Post by The Darkin Blade on Aug 31, 2013 13:25:26 GMT -5
Aatrox didn't bother to respond to Ashe. He merely stood there and waited for Tryndamere. The second the Barbarian saw him, he flew into a rage; it seemed he hadn't become as refined as he had thought. The spinning slash was powerful, but with a smooth motion, Aatrox blocked its path, sliding a foot back in the snow but not flinching at all otherwise. "My, you have gotten strong. I doubted you would manage to make it this far."
With a swipe, he would push Tryndamere's sword off of his and bring it around, slashing at the barbarian from his left side, a smile forming on his face. He didn't put his full strength into the swing, though, moving it slowly enough that Tryndamere could block it. Today was the day to push Tryndamere's limits. He caught, though, that the group was moving to save Ashe. "DO NOT INTERFERE. She stays until we are FINISHED, unless you enjoy quick but painful death."
Post by The Barbarian King on Sept 1, 2013 7:53:32 GMT -5
Tryndamere was bursting with rage, but he was not entirely blind.
His jagged hunk of metal easily swung to intercept the would-be blow, his blade coming down against the multi-bladed sword. For what the King could remember of Aatrox back then, felt lighter.
He was being toyed with.
Tryndamere bellowed an angry roar, and pulled his sword up in a diagonal slice. Aatrox would begin to notice that the Barbarian King's sword began to take upon the same red aura that glowed so ominously around his body. His blows were now empowered by the fury he felt towards Aatrox, for what he did, for what he had done, and for what Tryndamere would do to him.
Post by The Darkin Blade on Sept 2, 2013 11:46:05 GMT -5
As Aatrox's blade was thrown off of Tryndamere's, he saw what was happening to the sword. He gave himself a small laugh; Tryndamere's power truly had grown. As the Barbarian's retaliation came towards him, he blocked it with another swipe, holding his sword down against Tryndamere's fury.
Spurred by a moment of willpower, his blade segments gave a quick spin. The motion would likely throw Tryndamere's sword off his own, and when that happened, he would pull back and stab at Tryndamere's abdomen. It was not the time to take things lightly anymore.
Post by The Barbarian King on Sept 2, 2013 20:41:01 GMT -5
Although Tryndamere was known for his relentless manner of battle, constantly on the attack, keeping up the pressure, it had its weaknesses.
As the segmented blade begun to spin on its axis, Tryndamere found his sword flung to the side, one hand breaking away from the hilt, and the tip of Aatrox's sword buried into his belly.
Fortunately for the Barbarian King, the weaknesses of his relentless offense were rather well tempered and compensated by the one thing empowering him: his rage.
His free hand reached up, grasped around one of the free segments of space between the blades of Aatrox's sword. Tryndamere first pulled the blade out of his gut, then with a strong tug, pulled Aatrox forward. While his head was forced to look down, perhaps he would notice that the wound in his pet project's stomach was beginning to heal, the edges of the bloody wound sealing up, cauterizing itself with his fury.
The Barbarian King let go of the wicked sword, delivering an upper cut to the jaw of the Darkin Blade.
Post by The Darkin Blade on Sept 6, 2013 17:44:41 GMT -5
As Aatrox was pulled down, he observed Tryndamere's rapid healing. He was in awe for a moment, amazed that he had created this thing of beauty...but before he was allowed to think too much on it, he was knocked back with an uppercut. Reeling back a bit, he spun his sword behind him to catch his balance once again, leaning forwards with a snarl.
Tryndamere didn't even bother to use a weapon on him? That was an insult to his pride! His eyes glared red and he flew into a rage, not being able to suppress his own power. Charging forwards, he grabbed the Barbarian's stronger arm by the wrist and gave a wicked open-handed assault to his face, dropping his sword in the snow besides him and attempting to rake his claws against the king's visage.
Post by Tekun Valos on Sept 6, 2013 17:58:00 GMT -5
As the battle commenced Tekun and his men advanced on Ashe. Regardless of Aatrox's wishes, he was going to aid Ashe. While he would not move her. The gunblades were trained on the Darkin as Tekun moved to the Queen, removing his cloak and presented it to ashe so that she could try to warm herself. She looked pale from exposure to the elements.
"We never can catch a break. Are you okay? Can you walk?" Tekun was worried but knew Ashe was strong, she could hang on for just a bit longer. The moment Tryndamere gained an advantage they would make a move.
As soon as the fight began, Ashe could only hear the furious rage that bellowed from Tryndamere's lungs and Aatrox's ever mocking laugh. She saw quick slashes and even quicker movements, yet it was clear to her that the Darkin was simply playing and that in itself brought a tight, icy claw around her chest. The Barbarian King was known for his skill with a blade and his enormous strength, yet he while he was matching the demon he could not seem to get the upper hand.
But his roars were not of pain, but of anger. Pure, undulated anger that reverberated through the tree she leaned against. Even as the Darkin's blade plunged into Tryndamere's torso, he simply wrenched free and before Ashe's very eyes, the bloody hole seemed to vanish rapidly. Even Aatrox seemed surprised. She teared her gaze away at the familiar voice of her friend. She turned her face slightly, still sore but seemed otherwise unscathed.
"I'm okay," she reassured, moving so that the tree supported her while her uninjured arm could accept the cloak. It was only then did she realize her hand was trembling. Not from fear but from something else entirely. Ashe quickly grasped the material, thanking Tekun with a murmur before shrugging it over one shoulder. It brought some warmth, though comfort was still entirely beyond her reach. "I can walk."
Post by The Barbarian King on Sept 10, 2013 5:43:16 GMT -5
Tryndamere didn't bother to dodge Aatrox's clawed rake against his face. Tryndamere let him; the majority of his claws would meet metal. To anybody else the wounds would be lethal, but to the Barbarian King, they were relatively superficial. Only faint scare sealed by Rage to tell their tale.
However, his nemesis' hand was firmly fastened around his right arm's wrist, the same arm that held his sword. Tryndamere was strong, but not so strong that he could hack apart a body with mere wrist movement.
Tryndamere too dropped his sword. Once free of its weight, he pulled Aatrox through the air, throwing him across the woods into a more open field of snow, less surrounded by trees. As Tryndamere picked up his sword, the rage of his center melting the residual snow caught on his blade, he saw that Aatrox was without his weapon.
He was vulnerable.
He knew he was in a weaker state freed of his blade, but for all the King's fury, he wouldn't fight Aatrox without a weapon in his hand. He slew all of his kin so long ago, but this wasn't just a matter of revenge: it was a matter of honor as well.
Tryndamere picked up the foul, fleshy weapon the Darkin Blade carried, and threw it across the field. Behind its airborne arc was Tryndamere, charging headlong towards him, ready to butcher him in two.
Aatrox would need to be truly skilled to be able to both catch his sword mid-air and dodge the Barbarian King's angered rampage.
Post by The Darkin Blade on Sept 10, 2013 10:04:31 GMT -5
Aatrox flew through the air, landing on the snow shortly and skidding several feet. Getting to his feet, he brushed the cold white off of himself, and snarled. In that mere moment, he processed two things; Tryndamere's charge and his weapon in midair. Tryndamere was almost making this too easy.
Spreading his wings, they beat downwards quickly, sending up a spray of snow as he took off into the air towards his sword. Grabbing it in midair, he folded his wings against his body and crashed at high speeds towards the Barbarian, his blade outstretched in front of him. If he made contact, he wouldn't have to block Tryndamere's rampage; he'd just have to knock him onto the ground.ß
Post by The Barbarian King on Sept 10, 2013 19:28:37 GMT -5
Tryndamere continued to charge, blind to what was coming. Before he knew it, his foe had not only jumped high into the air to catch his blade: he came screaming back down, slamming into Tryndamere with a force strong enough to knock him to the ground.
Tryndamere was on his back, his weapon barely keeping his opponents sword from gashing his chest open.
All he could attempt was to push with enough force that it sent the Darkin Blade back, allowing him time to get up once more and fight him on equal footing.
Post by The Darkin Blade on Sept 12, 2013 10:19:10 GMT -5
Aatrox was pushed back by Tryndamere's shove, staggering back from the Barbarian's strength. As Tryndamere got back up, Aatrox snarled once more. "Don't you see, Tryndamere? You cannot defeat me!" He stepped back and spread his arms in a taunting gesture. "You are just as incapable of protecting others now as when I slaughtered your tribe."
With that, he spread his wings and flapped them once, kicking up a storm of snow in Tryndamere's face. Within the spray, a bright red light glimmered, and then his Blades of Torment followed suit.
Post by Tekun Valos on Sept 15, 2013 19:57:19 GMT -5
While the two fought he radioed in for assistance, they needed a way out and cover. His enemy was distracted by combat, he hoped that he had just placed down a time limit. For now he watched as he helped steady Ashe. "We'll protect you. Let's move."
Aatrox was busy taunting, this needed to end now. He signaled his men to fire a volley at his enemy. Their guns had been trained and they were on edge as is. He dove, they shot and began to move. With any luck Tryndamere had just been given the opening he needed.
Post by The Darkin Blade on Sept 19, 2013 10:12:36 GMT -5
Aatrox hadn't meant his Blades of Torment to be anything more than a distraction, but it turned out that they were a distraction for him too. The bullets whizzed through the air, hitting him repeatedly with no resistance. His eyes widened as he collapsed to the ground, having taken lethal damage.
But before he fell all the way down, his blade started glowing, a deep, rumbling laugh echoing across the clearing. Crimson blood flowed out of his sword and into his body, covering him in its aura and melting the snow around him with the pure heat of its energy. He sprung to his feet and rushed towards Tryndamere, his life energy renewed by the Blood Well, grabbing him with one of his massive hands and carrying him forwards.
When he came to a tree, he didn't stop, a large branch spearing the Barbarian King through the stomach from behind. Aatrox then stepped back, a wicked sneer on his face. "Even with help, you cannot finish me. Pathetic." With that, he turned around and spread his wings, taking off with a clap as snow sprung up around him, flying into the distance. He knew this wasn't the last time he'd see these Freljordians...perhaps next time, his opus magnum would actually earn a coup de grace from him. But for now, his plans needed...adjusting.
Post by The Barbarian King on Sept 19, 2013 12:59:31 GMT -5
It all happened so quickly, Tryndamere was lost in the blurr of action before his eyes. First the ring of gunshots from Tekun's men, colliding into the side of his nemesis. This, combined with the two surface cuts from Aatrox's Blades of Torment, riled him.
"Tekun, stay out of this!"
But it was far too late. As his head turned to look back at his opponent, he felt the thick armored, almost carapace-like gauntlet latched onto his face, sending him into the air. The core of his body roared in pain, as he looked down to see a broken tree branch splintered out of his stomach.
His free hand, the other still holding his sword, pushed against the branch, a feeble attempt to leverage his body so the whole of his weight wouldn't open up a bigger whole than had already been made. Blood poured out of the lethal wound like a fountain. If Tryndamere didn't do something soon, he'd die.
...then Aatrox spoke once more.
"Even with help, you cannot finish me. Pathetic."
That was the final valve opened from the boiler, the last log tossed into the bonfire. Tryndamere's anger enveloped him, raging with a heat intense enough that the branch of the tree begun to burn, and break with its sudden structural instability. The Barbarian King fell into the snow, dropping like a fireball. His rage melted the snow around him in a flash, he himself crouched to cushion the fall.
Tryndamere's eyes were red with anger and hate. He had gotten away not once now, but twice. Twice! With a yell of fury, he wrenched the tree branch from his gut, the full power of his anger unleashed and overflowing around him.
"AATROOOOOOOOX!!!!"
The wound, though mortal, seemed to have no effect, as the raw anger he had towards his now flying away nemesis began sewing back the hole he left. He could taste blood in his mouth, which was promptly spit out in frustration. It hurt, but he would live. His grip released the charred branch, his hand covering over the slightly lesser hole in his chest.
"Dammit..."
His seething aura was dissipating, although to put it more bluntly, the angry wolf was getting drowsy once more, steadily falling back to sleep. Tryndamere didn't care that he was dragging his sword behind him; he was all too angrily distraught that he lost his chance to kill Aatrox. He made his way back to where Ashe and Tekun were. As his eyes locked with the thousand year-old warrior's... well, if looks could kill, Tekun would undoubtedly be little more than a burnt, smoldering black slab of meat.
But this entire chase started because Ashe was kidnapped... which is whom he turned to next.
"...are you hurt?"
Behind those words was tempered anger. He tried not to snap at her, but Tryndamere wasn't in the best of moods at the moment. His arch nemesis had ran away, Tekun had come between he and Tryndamere, and lastly, Ashe, Queen of the Avarosa, was successfully kidnapped. He undoubtedly was in a rather bad mood at the moment, given the circumstances of everything mounted on top of each other.
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