Whose Got A Match?

[Jack Trove]

He couldn’t dodge a thing; so he had to grit his teeth and bear it.
He couldn’t bear the shame of crying aloud, even as each deadly punch knocked the breath out of him- but as one of his foe’s iron fists sailed into his stomach; sinking in so far, it felt like his torso was going to rip in two, he finally did.
And he provoked himself.
Angered; especially as the punches had dispelled the flames, Jack opted for the use of another power.
Hopefully, the man was too close to avoid this.
Five long daggers shot exploded from Jack’s chest.

[misa]

Trove had to gain some credit for taking so much like a man before he finally gave into temptation and screamed. It was a particularly satisfying sound; it gave the impression it had be ripped forth. Reuben appreciated the concept he had done the tearing.
However it appeared that along with the scream, he had pulled several sharp instruments from Trove's pummelled body.
Had he been anyone else every single one of the five blades would've pentrated straight through his body.
But he wasn't just anyone.
He was Reuben Knight.
He was Commander Reuben Knight.
And it would take a helluva lot more than that to take him down. Using Trove's body as a dead weight, Reuben thrust down on both of Trove's shoulders forcing him to his knees and vaulting over the boy's head, resisting the urge to snap his neck as he went.
It would be too easy.
A firm boot to the chest sent Trove reeling backwards.
The near lifeless thud his body made told Reuben Trove wasn't going to last much longer at this rate...he was almost disappointed. Almost.

[Jack Trove]

His adversary was fast- too fast for Jack’s weakening eyes to see without blurring- and Jack knew now he couldn’t keep up with him. Jack had realised- from the way he had punched through Jack’s flames like they were nothing- that whatever his foe’s powers were… they made him… almost indestructible.
Would a blade of Jack’s even graze his skin?
He had to try…
There was more left in him than probably appeared. Jack knew he looked a wreck. He looked worse than he felt. Saying that… he didn’t look much worse.
Jack rolled onto his stomach, and forcing his muscles into gear, leaped up back to his feet, several more blades flew like bullets at his enemy, shooting from his finger-tips.

[misa]

The small globules of metal soared in neat, rapid trajectory from the end of Trove's fingertips directly at Reuben's face. He ducked and they all missed...or so he thought until he felt a dull burning sensation in his ear. Touching a cautious hand to the lobe he was unsurprised to pull it away and see a startling red coating his fingertips.
In the time it took him to retaliate (a matter of seconds) the pain was gone.
Roughly twelve punches administered to Trove's chest and face and he was healed.
Trove on the other hand...
Trove wasn't bouncing back quite so easily.
Or at all.

[Jack Trove]

Before his sight was blacked by an obliteration of blows, Jack was granted one, small victory-
Beautiful, bloody rubies had bestowed themselves across the tips of his foe’s fingers.
One whole second of victory was Jack’s to savour. Then the fingers furled into a fist; and Jack’s eyes blotted with his own blood.
At the final blow, Jack’s whole body was on the ground once again. Jack raised his head, desperately trying to see- to sense the world around him through the smear of his own blood. From the warm stream spreading from his nose, he knew it’d been broken. Jack could hear the gentle drip, drip, drip of his own ruby droplets as they fell steadily to the ground.
But what was worse than the blinding pain, was that feeling… that thought…
He was being toyed with.
Jack’s own fist furled, and he aimed a blind punch.

[misa]

Trove's flailing failure of a punch clipped Reuben on the chin with all the power of a kitten's will after it'd seen a particularly attractive ball of wool.
It was just embarrassing.
Stupid boy.
He should never have taken off his dámn armour.
He should never have dared to think he could compare.
Reuben knew it was time to finish this; Trove couldn't keep his head up to see, nevermind actually focus on anything. Even if he could, the blood flowing from a variety of cuts and injuries across his face wouldn't have allowed for it.
It was time for this to finish.
Deftly, Reuben took hold of Trove's head on either side, ready to twist and end this.
The pitiful creature that was Jack Trove would never know wouldn't have time to get his thoughts in order to realise what hit him.

[Jack Trove]

The feel of his opponent’s vice-like grip on either side of his head brought a sense of finality to his fate. His death, though not dignified, would at least be a quick one. And he supposed, really, if he had to pick a death, perhaps this was a better one than could have been offered.
He was dying in battle.
He was dying for his Head and for his school.
And he was going straight to see her. That was, if they let people like him into Heaven.
Jack’s arms raised weakly, and instead of trying to fight, he rubbed fiercely at his eyes, so that he could see his opponent clearly.
The nameless commander of the enemy forces.
“Do it,” Jack spat, and for the first time in his life, and with her name soaring in his heart, Jack longed for death.

[Olivia Skye]

ooc:I am so sorry - I can't get it all posted tonight, but I swear, I will finish it in the morning!

Out dámned spot.
Olivia was no Lady Macbeth. Olivia had never murdered, so she should never have had the ending of someone’s life on her conscience. She’d never been the force behind the blade, her finger had never pulled the trigger, and she’d never used her gifts to someone else’s detriment.
But even without that, in places like these Olivia knew that she had lives on her conscience. In these battles, for every group of people that she could save, there was always one that she couldn’t save. Always one that she had to give up on… always another life gone, that she couldn’t help. Lives on her conscience, blood on her hands.
October 26th, 2007. Seventeen Orchid Hill pupils lost. She’d reached two of them, but hadn’t been able to bring them back. August 19th, 2007 had been a miracle – no dead. But June 2nd, 2006 – 26, as well as two enemy soldiers that she and Josh Cole had tried to help. In almost every event, they could heal. They could heal anything. But they couldn’t, couldn’t bring someone back from the dead.
Today, Olivia had had to let one person go already. So, needless to say, she was not going to give up on this one, no matter how long it took.
Eleven-twelve-thirteen-fourteen…
Olivia’s hands glowed golden amidst the scarlet fields as they pressed into a young boy’s chest. He couldn’t have been more than about twelve, and his pulse was gone, the last breaths having been mere wisps of white smoke. A bullet to his sternum, the congealed black-red mess knitting together below Olivia’s hands. That was how she knew he wasn’t going to die.
Or, hoped.
Twenty-six-seven-eight-nine- Thirty.
She quickly removed her hands from the boy’s chest and tilted back his head, before giving him two deep rescue breaths, watching his chest rise and fall twice, but no answering golden glow happened.
No, no, please, God, please. Let him live. Don’t let me fail this, please.
A long time ago, somebody had told her that there were no atheists on the battlefield. She hadn’t believed that at the time, but life and too, too much experience had taught her that they’d been right. She wasn’t religious, but every time, she ended up praying; they all did.
Lurid, ruby jets of flame were shooting, fast and furious over her head, and she was shielded only by the delicate bubble of a special gas covering herself and the boy. The fire was being met by glass-like shards of ice – a few of which were breaking through the thin membrane and shattering on the ground – and Olivia’s body as she threw herself over the boy to shield his still gaping wound -

[sophie]

She was a mess.
An absolute fúcking state.
Blood, sweat, tears and Christ only knew what else was smeared or splatter across Sophie's skin.
Bruises were flourishing readily up and down her arms, legs, and torso in wake of blows Sophie hadn't been fast enough to counter; she was only getting a grip on her magic's purpose in battle and it was by no means easy.
A scratch that Sophie had initially presumed to be very little caused her fresh waves of pain everytime she made a sudden movement and sent a warm trickle or two down her back that she didn't want to think about.
She was just lucky she'd worn a red shirt today.
Her hair was caked in filth from the battle regardless of the fact she'd stuffed it back into a ponytail, which had graduated to a bun not long after.
Yes, the normally prestine Sophie Mathieu looked like a breathing Chernobyl, but the disaster on the outside did nothing to describe the attrocities taking place in her mind.
Her brain was full of Jack Trove and a macabre puppet show of all the different yet equivalently fatal situations he could've ended up in.
She still hadn't seen him.
Not once.
She needed to soon.
No, scratch that.
She needed to see him now, that is, if now meant hours ago.
What if he was...He couldn't be, but what if, just supposing that perhaps he'd...NO. She couldn't keep going like this, she didn't have the strength: she had to know.
There was too much she hadn't said that needed to be said.
She still hadn't told him.She had to tell him.
Sophie herself wasn't sure when she'd realised the monumental fact she needed to bestow upon him.
Maybe it was when she tore apart her second life of the day; a boy, couldn't have been more than 17.
Perhaps it was when she was running for her life in the very same place she'd been sent to, the place that had assured her 'safety'.
Or, it could've been when she'd come across the head of Callum, the boy she'd spoken to in her search for Jack that day. His eyes, staring up at her blankly and his mouth sagging open in a small, shocked "o" would be imprinted on her mind forever.
It didn't matter when, though.
All that mattered was she knew now, she did, and she needed to tell him.
Tell him she-
Oh, God.
The trees had suddenly fallen away, vomiting Sophie out into her worst nightmare in the form of Jack, pummelled and so...fragile even at first glance. His head was in what appeared to be a vice like grip courtesy of some hateful, yet strangely attractive bástard.
His looks made her hate him all the more.
"Jack," She shrieked desperately. What else could she do? If he had Jack in this position, she'd be no match.
Jack didn't respond, he clearly didn't have it in him, but the other boy did. His eyes flashed up to meet her own and there was utter silence. A silence so thick neither word nor blade could've penetrated it. As quickly as it came to be, it was broken, like that protective bubble of a dream broken at first light.
And then he was gone.
Well, no, not gone. But his gaze was gone as were his hands from Jack.
She didn't know what he'd seen in her, but nor did she care. He'd let go of Jack.
Her Jack.
The boy turned his back, slowly walking away, but he hadn't just let go of Jack; he'd pushed him away.
Jack was falling...
She had no idea how she'd moved in time, her body had reacted with out her say so: Jack was her reflex.
But she caught him.
She would always catch him.
Her Jack.

[Isolde Moore]

Isolde was locked in a very, very dangerous position at the minute. If she moved one inch to her left or right she'd die within a mere second. They had her cornered. And she couldn't get out. She was exhausted, losing her ferocity and she was completely covered in blood, mud and god knows what else.
She'd seen Jack on her way through the forest but had not been paying attention. She'd spent and hour or more looking for Scott, who she had lost sight of. She had spotted him or so she had thought and then this happened. The two of them had her covered on all sides. The one who she had mistaken for Scott had whirled around and smiled slyly. They had begun to circle and that was when the other one had come out behind her. They had her in an electric cage. Lightning was their elemental power and they were twins and she was sure now that they were telepathic, for whatever move she planned to make they shifted ever so slightly so it made her move impossible to do.
How am I going to get out of this one? the one behind her snickered. Definitely telepathic.
Lightning hit beside her in a flash and Isolde jumped and held back her scream. They both laughed. One winked at her. Were they going to start torturing her? Cat playing with a mouse before it ends it?
No.
She wasn't going to let that happen. Others needed her. The school was not going to go down and she most certainly was not going to die like this.
"You hope." Isolde glared at the man.
An explosion occurred to the right of them and one of the men turned to look. It was all she needed. With that, Isolde charged at him and using the air around them encased him and squeezed his lungs together on the inside. She suffocated him and then she turned on the other one who was looking at his brother. Using the plastic coating of his his weapon she melted it before knocking him to the ground with her underneath him and then put the scalding plastic all over his face. He started to scream and then she made her move. She quickly maneuvered the plastic into his mouth and down his throat where she then hardened it so it would stick there.
Shoving him of of her she got up and grabbed her sword which she had been forced to drop and ran on into the forest. On her way she saw Jack on the floor in a clearing. And a man. The enemies main man. Jack was getting beaten. Beaten to death. She didn't waste time. She spun and ran of in the other direction. She did not want to see anyone she knew die. On her way she split someone in two and decapitated three. She was never going to back down. She'd fight until the end. They were going to win. They had to.
But a niggling feeling in the back of her head told her they weren't. They were losing and rapidly. She spurred on and took to the sky looking above and swerving out of harms way every few feet or so. Scott had to be alive. He was just fighting. She finally spotted him but had been in the air for to long. Her ankle was in someone hand and ever so quickly she was falling through the air. And so her next fight began.
Scott would have to wait.
Isolde would have to wait.
Life would have to wait.
War was on them and every single person out there were fighting for what they believed and what they thought was right.
What was right?
No one knew.
No one would know.
As she fell through the ice cold air and the bright lights and the water and icicles, Isolde could feel the last of her strength leave her. The woman in front of her had a malicious smile on her face. An evil glint in her eyes.
Whoosh!
Isolde crashed into the ground. She had fallen from a great height and extremely fast that the impact had caused a hole. Rocks and dirt flew everywhere. She couldn't breathe. The first punch landed and the second and the third...
She was going to die.
Here.
Now.
Was it going to be quick?
She wished.
She never imagined she would die in battle. Die in a war. Die in school. She was drained. There was nothing left in her to fight back with.
Squish.
Isolde's eyes flew open and her face contorted in pain. She looked down to see her own sword protruding from her abdomen. She was dying by her own weapon?
No! somewhere from within Isolde pulled strength. She forced the woman back with her air power and then wrapped both hands around the hilt of her sword and pulled. The sword came out and so did a fountain of blood. Pulling herself up out of the crater she was met by a foot. She fell back down and landed on a jagged rock.
"ARGH!" she shrieked in pain. How could she beat this ßitch? She was waning. She needed help. She needed energy. Another blow and her nose was broken, "Oh my-"
Using the last of her strength, she swung the blade up.
Thump.
Hot fluid started to flood over her face and chest and a headless body lay on top of her. She was being covered in blood. Blood of the enemy and the pooling of her own blood. She closed her eyes and and listened.
Listening.
Waiting.
Surviving.

[K. Scott]

Scott was running on pure adreneline now. His hearty breakfast had done its job but his head was getting light and he felt his legs shaking beneath him as he ran. He was chasing a boy, he deemed, to dangerous to let slip away.

The effects of most gifts are temporary. Fire can be smothered, ice can be melted. Even people with mental powers can be killed. This guy, however, was radioactive.
Not so much that he could cause mass destruction like a bomb but, through his infrared lenses, Scott could see radioactive-boy as bright as the sun. Scott followed the trail of heat that the lad left as he ran and holy God was he fast.
But this was Scott's territory and radioactive-boy hadn't got a clue where he was running to. He also didn't know how to run properly in a forest. Stumbling over rocks and hidden tree stumps, and so far he had run a smooth curve into the forest, where there were no more people skulking about or fighting. Though what he lacked in experience he more than made up for in agility and nimbleness.

Scott knew he needed to wrap this chase up sharpish but no matter how hard he pushed himself he could not match the boy's speed.
Tactics. If someone were here... could force him... down slope. Never beat me in... downhill runOH MY GOD I AM SO THICK!
"AAAAHH!" Scott roared his frustration at the slow gear at which his brain ran. The boy looked behind him, proably to check if his hunter had given up. A fatal mistake. The boy tripped and fell hard, face into a tree losing him his lead on Scott. Scott seeing his oppertunity somehow found an inner strength that gave him acceleration. Radioactive-boy stood up running but Scott was very close behind. Without any more thought Scott whipped up a gale force wind and flung in suddenly into his mark's side. The boy fell for the last time and Scott was upon him.
...
After burying the boy under a recently fallen tree's branches to smother some of the radiation, Scott shook out the crmps in his legs and twisted the stitch from his torso before making straingt back for the battle, running.
When he got back to where he had left Isolde, who was holding her own and giving him the confidence to run and leave her briefly, she was no where to be seen.
"Are you joking me!" Scott yelled. Why was he so bloody stupid?! He should have told her he was leaving or to stay where she was.
He fought as he searched, stabbing a few people in the back, grabbing arms to let their opponents take a good shot. BOOF! an earth shaking thud rippled close to Scott. He looked for the scource which was just beyond a stretch of trees out of his sight. He battled his way back to the trees. Perhaps he could offer some help or hinderance.

[Jack Trove]

The hands that held his throat fell away, and Jack knew for certain that he was dead.
Or at least… on his way there.
He fell- probably very quickly- but to Jack, it felt like a gradual, decline into death, rather than one sharp drop. His back curved; his body crumpled and his head tipped… the world was blurring, but off in the distance, against the cold white of the sky, Jack could see scarlet spittle, flying from his own head… reaching toward the heavens.
Jack closed his eyes, and he reached too, with all his might.
The fall had no abrupt end. The impact was not painful. There was no thud- there was barely even a sound. Just like the fall, the final blow came gently.
A weight of some sort- a support- came into place just around his back. It took a few seconds before Jack was able to recognise them as hands- little hands- but they were strong, all the same.
His eyes re-opened, and he smiled into the face of the angel that caught him.
Sophie.
They’d let him in after all.
“Hey,” he said weakly. “I made it.”
They shared a moment; a moment in which, if he’d been given the choice, Jack would’ve lived in forever. They were re-united. They were dead. But they were together.
And wasn’t that better?
It didn’t matter how they were; where they were; they just had to be together. That’s all Jack really knew or cared about. It’d taken him a long time to realise what was truly important. It’d taken him a lifetime to realise what life was really for.
Now in death, he had a second chance to make it right.
This was his chance; with his angel.
… so did that make this his Heaven?
Jack was going to spend eternity like this. That realisation- that feeling- it was… beautiful.
That’s why, when he heard the sound of his own blood still dripping onto the battlefield, he felt…
Remorse?
Regret?
Wistful…?
Jack sat up straight, and the hands, though they did not leave, moved. Sophie was there- alive- and he was there, too.
Still there.
Still alive.
“I don’t understand.” He looked at her. He looked very hard. She looked… tired. Like he’d never seen her before. Different, somehow.
Still his Sophie.
But damaged.
His head swerved, and Jack’s arms felt clumsily for his sword. Instead he found his gun.
Sat up straight, Jack looked back, and saw the battlefield once more.
His would-be grave.
And… just metres away… the enemy commander had turned his back, and was walking away.
It wasn’t a retreat.
His opponent had won.
This wasn’t retreat.
Jack’s grip tightened on his gun.
The enemy commander had left him for dead.
It was time to give hell a taste of its own medicine.
Jack quickly aimed, and fired.

[sophie]

The words coming out of Jack's mouth were slurred, Sophie had no idea how to respond.
Even if she'd understood him, would she have known what to say?
Would she have had the strength to conjure a coherent answer?
Instead, she tried to content herself and soothe him by stroking his hair, cradling his head to her chest; ever so careful.
It shocked her when he sat up, in the condition he was in it was a miracle he'd maintained consciousness this long.
Her hands tracked his movement, steadying him although he didn't appear to need it. He was drawing strength from a place unheard of, unknown, but present in all.
Sophie had found her own today.
All those hours ago she'd found her saving Grace in the form of Jack and her every memory of him.
Perhaps he had found his in her.
When he raised his gun and fired, Sophie wondered if perhaps she should've stopped him.
But she didn't, how could she?
This was war, and that bástard couldn't just turn his back and walk away when he felt like it; when he got bored.
He had it coming.
She couldn't bring herself to watch justice being served however and chose to instead busy herself with lightly brushing away the tears that where streaking Jack's grime-covered face.
She wondered if he even knew they were there, trying to make the thoughts in her head loud enough to block out the noise of the gun being fired.

[Jack Trove]

The gun-shot echoed strangely across the field towards them.
Jack had to wonder why, as he turned his head away from what he’d just done, his adversary had not simply exerted the speed that he possessed to its fullest measure and ran for it?
… Perhaps it was further insult.
Not only had the enemy commander left him for dead… but he’d had the arrogance to simply walk away. He hadn’t even entertained the notion that maybe, just maybe, Jack might get back up.
Dámn him.
Dámn them all.
Gently, however, Jack felt his anger begin to simply… wash away. The light movement of Sophie’s hands across his bruised cheeks was… indescribable. She was so careful. So… soft, and gentle.
Like she was wiping away all the hate in his system. All the hate that’d been building since the moment he thought he’d lost her. Just a couple of tiny brushes, and she’d brought him back from the brink of…
He didn’t know what.
The edges had blurred a long time ago.
But she’d brought him somewhere better, anyway. Somewhere safe.
Clumsily, weakly, Jack’s hands- seemingly massive in comparison to her own, fine digits- grips hers, and for a moment, he let himself drink in the contrast in their skins.
Her hands were pale and thin.
His were rough and calloused.
But look. They were spotted by the same scarlet colour.
They were the same.
He met her eyes, leaned forward, and kissed her.
“Thank you.”

[Isolde Moore]

Fighting.
Something Isolde had tried to avoid all her life, was the one thing that had ensured her demise. As she breathed in and out in shallow beats she felt her heart slowing, every breath taking her closer to be being dead.
She hoped it would've been quick and it would be, if she was willing to let go. Isolde knew she couldn't though. Not yet. Not until she got to say goodbye to Scott. She would hold on for that long. She owed him that.
Why didn't you just stay were you and he had been fighting?! Why did you ahve to go on a pointless search for him? You knew it would end up like this.
But she had to. What if he had been hurt?
If he needed help?
If he was the one dy-
Isolde gave out a very weak groan. She knew she was slipping in and out of conciousness. She felt it. She hoped beyond all that her love was enough to keep him from dying to. Even if she did die, he had to carry on without her.
Or I will haunt him.
She lay there, cold, getting more and more numb and with a headless body constricting her breathing. Something changed. Light was ebbing it's way through her shut eyes. Where did it come from?
She coughed once and groaned again.
Please Scott, come find me so I can say goodbye...