Grima
Level 5 (holding 1 level up)
46/50 EXP
Location: Esaka - Infini-Tea
Wordcount: 1872 (+3 EXP) Grima doesn’t say a word as she follows Dragunov out of the building, but she doesn’t try to shoot Dragunov in the back immediately. Instead she simply drew her sword, lifting it up to gaze upon the metal,
“This city is quite the curious place. Handling practically everything with whoever is stronger. It’s truly a breath of fresh air; A simple argument for the simple mind” Grima commented, running a hand across the flat side of her sword,
“Now then… I think your severed head will prove a good message to your employers at G-Corp. Whatever will be left of them-” Grima stated, suddenly snapping up her hand and firing a ball of dark magic at Dragunov, barely waiting for her own line to finish before starting the fight.
At the woman’s voice, the silent Russian peered back over his shoulder, his almost glassy gray eyes regarding her like a dead man’s as she threatened him. He got a good enough look at the start-up of her spellcasting that he could swerve to the side without too much effort. As it cruised by he turned to face Grima, his expression something close to mild contempt. Then he smoothed back a stray lock of raven-black hair and adopted a fighting stance with his left foot forward and both hands open, one further away than the other, and awaited his foe’s next move.
“Oh, spare me the look. I can respect worms that stick to their business… But have a policy of crushing any that dare stand in my way” Grima says with a shrug, twirling her sword in her hand before dashing forward, thrusting her sword directly at the Russian’s torso.
Dragunov hunkered down and put up his guard, his arms and winter coat sufficient to blunt Grima’s stab to barely any more painful than the prick of a needle. Then from a crouching stance, as Grima recovered from her highly committal advancing extension, he twisted around with a quick upward chop. His
Razer was deceptively fast, and while it didn’t do much damage or lead to a combo, it did strike low and interrupt his opponent. In that brief moment of advantage, he rose, then landed a surprise low kick into turning hammerfist and hook kick, the tried-and-true
Separator. When his foe hit the ground, the man departed from his defensive stance to dash her way with explosive speed and launch his
Chernabog Sweep to try and catch her with yet another low, this one meant to flip her into the air.
Grima only had the time to widen her eyes for an instant before Dragunov struck at her legs, the blow causing her to stagger before being left completely vulnerable to his followup attack that sent her flying into the floor. Yet she did not stay on the floor for long, instead rolling to the side as Dragunov went for his Chernabog Sweep. The casual dismissiveness was gone, replaced be a look of anger towards the Russian as she swung her hand up, a row of dark spikes erupting from the ground to spear her foe, with the vessel leaping into the air shortly afterward to slam down upon him with her blade.
The dark spikes struck Dragunov unmitigated, his prone position worsening the damage as they stabbed into him from beneath in sequence. Without so much as a grunt of pain, however, the man managed to right himself in time to roll to the side and avoid Grima’s descending slash. He tumbled off the curb, onto the street, and rose smoothly just short of a head-on collision with an oncoming car. Its horn blared as it rushed by, the displaced air fluttering Dragunov’s coat, but he only spared the vehicle a brief unamused look before he returned his attention to Grima. If she thought she’d catch him with an aggressive follow-up attack, and maybe drive him further into traffic, she’d have another think coming as he bundled one hand around his other fist for his Bloodhound Strike, an overhead pound that could armor through a single hit.
Grima slowly rose to her full height, twirling her sword in her hand as another wave of darkness spread from her hands, coating the street with walls of shadow. It did not stop anything from leaving or entering, but it served as a deterrent for anything that could be coming by, such as more cars. She wouldn’t leave a variable she couldn’t control on the battlefield… And more over, she wouldn’t let random chance rob her from her victory. Her calm approach let her see Dragunov’s Bloodhound Strike, stepping to the side to dodge it, jabbing at his side with the hilt of her sword before following it up with a rising slash that knocked him into the air, subsequently sending him flying a fair distance with a short ranged blast of dark magic from her hand.
With about as much grace as one could muster, Dragunov hit the road and backrolled to his feet. His face bore a fresh lesion from point-blank black magic, but no expression as he charged forward. He closed the distance quickly but slowed down a few long strides away from his target. More carefully he began to poke at his foe from mid range with a mix of long kicks and quick punches, no longer committing to anything launch punishable. Grima's magic and her sword gave her the range to contest him, but they achieved little if he blocked them.Could they strike fast enough to keep him on defense, or connect combos off of stray hits? Once the analytic Russian found out, he could change his tactics accordingly.
Grima herself was no slouch, now that she was in the groove of the battle. She restrained herself from her usual flashy wordplay, instead matching Dragunov's speed and light attacks. But, as the two engaged in their deadly dance, it became obvious that Grima was not truly used to this style of combat, and whatever hits she managed to sneak in could not be capitalized on properly.
Finally, the Russian made his move. He feinted whiffing the Razer move he’d used earlier, far enough away that the spinning chop would fall short. That gave Grima a chance to punish him with a longer-range, horizontal sword slash, nothing too fancy or committal, but a solid bit of damage to push her closer to victory. Instead, Dragunov cut short his spin and took a step away, as if turning tail to run. The deadly tip of Grima’s blade scraped by the back of her foe’s coat, tantalizingly close, and the next second Dragunov completed the revolution with a lunging high downward punch.
It counterhit in a burst of purely visual ice lightning, bouncing Grima off the tarmac. As she fell Dragunov caught her with a back leg snap kick, then continued with a jab, back leg roundhouse, spinning hook kick that sent Grima into a corkscrew, upward low chop, back leg snap kick, and then a revolving uppercut that spiralled his target into the floor in a whirlwind arc. Yet Dragunov was not done, and even as Grima’s back hit the ground, he tacked on a hefty parting shot with a shoulder bash as the combo ender. Now, as she skidded beyond Dragunov’s reach, the combo was overwith. Until Grima failed to rise, though, the soldier would continue. He charged forward to apply more pressure so she wouldn’t have a moment to rest.
Grima herself rolled back, managing to get to her feet as she looked up at Dragunov with a look of pure venom, swinging with her blade in a wide arc to catch Dragunov’s charge. Naturally, the Russian stopped just short of the attack… But this time Grima was prepared, using the motion of her swing to snap her hand forward, tendrils of dark magic snapping out and grabbing Dragunov before yanking him forward. The sudden pull threw him off balance, and Grima used the opening to launch Dragunov into the air with a rising slash. Once he was off the ground, she followed up with a swift jab to juggle him, then spun around with her blade in a two-hit motion that ended with a downward slash, slamming her foe back into the ground.
Now with Dragunov on the back foot, and with Grima sufficiently annoyed, the Fell Vessel chose to end the fight there and now, the telltale sign of her ‘true form’ beginning to manifest in the air behind her. The man’s skill was, annoyingly, undeniable… But she would just wipe out this entire street with Expiration.
As her magic swelled, Dragunov surprised her by rolling forward, straight toward danger, instead of back. Time seemed to slow down as the soldier glared impassively, raising one arm with his middle and index fingers extended to point out his target. Then time resumed as he walloped the swordswoman with a withering gut punch. She rolled to the ground sideways, allowing Dragunov to scoop her up off the pavement with one leg, then smash her down with a strong punch. As Grima struggled to pick herself up, her vision flickering, a frigid wind seemed to blow across the street. Powder snow billowed across the ground, and the cold air stung her face, as Dragunov bundled his fists together. Was it some power of her opponent, or just a hallucination? Either way, the result was the same. He brought his fists down on Grima’s head as she rose, a blow that shattered her mental energy like ice on a winter lake.
As Grima slumped down, the street was back to normal, the illusion of winter gone as suddenly as it came. Dragunov let out a misty puff of breath and stepped forward, ready to extend the Fell Vessel the same sort of grace she would have given him if she won. When he saw Lucky Chloe fleeing from Infinite-tea, however, the soldier paused, then turned to go. By the time Grima came to her senses a few seconds later, the mysterious mute was gone.
It takes a few moments for Grima’s eyes to clear, but when they do, she saw… Nothing but a street filled with the onlookers from before, her foe having vanished. She was alive;
wounded but alive. And that fact alone enraged her. The Fell Dragon was not spared, it was destroyed. To be spared was to be seen as too weak to be a threat. She could rage war against the gods, and yet this man had chosen to-
The Fell Vessel took a deep breath, ceasing their spiral of wrath before it got out of control, pushing herself off the ground with a small stagger, a hand holding the side of her head as she deserted the scene herself. Chloe was gone, as were the Seekers. This outgoing had proven to be a nuisance… And while Grima was not one to drown her sorrows, she had the overwhelming urge to get a damn drink.
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