Ogre_Deity_Link
Smash Lord
The backdrop might have been cliche`, but the battle was far from it.
The stage: a Clock Tower, standing ominously over the plains of Malachi. Rain poured down in freezing cold sheets, lightning lit up the sky and wind howled louder than any wolf could possibly muster.
But even the thunder could not drown out the noise of steel clashing viciously, nor the sound of battle cries that rose up into the stormy sky like inhumane prayers for victory. Such cries came from two men, running back and forth across the tower as they swung their blades, each swing rending surrounding shadowy creatures asunder.
The first man held in both hands two impossibly large swords, so large that the handles themselves were as long as spear shafts, and thick enough to barely hold onto. He twirled them around with reletive ease, as if they were as light as a feather. They whistled as the flew around in a sort of Dance Macabre. His light brown hair was plastered to his face, his gunmetal gray eyes narrowed as yet five more daemons died at the edges of his twin blades. His long, white overcoat swirled around his ankles as his dark leather boots beat a rapid toccata on the stonework.
Behind him was his almost opposite. With rapid thrusts, he wielded a rapier, flashing through the air as it impaled a daemon, only to be withdrawn from its corpse in the blink of an eye and enter the body of another daemon. His raven black hair was pulled into a ponytail and his eyes were serpentine green, wide with an almost insane exitement at the slaughter he was participating in.
For what seemed like an eternity, this cycle continued. More deamons would climb the tower, only to be cut down in droves. Steel would fly, spells would be cast and yet more daemons died. It continued like this until the very ground upon which they stood became saturated with daemon blood.
The daemons abruptly stopped and both fighters stood back to back, breathing heavily. The dual wielder stuck one of his blades into the ground, a fine large black blade in the shape of an obelisk. The other, a shining silver blade quickly morphed into a Mortuary Blade, the basket hilt twisting around to conform to the wielders hand, an intricate network of web-like steel.
There was only the sound of the heavy breathing after that, then...
"Die."
With this one word spoken by the rapier wielder, the combatants whirled around, bringing their blades around to meet one another, and once more, lightning ripped asunder the heavens...
**************************************************************************
The stage: a Clock Tower, standing ominously over the plains of Malachi. Rain poured down in freezing cold sheets, lightning lit up the sky and wind howled louder than any wolf could possibly muster.
But even the thunder could not drown out the noise of steel clashing viciously, nor the sound of battle cries that rose up into the stormy sky like inhumane prayers for victory. Such cries came from two men, running back and forth across the tower as they swung their blades, each swing rending surrounding shadowy creatures asunder.
The first man held in both hands two impossibly large swords, so large that the handles themselves were as long as spear shafts, and thick enough to barely hold onto. He twirled them around with reletive ease, as if they were as light as a feather. They whistled as the flew around in a sort of Dance Macabre. His light brown hair was plastered to his face, his gunmetal gray eyes narrowed as yet five more daemons died at the edges of his twin blades. His long, white overcoat swirled around his ankles as his dark leather boots beat a rapid toccata on the stonework.
Behind him was his almost opposite. With rapid thrusts, he wielded a rapier, flashing through the air as it impaled a daemon, only to be withdrawn from its corpse in the blink of an eye and enter the body of another daemon. His raven black hair was pulled into a ponytail and his eyes were serpentine green, wide with an almost insane exitement at the slaughter he was participating in.
For what seemed like an eternity, this cycle continued. More deamons would climb the tower, only to be cut down in droves. Steel would fly, spells would be cast and yet more daemons died. It continued like this until the very ground upon which they stood became saturated with daemon blood.
The daemons abruptly stopped and both fighters stood back to back, breathing heavily. The dual wielder stuck one of his blades into the ground, a fine large black blade in the shape of an obelisk. The other, a shining silver blade quickly morphed into a Mortuary Blade, the basket hilt twisting around to conform to the wielders hand, an intricate network of web-like steel.
There was only the sound of the heavy breathing after that, then...
"Die."
With this one word spoken by the rapier wielder, the combatants whirled around, bringing their blades around to meet one another, and once more, lightning ripped asunder the heavens...
**************************************************************************
Prologue End