Phase
Kuro
GubGar
Dude, Where's my Shining Helmet?
Core District, Outside his Master's Workshop
(Temporary Player Change)
"Yeah, I hear that. I'm no fan of fighting either, since it's a lot of work, y'know?"
Lancer retreated again when Rider came forward. He had leapt back to the building across the street, and now he did this again, landing on a rooftop another street over.
"But giving up against an impossibility... Are you really the kind of guy who'd expect someone to do that?"
I didn't give up back then, and this guy's a joke in comparison!
Rider lunged forward again, and so Lancer made a fighting retreat. He produced a bit of mud from his pocket and hurled it at the enemy before leaping to the side and trying to pierce him with his spear at the edge of its reach. This unbeatable foe would surely burst forth again and again, and without his Disengage ability Lancer would probably have been unable to match that rapid approach. Still, he attacked where he could. These opportunistic strikes at the charge of the bull would probably prove to be unwise, but when the 'flow' of the battle turned against him, he would simply reset that 'flow' to a neutral state and use what he had learned do to better the next time.
More retreats were made, with trash cans, cars, and street signs being used as cover and projectiles by Lancer, hopefully lowering the risk of the battle as it moved further from the workshop and Masters. Then, suddenly, Lancer moved closer as if to engage with Rider.
Victory being impossible was something that had already been established, but that was fine. He didn't need to win, only to arrange the situation correctly.
Meanwhile...
Hemlock's mind buzzed with flaws. Given a week or so, he was certain he could absolutely erase every problem in the likeness of the elderly Master he had created, but this art had an immediate purpose, and even Hemlock's judgemental mind couldn't deny that it was quite an accurate depiction. Now his brush dipped into the dollop of red paint that had so far been untouched. The painting was quite beautiful, but he would have to tarnish it.
The sounds of battle had grown softer outside. Lancer, it seemed, had done an admirable job of buying him time to make a quick portrait. He would repay that with the death of his enemy.
The red paint came down. A fabulous gushing of blood was added to the painting, falling from the old man's mouth to the ground, and splattering there like spilled milk. Not too violent or forceful, Hemlock had decided, but a low-pressure wave pouring forth like a small waterfall.
Magical energy was focused into the painting, and through Hemlock's gaze down to the street, where the model of the piece stood. Whether his suffering matched up to that which was depicted depended on his ability to resist, but given that the painting held no sample from his body, it was unlikely that it would be completely equal.
With that in mind, the window opened. At the very moment that Cerzelium began to feel a curse taking hold of him, an arc of yellow paint sprayed down towards him. Or rather, it began its journey through the air as paint, but moments before it reached him it changed form, becoming an attack of pure electricity that would finish him off while the curse troubled him.
Would Rider intervene? Lancer had gotten into position with that in mind.
@Phonic@Unoedipal
