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Demon Butcher of the back alley district. Empty Demon Butcher of the back alley district.

Post by Husk on March 15th 2012, 9:14 am

A man, clothed only in cheap pants held up by a rope belt, walked down an empty back alley at night within the city of Chicago. Behind him he dragged what appeared to be a novelty sized knife, but the loud sounds of metal being dragged across the bitumen beneath it, and the sharpness of the blade, suggested it was made for combat. With that information, it was no wonder why the man had to drag it as he did, for such a heavy weapon would take monstrous strength to lift for any purpose. The part of the city he walked through was largely avoided by most people as a result of a bad criminal reputation. The only people you'd find there at night were those with no other choice, or those who preyed upon them. The man, Daemon, was an exception. He was the next step in the predatory cycle.

A group of thugs had then cornerned him, and they mocked him and spat upon him. 'Should have brought with you a weapon you could actually swing' they said, revealing their own arms. They were to mug him of whatever cash he had on him, but he had none. However, they had something he wanted, and he was all keen on taking it from them; blood.

In a split second, the giant knife that was being dragged behind Daemon swung up with his arm, over his head and straight down through the largest of his foes, cleaving the man in two without a word. A smile stretched across Daemon's face, the thirsty visage of a demon, as his would-be muggers yelled in terror and fired bullets at him. He did not falter, the bullets slowly being pushed out of the shallow wounds they made while Daemon advanced upon the poor souls, his body regenerating. 'Monster!' they cried as they tried to flee, but Daemon wouldn't have that. He would chase them, he would not give mercy. Mercy is for the weak, and he would not give any mercy to weaklings.
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Post by ScarletteGoddess on March 15th 2012, 9:53 am

(Was this an introductory or open topic? I'll happily throw in my insane cannibal if you'd like to meet some other charries ^^)

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Post by Jack Maroon on March 15th 2012, 10:07 am

Brutality

It was a dark and cold night in the city of Chicago. It wasn't raining, but the sky was ridden with heavy clouds that could burst at any moment. Through the cracks of these clouds occasionally shone the light reflected from the moon, a light that paled in comparison to the city's numerous sources of artificial light. Cities like these never slept. And neither did our hero. At least, not very often. Of course he slept sometimes, but not all the time. Not the point.

Jack Maroon, Chicago's very own speedster swordsman with a propensity for indulging in delusions of Quixotic proportions, was doing his rounds in the city, scouring it for criminals he could butcher. Wearing only a red leather jacket, white polo shirt, black jeans, pointy black shades and combat boots he had set out to look for a fight, wielding his trusty katana Testament. Not in the name of Justice, as many heroes did, but to quench his own thirst for adventure and the thrill of combat. Though Jack only sought out vile criminals, the truth was that any man with aggression towards him would do, as long as they had the killing intent, a concept pervading japanese myth. Legend had it that the greatest swordsmen could sense a man's bloodlust from afar. Jack liked to pretend he could as well.

After an hour or so of jumping from rooftop to rooftop, Jack finally found something worth his interest. A large hulk of a man, wearing only cheap pants held together by rope, carrying what appeared to be a vastly oversized butcher's knife on his back was being cornered by a group of thugs. At this point, many a hero would have already tried to intervene, to stop the criminals and question the strange man on carrying such a strange weapon. Jack did not. He was pretending he could sense the man's bloodlust, his killing intent directing itself at his would-be assailants.
Within the blink of an eye, Jack's game of pretend ceased to be fantasy and transitioned into the realm of bloody, gory, brutal truth. It was this truth that cleaved one of the thugs in two, truth reflected upon that rusty slab of steel that could barely be called a sword. Jack was mesmerized. Where he tended to confuse fantasy with reality, here these two merged perfectly. He did not need the tumor in his brain to color his perception of events, as it was already colored in pretty crimson.

It would have been a beautiful butchering, an awesome spectacle of bloodshed if it weren't for the fact that these cowardly men immediately attempted to flee. They probably had families, maybe even small children, hobbies, friends, regardless of the fact that they were low-life scum. They were still human. But Jack failed to see them as that. They were just small fry enemies, absolutely no good for anything but a good old massacre. Jack jumped down the roof and rushed towards the alleyway's exit, effectively blocking it.
His blade reflected a stray beam of moonlight, gleaming with murder. The thugs, the vermin, fired desperately at the man blocking their only route of escape. Dodging bullets could be tricky, especially when an opponent had exceptional aim. But guys like these, firing off in a panic were a cinch to read. Predicting every of their shots' trajectories with only half a thought, Jack gracefully moved across the alleyway, dodging the bullets with expert skill.

His sword's strikes, powered by his inhuman strength and directed by his near godly fighting instincts, struck down on each of the thugs in his way, granting them no escape but that from their fear alone. Alone one remained, standing right in front of Jack, pointing his gun at him. "S-s-stay away!" I'll fucking shoot you, I swear!" The man stuttered uncontrollably. Fear had made him soil his trousers, and now he was shaking in front of the man who murdered several of his friends, clinging to what little bargaining power he thought he might have had. Of course, it would be easy for Jack to dodge whatever he shot at him, but that wouldn't be necessary now. Behind the cowering criminal arose a presence that oozed killing intent. Jack could practically taste the chaos.

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Post by Husk on March 15th 2012, 10:31 am

Scarlettequeen wrote:(Was this an introductory or open topic? I'll happily throw in my insane cannibal if you'd like to meet some other charries ^^)
(It's closed between Jack and I, sorry.)

-----

"Cowards, the lot o' yeh!" Daemon shouted from behind them as he chased them down the alley, still with the demonic grin that was etched onto his face at the start of the fight. It was then that someone new appeared to block their passage, and Daemon could tell straight away that he was on a different level to the scum between them, even before he started dodging bullets. One by one Daemon had his prey stolen from him, leaving him mixed with rage and admiration. 'How dare he kill them instead of me,' Daemon thought, 'but I'll be fucked if I didn't say he's doing it right'. There was one thug left, feebly throwing out empty threats, shakily pointing his gun at the swordsman, who stopped his massacre for a reason Daemon appreciated. It's nice to share.

The lone thug's gibbering was cut short as the gigantic blade the butcher wielded was forced through his upper body like a knife through warm butter, impaling him and taking him off his feet as Daemon lifted him into the air by the knife he held. The man still lived, struggling to breathe through the blood in his mouth and throat, but Daemon would not allow him to lose consciousness before the deed was done. He swung the man out of his path to the swordsman, flinging him off his knife and sending his dying self into the wall to his right. The lowlife scum had given up their blood and lay defeated and in pieces in the dark night, and now all that were left were the berserker and the swordsman.

Daemon swung his weapon up and rested the blunt edge on his shoulder for the time being as he grunted at the other man. His psychotic grin was still on his face, and he spoke with humour that diminished the grim air that stunk up the alley. "Ah that's sweet Prince, savin' me from those evil men, my hero," he chuckled, "I'm Daemon Metzger, who are yeh, and what's the real reason you showed up just then?".

Daemon had a conflicted opinion of this man. Firstly, he disliked the way that the guy showed up without any warning and stole those kills from him. However he respected his bloodlust and ability to kill. His reason for doing so would make or break Daemon's final decision on whether he liked him or not.
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Post by Jack Maroon on March 15th 2012, 10:59 am

The giant man, whom Jack could only describe as a brutish monster, a demon warrior, had impaled the last of the thugs and thrown its corpse at a wall, leaving the alleyway empty save for the two metahumans that stood in it, facing each other. In his last moments, the dying man seemed to be looking down at Jack, as if hoping to be granted salvation. He had received none. Jack lacked the capacity to sympathize with those he considered enemies, especially when they were also cowards. Didn't even try to think of a way to take down the brute. Pathetic. Courage and resolve were hard things to come by these days, it seemed.

In response to Daemon's introduction and question, Jack swiped his sword in the air, removing the blood that covered it in order to add some dramatic effect to his introduction.

"Jack Maroon." He said, his face almost completely stoic, soiled only be the hint of a smile.
"Don't think you're the one needed saving. Then again, they wouldn't have deserved it. Attacking a man to kill and then fleein' when it proves difficult, that's just damn low. And I needed some practice, so they came in handy, know what I'm sayin'?"

Too many words, man, too many words. Jack disliked speaking too much, preffering brevity. Still, he said what needed to be said, not having wasted any of his words.
Looking at the man, he suddenly realized he had made a grave error. He backed down a bit, lifting his hands (and the katana in one of them) in the air in an apologetic defensive gesture.

"Whoa man, I didn't mean to break your stride or anything though. Mighty selfish of me to steal your warm-up in favor of my own. Sorry."
It hadn't crossed his mind, but he had just performed a kill-steal. Mighty low, man, mighty low. Wallowing in shame wasn't something Jack did though, so he quickly disregarded any feelings that brought himself discomfort. All he could do was apologize, maybe get to know the guy. Maybe fight him to the death. Who knew? Night was still young after all.

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Post by Husk on March 15th 2012, 11:11 am

Jack Maroon, as he called himself, swiped his sword to get some of the blood off before it stained. Daemon frowned at that. Doesn't he know that blood is good for the blade? Makes your enemy know that you've cut people before, so you can cut them just the same. Fear, that's a killer. A mind killer or whatever. Daemon forgot how that phrase went, not important. In any case, this guy seems legit in his killings, not ulterior motives or anything, just killing for the pure sake of it, fuck yeah.

He calls out the bastard cowards from before, saying they were bastard cowards, which is pretty right. Fuckheads were pretty much the living equivalent of scarecrows, petty scare tactics with nothing to back it up. Then he apologizes. "Fuck, don't apologize, you sound like an assfuck when do you," Daemon says as he shakes his head, "but yeah, that was shitty of you, but what's done is done yeh? Anyway, that was the warmup as you just said, how about the real thing aye? Let's cut each other up and kill some time, what'dya say?".

They just met, and already he was asking Jack for a fight rather than just starting it. Heh, guess he's a sucker for the murderous types. Maybe he'd like to hear about Toten sometime...
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Post by Jack Maroon on March 15th 2012, 11:39 am

Jack scratched the back of his head when Daemon told him he sounded like an assfuck when apologizing. Apologizing ain't cool, he should've remembered that himself. He silently thanked the other guy in his mind as he continued to hear him out.

Jack had to give it to the guy, he cut straight to the chase, no bullshit. He was right though. That little fling before was nothing but a warming-up, a little exercise to get the blood flowing. Sure, Jack'd been in bigger fights, but more often than not that kind of fight was the standard. And that's a pretty low standard.
And now this brute of a man, this creature of pure carnage challenged him to a duel. An actual challenge, politely issued, no tricks involved.

Sweet.

"Alright man. Let's do this." Jack said, getting into position. He wasted no time to act, and immediately dashed at his opponent at top speed, closing the gap between them within a flash. Two diagonal slashes across the torso, the first upward, the second downward at exactly the same spot, and then a third horizontal cut. Usually this proved more than enough to slice an opponent in two or three pieces. Jack hoped it wouldn't be this time. The man had promised a fight, and he'd keep him to it.

Jack would finish the 4-hit combo with a right kick that was intended to blow the opponent, or the pieces his opponents were usually in at this point away.

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Post by Husk on March 15th 2012, 12:07 pm

Daemon stood his ground as Jack came in with the attack, though he hardly had time to react due to the speed of the approach. Superhumans were great for a challenging fight, so Daemon had high expectations from Jack. Before he could react, Jack had slashed him twice with his sword, though not deep enough to worry Daemon. As Jack slashed the third time, Daemon swung his sword over his shoulder, intending to do to Jack what Daemon did to the first of those thugs, cut him in half. While an easy attack to dodge, perhaps Jack would be caught unaware due to how nonchalantly his opponent swung his blade while being cut up by his sword.

Of course, Jack would soon realize why Daemon was so calm and careless, as the wounds would quickly begin to heal themselves. Regeneration, and a very strong form of it at that, allowed Daemon to shrug off attacks and focus all his effort into cutting down his foe. Still with the murderous glint in his eye and a smile on his face, Daemon knew this wouldn't be the end of it, or he'd have just cut down Jack before caring to ask about it.
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Post by Jack Maroon on March 17th 2012, 11:52 am

Jack's attack had little effect on Daemon. Sure, they left a nasty gash, but the wounds immediately began to close at a speed faster than the attacks were delivered. Now this wasn't Jack's fastest attack speed, nor his most prized sword-technique, but the fact it had such little effect surprised Jack a little. He had no time to voice this surprise however, or ponder it for any amount of time. Daemon lazily attempted to emulate the attack with which he had killed the first of the thugs, swinging his sword down on Jack in order to cleave him in half.

Jack easily dodged the blow by side-stepping to the left. It was too easy. Jack felt disappointed, no, even hurt. His opponent wasn't even putting any effort in his attack, gauging Jack's strength. Admittedly, he had done the same, going in at high speed but delivering an attack that was enough to kill an ordinary man, but far below the maximum of his abilities.
Making use of some fancy footwork, consisting out of only three lighting-speed steps, Jack spinned around Daemon's side, emerging at his opponent's unguarded back to deliver another strike. This time with some more strength. The principle was the same, only this time it was actually aimed towards a specific goal. Jack unleashed a flurry of strikes at Daemon's backside, each particular sword-wound crossing each other at the exact middle of where the enemy's spine should be.
The move Jack was attempting would be most effective if he could keep going with his attacks for an infinite amount of time, but with his opponent's skill, or at least Jack's guess of it that wouldn't work out well. Once the brute would even begin to counteract, Jack would cease his strikes and pour all of his strength in a left punch directed at the intersection point of his attacks, hoping to inflict a huge amount of pain there at the center of his opponent's nervous system and perhaps also force him to move from his position. That would be a victory for Jack's pride at least.

The theory behind this was that Daemon's regeneration would focus on the length of each wound, and that the center of it, the deepest wound would recover less quickly because of this. And if the deepest wound, the center of the attack was also a prime location of the enemy's nervous system that could give the blow crippling strength. Though Jack wasn't exactly the brightest cookie in the jar, he had considerable talent for bloodshed, carnage and combat in general.

Whoever said violent video-games and television couldn't affect people's capacity for brutality had never met Jack before.


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Post by Husk on March 17th 2012, 12:12 pm

Of course the attack missed, Daemon knew it would. This fight was supposed to be a good one, not some midnight snack, that role was filled by those thugs. No, this was to fill his stomach with flesh and bathe his body in the blood of his foe. He wished to be torn apart and in return, tear flesh from his enemy's bones. Daemon thrived upon the bloodshed, not upon the swordplay itself. Whoever was being cut up didn't matter to him. The enemy, innocent bystanders, even himself, it didn't matter. There was only one thing that mattered overall, and that was for blood to spill upon the battlefield.

Jack dodged with lightning speed, and though Daemon could track the movements somewhat, his body was slow on the uptake. Jack cut his way rapidly into Daemon's back, but the rapid healing and toughness of the barbarian's body hindered his attempt to dig towards the spine. Jack's theory was proven false, as the regeneration started deep and worked its way out to the surface damage. It would take focused stabs or heavily prolonged slashing to get to the vital organs and nerves. What's worse was that Daemon made it no secret that he was a friend to pain, a look of bliss and manic laughter as he moved to attack was all that Jack needed to explain that.

Daemon's counterattack was to spin around for a clockwise 180 degrees slash of his blade, at the height of Jack's chest. The berserker had tested his opponent enough, patience not being a virtue among his kind, and he was now going all-out on the offensive. He would let himself be consumed by his own bloodlust as it grew, every second passing would send him closer and closer to enlightenment, becoming one with battle. From this point on, every attack would be followed with another straight after, leaving little room for Jack's shenanigans. The true fight had begun.
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Post by Jack Maroon on March 17th 2012, 3:57 pm


Daemon's regeneration proved far stronger than Jack had thought. Jack's focused slashing was to no avail, failing to intend to reach its intended purpose; the wounds simply healed too fast. To make matters worse, the attacks' recipient actually seemed to enjoy the pain inflicted upon him. The madman began to laugh maniacally, reveling in the pain. The attack didn't push back his opponent at all, and only seemed to make him more excited.
Just like before, Daemon countered slowly, turning around and swinging his knife in a 180 degree arc, intended to horizontally cut Jack in two.

Jack dodged this by jumping backwards, but unlike his earlier evasion, this one was cutting close. The enemy's sword had almost grazed him, coming with a hair's inch of his body. Daemon didn't leave it at that and suddenly went on the offensive, a huge contrast to his initial passivity. Jack was put on the defensive. He was able to dodge the first few attacks initially, but Daemon's assault was relentless. He never ceased attacking, the strength of his slashes growing every second. Though to the untrained eye it might seem Daemon's attacks were unrefined and amateurish, Jack saw through them. It wasn't that they were sloppy or poorly executed, it was simply that these attacks were never meant to be refined. It was as if his opponent didn't care how or where he struck, as long as blood would be spilt. Whether that blood was Jack's or his own didn't even seem to matter to him.
After each successful dodge in the beginning, Jack had managed to get in a hit or two. These slashes however seemed to do little to halt the half-naked powerhouse's advance and only seemed to please him further. And then eventually came the point where Jack became unable to dodge every strike, and had to block attacks with his own sword. He had to support the blade with his off-hand to ensure the sword wouldn't break, and even then had to redirect part of the attack to do so. At his point Jack had been fully forced on the defensive, in a situation that was looking bleaker by the minute.

The hell Jack wasn't enjoying it though. As Daemon's assault grew more fierce, Jack's face contorted into a wide grin, and he began to laugh as well. He hadn't had this much fun in ages! Sure, he had been in hairy situations, barely dodging bullets, avoiding getting cut up or crushed by supernatural plants and fighting large groups of armed opponents, but this was new. He was being pushed back in pure melee combat, something he had rarely experienced. Now, to most heroes this might have presented a sense of fear, or perhaps even anger, seeing the opponent as an enemy, an existence they needed to destroy that was destroying them instead. Jack saw instead a rival, a challenge. He was losing this fight; he had all the odds against him.

But he wouldn't die, at least not just yet. It wouldn't make sense for him to die here. After all, he had just begun this rivalry; what sense would it make for it to end so soon? That would be lame.


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Post by Husk on March 20th 2012, 3:04 pm

Jack dodged his attack, but now he had to fall back. Bah, sometimes it's easy to forget that regeneration isn't a power everyone has. Daemon was used to chasing down his prey however, and he spared no effort in doing so in this battle. Mostly foes would not dodge his attacks, because they'd have died from the first one. A challenge can be refreshing once in a while between all the bloodshed. Of course, Daemon still wanted that blood, there was no avoiding that. One of them would die, and as orgasmic as dying would likely prove to be, he knew that living to kill was something worth staying alive for. To this end, he'd kill Jack, right here and now. After all, he liked the man, it would be rude not to kill him. It would insult the value of his life.

Daemon grew more and more thirsty for that kill, and his eyes showed it. He was happy his foe was enjoying it too, as such people were rare in life. Sickening, Daemon thought, that most people feared death. He would not even want to remind himself that there were people out there who would stop murder, place laws against it. Truly sickening. He wished he had more power so he could have these fights without having to hide. It angered him greatly, but he had no other choice. If he were locked away with no way of honouring the commandments, he would be a disgrace. He would have to sacrifice himself, and he did not want that. He wanted to make his gods happy, he wanted to bathe them in the blood of innocents, as any respectable man would.

As Jack was forced into blocking the attacks instead of dodging, Daemon switched his method of attacking. It didn't take a genius to come up with Daemon's attack strategies, but it would be foolish to assume he wasn't skilled. Instinct and intelligence are not related as far as combat is concerned. The attacks would let up for barely a moment as Daemon changed the facing of his great knife, the large flat side taking on the side he would strike with, as opposed to the smaller edges. He was trading cutting force for sheer force of impact. So long as Jack had to block the massive blows from such a large blunt weapon, he would take damage no matter how well he blocked. The true goal of these blunt attacks however was not to deal damage, but the disarm. Holding one's sword while trying to block attacks aimed at breaking that sword, or knocking it out of his hands, was not something that could be done.
Jack could either go on the offense, a pointless endeavour, or continue this pointless sparring.
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Demon Butcher of the back alley district. Empty Re: Demon Butcher of the back alley district.

Post by Jack Maroon on March 20th 2012, 4:40 pm

The barrage of blows that Daemon was treating Jack to stopped for a moment as Daemon switched up his method of attack. Using the blunt side of the blade, eh? For a moment, Jack wondered why his opponent would do that, putting himself in his position. Was he trying not to kill Jack? No, that's ridiculous. Didn't seem the sappy type, and besides, even when using the blunt edge, the force this brute put behind the attack still wouldn't be any less lethal. Heck, it'd probably even be more dangerous, more a hammer this way than a sword. It was a Big Fuckin' Sword though, so either way it'd probably be dangerous. Pretty prominent in anime and vidgames actually. He had considered to use one himself when he started out his career in combat, but had decided against it since it would probably get in the way during battle. Not really his style. Fitted this Daemon guy way better.

As should be expected of our intrepid hero, Jack spent the short moment in which Daemon showed an opening by switching his grip thinking about trivial details. A really bad move on his part. The brute wasted no time in bringing down his mighty slab of steel on Jack's unready defense, a blow that would no doubt have shattered Jack's katana if he didn't let go of it. In his absent-mindedness Jack's sword was flung across the alleyway, bouncing off a wall and landing on the ground with a few metallic clangs. Jack himself narrowly averted bodily harm by quickly stepping back, a move that wouldn't have worked if it weren't for the fact that he could move at a speed of 364 ft. per second when he put his mind to it.

He had been disarmed, robbed of his mighty blade, the symbol of his power. Jack had fought many a battle with that blade (really with any of his katanas, but what's the difference to a delusional maniac?), and now he would have to do without it. It was as if he had lost a limb....
Jack looked at the sword briefly, and then returned his gaze to his opponent and smiled. 'Fuck that shit, we're talking about Jack Maroon here. Don't need a sword to be badass.' He thought to himself. In the time given to him by the distance he had put between him and his opponent, Jack adjusted his stance from a swordfighting one to his barehanded stance. Wasting time only to punch his fist into his other hand as a show of cocky badassery, Jack rushed at his opponent, his mind focused on the battle. Like Daemon, Jack wasn't very smart. His intelligence was rather average, and only seemed a bit lower due to the delusions his aneurysm sometimes induced in him. But this lack of great intelligence belied his skill and his profound talent for battle. Jack saw most of the openings in opponent's stances, flaws he could make use of, potential moves the opponent could execute. He was able to predict bullets' trajectories and even dodge them thanks to his inhuman speed of movement. Saying combat was what he was born for would be wrong, since he had not always had this gift. But it sure as hell was his calling now.

Daemon again swung at Jack, but now Jack was ready again. He didn't need to worry about not having his sword break; it was lying safely on the ground ahead. In reality, his usage of katanas as his choice of weapon was only a hindrance to his style of fighting. After all, he only used them because he thought it was cool.
Jack side-stepped the swing of the blade, but didn't leave it at that. Before the oversized knife had finished its swing, Jack grabbed hold of it, positioning himself right in front of Daemon. Time for some good old fashioned throwing techniques. Jack grabbed part of the blade by the dull side with one hand and Daemon's wrist with the other, and used both the momentum of the swing and his own superhuman strength to launch Daemon into the air. Jack's throwing techniques were based on relatively pacifistic martial arts, but that didn't stop him from making them into deadly and violent moves for his personal use. Besides, with his strength he could afford to improvise a little.

When Daemon hit the wall, Jack wasted no time in lunging for his foe again, this time treating him to a seemingly unending barrage of punches, each of which packed enough strength to blow a normal man's head off.

"GOMU GOMU NO GATTLING GUN" Jack shouted during his assault, making use of the moment to make a bad anime reference. Even Jack found this one slightly lame, but thought it fitting nonetheless.

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Demon Butcher of the back alley district. Empty Re: Demon Butcher of the back alley district.

Post by Husk on March 21st 2012, 5:21 am

The attacks did their job quickly as Daemon slammed the katana out of Jack's grip through sheer brute force rather than finesse, a description that applied to all of Daemon's attacks so far, and the attack would have hit Jack too if not for his dodge. Well fuck, he's fast. Daemon had met fast supers before but fuck Toten if they even came close to that level of speed. Jack was now a great distance away, but Daemon wasn't worried, he knew his foe wasn't making an escape attempt. It would be to the death, as all battles should be. His optimism turned out truthful as Jack switched his fighting stance to a barehanded one and dashed with great speed towards him. Daemon have a toothy smile as he swung his blade with as much strength as he could muster with what time he had before Jack reached him. Unfortunately for Daemon, it turns out that Jack had the reflexes and the skills to back up his apparently reckless charge, as Jack caught the sword and abused Daemon's momentum by using it to aid his throw.

Daemon followed his sword through the air, as he had little option thanks to Jack flinging him as well, and ended up crashing into a wall in short air time. As he landed on the ground, he barely had time to get on his feet before he was suddenly enduring a barrage of super strong punches. He heard Jack yell something, but he couldn't make it out through all the dazing blows. Though while it was clear that Jack's rapid attacks caught Daemon off guard and were subduing him, they weren't exactly dealing any damage as a result of his toughness and regeneration. Blunt force trauma was weak against those who could regenerate, but the force of the blows was still effective at distruption. It took a moment before Daemon could gather his senses to fight back, and he did so by pushing forward and sending a right hook into Jack's stomach, trying to wind him and push him back at the same time with the greater strength Daemon controlled. After the knockback, Daemon roared and lifted his sword arm, closing in on Jack and swinging the great knife in an attempt to cut him in half along the upper torso. He seemed to be a fan of dismemberment, though it was doubtful Jack was making notes on this.

Daemon thought the fight had gone on long enough. He didn't fight to enjoy battle, though that wasn't to say he disliked fighting, but to kill. Daemon had enough of a workout to last him the night, so it was time to finish up and offer crimson to his gods before hitting the sack for the night. His attacks were now all killing blows, and he was willing to plow through anything his opponent put out in order to land them.
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Post by Jack Maroon on March 21st 2012, 12:32 pm

It seemed to Jack that his attack was working; the constant flurry of punches had dazed Daemon, and even though none of them did any lasting damage the success of his attack made Jack happy. It was an awesome move, he thought, and he thought it would have been a good finisher. That is, if his opponent weren't a murderous regenerating psychopath. Being so caught up in his own attacking, Jack failed to take notice of Daemon recovering and was surprised with a right hook in his stomach. It was a heavy blow, one that an ordinary man could not have survived, and even Jack would be feeling for the coming weeks. If he were to survive this encounter at all.

Upon receiving the blow, Jack instinctively began to move back, preventing any more punches from connecting. It was too late. Daemon wasn't planning another punch. No, dismemberment by giant knife was more up his alleyway. Daemon swung his blade with great mind, and for once, Jack was unable to completely dodge it, even with his speed. Jack felt the giant weapon cut through his flesh, creating a huge gash across his torso. He had managed to back up sufficiently not to get cut in half, or have any of his organs cut up, but it was still pretty bad a wound. The strength of Daemon's slash, though not enough to cleave Jack in two, had flung Jack across the alleyway in a fashion that was almost similar to how Daemon himself had been thrown around earlier.
With a loud thud he hit a wall and fell to the ground, right next to where his sword had landed before. This was new. Yup, definitely new.

Never before had he been wounded to this extent, and by only one attack. This wasn't like in the videogames he had played as a child, nor was it like in television shows. This shit really hurt. Debilitating pain spread through Jack's body as he tried to get himself to his feet. In a daze, he felt at his wounds. A few of his ribs were cracked, and he was bleeding pretty badly. His vision was blurry, his entire body numb. Struggling to his feet, he saw his enemy advancing towards him. Not to wound, but to kill. Jack didn't want to die. Not in an alleyway, killed by a stronger opponent. There was no story build-up, no dramatic finale. It was so anti-climatic. Not more anti-climatic than randomly succumbing to an aneurysm, but still. He closed his eyes. This wasn't like anything he knew.

Hell no, this was way better. The air was rife with tension, the strange emotion of fear filled every pore of Jack's body. This was new, this was exciting. Would our hero be impaled on an oversized knife, cut in pieces, decapitated? Fuck no he wouldn't, not if it were up to Jack Maroon. And guess what? His story, his rules. The hero doesn't just die that easily.
The brute charged at him with his blade, ready to deal the finishing blow. Jack opened his eyes and reached for his own blade. Using all the strength he could muster, Jack raised himself from the ground. Daemon's sword came from above, intending to cut him in two. That wasn't going to happen. With his left hand, Jack pushed away the blade that was coming down on him, throwing Daemon off-balance. A risky move that would have culminated in his death if he weren't so damn awesome. And there it was. His golden opportunity. Only opportunity. An opening he would use wisely, for once. Epic stab.

Jack's sword pierced through Daemon's unprotected chest and shot right through his heart, the blade's point sticking out of Daemon's back. Jack rested in Daemon's bloody embrace for a moment before pushing him away, sword still stuck in his body. Surprisingly, his enemy wasn't dead. Wasn't as sprightly as he was before though. Immobile was the word, since his heart couldn't properly regenerate due to the katana wedged into it.

"Right...you can..urghh...keep that hngg...for next time." Jack wheezed, clutching at his chest. "We'll finish this later...dude. See you around..." Jack managed to utter, then started a sprint. In his condition, he couldn't even make 150 mph, a pretty normal feat for him. It was a wonder he could still run though. Now he only needed to find a doctor before he'd die from his wound anyway. Eh, he'd manage.

And so began a glorious rivalry...sort of.



(OOC: Anything that may have seemed like godmodding in the battle portion of this thread was agreed upon by both players and planned beforehand. Exit Jack Maroon. Thread will continue between Eris and Daemon.)
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