Gᴏɴᴇ ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ.⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀Gᴏɴᴇ ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ. .⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ Gᴏɴᴇ ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ.
Joined February 2015
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❝Son of the failure dark lord, have you come to lose your life to a real King?❞
@XMisanthrophicX
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With his attack hitting its mark, he'd already set his next attack into motion. He'd rely on the eagerness of consistent pressure, an easily recognized flaw.
His free hand would push the militant king back onto his feet as he approached, Francis would shift back. His overarching
once the attempt at the strike had been made , he’d quickly hop back from his feet and touch back down to the ground , not wanting to be within arms range of the man again .
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The mysterious type? A small chuckle bellow from his stomach into his throat, amusement was found in her answer.
His hand would pull from her now rosey dermis.
❝Can you at least reveal your name?❞
The musician blinks — cheeks flushing at the soft caress as she stills in her spot; unsure on what to say.
She cannot reveal herself just yet, so she decides to remain quiet … staring with a small smile.
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With his hands free, he would display a different skill set entirely. Index finger extended toward the sky, his finger would paint a sigil that cast a frosted mist.
As he began his approach, Francis would fire his weapon. A pentad firing of ethereal ice crystal aimed to
in a second , more powerful dash , his fist ; coated in electricity , aimed to crash into the center of the others back , middle knuckle extended to strike right into his spine , if successful , sending a ripple through his frame .
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❝A soldier with no purpose is a dog with no fangs. And a soldier who is constantly rambling on with what they "feel" is a dog with no leash. You'll only bring ruin upon yourself if you continue down this path, being a Dark Lord. You're too small a fish to even swim in
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❝No, I don't know you. I've seen many like you. And it's a good thing I hadn't asked you. You say you're a soldier, no? You've no clue what it takes to be king.❞
⠀⠀⠀ ⠀His tone was brash and matter-of-factly. He'd now grow to stand, his steps led close, yet he still
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Good, he was rather skilled. A welcome relief, feeling his feet stolen from under him, he seemed oddly calm. His feet quickly replanted, which stopped him just shy of the ground. With crimson eyes focused upward, he smirked, seeing this wasn't just a battle of Martial Arts
once the action was performed , he’d take a note out of the others book , turning away and beginning a full speed sprint into the opposite direction .
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Crimson hues bleed through ravenous locks at her armed entrance, brows raised and fell dismissively as he found himself resting within the luxury of another thrown, feet thrown atop the desk with a loud bang.
❝If you're here, I can only assume you're a Dark Lord, not like one
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Calmness and focus would reflect in sanguine hues. The arch of his sword ended against the pole. Right hand clasped the back end of his haft, angling his blade around his defenses. A thrust toward the exposed body of his foe would be only the start, his right shoulder thrown
－
, he’d perform a full spin before attempting to slam his foot into the temple of his opponent , as to not waste any momentum in his stance .
snagging his weapon back into his hands , he’d assume a guard stance against the man .
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The clack of his shoes finally came to an end, smoke blown from his mouth as he gazed down at the Kingdom before him. He knew not the name, yet it made no difference to him. Soon, he found himself wondering the streets; dead and dilapidated homes bared closed, never to open
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The vibration that rang through brought a soft tugging at the corners of his lips. His body remained in such an exposed position. As the punch grew close, his open palm would push against the pole that intercepted his strike.
Added momentum allowed him to backstep out of the
with contact being made , stepping off to the right , his fist shot off with a noise comparable to a bullet firing , aimed to shoot directly into his kidney .
of course , the moment he made his move , he’d snatch the pole back and hop backwards .
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The harsh clatter of metalic armor, offset by the rhythmic beat of Longma huffs, would ruin any surprise of his approach. Such methods ill-suited him his crimson gaze would befall @magentastainz, his brow would raise in inquiry before dismounting his steed.
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