Seth Hibsky vs. Desmond Hood

[Stance Decision Post]

Kenji IV Wrote:

And happen did things.

A tattered rag covered man jovially kicked the thick mahogany door open to this [Alchemical Lab] in an exaggerated stride. Strutting on in like he owned the place, this tattered brown-haired man casually dropped a pair of lanterns just past the doorway onto the oak floor, and then gave an informal little salute to the only other occupant in the room.

"Hello there~~! I'm lead alchemist Professor Brown, here to do my studies. Mind clearing out for a bit?" Cheese and bullshit. That was what this man's smooth, rich voice imparted. You could cut the sarcasm in his words with a knife. The monk [Seth Hibsky] had done no forward research of his opponent, much like any adversary or prey before them. There was something lost in that second and third-hand perspective that tainted a first hand appraisal. To be clear: breaking a man required something of a studious approach. After all, were they not in a school of sorts?

And here was the professor.

Here to teach a wayward lamb those several rows of tables away how to appreciate life.

Sneering at this student, Hibsky's eyes glazed over as an uncanny wind filled the room. This organization giving Seth fodder to practice upon restricted him from killing, but that was after all a useless rule. He never killed.

He shattered.

[Pre-Fight]

Kenji IV Wrote:

Oh, Desmond, hereby referred to until Seth Hibsky was given reason otherwise as [The Boy Who Died] because the monk had a very glib sense of humor, absolutely had a height and weight advantage on said monk.

Operative word being, had.

"Haaaahhhhhhwww..." Drunken breath without a singular drop of alcohol. Seth was certainly a fascinating individual. He compartmentalized his personality to have an absurd number of alter egos all answering to the name "Seth," and with a little self-hypnosis and a deadly artifact giving him the juices he needed to jump-start the process, would adopt radically altered combat approaches with each one. If there was a deeper meaning to why than hunting and maiming career fighters for fun, no one survived intact enough to spread those secrets..

..and unfortunately for Desmond, his intent on participating in a contest of such career fighters for things like glory would see him not an adversary of this monk, but a victim.

*SHRRKK*

Hitting 220 lbs and a height of 6'2," Seth's bronzed flesh and stretched brown rags against his rippling body would put the size advantage squarely in his corner.

Yeah. A spell. That was the easier way to describe this. Or perhaps, the vision of a nightmare.

Slurping noisily as Desmond tossed that glass vial, snorting was the sick prelude to: "PLRUGGHG!!!"

About six feet from reaching Hibsy, the vial was violently burst apart by this mucus stream as it fell otherwise harmlessly to the ground. Diluted dragon's blood would mix into the stringy substance as it plopped onto the ground. The professor's twisted grin at this was confirmation that this was something of a greeting mingled into a warning shot, even as his first true "hostile" action began to take place. Truth be told, Seth was in no hurry to approach this student of his just yet.

Instead, with the incoherent grunting of a raving drunk, he grasped the nearest of numerous hard oak tables designed to withstand so many ingredients and experiments abound.. and flipped it by the ledge, noisily crashing all of its contents to the ground with countless student notes being drowned into oblivion.

Yeah.

This was it.

[The Wall of Blood.]

What a convenient shield to approach with! When next Desmond would witness his teacher behind it.. that would be the time for his disciplinary hearing. The sentence had been decided by the student council! Bone breaking. Every single limb.

[FIGHT I]

[1=upright, 2=falling down~]

What an odd creature, Des thought, watching the display of wild drunkenness with amazement and a touch of envy. He wished he was half this coherent fucked up. After a case of beer, he was up late at night texting ex's sweet nothings until he passed out in a pool of slobber and self pity. This Seth guy was able to compete like this. That was truly awesome.

However, Des was here to win, and without further ado, he decided to break the ice. Too bad they weren't fighting in a bar.

Haelikor Wrote:

> Snot dripped from his left nostril, as the masculine man grasped the furniture to rise to his feet extremely fast in contrast to his erratic behavior.

Des launched a chakra fist at a leg on the table Seth was climbing up on, punching the leg clean off.

"Stand up on your own two legs."

11/12 Dots

Kenji IV Wrote:

"Whuhhh?" Seth mumbled clueless as the oak floor began to get closer than normal. How..? Was the world rotating again?

Then suddenly, a rare moment of drunken lucidity struck him. Stand on his own two legs, eh? Eh?

His left hand intentionally smashed the table down further on his side's remaining leg, marking the floor with a loud "squeak" as Hibsky did a remarkable backflip off of it. It was incredible. A feat of acrobatics that would have been impressive for a man much sleeker and thinner than he, let alone such a burly and buzzed oaf. Legs crashing down beside the table in a wobbily fashion upright, Seth raised his fists and yelled "TADA~!!"

.... of course, he hadn't actually left the spot he was originally clutching the table for dear life at. It was the most absurd way to stand up imaginable.

Still, mumbling "Pretty good, eh?" just loud enough with a snort that Desmond could probably hear it, he approached the table and once more began shoving it along - now making significant progress towards his side's mid-center of the room. The table groaned with stress as the floor was annihilated with scratches and chipped wood, but hey, that whole professor bit was an obvious lie - Seth didn't care who footed the renovation bill as long as it wasn't him.

And yet..

...something was bugging him. Something important. Like a nagging memory clutching at him. Someone was trying to tell him something in his head, but it was too dark and quiet to know who or what. Lecturing him. So noisy. So annoying. What the hell was it all about? All Seth desired was to be lost in the bottle. Let the sweet amber fluid carry him to bed, and thrash this poor sod beforehand. What deeper meaning could possibly exist to that sort of existence?

Unfortunately for Desmond, Hibsky, in just a few more seconds, would be remembering this very detail. A queer wind filled began to gently fill the room which, given it was an indoor classroom, should be cause for concern on its own.

[FIGHT III]

Kenji IV Wrote:

Ask any great fighter. From the most prideful of arena gladiators to the most vicious of street fighters, any of them will tell you that skill only makes up so much of one's chance to win. Then the innate, things which a combatant focuses on honing like strength and intellect, those too are only a single drop in the pool that is the winning formula. Even experience, dropped into this boiling cauldron that is combat nirvana, wasn't enough.

There was something more, that many haughty fighters refused to accept played a role. And yet there it was. It shone in Desmond's foot slamming into the table, like a bright light straight from Heaven. As the table clunked into the obscured Seth, plopping into his face uncomfortably, the sagely drunk couldn't deny its power; he was no fool. What was it?

Fate. Luck. Destiny. Fortune. Chance. Circumstance.

Quote: Wrote:

> ∀Aura: (Crazy River) > [2 Spirit/Post until depletion.] Skin tinting dark red and flesh pulsating as his muscles bulge, Seth suddenly loses his comical drunken demeanor- sobering on the spot while retaining his otherwise drunken movements. A murderous intent fills him. You're going to have a bad time. > > > > Smiling Demon range increased to a total of 6 feet. Said charges have the effective force of getting plowed by a particularly large spiked mace. Raaaagnarok.

... no matter how skillful Desmond was, how hard his life had been before this - fate had just dealt him a cruel card. And although Seth's sobering & shocked face at suddenly recalling his true persona could be described as the culmination of many countless thousands of hours of experience coming together into a dangerous weapon, he was no liar either: that man coming so close right as the truth flooded through Seth's brain could only have been a gift of deadly fortune. Seth had a hard time getting from Point A to Point B right now, you see.

So yes. Desmond poked the monster.

And like a hungry abyss, the monster now poked Desmond.

Quote: Wrote:

> ∀Assault: (Smiling Demon) > [4 Spirit, 2 posts cooldown.] Whether floored or standing in his own vomit, Seth will lurch towards the opponent - preferably by shoulder or knee. This is a hard hitting bash attack that can floor opponents and potentially break bone, but can only cover a two foot gap and leaves no room for redirection once initiated. Effectively, it turns the drunken Seth into an alcoholic wrecking ball, which can attack from impromptu angles but is not an effective gap closer otherwise. > > > > Spirit: 14/20.

"RRREHHHHHHHHHHHAAHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGA!!!!!!" Screamed in a bloodthirsty rage the terrifying red-fleshed Seth Hibsky, though all Desmond would be able to witness from this.. is the table he just poked coming closer.

Much closer. For there was a wrecking ball of a human being shoving it six feet. The floor was torn to ribbons as Hibsky powerfully slammed forward in an arc. Anything behind that table would get plowed into the various objects and debris behind themselves, before having a raging "drunkard" literally ram himself through the table.

It was time for a demolition derby.

[FIGHT IV]

Kenji IV Wrote:

Bursting through the table like some unnatural monstrous bear of a human, the bloodthirsty roar of Seth carried him through as did his bodily charge, slamming straight into Desmond.

Of course, that energy drill would bore into the man's chest with a vengeance. Hibsky had some strong flesh to be sure, but this was no weak "punch;" Hibsky's eyes would pop wide open with agonizing, gut wrenching pain. Deadly.. were the drilling punch not mitigated at all, it would travel straight to the monk's heart. But of course, this little student wasn't weak enough to be stopped by something as passive as armored flesh. Blood and sinew would ripple off the impact point, as a howl of pain emitted from the berserk "drunk."

A penetrating, supernatural attack..

... however, if Desmond had time to watch Seth's face, there were no good vibes there. No happy tells.

He was grinning ear to ear, stone cold sober as could be but with a mad gaze in his eyes - a grizzled and low toned chuckle ominously escaping his clenched teeth.

The lesson was over. It was time for a hands on demonstration from the professor. A little one on one tutelage.

Not even trying to mitigate that drilling blow, Seth instead immediately wrapped his bulky muscular arms around Desmond, taking advantage of their awkward positioning and that outstretched striking arm to seize a grip immediately. His knees would scrape up awkwardly into the man's own legs in an attempt to keep him floored- using his superior body mass to plant himself like a human weight on Des.

You see.. that was a painful attack. It tore right through Seth's strengthened flesh and grazed the chest plate. Its penetrating quality meant not even that hardened skin could halt it from chipping into the bone, winding and flooding the larger man with fresh waves of agony; thankfully he didn't need to be moving about on his feet for a while. And yet, first red mark: Desmond used it on center body mass and not on an external vital. Damaging certainly but, not enough of a guarantee to dissuade Seth from repeating an earlier lesson!

Earlier.. Wrote:

> Slurping noisily as Desmond tossed that glass vial, snorting was the sick prelude to: "PLRUGGHG!!!" > > > > About six feet from reaching Hibsy, the vial was violently burst apart by this mucus stream as it fell otherwise harmlessly to the ground.

Preempting an attempt to use Desmond's head, Seth would glob a humongous right straight into the lad's skull amidst all this body pressing. The very same spit attack used earlier to break that glass container into fragments would now be crashing dead on into the lad's skull. The aim was dead into little Dessy's left eye but, if he winced those eyelids tight or turned his head didn't much matter; he wasn't about to let Desmond move away without quite a struggle.

It would take Seth a few moments to get the materials ready for Des and a live demonstration of how to properly rip a man in half, burying himself dead-weight onto the lad like a writhing corpse. But as blood from Seth's wound marinated the two's bodies, oh, what a glorious demonstration it was going to be!

Tables. Alchemy supplies. Pens. Books. Wood debris. Yes..!

[FIGHT V]

Kenji IV Wrote:

Sometimes, the simplest of attacks were the strongest. Desmond had a penetrating technique, a drill if you will, that Seth.. just could not handle in repeat bursts. Thankfully, the first taste acclimated Seth to the visual stimuli of its "casting." That meant when the pain began to repeat itself..

This time, Seth was ready. So things wouldn't progress as planned. Such it was though, Seth also had a simple weapon to use.

Quote: Wrote:

> ∀Shell: (Punch Drunk) > [7 Spirit, 4 posts cooldown.] Only if Seth sees an attack coming ahead of time, he will unnaturally lurch two feet to the left or right as applicable, avoiding the brunt of damage. He can not know if an effect has a broad radius on impact or a homing property, so this is really only effective against single, obvious linear assaults. Furthermore, doing this changes the trip die to a 1d4, where only a result of 1 keeps Seth standing, for 3 of the 4 cooldown posts; moving that fast really upsets Hibsky's legs. > > > > SPIRIT ENERGY: 7/20.

Yeah. Seth was grinning alright. All of that blood rage was probably an act.

The cheesiest, mocking smile right before his entire body supernaturally lurched to the right two feet, causing that repeated drill to clear nothing. Seth had abandoned the grapple he seemed so intent on, and achieved an otherworldly burst of speed, a harsh burning sensation entering his legs. By avoiding the first attack, he of course cleared the initial salvo. The truth of the matter was: he wanted to see what Desmond was really capable of. Only way to do that was to put himself in harm's way. He got what he wanted, but this little mobility trump card kept it from being too dangerous.

And although standing up wasn't in the cards for Seth.. it wasn't like he exactly wanted to get on his feet, either. The floor suited him just fine.

He was in his element now, grabbing half the table he ripped through just moments ago by rolling to his right, and then rolling to his left to fling it violently into the floored Desmond. One of them had the advantage of knowing this little dodge maneuver was going to happen ahead of time, which would likely give Seth the slightest edge in initiative.

It was time to have some good old fashioned bar-hopping fun! And with all the random shit around the two gentlemen, this party wasn't gonna stop until a life ended.

[FIGHT VI]

Kenji IV Wrote:

A riposte, using a post of wood. That'll happen sometimes.

Seth knew getting on his feet was a bad idea right now. Feeling his table fragment get slapped aside, the wood slipped out of the monk's hands violently and crashed across a few table tops; flopping onto the classroom floor as Desmond's wrath continued. A downward thrust of a door.

*HOCCCCCKKKKK-PTEW!*

Simultaneously rolling to his left, Seth's spit smashed into the bottom of the door wedge to make Desmond's thrust go off a ways. Furthermore, he wasn't stopping; Seth was barrel rolling across the floor, ignoring wood chips clinging to his sweaty body as he neared an intact table. He was making distance. Not as fast as someone running, but certainly quick for a floored drunk.

Likely, the door would smash into the floor to the right (Desmond's left) of where Seth's chest wound had been. The rolling mad monk's grimace in his exaggerated little cyclone motion suggested he was thankful that didn't just happen. However, his eyes with each cycle were roaming Mr. Hood.

Truth was, Seth was stalling. He just needed to goad Desmond to keep on coming, which he had little doubt the man would oblige.

Just a bit longer..

[FIGHT VII]

Kenji IV Wrote:

This bastard was as bad about using props to maim people as Seth was! Kindred spirits. Thanking any gods that might've existed for him already rolling to that intact table, saying the wood chips cutting up his flesh was worth getting hold of something that might momentarily stop Seth from becoming a burn ward statistic was the understatement of the century.

Leg pull, and...!

Crash into the flaming pike came a table Seth flopped violently, just barely avoiding smashing his own sprawled out legs in a spread sitting position. Well. It wasn't a perfect defense. The weighty table came smashing down past his sandals, with the "javelin" miraculously embedding into it and beginning to spread fire across the side it struck rapidly. Never-mind all the random shit that table had on it piled up on the floor for Desmond to judge. Chemicals. Books. Its own burners. A few chairs that were pushed up- it would appear Seth had just dumped a bunch of junk over himself.

Which was good. Because it was time.

Quote: Wrote:

> ∀Assault: (Smiling Demon) > [4 Spirit, 2 posts cooldown.] Whether floored or standing in his own vomit, Seth will lurch towards the opponent - preferably by shoulder or knee. This is a hard hitting bash attack that can floor opponents and potentially break bone, but can only cover a two foot gap and leaves no room for redirection once initiated. Effectively, it turns the drunken Seth into an alcoholic wrecking ball, which can attack from impromptu angles but is not an effective gap closer otherwise. (6 Spirit / 6' feet with CRAZY RIVER.) > > > > SPIRIT ENERGY: 1/20.

In a sitting position with his arms spreading out to embrace the table on his side which concealed him, it was time for a taxi ride.

Vroom! Vroom vroooooom!

An intact wide table like this, all that random shit with some fire licking at it, tons of weight and debris..

...would suddenly fire across the floor on a direct path with Kenji. He was in range. There wasn't much room to move around with all the debris, although Seth was doing an admirable job vacuuming with the ball of wood and flaming junk on violent route.

[FIGHT VIII]

Kenji IV Wrote:

> Ever made a mistake and instantly regretted it?

More times than Seth cared to admit.

But man, when it was someone else making them, you had to appreciate those mistakes.

Desmond was wise to leap over the doom train that was drunk Seth Hibsky's assault. However, the monk had some vague idea his little student would try and avoid getting half the room's furniture piled on top of him because of course. Sideways due to the table's length, or backwards due to the cluttered room were both unlikely to work in time, so there was either "through" Seth's Magic Carpet Ride.. or above.

Were this depicted in an anime, the mid-air Desmond's feet and Seth's gaze would lock. Thanks to going so high, Desmond had assured his feet getting grabbed was out of the question - never-mind Seth's arms were preoccupied palm-thrusting the table of flaming death for dear life. However. As time stopped, the color of the room turned to gray, and speed lines indicated Seth's raised gaze at a masterful acrobat going overhead... there was something he could do. No. Something he was planning on in the event this went south to begin with. Something dirty that he doubted Desmond would preempt, reasonably busy trying to avoid being turned into a flame-broiled table sandwich.

...

...

Hoccccckkk-PTEW

Sure. Seth kept flying onward, lurching to a violent stop after 6' distance was finally covered with damn near a glowing red ass through his clothing and an absolute nightmare of a mess shoved towards the northern half of the room.

But Seth didn't get right straighted in the cock by magical spit crossing his testicles mid-air, either.

That'll happen sometimes.

[FIGHT IX]

[1=standing tall, 2=falling like a tree.]

Haelikor Wrote:

> Seth cried loudly, CO2 coating his backside thick as he went flying across a few of the now impacted together tables...

Desmond continued his advance (a short one since his Distance Strike ability is limited to 3 yards), snatching the fire extinguisher with his right hand. He slammed the thirty pound cylinder down on one of the drunkard's knees as he flew across the tables, aiming to crush it. Drawing back for another blow, Desmond followed Seth until...

Haelikor Wrote:

> [Seth] tumbled violently onto the ground.

Desmond brought down the extinguisher on Seth's skull.

8/12 Dots

Kenji IV Wrote:

..Seth's drunken state might have confused him on how far away Desmond was. That'll happen sometimes.

Sometimes, you just had to do something simple with an opponent. Something rude, you know. So as Seth began his Table Vault Procedure, he wouldn't be unaware of those in hot pursuit. However, even with Kenji's close pace, it would take a moment to pick up that burst open fire extinguisher; that in itself, the noise of the extinguisher grating the floor..

... would mean HHHHHHHOOCCCCKKKK-PTEW.

Seth's supernatural spit was remarkably similar to the chakra-infused supernatural fist that flung out moments ago. Of course, there were differences. This saliva shot had a longer distance, and while it covered less effective area, it was a quick little projectile with a hard to read origin point. It made for a difficult weapon to parry, on top of it in itself becoming an amazing defensive shot capable of disparaging even a particularly nimble opponent's movements. As Hibsky neared the table edges, cover fire in form of the hocker would crash into the significantly lighter cylinder (it was important to remember its contents were emptied now!) from the top to take advantage of the overhead smashing motion Hood's right hand attempted to seize.

This would give Seth the time space he needed to clear the tables as planned, and suddenly stumble to his feet, mad dashing towards the now cleared entrance he had came in.

At this point, he wouldn't maneuver any farther. Skidding to a stop, his feet seemed to bump something- and then the man stood steadfast, his back turned to what would no doubt be a momentarily halted but non-deterred Kenji.

However.. something about this seemed very odd. Why run away to begin with?

..and who was this significantly thinner, shorter man standing in the doorway where Seth had been, eyes on the floor monitoring their overlaid shadows?

[FIGHT XI]