Battle is a song... [Completed]
Character(s): Sephiroth, Dragoon nobodies, anyone else who wants in on the fun
Content: Sephiroth gets into the swing of things, and lays waste to various and sundry Nobodies.
Setting: Near Joutenheim gate
Time: Late evening/early night
Warnings: Many, many, many dead Dragoon nobodies.
There is a certain cadence to a battle; amidst the blood, the gore, the death and the screams, one can find a tempo with which the fighting ebbs and flows. The greatest fighters tap into this flow, this song of battle, and let it carry them along.
The sky, with its smiley-faced sun, was definitely reddening toward dusk as the lone man strode down the street. His black attire set him apart from the citizenry of Paixao, as did his long, silver hair. Even moreso, his gait; his tread was fluid as water, with the same predatory grace all hunting cats share. Here was a man, it said, that you do not screw around with.
The irony of it was that, though he could fight, and very well indeed, Sephiroth much preferred not to. Despite his reputation as the greatest swordsman in all Gaia, despite his unrivalled prowess, he was at heart a peaceful man. He fought because he had to. To protect others, to protect himself, to protect the Company.
And yet, there was no Company here; no ShinRa to govern his actions. No master at arms to dole out assignments. Just people, flat and two-dimensional as they might be.
People who needed help.
Behind him, he felt more than saw the arrival of four more of the spear-wielding things. Things that did not bleed. Things whose speed and leaping ability seemed to rival his own.
A dozen had already fallen to his blade, the mighty Masamune, the blade only he could wield. These things, though; they left no corpses. Not even a sign that they had ever been there, but for the bloody corpses of their victims, impaled like sausages on toothpicks.
Sephiroth narrowed his eyes as he turned to face the new group of assailants. Someone, or something, was directing them; they had no brains of their own. Indeed, they had no internal organs whatsoever, he had discovered upon bisecting one from crown to crotch. Nothing but emptiness.
As before, they attacked on their own, without a plan. The first was dodged entirely; the second was split diagonally from hip to shoulder. The third was beheaded, and the fourth found itself in three seperate pieces as Sephiroth finished his deadly dance. Behind him, the first erupted into flame as one of the green gems in the pommel of Masamune glowed.
He swept Masamune clean (a fruitless gesture, as the creatures had no ichor with which to stain anything) and began walking once more.
As he walked, he mused on the nature of the creatures he had been fighting. They were... odd. Alive, yet not. They moved jerkily, like puppets, but there was no doubt that they could fight. He'd seen enough of polearm combat in the war against Wutai to know that much.
But perhaps now was not the best time to think about such things. Four more of the spear wielding creatures had appeared before him, in a loose diamond formation...
Content: Sephiroth gets into the swing of things, and lays waste to various and sundry Nobodies.
Setting: Near Joutenheim gate
Time: Late evening/early night
Warnings: Many, many, many dead Dragoon nobodies.
There is a certain cadence to a battle; amidst the blood, the gore, the death and the screams, one can find a tempo with which the fighting ebbs and flows. The greatest fighters tap into this flow, this song of battle, and let it carry them along.
The sky, with its smiley-faced sun, was definitely reddening toward dusk as the lone man strode down the street. His black attire set him apart from the citizenry of Paixao, as did his long, silver hair. Even moreso, his gait; his tread was fluid as water, with the same predatory grace all hunting cats share. Here was a man, it said, that you do not screw around with.
The irony of it was that, though he could fight, and very well indeed, Sephiroth much preferred not to. Despite his reputation as the greatest swordsman in all Gaia, despite his unrivalled prowess, he was at heart a peaceful man. He fought because he had to. To protect others, to protect himself, to protect the Company.
And yet, there was no Company here; no ShinRa to govern his actions. No master at arms to dole out assignments. Just people, flat and two-dimensional as they might be.
People who needed help.
Behind him, he felt more than saw the arrival of four more of the spear-wielding things. Things that did not bleed. Things whose speed and leaping ability seemed to rival his own.
A dozen had already fallen to his blade, the mighty Masamune, the blade only he could wield. These things, though; they left no corpses. Not even a sign that they had ever been there, but for the bloody corpses of their victims, impaled like sausages on toothpicks.
Sephiroth narrowed his eyes as he turned to face the new group of assailants. Someone, or something, was directing them; they had no brains of their own. Indeed, they had no internal organs whatsoever, he had discovered upon bisecting one from crown to crotch. Nothing but emptiness.
As before, they attacked on their own, without a plan. The first was dodged entirely; the second was split diagonally from hip to shoulder. The third was beheaded, and the fourth found itself in three seperate pieces as Sephiroth finished his deadly dance. Behind him, the first erupted into flame as one of the green gems in the pommel of Masamune glowed.
He swept Masamune clean (a fruitless gesture, as the creatures had no ichor with which to stain anything) and began walking once more.
As he walked, he mused on the nature of the creatures he had been fighting. They were... odd. Alive, yet not. They moved jerkily, like puppets, but there was no doubt that they could fight. He'd seen enough of polearm combat in the war against Wutai to know that much.
But perhaps now was not the best time to think about such things. Four more of the spear wielding creatures had appeared before him, in a loose diamond formation...