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"Hell screams for more corrupt souls. I answer the call."[A1i:9][A1i:9] |
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Post by Isaac on Dec 12, 2011 7:24:58 GMT -8
[OOC: Vespyr and Rogues only]
The boy with white hair walked through various streets, not a dollar to his name, his only belongings being his well concealed and extensive collection of knives. He had done his share of purifying society for the day, and though he always was filled with a gratification every time his blades sunk deep into flesh and blood was spilled, coating his knives and hands, he had grown a bit tired of the same belabored schedule each day and now sought a new form of fulfillment, a new reason to kill. From recent reports, there was a group of people who had banded together for safety somewhere near where he was walking, but little was known about them as they killed anything that crossed them. They were truly his kind of people. He continued his walk down Spring street and turned right on to Cherry avenue, all the while, his glowing blood red eyes scanning the building and sidewalks, evaluating escape routes and potential ambush points, all the while listening for sounds. He wasn't sure, but he believed he heard something following him with little to no sound. He knew better than to doubt his instincts, but kept walking to try and fool whoever was following him, if anyone was following him. One thing was for sure: his walk today wouldn't be uneventful.
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"your hide will make a fine poncho." |
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Post by Vespyr on Dec 12, 2011 15:15:08 GMT -8
Overstepping Boundaries
The outsider’s arrival had not gone unnoticed. His own footfalls betrayed him, echoing in the usually silent streets as he approached the secret den of those who had claimed the land as their domain. Even before word of his trespassing had reached the syndicate’s central ear, he was already being followed. They remained latent but alert in allowing him to wander deeper into the territory, letting him remain unaware that he was under close observation.
A single amber eye had the intruder in its sights, its owner only paces behind him—a lithe, fleeting shadow that blended well into the larger thicket of shadows cast by the dim moonlight. The unsuspected sentinel would have haunted his footsteps for several blocks before making his presence known. They were drawing near to their final destination, but the boy could not have known where he was going, or what sort of danger he welcomed by stepping boldly onto hostile turf. He needed a guide.
Suddenly, the boy would feel something brush lightly between his shins. A feline figure appeared on the sidewalk several feet ahead of him. The cat was a little larger than average and svelte with lean muscles beneath his russet fur. He wore an eye patch over his right eye; the left, which had fixed its cold gaze upon the trespasser, glinted with deep, reddish amber. After a moment he would turn and begin trotting casually away, down a winding path that branched away from the sidewalk. If the boy followed, he would be led through a small valley of overgrown hedges that spanned between a high wall and an abandoned office building. They approached a parking garage, the entrance of which was heavily fenced off.
The cat vanished into the shadow of a bush, only to reappear on the opposite side of the chain link and barbed wire gate. Standing beside him at about five feet and eleven inches, wearing grey jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt, was a stern young man with red hair of a medium length. He glared at the newcomer from his post just within the boundary of the fence. Gripped tightly in his hand and extending from his right arm was a hatchet.
“Halt.”
The gate guard’s mouth had not moved; the voice, belonging to an unseen female, had come from somewhere in the pitch black darkness beyond.
“We’ve been watching you, boy. We could hear you coming from a mile away.”
The voice was low, almost a whisper—yet somehow completely clear, commanding, and most of all, sharp with criticism. Deathly silence settled between the moments of disembodied dialogue, almost undisturbed by the voice at all. Meanwhile, the guard continued to motionlessly scrutinize the boy where he stood and the cat had slunk off into the unperceivable shadows.
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"Hell screams for more corrupt souls. I answer the call."[A1i:9][A1i:9] |
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Post by Isaac on Dec 12, 2011 16:29:51 GMT -8
[OOC: Alright, you win. I decided I'd join whoever got to me first, and that's you.]
As he listened to the disembodied voice of the female, he quickly but unnoticably turned to the right so that only the left side of his figure was able to be seen and lowered his head as if he was looking at his shoes. He didn't know who these people were, but he was determined not to show them weakness, so he hid his scars. He immediately plunged the hand that wasn't visible to them into his pocket and clutched a knife out of nervousness. However, his mouth contorted into a very small smirk of satisfaction. As his senses had told him, there was indeed a human that had been tailing him. He carefully eyed the boy with the hatchet, keeping him in mind as a potential threat. He also noted the cat as a threat. He had never known cats to wear eyepatches before, so he had followed it out of curiosity. He was now more than likely boxed in. The odds weren't in his favor and were worse still since he was against them on their own turf, which he had not much knowledge of.
Guess I forgot what killed the cat in the first place... he thought to himself.
"Well I would have expected no less from people of your caliber. You cover your tracks well.", the boy responded in a voice so gruff it sounded as if he had gravel in his throat. He responded carefully, as a wrong word could mean the difference between life, a narrow escape, or death.
The girl who owned the disembodied voice stepped forth from the shadows. He raised his head slightly and glanced to his left, getting his first look at the girl addressing him: She was roughly as tall as him and was wearing a black uniform of some sort and a pair of black boots adorned with silver buckles that gave her an aura of authority. Her fingers had nails that seemed to have been filed for sharpness, and said fingers were decorated with various silver rings, though her hands themselves seemed lithe and long, perfectly able to grasp a person's throat with ease and tear it out with those sharpened nails. As his eyes trailed further upwards, he saw face, and he was petrified. She had pale skin, white hair like his own, seductive lips, and a pair of enticing amethyst eyes that seemed as if they could see into his soul. Such beauty. He quickly averted his eyes and waited for what was to be said next. He was already preparing to run if needed.
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"your hide will make a fine poncho." |
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Post by Vespyr on Dec 12, 2011 20:56:25 GMT -8
Negligence
“You, on the other hand, do not.”
Vespyr did reveal herself, stepping forward from the darkness with the cat perched loyally across her shoulders. As the shadows fell away from her face, the most striking features were her eyes. They smoldered venomously. This vehement but silent fury, rather evident in the piercing violet stare, was exclusive only to her eyes; the other features of her pale face were untouched and utterly devoid of emotion.
She loathed carelessness. If this audacious trespasser had come here for the reasons which she suspected of him, she noted, then he had much to learn.
Wordlessly, she shifted toward the redhead guard and faded into the darkness behind him. A moment later she emerged from the shadows again, without her feline companion and somehow outside of the fence. She approached the boy languidly and circled around him with slow, patient steps, ruthlessly scrutinizing and examining him at a distance of several yards like a detestable specimen.
“Trespassing here is punishable by death. Why should I let you off the hook?”
(ooc: In my previous post, I never actually had Vespyr emerge from the darkness, so you may want to be a little more careful with what you include in your posts... I'll give it to you this time just to keep it simple and because there's no harm done, but in the future, stick to what's written and it'll keep you out of potentially troubling situations :] )
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"Hell screams for more corrupt souls. I answer the call."[A1i:9][A1i:9] |
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Post by Isaac on Dec 12, 2011 21:24:49 GMT -8
[OOC: thanks for the tip]
"Well I should first point out that I was trying to be found, and from where we all currently stand, it seems I did a damn good job at it.", said the boy.
He grew more nervous with each circuit she strode around him. She seemed to be sizing him up, examining possible weak points, and was instilling fear in the boy all at the same time. He was no stranger to fear, but it had been quite awhile since fear's icy cold claws had found a way to wrap themselves around his heart, and apparently, this beautiful yet intimidating girl did the trick.
"As to why you shouldn't kill me...", the boy began, but trailed off.
He was thinking through his words before he said them, just try make sure that he wouldn't be signing his own tombstone, or if he ended up doing so anyways, to make sure he signed it with dignity.
"There is no good reason. In all fairness and logic, you should kill me now for intruding. I am no stranger to boundaries and I hold the upmost respect for them. But my reason for betraying one of the fundamental truths I believe in was to speak with you people. I've been roaming the city at night far too often, preying on those I see as blights to the world. My hands and blades are stained with much blood, and as society does to outcasts, I have been labelled by the insignificant masses. They call me "Reaver", for they know not my true name. And as time has passed, I have wished and searched for a higher calling and a new purpose, which I had hoped would be found with you. I have encroached upon your soil and humbly ask forgiveness, and though it be not right of me to ask for more, I wish to become one of you, if you would do me the honor of accepting me.", the boy said. That was more words than he normally used for a month. He could now only wait for the decision.
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"your hide will make a fine poncho." |
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Post by Vespyr on Dec 12, 2011 22:34:30 GMT -8
Missing Element
“Well rehearsed.”
Vespyr had stopped circling and stood behind him. Had she not already been livid, she would have been tempted to assail him with a fit of malicious laughter. It was all too clichéd to her; he was just another lost soul, another kid who didn’t fit in, another somebody looking for something vague to fill the gap in his life. He couldn’t see the bigger picture.
“But I’m not convinced.
It takes more than a blade and bloodstained hands to make a killer. It takes more than a little bit of nerve, too. Your coming here was a gamble; you bet against the odds that we wouldn’t take pause to get rid of you as soon as you turned down the wrong street. You acted out of either reckless confidence, or stupidity. The former is preferable but it doesn’t count for anything unless you are truly unafraid of the consequences.”
The boy would feel her presence behind him suddenly draw in very close as she hissed the words into his ear, but within another moment Vespyr had again distanced herself and closed up the circle by appearing in front of him again.
“And that is where you have fallen short. I feel your fear, boy. It is like a terrible stench.”
Her nose wrinkled in a slight grimace of distaste, but the expression soon faded back to its original vacancy, excluding her eyes that still smoldered at him from afar. She was silent for a few moments as she made her assessment.
“Despite that, I am willing to give you a chance. After all, it’s not my loss if you fail; it’s yours.”
She flashed him a cruel, mocking grin—as if to vaunt a certainty of his imminent death—and turned away, stalking back toward the gate and disappearing into the shadows from which she came. Meanwhile, her voice continued on without the rest of her.
“Leave. Find an enemy soldier and cut off its head. Don’t come back until you have that to offer me, if nothing else.”
Several moments later, the voice had become quite distant, but remained clear.
“And don’t let me hear you coming next time.”
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"Hell screams for more corrupt souls. I answer the call."[A1i:9][A1i:9] |
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Post by Isaac on Dec 12, 2011 22:50:27 GMT -8
The boy was relieved that he was still breathing, even if the girl's words had stung like so many wasps from a disturbed nest. He turned the opposite direction and walked slowly again back the way he came, memorizing structures and areas where one could be seen, already formulating his plan of infiltration for his trip back.
Alright then. I'm still breathing, so that's a good sign, he thought to himself. Now, an enemy soldier. Well, the head of an enemy soldier anyways. Looks like I've got a bit of dirty work to do. Might as well get to it. First things first though: I need to find one of these soldiers...
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"Hell screams for more corrupt souls. I answer the call."[A1i:9][A1i:9] |
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Post by Isaac on Dec 19, 2011 11:56:11 GMT -8
Isaac returned to the empty streets after three days. He had been quite busy after his encounter with the white-haired girl and her posse. His first day had been spent finding and experiment. Once he had found one, after a bit of a brawl in an alley, the experiment lay unconsious at his feet. Shortly after said brawl, the boy withdrew the knife of his choosing and got to work.
His second day and night had been spent watching the movements around the deserted area that seemed to be the territory that this girl and her group ran. He always saw them retreating to the gated and barb-wired off area that he met them at in the first place. Though no matter what vantage point he observed from, he couldn't seem to see how they got into what appeared to be a parking garage and up to the building on top, which he could only guess was their hideaway. He concluded that no matter what, to get in, he'd need to first be accepted into their group.
So at the same place he met the crew, when no one was watching, he placed a duffle bag on the sidewalk. Inside the bag were various parts of the mutilated experiment, just in case the white-haired girl wanted more than just the head as proof of his mettle. He placed the head on top of the bag, then hopped up to a rooftop rather close to where he had dropped his 'gift' and began to wait.
"Only a matter of time now..." He said.
Though after time, no one appeared, and seeing as the boy had been up for the past three days due to his ventures, his eyelids began to droop. He didn't even realize it when he fell asleep. He just slumped on to the roof and began a blissful nap while lying on his back. If he had been thinking, he would have tried to stay awake, hoping that nothing bad would happen to himself, such as being injured in his sleep. Or worse, but he dare not even think of the worse possibility. He treasured the memory of his beloved yet deceased Elizabeth too much to even think about the worse option. But all of such thoughts melted away as the sweet embrace of sleep grasped him tightly.
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"your hide will make a fine poncho." |
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Post by Vespyr on Dec 19, 2011 12:58:23 GMT -8
Test Number Two
“Boy.
Boy. Come down from there.” [/font][/b] The voice belonged to Gilbert Pike, a rather tall, lanky man of about 22 years who glared impatiently up at the rooftop from the sidewalk below. His face was gaunt with high cheekbones and an awkward, domed forehead. His eyes, the sickly color of dried blood, peered out from their deep sockets with a fixed intensity that suggested they were the eyes of an angry weasel rather than those of a human man. In fact, his entire appearance was analogous to these same angular, awkward, and almost inhuman features: his bony shoulders rose up far too high on either side of his neck; his torso was unnaturally long and thin, and the black uniform he wore fitted almost too tightly over it, serving only to exaggerate his skeletal figure in a most unflattering manner. Overall, he was an unattractive man, inside and out. “I said come down.” He repeated tersely, his thin lips pursing in agitation. “She would like to have a word with you.”[/font][/b] With that, the man would turn abruptly and stalk away back toward the entrance of the parking garage. Upon reaching the fence, he stooped down to grasp the handles of the boy’s duffle bag and the hair of the corpse’s head in one gloved hand, reluctantly. He rose to his full height and tapped the gate impatiently with his sword-stick. “Open up, you nits. I said open up.”Accordingly, Titus, who had been staring absently at the man for the past several minutes, unlocked the heavy chains that held the fence in place and pulled it ajar just far enough to allow Gilbert to pass through. Once the man had disappeared into the darkness with the bloody cargo, Titus would begin to push the gate closed again. Something long and heavy thwacked him on the shoulder, however, and he stopped. The other boy still had yet to enter in. Titus turned his blank gaze back to the rooftop, or at the boy, wherever he had gone to. Something stirred within the amber depths—something uneasy—and he took a deep breath. He didn’t want to fight. The dark presence behind him stared as well, an insidious grin spreading across her hidden face. [/blockquote][/size]
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"Hell screams for more corrupt souls. I answer the call."[A1i:9][A1i:9] |
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Post by Isaac on Dec 19, 2011 23:31:17 GMT -8
Isaac heard a slight murmur as he gradually woke from his cat nap. Realizing where he was, what he should have been doing, the risk he had taken by falling asleep in such a place, and what he had failed to do by falling asleep, he was mentally kicking himself. After a short while, he heard,
"... boy... down from there... she would... word..."
He didn't have the full message, but that wasn't his biggest concern right now when he thought about it. Isaac scrambled to the roof's edge to examine the area below him. He had just enough time to see some guy make off with his hard-earned experiment. His first notion was to jump down, knives shining in what now was the moonlight since he napped for quite awhile, and slice his prize from the thief, but he reconsidered after recollecting on what the person had said. She wanted a word with him. He would need to get moving.
He continued watching the man make his way inside. He stopped in front of a gate and waited for a boy to come and unlock said gate. The man, still clasping his duffle bag filled of body parts and blood, proceeding up a ramp with no light whatsoever into the upper parts of the parking garage. So now Isaac had a gate guard to tend to. But what really scared him was the blackness of his destination. He had learned his lesson from last time, though, and he swallowed his fear and pressed on.
He watched the guard, who was eyeing the building he was on, and he decided to make a loop around the structure for many reasons. First, he would be taking advantage of the guard's drawn eye line. Second, by his calculation, he might just be able to vault off of one of the roofs of one of the buildings opposite his current location (with a running start) and barely make it over the barbed fence. If he failed, he would feel a tremendous amount of pain. But of course, that was an occupational hazard. He was trying to focus on how he would land as silently as possible. He concluded that rolling would be his best and maybe only course of action, as his current attire would prevent much noise from the action. His only regret was that he would be presenting himself to the white-haired girl without being clean. He never did have a chance to wash up, and his hands and forearms were coated in dried blood.
Regardless, he forged onwards. He made his way around the structure, checked on the guard, who was still staring at the other roof, got a running start, and jumped. His light body sailed through the air, over the fence, and he rolled as he began to land, minimizing his amount of noise to no more than a rustle. He quickly looked for and concealed himself in a shadow and waited for his opportunity to strike on the guard.
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"your hide will make a fine poncho." |
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Post by Vespyr on Dec 20, 2011 0:34:17 GMT -8
Surprise Attack on the Surprise Attacker
The boy’s rather stealthy entry did not go unnoticed.
…However, he wasn’t entirely amiss. In fact, the all-seeing violet eye noted his tact with silent approval. The boy was off to a fair start, for he already had adequate grasp of the cardinal rule: cunning predominates brute force.
…But he would need both if he were to survive.
Titus, taken by surprise, gripped his hatchet tightly and whirled around at the unexpected rustle. His anxious amber stare probed the shadows until he was finally able to discern a glimpse of the boy’s white hair, but he made no movement toward him. He didn’t need to. Someone else would.
Unbeknownst to the boy, the gate guard he had seen was only one of two. The other, who had been asleep because it was not his shift, had been rudely awakened by the boy’s stealth roll right into his sleeping spot. Isaiah’s eyes opened and peered up at the stranger in silence for a few moments before he realized what was happening. Then he shot up and would awkwardly grab the intruder by his wrists from behind, simultaneously ramming a knee into his spine.
Titus, meanwhile, had begun to back away toward the fence. Much reluctance slowed his movements, but there was nothing he could do. This was not his fight. He could only watch in mute horror as his twin attempted—and would probably fail—to wrangle the boy into submission. Neither of the redheads knew how to fight on their own and were practically useless without the proper commands. He expected that any moment she would intervene, pulling skillfully on his brother’s strings from somewhere in the shadows. But the unseen puppet master remained unmercifully silent.
Isaiah's Stats: STR: 15 DEX: 20 CON: 10 INT: 5 WIS: 5 CHA: 5
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"Hell screams for more corrupt souls. I answer the call."[A1i:9][A1i:9] |
PLAYED BY OOC NAME
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Post by Isaac on Dec 20, 2011 0:57:27 GMT -8
Isaac hadn't expected to run into ANOTHER person as he entered the structure's perimeter. And now he found himself staring into the eyes of another sleeping guard. Well, formerly sleeping, anyways. Before he could put a good amount of distance between himself and the second guard, he found his wrists grasped from behind by this second guard's hands.
He twisted his head to see what was coming next. But instead of taking a heavy amount of damage and possibly some permanent spinal damage, he moved with the momentum that the attack delivered, running up the pillar he was facing and flipping so that he now was crouched on the boy's back and the boy's arms were contorted in quite a painful fashion. He now held the grip on the boy's arms.
Then all at once, he released the boy's arms and leaped into the air off of the boy's back. When at the peak of his leap, he readied his elbow to make devastating contact with the muscle between the neck and the shoulder. It might not do much physical damage, but the pain would probably not have him using his arm for awhile if the attack connected.
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"your hide will make a fine poncho." |
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Post by Vespyr on Dec 20, 2011 1:19:37 GMT -8
Fighting Pinocchio
Only after Isaiah was humiliated by his opponent’s agile display of dominance, would Vespyr begin to tug on his strings. Her sinister voice arose suddenly from an undisclosed location amid the sea of shadows.
“Isaiah, dodge right.”
Still gasping through the pain of his twisted arms, the boy snapped to attention and did just as he was told—a split second before the other would have come crashing down onto him.
“Right elbow, left hook.”
The redhead’s aching right elbow would shoot straight out toward the boy’s face, followed by his left fist that arced swiftly across to the right, his body pivoting at the waist, with the strength of his entire torso packed behind the punch.
“Knee strike.”
If either of Isaiah’s blows had landed, the boy would most likely be stunned for a moment; Isaiah would waste no time in seizing the boy by his shoulders, followed by a swift upward strike to the gut—or the face, if the boy had been winded enough and was bent over—with his right knee.
Isaiah's Stats: STR: 15 DEX: 20 CON: 10 INT: 5 WIS: 5 CHA: 5
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"Hell screams for more corrupt souls. I answer the call."[A1i:9][A1i:9] |
PLAYED BY OOC NAME
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Post by Isaac on Dec 20, 2011 7:51:11 GMT -8
Right as Isaac was coming down to deliver his blow, he heard a voice cut through the darkness with directions for the boy he was facing. A cautiously happy thought entered his mind.
"A puppet fight... Well now I'll know what he will do before he does it. I just have to act as fast..." Isaac thought.
The boy immediately moved out of the way of Isaac's coming blow and seemed to be readying himself for an attack. As Isaac returned to ground level, he dropped low to avoid what would have been a brutal shot to the face from the guard's elbow. He stood back up, but wasn't quick enough to avoid a stinging shot to the face from the guard's left fist. A small amount of his blood left his body and was transferred to the guard's fist.
As he had done with the guard's previous attack, he spun with the momentum, dropped low to the ground to avoid another attack from the guard's knee, and using the momentum he gained from the boy's left hook, performed a fast sweep kick on the leg that the guard still had planted on the ground. Should the boy fall, his next maneuver would be to grab a leg as he fell and deliver a strong punch to the nerve cluster behind the kneecap to severely hamper the boy's ability to stand, much less fight with the leg.
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"your hide will make a fine poncho." |
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Post by Vespyr on Dec 20, 2011 11:44:21 GMT -8
Fear of Failure
Taken by surprise yet again, Isaiah’s eyes opened wide and his mouth opened in a silent scream as he fell on his back, winded. Barely a moment had passed before pain pounded into him again, and for a few moments his entire right leg felt numb.
“The other one,” Vespyr said.
With the boy grasping his right leg, Isaiah slammed his arms and back into the ground to gain momentum to either A) thrust his hips up, shooting his left leg straight forward into the boy’s chest if the boy were in front of him, or B) thrust his hips up while twisting them in midair, kicking his left leg off to whichever side the boy was at. If the kick landed, Isaiah would utilize that moment to scoot himself backward on his rear, clutching his right leg which was by now throbbing in agony.
“Where do you think you’re going. Get up.”
Isaiah did as he was told as quickly as he could, through shakily, his right knee threatening to buckle beneath him at any moment. He kept himself standing seemingly with sheer willpower, fear of the consequences of losing this fight. He stood in a sideways stance, his injured leg behind him, left leg forward, slightly bent. His torso was hunched protectively, fists held up in front of his face. His amber eyes glared at the white-haired boy rather angrily as he waited for the next blow to come.
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