Glyde Savian vs. Malisa Jals

It's good to be home again... it's been a while, Glyde thought as he looked upon the massive, hardwood doors standing proudly before him. Gently, yet powerfully, he slid his right hand down the, feeling the archaic etchings, made barely visible by the shrouding dusk around him. He hadn't realized it until now, but it was getting late a lot faster than it normally did, or maybe he had just gotten mixed up on the trip back from Traverse Town. Either way, it wasn't good to be caught outside unescorted by an officer at this hour. He'd be yelled at again, and the squads would get their paces tested in the morning. it just wasn't worth it. Yeah. It's really good to be back. Love this place. To the death of me.

His hand paused for a hesitant second, gripping, with clear uncertainty, onto the brass handle of the right side door. Step one, report to Jaq. Step two, survive being torn apart by Jaq. Step three, repeat step two. Step four, bed... if I'm that lucky. Convincing himself of this desired plan, he pushed the door open. The deep sound of wood and metal creaking around the axis of door hinges echoed out through the shining corridors. Immediately, he was greeted by the set of arches, expanding prospectively along the main stretch of the halls, each other corridor branching off as narrower segments. It was a vast place, and a journey too deep into it could potentially get a person lost. Even the uppers usually had to take a few minutes to get their bearing straight.

"You haven't changed a bit, have you?" he said, not registering that he had spoken to naught but a collection of stone and wood. "Yeah," he added, "I know how you feel. Things are getting pretty crazy these days. That's why you need your rest tonight."

 

"So you're the guy I was transported here to fight?" The voice was that of a feminine throwback, ensuing out from beyond the arches about sixty feet down the hall. There was a brief moment of suspicion, and an awkward glare as Glyde sized up the young woman. She was about his age, though he knew she wouldn't see him in the same light. He had always looked younger than he really was. He could also see that she was far from the ugly duckling. Her flowing, perfectly straight white hair, fabulously figured body, and soft blue eyes, it was all so inviting (with the exception of the whorish getup with which she was adorned, though even he could make exceptions). Were there no need to fight, he'd have been inclined to complement her beauty with cliche.

To his immediate shock, she manifested within her hand the familiar form of a a legendary weapon: The Keyblade. He searched his memory, trying to recall seeing her around The Academy prior to this. But no such memory existed. He had seen pretty much every student, and there had been no talk of anyone new coming in. But then, she had to be a new student, or otherwise, a freedrift; those sorts did like to stop by every now and then. And there were more Keybearers like that than there were at The Academy. The job was more lucrative. Even more to his shock, she placed her Keyblade down against the floor, utilizing it as crutch as she stood. They expect me to fight HER? This tournament s*** is getting ridiculous. "It would seem that I am to be your next foe in this mess."

"I have to say, I don't meet many people that talk to buildings. Vehicles, yes. Buildings no. Anyway, I'm Malisa. And you?" The pleasantries were always a sure sign of guile, and trickery. But of what sort, Glyde couldn't discern. The freedrifts seemed to have a more unique set of power than the soldier breeds. He humored her, or perhaps, he was humoring himself more so than that. "My name is Glyde Savian. And yes, I do tend to talk t these buildings. Sometimes, when everything has settled down for the evening, these places feel.... Almost alive." He paced forward, only about a yard or two. Yet there was nothing to be found, no hint or tell of malicious activity. She wants me to take the first shot, I guess. His arm flew up, placing his hand in line with his face, and in a bursting flash of light, Marksman appeared solidly within his grasp. "I've got one of those myself," he said. "Actually," he tacked on, pointing at the holster on his belt, "I've got two."

Again, there was silence, and Marksman dropped down to Glyde's side. It was all looking too easy. His last opponent had been all over him within a few moments of the battle starting. This one was just standing there, with no defensive, or offensive in mind. "Well," he said, submitting the hope that she had nothing going for her, "I've been ruing this thought for while now, actually. I never thought to hope that the day would come that I'd have to see the halls of this Academy as a battle ground. Much less that I'd have to see the blood of my own kin spilled upon it. But an order is an order." Marksman rose, held more as a Tommy gun, rather than a rifle. "I'm sorry," he stated, and with a sighing breath, he ordered the release of a single round. It bolted through the distance between himself and Malisa. Six hundred meters per second.... this... it?

 

Shiz, mang. This chick's got the spells down right.[/I] Glyde was naught but able to observe as his shots drove into the barrier. Upon contact with the sudden manifestation, both shot, and shield fell apart, canceled by one another. The barrier had been erected at such a small interval of time that the thought of it having been enacted barely managed to click with his senses. Even more intriguing of her power was her second cast spell. The barrier, he gathered, had been left negated entirely, and in its place, there had come a set of what looked like mirrors, floating in a hexagonal formation around the spellcaster. I take that part back. She's REALLY got the whole spell thing down right. Better watch my ba... His thought was left incomplete before her next assault.

Sticking to what he had come to see as her way of battle, she kept things interesting. A single shot of magical energy, comparable to his own shots, though by his measure larger, barreled in upon him. Swiftly, he placed his keyblade in front him as a wizard's staff, casting the reflectega spell. It was not deformed, or altered to any extremity, which would have made difference in shape. In that respect it was a normal spell, a domed barrier, swallowing the space between the walls on either side of him, and maintaining height five feet shy of the ceiling. What it was altered in was alignment. Flipped around, the interior of the spell was left open. It was more of a cup than anything, made to catch the blast. It boded even better on his part, as the single large burst had split. Any rebound effect would simple cave the fragments of energy back into on another.

But by that point, Glyde was already rid of the cramped corridors, which would have left him at a disadvantage. He had slipped out in reverse through the doubled, oak doors, and was now sprinting along the front of the building. A marksman needs room to operate. I’ve got the home field here, at least. The shock of her magic colliding should leave her slowed, at least a bit. While estimates on how long things would take hinted towards him having time, he placed himself on the edge of a large pillar, holding up the stone overhang some eighty feet above him. It was large enough that the circular shape would be enough to hide behind, yet at the same time, provide a view of the doorway sixty feet away. He’d have to wait, watching that sweet spot, for the right moment to let loose again.

 

((Sorry if this post is a bit lackluster compared to my others. I'm leaving for the weekend in a few hours)).

The night at The Academy was no different from that one back Traverse Town. And Glyde, reminiscing of that time, recalled his close shaves with death upon those grounds. He was lucky to have been deemed the winner of that round, more than he realized. This is so much akin to that night, he thought while standing behind the pillar. I could have been dead on the spot then. And maybe, i should have been dead. But I'm not, so I guess that just means it's all fate's wo--. Psssh. Who the hell am I kidding? Fate? Destiny? The only bit of that rests here for me, behind these walls, and on this campus.

He fought to hold back what would have been a silence piercing cough, and stalked around the pillar, so that he could get a better view of the scene beyond the walkway. There was nothing, and no one else around at this hour of the day, even though by 'home' standards, it would still be too early to turn in for the night. I've been away longer than I thought. It all seems so fruitless to me. Why? It was ambiguous of him to have asked such a question. Even he had no idea what the word had meant when it passed through his mind. Perhaps I'm... losing faith in The Academy. Or maybe, I'm just gaining faith in something... Awe s***, I don't have the foggiest of clues anymore.

He leaned around for a look at the oak doors. They remained unopened, and changed from when he had given her the slip. She isn't really gonna hole herself up in there?

 

(Some doors don’t need to be pushed to close. Some just close on their own, like the doors to the church I (used to) go to. The doors to this building wouldn’t be much different).

The waiting game ground to an abrupt halt. The creaking sound of an opening door accompanied the light gusts of wind, piercing the silence of the voided Academy’s campus. No words could describe the adrenal responses taking place within Glyde’s mind and body. The fight or flight instincts boiled over, and again, he was excited. The shot was to be taken, and it was to be done so with little to (preferably), no hesitation on the matter. She may be a keybearer,one of my own kin, but that does little to absolve her from fate. She’s my opponent first, and a comrade latter, if there is to be such a time for her. Of course, if it turned out that it wasn’t her, there would be no such action. But it wasn’t anyone else but her, stepping out from the heavy oak doors, her near flawless form imprinted against the flushing yellow light forcing its way out from the door. From her lips, she uttered the mocking call for Glyde’s immediate exposure.

Perfect. Come out little birdie. Moving with the stealth and grace of a feline species, Glyde retreated back behind the stone pillar. Shimmying along the rough stone surface, he brought himself around to the other side. Here, his view was centered on the outside of the oak door, now falling to a close behind Malisa. Suddenly, Glyde found himself loosing the audacity to take his shot. She was right in his line of sight, centered within the. But now his heart wasn’t so into it as he thought. And the looks of Marksman were reflective of this change. The once pure black form of the Keygun seemed to fade into a paled gray. No, he thought, this seems too easy. She’s just standing there. Why would she just stand there when she knows I’ve got my sights on her? It was all jut fishy from the perspective of a soldier, a sniper especially. A person didn’t stand in the open. And much less attractive was the thought of the aura that seemed to have encompassed her.

She’s got something cooking, something up for the defensive. I… I know she does. Again, he had retreated behind the pillar’s cover, his prayers drifting towards the wishes that his concealment had been maintained. The long form of Marksman flashed out of his hands, leaving them emptied, and free as he slipped down his legs, pulling Quick Shot out from its holster. The pistol, lighter, more maneuverable, and less prone to recoil than its brother blade, gave Glyde the off sense of being like a western hero, albeit lacking the actual heroics. He didn’t think much of his next move. Another pillar was some distance out, about fifty feet or more. His legs moved, throwing him into a dead sprint down the covered walkway, aiming the pistol over his shoulder. It was a blind shot, taken with no proper aim, though his confidence in its path was true. The sprint ground to a sliding halt just passed the next pillar, leaving him on three points of contact, now still, and turned back towards the doorway. This one is a toughy, a real toughy.

 

Ummm…. What Glyde had heard had hinted so strongly towards an outright hit, which in all respect should have left Malisa damaged. There had been an explosion, at his back, and as he had ran towards his cover, he had picked from the corner of his eyes, the tell of a burst of light. But as he turned on foot, what he viewed didn’t line up with his hearings. The shot that should have dealt its do unto her had been ineffective. Malisa was still there, standing proudly, and combat-readied. She was unscathed, and visibly, unshaken by his assault, not that he had expected for the latter to occur. Must have been another shield spell, Glyde convinced himself, knowing that would have been the only reasonable cause for his bullet’s blunder. That, or she’s…. invincible, to some degree. That would suck.

He went to take another shot, extending his wielding arm forward towards her. He had gotten a haphazard, non-lethal aim set, within the split of a second. I’ve got it, he thought, pushing his mind to force the shot out. But again, he was greeted by a disappointment. A spotlight, of some sort had been placed on him, obscuring his aim. Eyes closed, and half fumbling, he retreated to the cover of his new pillar. Not that mattered, really. But at any rate, being there would give his eyes a chance to readjust. But that was when he both felt, and faintly, in the cloaking of the spot, saw it: Another spell, a blast, as she had sent out earlier. Only this one didn’t split off as before. Or so, he didn’t think it had, as nothing had made contact with the pillar. In a short second, the attack had passed, and the spotlight had faded.

He was safe again, for the time being. But for how long, he estimated nothing spectacularly lengthy. He had maybe about a minute, at the most. In that time, he’d have to do two things: figure out her strategy, and find a counter to it. That’s right, I’ve got a way to do the former. Reminding himself to kick himself in the head after the battle, he dove into a brief state of focus. From his core, the very pit of his being, he dug deep into his inner self. He knew it was there, he had found it some time ago. The Drive Form, as it was called, began to take root. In truth, it was more of a semi-drive, existing halfway between his base self, and the Full-Drive. Which half, had been left entirely up to him, and his decision had fallen into the primary sniper skill: Concealment.

He could see, and feel the effects being placed upon him. Light itself was refusing to land upon him, or even the new Keygun that had come into his hands; a full bubbled-dome in which light would be unable to touch, and reflect. So long as he remained intelligent about it, he’d be able to operate without the anomaly being exposed. Time to see what you are. He shifted around the pillar, orienting himself with his right side hugging the stone, the gun sitting an inch away from the side of the pillar. It was silenced, and the resulting flare from the shot would be significantly diminished. Likely, it wouldn’t be until the shot exited the refraction field that she’d have even a clue that she was being targeted again.

Bang. A silvery burst of energy skimmed out of his cloaking, whizzing towards his target.

 

Those few fractions of a second within which his shot had been fired had given him the information he sought. It was just a matter of pulling off the quick calculations, and piecing together what it had all meant. In his head, it happened in no more than a second. The shot had hit her; of that much, at the very least, he was dead certain. The effect had made that clear enough. But there, in this minor gain in ground, resided the primary issue. It had torn through her body, and by his eyes, there had been no blood splatter; this wasn’t to mention that, on a normal basis, the shots from his Key never actually caused open wounds, unless centered in on a vital area. It was normally just a force of impact deal. Still, awaiting her next, tiptoeing his way swiftly along the walk, he was left only with a foe that was essentially made of some form of magic…

No, he pondered, in frustration. If she were so…. Surreal of a being, she wouldn’t have needed to erect the barrier earlier. She’d have let the shot hit her, even if it were only to gauge how powerful they were. And there may not have even been a need to erect one regardless, if she were just some conglomerate of pure energy. Once more, he was lead to a conclusion, this one more viable, and obvious now that he wished he could have mustered it up sooner. I’ve been duped. That’s not even her, just some magically forged replica. But then where…. Yeah, that’s it. The door was open, wasn’t it? She’s taking a gander at my moves with her mirrors. And she’s inside, in the main corridor. So I just need to get the little witchy to come out and play. But how to do it?

He took himself another crouch against the door side of the next column in the lineup. Maybe if she thought he was coming in, she’d move out from there, go into hiding somewhere, somewhere from which she’d be able to employ a similar tactic against him. And she’d need time to set up her mirrors to fit the surroundings just right. She’d likely be inclined to put some distance between herself and her assailant. OK, this is gonna be a rough one. But I think I can pull it off. His gaze had come upon a stained glass window, forming upon it a mosaic of patterns of various colors. But it wasn’t all that tough of a material, not against the forces of nature, if they were used correctly. Without a motion, more of a hopeful thought, he centered an air spell upon the center of the window spinning, and compressing the air into a stabbing, jolt.

The spell was essentially honed onto a single point upon the window, boring into the material like a semi-translucent drill. A cracking sound broke through the night as the window gave way under the sudden alteration in pressure. In a short second or two, it had succumbed, and the glass shattered into the innards of an office off of the side corridor. It wasn’t the cleanest of breaks, but it left the space through which a person Glyde’s size could have climbed in without much of a hassle. Let’s leave it at that, shall we? Either you’re gonna run off, or you’re gonna be a curious little kitty, and come and see what’s happening over here.

 

Time to screw the the little lady? Fun, fun, fun. Malisa had had her time for joyous play, to sit back and tinker within Glyde's mind to her heart's content. Now, the term, 'an eye for an eye,' was in full play in the sniper's perspective. He had to get in some how, but at the same time he was in need of some means of throwing her off her guard. It was a trick that was easier said than done though. Her defenses were as tight as a cramped muscle, and her offensive capabilities now seemed to out match is at base level. But there was no desire in any fiber of his being for a direct attack, or even any form of assault.

Psychological ploys were called for; Little, almost worthless gestures, that could, at best, arouse her paranoia, and give Glyde ground on which to mount a real offensive with her being so swift in the counter action. it would require more playing than he'd have liked, but as his father once told him: "All work and no play, makes for a very dull boy." Thanks dad. Don't know where I'd be right now without you. His eyes were fixed upon the clone, which was on the move, walking closer to the shattered window. His assumption was that the clone itself had no perceptions outside of what it's creator possessed. Moving through the darkness, cloaked by the refraction of light away from his body, would be safe enough, as light bending wasn't so clear at night.

With his traditional grace, he scampered lightly upon the grass just off of the walk way, muffling the sounds of his boots thudding against the ground, just in case his assumptions proved incorrect. Managing to slip passed the double, he brought himself in line with the front doors. The one door had been left propped open, partially locked at the hinges. So she's just gonna let me come in? How kind of her..... Her. He rustled his head around in frustration. You know you must not think that way. This is war. Now standing at the edge of the door, five feet from the opening.

She was still there, though back at the cross section between the hallways. It was as planned. The majority of her defenses seemed to have shifted from the main hall to the branch. He was visibly in the clear to act in whatever way he had in mind. Yet the plan of action had changed from what it had been seconds before. HE could finish this now, given that her attentions were focused away from him. He had stealth, speed accessible within less than a second, and two spells to work with in his favor. And now, he had human anatomy to help him as well. Let's see if this one can do it, he pondered, stalking silently into the hall. He was about sixty, maybe fifty feet out from her, a viable distance from which to cast a spell. Again, he concentrated on an Aero spell, this time, honed, centered to trigger the moment she inhaled her next breath into her lungs, if the timing was right. What happens when breathing becomes a menace? By estimates, he had just this, and one other chance for a defensive before using spells would become impractical. He broke a new smile...