[center][h3][color=138808]Knight Sylvestre[/color] vs the God Hand Round 2[/h3] Location: the Neighborhood – Grocery Store[/center] A split second was all the time they had to decide. Even with galvanizing adrenaline in one's veins, making everything seem just a touch slower, it wasn't much. Rather reminiscent of rock-paper-scissors, a high-octane clash like this required a participant to go with something and hope for the best. Yet...Cyril realized, as he barreled forth, that a sort of calmness had taken hold of his mind. From behind his daunting facemask he watched the tension in Juniper's muscles, the twist of her body, and where her gaze was fixed. For that split second, he felt as though he could read her every move, but in an instant it ebbed away. In its place washed in a tide of uncertainty and discomfort, throwing him off badly. He barely even registered Juniper planting her palm in the very middle of the shield he'd raised on instinct, an act of bold challenge to its integrity. To his astonishment her bare knuckled pounded a dent into his shield's center before it slid off the center. Cyril stumbled sideways, battling to keep his feet as the force of his charge and Juniper's punch canceled out. Sensing weakness like a falcon on the hunt, the one-armed martial artist pursued him. She executed a skip side kick, covering the space the vanguard put between them in a flash. Her foes halberd hung in the air between them, preventing a clear shot at Cyril's head, so she targeted that instead. The brief moment it took her to get abreast of the situation was, however, long enough for the Knight Sylvestre to recover. With a shout of effort he twisted his own body and tried to smash the edge of his shield into the leg Juniper assailed him with. It didn't land with enough force to even tear her hakama, but it prevented him from being disarmed. For her part, Juniper allowed the blow to spin her back around and preserve her momentum for spinning roundhouse kick. Never the strongest of techniques, it didn't promise to deliver much damage, so Cyril merely moved his shield in the way as he began a glaive thrust toward Juniper's ribs. [i]Not gonna hurt me with the top of your foot, miss. Hey, wait...![/i] [i]I've trained you well[/i] She pushed off her back leg, altered the position of her front, planted both on Cyril's shield, and pushed off with all the strength she could muster. Her foe's blade cut the side of her left calf on the way up, but the slight pain could be ignored. As if from a springboard Juniper sailed up and back, turning a full backflip as she flew, and she stretched out her hand. A well of magic swirled around her palm—the first inkling whatsoever she'd given that she possessed magic, and too late a sign for Cyril to prepare for what was coming. The dancing energies melded into a sturdy, angular form, and by the time her opponent could tell that it was a brick, her projection had already smashed into his own leg. “Guuh!” Gasping, Cyril barely ducked a second brick, then crouched with his shield before him in hopes of weathering the storm of magical masonry that hurtled his way. Thirty feet down the main aisle, Juniper stood upright with one arm extended, conjuring brick after relentless brick. [i]Huh! Bright spark finally figured out I don't have projectiles, did she? This 'strategy' is idiotic, why is it working!?[/i] [i]Not a final solution, but it's free punishment you'll just have to sit there and take[/i] Each one rattled him, numbing his arm and worsening the pain that flowed through his body as readily as blood, but that wasn't all he felt. In the back of his mind, Cyril could feel that note of concentration swelling again. It seemed as if it wanted to surge in and fill him up, but the stupid screw was in its way. It was like being on the cusp of sneezing, and suddenly being unable to. Unable to focus and think of an answer to the brick problem, Cyril growled and let go of his halberd. It clattered to the floor, and with the free hand, he reached up and turned the screw in his head. He heard -and felt- a series of clicks, and the sensation in his brain changed somewhat. When the next brick bashed against his shield and dissolved into light, he could tell exactly where and when it hit. Confused but suddenly confident, he snatched up his weapon, waited four fifths of a second, then activated his Sheen. The silver light surrounded him and, like a mouse diving into its hole, he shot ten feet to his left into an aisle. Juniper's final brick breezed past him by mere centimeters to shatter against the tile floor behind where he'd been only an instant before. Rolling her eyes, the martial artist rushed to Cyril's aisle, grabbing something from a shelf as she passed. When she rounded the corner, she spotted Cyril on one knee, holding his head and twisting the screw frantically. A tinge of curiosity coursed through her; though she couldn't see his face beneath the helmet, she would have guessed he was nauseous. [i]Blasted thing! Ugh, it's got me feeling drunk all of a sudden! What's this wretched device doing to my head?![/i] [i]That screw...what could it be doing? It doesn't fit his overall theme, just like my rosary. Hm...[/i] Questions could wait until the battle was won. Juniper steeled herself and shouted, “Where do you think you're going?” Her taunt provoked just the reaction she wanted: Cyril stood and turned too quickly, and in his uncoordinated haste threw out too big of a swing for the range at which he stood. In one fluid motion, the God Hand wrapped her arm around the polearm's shaft, tore the top of the bottle she'd taken with her teeth, and spun a hundred and eighty degrees. Unwilling to compromise his grip, Cyril was strung along, and didn't notice the cooking oil splashed onto the floor. When Juniper ended her move with a forceful knee to his cuirass, he slipped and fell hard on his back. He would have more or less lain there if Juniper hadn't followed up with a projected shield of her own, which slammed into Cyril's and sent him sliding across the floor back the way he came. He hit a produce crate with a [i]crunch[/i] and lay there, dazed and sore. Juniper walked up, her breath heavier than it had been. “Well it's been fun Sir Knight, but your time is up. On the bright side, after that pratfall you can probably pass for court jester wherever you're from.” She hoped to incite a last-ditch attack as she raised her leg to stomp in his chest, but the ridiculous man just moved his shield to protect himself. It was hilarious, actually, more of a futile gesture meant to mock her than a serious attempt at survival. Behind it, she could hear his breath, and it was heavier than hers. Grinning, Juniper leaned down, grabbed the edge of his stupid shield, and pried it away. For a second or so she thought about saying something, but in the end she decided to simply lay the fool's madness to rest. [i]It's not the end, but the means that matter. The road to hell is paved with good intentions[/i] [i]Your weakness...is your overconfidence[/i] She saw the light before she felt the pain. With a bright, almost crystalline noise the edge of Cyril's shield began to shine with dazzling light. So sharp were the polished teeth of his saw that they reached bone before Juniper realized that she was being cut. No amount of reservation could prevent her scream as she yanked her hand back, spraying blood. Cyril seized the opportunity to roll onto his front and begin the laborious process of getting up. Rage possessed Juniper, and she balled her injured hand into a fist. Black energy surrounded her arm, similar to the projections she'd made before, and with the power of a Howitzer she cannoned her fist toward the man in front of her. He, however, was already on the move. His silver sheen turned a simple sideways roll into an emergency dodge that got him out of the way of the nightmare-black arm that obliterated the produce craft into juice, rind, and splinters. The tremendous, violent noise echoed through the store as Cyril got to his feet. He turned to his foe and prepared himself for battle, only to find her standing still, staring at him with murderous eyes while the blackness faded from her arm. He took the chance to continue adjusting the screw, which continued to plague him. “That was unbecoming of me...I hope you'll forgive it.” Beneath his helmet, Cyril raised an eyebrow. That one sentence made for a remarkable change of pace, though he didn't miss how low and dangerous her voice had grown. He did nothing as she tore a strip from her garment to wrap around her bleeding palm. The resilience that it took to treat such a ghastly wound as a mere bother was, the vanguard decided, probably the most frightening thing about her. While he could take this moment to strike, every moment was another he could use to fidget with the God-awful screw, and he knew anyway that the bandage would only help the bleeding, not the wound itself. In fact, it would be better for him if she did staunch the flow, for if it were splashed in his eyes he'd most likely be screwed in more ways than one. Given her demonstrated affinity for fighting dirty, he wondered what she was up to. “I've judged just the kind of man you are. I won't underestimate you again, and I'm done playing with you. Prepare your-” [i][b]Click[/b][/i] Cyril blinked twice. The screw had stuck, with a louder than usual noise. All of a sudden, everything felt very, very clear. He observed as Juniper slung a piece of cantaloupe at him before she charged forward. Both their faces masks of tranquility amidst all the wreckage and pain as the vanguard swept the flying fruit aside with the flat of his blade. Her fist shot toward his heat, and instead of trying to block, he moved left. When she pulled her arm back with unnatural speed to strike at him again, he dodged once more, and this time accompanied it with his own attack. His gauntlet slammed into her cheek, sending spittle and sweat flying, and Juniper slid back without falling down. She came to a stop about fifteen feet away, her eyes betraying the thoughts her face tried to hide. [i]Impossible...”[/i] Cyril latched his shield into its spot on its upper arm to hold his glaive with both hands. He adopted the same stance he had at the beginning of the fight, for in a way this moment was a beginning its own—the beginning of the end.