Talk Only Gets in the Way

[Ephraim Steele]

Brow arching, Ephraim tightened his grip against the hilt of his blade, the soft sharkskin binding that made for an intricate grip had been all but crushed into a mold of his fist. He grimaced, most of his expression hidden behind his facial hair. This thing knew Sawyer, and with that he was intensely displeased. It was, no doubt, some sort of recognition that was far from reciprocated. The look that the small paladin gave him, told him that she was clearly not at ease with this creature.

The look in her eye told him that things were about to get personal.

When she lunged for the newcomer, Ephraim made for his own move, twisting through the forest of limbs and striking at the first of the creatures they had encountered. From his vantage point, he was able to use the bodies of his comrades to conceal his advance, and at the last moment, lunged from behind them, using the surprise of his appearance to his advantage. The silver blade flashed in the darkness as it lashed out, the razor-sharp metal whistling through the air as it came down on the vampire.

He didn’t know how the man had done it, but he avoided his initial strike, the tip of his blade finding nothing but his clothing. When he wheeled around, parrying the man’s counter, only to catch the tip of his blade slicing cleanly through the meat of his cheek, he saw through the splash of blood that the second vampire had become two. It was that moment he realized that the thing had more power than he had given it credit for. He had seen the power in use before, but only very rarely, and those creatures had been… problematic.

He grit his teeth and shoved himself at the trio of undead things, his blade lashing out, first for the vampire they had stumbled upon, his blade going for the man’s face, catching his eye in a shallow slash, before he wheeled about and thrust his blade at the creature of living shadow, only to have the thing dance out of the way, even as a muzzle flashed close enough to his face to cause him to squint against the bright light as he twisted away from the whizzing bullet, only to catch it with his thigh, stumbling past the little knot of living corpses, and finding his way to his fellow humans’ sides.

Collectively, they were a fighting force, but he knew too well the limitations of the others’ strength, and knew that, with the surprising strength of the things before them, they were in for a fight for their lives. He tightened his grip on the blade until his knuckles turned white, holding the blade out in front of him as the polished silver dripped black blood, his eyes bore into the trio of vile monsters as his lips moved in a silent prayer. As the muttered words left him, he could feel his connection to the sliver of metal in his grasp become corporeal, the weapon more than a mere shard of material, and more an extension of his arm; a part of his very being.

As Samson broke from the defensive formation and lunged into Lecovio, Ephraim turned his blade in his hand and rushed behind him, throwing his weight into the little line of undead, blade flashing in a lightning quick slash that threatened the trio.

[Sawyer]

Like the others, it's proved to be difficult to keep up with the exact order of things. I do have the wounds listed from yesterday, just not the exact order. There's a lot going on, and yes, Sawyer will be bowing out in a few posts. :)

Pandemonium.

If there was one thing that the paladin did well, it was acts of pure and utter lawlessness. It was something that Ephraim had yet to be able to beat out of her, something that Osmond and Jenna tried desperately to control – but it was built into her veins, much like her desperate addiction. When the tensions amped up a few notches, causing the alley to erupt in pure chaos, she couldn’t control the slow, almost sinful smile that curved on her painted lips. Her grin was something akin to a Cheshire cat, the mischief sparking like wildfire in her eyes – only to turn to a catastrophic inferno when she felt the bite of the bullet pierce the flesh of her thigh. How in the **** had he moved that fast?

In her intoxicated haze, she realized that she was seeing double. There were two of the dark haired vampire, and it wasn’t the whiskey that was causing his ghoulish form to shimmer and split. No. While the one she had attacked turned from her, dismissing her as if she had been nothing more than a gnat against the flesh of his cheek, his other form attacked. Dropping her hand, she carefully pressed her fingers into the crimson warmth that spread across her denim clad thigh, her jaw tight. In the back of her mind, there was a small voice telling her to wait, to bide her time – but she couldn’t. She didn’t. Without missing a beat, she hoisted her blade, her lips moving in the quiet chant that she had been taught. When she felt her blood warm within her veins, the cleansing prayer restoring what it could…

She lunged.

Her blade moved in an effortless arc, the steel slicing through the shadowed figures stomach. It had used to bother her, to see their blood spill across the ground, but now it was delightful. The second her weapon was freed from his stomach, it was once again airborne, the edge cutting a thin and worrisome slice through the other figure’s throat. I told him he talked too much, she thought, even as she felt another bullet slice through her form – this time, lodging in her thigh. It caused her leg to buckle, her knee slamming into the asphalt, just as a bullet flew over her skull. She hated the sharp cry she made, the sound hissed out between clenched teeth. She hated that it would alert Ephraim – and alert him it did. Before she was even back on her feet, he was at her side, his sword swinging with expert strength to wound one of the undead – though, from her vantage point, she didn’t know which one.

After a few agonizingly slow seconds, she was back on her feet, her back pressed to the brick. From her stance, she could see everything. She could see Samson standing his ground, see Ephraim with rage in his eyes and blood staining his cheeks. She could see the vampires as they stumbled, and she realized that the fight was going to be one for the ages. It was going to be bloody; it was going to be painful.

It was going to be pure hell – and without a second thought, she leaped back into the fray, her blade swinging. She felt it catch, and when she came to a stop, she realized that she had managed to snatch a leg from one of the cloned undead - the one that Samson had left behind, back snapped.

Pandemonium.
She loved it.

[Storyteller]

=========AUTOMATED POST=========

The battle is over. Ephraim Steele's team are the victors!

[Ripper]

Between himself and his shadow side they had managed to defeat the female paladin warrior while tag-teaming to take on the other two combatants which whirled and sliced like a tornado of fervor. Out of the corner of his eye Ripper spotted as the other still unknown vampire managed to finished off the huge beard wielding axe-man with a knife to the throat.

The old man though was something else entirely. Even with the tables had turned and finding himself suddenly outnumbered he still moved like the devil himself, wielding that large sword of his with the same ease that another man might hoist a walking stick. Somewhere along in the fight with this human he had managed to lose an entire arm. The cut had been so clean that he had not even noticed it at the time.

Lecovio took off after suffering another grievous wound, probably fearing for his continued existence; so then it was only him and Ephriam Steel facing off.

Ripper shouts: "Are ALL paladin this obstinate?" but he could not manage to illicit a response from his silent opponent except another charge and a swing of offensive attack—so the battled continued.

Both combatants were seemingly starting to flag now although Ripper still felt confident enough that he held the advantages thanks to his enhanced healing ability. Still, there was one other factor that needed to be accounted for: after all these many hours of fighting the skies were beginning to lighten in the East. Daylight simply not the best time to be facing off with an opponent of this magnitude in a battle for his life.

Keeping his full gaze firmly set on the Paladin leader, he is surprised at how any human was able to take that amount of damage and remain standing, let alone continue posing a deadly threat to be reckoned with.

Slowly he backs out of the alley, shooting a two-fingered salute in respect for the last man standing .

“This certainly has been a right gay old time of it, me china. Things to do and places to be though with all that… Pip-pip!"

He leaves then without being followed.

[Lecovio]

Apologies for the delay, and the muddled reply; it's tricky knowing how to continue, partly due to the chaos but partly as Ripper has jumped ahead of us all with one post.

I'm going to jump ahead a bit myself now, and bow out.

Lecovio took a moment to catch his imagined breath, which was like the phantom limb dreamt up by an amputee. No matter how long passed, he couldn't get used to the idea that he didn't actually need to catch his breath at all.

For a moment, he watched the other vampire and his doppelganger slash and blast at anything that moved, and then the huge mountain man came at him again, swinging his fists as though he meant to make up for his axe -- as if Lecovio was some ancient oak to be felled. As he stepped into range, Lecovio acted preemptively and lashed out with his knife, directly and rigidly, aiming to impale the man as he came at him. But Samson was too fast, and before Lecovio knew it the towering beast was past his guard and had ahold of him. Lecovio's dagger fell away as his face was pulled into the wall by the rough grasp on his shoulder and arm. With clenched teeth, he roared as he felt his forearm give way and snap, struggling to look back to glance at his oponent with his one remaining good eye which was pressed against the stone. He lost his footing and went down.

Luckily, as he fell to the floor the momentum carried him around, and in a flash his automatic rifle was arching up and dispersing bullets into the man's midriff.

He pulled away with his one good arm, losing grip on his gun as he scrambled to find purchase on the uneven floor to crawl away from the melee. But as he did he felt an entirely new sensation. It was that feeling you get when you walk into the night air with your fly undone. But this sensation was in his knee. He looked back around, and down at his leg, which by now was a few feet away from the rest of his body. One of the maniacs had cut his leg off!

With his face, arm and leg practically rendered useless, he didn't stop to look up at whoever it was baring down on him now. He was seconds away from death, and he knew it. Closing his one remaining good eye, he summoned his mystic powers and blinked out of existence, teleporting away a few city blocks.

He would remember the faces of those who had attacked and bested him tonight. And he had a long, long memory where vengeance was concerned.