Since I Promised I Would [Wayward vs. Destiny

Continuum?
Yes
No​

Forgive the lack of a traditional template. But I think what I've got works as well for these purposes. Anything not gone over in my bio will be touched upon in the post. ​

((As I've said, I'd like to battle Xolla. I really don't care much if my character dies here anyways)).

The World That Never Was, City;

“Easy does it boy,” Sam’s father whispered under his breath, only barely enough to be heard.

Everywhere in the tight alleyway, Sam was surrounded by the frantic, yet hushed movements of their company as they jostled about to prepare for the battle to come. The world was darkened, save for the bright neon lighting in the windows, and the street lamps that offered what little they could. The biggest source of light was emanating from the large tower a short way into the city, where a massive TV screen seemed to be stuck in perpetual fuzz. Those that moved were clumsy about it, as their eyes had even yet to adjusted the abundance of the darkness. Several times, he felt himself get pushed to the side by an older man, who obviously saw their role as far more important than any he could play.

“Keep your wits about you,” his father said. “Don’t go on sight alone. Feel things out. Listen too. You don’t want to get caught off guard here.”

Sam took his place in formation, near the back end, where those who specialized in short-ranged combat would wait for the marksmen in the front lines to be done with their part before engaging. The force of 100 men expected a large battle, or at least, a large skirmish as they hunted their prey for the day. Half of them had dispersed amongst the city streets to comb the area for any signs that might help in the clash. A quarter of their ranks had lingered behind to act as reserves, and keep the way shut to civilians. The last quarter, of which Sam and his father were part of, had taken up position where they understood, based on recon, their target to be.

But did they all know, as Sam did, what their target for the day was? It seemed unlikely that all of them would have been clued in on the reports. Rumor stated that a young Nobody, a female, had been spotted in Twilight Town. Local enforcement took note of suspicious activities. With so many stories about Organization XIII floating around from centuries prior, they rushed to apprehend the woman. She defeated them, which wasn’t too surprising, considering their lack of expertise in aggressive law enforcement. But the way she did so, they said, had been terrifying. Word had it, she had waved her hand, as though bouncing a ball to the ground… and the team of ten men had been buried under a pile of rubble from collapsed buildings.

Further rumors suggested that she somehow tricked witnesses… manipulated them to think it had been a mere architectural accident… faulty foundations or something. Fortunately, for Sam’s father, there had been a witness that saw what happened, and raised an alarm, which ultimately brought the militia company to that alleyway in the World That Never Was..

Believing the moment to be near, Sam made one last check of his equipment. His gunblade was secure in its sheath; he removed it, readying himself for combat. He patted against his padded vest, feeling that the ammo he had packed was still there. Three shells with blizzard spells, four with thunder spells, two with fire spells, and three more with force spells. He wished only that he had brought along an air spell, but those had been in short supply. Otherwise, he had about fifty, maybe sixty rounds of traditional ammo. But all he could do was hope for the best, and that he would be able to get out of the battle without using any of them. He knew it, but checked anyways to be sure that his Reflect shield generators were working as well as always.

Again there was jostling around him. The energy of the group’s focus had shifted to a position some fifty yards away. Sam heard his father mutter something, an order to make ready. A lone figure had appeared before them, clearly contemplating beneath a hood that veiled its face in shadow. Sam’s feet went cold in his army-issue boots. Sweat drowned his blue bandana as it filtered from his forehead. This was it, the ending of a hard day’s work. The being before them… the Nobody, if it were, was about have seen better days. After a moment of lingering silence and tension, the final orders were given out to the front line of the formation.

“Fire!” his father said calmly, though carrying it out as a yell, to let the being know what was in store. And a rain of bullets shortly after made to convene upon them… but was it really going to be that simple? ​

 

Fear. That was all that arrived to replace the anxious feel of facing the unknown foe. Not the release of tension, not even the bittersweet taste of a narrow and costly victory. Just fear, and in a greater abundance than anyone standing in the team had been ready to face. Despite their experience in dealing with fatal situations, and knocking on death’s door, they were beside themselves, even as they fired. At least, that was all that Sam could see in them. Perhaps they had been primed to deal with beings of animalistic caliber, he thought. Or maybe this really was the first real enemy they had ever faced, and that nothing they had ever trained in had prepared them for something so serious.

All of a sudden, none of that mattered, not to Sam, not to anyone in the group of twenty-five. The word fire had brought not the destruction of their prey, but the swift fall of the hunters. Sam’s ears rang out with the sound of screaming as about a dozen of the troops before him fell, downed by their own ammunition. Jostling to his side told him that the man that was to be his partner in dealing with the close quarters combat had fled down the alleyway. Retreating? Or maybe he was just making a loop around the catch the enemy off guard? Again, it didn’t matter, because he, and less than a dozen others, all but him wounded in some way, shape or form, remained to face the threat.

He tried to speak out against his father’s orders. His mouth opened, yet no sound came out. He merely mouthed his opposition, the logic that if the thing could move their bullets at them once, then it could just as easily do it again. They needed their reinforcements. They needed a real strategy if they were going to win the battle there. But desperation always overshadowed forethought, and logic was always to be ousted by the need for action. Again, they opened fire. And once more they had their volley flipped against them by the power of the being. Whatever it was had reached the where the front of their ranks had been, just as the last man fell at its side to flank its path.

For a moment, Sam felt as though the being was eying him… it was interested. Yet it turned away, and looked to the only other man standing amongst the defeated clutter: his father. He moved to join his father, to help him, but his legs had fallen stiff. Movement had been made impossible by the fear of the thing he was to fight. His ears then echoed with the plea of his father. At one moment he was begging for mercy. The next, he was furiously shouting at Sam to help him somehow… but it was in the last moment, right before his body was popped like a balloon that he bellowed for his son to flee for his life.

But still, Sam could not bring himself to budge even an inch. Even staring death itself he could only just stand there… and accept the fact that he might, and most likely would, die where he stood. He eyed the girl who stood mere feet away from him. Her gaze was infuriating. She knew what she had done, but all her eyes told him was that she was more than willing to do it another time.

Yet she was offering him a chance, it seemed… a chance to leave, or a chance to stand and fight. Maybe he could pull of what his father and the team had not. Maybe he could gather the rest of the one hundred troops and orchestrate a counter offensive, outsmart the woman, rather than overpower her, which was a far cry from possible with the few weapons and power they had at their disposal. If regular bullets don’t work… maybe… the thought seemed so perfect in that moment. Could this being’s power turn a spell… energy in essence, back upon its source? It seemed likely that she could, but the thought of being able to pull some sort of damage on her was worth a gamble.

He made just one move, which was cutting off in a sprint down a neighboring alley. It was a narrow one, in which only one person, or one of pretty much anything humanlike would have fit comfortably from side to side. Any enemies that were to come would have to file in for a slaughter as he passed through. As he ran, he loaded a single shell into the chamber of his blade. His choice had been to load in a thunder spell, since those were the most abundant that he had on him. All he’d have to do his wait for his moment. One way or another, she’d have to move against him, so long as he didn’t provide her anything more to fling at him. He turned at the end of the alley, and stared down. Hopefully she’d chase him.​

 

The rain drops trickled down atop of Sam's head as he watched the other end of the alley. He wished he had worn his rain hood, but at the same time, was glad be didn't. He shook his head slightly. He couldn't go thinking about something as trivial as a bit of rain at a time like this, not when his possible reaper was advancing slowly, and forebodingly upon him with blades drawn to end him. There had to be just the battle. Yes. Only his survival, weather one of victory or defeat, could be on his mind. Anything else would be no more than a distraction, one that would lead to his demise at the vicious viper's cold hands.

He stood at his end of the alley. The grip of his hand around the hilt of his weapon did well to mask its identity as a Gunblade. That was to be taken by him *as an advantage. Unless she suspected him of having a fire arm stowed away, particularly in a bladed weapon, she'd be caught off guard. But why would she suspect that? The weapons were still rather rare, due to so much failure, and there were never any distinctive models put into production to make them all that noticeable, a least as far as Sam had known.*

All he had to do was give his plan a try. If it worked, he could at least say he accomplished landing a hit on an otherwise untouchable enemy.*

Could he do it?*

You either jump, or you don't jump, he thought in echo of his father's favorite sentiments. Looking down the alley he knew he had to jump. The woman had to be stopped, if nothing else, for the sake of keeping others from running afoul of her; he'd certainly rather not see any more people crushed by toppled buildings. And if her mind trickery was for real, her tortures could go beyond physical damage. She had to be stopped, and he had to at least try to stop her.*

He charged down the alley, blade drawn back as to take a slashing move once he got into range. Yet amidst the earnestness of his sprint, he had concocted and carried his plan. The blade moved up for a thrust, the barrel masked well by the lack of light. He pushed forward against the air before him and pulled the trigger. The pulling was the sparking of a reaction of energies, which forced the spell contained in the shell he had loaded out of the barrel. He closed his eyes as he flare of lightning from the thunder class spell cut through the air in a bolt. You're it.

He just hoped his ruse had worked, or that she'd be incapable of deflecting magic.​

 

The lightning from Sam's shell lit up the back alley like a street lamp. For but a glimpse of seconds he could clearly see through the shadows. What he saw was both pleasing and dissatisfying. He gotten what he hoped for, a hit on the nobody, in which he found some consultation in which to rejoice. Yet that hit had nearly been a miss. She was fast, which he should have known when she flung the bullets back at the marksmen. But fast enough to dodge a lightning bolt, albeit just barely had been nothing he had expected to see.*

His nerves ran rampant as he watched the silhouette land perfectly on its feet with minimal damage. A success was a success, he reminded himself, keeping his will to battle alive, if not well.*

His ears took over for what his eyes could no longer tell him.*Through the rain drops he heard the spatter of feet passing through puddles. He knew she was charging, and he knew to protect himself. He drew his left hand up. With a clench of his fist, the gauntlet on the arm emanated a bright blue glow that dispersed out from the backside of his hand. Solid and sturdy, the shield forged by the amplified light filtering out of the gauntlet protected him from the slashes. The blades bounced and bashed against it until the final force pushed Sam back and out of the alleyway.

He had just enough time and momentum in his 'flight' to twist his body to face he wall behind him. Using the light shield to its purpose he protected his face from the shattering glass shards and electrical sparks. He planted himself on the ground, kneeling on one knee briefly before propping up on the pad of his foot. Trying to keep his movements inconspicuous, he loaded another bullet into his gunblade. It was a normal one though, no magic, no special properties. It would work so long as the opportunity was taken when it was right. Even a nobody so powerful as her could get injured by a bullet if placed right.

"What's your name?"*he heard her ask.

"What's it to you?" he asked asked back. "It didn't matter to you of the others you killed had names." Somewhere in the distance he could here something; another set of footsteps was drawing near through another alley. An ally, most likely. Or several, considering that he could hear them coming. With little more than a breath of warning, he spun his body around, pivoting on his planted foot. The other leg extended out in a sweeping motion towards the girl's legs. If success came from it, then he'd be all too willing to unload his next round on her. He wouldn't kill her, not that quickly anyways. But he'd leave a shot in her arm, or one of her legs. He wanted the rest of the company to show before he ended her, so she could see what lives she had tarnished with her previous killing spree.​

((To put my move into clarity, if his leg sweep is successful, ie if you take that hit, his follow through will involve firing off the round he loaded)).*

((Chances are good that I won't be able to post until Sunday at this point. So I'll see you then)).*

 

He felt the touch of his leg meeting with hers as it spun around in its full circle. As he pulled around to a stop after his spin, his heart lifted just slightly at the sight of her lying on the ground as a result of his move. Perhaps he would survive the battle, long enough to escape. Perhaps he could even defeat, to some extent, the foe that his father and his troops had been unable to land even a scratch on. With this thought of confidence filling him both in mind and in heart, he rose swiftly to his feet and aimed his weapon at the girl then lying on the concrete street.

The trigger pulled… but it was too late. His heart sank, though only a bit when he saw it. She had slipped out of his line fire by way of a portal. She had pulled away from death’s grip a third time. Where his bullet when, Sam hadn’t the foggiest clue. He assumed it was simply lost, resting somewhere in the dark realms where no use would come of it, not that a used bullet had any use outside of recycling anyways.

But the bullet was not his concern at that point. That matter was that of where his enemy had skipped off. She couldn’t have gone too far, and probably wouldn’t have either, considering that she was rather intent on finishing her battle with him. When he heard her voice from the ledge not far above him, he looked up and gazed intently upon what he could make out of her form. When again she had stated an interest in his name, he decided to tell. It wouldn’t matter in the end anyways, not if one of them would be dead by the time it was over.

“Eadan.” It was only his middle name, but it would suffice enough for her. He actually like it anyways, since his father and grandfather always went by Sam or Samuel. “Eadan Keene,” he finished. His grip on his blade tightened at the hilt. He wasn’t sure she was plotting or planning anything on him… but the moment seemed ripe for it.​

 

"Power?" If there was any power in these worlds that could spare a horrid fate such as what his father and the other twenty three soldiers had been dealt, he wanted to take it. But what cost was she offering this power? That of his own heart, his identity in essence. The question remained as to whether the cost to pay was worth the product he'd get.*

It didn't seem right to give himself up for power. Yet it beat dying... If he live with the power being offered he'd have more time, and more possibility. "It's a tempting offer. I do like power. It's always nice to be able to breeze through the trouble that comes around. I bet you're used to that feeling. I'd like to see where this power can take me."*

When he finished his monologue, he drew back with his blade. Both his hands gripped firmly to the hilt, and he turned the blade out to face towards the woman. "But I don't think I'd do my father, or myself much justice if I just let you take my heart." Then, a last, the distant footsteps from earlier drew close... Close enough that they had become more than just sounds, but bodies to go with them. War-ready men that comprised another quarter of the company had arrived on scene. All of them wielded blades this time; evidently the news had reached them as to how the other troops had died.

"The boy's got her," one of them said. "Hurry and finish it kid. *No need to let this drag on any longer."

Sam nodded. Heaving the blade, he made a slash across at the woman's torso. Thoughts and concerns numbed by adrenaline, he proceeded to make a short series of slashes in further advance.​

 

Sam's ears were deaf to what was ensuing around him as he mounted his attack. The shouts and shots and scurrying of his allies were like distant whispers in his head. The clanging of metal as his blade struck Xolla's echoed painfully in his ears. At the other side of a furious rampage of slashes and cuts, he found himself exhausted and tried by the surprising strength of his enemy. Worse still, he saw himself friendless, and alone again. Many lay scattered, torn and beaten, barely alive at best.*

Sam's only response was to back away from the woman that had caused such damage. Was it possible for something like that to even exist? How could he beat such an opponent without power of his own? Was it even possible to get power of his own to beat her as it was? He looked around. The few men that lingered between life and death slugged across the ground fruitlessly, leaving red trials behind them. One was by Xolla's feet, making a last futile attempt to put damage on her, weakly gripping at her leg with one hand and trying to get a fair stab with his knife with the other, a knife which dropped from his weak hand with a clang. Another was curled between Sam and Xolla, though not close enough to make any useful move.*

Frantically, Sam dove into his pockets and reloaded his weapon. The six shot barrel was loaded with six shells. The chamber for the spell shells was loaded with another lightning spell; that had worked before, and seemed his best bet. "Why?" he asked, raising his Gunblade at the nobody. "Why all this? Why topple buildings in town? Why?"​

 

Sam's ears were deaf to what was ensuing around him as he mounted his attack. The shouts and shots and scurrying of his allies were like distant whispers in his head. The clanging of metal as his blade struck Xolla's echoed painfully in his ears. At the other side of a furious rampage of slashes and cuts, he found himself exhausted and tried by the surprising strength of his enemy. Worse still, he saw himself friendless, and alone again. Many lay scattered, torn and beaten, barely alive at best.*

Sam's only response was to back away from the woman that had caused such damage. Was it possible for something like that to even exist? How could he beat such an opponent without power of his own? Was it even possible to get power of his own to beat her as it was? He looked around. The few men that lingered between life and death slugged across the ground fruitlessly, leaving red trials behind them. One was by Xolla's feet, making a last futile attempt to put damage on her, weakly gripping at her leg with one hand and trying to get a fair stab with his knife with the other, a knife which dropped from his weak hand with a clang. Another was curled between Sam and Xolla, though not close enough to make any useful move.*

Frantically, Sam dove into his pockets and reloaded his weapon. The six shot barrel was loaded with six shells. The chamber for the spell shells was loaded with another lightning spell; that had worked before, and seemed his best bet. "Why?" he asked, raising his Gunblade at the nobody. "Why all this? Why topple buildings in town? Why?"​

 

The moment of pause, however brief, had been enough, at best, to help Sam regain his composure, if not what energy he had dedicated to his barrage of slashes. Still, his feelings of exasperation and the steady loss of the hope he had had earlier lead to a waned and half-hearted defense against Xolla’s attack. His first, and obvious course was to fire off a round of a standard bullet, which flew off and shattered a nearby window as the nobody’s strike knocked the Gunblade out of aim. From a poor grip to nervous, sweat-laden hands, his hold on the hilt of his weapon stood little chance against her front. It slipped as he recoiled his hand from a cutting pain against his arm.

Both his Gunblade, and her katana landed with a clanging clatter some distance away, twenty or thirty feet, a sprint by the situation’s standard. Glancing down briefly at his wound, he found that the underside of his forearm had received gash from one blade or the other in the last run. But it had cut through his sleeve to make the wound, resulting in a less severe injury than it would have been otherwise. When he pulled his eyes away from his scarred forearm, he stared down the blade of the nobody’s other katana. It seemed over for him. Just one good jab or slash from the blade, or one strike from her magic, and he’d be a goner. He drew breath, deeply and calmly.

Yet it wasn’t quite over. There was one thing she had forgotten about, one thing that EVEN Sam had forgotten about until just then. He wasn’t sure if still worked after crashing into the neon signs, but a plan was a plan anyways. “If you really want me,” he said. He moved his uninjured arm up and around, in something of a restricted windmill motion. Breaking his doubts, the reflection shield generated by his gauntlet appeared as he had expected, allowing him to, with little to no harm to himself, push away at her blade. He sprinted over towards where the two disarmed weapons lied. With both in his grip, he would proceed to hurl her katana back at her with as much force as he could, and, in succession, fire a second round from his gun while she busied herself in defending against the sword.​

((Another if-then statement sort of thing. You can stop him getting to the weapons, or stop him from picking them up, or whatever you'd prefer)).

 

The disappointment that had filled Sam through the majority of the battle shot through the roof in its intensity. He had only hoped that the blade would make contact, even just enough to keep her down long enough for him to position himself right for another good shot. Yet with hope there always came the possibility of being let down. He tried as best he could to thwart it, but the force placed on his Gunblade was more than he could outmatch. Before he could solidify his grip, let alone place a shot on her, the weapon pulled out of his hand an into the sky, landing with a noticeable clang on a roof high above.

Thus, he stood alone, and without a weapon to use, a weapon, which was all he had going for him. But her… Xolla… she had no need for her weapons. She had already demonstrated that several times. She could crush him just by thinking it, or drive him insane from the inside out, maybe even convince him to drive one of her swords through his gut. All he had left was a pair of hands, and two legs that still worked just fine. He could use his shields in a pinch; it’s not like honor had anything to do with the battle. She had shown very little of that when she had her heartless minions devastate his company.

He didn’t have any power, not that he could tell anyways. But he did have something to work against her, if she could fall for it.

“I bet you’re nothing without those powers of yours,” he said. “I bet you’re just as vulnerable as anyone else without them; just as frail, just as sensitive. Especially since you’ve obviously been hiding behind them for a long time.” He said this, all the while inching his way both around her, and a bit closer to her with each step. “Without them, you’d have been dead from the start. Without them, I could beat you right now.” With a smaller distance between them, making less room for error on his part, he charged forward. It was just a step or two before he dropped to the ground in a rolling motion, rising up again propped on his left foot near where she had stood.

It had worked once before, so it was worth a shot. Once again, he swept his right leg across to knock her legs out from under her. He would continue to rise to his feet. He suspected that she might use a portal again; if that were going to be the case, he’d be quick to follow suit and pursue her through it. In any case, without shots to aim and rounds to load, he’d have an easier time adjusting to the situations he was in.​

 

Sam came around full circle. He thought he had seen another success; yet he was proven wrong, once more, as he had been throughout the battle. The second he was facing forward, he felt the blunt force of a foot knocking against his chest. Winded, and in quite a bit of pain, he fell back, catching himself just before hitting the ground.

He pulled himself up, despair rushing through his thoughts. A ninja? He had never battled a ninja before, but had heard of such warriors from his father in travel stories. He was beginning to realize his place, to some degree. But there remained the question: was he at least strong enough to hold his ground? Would his militia combat training be enough to combat her ninja training?

He stood up in firm posture. His fists were raised, so with one he could mount an attack, and with the other, he could block or catch a punch just about anywhere around his torso and head. But he didn’t attack. If he struck first, it meant a more possible defeat. If he waited though… there was the slight chance.​