Combat Description--Contest

by ~TerraForce

[Name: Terra.]
[Class: Quantumancer.]

He stood there amidst his brothers-in-arms, a shapeshifter with a cause—that of his friends, and the dreams of them all. His body, normally covered in lush fur and layers of unique clothing, was now plated in uniquely-segmented armor that allowed virtually complete mobility. Inside each plate was a layer of the fluid meta-matter that was perhaps his defining trait, allowing him to absorb any mass or energy that might penetrate the individual plates, and rechannel it to his own uses.
His hair, usually a relaxed set of blue-and-sunflower-blonde arcs and soft prominences, was now hardened and honed into deadly sickles, capable of being moved and reshaped on-the-fly to swing like an army of lethal reapers. On the outsides of his arms were chunky spines, whose total mass could be redistributed in an instant to impale whatever target might approach. Energy-laced meta-matter, in the electric-blue miasma he named Pluralisma, hovered atop his fists in three curvilinear claw-like formations, ready to rake and rend any resistance.
Behind him shone magnificent wings made of the same blue misty material, physically separate from his body but associated and moving as though connected all the same. They were no normal wings, but rather were an immense array of shapes and designs, traced with arcane symbols and designs, evoking the shape of wings but with a more mystical and deadly ambiance. These would enable him to surround himself with a cocoon of the meta-matter in a blink of an eye, safeguarding him from even armada-based energy weapons—and allowing him to counter the attack with the very energy that tried to harm him.
His feet, normally graceful and light of movement, were now covered in the same segmented plates that the rest of his body sported, combined with an array of curved edges that would make any kicks as deadly as any sword. They, too, could be reshaped in a mere moment, driving a blow that might ordinarily miss deep into an enemy as it shifted.
His legs, usually sporting pants that were complex and unique in every way, now shone with the protective plates of his armor, and were embedded here and there with crystals of pure, ultra-dense energy, to be called on should the shapeshifter need to reshape the fabric of the space-time continuum, or unravel reality from the quantum level upward.
Trailing from his neck, shoulders, wrists, and waist were long, sash-like strips of his fur, altered into a cloth-like material that accented the hues of his armor well. Wide panels, like the ends of a split greatcoat, hung to the side of his legs with a certain rigidity, splaying them outward gracefully. These were all deceptive weapons, for, like much of his other accessories, they could be immediately changed in composition to become lethally keen, or immeasurably stalwart, or any number of other things. Enemies might conceivably find a way to pin his limbs, but would they ever think to pin down the rest of his clothing? Certainly they would only consider these wind-catching strands to be vain decorations—not ominous precursors of assault.
His other powers remained yet unseen to the naked eye. Should an ally fall, he could come to that ally’s aid, reconstructing flesh and bone in a matter of moments with tissue coded for by that comrade’s own DNA. With his ability to override the normal physical boundaries of matter, he could seep into objects—any objects—and re-emerge elsewhere. His ability to transport objects and individuals ranged from instantaneous flashing from point to point, to construction of portal-like gates through which others could pass back and forth, or even tachyonic methods that would allow him to travel backwards in time. His capacity to perceive reality at differing speeds of reference allowed him to effectively speed up his perception to near-light-speed, allowing him all the time in the world to notice and react to enemy actions.
And even if time and space would somehow fail to heed his call, and his shifting were to improbably depart, leaving him with scads of mere fur instead of sharpened implements and armor, he still had at his disposal his natural claws and fangs, sensitive hearing, instant reflexes, and keen sense of smell. The canines of the world are predators, and they are as such gifted with these natural components of their arsenals.
Why carry weapons, when they can be broken and lost? No…he was the weapon. His name was Terra, and he was ready for battle—battle to preserve the dreams and lives of the friends he cherished.