The Titan of Fire

[14:58] Lyulf Yayle asks, "Why, you want hit to old man?"
[14:58] Hati Kveld asks, "I guess you'll rather talk bout it inside?"
[14:58] Azar Barak says, "As part of the Fireblooded code, you are free to do as you desire. The honorable thing would be a singular combat. But if you disrespect me, I will put you in the ground boy."
[15:01] Revna Rune says, "Sure."
[15:03] The young man looked up at Azar. What was this guy some kind of religious zealot? Well, this desert was the place for it. Lyulf's lips pulled upwards into a smirk as their hand settled onto the hilt of the Justicar at their side.

"Alright old man, let's see what you're made of then." His gaze flicked to Raija then back to Azar. "Then, I'll deal with the Shenlong."
(Lyulf Yayle)
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[15:04] Canting his head to the side, he couldn't help but just be annoyed at how the other guy decided to go for Azar first. With a shrug of his shoulders, he simply decided to watch how it would go while making his way to stand by the side.
(Raija)
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[15:09] The Elder had warned them what was going to happen if they pursued this manner of conversation, how they would even consider disrespecting him was beyond comprehension.

"Boy, you stand before the one which has lived beyond multiple of your lifetimes. I have borne witness to the world on calamity, seeing tears through dimensions and armies march upon my walls. Multiple Draconic beings, Gods amongst us. To stand next to them in battle, yet you would consider yourself worthy of challenging me? Clearly, you are a deranged youth with issues beyond my comprehension."

Removing his staff from his back, he would grip it tightly. He had not needed to do so in many years, though sometimes a serious battle was just around the corner. Flames were steadily erupting around him, the heat so intense that the very sands which he stood began to melt and reform into a liquid.

"I have served under the Fireblooded for over eighty years. If you wish to seek out yourend over a few rocks that mean nothing to me, then so be it. Prove you are worthy of them, show me that this isn't just a waste of breath." raising it toward them, he was going to ensure at the very least this would be a lasting memory.
(Azar Barak)
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[15:17] The young man's ire was raised from the start. Who was this old man to get involved? He'd clearly reached for the stones. Yet, it was something impressive to witness the fact that they'd go as far as to unleash magics that were far beyond the youth. So, this was one of the Fireblooded's greatest of champions? A towering titan of their faith who'd deigned to come to the southlands for what?

A last hurrah of some kind.

"No gods, no masters. You've lost sight of what matters old man. So don't quote your time groveling at the feet of monstrous abominations that care nothing for you. Don't look to me with scorn! I'm no weakling you can just disregard like they're nothing."

As they spoke a flourishing aurora of colors began to seep off their frame. Wisps of prismatic light that suddenly burst into a brilliant purplish hue. They'd ignited with the fury of plasmic power. The Justicar's handle was tightened as it was pulled from its sheath. A soft thrum of power radiated from the plasma-caster as it was powered by the youth's own strength.

"You want proof? You want to be shown why when I want those few fuckin' rocks I intend to take them? Fine. I'm going to show you who I am." The soldier of Achyon's gun rose and with it the battle began. He wouldn't accept insult given from a zealot. Let alone one on the verge of death.
(Lyulf Yayle)
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[15:23] {Lost Dangerous RPB against Azar Barak}
[15:23] ** Azar Barak has inflicted an injury upon Lyulf Yayle. ("Permanent Injury", "Permanent Injury", "Permanent", "Severity: MODERATE (-10 Vit)") **
[15:38] The Elder was not one to be trifled with, regardless of whatever outcome this battle had in store he was going to ensure that everyone present would learn just what he was. The roaring pyromancer would step forth unto one of plasma and metallic magic, few times had he ever seen such combinations of magic though he knew how to deal with both.

The hardest to deal with was the sundering eclipse of Plasma and how it weaved through his armor sundering his defenses further than they already were, it was not going to be enjoyable. The youth proved they held a greater deal of strength than he cared to admit, but they were just that... A youth. Their tactics were scrambled like the one which wasn't focused where Azar calculated each movement, naturally, it had been a reflex for the most part after this many years of challenges and bouts.

When they were close, the immense rolling of Magma would scream out from the land beneath them, pouring out as if he was trying to drag the central lines of the planet into this battle. Though from above, the terror of what it was to have mastery over Ice itself. Snow was falling around the desert, even though there was a horrific blazing heat it would not melt. Rather it continued to fall down, beautiful and elegant yet so very deadly. A flick of his wrist and a blizzard has unleashed a crack of his hip and a geyser of magma rolled forward.

Their abilities were unfocused, unharnessed, yet they were so very potent. One which he would never forget for the remainder of his years, though they were not as bountiful as when he was a young man. As Lyulf got closer, blasting him with an arcing beam of plasma... The pain which ran throughout his body, how the electrical discharge surged, and the blazing heat burned away at his clothing. Though it was then, he reached out to grab them.

His right hand would collapse over Lyulf's left before it melted away, the flesh boiled instantly while he squeezed tightly.As if he was a volcano itself, the flesh steamed and bubbled into a gas that rose up into a red misty vapor. The bones were dropping to the ground, black pieces of charcoal. The eyes looked through the youth as if they were nothing more than a moment "You are not worthy."

An eruption of fire and Ice blasted back the child sending them flying away as Azar would be left in the center of a crater... There were no flames around him, he was heavily breathing while laying on his side.
(Azar Barak)
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[15:59] He was a warrior born of warriors and harnessed within the crushing grinding of industry. When it came to facing the Elder of the Fireblooded? He knew that it would require all the strength he could muster. All the might and power. From the start it was clear that the elder's flames burned on a level that was far greater than anything the young man could conjure.

The land itself burned and melted at his steps. The heat was almost unbearable but it was not the fire's that pushed Lyulf back. No, his will was as Iron. He could outmatch that fiery might he could push back against it. All he had to do was draw his own flames. All he had to do was let his soul boil over.

"When I'm done with you old man I'm going to start stomping out every fuckin' zealot of your false-god as I can find!" Each moment he pushed his body pulling deep from that fae-bond he'd developed with Pertho. Using it to not only strengthen himself but to connect with the man across from him. They were already clashing, chains of Cold-iron helping to establish a connection as he sought to drain away at their strength.

How odd that he would attempt to fight the old man by sapping at his emotions? At his own greater strength? Perhaps, if Azar had simply been a fire blazing against the shadows that plan would have worked. Yet, it became clear that he possessed something that was flimsily held by Lyulf.

A cold calculated mind and the icy power to back it up. The cold was something he'd struggled with. Time and again he'd push himself against those few magi who connected not with the passions of the heart but the chilling cold of death. Every battle he faced was one of desperation. How hot could he burn? How hard could he hit? Before his fire was doused or his iron chilled and made brittle?

The world broke apart as Magma flowed and ice rained. It was then that he pushed forwards with allhis might. Coming at the man with the full intent of ending them with a overflowing rush of raw plasma. Yet, his aim slipped. In that moment he missed his shot. The plasma arc'd through the air and deflected off the man's shoulder. It was a painful hit but by then?

He was to close, the feeling of that burning hand grasping onto his own sent the teen reeling. Jerking back he watched as the bone and flesh charred, melted. They dropped to the ground and with them Lyulf's will cracked. All the powers of the fae coursed through his frazzled pain filled mind. Where was Pertho no? Could the fae fill the pain that was coursing through him?

'You are not worthy.'

A gaze of started gold rose from what remained of his hand. Looking into those eyes that deemed him as nothing. Belittled his existence as something not even worth his time. In that moment Lyulf's will, left brittle by the constant heating and freezing. Found itself snapping; the shackles that kept his aggression leashed. Kept him from simply lashing out at everything gave way.

The cold-iron chains that decorated his body melted and began to slide over his frame. The searing pain of that anti-magical equipment being ingored as jets of raw plasma exploded behind him. In a rush of raw hatred the Cog charged at Azar.

Yet, what was a child's anger to the primal forces of nature? Fire burned his flesh and ice pierced his bones and yet he tried to keep going. He tried to keep attacking. When it finally overwhelmed him the youth found himself sailing. A smoldering, burning heap. Sailing through the sky. Where he landed didn't matter.

What did was what he would do when he got back up.
(Lyulf Yayle)
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