Editing LotS/The Story/Between Heaven and Hell/The Man in Black (1)

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"You are speaking of [Player Name]?" the man's strange voice asked, with its curious accent and underlying growl.
"You are speaking of Durlin?" the man's strange voice asked, with its curious accent and underlying growl.
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Alexa's eyes widened. What had he called her? [Player Name]? Oh... Oh! That name, and that face -- the one which had emerged from a holographic shimmer as the punches and kicks flew. She hadn't recognized it in the bar. Things had been too crazy, too...
Alexa's eyes widened. What had he called her? Durlin? Oh... Oh! That name, and that face -- the one which had emerged from a holographic shimmer as the punches and kicks flew. She hadn't recognized it in the bar. Things had been too crazy, too...
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[Player Name]...
Durlin...
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Such a disappointment. He had been looking forward to the encounter, to destroying a worthy enemy. But [Player Name] had been weak. Perhaps one day he would find a better opponent. A foe whose own might was equal to the power that flowed within him.
Such a disappointment. He had been looking forward to the encounter, to destroying a worthy enemy. But Durlin had been weak. Perhaps one day he would find a better opponent. A foe whose own might was equal to the power that flowed within him.
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<font size="3">'''Master Hao'''</font>
<font size="3">'''Master Hao'''</font>
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His destiny has come upon him. And with it his true name. He is Noir, the greatest of the Kalaxians' agents and warriors. The one the others look to with awe and deference. Even Lady Victoria Ashdown's haughtiness is gone whenever she addresses him.
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The moment he rose from the chair and spoke, his words underscored by a low growl, their cheers filled the chamber. A grand design had come to fruition. An event of such magnitude that it would strengthen the faith of all who learned of it, and imbue them with redoubled yearning to carry out the rest of their lofty ambitions.
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But Noir's first thought had been of battle...
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He sniffs the air. Torrents of mingled scents flow into his mind, a mass of raw sensation almost overwhelming in its potency. In time he will grow used to this. But for now it's strange and intoxicating.
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For several moments he drinks it all in, and tries to discern each thing from the next. Aureate threads run through it all. These flash knowledge in his brain.
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Noir runs across the rooftop. His body, always strong and agile, now responds with inconceivable prowess. It's like wearing a panoply of armor. A powerful articulated battlesuit that encases him with its effortless strength and boundless potential. This too will pass, as he becomes more accustomed to it. He will no longer feel like a passenger or driver in his body. The irksome itching that surrounds his skin will diminish and eventually disappear. Until then, these things are a small price to pay.
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He leaps over an alleyway, springing from one building to the next with such grace that he almost imagines he's flying. Perhaps after this is done he'll return here and keep running. Spend hours navigating the upper reaches of the city. For the moment he lets the golden particles draw him onwards.
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The temple is hidden away behind an old, unimposing facade. Few who pass by would know what lies within. And none of them would care. Another religious building among countless which are scattered all over the city. As long as its adherents don't accost them on street corners or ring their doorbells to bring the good news, ask for donations, or inquire about the sound of one hand clapping, they can be ignored.
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But Noir knows better. Their scent is strong because their faith is powerful. It weaves their chi in potent patterns, and harks back to ancient mysteries. The order's monks are mighty enemies. Lady Victoria has foreseen the harm they might do to the Kalaxians' schemes if they're left unchecked. So what better place for Noir to test himself?
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The inside of the building is splendid, decorated in sumptuous saffron shades. Chinese art mingles with a style that only those with esoteric knowledge might recognize for what it truly is. This hybrid of cultures, civilizations, worlds, and peoples is displayed in all its glory by the Buddha statues. For each of those idols bears pointed ears.
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Men and women in yellow robes occupy a large central chamber, flanked and framed by this splendor. Some are meditating. Others perform martial routines -- moving their lithe, agile bodies through sequences of attack and defense. Others still are sparring, bowing to their fellows before meeting them in skillful combat. All of them turn when Noir enters.
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His aspect is enough to surprise them. For now his face is hidden, his features concealed by the smooth darkness of his ebon mask. Azure eyes stare from a cold black visage. And yet that isn't what causes them to abandon their activities and advance on him. It's his chi. They sense something terrible in its depths.
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Fists and feet fly. And Noir exults in violence.
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A woman's leg flails at his face. He knocks it aside, letting the kick's momentum carry her, and drives his knee into her spine. The crunch makes him laugh. Such speed... So much power...
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Bones shatter beneath his blows. Throats are crushed. Organs ruptured. The human body breaks so very easily, and souls are sent flitting away to whatever awaits beyond.
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Some of the monks grab weapons. A Chinese broadsword slashes Noir's back, tearing through his costume and scraping against his flesh. There's pain. But mere steel can't stop him. He whirls round, snatches the blade from startled hands, and lops the fool's head from his shoulders.
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The man in black's clothes are already repairing themselves, expensive fabric and its miniscule machines knitting together to conceal his hide from those who might look upon it. Their work is made harder when a few of his opponents resort to more advanced armaments. Blasts of energy burn fresh holes, make his nostrils tingle with the scent of immolation.
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He leaps between the shots and lashes out with his pilfered weapon. The carnage is supreme.
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A door opens. A man cries out in rage and anguish.
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The newcomer, a man with dark skin and Chinese eyes, stares in horror at Noir -- who stands triumphant above the strewn bodies.
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Noir sniffs the air. This one is strong... A master far greater than any of his followers.
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The broadsword falls to the floor. This will be a contest of flesh, not steel.
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The master's fist is a blur. It strikes Noir's chest with immense speed and thunderous power -- bursting not against the surface but deep inside. An ordinary man would perish, felled by massive trauma and internal injury. Even a robot's metal body would break beneath the blow. Noir himself staggers back, impressed. He hasn't yet realized his full potential. His newfound abilities are still alien. And the warrior he's fighting is the greatest he's faced.
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Snapping kicks knock the black helmet from side to side. His vision dances beneath the onslaught.
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This warrior monk fights with a lifetime of training and martial learning sharpened by a moment of pure, murderous anger. The combination is devastating. Blows rain on Noir, battering him. Such a bombardment that it's almost as if the dead monks have risen to lend their limbs to the torrential violence.
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For a second the man in black considers the possibility of defeat. He growls. His azure eyes blaze.
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He leaps like a panther, a werewolf. An elbow catches him in mid-air. It buffets his sternum with the force of a speeding vehicle. He falls, crashes down on his back.
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"That strike is of the Black Orchard," Noir says, "not the Golden Garden."
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The master's eyes widen. Even his fury can't suppress his shock.
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"Who are you?"
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Noir flips backwards, throws his legs over his head and lands on his feet in a single graceful movement.
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"My name is Noir."
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"Your chi..." His guard falters as he perceives what went unnoticed in the heat of rage, revenge, and battle. "It's..."
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He hurls himself at the man in black, legs sweeping, arms lashing in intricate circles. The master has sensed the truth. And now his purpose is not to avenge his students or punish a murderer. It's to destroy an abomination, a being that has no place in the galaxy. A creature that must be destroyed for its very nature and for what it might help usher in.
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Noir understands all these things. They're written in the master's eyes, inscribed in every technique launched to bring about that destruction.
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It isn't hate. It's fear.
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That knowledge thrills and empowers.
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The man in black feints for the first time. All his other blows have been thrown in earnest, fueled by confidence in his speed and strength. So when he begins high, the master counterpunches. And is caught when Noir lunges low instead. The monk's punch arcs over him. He grabs the attacking limb with his left arm. His right hooks his enemy's near leg.
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A wrestler would recognize the beginnings of a fireman's carry, a judoka that of the kata guruma. Perhaps neither would be prepared for the explosive jump that accompanies the technique -- powered by thews beyond mere human muscle. Nor is the master.
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When Noir leaps and spins, the sensation of flying fills him once more. But the air only holds the grappling fighters for an instant. Then they land. And their combined weight, all their momentum, drives the master's head straight down into the floor.
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Physics is as inescapable as destiny.
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Noir rises. The monk does not.
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***
Azure eyes opened. Memories of the battle receded back into his mind.
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He'd been careless, drunk with his new state of existence -- all of the power and potential that hadn't yet settled to rest easy about his being. And the master had been skilled. Today the fight would be far different.
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Yet he treasured the recollection nonetheless. Strong enemies sharpened the Kalaxians and hardened their resolve. So it had been throughout the millennia of their existence, pitted against those of the betrayer's blood and others who tried to thwart them and bring about their destruction.
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A pity (Player's name) perished so easily...
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But there would be enough foes later. When the cyan eyes opened.
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