Everyone Dies. There's No Point In Fighting It [Marceline vs. Nothel]

I HAVE BECOME DEATH

the destroyer of worlds

TAGGED: ...   |   WORDS: 466   |  NOTES: counts as two

Marceline Anicetus formed from a cloud of ash at the center of Motor City, her ashen transformation grabbing the attention of many passersby. They stopped in their tracks on the sidewalk or paused their vehicles to gawk at the beautiful creature she presented herself as. Despite the grayed, dead skin of her body, it was flawless, impeccable in nature, covered only by ink of various tattoos. Her silken, black hair draped over her back, hiding the mark of Lilith that allowed her to access her succubus form. She wore nothing more than a black crop top and short shorts of a darker gray than her own skin, with a red cloak clasped tightly around her neck. A whip was holstered on her right hip, the blades protruding in a menacing way, though never pricking into her. Blackened sclera and red pupils stared back at the ones who had stopped traffic both in and off the road to look.

Combat boots clunked against the ground as she walked from the center of the street she was in, onto the sidewalk. People groaned and cried out in pain as she came near them, forcing them to enter into her aura of death energy. Their bodies would succumb to the effects of her aura, eating away at their skin and leaving only the bone. Before long, they would be mere piles of bone resting on the ground, waiting for their new owner to pick them up. She wouldn't touch them though, she'd leave them on the ground to rot, uninterested in taking them. If someone wanted to use those bones, then by all means, she'd let them take the bones for themselves. Right now, she was dead set on something else, something that had drawn her to the darkness of Motor City.

Clack clack clack. Her feet connected with the cement sidewalk as she walked down its length into nowhere particular. It was almost intriguing to the young woman how people instantly bowed to her, not out of respect, but out of pain. The pain that they felt so empowered by her magic, that it crippled them to the ground and forced them into death. This was how she cold decimate entire towns if she tried hard enough, but that was far too tedious for her. She'd have to make sure every single person was dead in order to make sure that the town could not repopulate. Even so, if she did such a thing, it would put on the map, and due to her new status as a Coming Storm, she couldn't allow that. In fact, the Magic Council already had a number on her and if they wanted, they could send out for at any moment.

To be here in this town. . . it was dangerous.

I HAVE BECOME DEATH

the destroyer of worlds

TAGGED: ...   |   WORDS: 466   |  NOTES: counts as two

Marceline paused as the clatter of stone resonated into the air; she turned her head slightly to the left in response, catching a glimpse of something dark. She stood in silence, expecting a thug or assassin to come running at her, blade poised and ready to make the killing blow. A smirk splayed across her lips in that moment, as if she found the while idea of being assassinated rather entertaining to her. Death was her companion, her master: he blessed her with a life of immortality as long as she killed in compensation for her eternal life. Turning slowly, the Savage Skull killer faced what had kicked the stone to get her attention, the red of her irises glaringly bright against the black sclera. There, she faced a masked man, one whose eyes she could only see and she was captured by the mystery of who he was. The smirk turned from something snide to more seductive and curious, her stance and posture changing accordingly to her facial expression.

"A masked man?" she spoke in a succulent voice, "are you my superhero, here to save me, the little damsel-in-distress?"
Marcy raised a hand as if she was reaching for a weapon, then moved it behind her to flick her silken, black hair over her shoulder.
"Unfortunately, there's no damsel-in-distress here, just a regal lady making her way through the city, no harm in that, right?" The seductive smile grew haughtier on her face and she lowered her hand back to her side, sliding her fingers across the sharp blades of her whip. Cracks appeared where the blades cut into her fingers, but not a single drop of blood had left the ashen skin of her hand. Her eyes darted over the man's physique, taking in the slender build that possessed the muscularity of someone quick and strong on their feet. She dwindled it down to him being an assassin; a type of person the serial killer had not yet encountered in her life.

Bony fingers wrapped swiftly around the thong of the whip, unhitching it from her belt at a fast speed and cracking it as she did so. The whip lounged at her side, curled on the ground like a cobra ready to strike, its blades menacing as they glittered in the sunlight. It twitched with the slight movement of her hand, but her hand had moved so gingerly, the whip had slithered like a snake on its own. With a blindingly quick flick of her wrist, the initial attack was sent forward, aiming to wrap around Nothel's legs. Once the blades had latched onto his legs, she'd yank it backward, pulling him to the ground and dragging him closer to her. The best part of this all? He was already trapped within the confines of her decaying aura, being eaten at by the death energy.

A closer look at him and she couldn't help, but stare quietly into his eyes, her own narrowed in a scrutinizing manner toward him.

Battle Tags:

I HAVE BECOME DEATH

the destroyer of worlds

TAGGED: ...   |   WORDS: 696   |  NOTES: ...

Typically, her aura would have dealt a greater damage to her opponent, but it was not affecting Nothel at all. This intrigued the young woman slightly, as she had not met someone who could not be injured by her aura. Those who had entered it that she had interacted with before had received some sort of damage to them. Though many of those who she had encountered endured the damage that they had been given from it, it did not surprise her. What had surprised her the most with her aura previously, was that Kite had been willingly to stick in it and touch her. No one had ever touched her before because they had been far too terrified of being eaten alive by her magic. To see this young man before her, this living creature within her death-inducing aura, it was an accomplishment she was amazed by.

She grinned as she noticed the flash of fear run over his face when he realized that blood did not flow through her veins. The only thing thing flowed through her now were the spirits and souls of those who she had drained of life. Their bones were compacted into dust in a satchel on her side, clasped shut and secured safely to her bodice. Marceline was a foe not to mess with and one that could easily level a town with her magic if she wanted to. However, doing such would require strength from her and she was not one to put full effort into anything. Most of the time, she was merely playing around and in this case, the woman was bored to death, though not quite literally. Nothel simply happened to be the passerby that would get the brunt of her boredom, and endure whatever she desired.

The man watched her whip as she had flung it out at him, his resulting expression leading her to believe he had never seen a whip wielded before. Incorrect. Perhaps, he had known that whips were often wielded as weapons, though were quite useless in a sense. In her case, this bladed whip was definitely one of danger, one that could rip the soul from a being who was too careless. Well, Nothel was definitely a careless creature, especially since he had allowed himself to be caught by the weapon. Oh, but if he allowed himself to be caught and dragged toward her, perhaps she was in for a decent fight, no? Her attack had been at a random interval, however, so if she was lucky enough, he simply had not expected it. Now was the real fun though, as he was trapped in her grasp and she smiled a wretched smile at the ninja-clothed man.

What she had not expected was for Nothel to quickly wriggle out of the confines of her whip, the blades lodged into his skin. This meant that the man had tore himself free of the blades, resulting in injury be it mild or rather extensive in nature. As his actions unfolded, his took a turn for the unexpected, a dagger lashing out at the beauty and impaling her in the stomach. She took the attack head-on, not budging or reacting to the suddenness of being run through with the blade. Marcy simply stood there with that wicked grin upon her face, as if the impalement had not hurt her at all. Of course, this was entirely wrong, for now her crust-made body had been broken and cracked by the weapon. All Marceline did though, was reach her hand from her left side and grasp the exposed blade of the dagger and her magic took effect.

"I hope you don't do this to every woman you meet," she stated in an extremely calm voice, despite having just been impaled by a sword.

Her hand would drop away from the rusting and crumbling blade to reach out and point in front of her. "Rache," would be spoken from her mouth and as the word left her lips, a spacial tear opened behind Nothel. From that spacial tear, a hand reached out and aimed to grab the Savage Skull mage tightly in its hard grasp.

Battle Tags:

I HAVE BECOME DEATH

the destroyer of worlds

TAGGED: ...   |   WORDS: 450   |  NOTES: ...

With his sword mildly rusted and likely to break soon, the woman could only grin as he noticed the fatality of her magic. It wouldn't be long before he was trying to dodge her next spell, simply by running toward the alleyway close by. Her eyes would watch him, taking in how he ran with quickness, but wasn't fast enough to dodge the hand's grasp. The spell would wrap around his left arm and hold Nothel down, keeping him in place while it crushed his arm. His cries would ring into her ears, which would only cause the grin on her face to spread wider and longer. Hearing the pain of others satisfied something inside of her, a longing for a death that would lead to her eternal peace. In fact, it was almost sickening out she found pleasure in the screams and cries of her enemies as they fled her magic.

The sound of blood splattering to the ground caught her attention and her red eyes darted down to the puddle below Nothel. She noticed out it was forming upward, into a sharp spike, then was flung in her direction at a fast pace. Out of instinct, the woman dispersed into a cloud of ash, darting a few meters away from where the spike had gone. Evidently, she had narrowly dodged the attack, but as a result, Nothel had been released from the death aura of hers. Not that was such a bad thing, as it meant that she could pull him back into it and deal another handful of damage. Marceline reformed into herself again and yanked her whip off her hip for a second time, launching it toward Nothel. Her weapon would aim to wrap around his waist, latching its blades into his skin and beginning to eat away at his soul.

As she whipped her weapon toward Nothel, her free hand would raise upward and from her death aura, tendrils will rise. They wormed and wriggled around her and one would reach out toward Nothel, followed quickly by the other three. These tendrils would latch onto his body in various areas and begin draining the magic power from within his body. Whatever he choose to do, it would be near impossible to dodge all of her attacks without being hit by something. The next thing she would wonder would be what he had in store for her and her attacks; how would he dodge? Marceline stood her distance and tilted her head a little, curious to see what Nothel would do in retaliation to her. Her hand dropped to her side, her lips still smiling that sickening smile, head tilted and ever wondering about her opponent.

Battle Tags:

I HAVE BECOME DEATH

the destroyer of worlds

TAGGED: ...   |   WORDS: 456   |  NOTES: ...

Her first instinct was to dodge the orb of blood flung at her, but she instead raised a hand and the power of the orb was absorbed into her palm. However, the impact of the orb still struck her, dealing the reduced damage to her that her spell had allowed her to receive. "Your time is slowly being dwindled down," she retorted to Nothel, the smile disappearing from her face. Marceline looked from where the orb had been to the guild member she was not fully aware of quite yet. She was covered in the blood that had been exploded upon her, looking as if she had literally come from a bloodbath. The woman dropped her hand to her side again and pulled her whip back to her side before strapping it to her hip again. As a final attack in response to his first one, the woman lunged toward Nothel, aiming a fist to his gut.

However, she was met with the blade of the weapon he wielded, digging it into her side and twisting it with power. She gritted her teeth and countered with another blow to his side with her first, followed by an uppercut to his chin. Afterward, she backed off and her form shifted from the cloaked female that she was well-known to be, to a succubus. Her wings beat heavily behind her and lifted her off the ground, keeping her steadily risen in the air. An orb began to swirl and form into the palms of her hands that were gathered near her breasts, draining what life there was around them. People within the vicinity fell to the ground as their lives were taken from them and compacted into the orb. Once all had been stored inside, the woman released a beam of death energy from the center of the sphere.

The moment that spell ended, the woman would fly toward Nothel and fold in her wings, diving downward. As soon as she was near enough to him, she would spread out her wings and her fist would come forward and smash into the side of his face. If that attack struck, she'd push backward and take to the sky again, trying to keep out of range of him. That blade of his was down, but she'd at least be able to dodge his spell attacks a lot quicker than normal. In this form, she was a lot faster; however, her wings would become a target and she'd have to be careful. Marceline watched Nothel with mild curiosity now, clearly observing how and what he would respond to. She could feel herself tiring out already, so she would have to plan her attacks accordingly if she wanted to beat him.

Battle Tags:

I HAVE BECOME DEATH

the destroyer of worlds

TAGGED: ...   |   WORDS: 595   |  NOTES: ...

The scent of blood struck her nose and she'd look down to where blood had splattered to the ground before Nothel. She had severely damaged him, while she had only a few cuts over her body that broke her limbs like shattered glass. Marceline was not covered in blood, at least blood that was not her own did not coat her ashen skin in any way. What did cover her body was Nothel's own blood, the blood that she had previously spilled and he had used against her. He was a blood magic, a form of life magic in some way; maybe not necessarily Life, itself, but a branch of it. Or perhaps it wasn't about Life at all, it was simply about the control of blood within the body of an animal or being. It was a curious magic to her, one she had never seen before and one she could not decide on which it was classified, death or life.

However, she had gotten distracted and in that moment of distraction, Nothel had managed to summon a spiked wall of blood. Marcy's eyes had gone wide and her head whipped toward, taking in how it was flung with what remaining strength he had. As a last resort, the woman shifted back into her normal self, then transformed into the cloud of ash, dodging the wall. She looped over the top of it, noting that it flew by her in a matter of seconds and if she had stayed, she would've been hit. The ash twirled around to face Nothel after his attack, only to notice that he had now gone missing from his place. Where could he have gone to? Marceline looked around the area, hearing his footsteps, but not seeing where he had gone to. Moments later, the man reappeared with a rusted pipe, in which she simply darted around to the backside of him as he charged her.

Shifting back to her natural state, the woman tilted her head some as she watched him stumble and collapse to the ground. The blood there splashed upward from the impact and she walked over to the Savage Skull mage gingerly and warily. Her hand sparkled lightly with specks of death energy and she'd raise it toward him, allowing for the specks to fly toward him. They'd spread over his body and settle on his skin, which the impact, though light, would deal C rank spell damage. Those specks would begin to eat away at his skin and Marceline would silently watch as her magic took place. However, she noticed the torn fabric on his right arm, more specifically, his right shoulder that had been exposed. Her red eyes flickered from where she had first gazed upon him to the mark that was bore on his skin, the same mark as on her lip. Savage Skull.

Reluctantly, she'd summon the death particles back to her hand and disperse them, not allowing them to decay him anymore. "You're from Savage Skull," she stated as though he would be conscious and able to respond to her observance. Marcy fell to her knees and sat there, staring down upon her guild mate with a rather guilty look upon her features. She had nearly killed a member of her own guild and if any of them found out of such a thing happening, what would happen to her? Carefully, the woman would place a hand upon his and smile slightly at him, this time a more genuine and friendly feature. "I'm Marceline Anicetus, another member of Savage Skull."

Battle Tags:

I HAVE BECOME DEATH

the destroyer of worlds

TAGGED: ...   |   WORDS: 597   |  NOTES: ...

Marceline pulled her hand back from Nothel's, realizing that she was doing more harm to him than not. She clasped her hands together and looked down at them sullenly, recognizing that no matter what she did, she'd simply hurt people. Despite being a merciless killer of a well-known dark guild, she had some sort of emotion toward killing off those who Death had not marked. They had a chance at living longer than what was expected in her eyes, but the moment Death marked them for dead, she had to go after them. Nothel was not one of those people she had to go after, he had simply gotten in the way of what she had been there for. After their fight, however, she had long forgotten why she had come to Motor City in the first place; Death would likely scold her for this. A sigh escaped her parted lips, deep in thought, then she glanced back at the bloodied and battered face of her former opponent.

"S-stop laughing!" she ordered, her face gaining an expression of anger and hurt as she snapped at Nothel. Laughing meant she had done something stupid and having done something stupid, she didn't want to face the consequences. This expression on her face though, was one she had learned over time and had mastered in the sense of mimicking. Because she could not feel true emotions, she struggled to understand the emotions that other people conveyed to each other. She didn't say anything else that would result in farther humiliation, trying to keep herself from embarrassing herself more. Her eyes would dart away from him again, looking back down at her sickly hands clasped together in her lap.

After he admitted that they were both from the same guild, she'd glance back at him, shrugging her shoulders. One hand would lift up from its place in her lap and grab hold of her bottom lip, pulling it down ever so slightly. Upon the whitish-gray, glossy part of the inside of her lip would be a skull marking, similar to the one Nothel bore on his shoulder. It was small, almost too small in a sense, and it was dark in color, a black likely, so it stood out against the discolored skin. Marcy let go of her lip and let her hand drop to her lap again, though almost instinctively reaching out toward Nothel. She stopped herself though, not want to touch him anymore with her hands when she knew she could hurt him. He needed to heal and the more she touched him, the closer to death he was and the more she began to feel his soul.

"I'm sorry," she uttered the words, never looking back at the badly bruised and nearly dead man laying before her. Her head was bowed slightly, so it appeared as if she was praying to some unknown god, but was merely sitting there. "Unfortunately, I have no way to heal you; all my magic does is take and take and take, does whatever it wants." Another shrug and she'd lift her head a little, peeking another glanced toward the mage,, then moving her hands down to the blood. As her appendages touched the sticky liquid, it would quickly dry up and turn to dust from the decay magic. "The best that I can do is stay near you, so you don't get injured by my aura anymore and I won't touch you with my hands." Touching things with her hands resulted in something decaying and he was already decayed and injured enough.