Kurt Vs Charlemagne - RP

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#1  Edited By Pyrogram
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The Earth...Our home, the largest, most inclusive habitat for our fragile species. Large enough perhaps, that one may think they could hide from anything. From your villains. Your friends, even your loved ones. Some may forever run to the edges of the earth when it gets too much. When your fears become a reality. When the consequences of your actions are too much to bear. Or even, to hide from your destiny....Because why not?

The danger has been deserted. Only piece and quiet remain, the warmth of the exotic sun and the lovely breeze of the salty air. It is a quaint solace when one basks in ignorance. Assuming they have escaped their fate, escaped destiny...Escaped themselves. Maybe for a moment, you may think you have escaped. But the reality is harsh, one may run far, further than they have ever run before....But you can never truly escape.

We are not born equal. No matter how hard we try to deceive ourselves. Some individuals are simply more special. This is merely natural selection, this is evolution. Some may carry the genetic gene which turns them from ordinary, to extraordinary. And yet, evolution is imperfect. It is a violent, soul sucking process in which morality loses it's delicate meaning. Those born among us with these extraordinary abilities are left with a curse. Destiny has chosen them and it is up to them, and them alone to choose their path.

All children are born innocent. A child is neither born good, nor bad.

Then why is it, do so many among us go so terribly wrong? Why do so many of us seek the path of darkness while the others seek the path of light? Is it virtue of character, or are we born into this world with a predetermined alignment? Why is it some seek the path of heroism, while others delve into villainy? Or maybe the universe is random, chaos. We are thrust into this world and forced to face an overwhelming amount of threats and fears, challenges and obstacles. Is it sheer chance, and chance alone which determines our fate?

But the simple, overriding question is this...When nature calls, when the threat comes into sight. When you can no longer run from your fears...Do you Survive, Or do you perish?

England, London - An abandoned alleyway.

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The Gothic Knight quietly sat, thoughtfully contemplating life and it's sporadic changes which had been unfairly cast upon him as though this was all a game and he was the puppet. Kurt had just seen Abby for the first time since that dark night in Gothic. Although their meeting had gone without a hitch, it had felt...Off, like the old wounds and old memories had yet to subside. Kurt had purposefully missed his flight back to Gothic City. A few hours prior to meeting Abigail he had received a letter, a letter which bore news of something which no human could or should ever face alone. He didn't have the heart to tell Abigail. The letter had been tucked away in his pocket the entire time, through the flight, it had not been opened. It was a desperate thought which had stopped him. A silly one. Kurt thought, if he did not open the letter again and the words did not flow into his mind...Maybe reality would not be true.

A shaky hand moved downwards and into the warmth of his pocket, withdrawing a white piece of scrunched up paper. On the paper read the words no son ever wanted to read. The darkness illuminated by the vibrant glow of his verdant eyes.

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"Dear Kurt, this is your father...I'm sorry your mother and I have not been in contact, something terrible has happened. Your mother has fallen sick. The doctors have given her three weeks. We tried to contact you earlier, but you were missing. We don't know where you've been, or who you've been with, all we know is you started a life...A new life? A life of heroism, we are proud Kurt. Your mother is proud. But Kurt, it's time to come home" and what did the Emerald Knight do? He fled, he fled to Britain and abandoned his own parents. His fear was no villain or no monster, it was death. Carefully folding the paper back up into four pieces before neatly placing it back into his pocket with the utmost care, he bowed his head down again, back arched, as though he was a defeated man. Unaware the perils of the night had only just begun.

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A hooded figure depressingly exhibiting the posture of an idealistically defeated man who's morally misguided portrait of the World had just been shattered, lethargically shuffled past the large decorative window of Pied a Terre. One of London's premiere dining experiences and recipient of the prestigious Michelin stars. Its elegant decorum only matched by its exclusive patrons of distinguished wealth and influence, a stark contrast from the lonely wanderer outside. With only its embellished window separating the haves from the have nots, the rich and poor, the winners of life and pinnacles of social success from the beaten and disenfranchised defenders of the lost dream, it might as well have been a million miles away.

Precise and affluent in his movements of illustrated aristocracy, inherent obsession of proper cutlery placement guided the militant misanthropist's hand across the velvet covered table. Sharing smiles and pretentious stories aimed towards little more then self-gratification through ones own delusions of grandeur. Subtly enjoying the skilled grasp of another man's wife beneath the table. Together sharing an arrogant smirk, as if they had a secret that nobody else knew, of which they did. But however content LeBeau may have seemed, no matter how engaging his glance, the Ultra-Sapiens' true focus had been tracking the lone wolf on the other side of the over-indulgent fish bowl.

With a cordial nod, and handkerchief dabbing, LeBeau excused himself. Dismissively zipping the down clasp of his designer slacks in plain view of the astonished husband. Proceeding outside permeating with nonchalance and invincibility, waving off a submissive doorman as he attempted to hail down a cab for the towering titan, he began to pursue the true object of his formerly distracted attention. Cerebral in the analytical assessment of a man who's body language spoke to a level solitary isolation, mentally noting the slouched shoulders and echoed self-loathing. Mannerisms that brought a wicked grin to the mutant slayers face.


From a controlled distance the optical investigation continued while the visually defeated paragon of Gothic notoriety removed a crease riddled letter from his pocket. Its printed compositional conveyance sinking the Emerald Archer's emotional melancholy even further with an anchoring weight of bereavement. These indications were as alluring to the Master of Manipulation as a home cooked meal was to a starving man. Stepping from beyond the shadows, Charlemagne sadistically smiled with an elevated chin of egotistical elitism. "Dont worry young hero, I'll soon relieve the merciless strangle hold of life's leeching constriction. So you may die a proper hero instead of" pausing in disgust, using a slight gesture to interpret the filthy ally, "this." Channeling his arms behind his back. "And I'll make sure Abby is well taken care of." throwing one final barb of inflammatory instigation Kurt's way. Looking to incite an unmitigated release of purified rage.

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#3  Edited By Pyrogram

When evolution selects its target, when it chooses it's vessel and gifts them the genetic code of the future. It will demand those chosen to exchange something, and often these things go against their very nature. These individuals may be confronted by their worst nightmares, and then suddenly, what could have been a gift becomes a curse which plagues their entire existence. When confronted by these nightmares there are but two choices. Fight or flight. Kill, or be killed. And to some it may seem cruel, it may seem heartless, but it is nothing short of survival.

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The targets can hope to find the inner strength to stand against these fears, stand against what gives them a tingle in their spine and what makes the hairs on their arms stand on end...But what happens when the devil himself stares you in the face, when he offers you the gift of death, the cure to your plague?

The Forlorn Knight heartlessly elevated his head up from it's downed position, carelessly peering up into the eyes of his devil with an angry, but defeated stare. The emerald tint of his heroic eyes had subsided into a depressive black shade of destitution, stricken with one afflicting circumstance after the other without relent. The true virtue of a hero would be to fight on, never give up. The valiant hero would carry on, but for how long?

"Charles..." Had this been a month ago, the mention of Abigail would have incited somewhat of an animalistic outrage intermixed with feelings of utter rage and protectiveness for his best friend. "..." but no words escaped the apex archers jaded features today. Kurt had thought life had lost it's meaning. All which he had stood for suddenly seemed a frail goal, his altruistic view on heroism was tainted, so he waited. He waited in silence for a time where some sense could be made, where his insignificant existence could come into focus, for a purpose to present itself before his very eyes.

Kurt had looked into the devils eyes, he had heard the devils vehement words coated within an illusion of grandeur. Both Charles and Kurt had chosen their respective path in life for different reasons. They had been the perfect examples of the duality of life. Each being capable of both yielding to the light or indulging in the darkness, both capable of good and evil, love or hate. It was in that moment, and that moment alone Kurt realized he could never give up, it was his duty...His destiny to fight on.

Andwith a scream of vengeance, the Emerald Eagle Eye embraced his destiny, abruptly standing up and attempted to artfully perform a leg sweep with his left foot, aiming to smash into Charles' footing with over two tons worth of force and hopefully topple his stance, swiftly bringing his right palm up into the air and manifesting himself an emerald hatchet, the blade glowing in the night, and if Charles had fallen to the floor, Kurt would follow his descent downwards and attempt to embed his death dealing hatchet into the insidious mans skull.

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#4  Edited By Charlemagne
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The revitalized archer's rage belted sarination instantly ignited the Ultra-Sapiens' acrobatic reflexive fade. Instinctual evasion and martial arts mastery cloaked the instantaneous acceleration of Charlemagne's poetic motion, leaving his designer coat floating in the air as his body seemingly vanished. The shadowy serpent's silhouette reemerging just beyond the discarded article of clothing as Kurt's manifested hatchet sliced it in two. Arms still crossed in reverse as to purposely present a visual aura of effortless equivocation, seeking to plague the Emerald Icon's mentally calibrated combat confidence with methodically tailored manipulation. When in truth it had taken every ounce of martial anticipation, speed, and skill to avoid the bone shattering leg sweep.

But Charlgmane's tactical approach featured a concentrated pursuit of misleading mannerisms initially dismissed by his opponents as self-gratifying arrogance. The reality though, was simple. Conceal the degree of difficulty in which the conduction of intercepting blocks, acrobatic feints, and perfected parries were executed with, and cultivate an atmosphere of self doubt and misplaced inadequacy.

Standing a few feet away displaying the premiere of a new hooded uniform and expressionless ivory colored mask, the Master of Martial Arts Darwinism...... hesitated.....then dashed forward. Gracefully erasing the distances between the two with a graceful hop-skip, allowing generated momentum to carry him around for a spinning thrust kick towards the midsection. Arms still unconventionally inverted behind the back. Without pause or hesitation or even returning the kicking leg to a grounded position, the Ultra-Sapien extended the strike up towards the head seeking to make contact with the archer's temple in an unbelievable exhibit of balance.

Finally centering a substantial position of proper posture, smiling beneath the confines of the decorative facial concealment, the militant mutant slayer almost seemed to be playing with his opponent. Perhaps even underestimating the young man's combat prowess."Of all the mutants I've put down I must say, you are by far the most pathetic. If I were a sympathetic soul I would grant you a quick and sweet release from the shackles that are your life. But tonight I do not offer you death my young friend, no, tonight I offer you a gift. I offer exoneration from the curse that is the X-Gene. You shall be my patient zero, my messenger." finally uncoiling his arms, bringing them up in a guarded position. "And one day, you will thank me....."

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#5  Edited By Pyrogram

As Kurt's emerald hatched effortlessly sliced through the mans discarded item of clothing illuminating the entire alleyway with a hue of green light, the Gothic Knight swiftly readjusted his vision to catch sight of the mans dismissive stance, arms arrogantly folded across of his chest. Kurt then paused, if only for a moment to squint in surprise at the mans newly attired ivory mask, a mask which resonated a natural atmosphere of intimidation...And then it happened, Charles darted with speeds Kurt could barely engage in even with his his nigh-peerless combat experience within the heart of Gothic, managing to barely evade the initial spinning thrust kick with a nimble turn to the side, using his left and right palms to defensively push the kick out of harms way.

Instantaneously extending his right fist forwards while simultaneously turning his body sidewards and adopting an improvised stance which Andres had taught him long ago, thrusting out his right fist as verdant (and spiked) knuckle duster manifested upon his curled fist, aiming to vehemently thrust the spiked knuckles into his opponents chest, regardless of the consequences Charles had also followed up with another attack, extending his already elevated foot and thrusting a ferocious kick into the side of Kurt's face, targeting his exposed temple with savage strength, instantly causing his vision to blur for a few seconds and the world to blacken, the entire attack causing Kurt to lethargically buckle backwards as he lost all sense of balance and equilibrium for a few moments, his only saving grace being his healing factor and seconds later, although slightly impaired due to the force of the blow, he did regain some composure.

"I heard how you killed Xenon all those months ago," manifesting a secondary pair of spiked knuckle dusters upon his other fist, "You know Venezuela was my making. Without you killing Xenon...I'd not be here today" and without warning, Kurt dashed forwards while releasing a flash of green light from his body hoping to distract the man, attempting to duck down, utilize his super human strength and perform a perfectly executed right uppercut straight under the mans chin, swiftly followed by an attempted takedown by blitzing into his enemies defensive position with strength enough to topple the strongest rooted tree, hoping to ruin the mans balance and during their potential free fall, Kurt would manifest himself a small, yet deadly blade and slyly attempt to stab the man in the chest, the entire maneuver transpiring in a few seconds.

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Rhythmically timing an impressive block of Charlemagne's strike, the Gothic Guardian had instantly countered with a fabricated knuckle duster. Slightly driving his opponent off his original platform which consequently disrupted the masked protagonist's secondary strike. And although it had somehow managed to find its mark, the minor alteration had substantially diminished its potential potency. But the mercurial mutant murderer had hardly seemed to notice. His mannerisms began to project a demeanor of agitation, anger. Distracting him from the audio carriage in which the Emerald Archer announced his affiliation and connection to the Venezuelan messiah, Xenon.

No, Charlemagne's pride had suffered a momentous blow that would briefly see the malnourishment of his authenticated arrogance. For the only thing the LeBeau Legacy hated more then a mutant, was a Knightfall, and through the cataloged index of photographic-reflexive styles and techniques the realization that he had just been tagged with one of the Knightfall A-Lister's handed down methods ignited an animosity the likes of which could never be explained.

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A jade colored eruption cunningly dispersed with strategical implementation snapped Charlemagne back into the present. Only to be caught by a vicious lead uppercut and shoulder speared into the concrete bedding of the ally. Further sustaining injury through a surgically employed shiv directly through the chest before even hitting the ground. Without wince, without delay, the Killer of Knightfalls looked to isolated the archer's extended arm, attempting to clinch his exposed wrist while simultaneously firing both legs up. The goal being to encircling Kurt's neck and unprotected arm in a triangular configuration.

In the event of a successful application, LeBeau would immediately begin raining down a plethora of disturbingly violent elbows that, in regulated competition, would be considered illegal do to their angle and targeting of the back of an opponent's head. Looking to smash the Paragon's skull with enough force to shatter stone.

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#7  Edited By Pyrogram

Caught in the cataclysmic constriction of the mans dexterously implemented clinch hold without any chance of an orthodox escape due to the mans peerless martial arts proficiency being next to none, and then suddenly, Charles mercilessly unleashed a bombardment of ferocious elbows towards the archers exposed skull, not unlike how he had once attacked Kurt during a previous bout during his attack on Antonia within the Los Angels hospital.

The attacks instantly causing the Emerald Archer to cry out in agonizing pain while the mans assault continued, sustaining a few life threatening skull fractures, even with his energetic forcefield and inhuman durability, the magnitude of this attack was simply too much...And then Kurt's cleverly concocted trickery had come into play, Charles may have been the master of martial arts, but Kurt was the master of himself, having an astute understanding of his abilities and versatile nature, thus performing a ruthless tactic against Charles which had once been used against the Gothic terror, Brahma Bull.

Desperately utilizing whatever leverage he could possibly attain, Kurt allowed himself to be constricted and then suddenly, tried to close all distance between himself and Charles, using his free arm to wrap it around the mans head and pull himself closer, trying to lock the duo into an unbreakable lock, if only for a few seconds. Knowing if he did not succeed in his tactic, the combined elbow strikes would eventually end his already wavering existence. Simultaneously manifesting a number of razor sharp spikes to appear across his entire body and hopefully piercing into the mans conveniently exposed body, due to the close proximity. Hoping to impale his enemies torso, arms and legs with spikes strong enough to even have rendered Brahma Bull momentarily pained during the Gothic terror attacks not too long ago.

Tactically, Kurt had always anticipated this particular set of attacks the moment he had assaulted Charles, knowing the man was exponentially above Kurt in fighting skill and technique, so he had yielded to the mans advantage and turned it into somewhat of an extended counterattack, having lured the Ultra-Sapien into dire circumstances through nothing other than sheer combat experience, knowing even the most skillful fighter would opt to their particular comfort zone within combat if given the chance.

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Beneath the newly adopted ivory colored mask of the Ultra-Sapien, dilated pupils burned with a luminescent animosity that reverberated all the way down through the lethal expo of crushing elbow strikes. The intensity of which had substantially increased after a chorus of pain-filled outbursts, fueling the sadistic continuation of Charlemagne's assault. Right up until the Vanguard of Valor's cerebral employment unveiled a strategical counter-measure that had served him well in the past. Impaling the Living Weapon with a showcase of flesh piercing spears that further emphasized the archer's energy based versatility and control.

Releasing his hold, Charlemagne pushed off, rolling backwards creating separation that would momentarily allow his evolutionarily advanced healing factor to begin repairs. A decorative stream of drying crimson colored fluid had snaked its way down the mouth of his mask, and he was now forced to cradle his punctured abdomen. But within moments the severity of the otherwise fatal injuries had been circumvented and the crippling pain effortlessly compartmentalized. Not erased, for the utilization of pain was a focal fulcrum the Darwinian Dragon understood. Riding its regulated wave for unprecedented clarity.

Overhead a sudden streak of lightning followed by its rumbling cousin, thunder, brought with them the traditional English rain. Dramatically dancing across the ally's surface cleansing the graffitied splatters of blood and setting the stage for a fresh start. Arching up on his toes, gravity soon pulled the Ultra-Sapiens' heels down as he launched himself towards Kurt in a perfectly formed Olympic mirroring sprint. Arms knifing through the air achieving top speed in but a step, but as if in slow motion, just beyond reach of the former Blacklist affiliate, Charlemagne side-stepped towards the nearest wall of the narrow battlefield. Acrobatically pushing up and off the brick riddled surface in order to catch hold of the ally's fire escape and swing his body's momentum onto its shaky platform.

Pausing, staring down through the expressionless facial guard, his silence spoke volumes. Antagonizing the Emerald Archer through a silent head nod before racing up the stairs towards the roof. A fitting arena for a final act. For the best was yet to come.

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Quickly backing up from the ground and slamming his back onto the nearest wall situated behind and raising his fists in a desperate defense expecting Charles to continue the assault. Panting, trying to retain a sense of equanimity during the tough situation while ignoring the pulsing sensation resonating from his skull due to the mans brutal attack just a few moments before, his vision blurred, a combined effect of the crimson blood trickling down his features and the concussion slowly coming into effect, temporarily hampered by his powers and the healing abilities granted.

Eventually letting out a heavy sigh in response to Charles' quick escape up and into the builds fire exit before pushing himself off of the wall, manifesting himself a single knife within his shaking right hand ready to be used as an improvised weapon. Tirelessly making his way up towards the same location which Charles had just escaped into, knowing it would most certainly be a trap, or an ambush...Yet he cared not, this opponent was no fool and Kurt knew if he tried to escape he would only be hunted down like a wild dog. Mustering up all the energy which was retained within his body, Kurt pushed upon the fire escape doors and exited onto the roof as the rain continued to pour downwards in traditional British custom, perfectly complementing the dire mood. Knife clutched within his tightened grip, he entered the roof to greet the final stage of this violent night.

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With his back turned staring off across the depressingly overcast English cityscape, Charlemagne removed both his hood and his mask letting the latter fall to the roof before glancing back towards the battle tested Paragon. Optically drifting a visual registration of the hero's latest weaponized fabrication, and chuckling. "He's dead you know. The man who taught you that impressive sidewards stance."turning around and revealing the trademark scar along his throat. A wound suffered long ago on the Arashikage island.

Crouching down dipping his hands into a small puddle forming on the roof top in order to wash away the blood stains, a slight neck crack and shoulder roll proceeded the verbal disclosure. "Another mighty Knightfall brought down by yours truly. ButI do not mean to brag, the point I'm reaching is not in the fact that I killed him, but rather..... how." smirking while observing his hands. "Did you know that there are mutant martial artists out there who can literally manipulate the flow of an opponents natural energy with but a touch? Chi...I believe its called." circling towards Kurt's side, aware that at any moment the Emerald Archer could strike with a level of rarely achieved combat excellence. "Naturally I hold little value in such fundamentals but one can not argue with the possible applications of such a maneuver. So I sought out a,...a being. A sworn enemy of the Arcani and wouldnt you know it, he was easily persuaded to show me these techniques. Forging these hands into living weapons capable of some astonishing feats, however, like I said, manipulating Chi is for monks and jazzercising housewives. So I took it upon myself to extrapolate the basic principles and formulate my own tailor made creation." contorted knuckles illustrating the unorthodox positioning of Vespa engineering. "Let me show you what I mean."

Ignited by a forward sprint the LeBeau Legacy blazed across the roof towards Kurt. Feinting a leaping Superman punch only to deceptively somersault past his position in hopes of gaining an open shot at the back of the archer's exposed knee with a quick knife edge chop. Looking to briefly drop his opponent to a lowered base while riding the wave of momentum back to his feet. Entirely predicated upon the success of his initial strike, Charlemagne would seek to snake his left arm around the Gothic Knight's neck while raising his right above his head, and then surgically firing it towards the center of his forehead. Attempting to violent plant his extended thumb there and unleash his newly amalgamated style of Vespa, essentially seeking to strip the vaunted X-Gene from the child of the atom's body. Making him....human.

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#11  Edited By Pyrogram

Wearily halting to an abrupt stop as he caught sight of the LeBeau Legacy, Kurt spun his knife around in his grip and showcased yet another Knightfall present. This time, the blade perfectly spinning within his grasp and flawlessly mirroring Cassius Knightfall's iconic close combat style."A...Andres, is dead?" Suddenly caught with a wave of disconcerted emotions, his emerald blade flickered out of existence for a mere moment before flashing back into existence.

The Emerald Knight's breathing grew shallow, his eyes now glowing with a predatory sheen of carmine red which had been unseen since his ring wielding days, the same angry eyes which cast a quick, uncaring glance towards the mans trademark scar. "You're bluffing" once again caught in a cocoon of tremulous emotions. "But..." Kurt broke eye contact for a few seconds and pondered. Andres had been the toughest man he had know, how else could Charles have toppled such a titian? "You're not," looking back up with an almost fearful gaze, once again into the eyes of the Killer of the Knightfalls, the human incarnate of the devil. "lying.." and without haste the previously masked man blazed across the rooftop with uncanny speeds getting past and into the Knights personal space before Kurt had even comprehended a countermeasure against the mans continually boasted battle speeds.

Feebly attempting to outstretch his knifed hand and stab the man who was seemingly performing a superman style punch, yet the moment Kurt's arm was out was the moment he felt the back of his knee succumb to a devastating blow, instantly upsetting the stability of his stance and causing Kurt to ceremoniously fall onto a single knee, coming to rest upon the wet floor of the forsaken rooftop before an arm tangled itself around of his exposed neck. Any onlookers would have seen somewhat of an execution taking place. Kurt resting on one knee with the Elite Enigma's arm snaked around of his neck. His right thumb ominously planting itself upon the Gothic Knight's forehead in a cinematic fashion. The Verdant Knight was powerless to resist. Trying his earnest to wrap his arms around the mans forearm and avert being choked out...Yet this was no execution nor a mere grapple. Kurt's struggles suddenly ceased. His crimson colored iris's transitioned from it's red color back to his emerald shine before his uniqueness was purged from his system, his glowing eyes diminishing back to an ordinary brown.

Dangling off of the mans forearm being too weak to resist, Kurt's life hung in the balance of the devils discretion. Charles...If wanted, could snap the Paragons neck right there and then, putting an end to this gloomy British nights tragic tale.

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Slowly slipping the constrictive stifling of his arm from around the defeated paladin's neck and coming about face, a sincere projection of tutorial interest expressed the mutant hating supremacists' current state of mind. Once again entwining his arms in a regal display behind his back confidently nodding, not in arrogance, but rather a philosophical reflection of vested interest. "In time you will come to realize that I have not taken away your powers, no, in truth I have given you a gift. A cure. Mutants taught you how to fight, how to survive, how to combat evil." pausing before continuing. "But did a single one of them show you how to live? How to make something of yourself? I mean...look at where I found you, in an ally. Sharing space with the dregs of society. What did your mutation really give you besides pain and misery?" walking over and retrieving the ivory colored mask, brushing away the decorative splashes of crimson and dirt.

"Its a new day young archer, a new beginning. You already know where your current path leads." extending his hand offering to help the defeated hero to standing position. But in truth, the gesture suggested so much more. "Join me and I will show you a path that'll see you elevated young hero. With my help you'll see what it means to truly be alive, for yourself, not for these foolish causes and genetic missteps. Their only concerned with promoting some morally misguided promotion of equality, but they are not equal Kurt, they never will be. We are the true champions of mother nature. The revolution of evolution has begun, its time to pick a side..."

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#13  Edited By Pyrogram

As Charles leniently relinquished his grip on the archers neck, not taking the malevolent approach of killing Kurt even though he could have at any moment. The defeated Paragon fell to his knees as they splashed into the water below, the rain continually doused and drenched the respective epitomes of good and evil in a most symbolic display of light and darkness. The hero was downed, all but defeated as Charles slowly crept around and bestowed words upon Kurt which in all honesty did not sound as far fetched as one may have thought. Kurt had long since pondered those very words and contemplated how his rugged lifestyle and unrewarding heroism would ever grant him a life which he deserved. Was it really his destiny, his life's calling to perpetually serve until the day he died?

Kurt's colorless eyes peered up towards the man who had terrorized many with an ideology which he truly thought was the correct path. Kurt knew none of his words would have the strength or power to avert the course the man had taken, yet he could at least enlighten Charles why Kurt would never surrender to the darkness of humanity. "What you are doing...What you do...." the Knight shook his head as some red blood trickled down his features, "Is not evolution...It's murder.." his adamant disposition meaning each and every word with the same rigidness of thought which Charles too possessed. "You will never understand why I cannot and will not join you, Charles" disrespectfully rejecting the mans hand as he nonchalantly backhanded it out of the way. "And likewise, I will never understand why cannot abandon your hateful vendetta on the mutant race...." But the real question was, could one hope to truly ever understand the forces which shaped a soul? The fork in the road in which the hero yields to the light and the villain surrenders to the darkness? Kurt could have turned to the darkness after Venezuela.

After being imprisoned for a crime he did not commit and forced to evade being brutally murdered and made to endure a life of survival for no fault of his own apart from a genetic disposition...A genetic...Gift..."The truth is Charles. The truth that has and will always stare us both in the face until the day we die...You will never be anything less than a monster, and I will never be anything less than a hero" a lofty sigh escaped his parched lips. "But I will say this," looking around for a few moments contemplating what words to formulate, "I do not hate you for it, nor do I despise you" the words being sincere, "You have merely embraced what lies within, and who am I to dispute your ideas?" reconsidering his own thoughts, Kurt looked back at Charles' still outstretched hand and grasped it with an unexpected embrace before standing. "Where does this path of vengeance lead for you? Where does this selfless path of heroism lead for me?" he shrugged, "Who knows?..." and the truth was, sometimes the hardest questions are more powerful than the answers.

Nonchalantly shrugging as his expression turned to an indifferent smile, "I'll be seeing you around Charles" opting to leave the dark night without any hostilities, the Knight had understood himself in a different way than ever before. Indeed, Charles had liberated Kurt from something but that something was not mutant kind. He had liberated Kurt from self doubt. He had shown Kurt why he would never stop being a hero, why he would never hide from his destinies calling.