Leon was forever lost in the waters. He was gone. Dead, alive. Not a clue. All that was left was the tattered and torn cloak that he had worn.
Leon was not going to lose the man he was fighting. He swung his blade thrice, sending nine windblades towards him.
The blade cut a huge gash in the man at his dodging attempt. Leon quickly reversed his momentum, recovering a new windblade exterior for his sword, and leaped after the man, another heavy swing came in.
As he charged, he twisted his thrust, reversing it to where the sword was over his shoulders. He disappeared, a vortex remained where he was. He reappeared, closer to the man. He slid, gaining more momentum with the harsh winds at his back. He crouch. Spun. Released the greatsword in a harmonious swing.
Leon gritted his teeth, slowly sliding back. He gasped for air, only to find blood flowing between his lips. Leon stood still, thinking. Blades of wind outlined the greatsword. He charged forward.
"Fool, you'll never know me..." he whispered, a bright light bursting out of the blade as it was still hardly pressed against the arm. The blade began to sink in deeply. "Sanguine the Nocturn, this blade shall sing," Leon whispered as the blade began to be covered with blood. He pressed harder as the blade shined brighter.
Leon picked up his speed, becoming nothing more than a speck of starlight. He moved all about, thrusting and swinging, aiming at every point of the man's body. He covered all angles as he did so.
Behind the flurry of windblades and the light, Leon was already moving. He was a blur. As he got close enough, the greatsword appeared in a flurry of rose-coloured slivers. The incoherent light hid his entire body.
Without moving, blades of wind cut through the air, charging dangerously fast towards the man, whilst blades of light hid inside the invisible texture and mass of the windblades.
"To honestly say..." Leon got into a battle-ready position, a gust of wind picking up. "Yes," beads of light started to fall from the sky, gently hitting the ground with a soft splash, bursting into small beads.
"Either, A, you leave. Or B..." Leon trailled off, not in the mood to be frightened. He felt a cold chill, but shook it off. Grande Mundus became a blade of incoherent light. "Pick,"
He jumped from the roof, landing quickly, as if he had teleported. He landed with a large gust of wind in front of Akua and Rik. "Stand back," he whispered, his voice familiar. It was almost lazy, but strangely, full of energy and serious. Deadly, even. The blade glowed with a rosey light, the black tendrils sparking with small beads of light, almost like stars. He glared at the man.
A harsh gust of wind acted up, with beads of light falling about the sky like snow. The cloaked figures cloak began to get ripped. He released the large blade, extending it outwards, rotating it out to where the pommel pointed to his ribs and the blade pointed nowhere in particular. A black trenchcoat was visible now. Amber coloured eyes began to shine through the darkness of the hood and collar.
The cloaked figured sprang forward, towards Seth. He was a blur and a rustle of faint souns. He caught the damaged Seth, laying him gently onto the ground. He jumped high into the air, vanishing. He appeared atop another tall building, the church already in ashes.
He finished his job. The blood and ashes drowning his feet. Juste walked away, his head low.
Ooc: lol, thanks for the grand compliment, Varnor :P Juste walked through the streets of New York, his soft steps gentle, his hips dancing gracefully, and his pale skin radiant. His crimson eyes stared through the darkness. The whip felt warm. A vampire was near. He saw a woman, and instantly, his feet were moving in a blur, the whip flying out with a crackle and a snap. His right hand landed upon his saber. Juste Belmont saw the next victim.
Juste woke up with a screaming fit. He fell back upon his sweat soaked pillow. A nightmare has haunted him, as if he were affected by a vampiric bite. He shook his head, his crimson eyes narrowing to the left. "Midnight..." He whispered, jumping out of bed. Apparently, the hunting was nothing more than a dream, a nightmare. He got dressed and walked outside the manse. He walked towards the city, whip and saber upon his hips. A gloomy aura danced about his person.
Ooc: lol, figures. And you're right XD Wind blew out the flames atop the church building, the wood and tiles beneath the stranger began to explode. The greatsword was halfway out of its leather throng.
Ooc: lol, cheesy. Where'd you get that line from? :P His body tensed, preparing for his rightful lunge. The stranger watched, the heat of the flames beating harder, the wood creaking, the tiles melting. He gripped the greatsword that was strapped to his back.
Ashes and blood, a sea of darkness, rushed through his mind. He was asleep, in his bed at his manse. Strange on how quickly he killed vampires and how he rested with such nightmares. "Purification?" Asked a demonic voice. Just slept, locked within his nightmare, listening to the dark, evil voice. "This is murder. You're killing innocents, just like we killed your race. Innocents die." It chuckled. With each chuckle, Juste twisted and turned in his sleep. Cold sweat crept up on him. Did he even go hunting? Or was it a dream? How long has he slept?! The sleeping Juste did not know, nor will he ever. Once leaving one nightmare, another follows... He was forever tormented.
