[04] Mountain Sector FIGHT

[DA 2009]

MOUNTAIN SECTOR FIGHT

(1) Sage vs. NPC Pierre

[Sage]

Sage stretched out on her boulder, her hands laced behind her head, as she lay on the rock, staring up at the sky. It was something she rarely saw on Earth, with all their cities and lights and progress.

It was one reason - one of few - that she was thankful to have grown up on Vegeta-Sei. There was so much destruction, but what natural beauty there was couldn’t be so easily obstructed by such things.

The girl found herself wanting to go home, suddenly. It seemed to dawn on her right then that she hadn’t been home since she’d fallen into the current timeline. She had spent most of her time on Earth; a nice place, but a strange one.

The stars above her were strange, as well. Different from the ones she knew. And yet, Dante seemed to have a solitary Day Star, just like home. Although, the randomly changing night-and-day cycles seemed to wreak havoc with that theory. Perhaps the existence of a sun at all was just an illusion. Maybe Dante was, in fact, pitched in darkness all the time, and all of the lighting was some amazingly elaborate ruse.

It was a ridiculous hypothesis, but Sage had seen some remarkably strange things, both in the Friend or Foe tournament, and during her stay in Dante’s Abyss. The blue haired girl would be willing to accept all manner of insane theories at this point, so long as they sought to explain something otherwise inexplicable.

The quarter saiyan closed her eyes, and her head lolled over to the side. There was nobody around - in fact, it would be more likely someone happened upon her in a bunker - so she thought she might get some sleep. No Belle’s to wake her out here.

- - - - -

“Ah, la belle endormie se réveille,” came the voice of a man, who spoke with dulcet musicality. It took a few beats before Sage realized that she was not dreaming.

With a tiny groan, the girl pushed herself up off of dirt - not the boulder she’d fallen asleep on - and up onto her knees. She sat on her heels and rubbed her eyes, before releasing a sharp yelp of surprise as she found a man standing almost directly in front of her.

A backpedal, a stumble, and finally Sage tumbled backwards, away from the man who had been speaking to her. She scrambled away from him, until she found herself up against a rock, and unable to move any further.

He was ... strange. His clothing was bizarre, almost absurd. Purple tights and a pair of golden boots and matching golden chest plate, armor like Vad wore, only highly ornate. They were incredibly well-decorated, and seemed very heavy, almost useless, even to Sage. Overtop this odd ensemble, he wore a distracting, bright red sash, and hid his golden hair with a brown, feathered cap. It was huge, like a renaissance poet would have worn. Strapped to his hip, a medieval long sword. He looked like an oaf, yet he carried himself with the utmost confidence.

“Ah, the fates are kind to bless me with the presence of a second beautiful woman in as many days,” the man said with what he thought was a winning smile. “I must admit; your beauty is nothing short of breathtaking. I am... almost heartbroken to look at you, knowing you are not yet mine to look at.”

Sage flushed, and made a point to keep from making eye contact. His come-on was horrible, but he said it with so much conviction, that it had wound up embarrassing her, and not the man who was now taking flourishing strides toward her, with his shoulders squared and his chest thrust forward.

“Allow me the privilege,” he said, extending his hand toward Sage. “To help you to your feet.”

“Uh- um...” the girl made her own way up off the ground, and then continued to move away from him. The man didn’t seem at all fazed by this, and simply moved forward to close any distance Sage made between them, until she found herself backed up against a tree. The blonde stepped forward, so close that Sage could feel his breath on her neck. She cringed.

“I am Pierre, the illustrious hero of the Battle of Antium, defeater of the League of Legends, savior of Denerim, and the only man to have ever successfully wielded the legendary sword Obituator.” he said, with grand, sweeping hand gestures and a monumental swell of pride.

“...W-Wasn’t Antium, um, a c-city captured by the ancient Romans?” Sage replied. It wasn’t a question. No. It was a question, because the girl didn’t have enough backbone to call this ‘Pierre’ out on a blatant lie.

“...Well, yes. It was... the, uh, Second Battle of Antium. Much bigger. More dangerous, much more dangerous,” Pierre affirmed, raising his chin. “I single-handedly liberated them from their oppressive masters.”

“...But th-they’re democratic now,” the crystal haired addict countered.

“Now,” Pierre declared, obviously undeterred by the fact he had been caught in his fib. “I was instrumental in their political reform!”

“Oh...” Sage knew better, but it really wasn’t worth arguing. “Okay.”

“Now, ma chère, I must ask; what is your name?”

“S-Sage,”

“Ah, magnifique!” he kissed his fingertips and grandly raised his hand to the air. “Quel beau nom!”

“Uh... th-thank you?” the girl responded, trying to worm away from Pierre, who was still right in front of her. Unfortunately, he must have thought her squirming meant something else, because he put his hands on her sides, and gingerly stroked his fingers up and down. He made to put his hands on her hips, but Sage broke away, and hurriedly put a decent amount of distance between them. “St-stop it!!” she demanded.

“Ah, the hard-to-get type, no?” Pierre playfully replied. “My last beauty was the same. I would have won her over, but, alas, we ran out of time before I could show her what she was missing. Quel dommage.”

“I... I don’t... want-”

“To fight me? I know; you must be overwhelmed by my presence. I assure you, I have no desire to damage a face as pretty as yours, either,” he smiled, and reached behind his back, to present a beautiful, long-stem rose. He smelled it for a moment, and then held it out to Sage. “I can think of more... decadent things we could do with our time.”

Sage shook her head, and took steps backward to match the ones Pierre took toward her. “I-I-I,” she was bright red, and wished that Zena was there to chase this would-be suitor away. “Th-thank you, but I don’t-”

In a flash, Pierre was upon her. He took hold of the girl and swept her backward, off her feet, and held her in a deep dip, his face alarmingly close to hers. “Come, now. The eternally high-strung Damon Dukes,” he spoke the name with a surprising degree of distaste. “Would be very upset if we did nothing. Instead, I offer to you a night of passion. What could be more enticing - exciting - than that? Surely not some pithy fight.”

“Please-”

Pierre put a finger to her lips and shushed her. He withdrew his hand, and moved in to kiss her, but a sharp kick between his legs caused him to drop Sage instead. He stumbled backward, away from Sage, and doubled over, hands pressed onto the injured region.

“I’m- I’m sorry, b-but I d-don’t want any-” the girl found she was unable to say anything more. Instead, she got to her feet and warily, she watched Pierre.

“I offer you-” he spoke in falsetto. He cleared his throat, and his voice lowered a few octaves as he continued. “-the most complete physical experience imaginable; the absolute height of pleasure and intensity, and you- you strike me so??”

“I-” she shuddered, trying her very best to block out the imagery in her mind, of her, and Pierre... “Just-” she forcibly continued. “I have to win this fight. I have to win Dante’s Abyss. Please, I-”

“So it comes to this, then?” Pierre sounded incredibly disappointed. “C’est triste.”

“I... don’t want to hurt you, Pierre,” Sage explained, looking into his blue eyes for the first time. Her guilty, hardened eyes didn’t match Pierre’s jubilant, expectant ones. “I can end this fight... quickly. I can k-kill you... so that you won’t feel anything.”

The blue haired girl had no idea Sophia had made a similar offer - more than once. How delicious Damon Dukes must have found it to see two of the most harmless people to ever enter Dante’s Abyss making such twisted offers.

“You think me a coward?!” Pierre exclaimed, unsheathing his blade. “I will prove to you I am worthy of your love!” he raised his left hand above his head, and held out his sword with the tip pointed toward Sage, as a fencer would - only, his long sword was entirely the wrong weapon for such a stance. “Spines of the Elegant Dragon of Desire Attack! En guarde!”

He lunged at Sage with a quick jab, but she jumped back, out of harm’s way. Another swift stab, and this time the girl dodged around it. “Magnificent Vorpal Edge Strike!” Pierre announced, before swiping at the girl, who ducked underneath the blade, and raced out from underneath, out of her opponent’s reach.

Around Sage’s hands, her fearsome claws formed and solidified. Sad, that her Chillrend had become so... familiar by now. She really didn’t want to harm Pierre, in spite of his immensely uncomfortable behavior. But no love-struck blow hard was going to keep her from Sol.

The moral ramifications could wait.

“Pristine Whirling Flame of the Rose Petal Technique!!” came Pierre, announcing his assault yet again. Sage didn’t know what his grand names meant, but she did know it meant he was trying to kill her.

Unfortunately, Pierre’s downward slash was easily caught by Sage’s claws, and she swiped at his exposed torso with her free hand, carving through the armor like cloth, and cutting bloody swaths through the flesh beneath.

He leapt back, and released a high-pitched, effeminate shriek. “You-!! You cut me!! You and the last one! You cut me, and ruined my armor!! How could you?!”

Sage said nothing. Spears of ice burst from the earth around Pierre, hurling dirt up at him as they stretched forward, twisting upward in an attempt to impale him, but in his distressed state, he leapt out of harm’s way before his opulence could interfere.

“Is the ice around your heart so hard that you would try to strike me down with it?!” Pierre demanded. The question was as ridiculous as everything else Pierre said, but it hurt. It hurt a lot more than Sage hoped she let on.

[DA 2009]

He sighed haughtily, adjusted his hat that had fallen askew from his quick movements. The faux Frenchman gave an appraising look towards the spikes that had erupted where he had previously been standing, and flicked his sword out as if to casually shatter them. The blade hit on the flat side of the sword, which did splinter the spikes, but it sent a painful vibration through the weapon and into his hands. Pierre winced in pain, and tried to play it off by lightly tossing his sword to his other hand.

“It pains me to say such hurtful things. As penance, I shall fight you left-handed!” he announced grandly. “Shall we continue this dance, ma chère, or will you relinquish your doubts of the passion that awaits you?”

Sage merely raised her claws, one of them now dripping with trickling crimson liquid. His eyes momentarily fixated on the bloodstained ice weapon, and Pierre made a little gagging sound, his head lurching momentarily before he quickly righted it once more. His face, once rosy in color, paled to mixture of white and green.

“Are…a-are you okay?” Sage asked.

“I…am…wonderful. How could I not be, with such a magnificent specimen such as yourself standing before me?” he managed slowly. He forcibly looked away from the bloody claw, swallowing audibly. “Please, dearest Sage, must we continue this fight? Must we resort to such methods?”

“I…I told you b-before! I h-have to win!” Sage replied, firmly keeping her stance.

“Allow me to melt the ice, and we both win, no?” Pierre grinned. “With you by my side, why, I could make you so happy, you would never feel the frosty touch of winter again.”

He dragged the fingers of his free hand dramatically over his face, and closed them into a fist, allowing his eyes to close in synchronized fashion. The swordsman suddenly jerked his head to the side, as if pained by Sage’s inability to acquiesce to his powers of romanticism. Sage, however, wasn’t stupid; she knew better than to fall for the pompous buffoonery.

“Alas, my heart weeps for you,” Pierre declared, his bottom lip quivering in an exaggerated fashion. Then, he quickly resumed his poor, incorrect fighting stance. “But I shall show you the path! We shall be together in the end!”

He charged, brandishing his sword valiantly. Sage raised her claw to counter, and a few more thick drops of blood spilled from the wintry tip. Pierre halted in his tracks upon seeing the dribbling fluids, his face going even paler. He raised an index finger, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, as if he were trying to speak. Finally, his eyes rolled into the backs of his head and he fainted with an effeminate sigh, crumpling to the dirt below.

Sage’s eyes narrowed, wary of any tricks he might pull. Cautiously, the girl inched to his fallen figure and prodded him with a toe. He was completely out cold.