer." Utterly without hesitation he fires, the blade transfiguring into a potent, unrelenting torrent of destructive golden power that strips the cobble right off the ground as it homes in on the pact warrior with deadly purpose. Hit or miss, the buildings behind him (And quite possibly the ones behind -them-) will not see the morrow.
You hit Caim with your Claiomh Solais super.
Bits and shards of debris begin to rain from the sky, finally coming back to earth after their meteoric and sudden flight upwards. A nearly-whole cobblestone crashes to the ground between the two combatants, making the One Eyed Man flinch not at all.
For a timeless moment, he is calm. He takes a breath in, straightening, the point of his blade whispering against the ground, a haunting wail lurking just outside of actual hearing.
And he sees the bow.
An archer. He's always hated archers.
Before he has time to charge, to even formulate a counterattack, the bolt is loosed, and all Caim can do is silently howl his defiance in the face of the onrushing torrent of light, the Pact mark on his tongue thrown into sharp relief for that frozen moment...
Before he is engulfed.
But as the light of Claiomh Solais' strike fades... he remains. Bloodied, ragged, with his cloak and most of his shirt utterly gone and skin showing rents that sizzle even as they bleed. But he remains. He /stands/.
He staggers, rights his balance, and lifts his head, defiant still. And he smiles.
There you are.
Once again, the warrior charges, his blade screaming through the air once, twice, again, almost too fast to see, certainly too quickly for any mere human to avoid. But it has been proven that he faces no mere human, and so he pours everything into the fulisade of steel. All his rage. All his pain. All of it.
All for you.
Caim juggles Gilgamesh with his Howling Fury combo.
You take 29 damage.
Caim juggles Gilgamesh with his Howling Fury combo.
You take 15 damage.
Gilgamesh breaks Caim's combo.
Somewhere along the line, the simple warriors joy of battle began to subtly overtake the arrogant king's overwhelming sense of curiosity. Don't get the wrong impression; This mute brute is -still- a pathetic mongrel and still deserves death...but that tenacity is beginning to catch Gilgamesh's interest as a challenge to overcome. "So, still standing, hm?" Anger seems to be gone, the same arrogant smirk from earlier now asserting itself, "I've never seen such a strong wish for discipline. I will make sure the next hit puts you down."
The bloody prince however acts before the Golden King has a chance at getting that next hit, again displaying a speed comparable to that of a servant. The first hit is only barely parried by a a non-descripted blade, the force of the hit actually causing pain to the wielding arm. Gritting his teeth, the Sumerian was better poised to shake off the second blow, though using the same arm doesn't do him any favors.
Two strikes are enough for him to read those movements, however reckless they are. His laugh begins with a sidestepping dodge and grows more maniacal with each hit he may manage to land on the warrior, battle-lust being contagious. First he strikes with a sword, then a scythe, then an axe, his blows growing increasingly wild, eyes alight with their own unique manner of madness to growing tide of his own amusement, "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Tens of blades descend from the sky in the grand finale, piercing whatever flesh they can find.
You juggle Caim with your Gate of Beatdowns combo.
You juggle Caim with your Gate of Beatdowns combo.
Caim breaks your combo.
Now, battle is finally joined in true.
Caim doesn't despair as his blows begin to cleave only air again. If anything it helps fuel the fire, his own strikes growing wild, flailing wide, the sort of attacks that would cut a wide, bloody swath through an army, the sort of tactics that are as instinct to this warrior. The sort of combat where, no matter where you swing, you will find a target.
One of Gilgamesh's counterattacks is parried not so much by design as the fact that his blade and the Bloody Prince's just happened to intersect, the impact crashing up both blades and flinging sparks into the air to join the dancing ash and drifting shards of stone. Another of the Golden King's strokes traces a bloody track across Caim's face just below the eye, red 'tears' painting his teeth as he snarls at his opponent.
And the sky falls upon him.
Pierced through again and again, ten times over, the Pact Warrior staggers once more, sagging, actually supported briefly by the weapons stabbed through him, their points resting on the shattered and scorched ground. Is it over?
No. Not yet. Not now.
Another of those terrible, reality-bending notes ripples away from the One Eyed Man, and the blades embedded in him creak, vibrating in unwilling harmony to that horrible tone... before they shatter, a storm of razor shards howling around the man, light and heat building in their dancing embrace.
As the note goes silent, a storm of fire and steel howls outwards, flaying the ground, scourging the heavens, and laying waste to all in its path.
Caim misses Gilgamesh with his BY MY FURY YOU SHALL KNOW THE GODDESS' NAME super.
The heat of the battle, the destructive flames...yes, this is what being a King of Heroes was truly about! In his long years waiting for the beginning of the neat Grail War he'd nearly forgotten about the excitement, the uncertainty, the thrill of crushing one's foe! He could -almost- thank the pact warrior if his sheer ignorance didn't continue to offend Gilgamesh on some level, but that part of him is too deeply buried under the fight now.
"Fine, die standing up if you like!" His smile is delighted now at the other warrior's resilience. He may not have found Saber, but he -did- at least find some worthwhile entertainment. Still, he felt he was beginning to become accustomed to even the most unpredictable of the prince's attacks. Feeling the metaphysical 'tide' before the storm of force unleashes, the King of Heroes leaps straight up into the sky, soaring woefully above the reach of said attack..and poising him in a perfect position.
Every weapon in the crimson sky turns downwards, towards the courtyard...towards Caim. "You put up an admirable display, for a mongrel.." A bit of a sneer sneaks back into Gilgamesh's face, looking down from on high as he re-asserted some of his regal roots, "But I grow tired of our game. Let none say Uruk does not share it's treasures with all!" One by one, every hanging blade in the sky fires towards the earth with increasing speed untill all remaining fire at once, striking with such explosive force that the effect is not unlike a multiple carpet bombing of the local cityscape, "Do you desire my treasures? Help yourself to as many as you like, as many as you can stand! Heh heh...ha...haha....hahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!"
You miss Caim with your King's Treasury super.
This isn't working. He's not fighting an army, as much as this man hits with the force of one. Slow down. Think. THINK.
...where did he go?
Shaking his head to clear it at the center of that blasted and scourged courtyard, Caim looks around for his foe, a frown forming as he doesn't spot the Golden King immediately. Where...?
Then he hears the taunting cry from above, and his gaze whips up.
Oh.
The first blade is smashed to the side, the second sent careening into the third, but he is only one man, and no man, no matter how powerful, could hope to stop that tide of death.
The steel rain falls.
When all grows quiet, it is like some odd forest of gleaming metal. And at its heart is a small hill, hilts jutting out at strange angles, smoke rising from between the densely clustered blades.
no
NO
NEVER FORGIVE
Light begins to spear outwards from that lump that should be a corpse. A strange, bloody light that holds colors that sanity refuses to identify.
It moves.
As Caim stands, the swords slide free of his flesh, crashing to the ground one after another, the blood he leaves on them combusting as it contacts the air until he is wreathed in a pyre of blades. Fire leaks from his wounds, between his teeth, from his very eyes as he pushes himself back to his feet.
He opens his mouth, and sings one note of the Song that would end a world.
Caim hits Gilgamesh with his o/` super.
You take 40 damage.
"Oops, did I over do it again? My mistake! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" The capital burns amidsts Gilgamesh's laughs, blades of all shaper, size and manner stuck in every conceivable nook and cranny of the ruined courtyard. The red splotch in the sent of his kingly wrath is the sweetest thing the Sumerian has seen since his final battle with Saber.
Except...
Why did he feel the presence of the beast again?
"Tch." He sneers, "It's not possible." There was no way. Some things simple couldn't not be accomplished.
A burst of flame so hot it burns white, Gilgamesh has just enough time to look shocked before being enveloped, "BLASTED MONGREEEEEEELLLL!!!!"
The resulting explosion lights up the sky with a fury painful to look at for several seconds before it fades. The King of Heroes is nowhere in sight to be seen, nor can he be sensed. Is that it? Has the Pact Warrior again emerged victorious? Has the Golden King's quest for his lost betrothed stopped before it even begin?
A discordant throb in the void left by the spiritual absence of the former servant. A pulse. An explosion of mana and fury.
No. It was not over. Not even -close-.
From a smoldering crater in the ground does the haggard, singed Gilgamesh emerged. The upper portion of his armor is entirely blasted away and he does not bother restore it, ritualistic tattoos in his flash burning like hot iron brands; The mark of divinity. His eyes settle squarely on Caim, burning with the urge to destroy, the wrath of a an outrage God.
"You...not since the Grail War have I...for this..." He seems to reach for something and, for a moment, a terribly power not glimpsed yet even once peers into reality..but only for a moment. "NO!" He withdraws his hand, chiding himself, "No....you...are not worthy." Only a King may die by that blade. Instead...
A long black spear appears in the blonde warrior's hands, notches and carved with ancient runes and oaths now glowing red as he pours all the mana he dares into it. Gugnir..the spear of the Father of the Gods. When cast in the air, it never missed it's target. It always struck true. -Always-.
"Never miss." He charges, waiting for the right step, for the point of greatest exertion.
"NEVER MISS." He arcs, tilting the great spear at the angle for highest velocity, fullest penetration.
"Never miss." A thunderous roar rips across the ruined land, a burst exceeding that of even sound overtaking the air. He wills it, guides it's path, envisions it piercing the wretched mongrel and pinning him to the castle wall.
You hit Caim with your Gugnir super.
For a long moment, silence reigns. The blasted, echoing silence of a wasteland, yes, but silence. Time for Caim to draw a breath. For the fires to fade. For the sizzling fury of battle to cool somewhat from his mind. Time enough for him to lift his blade and resheath it, preparing to leave.
...no. It isn't over.
The Pact Warrior pauses, uncertain, before he turns to face the voice that calls out to him. So. You still yet draw enough breath to give speeches. He'll have to rectify that.
But before he can end a life, before he can even draw a blade, before he can do any more than take one step towards the smouldering Golden King, the Spear is there.
Caim's eyes widen as it begins to move.
And then there is pain.
For a blinding instant, time refuses to move. The spear's tip is resting lightly against Caim's chest, just to the left of his sternum, and he looks down at it almost curiously.
Time resumes.
The force of the strike catapaults Caim off his feet, hurling him several yards away from his foe, pierced clean through by the Spear, mouth and eyes wide with pain and shock. He crashes to earth, tumbling loose-limbed like a doll cast aside, and comes to rest in a heap, the haft of Gugnir sticking up out of him at a crazy angle.
The air stands still.
And he moves.
One hand twitches, fingers clench against the shattered ground, and the Bloody Prince forces himself up off the ground, blood leaking from his mouth as he forces himself to stand. Staggers. Regains his balance, still with that Weapon clean through him.
He lays hand to the haft... and draws it free, almost leisurely. He's in no rush. He has all the time in the world.
you must not die
That blue, horribly bright blue eye lifts, and finds the Kind of Heroes.
you promised
The arm holding Gugnir draws back.
And lashes forward.
The Spear flies once more.
Caim misses Gilgamesh with his The Father's Spear super.
The King of Heroes can only twitch in low-key anger as this warrior -refuses- to know his place. Struck through with the spear of the All-Father himself and -still- he refuses to stay down? What would it take, short of the power of Ea?
Oh. He was throwing it back at him now. This would be fun.
The Sumerian King does nothing. Rather, he merely crosses his arms and waits as the spear speed towards his chest, aiming to return the favor just visited upon his for. This was...no, not even Saber fought this fiercely. The King of Knights was too dignified for this manner of combat, too delicate to fight in the true manner of men for all her attempts othewise.
Hm? Oh right, the spear. It vanishes an inch away from the Golden King's person, dismissed to the Gate from whence it came along with all the other weapons thrown and seemingly destroyed.
A look of utter calm at the standing swordsman...perhaps not absent an extremely limited form of admiration. No speeches this time, no oaths of destruction. Just a commanding snap of the finger.
A rush of of precedes the hopeful impact of a swinging stone hammer right into the side of the pact warrior's head.
You critically strike Caim with your Hammer of the Gods attack.
Caim has been knocked out!
He can't even howl in frustration as he watches the spear wink out. He's so very tired...
He can't even stand upright. Caim's posture sags, the gaping wound in his chest leaking liquid fire and light, as though some hellish foundry resided within the man instead of the normal viscera.
His weight shifts. End this. Have to end this. Have to.
He takes a step forward. But that is as far as he gets. The hammer of stone crashes into his skull, driving the Pact Warrior to one knee, his hands landing on the blasted ground.
Must... must...
Can't.
Between one moment and the next, the strength leaves the warrior's limbs, and he slumbs to the ground. Not dead. Somehow. Barely. He clings to life with an unearthly tenacity, refuses to let death take him. He promised.
But he cannot fight any more.
The sky fades back to a dismal gray ochre; The Gate of Babylone once again closes it's doors. The wounded and fearful gradually worm their way out of the woodworks, sobbing of shattered homes, shops and even more numerously lost loved ones. It is a tragedy of horrendous proportions. As if in sympathy, its begins to rain in a modest amounts, quenching whats fires still raged.
Gilgamesh cares not a bit for the damage caused. His only interest remains settled on the fallen opponent, who -still- is not dead. Using the mana he has left to re-manifest his armor, he'll stride towards the pact warrior. The wounds to his body will take more time to heal....but heal they shall. Standing before Caim, he'll look down haughtily, eyes steeped with pride, pretending not to recognize how close this battle came. But they know, they both know it was a razor-thin margin.
A sword appears in his hand, and the people who'd already given them a wide berth begin to cower again. Raising it...he hesistates...and lets the weapon vanish.
"Don't get wrong idea." The King of Heroes shakes his head with a derisive look, "You escape with you life today only because I find you stubbornness...curious, enough to overlook your vulgarity this day." Additionally...with power like his, Saber may be drawn out. For now though, it was clear she was nowhere in the vicnity, else she'd surely have interrupted them. Regardless, he will have to keep an eye on this man. "Next time, i'd learn some proper manners." He turns to leave...and it may be off to note that no matter how much rain falls, not a drop a seems to touch this somewhat tarnished, shining figure, "Not being able to talk hardly an excuse. Use signs." He mutters under his breath, "Pathetic mongrls."
The form of the Golden King flickers, becomes indistinct..and vanishes, along with all traces of his spiritual presence. This time, it would seem, he is truly gone.