Post by Deleted on May 10, 2010 17:31:02 GMT -5
“I assure you they would like contributing sensations of pain after what they just saw but I doubt their desire could be quite compared to yours to do the same to them.”
Davis shook his head slowly as he gave one of those grim chuckles of his; it was almost as if he pitied the man being sent to face him. Not true of course, for such an emotion had not been written into his genetic code and thusly was Davis without mercy or indeed compassion. Though his lack of compassion was more to do with the events of his life as opposed to his creation. For to begin with he had been a protector of men, created to defend the weakling human race against the monsters and as such a certain degree of care for his fellow man had been bred into him just for that purpose. One fought all the more harder when one believed in or cared for the cause for which one bled. Of course, that had all come to an end when one spiteful bite had ensured that they were no longer nor would they ever be his fellow men once more.
Now Davis had become the monster and this new victim bravely stepped forwards to meet him. It was curious, he noted as the last effects of the drug slid from his sight, from his frame. The manner of appearance of this race of winged warriors. Looking at the warrior that had leapt so readily into this ring where two combatants entered but only one would leave, it was hard to judge his age. He could have been a veteran or simply a fresh faced boy. This was the way with these people it seemed, for they all moved with a certain degree of predatory grace that came only from being bred for such and indeed from what he had seen so far they appeared to be an entire race militarised. Of course there were clues that pointed to quite the opposite.
The fact that the man was here, posed an interesting question to which he imagined he would rather soon find the answer to. The fact that he had been placed as a guard over the various beasts and slaves the Angels had collected thus far spoke of either the kind of disfavour that saw either the disgraced or the very young and inexperienced kept far from the real fighting and thusly the share of glory and spoils of war that elder, more experienced warriors saw as their own due right. Or it spoke of the fact that this man had attained something of a degree of competence, that he was valued and trusted to such a degree that the commander of this fortress felt it safe to leave his or her prisoners in his supposedly capable hands. Of course, the fact that he had just jumped into the ring spoke of the brash nature of youth.
Either way, this meant one of two things. If it turned out he was a boy then this was going to be a very short encounter indeed. If it so transpired that he faced a scarred veteran then things were going to be a little more interesting. Either way, the man never saw the handful of sand that the former Black Omega Commander gathered in once clenched fist as he crouched down for a moment in the manner of a stretch. Even as the unknown warrior warmed his own muscles and flashed his blades. There was after all a certain ritual to this kind of combat. A kind of posturing as they began to circle, each daring the other to attack first. Though in a situation such as this were one combatant who was unarmed faced another who was both armed and armoured, logic dictated that the unarmed man would take the defensive in an attempt to preserve his life against the bladed offensive of the armed contender.
Unfortunately for this one, Davis was in himself a living weapon and had been long before the bite that had transformed him into the deadly hybrid of primal savagery and edge science that he was. Perhaps it was his aura that gave him away, though he knew it not, the fact that the vista of emotions, invisible even to Davis’ sensitive eyes was completely calm, completely cold as they circled each other. Or perhaps it was the fact that contrary to the popular logic of the situation, it was Davis that charged. Giving credit where credit was due, Davis was pleased to note that the warrior recovered quickly from the sudden shock of the situation and in fact lengthened his stride to meet his charge. What he was not prepared for however, was the moment when this pallid specimen of a man he had thought to fight and butcher, wiry and covered in scars and the odd strange tattoo, dived forwards as one clenched fist full of sand unclenched, leaving nothing but a cloud of the irritating and obscuring grains at eye height, almost as if the pale warrior had planned it that way...
The dive turned into a roll as Davis passed under a swing, powerful he noted but wild and ill timed given the sudden and unexpected handful of sand to the face. It was a dirty tactic, but then he felt he owed these people a little something for the woman’s drug stunt. Regardless of the niceties of the situation, Davis came up with a snap jab aimed for the back of the warrior’s right elbow. The attack playing upon the assumption that their bodies, minus the wings and probably a few additional internal organs, were likely build around the same muscle and nerve principles as those of other humanoids...An assumption that proved to be quite true as the sharp blow impacted and elbow and had the effect of causing the warrior to involuntarily release his grip upon one of his weapons.
Davis rapidly exploited this fact as he swept up the blade and came to his feet drawing the weapon tight against him in one of the many styles of knife fighting he had learned during his time as the commanding officer of the elite Black Omega unit. The weapon was not a knife of course, but using such an unorthodox style with a weapon it had not been intended for, would, he hoped, further disadvantage his opponent. Who even now shook sand from his eyes and spat a curse at Davis in his own tongue as he charged once more. The Lycan danced back, meeting the blade with his own, letting the Angel go on the offensive as he rained powerful blows upon the edge of his own blade. It was after all, a chance for Davis to study the fundamental principles of the fighting style of those who would become his enemy and there was a certain satisfaction in going blade to blade with someone who was at least passing for competent.
Still, just as all beauty must fade, all things must die. But perhaps not this one, no, that would depend upon another. After all, it was not every day that a creature like Davis came along and presented ones fellows with a sadistic choice in order to gauge the worth they placed upon the lives of their fellow Angels. It was this thought that he considered as he suddenly leapt forwards once more, one hand splayed into an open palm strike that raced for the wrist of the hand that still held a weapon while his other, armed now with his stolen blade, lanced forwards and took the Angel through the stomach. It was not a death blow, no, that would come later, Davis reflected as he pressed himself into the warrior, twisting the blade with his wrist as he did. Bringing forth the beginnings of a victory howl from his own lips and a cry of pain from the lips of his foeman as Davis pressed him downwards onto his knees before coming to stand behind him, leaving his stolen blade lodged in the his flesh in favour of taking up the blade the warrior had dropped into the moment of sharp contact between them.
His aura was still cold, another dire sign as one hand worked its way into hair, drawing the warrior’s head back so that he might meet the eyes of the one that had sent him to his death with such a small gesture, even as he rested the sword, point down against the top of his spine, poised to punch downwards through the bone. It would not be a clean death, a soldier’s death, more gasping curses spat forth from lips now bloodied, confirmed for him that the warrior knew that too. Yet still Davis did not strike. For in the fashion of old, he too turned his gaze to the self styled empress of this arena and waited to see whether she would call for this one’s life...Or whether she would call for his head...
She wanted blood sports...
Davis would give her such...Until she was sick of it.
Davis shook his head slowly as he gave one of those grim chuckles of his; it was almost as if he pitied the man being sent to face him. Not true of course, for such an emotion had not been written into his genetic code and thusly was Davis without mercy or indeed compassion. Though his lack of compassion was more to do with the events of his life as opposed to his creation. For to begin with he had been a protector of men, created to defend the weakling human race against the monsters and as such a certain degree of care for his fellow man had been bred into him just for that purpose. One fought all the more harder when one believed in or cared for the cause for which one bled. Of course, that had all come to an end when one spiteful bite had ensured that they were no longer nor would they ever be his fellow men once more.
Now Davis had become the monster and this new victim bravely stepped forwards to meet him. It was curious, he noted as the last effects of the drug slid from his sight, from his frame. The manner of appearance of this race of winged warriors. Looking at the warrior that had leapt so readily into this ring where two combatants entered but only one would leave, it was hard to judge his age. He could have been a veteran or simply a fresh faced boy. This was the way with these people it seemed, for they all moved with a certain degree of predatory grace that came only from being bred for such and indeed from what he had seen so far they appeared to be an entire race militarised. Of course there were clues that pointed to quite the opposite.
The fact that the man was here, posed an interesting question to which he imagined he would rather soon find the answer to. The fact that he had been placed as a guard over the various beasts and slaves the Angels had collected thus far spoke of either the kind of disfavour that saw either the disgraced or the very young and inexperienced kept far from the real fighting and thusly the share of glory and spoils of war that elder, more experienced warriors saw as their own due right. Or it spoke of the fact that this man had attained something of a degree of competence, that he was valued and trusted to such a degree that the commander of this fortress felt it safe to leave his or her prisoners in his supposedly capable hands. Of course, the fact that he had just jumped into the ring spoke of the brash nature of youth.
Either way, this meant one of two things. If it turned out he was a boy then this was going to be a very short encounter indeed. If it so transpired that he faced a scarred veteran then things were going to be a little more interesting. Either way, the man never saw the handful of sand that the former Black Omega Commander gathered in once clenched fist as he crouched down for a moment in the manner of a stretch. Even as the unknown warrior warmed his own muscles and flashed his blades. There was after all a certain ritual to this kind of combat. A kind of posturing as they began to circle, each daring the other to attack first. Though in a situation such as this were one combatant who was unarmed faced another who was both armed and armoured, logic dictated that the unarmed man would take the defensive in an attempt to preserve his life against the bladed offensive of the armed contender.
Unfortunately for this one, Davis was in himself a living weapon and had been long before the bite that had transformed him into the deadly hybrid of primal savagery and edge science that he was. Perhaps it was his aura that gave him away, though he knew it not, the fact that the vista of emotions, invisible even to Davis’ sensitive eyes was completely calm, completely cold as they circled each other. Or perhaps it was the fact that contrary to the popular logic of the situation, it was Davis that charged. Giving credit where credit was due, Davis was pleased to note that the warrior recovered quickly from the sudden shock of the situation and in fact lengthened his stride to meet his charge. What he was not prepared for however, was the moment when this pallid specimen of a man he had thought to fight and butcher, wiry and covered in scars and the odd strange tattoo, dived forwards as one clenched fist full of sand unclenched, leaving nothing but a cloud of the irritating and obscuring grains at eye height, almost as if the pale warrior had planned it that way...
The dive turned into a roll as Davis passed under a swing, powerful he noted but wild and ill timed given the sudden and unexpected handful of sand to the face. It was a dirty tactic, but then he felt he owed these people a little something for the woman’s drug stunt. Regardless of the niceties of the situation, Davis came up with a snap jab aimed for the back of the warrior’s right elbow. The attack playing upon the assumption that their bodies, minus the wings and probably a few additional internal organs, were likely build around the same muscle and nerve principles as those of other humanoids...An assumption that proved to be quite true as the sharp blow impacted and elbow and had the effect of causing the warrior to involuntarily release his grip upon one of his weapons.
Davis rapidly exploited this fact as he swept up the blade and came to his feet drawing the weapon tight against him in one of the many styles of knife fighting he had learned during his time as the commanding officer of the elite Black Omega unit. The weapon was not a knife of course, but using such an unorthodox style with a weapon it had not been intended for, would, he hoped, further disadvantage his opponent. Who even now shook sand from his eyes and spat a curse at Davis in his own tongue as he charged once more. The Lycan danced back, meeting the blade with his own, letting the Angel go on the offensive as he rained powerful blows upon the edge of his own blade. It was after all, a chance for Davis to study the fundamental principles of the fighting style of those who would become his enemy and there was a certain satisfaction in going blade to blade with someone who was at least passing for competent.
Still, just as all beauty must fade, all things must die. But perhaps not this one, no, that would depend upon another. After all, it was not every day that a creature like Davis came along and presented ones fellows with a sadistic choice in order to gauge the worth they placed upon the lives of their fellow Angels. It was this thought that he considered as he suddenly leapt forwards once more, one hand splayed into an open palm strike that raced for the wrist of the hand that still held a weapon while his other, armed now with his stolen blade, lanced forwards and took the Angel through the stomach. It was not a death blow, no, that would come later, Davis reflected as he pressed himself into the warrior, twisting the blade with his wrist as he did. Bringing forth the beginnings of a victory howl from his own lips and a cry of pain from the lips of his foeman as Davis pressed him downwards onto his knees before coming to stand behind him, leaving his stolen blade lodged in the his flesh in favour of taking up the blade the warrior had dropped into the moment of sharp contact between them.
His aura was still cold, another dire sign as one hand worked its way into hair, drawing the warrior’s head back so that he might meet the eyes of the one that had sent him to his death with such a small gesture, even as he rested the sword, point down against the top of his spine, poised to punch downwards through the bone. It would not be a clean death, a soldier’s death, more gasping curses spat forth from lips now bloodied, confirmed for him that the warrior knew that too. Yet still Davis did not strike. For in the fashion of old, he too turned his gaze to the self styled empress of this arena and waited to see whether she would call for this one’s life...Or whether she would call for his head...
She wanted blood sports...
Davis would give her such...Until she was sick of it.