Order Rank Challenge for Rank 1...!

[Attack! Attack!]

Hey, forget Rank 6, I'm going straight for the top. A challenge to Chariot of Fire for the number 1 rank.

My Temp: EDIT: I'm going to edit this up a bit.
Name: Vabryiel

Age: 37

Gender: Male


Appearance: A tall figure that bares the golden Judge's Armor.

Armaments:

Sword of Kings: A blade that has been passed through the generations of kings in Vabryiel's human line. He is not a king himself but possesses the sword. The blade itself is said to possess the souls of all the kings that have wielded it.

Royal Jewel: Not a jewel as the name suggests, but actually a pocketwatch shape. It was found, it can contain anything, for now it holds all of Vabryiel's human memories.

Judge's Armor: Masterfully designed armor that makes up his entire form. It is just as difficult to destroy as it is to manipulate unless by the bearer.

History:
Human life spent as a prince preparing to become the king he was in line for. It was a sad existence to find that all he had to expect in life was ascending rank in society's class in a world that still accepted the ways of kings and queens. A sad existence that was cut short at age thirty-four with the harsh realities of war. It was not the end for him, some may see his death in war as a sign of weakness, but he was severely limited in a situation like that but human boundaries. There were others who saw greater of him and would soon make greater of him.

In death he was shown the failure of his human life. Prepared more for an afterlife of battle, ironic to be taken from a world a war and be returned to one of more turmoil. In order to keep his soul amongst the physical, a suit of armor that became known as The Judge's Armor was designed for him. Stable and strong, made of material as difficult to break as it is to manipulate, it's properties were able to survive habitation in chaos itself. It's other potency lay in it's ability to manipulate and hold energy and matter in the surroundings. The Judge's Armor, called so for his new purpose, and perhaps for the fact that these beings were the ones to judge how he would spend his new life, they made him into a puppet, forced to dance to their design.

Upon returning to the physical world, the still human part of him burned with angst and rebellion. He was already well taught in physical combat and swordplay but there was a bit more to learn were he to break the limitations set by higher beings. Breaking human limitations was an accomplishment by itself but this would prove to be more. It was with golden ambition that he sought someone who could teach him a bit of magic, a thing he knew of for his world but had yet to bother with. Regular magic would hold little affect towards them so he only sought to learn a special part of that world. Only called reverse magic, it is special and difficult for an opponent no matter how godly to deal with, it is difficult to counter because even other reverse magic in incapable of countering it. He obtained his special tool at secrecy for a few years and used to strike the puppet masters all down in their own world residency. It was here he found the Royal Jewel, which contained nearly all of what he was as a human, he enjoyed what he had now to much, it was all that he yearned for as a human, things such as power and knowledge. He cast everything from the jewel aside from his human memories. He found that the Jewel itself was special, it could possess anything, no matter what level it found itslef on, proven with the possession of his memories. The jewel easily manipulated by a holder such as him of course.



Character Type: Power
Battle Type: Regular
Location: I'll decide later.
Special Conditions: None.

 

[Chaotic Dreams]

I will judge this if no-one else has been thought of...

 

[Orion]

Holy shit I'm also judging this.

 

[Prophet]

Alright, here's my template. New character, for the next generation Let's see how he works out. Warning, the template may contain a bit of crude language

Name
Brad Ash (But the ladies call me baby)

Age
Mid-twenties (But who gives a damn? Age is a word wimps’ use as an excuse for their failures)

Gender
Male (At least, the last time I whipped it out)

Appearance
When one first glances at the imposing figure known as Brad Ash… (Ooh, ‘imposing,’ I like your choice of word) they can see a tall, slim figure. Brad is not a monster of strength; he is a slim, built fellow, with muscle toned along his entire 5’11” body… (No one gives a rat’s ass about these numbers you know…) He often can be seen wearing dark black clothes, albeit whatever weather strikes. His dark black pants, tucked into solid dark boots, with traditional silver spur on each end. He often selects to wear a simple button up black shirt, over which he sports a long black trench coat… (Aw hell, too many damn words. These people don’t give a damn about what I wear! And I dress however the hell I want to! If I wanna wear my good old black fedora today, than that’s what I’m gonna wear! Think you can decide my swag…) His skin is a golden white, the show of man who clearly spends his days in the sun (Get yo tan on, ya white prunes!) and his deep black eyes match perfectly with his beautiful thick, black hair, held perfectly under his black fedora (I told ya not to mess with the fedora… And the ladies love the hair, don’t be making fun now…)

Personality
Brad is not one t- (I don’t need no damn witch-psycho-analyst to screw around with my head! Get the hell outta here!)

Abilities
Brad is an interesting fellow (hehe, ‘fellow.’) Not only is he a fighter, capable of duking it out in the most practical way possible (don’t patronize them, I fight as dirty as a stripper with a twenty), but he is an expert marksman. Capable of hitting any target with practically anything (Eh, I’m a modest guy…), he also can understand any weapon handed to him in the moment of contact. It is as if the weapons are extensions of his own body. Brad is capable of utilizing anything as a weapon, often forming weapons out nothing… (Magic fingers, baby) and can utilize any source he can tap into as ammunition, including sources that may be used against him. (hehe, I can ‘tap’ a lot of things, eh buddy?) It seems as if his body acts an extension of this ability. Additionally, he possesses reflexes of gargantuan proportions (What the hell is ‘gargantuan?’) and has been known to increase in ability in proportion to his opponents abilities (Damn straight!). As if straight out of a Hollywood movie, Brad can seemingly perform the impossible when he fights, anticipating and reacting as if he already knows what is going to occur. (Man, I can dodge bullets- I. Am. Awesome.)

History

Brad was bor- (Boo, no one wants to read this crap man. Just get to the action!)-nd he grew up t- (What is this, school? I need a shot, not an education!)-ving on his own, he eventually began to travel the Om-(Zzzz, sorry? Are we in a battle here?)-fter he discovered how he did all th-(Don’t spoil the fun man!)-e would wander, searching for battle and pu-(you make me sound like a Michael Bay film, let’s get onto the battle!)

Quote
(Okay, here I go. Ready? Ready?) “Howdy.” (That is not funny. I’m gonna kick your ass when I get out to your dimension. You call that a quote? I have more lines than a coke addict!)

 

[Orion]

Oh lol, I love your new guy, Chariot.

 

[Attack! Attack!]

OoC: The editing I planned on making to Vabryiel were changes that are reflected in the "big battle" with Ukiah and Zetsumi and all that change, if you've seen my posts there you get the idea of it. Anyways, time for the post, and time to see the humorous side of Cyber here :]

IC

An ocean of sand, that is what Vabryiel finds himself forced to stare down. It is hard to judge whether this is a good thing or a bad thing. His sister's body was never found in the palace, the secret door underneath her bed however, was. This is where it leads, straight out unto the desert that is actually a very long distance away from the palace. How the tunneling was done is hard to imagine, the distance unbelievable, but what astounds him even more is how he never heard of this passage. He'd originally believed that he knew all of the palace, this was just proof he was wrong.

He still wasn't sure if he cared anymore, but it seemed like the only thing left to do. He could go back and search the palace for more secrets, but it seemed more immediate and important to find his sister. It isn't so easy as to just start poking around the desert and suddenly finding her, no, he'd have to walk around this place and look for the closest possible location that his sister would go to. He'd have to somehow figure out where she would possibly go after escaping.

It was a lot of work mainly, a lot of walking through sand. This would take hours and even days, as a human this would be a problem, but not so much as his current state. Normally in armor like his it would take forever, but it was light, hardly held anything over him, he hardly felt at all as it was. Something he couldn't decide if he missed or not about his human existence.

Strolling through the desert was a pain until he stepped in the wrong spot. That's when it became much more. The moment he stepped on this certain spot in the sand, it twisted and contorted all around his leg, it spiraled around it and snatched his left arm, implanting it into the ground. Immediately it twisted into a solid state meant to hold him there.

Now bound by one foot and one arm in the desert blaze, he could only express irritation, as anyone would, well, anyone else would probably be worried too.

"Great..."

 

[Prophet]

OOC: Let's do this Note that I will be revealing certain things about my character through my posts, so don't be too surprised when certain things come up. And mind the language.

IC:

Prophet, let me get this straight...

The golden sea of sand stretched on for miles. As far as the eye could see, there was sand. Wave upon wave of the irritating little grains, countless as the stars in the sky. Except the stars were far more beautiful than these products of time.

Seventh Void had us fight in this god damn sand trap? What the hell? There are plenty of better places to fight!

The heavy desert air whipped up, and the dunes slowly shifted, the sand fading from one section before piling onto another section. It was quite magical actually; the constantly rolling dunes of sand, always shifting, ever moving, in a constant state of change. If one had been lost in this mighty desert, they could easily be wandering forever in the sands of time.

Hawaii... Tahiti... Hell, Spain! Tell me Prophet, where are the strip clubs in a desert? Exactly.

There, deep amongst the sand, like a hidden treasure glinting beneath the desert that had it, a figure stood. The man was impressive, encased entirely in a suit of armor, utterly encapsulated in the shiny metal.The golden sun reflected against the armor, causing him to stand out for miles, a fiery gold emblem burning in the sand. It was like lightning had been captured in a bottle in the midst of this desolate place.

A human shaped bottle. See, the problem with you Prophet, is that if anyone actually reads your crap, they realize your metaphors make absolutely no sense.

However, in the midst of the endless whistling of wind, and the trails of sand snaking through the air, there was a sudden crack. Loud, permeating, like a dimensional whip being cracked in the air. It echoed across the desert, spreading across the eternity, and it reached the man in the armor quickly, filling his ears with the sharp noise as it quickly faded from existence, leaving as easily as it had come.

I appear with a crack of noise? That's lame. Next time I want to descend in a fireball from the sky.

And there, standing a few yards in front of the man, leaning casually forward as if he had always been there, was Brad Ash. Despite the fiery sunlight, and the burning rays reflected off of the armor, Brad did not blink, nor did he seem to even sweat. The light seemed to be absorb into his body, his black clothes taking in all the light that was poured upon him. His thick black pants swished heavily against each, tucked into those black cowboy boots, the only light coming from the silver spurs which glinted like stars in the desert air. His silver belt buckle seemed dull, even in the afternoon heat, and even as sand blew against him, catching in every nook and cranny of his clothes, as it always did, he showed no signs of discomfort. Furthermore, his clothes remained utterly clean, no dust or sand dirtying the blackness. He raised a single eyebrow, his wild dark eyes glancing down at the armored man, his features dark and handsome underneath the shadow of his fedora.

Interesting fella this gal's has made, eh Proph? Worried about him knockin' you for your spot?

"Howdy Vabs," Brad said, tipping his fedora, the brim hiding his eyes for a moment, his voice deep and resonating, like it was being broadcast from some faraway tunnel, "Seems like quite the pickle you've gotten yourself into." Those dark black eyes slid up and down his armored form, checking every glint, every surface while glancing down at the sand that seemed to hold him. It had slid up his leg, taking him in its grasp before binding his arm as well. That was... interesting.

Alright, let's start this thing. Gotta defend your honor and all that crap, right? Internet glory; makes me giggle, hehe.

"Listen up bud," Brad said, his head tipping as he placed one hand on his hip, the other raised slightly in the air, as if pondering a serious question, "We're gonna fight. Here. Now. You may not know why, but we're gonna. Call it destiny, call it fate, call it a couple nerds releasing their hormones all over a keyboard. But we're gonna fight." The sand seemed to quiver on the ground, as if an invisible force had been run through it. Slowly, it rose, grains of sand spiraling together in a tornado of whisking gold, like powdered treasure spinning together in a mini-cyclone. The trails of gold sand met at one point in Brad's black gloved hand, and as the sand slipped into his palm, slowly taking form, building on each other, he pulled it over, and blew on it slightly, causing the rest of the sand to fall to the ground, useless. "Let's see how it goes, partner," he continued, the sunlight not reflecting off of the metal barrel of the .45 Colt revolver that had just been formed in his hand, "No hard feelings." His thumb slipped over the safety and he cocked the revolver, the gray barrel ominously dull as the chamber clicked, turning once. He grunted, taking his time as he held the revolver at arms length, pointed it directly at the Vabryiel, aiming towards the man's armored chest. He took aim, careful, careful aim, and pulled the trigger. Six shot cylinder.

Six shots. Hell, in this damn place, I could use a full twenty shots. Scotch please.

The gun spat out the slugs at an alarming rate. As Brad cocked the gun at lightning speed, the bullets were shot out, each one aiming for a different point on his armored chest, he grinned, a mad battle-fevered smile taking his lips as the bangs rang out, each explosive ring singing out in his mind.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang... Nothing like counting shots to make a day go by, hehe...

There would be six pings as the bullets struck the armor. There would be a different sound if they pierced the armor however. Now that was like the sound of tearing paper, in ensemble with a harmony of screams...

Harmony of screams? That's just creepy Proph, cut that shit out.

 

[Attack! Attack!]

OoC: Just a personal note, but I am going through some troubles in real life currently so I hope you understand if it takes some time to post, it would surprise me if I posted anytime this week. :/

 

[Prophet]

OOC: It's quite alright. You are the one challenging me after all, take your time.

 

[Attack! Attack!]

A memory came escaping from his jewel and back into him, all it reminded him of was the fact that as a human, he would find himself complaining about the unbearable heat that would only be magnified in his bulk of armor. Despite his position he could find solace in not having to deal with that, but the sand trap was still proving to be a source of irritation.

There were easy ways out of this, it was amazing how helpless he seemed in comparison to how helpless he actually was. It brings up the speculation of why he would leave himself in this situation, perhaps the sand was comfortable, it's own reputation for being soft could support this theory.

A whip of sound cracked it's way through the air and slithered into a form that let Vabryiel become aware of what was going on. Through the difficulty, he looked to the side at an upward angle to obtain his first sight of what was responsible for the noise. A tall but slim figure standing just to the side of the sunlight it seemed, his form was unimpressive and almost sickening in the blare of the sun. Vabryiel could have caught this man from miles away in the desert not just because of it's vastness, but also because of how he stood out, Vabryiel probably stood out more with the reflection of the rays with his armor, he'd become a ray of light almost, but whoever this was would prove to be known more than other humans, that is certain.

A surprising and brash personality, the figure approached him without fear and almost foolishly. He began to spoke, and just from the way he did Vabryiel began to laugh on the inside, there was something humorous about him but also whimsical. He could tell that this man was funny but also sadly overconfident in a world where battle is so dangerous. The figure's babbling stopped at some point and he let Vabryiel know that he was a straightforward type of man, not only with words but with actions as well. The sand gathered within his palms, and a gun was born from their depths. Vabryiel didn't know what type it was, and in all honesty didn't care, he still payed detail to everything this man did because he was beginning to find out how much of a fool he was.

Six shots beamed into his golden chest plate with amazing speed. He was quite a shot, not a single shot missed, which was not a feat when aiming at a stationary target, but they all seemed to hit his chest in one small circle, almost as if he were hitting the edges of the smallest circle on a dartboard. Whoever he was, he might be disappointed, each shot smacked against his armor but in it's leave left no mart whatsoever. It's understandable for him to not understand Vabryiel, the two had never met at any time previously, but it was still a little funny. Vabryiel's inhuman hum of a voice buzzed in amusement as each shot flung away from him, this caused the sand to tug on his leg and arm as a result of his position.

"Heh, I hope nobody has ever told you this would be easy."

Vabryiel paused for a moment, then proceeded to rip his leg free from the grasps of the sand.

"I knew you were coming at some point, I did initiate the challenge. You're the number one ranked fighter in the Omniverse."

Vabryiel tipped over and was now facing the figure that stood before him. The sand reached out and grabbed his other arm and forced him to an awkward kneeling position. The best way to imagine the scene is to imagine the armored figure with his hands packed tightly together, stuck in a mound-like pottery that is in the process of forming. The rest of his body was outside of this in a kneel, his body was leaned slightly over the mound his arms were trapped in.

"You should never have come though, you've fucked with the wrong person, that I plan to show you."

He smiled inside and hummed his laugh.

 

[Prophet]

"Heh, I hope nobody has ever told you this would be easy."

Brad's smile split into an even wider grin, his teeth white in the brilliant sunlight as the hebdomad of shots rang into the air. Six bullets fell to the ground, falling against the sand, the crushed metal as useless as mere scrap. Contrary to popular belief, bullets did not spark which ricocheting off of metal. They simply fall, discarded against the golden sand.

But you gotta admit, sparks would look pretty damn awesome Proph...

Brad tipped his fedora, the Colt Revolver held loosely in his hand as he spun it around his index finger, casually letting the metal slip around his black gloved palm like a toy he was simply enjoying. The armored man's words were short of profound, but they nevertheless struck a certain spot in Brad's mind. It was not just a few stray shots that one a battle in his mind. It was ego; the art; the drama.

Lucky me; seems this armored arse has all the lines, eh bud?

"Hell, I never wanted easy," Brad replied with a chuckle, his infectious smirk spreading from ear to ear, the sunlight mysteriously refracting around his dull gray revolver, never quite reflecting off of it as he let the barrel spin around his hand, "If I wanted that, I'd be floatin' around Vegas with my free time. Shit, I'd be fighting the noobs if I wanted something like that." A single black boot stepped forward, the silver spur spinning slightly as Brad walked around, gently beginning to pace in a circle, the light refracting in the same mysterious way around the spin of his silver spur, as he walked, gently tossing one foot in front of the other, as if on a jaunty stroll through this boundless desert.

Damn, don't you love this guy's voice? Like a combo platter of a horde of locusts and a broken sex toy.

"I knew you were coming at some point, I did initiate the challenge. You're the number one ranked fighter in the Omniverse."

Brad only scratched the back of his head in mock modesty, his wild black eyes looking down as he kicked a bit of sand in false humility.

"Aw shucks man, I ain't all that," he said, his deep, resonating voice switching to a softer whine almost instantly, "I'm only as good as the big man himself lets me be." He let that telltale grin split his handsome features, pointing up at the sky with the barrel of his revolver as the armored man managed to rip his leg out of the sandy grasp.

Hehe, I love making them squirm. He'll think I'm talking about God or something. Although, you sorry bastards ARE the gods of us really... And damn straight that was blasphemy, whatcha gonna do? Make me lose? hehe...

Within that thought however, the sand sunk beneath Brad's right boot, and he glanced down, a single confused frown crossing his face as the sand liquefied beneath his boot. A grunt escaped his lips as he suddenly sunk down to his knee, his right leg suddenly trapped up to his kneecap in the compact sand. The gun-gray revolver was caught back in his hand, the barrel fixed to Vabryiel's chest as he caught his balance. His left foot remained stable, but he was now lopsided, a ridiculous cowboy stuck in the ground.

Oh think you're funny, huh Prophet? Maybe you should concentrate more on getting laid and less on winning an online battle. That's right, I went there. When I find some way to enter your dimension, I'm gonna kick your sorry, character creating ass...

"You should never have come though, you've fucked with the wrong person, that I plan to show you."

"Tell me about it," grunted Brad in reply, his wild black eyes rolling as he pulled at his leg for a moment, tugging a bit at the sand-trapped limb, "If I had a choice, I'd be fucking with Mitsukai right now, you kidding me? Your armor's got nothing on that crazy fine ass I'm afraid. But, she's occupied with Ukiah at the moment, and I ain't lookin' to cock-block the the manifucker of reality and dreams. So, I'm fighting you. Hold this for a sec?" Brad's hand flashed up as he tossed his revolver to Vabryiel, gripping his leg with both hands, grunting hard as he pulled the leg free of the sand, gasping as the tendrils of grainy goldness seemed to cling to his every fiber. He groaned, stretching his leg out as he slowly stood, shaking foot, the black boot as clean as a whistle as he gingerly stepped on it, as if checking an injury. "Nah, still good!" he said, beaming as he he kicked his shoe about, his entire foot clad in dark, differentiating from the other one only in a slight absence of silver glare. "How about we duke it out now?"

There was a golden flash of flight; his black-gloved palm suddenly seemed to be glowing with a fervent golden light, as if a miniature sun was burning in his fingers. It even rivaled the glow reflecting off of the armored Vabryiel for that split second it existed. And then, suddenly, as if they had always been there, the twin gray tubes of two double-barreled shot guns were held loosely in Brad Ash's hands. He glanced at each of them, as if sizing up the identical shotguns, before tossing one to Vabryiel, letting it fall to the sand right next to where he had tossed the revolver. The lay there, dull gray in the bright sunlight. Brad yawned, tipping his hat as he clicked open the shotgun, whipping two shells out of thin air as he slid them both into the barrels with an ominous click. He eyed the armored man once, his wild black eyes gazing over the circle where he had fired, eying those septenary imaginary pockmarks he would have made if the projectiles had struck through the metal.

"There's ammo already in the barrels," he motioned distractedly as he pumped the shotgun once, locking the bullets into place as he took a gander down the sight before turning to glance at the armored man buried in the sand, "Pick your poison buddy; I love a good standoff. Show me what you can do with a few slugs and ten paces."