I Just Killed My Boyfriend
OOC: [ ]
His children needed a safer future. It was, perhaps, arguable that in doing this that his children would be damned. To not dethrone, but kill, the head of the Armada family was purely sinful. He would make a few enemies for anyone with his surname, but in the long run, it would protect them from the target of the Armadan King. Isardis was a world leader in Alacritis. He was certainly talented, sinfully extraordinary. However, Alacritis was not suited for them both. The land wouldn?t be able to hold both of their angst with each other. At least in death Syrinx would be freed of his worries. Virgil would be angry if he died when he pledged himself to her, but she would somehow understand that it was for the safety of their children. It was time.
Massive body was carried to the battlefield. He was more grotesque than any time before. Isardis and himself were truly an exemplification of beauty and the beast. Today they would also learn who was the lion and who were the lamb. He was prepared mentally, physically, and emotionally. It was time for the two to dance a dance that had been long anticipated, and knowing Isardis--he would not miss the calling. He had lifted a verbal challenge to the boy last they had met, and now it was being put to the test. Show yourself.
Massive paws were evenly spread apart so that his weight could be evenly distributed. His head was low and in line with his spine, but beyond this there were no battle tactics in place. He wouldn?t fight Isardis dirty. They were both far too good for such a means. Syrinx, at least, could admit that he was going to be a worthy opponent. A smirk danced across a disfigured palette and each fiber of fur rustled in the wind that danced around him on this night. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the red god knew he could have picked no better night. A night where music would play for them. A night where they would be encouraged. It was a beautiful thing, truly.
Lips fell parted and he summoned his albino opponent. The king of Indarra. Would Indarra soon fade into obscurity? It was a question they would all find out soon. Isardis was likely already beating the ground to bring himself here. He wouldn?t miss such a thing. Syrinx began to wonder who else would show. Family of Isardis most likely would be the majority of their crowd. His own--there were a select few, but he had become dead to them. He was not a family man any longer and had lost so much respect. It was alright, he was going to earn it back or die trying. Isardis was the one who had made Valhalla?s legs so unstable and let the world rock them until they crumbled down. Isardis was ultimately to blame for everything wrong. Or had he only shown everyone their true nature? Despite all of this--it was show time.
"Speech!".
And so the frenzied ghoul will march to his own deathbed as though it is his own true beginning; aging physique as pristine and unpolluted as the vigorous days of his youth. He is perhaps, twice the senior of the red fiend that wails for his demise, and yet still his bones and strong and his vigour more than adequate to defeat. Regardless, the crimson child may preach of waking history, but he does not hold experience in his favour; he is but the promising ruby tumbling unpolished about the drawers of its jeweller. Isardis is no stranger to shredding jugulars and suffocating windpipes, but tonight it is different; tonight he saunters with principle towards the one man who has proven he is not supernatural, the one fool who had managed to defeat him.
The Patriarch?s mind is light with the thought of Argent and his family as he comes to stand beneath a crystal moon; distant flashes of lightning casting eerie shadows about the forms of a gazing duo. If there was to be an enemy that truly earths his pride it would be Syrinx; and he gazes now upon the youth not in nauseating hatred but in sheer bliss. His lips flutter in weak satisfaction, joints swaying as he comes to terms with the fact Syrinx had accepted his terms of challenge all that time ago. This evening, one of them will die, and then it will remain in the palms of their families to decide future war and peace. Pale lashes slide fluently atop rosy gape, content in his silence as he only hopes that the world will gather to witness the clash of Alacritis? ultimate rivals. He does not charge, but he waits, stabilising his defences as his gaze becomes suddenly sharper; skull lower in a hushed encouragement for his opposition to initiate the beginning of the end.
Isardis vs Syrinx ? Round 0 of (3 or 4?)!
FOR DEATH