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May 21, 2022 4:03 PM
Vanda Nosseo meets Ars Doloris
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"All right..." She glances at her computer. "He says to meet him on the field in the middle of the track, do you need a picture of it or anything?"

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"Nah, I can feel him. Thanks."

And with that, he vanishes from his office and appears next to whoever is anticipating trying to beat up a god right now. 

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Here he is! He is a large vampire with no other special combat magic or anything.

"You don't look like a god," he says.

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Smirk. "Am I not pretty enough?"

He sizes his opponent up, evaluating how much of a threat he is. 

(No one's a true threat to the Art of Battle, but there's variations within unthreatening, and he's experienced with interpreting them.)

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"Valar do this staticky thing and you just look like a guy." Emmett, being a vampire, is super-fast including in thought, tough as diamond, strong enough to throw a truck or powder a rock between his fingers, rapidly self-repairing if not physically separated from a removed component, and capable of fighting even in pieces, though at a serious disadvantage. And he's venomous.

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"I find people are more willing to punch me when I look like maybe they could hurt me. But if you want me to get all dressed up before we fight..."

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"Man, I don't want to punch straight through some human's skull, do your thing that makes it look like that'd be hard."

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Entertained grin. 

And the air around him gleams - and his lightweight robes and thin shoes are suddenly replaced by a skirt of leather straps and thin metal plates - high metal boots - no shirt or cuirass, but he has a heavy collar that extends across his shoulders and partway down his back and front, metal plates sewn into it like beads - and his skin looks like stone suddenly, with a smooth gleam like marble shaped by a master sculptor.

(This in no way, shape, or form changes the actual composition of his body. This is as much an illusion as the concept that he normally has a biology - that illusion reaches into every sense, because he is an Art and nothing if not thorough, but his body is divine.)

(Looking the part is always fun, of course.)

He makes the air around himself - well, not exactly staticky, not like the Valar do. But it crackles with a potential like lightning about to strike, like a grand clash looming.

"Do I meet your standards, now?"

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"Yeah, that's what I'm talking about!" whoops Emmet, and he charges forward, aiming to put his arm straight through the Art of Battle's chest.

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