tampered | Log; Ongoing

Log; Ongoing

When; Friday, August 14th, early evening.
Rating; PG-13 - violence can and should happen.
Characters; Gabriel Sylar (

makes_you_tick) and Illyria (

ancient_smurf).
Summary; A sparring session that's been brewing for a while.
Log;

The warehouse made a ghastly background setting but to Illyria, it had little impact on anything. Beauty held its own merit; everything had a time and a place. Violence and blood had a certain charm, a certain level of attraction, but it definitely did not have anything to do with aesthetics.

Accordingly, Illyria spared her surroundings little thought, except note that the place seemed more or less deserted. Luckily, she did not have to depend on strangers for this particular workout. She stood, motionless, waiting for his arrival and counting particles in the air mindlessly. The smaller details.

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Sylar wondered if maybe this was what he'd been missing. Catching people as Agent Taub had a certain low-level charm, but he certainly wasn't exemplifying his own accomplishments there. He had been losing himself because he hadn't been allowing himself out. And here he'd been hiding as Gabriel far too much. It had certainly been better, but nearly everyone seemed to know he wasn't really that person anymore. He wondered if he had ever really been Gabriel Gray- it certainly felt like he'd been pretending all that time.

He was looking forward to this for a long time. He felt if he only approached it correctly, it would be very satisfying. So he entered the abandoned area wearing all-black clothing and a smile on his face. "Hello, Illyria. I'm glad to finally meet you in person." The politeness might be lost on her, but it was habit. He was this way even with most of the people he'd hunted and killed.

Edited 2009-08-14 21:27 (UTC)

She turned towards him, displaying none of the eagerness she was feeling. He had always fascinated her to a certain degree, being so unreadable and so strangely unemotional. Decidedly different from the humans she was used to. She did not know what he was, exactly, but she doubted he was anything like them.

If he was even human at all. She hoped not. Aside from Charles Gunn, she had no intentions of fighting humans again. In the past, it would have been for fear of getting bored. Now...

She pushed the thought away. It could wait. Perhaps she would not even pay it any heed, later, when this was over.

"Yes," she said, her voice quiet with an undertone of distinct satisfaction. His politeness was proper and right. Respect was a rarity these days and she did not take it for granted anymore. "You will make this worth my time."

Stated not as a request but as a fact. She expected him to be a challenge.

His smile widened as she spoke. It was a good thing to meet someone who could recognize that he was something different, something that would give them a run for their money.

"Yes," he said. "I certainly will."

He wasn't sure if she would best him fairly readily at hand to hand- he'd been learning from Faith, and added a few specialties of his own, but that was by far his weakest area. He was itching to test his abilities on her, though- to see if there were limits to his telekinesis, or if he'd actually have to hold back at all in a fight. He wanted to see how a god fought, in the first place.

He bowed his head a little, smile still in place. His stance shifted into something that could be considered vaguely defensive. "Would you like to start?"

A small nod. "That would be acceptable."

She did not copy his defensive stance, taking a moment to simply watch him instead. His looked frail, physically. Like any human. As such, he was either simply bleating at her with nothing to back up his claims - or his skills were not mainly meant for direct, physical combat.

He would not disappoint her. She knew it.

Not for the first time, she greatly disliked the Deities for having taken away all of her more beautiful tactics. Freezing time or opening portals was impossible in this place. She had only her strength to go by, though it should be enough in any case.

She had not come unarmed. Though she had not brought all of her knives, she had brought two of them, sitting by her hips on a leather strap, blending in against her outer skin. Without further ado, she reached for one and send it flying right at him, aiming for his upper body. She did not use all of her strength as she seldom had any reason to do so; still, it sailed through the air, much quicker than any normal throw.

Sylar was almost surprised that the knives came out first. She moved quickly- very quickly- and he doubted he could've dodged it entirely if he wanted. He instinctually tilted to the side, and the knife caught in his right shoulder.

He wasn't exactly smiling anymore, but his expression was still calm, comfortable, and focused. He reached over with his left arm and pulled the knife out. There was a small gurgle of blood, but it quickly stopped.

He stared at the knife for a moment, then tossed it up in the air. With a flick of his fingers (left, as the right ones were still wiggling out their discomfort), the knife stopped about five feet about his head. He crooked his index finger towards Illyria and sent it hurtling back towards her. He shot it towards her torso, despite the fact that it would probably not get past her armor. But it was moving even faster than it had at him, so at least it had a chance.

Illyria's eyes widened only minimally. A smile crept across her face as the knife hit and bounced off her outer skin, leaving no marks. She did feel the impact, however. Anything else would have been a disappointment. Such an interesting sparring partner; but dodging a practice shot was not enough to impress her.

He bleed easily. She did wonder, however, whether or not she would get a chance to attack him fully. It did depend on how much he could actually do. Cocking her head, she gazed at him for a small moment, then launched herself into the air, somersaulting towards him and aiming a kick at his upper body. She did not hold back this time, coming at him at full speed. Almost perfect. It had been awhile since she'd last had a chance to test herself fully and her mood was lifting gradually.

Sylar does not have Slayer strength, much less demon-god strength. He was unfortunately too busy trying to combat a virus when he'd have liked to been collecting the blond woman's power. However, fighting Faith did give him a few moves in order to combat that sort of strength, and he had honed it almost to an instinctual response.

The fingers on his right hand spread and telekinesis cushioned the blow. Sylar still heard his collarbone snap before he even felt it. He managed to mostly ignore it until it started knitting back together, adrenaline helping him in that endeavor. He was falling backward, but managed to stop himself before he hit the wall, telekinesis cushioning him again.

He was not expecting anywhere near that much force, and the small surprised smile on his face made that clear. He coughed, once, then aimed a punch at her solar plexus. This wouldn't make much sense as he was now separated from her by a few yards, but his action was repeated and amplified by a wall of sheer force aimed at her torso. This was how he made up for that lack of strength.

She watched as he stumbled backwards, more than aware that the blow should have been hard enough to send him flying into the wall. It amused her even more, knowing that he would not break. Like Spike, only more interesting. Not a pet, either. Something much better.

The force of the punch surprised her and she actually fell backwards, her feet leaving the ground for a brief moment. Her surroundings soared past her until she hit the side of the warehouse, leaving cracks in the bricks. She jumped to her feet immediately, the pain from the impact registering only peripherally as her uselessly frail human body refused to let her breathe. Straightening up, she walked back to their starting point, breathing through her nose with minimal strain and picked up the fallen knife. She balanced it absentmindedly between her fingers. Her attention was on him as she stared at him, unblinkingly.

"I wonder," she said, her voice clearly audible despite the slight distance between them, "why you do not lift me off the ground and throw me through the air, the way you did with this - " she spun the knife once and placed it in its sheathe, " - instead of simply firing my blows back at me." Her voice grew colder. "Are you holding back?"

The tone made him slightly more cautious, but he was still looked comfortable. He gave Illyria a playful smile. "I'm just warming up. My fighting style tends to be tailored to the person I'm fighting- the last one was Faith, and she focused a great deal on hand-to-hand combat. But you're different, aren't you? I still need to watch, and learn. That's my greatest strength."

He walked closer as he spoke, the sound of his shoes echoing on the street. "Believe me, I'm not planning to hold back with you," he said, smile turning wide and sharp. "That's why I'm here."

He watched her closely for a moment, staring unabashedly as he tilted his head. With an innocent expression on his face, he asked, "Is it my turn, then?" He glanced beyond her, noticing something metal in a pile of debris. He brought it forward without gesturing, zooming the bar at the back of her knees as he walked slowly towards her.

She noticed how he glanced away from her, but the bar took her by surprise and she stumbled, catching herself by her fingertips, inches above the ground. Looking up at him, she watched him approach, the brief flare of temper dying away in favor of curiosity.

Learning was his greatest strength? Correspondingly, it was her greatest weakness. She knew it now, though she had not known it earlier - adaption was a necessity in her current position, but molding the world into shape had always been a far easier, more comfortable solution. No longer.

"Your turn," she said, one hand closing around the heavy metal bar as she rose to her feet. She was almost smiling, arms hanging loosely by her sides, her small figure deceptively awkward to look at. Learning might not be easy for her, but back when she ruled Vahla Ha'nesh, battle had always been the best place for it.

It had been a gamble, but Sylar had been so curious to know whether she could be surprised. She was quick but not exceptionally perceptive. She approached problems, hazards, and fights straight on. He always saw four or five different routes, and that would be what he could use.

He had walked close enough to get a hit in, so he was being careful. He needed to put enough of his concentration into cushioning her blows- he didn't figure she would hold back, either. He contemplated bending the rod, but he'd heal more quickly if he got nice, clean breaks to his bones rather than getting parts of him tugged on by a hook.

With a twitch of his finger, the bricks she'd loosened started pinging out of the wall to break on her, hitting her her arms and torso. This didn't seem to accomplish much at first, because they'd pretty much shatter to dust at the speeds they were going. But then the dust wouldn't float to the ground. No, it swirled around her, a cloud of particles kicking her visibility down to nearly nothing. Sylar walked slowly to her side, wondering how she might handle that. He'd try to hit her with something in a moment.

At first, the bricks hitting her merely annoyed, like a swarm of persistent flies. She did not strike at them, expecting more from him than this. The bricks shattered upon impact but the pain did not interest her, nor occupy her mind.

She kept the metal bar still in her hand as dust began rising in front of her, slowly but surely obscuring her vision. It took her a second to realize that he was manipulating the dust cloud and when it struck her, she was instantly annoyed. A pitiful trick. Clever, perhaps, to those of lesser strength.

Narrowing her eyes minimally, she focused on the particles, every single grain standing out as her perception sharpened. She could count them all if she wanted to, now. If she had had her time powers, she could have slowed them down, but she would make do. Adapt. It did not matter. She could make out his silhouette, very unclear and muddled. The grain obscured her vision enough to be bothersome and instead of swinging her metal bar around blindly, she threw herself to the side, arm bent and elbow pointed at face level.

He had been about to launch a strike across her face, the only area of her that looked particularly vulnerable. But then he was suddenly dealing with an inverted nose, and all of his plans were dropped to deal with that surprise.

His hands instinctively went up towards his face, for as much good as that did. He hadn't cushioned that blow, and that meant he was flying backward with her. He should have been trying to turn her so he would land on her, keep her from going anywhere. Or maybe he could have thrown her back into the wall. Unfortunately, his mind was nearly entirely occupied with the pain, so he merely fell backwards.

Once he hit the ground, sliding across it about ten feet, he put a hand up. He projected uncontrolled force directly at her, hoping to separate her from him. He just needed enough time for his face to grow back.

As they went flying away from the dust cloud, she instantly turned her gaze on Sylar, noting that she had hit her target with no real satisfaction. It was as expected. Even half-blind, she had her pride, especially in battle where she was more or less created to reign. She flew with him, wanting to simply strike him to the ground. Before she knew it, however, she was pushed backwards, her feet inches above the ground. The speed was surprising, considering the fact that she had more or less just broken his face. A pleasant surprise. So much fight in this one.

Plowing the metal bar into the ground, she pulled herself to a halt with an effort, landing on her feet without a stumble. Her upper body was starting to ache a bit. Acceptable. She looked at him with narrowed eyes and watched as his face started healing itself. A curious ability. Very useful, if you had to be as frail as a human.

"Come at me again, when you are ready," she said, pulling the metal bar out of the ground in one, fluent motion and walking towards him. "But do not bore me." Those last words were spoken not as a taunt but as a genuine warning.

Like him, she was just getting warmed up.

Sylar coughed up some blood as she talked, but he caught the warning. Another cough and he seemed to have dislodged it all. His nose had grown back enough that he could aid it along by snapping it back into place. He winced and blinked rapidly, then stood again.

"This healing ability has made me sloppy," he said, his voice vaguely croaking. He rolled his neck and finally smiled at her. Distractions worked on her, but they were difficult to accomplish. The same was true for him.

He considered using his sound manipulation to scream her off her feet, but that was honestly needlessly flashy. Illyria seemed to appreciate practicality, and might find the sound ability 'boring'. If he got close enough to touch, he could use alchemy, but it may be a bit early for that. Besides, that might be a little too close for comfort- and she would probably attack his face again, given the opportunity. He would like to enjoy his new bones for a minute.

He raised his hand, and yet more bricks came out of the wall. They fell to the ground, revealing concrete. As that broke away, he found a piece of steel rebar. His fingers jerked toward himself, pulling it out and sending it flying to his hand. He always did feel better when he had some sort of weapon in this kind of fight.

He approached her with as much speed as he could muster, which admittedly was little compared to hers. He added force to an attempted blow to her side, ready to switch directions as needed. This would be a good use of his concentration, trying to keep up with how quickly she might react.

Sloppiness was an easily acquired affliction. Illyria had seen it many times before, when powerful creatures sought to assert themselves too mindlessly, too blindly. She was killed herself, ages and ages ago, as an unavoidable result. To her, it was an unfortunate problem, but definitely understandable.

Watching him approach, the steel bar felt light in her hand. It would suffice.

She blocked the first attack forcefully, the screech of steel against steel making her feel almost nostalgic. She belonged in battle situations; attempting to bring about the end of existence had been a diversion from who she was, who she should be. In battle, she knew without a doubt what she was supposed to be. Not a human. Not anything close to it. Perhaps something beneath it. Perhaps. It was irrelevant.

She swung the metal bar through the air, aiming for his side because aiming for his head would not qualify as practice in the long run. She did not care about her defense, leaving herself open. To her, it had nothing to do with arrogance. It was a simple fact of her existence; she was used to being able to handle whatever came at her.

Sylar wouldn't know if he necessarily belonged in battle situations, but he certainly seemed to enjoy it whenever it happened. He didn't spar much, not anymore, but he liked to find a worthy opponent, he liked to test his strength. The practice felt important, somehow- after keeping his power usage to a minimum in the City, he could really let it shine here. He wasn't going to end up like his father, doddering fool he was.

Still, he enjoyed talking to Illyria, and he hoped this fight wouldn't ruin that. She was one of the few that he actually understood, and who was just as lost when it came to human interaction than he was, truly.

He let her hit him in the side, cushioning the blow so only a few ribs broke under the impact. He ignored it as he swung at her open side, adding his telekinesis to the metal as much as possible. He let go of the rebar, as his hands would probably have hurt from the impact, and spun so he ended up behind it. Eventually, he would grab the rebar from the other end in order to attack her attack, but for the moment he was directly behind the impact point.

The blow knocked something apart inside her shell; not something incredibly vital but something painfully sensitive. She kept herself from bending over, ignoring her body for now (not even hers, not really). More importantly, there was a bar of metal and air between them and she could not readily attack him. She did want to learn. She just needed to make sure that he was worth the effort.

Instead of trying to destroy the barrier he had created between them - she did not deploy her strength needlessly - she grabbed the rebar with her free hand, keeping a safe hold on her own weapon. He was pushing it against her; as a consequence, she did the most natural thing and went with it, spinning around, away from him, and attempting to pull the rebar along with her.

This time, she used all of her strength, her mouth tightening into a thin line, turning her focus inwards. Simply pulling, with enough force that the metal was cutting into her fingers. She did not care. Pain was pain. A neutral. It was unworthy of her attention.

He tugged the rebar towards him with his telekinesis-- except it wouldn't tug. The bar held fast, Illyria keeping it from returning to him. Sylar's eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't encountered anything that was stronger than his telekinesis since he started on his cross-country trip. He'd flipped semi-trucks using it without any effort.

He let go of it suddenly, hoping the lack of force would cause her to overcompensate. He didn't terribly expect it, however. She kept taking his weapons- he'd have to adapt.

Holding a hand out and twisting it at the wrist seemed to cause the rebar to twist into a spiral, rendering it less useful as a weapon. He tried pulling on the metal bar in her other hand with his telekinesis, just to see if he could get that away from her.

She had expected him to let go, but the force of it almost made her stumble. Her muscles were working to keep her standing, her boots more or less glued to the ground. She watched as he twisted the metal, one eyebrow quirking upwards briefly. So sneaky. She had no use for two weapons, though, not in a sparring match. She threw it away, uncaring.

Tightening her grip on her own weapon, she noted the way he was pulling at it. Without further thought, acting more instinctively than anything, she put her own strength behind it and swung it at him, aiming for his hand since he seemed to be forcing it in that direction anyway.

His powers were fascinating. She did not fully expect to hit him in this manner, by turning them against him. Testing his control, however, was far more interesting anyway.

It was a good thing he could regenerate, because that effectively destroyed his right hand and wrist, crunching the bones. For future reference, he decides to be very careful when aiming telekinesis at himself. At least where Illyria was concerned- she could move faster than he could react.

Still wincing, he flattened the palm of his left hand and swiped it in the air. This cut the metal bar in her hand about an inch above where she held it, causing the bar itself to fall. He twitched a finger and made it fall towards him, but didn't impede the gravity this time. He just needed a bit of a breather to let his hand grow back so he could use a weapon.

She did not bother to take her weapon back from him, throwing the stump left in her hand to the side as well. Instead, she simply paused, watching him as his hand healed. This was a practice session. Fighting was not everything.

"Your efforts have been tolerable thus far," she said, thinking about Angel's dragon, about the demon lords of LA. "Perhaps being here is less wasteful than I thought." She did not often meet someone with his abilities. Fighting the mutant-boy had been interesting on a certain level, but he had not posed any challenge for her.

The girl who could pick the moon from the sky... well. A re-match would not be necessary. She had proved herself to be too much in light of Illyria's current power restrictions.

This man might be as well. Finding out was definitely entertaining.

He smiled through the pain, wiggling his right fingers slowly to get them to pop back in place more quickly. "I've found the same, especially if I ever figure out how to influence the Clock. I'd love to remember what I've learned when I leave."

The wincing stopped when the movement in his fingers did. "I'm glad I've been tolerable," he said with an amused smirk. "Did you want to continue?" He was starting to get tired, but he was willing to play that up if it means they might do this again sometime. It was a fine balance, being interesting. He wanted to be worth the attention.

She cared little about the Clock, having already decided to bother as minimally as possible with the Deities and the way they chose to rule. She disliked curses greatly but was, for the most part, left unaffected by them. No reason to strike up a war that she could not win. There was a time and a place for everything.

"At a later date, yes." She was not tired by any means, but being here meant turning a blind eye to everything else above ground. While she could not protect Wesley in their actual world, she could attempt as much here, even if he did not really need it. For his sake. For Fred, too. She had hidden strengths, perhaps, but Illyria had no real faith in her ability to survive.

Logically enough.

However. Sylar was interesting. He was so very different from other people, so nicely unemotional on the surface. He did not confuse her to nearly the same extent. She would definitely prefer him as a sparring partner to everyone else she had met in the City so far.

"Another sparring session would be preferable," she added, glancing at him briefly. "You are interesting."

Sylar grinned and glanced at the floor, for a moment looking unguarded happy. The compliment was made even more flattering by the fact it wasn't really one- she was merely stating it. "Tolerable" and "interesting" were worth more than a thousand soft-spoken words from Angela Petrelli.

"I would like that as well," he said, looking back up at her. "You're fascinating, yourself. I had never found anyone who could really keep up with me before." Not with his natural adaptable fighting style.

His breathing was slightly heavier than before they'd started- that and the blood still drying on his shirt were the only indications he gave of having fought at all. "Thank you, for sparring with me. It was an intriguing experience."

Despite being able to spar with her and come out of it unharmed, he showed her respect in a way most did not. She was pleased, for the first time in days. Weeks. More.

"Of course," she said, without bothering to clarify what exactly she was replying to. All of what he had just said, probably. It made sense to her, that he would appreciate her as a sparring partner. Most should, though they tended not to.

But things had changed too much. She did not dwell on it, not now. It had been a good experience. It would be enough, for the moment. To dwell on the small things, the details... She would learn. Turning away, she began walking off, ignoring the aches in her body. It would all heal, in time.

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Log; Ongoing

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