A/N
If you wish to enter the contest, take this as an example of a one-on-one battle-
Diabo raised his rapier to his face.
The face of what he presumed was Nimean pride.
The face that stood behind many a blow, to strange and kin alike.
The face that’s only betrayal of its holder’s emotion was a diabolical smirk.
“En guard, Liar,” Diabo said playfully, if not with aristocratic malice, to his opponent.
“Alleuz, Trickster,” replied Jacob, hearing the definition of his name for the first time in a while.
Diabo raised the sharp-bladed war maker to the height of his hair, half of which had been shaved as per the tradition of his family, bringing it down on his enemy in a rush that made sparks on contact with the opponent’s blade.
Jacob flinched momentarily, keeping his strength behind his arm, now contorted with the shape of the guard position.
“I see you’ve been practicing cousin!” yelled Jacob, thrusting upward and throwing Diabo off his strike position.
Diabo parted his lips to reveal sword-sharp teeth to his adversary, replying, “Of course! Did the most loathed of the Didas’ believe I would not pose a healthy challenge to him?”
Jacob was unfazed by the Rose of Bayutan’s attempt to psyche him off his tactics.
“It’s too bad you weren’t born Aguatan, Diabo,” remarked Jacob, returning his blade to the position in front of his face.
“You would’ve made an excellent shark!”
Diabo followed his cousin’s suit, placing his blade before his sneering mask.
“’Tis unfortunate you were never meant even for the Kingdom of Rejects,” he replied, beginning again the sword dance taught to him by his father before he had even dreamed of overthrowing the man.
Jacob struck first this time, succeeding in snipping a lock of hair from the Trickster.
“I implore you,” began Jacob, “to die with some dignity. Grandfather did.”
“The same grandfather your blasphemous, pathetic excuse for a 'father' led astray?” Diabo asked, spitting the word out as though projecting molten rock.
“Your danse screameth his black handiwork.”
Jacob prepared to strike, but was interrupted by a well-aimed thrust, coated with the Darkness of his cousin’s anti-regal position.
“You… you learned….. well,” Jacob replied between gasps, thrown into shock by the force of the blow.
“Surrender now,” began Diabo, grabbing Jacob’s hands and forcing them behind his back, speaking with foul breath in the traitor’s ear.
“And perhaps I shan’t end your bloodline.”
Jacob tried in vain to keep control of his own rapier, having it thrown across the room, leaving him in the complete mercy of his foe, failing also to speak and instead muttering a mispronounced curse.
Diabo threw Jacob to the ground, digging the heel of his boot into the enemy’s hand, bending over in order to be heard.
“Didn’t quite catch that, soldier boy,” Diabo whispered, once again staining the air with his breath.
“You may have to repeat.”
Jacob sucked in a pained breath of the dank air in the cavern which was their war theatre.
“I only meant to say,” he began, “I only meant to say that Father has the children,” he said, throwing as much hatred behind the remark as possible.
Diabo’s mouth closed in an angry frown, his pupils shrinking drastically.
“Children?” he asked in a failed attempt at a nonchalant attitude.
“All four,” replied Jacob, full of his Father’s evil. “I’m sure they’re enjoying the trip.”
Diabo stamped a steel-soled boot on Jacob’s chest, signaling for the Anubi to take him to the dungeon as he ran toward Lower Bayutan.
If you wish to enter the contest, take this as an example of a one-on-one battle-
Diabo raised his rapier to his face.
The face of what he presumed was Nimean pride.
The face that stood behind many a blow, to strange and kin alike.
The face that’s only betrayal of its holder’s emotion was a diabolical smirk.
“En guard, Liar,” Diabo said playfully, if not with aristocratic malice, to his opponent.
“Alleuz, Trickster,” replied Jacob, hearing the definition of his name for the first time in a while.
Diabo raised the sharp-bladed war maker to the height of his hair, half of which had been shaved as per the tradition of his family, bringing it down on his enemy in a rush that made sparks on contact with the opponent’s blade.
Jacob flinched momentarily, keeping his strength behind his arm, now contorted with the shape of the guard position.
“I see you’ve been practicing cousin!” yelled Jacob, thrusting upward and throwing Diabo off his strike position.
Diabo parted his lips to reveal sword-sharp teeth to his adversary, replying, “Of course! Did the most loathed of the Didas’ believe I would not pose a healthy challenge to him?”
Jacob was unfazed by the Rose of Bayutan’s attempt to psyche him off his tactics.
“It’s too bad you weren’t born Aguatan, Diabo,” remarked Jacob, returning his blade to the position in front of his face.
“You would’ve made an excellent shark!”
Diabo followed his cousin’s suit, placing his blade before his sneering mask.
“’Tis unfortunate you were never meant even for the Kingdom of Rejects,” he replied, beginning again the sword dance taught to him by his father before he had even dreamed of overthrowing the man.
Jacob struck first this time, succeeding in snipping a lock of hair from the Trickster.
“I implore you,” began Jacob, “to die with some dignity. Grandfather did.”
“The same grandfather your blasphemous, pathetic excuse for a 'father' led astray?” Diabo asked, spitting the word out as though projecting molten rock.
“Your danse screameth his black handiwork.”
Jacob prepared to strike, but was interrupted by a well-aimed thrust, coated with the Darkness of his cousin’s anti-regal position.
“You… you learned….. well,” Jacob replied between gasps, thrown into shock by the force of the blow.
“Surrender now,” began Diabo, grabbing Jacob’s hands and forcing them behind his back, speaking with foul breath in the traitor’s ear.
“And perhaps I shan’t end your bloodline.”
Jacob tried in vain to keep control of his own rapier, having it thrown across the room, leaving him in the complete mercy of his foe, failing also to speak and instead muttering a mispronounced curse.
Diabo threw Jacob to the ground, digging the heel of his boot into the enemy’s hand, bending over in order to be heard.
“Didn’t quite catch that, soldier boy,” Diabo whispered, once again staining the air with his breath.
“You may have to repeat.”
Jacob sucked in a pained breath of the dank air in the cavern which was their war theatre.
“I only meant to say,” he began, “I only meant to say that Father has the children,” he said, throwing as much hatred behind the remark as possible.
Diabo’s mouth closed in an angry frown, his pupils shrinking drastically.
“Children?” he asked in a failed attempt at a nonchalant attitude.
“All four,” replied Jacob, full of his Father’s evil. “I’m sure they’re enjoying the trip.”
Diabo stamped a steel-soled boot on Jacob’s chest, signaling for the Anubi to take him to the dungeon as he ran toward Lower Bayutan.
