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She brushed treetops with the birds, sailed across valleys and rivers, explored the canyons of cloud she had gazed at as a child. Adventure lay in each puff of wind, and Eve was at its mercy.

She knew that down below, beneath the clouds, was the earth. Solid and real. But soaring across the breezes, catching the wind in her wings, the angel could swear that all that existed was this heaven. Unlike the sea, bounded by the shore, the ocean of the sky could lap at the border of every city, every town and home across all of existence.

Though she never wanted to land, Eve was only human. Angelic heritage could not remove the need to rest sore muscles or refresh a parched throat. With a sigh, her eyelids closed for a moment. A moment to enjoy the sting of wind against her cheeks and rush of nothingness beneath her, before her humanity dragged her back to earth. Opening her eyes once again, she began the return to the solidity of the ground.

Vision was replaced by a wall of white as she dipped beneath the sparse clouds, blinded for only a moment before the rolling grasses spread out beneath her. Droplets of water sparkled like tiny crystals on the angel's skin and armour. A brisk wind battled the warm sun, a competition of who could dry her first. The soft down of her wings were angled toward the ground, spread so as to slow her descent toward the sprawling meadow.

As her feet touched the soft grasses, there was a moment where the feeling was alien to Eve, still a stranger to the earth after so long spent riding the breeze. Every time she landed it felt as though her heart stayed in the skies. She gazed longingly back to the blue expanse spread above her. Perhaps a few more miles?

Shaking her head, Eve silently chastised herself for the notion. It would do her no good to drop dead of exhaustion later on, simply because she couldn't separate herself from the wind for more than a few seconds. Keen eyes surveyed her surroundings, taking in the nearby copse of trees and the stream that seemed to run through them.

It seemed a good place to rest, if only for a moment.

@Praetorian

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Eyelids flutter, bouncing in rapid succession, as the titan's eyes dart about. Somewhere, within the hive, a thought slithers past safeguards and saturates his body, contaminating it with toxic lust. This wicked whim breaches deep into some long forgotten part of his mind that was sealed away years ago. Tendrils of desire reach into sequestered recesses grasping for a long lost relic. Within the darkness a string vibrates. Divine warmth radiates from it, warmth that reverberates throughout his inner sanctum. For a few seconds the note echoes, but it is short lived. From abysmal depths of depravity darkness swirls up and consumes it. In response a set of silver clad fingernails reach out and pluck the string again. The flat twang it produces is a cold and remorseless. Its call reminiscent of, "Kill her."

Farkis' eyes slide open, golden irides boil off revealing smalt pools. Instinctively his gaze fixates on the clouds as his pupils contract. Pinpoint apertures hone in on the angel as she breaches the clouds and vanishes beyond the tree line. "Ooooh, a canary." The words are punctuated with a sardonic grin.

For a moment, the titan's mind wanders. It rushes through the trees following a vaguely familiar scent. With each passing second the scope of his awareness grows, until finally he finds her. It is within this very instance that reality collapses around him. Prostate on the ground, the sky comes crushing in and the earth surging up. Trees simultaneously shrink and expand before shattering into shards of glass. The ground seeps out infinitely like a growing puddle, while his body sinks into the porous dirt. The air warps and distorts as light and color drain away leaving everything dim and gray-scaled. Farkis' eyes slip shut as he blinks, when they open again he is standing and the world is both bright and vibrant.

It starts out slow at first, the dread. A nagging feeling that bites at the neck, warning of something unnatural. It is a feeling brought on not only by the innate need to live but also the irrational desire to survive for just a second longer. It is an uncanny sensation that pricks at the back of the mind, calling the body into action against an unknown threat. However, with each passing moment it becomes more tangible. Within a few seconds it stifles the air and dulls colors, and within a few more seconds it leaves prickles across the skin. It is this dread that calls out to Eve, pleading and begging for her to turn and look behind her.

A series of ripples roll across the titan's body making his clothes audibly flutter and snap. The grey slacks adorning his legs violently dance causing the hem to brush across the flat black loafers. A surge of emotion and thought radiates out forcing the ivory dress shirt to bulge, the buttons threatening to pop. The grass parts at his feet, bending to his will, as essence snakes out around him leaving serpentine trails in its wake. A step is taken toward her, a bolt of electricity crackles to life and winds up his leg, along his body, and then finally dissipates into writhing locks golden brown.

"Little bird." The sound of his voice brings a rush of pressure and a stifling weight that seems to materialize from nowhere. For the briefest of instances the world is crushed beneath tectonic forces that stagger motion. "Little bird, I want to..." A series of steps are taken, each one slightly faster than the other as he approaches her. "I want to play a game with you." As his words resound through the air it seems as if his voice radiates from both everywhere and nowhere. It is only once he is within a dozen feet of her that the weight of his full gaze befalls her... all seeing, piercing, endlessly consuming, and constantly judging. And although she is captured within his eyes, it is not her that he sees but rather her soul.

 

Edited by Praetorian

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Wisps of hair caught by the gentle breeze fluttered through the air, sunlight turning pale blonde into spun gold as it reflected off the helmet and weapon placed carefully at her side. Long legs stretched before her, head tilted back against the tree trunk as a smile played at the angel's lips. Relaxation. Seemingly a foreign concept to a woman who was always being dragged into conflicts that shouldn't involve her. Despite her deep longing for a moment of peace, it seemed every moment of her time on Valucre had been ripe with strife. Eve had begun to think that relaxation was unattainable. Always interrupted by the clash of sword on sword and the screams of pain that inevitably followed.

Yet, despite the battles that raged and people that suffered elsewhere, here the sunlight still filtered lazily down through the leaves as a brook burbled nearby. Here there seemed to be some semblance of solitude, as though entering the copse of trees had transported the warrior to another world. She tensed her muscles and stretched, trying to loosen the tight knots in her shoulders that always formed after hours of flight. Perhaps a few hours of relaxation was not too much to ask.

Caught up in her internal musings, Eve nearly missed the sense of impending doom creeping into the corners of her consciousness. Something about the sensation set her on edge. Ancient instincts seemed to scream that a predator was nearby. Something distinctly foreign. Something intent on its prey. Without quite understanding why the angel had a distinct impression that she was the creature being sought out. Unsettling, to be so quickly flipped from hunter to hunted.

The first indication of something amiss sent a shiver crawling down her spine. The birds had stopped their lovely calls. Goosebumps raised on the patches of fair skin left bare as she heard the skittering of small creatures, fleeing for their lives from whatever beast stalked among the trees. As a strange lilt echoed through the trees, Eve found herself unable to overcome the crippling fear that now coursed through her veins.

Little bird.

A gauntleted hand reached for a slender wrist, seemingly without thought. Habit made her check. Made her ensure that no manacle kept her anchored to the ground. No set of cuffs rubbed raw the skin of her wrists and ankles, leaving angry welts that would never properly heal. No bars stood before her, deep beneath the ground where the blue of the sky was but a distant memory.

How ironic, that Eve had chosen a safety blanket made of the same material that once kept her hostage. Steel armour protected her from harm, despite steel chains having been her unbearable burden.

Sing for us, Songbird. Sing.

The words echoed cruelly in the woman's mind, pounding against the fragile walls that kept her from breaking down. Circling, retreating, returning once more to find any fault in the barrier. Trying to find the weakness that would send the whole thing tumbling down, releasing the darkness from its confines.

The angel remained anchored to the ground, unable to stand against the ominous pressure that seemed to pin her in place. Unable to shake off the memories that kept her hostage to the past.

Edited by Misty

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Farkis' foot hits the earth sending a wave across the soil. The ground and grass rises and heaves before cresting over on itself causing an infinite spiderweb of ripples to birth and intersect with one another. The tree that Eve leans against, is pinned to, shudders and quivers in flux. For a second she seems to bob against it, like a cork lost in an enraged and turbulent ocean. However the motion ceases with the titan. Within some immeasurable instance it all vanishes. The dullness, the suffocating weight of the world, the impending sense of doom, and the near tangible malice simply ceases to be -- as if it had never existed-- like maybe it was all just some strange and twisted dream.

An intense silence encapsulates the meadow, an impenetrable stillness hints at the entire world being frozen in time. "Little bird?" The silence is shattered with a single question. The words, with no apparent source, seem to materialize as a whisper that licks against Eve's ear. "Petit oisaeu, why do you not fly?" There is a prolonged pause before the disembodied voice reaches out again, slightly louder than before. "Tu formidas?" As the last syllable is pronounced, he is there. There is no heralding of his arrival, no precursor to his appearance, he simply is. Regardless of if Eve blinked, or not, the space before her, without explanation, is no longer empty. 

The titan's elbows brace on his knees, his hands lazily dangling before him. His weight rests on the balls of his feet and his heels float above the ground. His head cants toward his right shoulder causing locks of hair to drift to the side. "Once an eagle, now a ... partridge." The words are practically spat at her as he rights his head and leans closer to her face. His gaze is leveled, aligning the smoldering gold of his eyes with Eve's grey. He inhales and immediately his pupils widen as euphoria surges through him, sending excitement trickling down his spine.

For all the stillness about them, sheer chaos saturates the area and bombards the angel's fragile frame. A sea of thought ebbs out, prodding against flesh and armor. Invisible hands press into her, looking for an opening to penetrate. Fine threads wind together forming tendrils that wrap along her limbs and squirm into the openings of her attire. Dozen of whispers vibrate through her skin, carried along hollow bones to her mind. Break her. Eat her. She smells divine. Pull her teeth out. Skin her. Feed her, her eye. Such pretty wings. Let's see what makes her tick. The all too tangible mental essence presses against the Eve's mouth, daring her to breath or grasp, like a serpent breaking into a borrow. Fine streaks form along her cheeks, akin to a trail of tears, as writhing thoughts work their way toward her eyes, nose, and ears. You will lose yourself to me. The unspoken words are louder than the rest, more focused, sharper, and indomitable.

There is an abrupt shift, the growing pressure around her receding. Tell me everything, little bird. The demand is met with a vacuum, a pull on her shallow thoughts. With each passing second the grab at her mind strengthens, prying and digging for guarded memories. The siren call of his whims beckons her ID to reveal everything that is sealed away.

The seconds of motionless end when Farkis' left hand slips forward and he places marble smooth fingertips against Eve's chin. He leans in closer, invading her space, saturating her with him. As he speaks, his lips barely brush against hers. "I can't wait to find out what you taste like." If Eve had any doubts about the truth of the situation, those final words would undoubtedly make it painfully clear. He is the apex predator and she... his prey.

Edited by Praetorian

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Though Eve sat before her hunter, anchored against a single tree in a sea of chaos, her mind was far from the clearing. Far, far away, on another continent, in another time. Enveloped in oppressive darkness, unable to unfurl her wings in the narrow space, bound to the earth as no bird should ever be. 

The invisible hands that press against her are invisible no longer, replaced by hands caked in dirt and rough with callouses. Rather than prying at her armour, they prod at her flesh. Seeking flaws and imperfections, anything that would drop the value of their little Songbird. Whispers become shouts, arguments, commands. Inquiring to her price, her condition, her 'capabilities'. Ordering her to perform, to stay, to stand. Stinging sensations blossom across against the flesh of her back when she does not obey. The joy of her voice lost to the harsh laughter that follows each song. Unable to stand the pressure bearing down on her body and her mind, her mouth drops open as though to speak, but nothing escapes the choking grip that threatening to suffocate her. Panic begins to well within her, limbs struggling against whatever binds them in an attempt to break free. If she does not obey, she will be punished. She must obey.

Again, Songbird. Sing for us again.

The subtle brush of skin against skin pulled Eve from the darkness of her memories. Delicate fingers resting against her chin and full lips brushing her own, such a stark contrast to the writhing sensations assaulting her. The angel could not help but be plucked from the cage of her mind and placed before her captor. Where once were barriers now lay cracked and fragile ruins. All would be laid to waste before Farkis, who had smothered any remaining resistance with his power as though crushing a bug beneath his heel.

Unable to resist the lure, mind filled with another's presence, Eve could only utter a single word. Little more than a whisper passed her lips.

"Why?"

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"Why?" The titan parrots the question, his face drenched in vexation.  The immeasurable length of the pause is finally broken as his head glides past her's. As he speaks, the worlds roll out in a warm and damp fog. His lips press every so gingerly against her ear as they slowly part to whisper "Parce que je peux... la vie est drôle comme ça, petit oiseau." As he draws back, his closed lips pull at the edge of her earlobe until it finally breaks free. 

As he stands up two lumps beneath the skin of his back bulge out. His shirt pulls tight around his frame before suddenly going slack. The sound of torn fabric is lost to the cry of sundering skin. Two white bone protrusions flex from behind him and arc out along his sides. The lengths of ivory are dotted with finger like extensions that grow toward the ground. Fibers of red and black dance out along the growths, encasing the new appendages in muscule-esque structures. From the newest layers an aphotic slime boils up and emulsifies, as feathery crystals sprout from it. 

Although the feathers that adorn the newly formed wings are unnaturally dark, a soft crimson hue gleans from their edges. Its hard to say if this is their natural coloration or a personification of malice, but as the wings extend and cast a shadow over the two, the appendages become a veil of impassible darkness.

Farkis' right hand reaches out, his palm open to her face. His thoughts, violent and tangible, writhe down his arm and collect in the space between them. The air distorts causing the shadows to twirl and spiral in a chaos fueled dance, the ambient pressure of the air shifting as something draws the world in.

"I am the predator that your God created to hunt you." The statement reverberates through the surroundings, echoing off the fabric of existence.

Within the antumbra he is an indistinguishable mass, a living abyss that leads to oblivion. However, even with the light visibly bending and distorting, the golden flames of his eyes still radiate out fiercely. From the light of his eyes comes an unspoken promise, a promise that he would break her, a promise to make her beg for death.

 

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Eve was not alone. Beelzebub, the prince of Hades the place of departed souls, had mastered the art of ki control under the instruction of King Piccolo. Using ki control, the fallen angel, son of the Nephilim Dabura, prevented the leaking of his ki from his aurora, thus masking his energy signature and exuding no aura to speak of. Remaining silent as he used his ki to fly, he followed the angel in her flight, staying under the radar by using the cloud cover to go undetected. Descending quickly, he landed behind Eve's hunter. "Get off her!" said the four-foot-tall demon imp. "Get away from her!" He screamed. A magical spear materialized in the demon's right hand, which he hurled at Farkis's back at a speed exceeding one hundred miles per hour.

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Get off her!

From behind Farkis comes a call, a demand even. The actual words weren't processed, beyond acknowledgement that they exist. A fluid motion sees both the drop of his wing as well as the rotation of his body, as his extended hand levels with whatever is behind him.

Get away....

The entwined thoughts that writhes before his hand explode out as a conical blast. The ground heaves, a V of destruction left in the wake of the onslaught. A wall of pressure creates a tangible barrier that cleaves through the ground, grass, and trees.

from her!

The thrown magical spear meets properties that are both mundane and preternatural as it clashes with the psionic blast. However, it is the geometry of the attack that aids the titan. The wall of pressure, created by the air's inability to move out of the way of the thoughts fast enough, adopts the general wedge shape of the blast of thoughts. The spear, compelled to follow the path of least resistance, deflects up and over as it skirts along the edge of the attack. 

Fortunately, moments before the attack can strike the demon, the thoughts unravel. Psionic energy, without purpose, washes over the surrounding area, supersaturating it with psychoreactive particles. The ground is salted and the air laced with fallout, Farkis' presence dominates the grassland. "How about? No." The words are spoken with a well practiced stoicism, even though the interruption leaves him seething internally.

It's a little rude to just jump in like that.

Preps: 1

Advantages: 1 - Field Saturation - Advantage to control.

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Beelzebub, too, felt a fire with-in. In the face of this psychic monstrosity, it took all he had to stop his shaking, to stop his knees from buckling and giving out, lest he fall to his knees. Beelzebub could sense the evil in this one's heart. He could do naught but sink in-to a fighting crouch and hold his hands out to stop from falling. A wall of fire went between the demon and Farkis, circling a-round the winged titan to sweep up between he and Eve. The spear rematerialized in Beelzebub's right hand under the cover of the wreath of flame. Then, it was loosed like a javelin in Farkis's direction. In a blur, the demon blitzed through the wall of fire, running at speeds exceeding one hundred miles per hour directly at the winged titan.

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The flames that rush through the psychoreactive medium go unhindered, and Farkis takes a few steps forward as they encircle him. For a moment, however brief, the Demon Prince holds the entirety of his interest. If only Beelzebub knew how terrible such interest truly was. There exists two moments, one in which the spear returns and is launched, traveling independent of its owner. There is yet another in which Beelzebud charges forward. Both are felt by Farkis, the psychoreactive material that supersaturates the field acts as a zone of absolute control and the passing of objects through the medium is registered, no matter how quick.

Farkis' index and thumb rub across one another creating a snap, an inane gesture intended to provide a physical cue to the looming assault.

As both spear and owner move through zone, the zone collapses. Walls of air and dirt crush inward, sucked into an implosion created by the material reacting to its masters command. Surrounded by it, coated in it, saturated with it, Beelzebud and his spear are drawn to a single point of focus.... as is the rest of the area1+. For all intensive purposes, Farkis created a psionic bear trap, one that the Demon willingly stepped on. And much like a bear trap, the implosion would very much trap him2+.

The flames, the earth, the grass, the sky, the spear, and the demon are all caught within the crushing pull that compacts everything into a small glowing orb the size of a gumball3.

1. Psionic crush, prep used from previous turn. Advantage to area of control thanks to psionic supersaturation. 

2. Quickdraw teleportation denial, advantage from opponent willingly entering into area of control and coming in contact with psychoreactive material.

3. Prep 1 to plasma ball.

Preps used: 1

Preps gained: 1

Preps available next turn: 1

Advantages: 1 - Psionic Saturation - Area of Control.

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More quick than Farkis could snap his fingers, an omnidirectional whirl-wind of energy blasted forth from the demon, purging his body of psychoreactive fall-out and blowing a-way that which had not yet touched him. With ki control, Beelzebub could focus his energy in-to blasts; with-out it, ki was constantly leaking from his body. The truth of the matter was that Beelzebub could recharge by absorbing the power of the night each time darkness fell and then draw upon this deep well of energy until dusk, when he reabsorbed.

Matter gave way under Beelzebub's feet, and ki radiated out-ward from his person in the form of blue flame shot through with arcs of electricity, burning up the psychoreactive fall-out. Beelzebub's aura spiraled a-round him. In a tremendous burst of raw, unharnessed power, Beelzebub let go the power of the night, burning up and obliterating an area a-round him a half-mile in radius. Wisps of smoke and ki drifted up-ward. Beelzebub could be seen standing in a crater in the after-math of his attack, his countenance lifted up to-ward the stars and the full yellow moon. He was absorbing the power of the night.

Edited by Beelzebub

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The titan's right brow lifts as he mumbles, "Well... that's something." while observing the preemptive defense. There isn't enough time to fully appreciate the coincidence that unfolds before him as Beelzebud, without reason, releases a blast of energy to deflect the onslaught before it can start... because reasons. Because reasons always seems to be the most appropriate and valid answer when his enemies have moments of extreme and unprecedented serendipity. 

In the same instant that the demon prince begins to spiral his aura, Farkis' wings swing forward. From the folds of his feathers a dense cloud of dust rolls through the air, glittering and shimming in the bright sunlight. As individuals rays struck the cloud, the shimmering material within it dances the glimmers, fading in and out of view. By the time that Beelzebud's spiraling aura of energy explodes out, ripping through the ground, a thick cloud of angel dust meets it. 

The glimmering particles explode to life, amethyst crystals rapidly form as the fine powder consumes the high ki saturated ambient environment. The more energy that Beelzebud releases, the larger and faster the formation grows. Following the source of fuel, the crystals blossom through the air toward the pink demon, erupting from one another like polyps, quickly filling in the void spaces between themselves and the demon. Ravenously, they consume all without thought or hesitation, like bacteria without competition in a nutrient rich growth media. 

In whatever infinitesimally small time frame it takes for the demon to deplete his reserves of energy, the crystals threaten to completely overtake and engulf his body. 

As the literal and metaphorical dust settles, affording the titan an opportunity to think, he finally notices the most queer of transitions. Somehow, in a manner completely outside his detection, the Demon had turned day to night. "Huh... well.... that.... happened."

As his wings settle back to his sides, his left hand runs through the feathers. His fingers pinch together and his arm draws back and up, plucking a single aphotic feather from the limb. The tip to which is leveled with where the demon should probably still be. "I dislike you." The words are monotone and soft, spoken from a visage held by stoicism.

 

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Having never come a-cross any-thing like this before, "Who are you?" asked the demon, "and what were you planning on doing to her?" Using his left hand, he swung his cape for-ward, releasing four blue lines of electricity at the angel. He positioned his right arm diagonally a-cross his torso. Then, he ran at the winged entity at a speed exceeding one hundred miles per hour. Once he got close enough, he whipped his arm out, attempting to back-hand Farkis a-cross the mouth using his iron cuff.

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The formation of crystals persist, having fed upon the high concentration of ki released by the demon, they are more monolith than anything else. It is this massive barrier that spans the gap between them that is struck by the electricity. In much like when it was struck by the ki, the crystals respond by rapidly growing. The increase in ambient energy levels fuels them, causes them to grow and expand. With each passing second they continue to grow toward and around the demon, threatening to drain him dry of all of his preternatural powers. The massive structure's thirst for energy creates a vacuum and that pulls and draws in, draining away the ambient environment as it drinks in all of the excess power freely floating around.

The titan's interest wanes, his attention slowly drawing back to Eve. She was a delicacy waiting to be enjoyed.... an entree that Beelzebud was keeping from him. The titan's disdain grows and his focus returns to the fight just in time to see the demon take off. The barrier of hungry crystals between them prevents the pink warrior from charging Farkis directly, less he be consumed and skewed, and forces him to approach from either above or around. Regardless, as the hand sweeps through the air to strike Farkis' face, it is met by a well placed wing. Shielding the titan's body from the attack, the wing takes the full blunt of the blow. Its amorphous structure collapses inward, seemingly imploding on the impact, providing minimal resistance to the blow. At least not until an the compression creates enough mass to fully dissipate the attacks energy. It would be about then, that Beelzebud becomes aware of a few facts.

The first is that while the wing is soft, the feathers are not. They are hard, rigid, and sharp. And as the mass of the collapses inward, the feathers are drawn with it, like grains of sand filling in a void space. The feathers cut and saw, tearing through flesh, fur, and clothing.

The second is that his hand is trapped in a mass of black. Much like shoving his hand into a bucket of rice, the void spaces created are almost immediately filled in by the wings amorphous mass and the feathers that cut, saw, and slash. 

The third bit that he'd probably take notice of is that while it was particularly easy to shove his hand into the wing, drawing his hand back out is met with extreme resistance as all components of the wing refuse to budge. 

The final point of interest, and probably the one that the demon might take notice of last, is the bombardment of psionic radiation that steadily flows from the titan's limb and irradiates the demon's hand. 

"I am just a poor boy, nobody loves me." The quip is made in response to the question, a mockery of the seriousness of the situation.

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It was as the crystals formed a-round and grew to-ward Beelzebub that the tiny pink demon took action. With a proper boost, he could leap and clear a distance of over a mile. With-out a boost, he could spring to-ward an enemy, using his fangs to bite or his fists to pummel him or her. Beelzebub ran for-ward, hopping over the growing crystal monolith in an attempt to get closer to Farkis. Then, the demon swung the back of his right hand at Farkis, attempting to bat him in the mouth using the martial arts bracer attached to his wrist. A well-placed black wing got in the way of the attack, cutting, sawing and tearing to no avail. Because of his demon skin, a bladed wing left hardly a scratch on Beelzebub's extremely durable hide.

Using his left hand, Beelzebub made a fist. He threw a cork-screw punch at Farkis's face fast and hard, exerting nearly a ton of force with his knuckles, even as his right hand got sucked in-to Farkis's wing and bombarded with psionics.

Edited by Beelzebub

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