I've been chillin' out on a star with my 5 star view

[lucetimods]

Who: All draftees
What: The space battle commences
When: After 3PM on the 19th to the 23rd
Where: In Space! On the Moon!
Summary: The battle finally begins! First there's asteroids to take down, then we finally arrive!
Rating: SPACE

MORE SPACE

All the details you need are here, so read up on it. This didn't get mentioned before, but you can tag the cultists instead of killing them. Details on this are on a previous draft post. Using the scanners are optional!

There will be a thread for interacting with NPCs, but they may not all go up at once, so keep an eye out for them.

Note: A log for the events in the village will go up on the 21st, in time for the hurricane and droid incursion.

Comments

[thirdparty]

His weapon was solid and fluid all at once. It was whatever weapon he saw convenient. He did not relent from his attack, not giving her time to go on the defensive. He followed it with a wide arc attack, the blade shifting into a bladed whip, as he struck out at the ground she had rolled away too. It snapped along the ground, the first blow being an intentional miss as he stretched the weapon into its new form. The second and third blows were aimed directly for her, at each of her sides, above the shoulder and then at the waist.

[herotypical]

His makeshift weapon bit into her suit and then into her flesh. Numbness turned into a sudden sting and Buffy gave a pained grunt. Nothing so bad that she couldn't soak it but it was a firm reminder not to mess around. Not to waste time. She rolled again, leaving a spattered trail of her own blood, before popping back onto her feet.

During his next strike, she would try slicing her blade through the shifted blood.

[thirdparty]

She succeeded. The whip was cleaved in two. The part that separated returned to its bloody form, splashing harmlessly at the ground. The remaining blood shifted into a new shape. A small sword, with which he returned another blow. An attempt to pin her in the shoulder.

[herotypical]

And pinned she was. The small sword slid all too easily through the suit and into the Slayer's body. Again, she grunted -- still far from crying out in actual pain. She tried to jerk free, snapping a rough'n'ready front kick in the General's direction.

"Somebody's been eating his vegetables," she said through grit teeth.

[thirdparty]

The kick landed on his side, knocking him back. He had not forgotten her strength. Though his strength might have been greater, it was rare to meet someone who could come close enough to compare. Inevitably she was freed from the blade and given a moment before his weapon would assume a new form.

[herotypical]

Having the scythe helped. A Slayer was always keener and stronger with her purpose-built blade in hand. While the difference wasn't massive, she'd only had its replica when she'd killed him. This one -- this was the real deal -- and although she could already get an impression of his greater strength, she didn't lose hope.

Not yet.

Bloodless. She had to continue with blunter attacks. The back side of the blade or its flat butt. Buffy jabbed the non-wooden edge towards his solar plexus. He was tall and that was a problem. But get a man on his back and height became irrelevant.

Unfortunately, this would not be an easy goal to achieve.

[thirdparty]

Another successful blow. One that might have even knocked him over, were it not for a sudden mighty thrashing from his wings, which not only gave him the thrust to stay on his feet, but gave him the momentum to move forward and suddenly. The sword shifted, becoming a simple club, which was swung directly towards her head. If it missed, it would be her shorter height working to an advantage. A larger foe, he would aim lower.

"Not a day has passed since we last met where I have not been in battle."

[herotypical]

"I guess some of us have a harder time keeping in shape. Need the extra practice, huh?"

Cocky. Too cocky. Buffy was altogether convinced that a mostly non-violent life in Luceti (barring the occasional vamp and draft) had left her softer than usual. She wasn't right in thinking this -- but she wasn't wholly wrong. Her body was just as capable but her heart had changed. Her priorities. Her desires. Often, she was more Buffy Summers than Slayer. And some days? More Annie than either.

But now -- clinging firmly to the tougher parts of herself -- she thought with her instincts. It took a few seconds for his blood to take new shapes, she noticed. It was warning enough. When she saw the club, she didn't duck and instead reached out to grab its rough edges and yank the General closer. The strength of the blow would definitely leave her palms scraped and aching. Bruised. Perhaps broken. It was a risk; the weapon could change again and she could lose her fingers entirely. But she expected it -- she watched for it.

[thirdparty]

She succeeded in pulling him closer. It was an unexpected move, as he had expected many other reactions. The slayer continued to surprise him. But this time, he did not waste time being surprised. He had more weapons than just his hands. As she pulled him closer, he raised his knee, aiming to place it squarely into her gut and knock the wind out of her.

[herotypical]

She grunted. His knee slammed into her body and she felt her entire person lift off the ground for a handful of milliseconds. Buffy was so small and light; she was easily thrown and easily lifted. She tried to make up for it by clinging to that infernal club. She wondered if she just felt a rib almost-crack from the hit and wondered if she should have just let go. Just let...go.

Her fingers ungripped. She stumbled clumsily backwards and stooped for her scythe. She wanted it between them.

[thirdparty]

While she was down, the General took the moment of reprieve to take his left hand and clawed at his right shoulder. Four bloody cuts opened up and the blood flowed into his hand. With it he formed a sword, large and powerful, that he brought down on her position in the very same moment it was being formed.

[herotypical]

"Gee, would I ever love to learn how you do that," she breathed the words in a tense huff. Buffy tucked limbs and scythe altogether against her body and once again rolled out of the way. But all of this dodging would only ever do her so much good.

And now he had a sword. A big old scary sword. Buffy stayed on the ground. She was waiting for him to once again swing that ponderous blade.

[thirdparty]

Another swing was made from his sword, this time not coming close to her. Her scythe was a better weapon than anything artificial he could create. It would be too easy for her to slice his sword in half. So instead, he saved the job for her. The edges of the sword broke apart as it made its arc, flying towards the slayer in the forms of tiny metal shards. Not enough to kill her, should they hit, but enough to draw blood and put and eye out.

[herotypical]

This? This she did not expect. It was all she could do to drop the scythe and cross her arms over her face -- protect her eyes, her neck, her head. The blood-splinters bit into her space suit, tearing strips and baring the flesh of her arms in thin lines. Blood was quick to fill those gaps and more blood flowed from a wider wound on her side, just above her hip. When she stood, it ran from her waist and down her thigh in a dark stream.

[thirdparty]

She was unarmed. He allowed the blood-weapons to shift, becoming clawed gauntlets around his hands. Quickly he lunged forward, to seize her by the throat.

[herotypical]

Blooded and alarmingly overpowered -- and without the scythe's boost to help her compensate -- Buffy was caught by the General's grip. A sick, wet sound escaped the back of her throat before there was little sound at all. Green eyes went wide.

She tried tearing at his wrist and arm as she felt her feet leave the ground.

[thirdparty]

"Tell me Slayer, have you dreamed of this moment? Wondered when we might meet again? Until this moment, I have not given you a second thought. Do not think of this moment as revenge. It is the gift of death."

In her attempts to get at him, her nails scratched at his skin, drawing blood. It stuck to her hands, drawing itself towards her and the nearest open wound it could find.

[herotypical]

Buffy choked on her words. Who is she? She wanted to ask about the woman in the locket. The locket that felt heavy and cold against her skin, stuffed under the suit. Had he thought about her, instead? Did he give her any gifts?

"D-did..." she forced a word out. Hoarse. Pained. And then she forced more: "Did you kill her, too?"

Too. She expected death; however, she didn't plan to allow it. She would fight death some other way. Her blood-slicked fingers drooped from his arm and what started as an attempt to pry his fingers from around her neck instead became a battle to paw at her spacesuit and tear open its collar.

To get at the gold.

[thirdparty]

He did not squeeze, gently letting up as he regarded her curiously, trying to make out the words that were spoken, Seeing what she was reaching for, he used his free hand to tear it away himself. Taking the gold for himself as he turned it over in his hand. Clicking it open. Noting the familiar face within it. A moment of silence passed, still holding her with utter ease, before he released the slayer to the ground. He almost seemed to be ignoring her.

"Yes. I did kill her. She has killed me as well."

[herotypical]

She spluttered on the ground for a moment.

"Does...does she love you?" Buffy wasn't going to ask whether he had loved her. Either she didn't believe him capable of it or his silence said enough. Sometimes, you could still love what you killed. But other times? There was nothing left.

She reached for her scythe again.

[thirdparty]

He tossed the locket back at her. If he was going to claim it as a trophy once again, it would be from her corpse.

"She is your Commandant. It is a meaningless trinket. A trophy claimed from one who loved her."

He made no reaction to her reaching for the scythe.

[herotypical]

"Not mine," Buffy cautioned -- catching the locket in a red, crushed hand. Even twining the gold around her fingers was a painful process. Catching that club had done a number on her palms and digits.

Buffy wondered at the meaninglessness of a trinket the man had worn into battle. She thought of her own jewellery -- what she wore and when she wore it. She thought about crosses on chains and the way they could protect. The way they could hurt. No. She didn't buy the locket's meaninglessness. But she didn't push it either.

The Slayer was still -- in some ways -- only human. The wound on her shoulder and the other tear on her side were losing more blood more quickly. She had to end it or she had to run. Or, if she wasn't going to push the locket's importance, she could at least press another matter.

"Who was he?" She growled, playing through the pain and twisting her body into a high roundhouse kick. He. Him. Buffy wasn't simply being heteronormative -- she was testing a hypothesis.

[thirdparty]

The roundhouse kick hit him square in the jaw. He hadn't bothered to dodge it. He didn't need to anymore. He took a moment to rotate his mouth and put it into its proper place before responding. "A person that no longer exists."

He cast out his arms on either side of him, the claws melting off into pools of blood. But his eyes tightened, fixated on her. The blood, his blood, was inside her now. And his control of it was absolute. He seized it, locking it into place. If it had propagated enough, she'd be frozen before she could land another hit.

[herotypical]

Buffy was gearing up for another kick when -- all at once -- she felt her legs lock up. Strange. She tried again, but it was like her heels were gummed to the ground. Slow and unresponsive. And soon she wasn't moving at all.

She could feel her injuries. She could feel her scythe dangling from one hand and she could feel the locket twined up in the other. Its gold flashed just in the corner of her eye -- heavy with fate and love and dread. A person who no longer existed who once loved someone who...

This damn locket. She hadn't even worn it for the past year; it had lived over Jack's heart and he had guarded it as if he was guarding her life. And she had taken it from him. And now, she thought, she was going to die. Unable to move and unable to strike back.

Helpless.

The thought sent a shiver of something visceral down her spine. Her ability to regenerate felt like slush. Her veins? Cement. But her mind still raced. And her eyes bore into his -- not simply because they had to, but also because they wanted to.

And as Buffy tried to fight off this incursion, she consoled herself with memories of his wings separated from his body in great clumps. Bone and blood.

It's always blood.

[thirdparty]

He seemed to be thinking along similar lines as he made his way around the frozen slayer. He raised a hand to her wing, clutching it tightly. Not enough to break it, but enough to cause sufficient pain. He would rip them from her as she had done to him. In the very moment he began to pull the feathered appendage towards him, several shots of gunfire rang out. Three of them hit him. One in the back of his skull, one straight through his wing, and another in his leg. Howling at the pain, he turned around to face his attackers. Snipers from a rooftop.

The slayer was forgotten as he gave chase, the snipers themselves withdrawing into a retreat. Soon, his influence would be gone and she would regain control of her body. By then, he would be long out of sight.