Isabella vs Felix

Isabella Colt stepped out onto the narrow walkway with no hesitation in her stride, glancing behind her only out of curiosity when the gate closed as she passed beyond the threshold of the Clock Tower’s designated fighting arena. A brief flicker of amusement creased her brow as it arched and the former Assassin took a moment to examine her current surroundings.

The location was simple to say the least, but would prove challenging to even an experienced combatant such as herself. Two narrow walkways, roughly seven feet in length and four feet in width, rested on either side of a small center area – none of which would give any fighter a lot of room to move in, and all placed several hundred feet above ground level.

Nevertheless, the former Assassin felt comfortable, if not intrigued by the prospect of testing herself on such a perilous location.

Isabella stood an inch north of six feet, wearing a sandy cloak that enveloped all but a sliver of the simple and unassuming tanned leather armor worn over her torso. Shadows hid the bulk of her fair-skinned face, her hood purposefully pulled low to prevent anyone from directly glimpsing her deep brown eyes, or catching sight of her pale blonde hair. Protruding from behind her right shoulder was a worn hilt large enough to belong only to that of a two-handed sword, the sheathed tip of which was seen as the bottom hem of her cloak as the article of clothing fluttered out and upward. A thin layer of sediment rolled away from the tall, muscled woman as she expelled a pensive breath and began to mentally prepare herself for the task ahead of her.

The former Assassin stared across the expanse of the arena as she waited patiently for the arrival of her to-be opponent.

Isabella arched her shrouded brow in mild interest as she examined her opponent and his actions. The inflection in the man’s voice amused her, as it reminded her of a dear friend she had not seen in quite some time. As she listened to him speak, the former Assassin began to take note of not just his equipment, but his overall physique.

The man stood just shy of three inches shorter than she did, and his build, while indeed strong, did not suggest an extensive amount of exercise. Isabella knew better than to assume anything just by looks alone, but if what she saw was any indicator to his overall physical prowess, she would likely have an edge on him. Being smaller than her could give him certain advantages. However, the difference between the former Assassin’s height and her opponent’s was hardly significant enough to marry the idea that he was by any means more agile than she.

Cloaked as she was, it was difficult to tell exactly what her musculature was like. Between her broad shoulders, armor, and the large sword hanging comfortably across her back, it was not all that difficult to discern that she was at least reasonably strong. Nevertheless, just as her opponent’s looks could be deceiving to her, so to could Isabella’s.

Isabella dipped her head forward ever so slightly; doing so only after a brief pause between the man’s final question had passed. Without much hesitation, the former Assassin assumed her customary stance: her feet slid apart from one another, halting just short of shoulder’s width. The point of each boot shifted outward, away from her body subtly, and her knees bent just enough that she lowered in height a full inch. Isabella kept the front of her torso facing her opponent, reaching behind her right shoulder with the corresponding, gloved hand. There was a soft, strangely pleasant rubbing sound as the former Assassin’s gloved fingers brushed across the leather wrapping of her sword a mere instant before she gripped the handle firmly.

Despite what one might think, Isabella’s next action was not to draw the weapon, whose hilt was now held fast in her hand. Instead, she held the raised appendage there, leaving her elbow just below shoulder level and pointing slightly forward, though still very much off to the side of her body.

With her arm raised in such a manner, the cloak that hid her body from view was pulled back on the right side. Beneath the sandy fabric was a simple suit of leather armor, which covered all of her torso. Patches of hide clung to her legs, while studded pads wrapped around each of the former Assassin’s knees. Clasped snugly around Isabella’s raise right forearm was a bracer, crafted of the same material as the rest of her protective gear, with the sole exception that the worn metal along the top and outer side of her arm.

A thin smile painted itself across Isabella’s lips as she raised her head back up from its previous, slight declined position.

“By your lead then,” Isabella’s voice hit the air with a shocking amount of gravity to it. There was more to those words than what was simply being said. She was challenging her opponent, daring him to take the first step, provoking him into initiating the fight between them. And all the while she would be watching him, carefully measuring each movement he made with the experience and expertise of a seasoned war veteran, despite the fact that the former Assassin was only seventeen years of age.

Beneath the veil of her heavy cloak - which still hung over her left side - the former Assassin’s unoccupied and concealed hand reached towards the small handle of one of her two throwing knives at her hip. Isabella took complete advantage of the shrouding aspect that the sandy material draping down the length of her body imparted onto her, allowing her to obscure the action from view.

1

Confident…

The word alone seemed to amuse Isabella. She chuckled softly in response to what her opponent said, tickled by his own confidence that, between the two of him, it was he who possessed the superior weapon. There was a possibility that what he said was true. However, Isabella felt otherwise.

When the goggle-wearing man stopped his forward advance, Isabella felt every muscle in her body momentarily tighten in anticipation for what he was planning to do next.

Slowly the seconds trickled by, and the former Assassin’s opponent gave no indication that he intended to move any further. In response, Isabella lowered her right hand from the handle of her sword and sighed, shaking her head at the same time. As she brought her arm back to her side, the cloak dutifully returned to its shrouding position over the front of her body.

Taking advantage of the fact that her adversary was standing stationary for the time being, Isabella started to formulate her course of action. Given her opponent’s current position, there were roughly ten, if not twelve feet between them. This was just enough distance for the former Assassin to gather the necessary momentum for a charge, although the narrow pathway and small platform were hardly suitable for any kind of sudden change in direction should that be necessary. Even from a glance, Isabella could already tell that if she used Gale, her greatsword, she would have the superior reach between the two of them. But, drawing her weapon was not something she deemed necessary at this point in time.

Making up her mind, Isabella burst forward without much warning, taking one swift stride after another. For a woman her size, the former Assassin moved incredibly fast, almost supernaturally so. When Isabella hit the midway mark between the two of them, a brief hiccup in her advance occurred. The gap was filled by a subtle hiss of metal as it was drawn across carefully treated leather. In a flash of movement, the front of the former Assassin’s cloak split open, only just enough to allow a hand-length knife to escape. Barring the momentary lapse in her powerful stride (which lasted for no more than a small fraction of a second), Isabella continued her charge.

The knife Isabella threw was aimed for her opponent’s left knee, and would collide with its appointed destination the very same instant that she came into the range of the goggle-wearing man’s weapon. In fact, as the former Assassin did, she took a carefully placed stepped towards his right, significantly slowing down her forward charge in the process. The power behind the projectile was more than enough to cleave through cloth and flesh, with the very real possibility of sinking into even the bone should it connect.

Isabella kept a careful eye on her surroundings as she went. She was more than aware – as no doubt her opponent was too – that there was little room for her to work with. Nevertheless, she trusted in her skills and abilities, which gave her a sense of serenity, even in situations like this.

Beneath the folds of her sandy cloak, the former Assassin prepared herself. She reached across the front of her body with her right hand, searching quickly for the hilt of her second throwing knife located on the left of her body, while keeping her left arm loose and ready to defend against her adversary’s response to her being within range of his inventive and daunting weapon.

2

Mentally, Isabella smirked. Although her opponent did not respond precisely how she had wanted him to, his actions still played reasonably well into her overall idea. The former Assassin had intentionally moved towards the offensive side of her adversary’s body, pacing herself so that by the time he reacted to her close proximity (and her throwing knife connected) she would be inside the reach of his drill-arm, and thus closer to him. Her plan was simple: by attacking his lower left side and moving to his right, Isabella would hopefully cause him to stall, even for just a fraction of a second, which would allow her to cover more ground before he attacked her. However, this was not what exactly occurred; though what did worked well within the parameters of her scheme.

By moving towards Isabella’s left while she was advancing to his right at the same time, her opponent was placing himself far closer to her than even she would have hoped to be had he stood stationary and simply struck as the former Assassin came within range. Isabella capitalized on this, pivoting the necessary amount with her lead foot (which happened to be her left) as the goggle-wearing man tried to swerve around her and attack, keeping her facing his front with her own. Now well within the reach of her adversary’s weapon, not to mention close to half an arm’s length away from his chest, Isabella comfortably responded to her assailant’s countercharge, and his subsequent arcing-strike.

Isabella’s left hand reached outward with stunning speed, the palm of her glove impacting against her adversary’s forearm a few inches below the elbow along the inside of the arm. Even before her fingers curled around the appendage, the former Assassin’s muscles stiffened, and the coming attack was held at bay. There was only a subtle amount of give to the block, suggesting that the strength and momentum behind the attack was reasonably impressive. However, Isabella’s own physical might seemed to be, at least in this instance, greater.

Despite her age, the former Assassin was an incredibly strong woman. She could comfortably lift two-hundred pounds, and even wielder her greatsword one-handed. Nevertheless, that strength had come at a price.

Having successfully prevented her opponent’s attack from connecting, while being sure to maintain a stern grip on his forearm, Isabella moved onto the next step in her plan.

Isabella’s right hand – which had been reaching for her second throwing knife – exploded outward from beneath the curtain of her sandy cloak. There was no knife her hand it struck out, moving with the sole purpose of slamming with all of her gathered momentum and strength into her adversary’s poised shield. The purpose behind the attack was simple, and quickly came to light as she used her grip of the drill-wielding man’s forearm to her advantage, taking half a step toward him to not only add to the overall power of her thrusting right hand, but also force him back onto his heels. Isabella was trying to put him off balance.

The former Assassin used the palm of her right hand for the attack, not being foolish enough to strike a hard, metal surface with a balled fist. In addition to her desire to cause her opponent to become unbalanced, Isabella was also attempting to drive him back, in order to place him closer (if not push him off entirely) to the unguarded ledge of the small platform they were both now fighting on.

There were many ways to when a battle, and throwing your opponent off of a platform several hundred feet in the air was definitely a viable option. Isabella paid no heed to the fact that her throwing knife had made any connection, or the fact that she had actually injured her adversary. All that mattered was he was still standing.

3

Although the impact with her adversary's shield came a little sooner, with a bit more force (due to his own thrusting motion), the sting that flooded across the surface of her hand was fleeting and easily overlooked as she quickly responded to the newest attack coming her way.

Isabella turned her right hand over until its palm faced towards her opponent’s now-descending left arm. Just as suddenly, and with an equivalent amount of strength, Isabella stopped the falling shield-arm just shy of her adversary’s shoulder level, and only a few inches short of his elbow. Without hesitation, the former Assassin took a powerful step forward, stiffening the muscles in her arm as she pushed forcefully against her opponent, using her tight grip on each of his arms as a conduit to throw his balance off, again.

She was attempting to redirect the weight of his upper body, hoping that by pushing it back, while simultaneously disrupting his stability, that she would eventually force him off of the edge. Isabella knew that she could muster more physical might than she had even now, but felt that doing so would in a sense belittle her victory.

For the most part, the former Assassin preferred to fight with as few tools as possible. Instead of using her greatsword – which she possessed a great deal of skill with – Isabella fought hand-to-hand; though she took advantage of the fact that her physical capabilities were well above the norm. However, it was no secret (at least among her close friends) that she was more than able of gathering twice the amount of strength or speed she usually performed with.

In a way, Isabella found it strange that her opponent had attacked as he did. He had, in a sense, fallen directly into her grasp by pulling his shield-arm away in such a manner. Nevertheless, the former Assassin felt a great deal of respect for this goggle-wearing man. He seemed genuine, as if there was nothing in the world that he would try and hide from, or keep others from seeing themselves. Not only this, but the man was strong – and not just physically. Isabella could tell that he had quite the resolve, could feel it flowing through him as she held his arms fast and continued to push him back, closer and closer to the edge of the platform.

4

Isabella refused to relinquish her hold on the man’s arms. However, something had to be done about his newest and respectably inventive assault. Instead of letting go, or backing away by any means, the former Assassin simply turned her head to the right. The heavy hood of her cloak acted as a deterrent and insulator for the thick steam, preventing her face from being scorched. Her left arm was another story.

The heavy, heated mist rolled over Isabella’s left arm. Immediately she could feel its effects as the intense warmth bled through the fabric of her sleeve. In response to the pain that flooded across the surface of her flesh, the former Assassin’s grip only tightened.

Ever since she could hold a sword and comprehend orders well enough to execute them, Isabella had been conditioned for pain. There was no doubt to anyone watching that she felt the burning as it happened. Nevertheless, the fresh injury was hardly debilitating, and she could overlook the sting for long enough that it would likely only hamper her overall performance in minor ways.

This was who she was. She was meant to suffer. She was built to absorb damage. Nothing as marginal as a scorching like the one she had received (at least in her opinion) would slow her down, or stop her in any way from overcoming this opponent.

The moisture from the haze prevented anything from catching fire. However, beneath the soft material of Isabella’s shirt sleeve the skin was burned and blistered. The injury extended along the length of her arm, beginning just beneath her elbow and sweeping upward along the back and inside of her upper arm.

As the steam rose higher – where it would eventually have reached the former Assassin’s face – its heat and opacity diminished. Gradually it would fade altogether, though for the time being it lingered, clouding the area around Isabella. Despite this, and the fact that she had turned her head away from her opponent, the former Assassin continued with her pushing.

There was a sudden change in her strength though. She began to slack slightly, even going so far as to take half a step back. Isabella cradled her opponent’s weight as he leaned himself forward with reasonable ease, straining only some for the time being.

Isabella dug her heels in and prepared herself, stabilizing her body and maintaining her balance. Her plan was changing, molding to the situation with every passing second she spent with her adversary. The adjustments were necessary, and only natural. Even from something as simple as pitting her strength against his in a shoving match, the former Assassin was able to learn about her opponent. The question was, could Isabella use that gathered knowledge and apply it to her advantage?

5

Her opponent’s move, while risky, was also bold. As Isabella felt him begin to shift his weight and rearrange his footing, she could not help herself but admire his tenacity, turning her head back to face him through the thin remains of steam. If anything, her adversary definitely kept things interesting.

Instead of fighting against the goggle-wearing man, Isabella guided him through the motions of his own actions, going so far as to pull him along, forcefully causing his pace to quicken as they rotated. For a time, it seemed that the former Assassin was willingly going to switch positions with him. However, as their shoulder’s lined up with each side of the small platform not connected to one of the two narrow pathways, Isabella made her move.

Using her opponent’s momentum – gathered from their swift rotation towards Isabella’s left – the former Assassin quickly, and expertly, stepped forward with her left foot, placing it directly in the path of her adversary’s next sidelong stride. In conjunction with this, Isabella’s grip on her opponent’s arms tightened, which facilitated the sudden surge of strength she put into moving him even faster in the direction he was already heading.

From here, one of two things would likely occur: he would either trip, at which point Isabella would seize the opportunity to throw him not to the ground, but off of the ledge opposite the one he had just been standing, taking advantage of the incredibly small width of the platform. Or, he would not.

While the prior seemed more possible then the latter, Isabella was not about to trick herself into thinking that she had won just yet. The placement of her left foot was far enough forward that, should he be fast enough to do so, her adversary might find it difficult to step over. She was not simply trying to take his leg out from under him by blocking its path at the ankle, but rather from roughly his mid-shin to his ankle. Also, by pulling him along as she had been doing, not to mention the last surge of strength an instant before his leg would (hopefully) connect, Isabella crafted an even more difficult situation to get out of.

Assuming her machinations panned out properly, Isabella would release her hold on the goggle-wearing man’s arms. However, this would only be done should he trip. The release would also be accompanied by a thrusting, which would be done to aid in the overall power of the trip, and hopefully cause her adversary to cover the necessary gap between their current location and the ledge.

In the off chance that none of this worked, and that her opponent did in fact manage to avoid being tripped, Isabella would do everything in her power to keep a hold of her adversary’s arms. In fact, to avoid being burnt a second time by the opening of the drill’s vent, the former Assassin’s grip on that arm would slide down just enough that her large hand would have a firmer hold around the forearm, though be closer to the rapidly spinning weapon at the same time. Nevertheless, Isabella would waste no time in twisting the arm back, and thus the ventilation area away from her.

6

Isabella’s response was swift and concise, delivered with such acuity to detail that, as her opponent found himself unable to press all but a few inches forward, it would quickly don on him that he had overlooked a key component and was thus the true facilitator of his attack’s demise. All it took on the former Assassin’s part was a quick stiffening of her muscles, and a pronounced (although carefully monitored) digging in of her heels.

Throughout the pushing and pulling, shoving and shunting, Isabella had not actually moved her adversary’s arms from their position beside and in front of his body, respectfully, nor had he tried to do so himself. Her opponent’s shield arm remained perched just shy of shoulder level before his chest, frozen in that moment where its decent had been stopped by the former Assassin’s waiting grasp.

Because of this, when her opponent pushed himself forward to attack, attempting to strike Isabella’s nose with crushing force, he was unable to surpass his own arm, which now pressed firmly against his upper torso.

Immediately, Isabella countered, sliding her hand gripping her opponent’s drill arm down, moving it precariously closer to the spinning mechanism. Reaffirming her hold on the appendage, the former Assassin began to twist the arm back. The sole purpose behind this particular action was to remove the vent from being in a position where it could release steam directly at her. In addition to this, Isabella stepped forward, renewing her pushing as she attempted to trhust him back towards the narrow pathway. Once the former Assassin managed (assuming she was able to do so in the first place) to get her opponent onto the walkway, she would cease her shoving and lock herself in place, while still doing her absolute best to keep a hold of the goggle-wearing man’s arms.

7

Isabella’s eyes narrowed within the shadowy depths of her hood. A nigh audible sigh brushed passed her lips, which curled into a subtle grin. In that instant, the former Assassin released her adversary with one final, powerful shove away from her. Without hesitation, Isabella took several steps backward, stopping just shy of half a foot from the pathway her opponent had entered onto when he had first arrived. With each stride back she took, her right arm raised, gripping the weathered hilt of her sword.

A solid, metallic click pierced the steady rhythm of the spinning drill, followed by a much softer hiss as Isabella drew her large weapon. Isabella turned her body, lining the left side of her body with the front of her opponent’s. For whatever reason, the former Assassin held her sword out behind her, steadily rotating the pearlescent-blue bladed greatsword through the air with noticeable ease. She carefully kept the fifty inches of nearly translucent blade from catching onto anything.

There was a growing swell of power, and a rapidly increasing presence of wind within the area as Isabella continued to guide her sword, Gale, through the atmosphere. She stood her ground, patiently waiting for her opponent to make his next move. The former Assassin had given him his chance, released him so that he might actually use that unusual drill of his. However, the weight of Gale in her right hand caused a memory to rise to the surface and Isabella found herself momentarily accosted by the images of the first time she had touched the greatsword as its wielder.

~*~

Reflections

Isabella stepped left, her knees bending to support her weight and maintain her balance as she ducked below the powerful, neck-level attack of her father’s legendary blade. The glassy blue weapon sundered the air itself as it cut smoothly overhead, its passing sending sharp reverberations of untold power through Isabella as the full weight of her current predicament began to settle in. The Assassin King’s daughter stopped moving for all of an instant, immediately realizing her mistake by doing so as the large man she called her father put the silver tip of his heavy boot forcefully to his child’s stomach. Pain, accompanied by an overwhelming dose of nausea erupted throughout her body as Isabella’s father did not simply kick her, but attempted to deliver the strike as if he was trying to hit an invisible target occupying the space directly behind her. This was a tactic Isabella was quite familiar with, as it had been one of the very first things her father had taught her during their time training together. By attacking her in this way, the pure, unadulterated might behind the impact was bone crushing to say the very least, and was more than enough to send the young, teenage Isabella sailing backward to crash loudly through the wooden latticework of the dark fence lining the edge of the training arena. After only a few unwilling rolls across the rough cobblestone floor which surrounded the sandy pit, the Assassin King’s daughter came to a stop, gasping for breath as she lay hapless in a heap of splintered wood and her own tattered cloak and blood.

Vision blurred and head pounding, Isabella was narrowly able to escape the rapid descent of her father’s blade. Gale, the Assassin King’s greatsword, held dominion over the Element of Air. In her father’s hands, that power was truly devastating. But while the large weapon allowed its wielder to swing it as if the it was guided by the very wind itself, making it a stunningly graceful sword, it was still massive, and her father favored brutish, sweeping attacks.

Staggering to her feet and quickly making her way behind a nearby pillar, Isabella drew the knife that Angel had given to her shortly after they had started to travel together. She gripped the ivory hilt and swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat, quelling her fears for the time being just as her father stepped around the column and made his next attack.

With a surge of agility drawn from her Aanoon bloodline, Isabella swiftly sidestepped Gale’s keen, crystalline blade, flinching slightly as a spattering of splinters pelted the side of her face as the greatsword bit into the wooden support. Her father possessed more than adequate strength to wrench his weapon free of its makeshift bindings. Isabella knew she had to act fast. Without pause, she stepped forward, preemptively ducking below the sword’s position on the column. But doing so drew the ire of the Assassin King’s boot a second time. Though, this time around, Isabella was ready.

She pulled her right shoulder back, slamming her backside forcefully into the pillar, and subsequently avoiding harm. Reacting with the training provided to her not by her father, but by her close friends, the Assassin King’s daughter lunged towards her father, thrusting her left, dagger-wielding arm out. The sensation of the narrow blade sinking into flesh and piercing even bone sent waves of nausea through Isabella; something that had not happened to her since she was thirteen.

There was no dramatic gasping for breath, or groping at the wound as her father fell to the ground, lifeless.

Several long moments passed before Isabella finally managed to regain her wits enough to move. Though, as she proceeded to, she found herself unable to stand. She fell to her hands and knees, and dry heaved for what felt like hours. It was only when Angel appeared by her side, and the sounds of Marcoos Argate and Anta’nashia Unedon, that the child of the Assassin King could find the will to stand.

“Are you alright?” Angel whispered, gingerly brushing his delicate fingers across her brow.

Isabella nodded, taking a moment to examine her father’s corpse.

“We should go,” Anta’nashia said from the door they had entered from, “there are others coming.”

Angel exchanged a worried look with his large companion, Marcoos, before turning his silver eyes back to Isabella.

“Ashia’s right, we need to go,” Angel moved to wrap his arm around Isabella’s waste, though was brushed away as she took the two steps necessary to reach her father’s sword.

Isabella laid her gloved hand on Gale’s worn wrappings, drawing in a breath of air. The muscles in her tired body contracted as she pulled the weapon free of the pillar. An ephemeral breeze rolled across Isabella’s body as the sword accepted her as its new wielder.

[1]

8

Isabella’s response was, in a manner of speaking, predictable. As her opponent swung upward, the former Assassin leapt back, using her brief stint in the air to quickly and fluidly switch her greatsword from her right to her left. When she landed, her footing, not to mention balance, suffered only a minor and ephemeral hiccup in stability. Isabella’s jump backward placed her another four feet away from her adversary, and left her with little more than three feet behind her.

Up until now, Isabella had proven herself to be of the aggressive short. In fact, she was almost so to a fault. However, she had to take to an entirely different strategy when she called her on weapon’s power. Unlike her father, the former Assassin did not yet fully grasp the breadth of Gale’s capabilities, and because of that the sword required a good deal of handling before Isabella could release even a fraction of its potential. And this in turn demanded a far more defensive stance on her part.

By leaping back, the former Assassin was able to avoid harm once more, while leaving her opponent to feel the sting of his own vaporous assault. The drill attack missed simply because Isabella moved out of its spiraling path. The steam, however, was something else entirely.

As the heated air was released during the process of her adversary’s attempt at an subtly angled uppercut with his drill, the broiling haze discharged towards the device’s operator; presuming, of course, that the vent that it bellowed out from had not changed position since the last time it was used at the back of the violently rotating weapon. In the case that it had not, Isabella would do nothing but watch as her own opponent swung through his own scorching cloud, even possibly stepping into it some, though that was dependant on just how much of his forward momentum he had gathered during his charge remained. However, if by some means the location had changed and it was now angled in such a way during her adversary’s, the former Assassin’s jump backward would help her avoid the brunt of the heat, while the constant flourishing of her large weapon generated enough of a wind current away and around her that the rest would, more or less, be brushed away, leaving Isabella would somewhat blurry, watery eyes and a warmth on her skin that was vaguely reminiscent of her home.

Isabella’s right side was now set forward, while her left was held back and Gale continued to be swung through the air with ease. Her clothing rippled, beginning to rustle loudly as an ethereal wind played across her body. She could feel the strange hush that accompanied her weapon’s rise to the peak of its capabilities within the former Assassin’s hands. It exhilarated her, making her skin craw as she mentally began to prepare herself for that final step and the moment when Gale’s power would be released.

[2]

9