A Promised Rest [Alastair, Lukas]

Seeing Lukas deploy his Blut, Alastair admitted that it once more required escalation and relinquished in his attempt to wrestle the man down. He had failed in many ways, perhaps just as much as he had failed himself, but it would be a step too far for Alastair to relent now. The build-up of Hollow energy was a lesser concern, the sudden dispersal of ginto tubes equally unimportant, as he focused upon that problematic spirit weapon that his opponent had. Hiding it inside the body was irksome, and made it harder to do so, but he would have to meet him blow for blow.

Reishi gathered in his free hand as he summoned Falke again, the spirit weapon this time taking the form of a reinforced gauntlet, as he twisted in the air to do his best to evade the sudden burst of energy that exploded from Lukas' spell. It was hardly a perfect evasion, the explosion still enveloping his flank and scorching his uniform to a blackened crisp, but such wounds meant nothing to the Grandmaster. That charred flesh began to sizzle and return to normalcy just as soon as the injury was inflicted upon him, skin knitting itself together akin to the regeneration of a Hollow. He did not scream nor falter, his expression stoic as that arm reeled back and then came crashing down like a heavy chop. Beating the man once more into the cage itself and then soaring after him to keep up the attack.

Another series of blows would follow, each punch enough to rock the insides of the ball within which they were trapped, as his Vollstandig gave him all the speed he needed to stay on top of Lukas and deny the man another chance to escape. It was typical of his dogged style of combat, intent to wear down any opponent whilst keeping himself intact, and every strike was also growing stronger than the last. He was releasing his restraints systematically.

The pair had continued to brawl for what felt like hours, though it was only a scant few minutes. Every blow striking with intent and being returned in kind, a clash of wills as much as bodies, but Alastair had that distinct advantage. For every blow that Lukas struck, by the time he found an opening to strike again the damage done had been mitigated by the Grandmaster's Vollstandig. Yet even as he wore the man down, Alastair found only more will to fight buried beneath. So they remained locked in this dance, two burning stars painted in orange scattered against a canvas of swirling destructive blackness.

Then, just as suddenly as the battle had erupted, it reached its conclusion. Whatever strands of energy that were holding Lukas' body together snapped in one final brilliant flash as Alastair's fist fell for the last time. That final burst was enough to shatter the globe within which they had been trapped, though perhaps it was Ulquiorra who sensed that one life signature had faded and released their hold upon it, and so for a fleeting instant they were both floating in the open sky still illuminated by the aftermath of their cataclysmic collision. Then, as the body began to fall, Alastair swooped down to catch it. The pair slowly descended to the street below, the Grandmaster's wings eventually fading into dust as that halo atop his head also scattered.

He had not wished to see the man dead, for none were deserving of such finality when the hope for redemption always remained for even the blackest of souls, but he could not rest knowing that such a danger roamed free. That Lukas had possessed such resolve to die for his freedom was not something Alastair deemed satisfactory, but it brought this blood-soaked night to an end nonetheless.

The Vandenreich would be instructed to remain on high alert for the rest of the night, lest further trouble arise, but come the next dawn the lockdown was lifted and an uneasy sense of normalcy ushered in. Most might only have seen the distant fireworks or felt the ripples of a distant clash, but there would be no further signs of the brutal clash beyond the scars in the sky that would fade with the passing of time.