@mercy_:
Alluring subtlety of the fluid dexterity which permeated throughout ever muscle fiber and tendon in his body were broadcasted with buoyant gallantry. The C shaped convolution of his posture as he elusively shifted backwards in avoidance of the Poison Princess' tainted blade was a testament of his trajectory altering feint. Diagnostically dissecting the epic confrontation from its origins had granted the Black Mamba a level of anticipatory profiling. Analytically projecting a cerebral calculation in which he believed the martial arts stalwart before him had at least five known blades, and an incalculable number of cleverly concealed ones. A true artistry in her Chameleon like camouflaging of daggers had quietly impressed the Noir Rose's sense of strategical subterfuge further strengthening his original perception of her industrious intelligence.
Discernible discrepancies within the tissue of his elegant opponent's legs were like sonar pings authenticated through visual verification. Signaling the accumulation of severe muscle trauma weakening the assassin's foundation, but not her unwavering fortitude. Her shifted glance towards the chain collard daughter of the Knightfall linage seemingly strengthening her resolve before launching another amplified telekinetic burst with surgical like execution. Yet having earmarked the miniscule muscle machinations which proceeded an earlier arm extended attack attributed to an unseen force of propulsion, the Last Arashikage had already begun an evasive deviation of his position. The idiosyncratic contortion, made possible by a swiss army knife like selection of gymnastically themed options, and harmfully torturous to anyone not bolstering a triple jointed skeletal frame of uniqueness, instantaneously influenced the Rose's instigation of mobility.
Perception based martial arts intuition was a trait common in all Arashikage trained practitioners. So as the mysterious mutant hating defiler of the Arashikage Island found himself enveloped in the blinding sting of a sandstorm, his senses did not falter. Swimming his arm backwards and slightly twisting to avoid the first dagger, accelerating with inhuman speed to spin away from a second, before back bridging to avoid the third, poison tipped projectile in-spite of his visual impairment. Only the third had not missed, or more appropriately sailed by. Inside, the intrinsic reflexive arc of the Ultra-Sapien had allowed his lightning quick responses to reach out and snag the blade from the air while masquerading under the assumption it had miscarried like the rest. And as soon as the Last Arashikage brought himself upright the gifted speedster was upon him, her talentedly gripped dagger smoothly piercing through the island air.
Parrying with a theatrical side step simultaneously launching a palm strike towards the assassin's elbow in hopes of bending it the wrong way, he subsequently unveiled the liberated blade of prior concealment. Striking at the carpel ligament and the thenar eminence fibers within the wrist unaware of the telekinetically constructed sheath. And briefly oblivious to the fact his throat had been slashed until the warm stream of blood began flowing over his chest underneath his shabby attire. Dropping down to one knee clutching the arteries closed with substantial pressure, he suddenly somersaulted backwards stylishly positioning himself in a kneeling demeanor behind Slave. One hand pulling her forehead back exposing her neck while the other held the assassins own blade to it. Though the potentially fatal wound had severed his vocal cords the look in his eyes said it all.
"....A life for a life, my dear......."
It was a flurry of frenzied frenetic movement as they parried shots and traded blows. He was nothing that she had ever seen before and frankly, nothing that she wished to ever see again. Sanguine training and legacy took you only so far, each Sanguine performed differently under varying circumstances and Mercy was one of the most promising to come along in decades. It was a burden that she thrived under.
Now was no different, save for the fact that for the first time in her 25 years, she was fighting somebody who was actually her match, if not moreso. By the time that the sands had fallen and the dust had settled, there stood two bruised, and battered combatants. Tendons in her elbow were severed and her arm hung limply at her side as she did her best to mask the pain from the expertly applied strikes.
All of her previous injures had taken their toll and although her final coup de gras, so to speak, had been monumentally successful he had outmaneuvered her. She had a weakness here that he did not - Quintus's daughter - and any good opponent would utilize that weakness to the full extent.
The look in his eye indicated exactly what his intent was. There was no bluffing here, no testing the waters. He would slit her throat without a second thought and Mercy wouldn't be able to live with herself if he did. For one of the first times in her life, she felt a moral and emotional obligation to somebody else. That was not anything she had ever wanted. Every connection was a weakness. It was why she had distanced herself from her parents, aside from the fact that they were not approving of the Sanguine and Sicarii legacy.
She pulled her remaining knife from the wrist sheath and dropped it to the ground. One from the waist of her pants, dropped it to the ground. A series of three kunai's, dropped to the ground, poisoned tips digging into the dirt. The final knife from the sheath inside her boots and in an act of suppressed rage, threw it into the trunk of a tree with clear precision and not a single look. The message was clear. She would bargain for the girl's life.
Walking slowly in their direction, she halted three feet away and sunk down to her knees. Covered in a sheath of telekinetic energy in the case that this was a trap and he meant to eradicate both of them, Mercy was stowing pride and skill for somebody else.
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