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The swords fell.Originally Posted by Old_Iron
Scores of blades fired themselves at Signum, howling like banshees as they cut through the air. Each sword seeking her flesh and driving fear into her heart.
Instinctively she brought up a pink colored triangular shield and shot forward into the storm of steel. All she needed was to withstand the onslaught and she would be able to attack the golden eyed man.
She was surprised at the power that the weapons held.
Most of the blades that managed to strike merely bounced off the shield with the sound of steel impacting stone before tumbling down to the ground. Some managed to pierce the defense ever so slightly before losing momentum. Others managed to inflict enough damage to create a fissure on the surface of the mystic shield.
Yet others blew through it altogether, as if her defense were naught more than air. Only her instinctive twitches and desperate movements saving her from losing life and limb.
She emerged from the rain of steel with scratches and bruises, her shield cut to tatters, but alive and determined to defeat this new threat. She shot forward, sure that her opponent would take to the skies and engage her in her home field.
She was quite surprised when he rolled back, evading Levatein by a hair’s breadth, the blade passing so close to his skin that it cut a line through his shirt. Once she separated from him, a black bow appeared in his hand. Four metal arrows were fired at her in an instant.
She rolled away from them, only to be forced to parry three more. A fourth and fifth slipping through her guard and striking her in the shoulder and gut, rebounding from the protective layers of her barrier jacket and knocking the air out of her lungs. The sheer stopping power of the serrated metal shafts sending her cartwheeling away.
She arrested her movement and shot down to meet her opponent on the roof. With a roar, she hefted Levatein and brought it around in a deadly arc.
Her opponent raised the bow and met her strike with it, Levatein’s edge digging deeply into the material of the weapon. The man then twisted to the side, abandoning his weapon. Signum arrested her movement, took a step in his direction, and with a twist of her hips drove all of her weight behind Levatein in a slash that would disembowel her opponent.
Her sword was stopped by a pair of swords, one white as the moon the other black as the night. They pushed off one another and separated, circling slowly in an attempt to glean an advantage.
Signum kept her weapon in a low guard, protecting the whole of her chest, careful to show no openings to her opponent. Her opponent insolently held his swords loosely in his hands, his arms low by his sides with the weapons held horizontal to the floor, leaving the entirety of his chest and head exposed to an attack from her.
Signum could see the weaknesses in such a stance. He flaunted the deadly openings in his defense to invite attack.
She would not disappoint.
With a roar she stabbed with Levatein, intending to bury her weapon in his belly. The black sword parried her strike while the white moved forward in an arc that would behead her.
Signum twisted and parried the white weapon, only for the black sword, now free, to move forward in an attempt to stab into her stomach. She jumped back, avoiding his attack on account of the short weapon.
They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment before resuming battle. Anyone who did not know of sword combat would perceive little more than a continuous blur of motion and wild swings. Two people intent on battle showing little care for their own survival.
The reality of it was quite different. The two fought with great care, their movements almost a coordinated dance, the lead exchanged seamlessly back and forth between the two. The ring of steel striking steel deafening them to anything and everything around them.
Signum could not help but be puzzled by this man. He showed an absolute disregard for defense, yet she had never seen such a controlled fighting style. Most fighters would rush forward, seeking to gain and keep the initiative. For to attack was to win. Yet he preferred to allow her to come to him, completely giving up on the initiative to test his suicidal stance against the might of her blade. One slip, one mistake, one single error in judgment of distance is all it would take for her opponent to meet his demise.
Yet he committed none.
No matter what trick she tried, what style she used, what rhythm she fought at. Her opponent would not be surprised or flatfooted. He would struggle for a few blows before adapting and matching her pace, directing their battle with flawless control.
Signum stabbed forward with Levatein for the umpteenth time, knowing that it would be parried to the side. She planned to surprise her opponent by jumping over his retributive attack and barreling into him, throwing him off the building and forcing him to take their battle to the air.
There was a green flash of light and his ascending blade halted, his muscles locking down, bulging like stones.
The sound of flesh being torn reached their ears a moment later.
Levatein had been driven home into the man’s chest, held horizontally so it would sink seamlessly though the ribs. She could feel quivers on the hilt as her opponent’s hammering heart fought to keep up with the demands his body imposed upon it, blood dripping slowly down the edge of her sword.
“No way…you…are not wearing a barrier jacket?” Asked Signum with horror in her voice.
Her opponent did not dignify her with a response, his swords clattering to the ground, slipping away from numb fingers. He was staring slack jawed at what protruded from his chest.
Not Signum’s weapon, but rather that which had caused the mortal hesitation on his movements.
A green sleeved hand protruded from a portal on his chest, grasping at the air in front of him as if searching for something, its very presence bringing indescribable agony to his being.
Slowly, oh so very slowly, strings began to coalesce in front of it. One by one, or on groups of three. Twenty seven glowing strings sprang forth from his body and contorted themselves around the palm of the hand. Moments later Shirou could feel his Od, his very life, that which he used to manufacture his weapons, drained slowly away from him.
Signum stared mesmerized, amazed that her opponent did not seem to have a linker core, yet possessed magic.
Shirou’s eyes hardened. His hand moved with the swiftness of a striking serpent and caught hold of the offending appendage.
He raised his eyes, meeting the azure orbs of his opponent. He then said six words.
“My body is made of blades.” He brutally twisted the wrist, the sound of breaking bone giving a report as loud as a gunshot.
His vision went white with pain a moment later.
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