Kellindel vs Ichigo

(Figured I'd play along with the guild owner.)

Kellindel took stock of his situation. He was still angry, sure, that is why he had opted to wait out in the rainfall for his opponent. The piercing cold shower helped to mollify his annoyance. How many rounds had it been? He wasn't sure. The tournament seemed to drag on forever from his sullen perspective. Lets see...

Fight #1: He hadn't even been entirely sure what was happening for the majority of it. Near the beginning he was utterly convinced that the whole event had been some practical joke on Mooo's part. His opponent didn't seem so much concerned with fighting him as amusing himself. While the half-hearted attacks were easy enough to deal with in and of themselves he had been wondering just how long he planned to screw around when very suddenly his opponent was disqualified.

Fight #2: A single exchange and his opponent seemed satisfied to relent victory. He hadn't a clue as to how his opponent could have realized such a large gap in capability so quickly but he'd been glad for the reprieve until...

Fight #3: A no show.

This had become a fantastic waste of his time. The only thing that kept him coming back was the singular scenario that kept playing out in his mind. Eventually if he kept winning he would fight Mooo. He took no small amount of pleasure in knowing that the tournament had been treating the oaf much more harshly but he wanted to personally show Mooo what he thought of the tournament. Knowing Mooo he'd want to keep things even for a more interesting fight and in that his chance.

He let out a slow, measured breath that he had been holding within him during his ruminations. The sight of the steamy cloud being perforated by downpour was an excellent distraction away from what was to come. His grip on the pommels of his twin swords tightened.

Kellindel regarded the hazy image of his opponent through the quickly dispersing cloud of his own breath. His eyes were first drawn to the man's more obvious features, the wings extending out of his back. Unusual yes, but certainly not the strangest thing he had seen in this tournament. So he moved on. A staff, a large sword, and two short swords. A strange assortment of weaponry to be sure and needlessly diverse in his own opinion. If one couldn't make one style work for them then picking up two or three more wasn't very likely to improve your chances. This made him suspicious.

His gloved hands emerged from the concealment of his cloak. The first traveling up to pull the hood away from his head. The rain had all but soaked through it at this point and now it would only serve to block his peripheral vision. The other drew the right side of the cloak away from his body to reveal his small frame, certainly nothing so intimidating as a large pair of mismatched wings. The same hand drew one of his twins sword away from his waist and across his chest, revealing the slender but sturdy small sword blade. His other hand fell once again to hold the left side of his cloak open. He nodded once to his opponent and moved.

It almost seemed as if he had tripped, or more likely slipped in the muddy floor. His upper body fell forward until it was almost parallel to the ground and his legs caught up under him, sending him into a startlingly sudden sprint forward while mitigating the danger of committing just the mistake that it appeared that he had made. In a split second he was at a slightly more believable posture while maintaining his sudden forward movement and closing the distance between them in mere seconds.

His right sword would lead in for the attack. Coming in for an appreciable thrust at his opponents heart. Basic stuff, the type of technique one might use to take measure of their opponent, or so it would seem. Even as the attack homed in, his legs jerked under him, kicking off to the side of their original course and sending him to the right. His blade would follow suit, sent even faster to side in a flicking slash directed by a snap of his wrist. At that moment his true target might become clear.

His opponents left wing. A bulky adornment when not allowing him to sail through the air, and a dangerous weakness at that. In addition to its awkward placement leaving it completely out of any perceivable line of attack and it tendency to lag behind the torso's movement it's base was surely the location of several large arteries which would prove very difficult to staunch the bleeding of, especially if he took to the air. Perhaps, if Kellindel was lucky, he would even ground his opponent with this very attack. Perhaps the elf didn't enjoy the idea of fighting in three dimensions.

(Just a note. They're small swords, not daggers. Small swords where the military predecessor to the better known dueling rapier. Similar in design but built for actual prolonged combat conditions.)

Well that wasn't entirely unexpected, the wing buffet that is. Kellindel knew enough about biology to know that the guys huge chest wasn't just for show. All that muscle was specifically built for pumping his wings hard enough to keep him aloft, no short order. The same reason most birds have disproportionately large breasts.

The scale thing was a bit disconcerting, but nothing Kellindel couldn't work around. While not the exact reaction he was hoping for, the wing attack wasn't exactly dangerous. Though very possibly stronger than his legs, his opponent was trying to strike him with a massive surface area which not only encountered a large amount of wind resistance but also served to disperse the kinetic energy over Kellindel's side. Sufficient energy to shove him over yes, but not hurt him.

That is how things stood.

Kellindel had other plans, however. Upon encountering an unexpected amount of resistance on his opponent's wing, the elf reacted quickly and extended his right arm, sliding his blade froward along the scales in a thrust that aimed itself almost perfectly toward the air roughly a foot behind his opponent's head. Why? Well at just about that time he was completing his wing buffet, the strong muscles that controlled his wing movement would drive the razor-sharp base of his blade right into the meaty area at the base of his neck. Though the pommel of his claymore prevented him from simply severing his vertebrae Kellindel would be more than satisfied with a deep gash in his opponent's Trapezius. It would serve to both cause a lot of pain with every flap of his wing and, again, draw precious blood.

Meanwhile Kellindel set about seeing how strong his opponents legs were. His free hand latched onto the wing as it slapped him, barely maintaining its hold on the top of the appendage as his lower body swung out from under him with the force of its momentum. Force he was more than willing to use, swinging his left leg around to send it snapping toward his face. Kellindel fully expected this to be blocked by that large staff of his, but that was alright. If he lifted his arm to try it he would send his right foot into the area under his opponents arms using his rigid toes like a knife to drive the kinetic force of his attack deep into his muscle tissue.

So he had invincible wings. Kell could work around that.

(Uhhh, smallswords. Not daggers.)

Kellindel wasn't so stupid as to kick hard enough to break his own foot. He'd fully expected for his first kick to be parried so the effect it had on his foot was negligible. A round object connecting with the top of his foot? His body naturally let his foot rotate back upward and he was none the worse for wear. On the second kick when he basically struck a solid surface it was more uncomfortable then he was used to when he kicked but again nothing serious. This guy was built so he had thought kicking was going to be something similar to kicking a solid wall. His toes were out though, so he had only so much room to absorb the impact as he could pull them in toward his foot. More than enough to avoid getting them broken, but he admitted it did smart some.

Three swords, a staff, scales, and adamantine clothes. Kellindel was beginning to wonder if this guy could fly at all. That was a hell of a lot of extra weight to carry around, adamantine not exactly being the lightest metal around. But his concern over the fact that so far his attacks had simply been deflected was a more pressing concern.

It looked like he was going for a grapple now. Kell didn't want that. The muscles of his chest pulled inward, his left legs pushed, and his lower torso rotated as he half pushed off, half hauled himself upward. The fact that this guy didn't seem concerned enough with his presence to justify moving made it easier to kick off the with both legs as he pulled his upper-body right over the wing and brought himself behind his enemy, his right leg lifting right over the attempted grapple.

His wedged sword actually served as a lever now, letting him pull his body right over the pommel over the weapon and allow him to drop toward his opponent's center-back. Now he would again hang one-handed from his opponent's wing and attempt to stabilize himself by planting a foot in the small of his enemies back but not before he used all of that weight to attempt to drive his sword right into the back of his opponent's neck even as he freed it from its position by pulling it upward.

((I got permission from Tacitus to post Dreslin's post. He can't post right now due to circumstances being screwy with him. This is his post that he sent me to send for you Kellindel. Also, he apologizes if there is inconsistances (sp?) all over the place.))

Dreslin's Ichigo Wrote:

> ( I got a little confused as to which weapon you were attacking with. This post is in respond to another short sword stab attempt. Let me know if you were trying to use the claymore itself as the stabbing weapon. Then I can edit appropriately.) > > The elf was quite amusing. When the elf made it to Ichigo's back, he proceeded to answer the question in regards to whether he could fly at all. Ichigo did a jump/fall to his side. Aiming for dropping his body weight, clothes weight, and force of the jump onto Kellindel's body to try and crush it. To use a scenario to as an aid: doing a backflip. Stopping at when the body is upside down and hands are touching the ground. Now remove the hands and have the head be crashing into the ground. Similar to this move only Ichigo's torso body would be falling all over Kellindel's body. As for the smallsword to the back of his neck. Same result as before, blade met scale-skin and did not pierce. If Kellindel wasn't to use his smallswords well on Ichigo, he needed to use an opening, such as eyes, hoses in ears, up nose. Common sense holes. > > (This post just like in the Tacitus fight, may have a few misunderstandings in its' haste. Lots of stuff going down on my end.)

Now the switching of wings and getting off wasn't nice. In regards to the fall, he quickly brought his freehand above his shoulder and had it meet the ground before his body, his staff would have to be used as his other make shift hand. His feet got into position of doing the lower half of a sit-up. The result being most of the force being absorbed while his head hits the ground a bit while the wings take practically none. More of a anime-comical-bonking-of-the-head than anything else. From this, he would quickly do the martial artsy kick flip to propel his body back to standing and ready (can't remember what it is called. See it in movies lots of times) as kellindel begins his charge. This post stops here in the assumption that Kellindel's author wants to do something than charge. If not, the charge will be dealt with in the next post.

(Once again, I will apologize for inconsistencies. This was a bit of a hasty post. Gotta dash for the time being.)

The kick struck and sent Ichigo backwards a bit. Kellindel would be busy recovering from the drop kick maneuver while Ichigo would be deal with the new direction he was heading in. He used his staff to push off the ground and keep his body flipping away from the ground. Sort of like a upside-down pole vault. It would look similar like a backflip that had the hands land first and then the feet. His staff was in place of 'the hands' while he continued flipping till eventually landing right side up on his feet away from Kellindel. His body sliding back a bit as the rest of the force of the blow met friction and weight. He returned to the standing position he took before his wing met Kellindel earlier in the match.

(Another hasty post. Sorry. Gotta dash for now. Will reply as soon as I can. )

Bitter was such a weak word for Kell's feeling about this particular situation. Astringent was closer to home, but the possibility that there was a word to describe his current state of mind was doubtful. From his position things usually progressed so fast that it either ended up in Mexico or in a court room where homicidal was a more common turn of phrase.

Kellindel took a moment to glare vindictively at his opponent as he pushed himself up. The bastard didn't even have the good graces to fight back. He would enjoy nothing more than to tear such a self confident front apart. That last attack wasn't so much a tactical move as an attempt to cut his opponent down. Though he'd failed to knock the bastard over, he'd at least hit what he perceived to be a chink in his opponents technique. Sometime thats all it took, to remind someone of their own vulnerabilities so they could see what danger they're really in...

The elf grinned maliciously, looking his opponent straight in the eye as his free-hand fingers clawed through the dirt, pushing him upright. He maintained the expression as he approached. Slowly at first, almost casual if not for his fists balled tightly at sides. Then he pushed up the pace, dashing in for the attack.

If his opponent wanted to do nothing then that was fine. He could just sit back and watch as Kell began picking him apart.

He continued the hold his opponent's gaze as he ran forward. Partially because he wanted to see Ichigo's expression when he finally put the hurting on him and partially because people were want to respond to such unspoken challenges in kind. Psychology aside, he reached the area just outside sword range. A dangerous position for a combatant with a sword against someone with a polearm.

Get the fuck out of the way, staff. Working off of his lower peripheral vision, Kellindel judged the angle and distance of the staff as he closed the distance between them. He skipped a step, hopping once on his left foot as his right suddenly shot backward and caught a corner of his cloak around the toe of his boot. Then, with equal speed, it snapped back out, swinging the section of material around to whip the lower end of the staff. An attempt to grapple the weapon? Not quite. The -weighted- end of his cloak had sufficient mass to put a mean amount of kinetic energy into such a whipping action. It would strike with similar force to a two-handed swing with either of his sword. While not saying much in the great scheme of things, it certainly wasn't anything to scoff at, especially with his particular purpose in mind.

The shock need only shock the weapon, not even physically force it out of the way. He only needed a split second for the follow-up. That being a lightning-fast thrust of his sword aimed precisely at his opponents eye. An all-out offensive attack that took full advantage of his speed and precision. It only needed that split second. From the angle of his strike (coming from the outside inward) if he could just stop his opponent's parry for a mere moment it would already be long over and Ichigo would get to experience the rest of the fight without the benefit of his depth perception, assuming the tip of his sword didn't make it to his gray matter.

All to get this motherfucker's goat.

While not an entirely inept counter against a frontal attack, Kellindel's earlier maneuver provided him with the right combination of tools and conditions to render the offensive almost harmless. It began with their distance. To have effectively begun to move his staff before Kellindel's cloak struck the weapon Ichigo would have had started the movement at a distance only inches nearer than the maximum range of the garment, which was easily double that of his staff assuming he was holding it in a two-handed grip to provide the lever advantage that would be intelligent in this kind of throw.

To put it simply Kellindel saw the attack long before he had moved within range and with easily enough time to compensate. Being that he was hopping on one foot, he torqued the muscles in his ankle as he landed, sending him to the right of the incoming staff and still well within his limit of extension to pull off the same attack.

But that wasn't enough anymore. As Kellindel stepped right, he pulled the center away from the rotation of the swing with his shoulder. This caused the cloak's rotation to become smaller as it was simultaneously tugged back toward the elf. Kellindel again caught the weighted end with his foot, whirling weight around his limb with an expert movement before redirecting its kinetic energy straight upward. At this point his left foot was on the opposite side of the staff as the rest of his body. As a result of all this, the weighted end would rise above the horizontal surface of the staff then, as a result of a minuscule twist in Kellindel's foot as he sent it up, it would fall on the other side of his opponent's weapon, where he'd make use of his raised limb and step on the weighted end, effectively trapping the weapon in a loop of surprisingly strong material held in place by both Kellindel's body weight and every muscle running from his leg up to the top of his back.

This was all while his sword continued toward his opponents eye.

Kellindel might have laughed at such an extreme overreaction to his attack if he wasn't so busy exploiting the majority of the inherent weaknesses in such a maneuver. Had this guy just Matrix-dodged his sword? He wondered as he stepped in, taking special care to duck under the swinging sword blade which he allowed to slap away attacking weapon. Not much point in fighting for positioning if his attack had missed already, especially if it had another purpose to serve. He let his arm go relatively loose and his wrist rotate as his blade was hit so his sword went to the side before his blade folded completely under it as it swung past.

It was about this time that his opponent began the sweeping attack. Good, that made his job easier. He had to fight to shake his head as he hopped right over the swinging limb and forward to land directly on his opponent's chest. Sure his opponent was obviously superhumanly strong, but that didn't allow him to defy the laws of physics. Ichigo's already precarious position leaning backward at an extreme angle (on one foot no less), the wet ground, and his top-heavy stature (thanks to his giant wings) would all come together and serve to royally bugger Kellindel's opponent.

Another one hundred plus pounds suddenly landing directly on his chest was an exceedingly large amount of force in this "straw breaking the camels back" sort of situation but in the extremely likely event that Kellindel served to shove Ichigo's bent backward frame over it would put the elf in an opportune position to show the winged fighter a more practical throw featured in a popular videogame.

Gambit from Marvel vs Capcom 2 might come to mind as Kellindel would ride the big lug straight to the ground and end up standing on his chest in a perfect position to take another stab at his opponent's eye, literally. No leaning back this time.

(Funny, I'm not using daggers.)

This kids, is where mind games start to come into play. So his opponent had just basically not fallen over when blind-sided by 100lbs on one foot. Kell could believe that, assuming his opponent had pulled some sort of shit with his wings. That was fine, he could care less about his opponents eyes, but his opponent didn't know that. Persistence was the mark of a dedicated individual and Kellindel had dedicated himself to putting the hurting on this guy. Unfortunately for Ichigo, it wasn't quite in the way Kellindel made it appear.

He was gonna get hit now, that much was absolutely certain, but he'd be damned if he didn't make his opponent pay for it. Luckily a palm strike took precious few more fractions of a second than what he was planning. Kellindel's free hand, the one he'd sparsely used to this point but to maintain balance, finally came into play. His middle finger snapped over the pad of his thumb and the tight fist his hand had formed broke open. Accompanied by a flicker of his wrist and the fluttering of his four fingers, he half-snapped, half threw a big handful of muddy sand at the eyes of his opponent. The main body of the throw was composed of a single piece of gritty, water-logged sand mashed into a single form by Kellindel's hand, but it was accompanied by a wide spray of individual particles as the snapping motion of his hand served to flick the remaining debris off his skin. The shotgun effect would serve him well in maximizing his odds of ruining Ichigo's day (and hopefully a retina or two) especially with his opponent practically leaping into it.

Kellindel grinned menacingly.

The same movement of his hand, that flicked the irritant at his opponents primary sensory organs, also brought it down from its position over his opponents still unfolding arm. His grimy palm would collide with the fingers of his opponents hand as he went in for the palm strike so quickly after he'd tossed the muck that it might seem almost simultaneous. This served several purposes.

First, it would save him a lot of grief. Not nearly as much as he'd like, but a lot. This last movement was a sacrifice. He was fairly sure the collision would render his arm unusable for the rest of the fight at the least but it would further pad his vitals and those are what really counted. He had no doubt that he was gonna feel the collision, hard, but the elf was pretty confident he could escape with a pair of empty lungs and maybe a few minor breaks.

Second, it would prevent Ichigo from putting a limb between his eyes and the sand he'd just slung toward them. He had serious doubts his opponent could respond fast enough, especially considering one arm was out wide after he'd slapped away Kell's sword and the other was already devoted to an attack.

Finally, God willing, it would break Ichigo's fingers. Though Kellindel lacked brute force strength he was effectively using his opponents own super-strength against his most delicate appendages. This wasn't a matter of skin toughness. It was his opponent driving forward with enough force to damage himself in perfect conditions put into a very imperfect condition. Fingers didn't bend very far that way and unless his opponent had some way to magically fortify joints which quite frankly, no matter the amount of training put into them, could only be so strong. Super strength was a matter of muscle, joints aren't supported by anything but cartilage.

And as his ears were primed for that beautiful cracking noise, Kellindel sealed the proverbial deal. His right arm cocked back, sword level for his opponents eyes. It would be a full moment of full view of the incoming stab before the sludge would slap his opponent in the face.

Whether it hit eye or lid really didn't matter at all to Kellindel. Both he and his opponent knew closed eyes weren't much better protected than closed. Of course, this was his play. The stab motion was a bluff. He'd carried it through to the end, even pretending to begin the stab before his opponents vision would be obscured but that was all the substance there was to it.

The real attack came from the down low. Kell had serious doubts that his opponent would see this even if his eyes miraculously went unobscured just by pure dent of positioning but as Ichigo might have already realized, he didn't' fuck around. His opponent had made a sweep then attempted to reestablish balance before pushing off the ground, leaving his legs dangerously far apart. Any fool knew that a wide stance was a stable stance and if this guy expected him to believe that he'd kept from falling over on the equivalent of a single leg he was was in for a big surprise, but that was a forgone conclusion.

Kellindel torqued the entire right side of his body into the kick. There was no mid-air maneuvering after this, no snappy little tricks he could perform to further screw with his opponent. He was throwing his entire body weight into a full-blown cock-knocker, nut-cracker, jewel-breaker, all-around devastating kick aimed right at his opponents groin. Toe-first, he was not fucking around, into the balls. Emphasis on into. This would be a fantastic time to remind the reader that his opponent was moving into this. This was a kick that would've shattered every toe-bone in Kell's foot if he'd used it earlier on his opponents chest or side and he was aiming it at the most vulnerable part of the male anatomy.

He'd watched his opponent carefully up until this point and had no doubt that this was going to hurt. Sure he was wearing adamantine. Fuck adamantine. It was woven into a robe which means it most closely emulated chainmail, chainmail was weakest against bludgeoning strikes, like a kick. The eyes were the obvious target, any shitheaded tactician would realize that and he was pretty sure his opponent was expecting for him to aim at the eyes. Fuck that. That was damn near impossible to hit, especially on an expectant foe. He'd purposefully zeroed down the possibilities to that just so he could drop his opponent straight on his ass with this attack. There were two ways to observe in a fight, actively and passively. Ichigo had obviously been going for passive, wonder if he had noticed Kell measuring him just as intently with all of the bravado.

Just as with the previous psuedo-strike, skin and armor didn't mean shit. Kell's foot was about to become one-half of the jaws of a bear trap and crush Ichigo's testicles against his taint like a vice on fast forward. This was working the vulnerabilities anatomy just simply can't compensate for. If Ichigo's sack was really sturdy enough to pad this blow in any way then his skin wasn't at all fit for the movement of his body at all. Likewise they simply wouldn't function if his balls could take this punishment. If he turned out to be a she was immaterial, on his current course he'd punt her so hard in the privates he probably wouldn't have the leg strength to pull his foot back out.

Speaking of course, the lovely part about the leg is its mobility. Even if his opponent maneuvered out of even simple dent of panic about his blindness he could compensate faster than his opponent could move his entire torso, wings or no. Not that his opponent had any excuse to know this was coming. He'd worked specifically to draw his opponents attention away and the bastards own massive chest would prevent him from seeing a fucking thing. The torque of his upper body? Well that was also going to serve to pull Kellindel's body away so it would move with the attack and mitigate the damage.

Kell himself had to admit he wouldn't have any inkling of this attack coming before it was complete. And he would definitely be out after something like this. A fucking Rhino couldn't take a hit like this. We're talking paralyzing, good-chance-of-making-you-pass-out-instantly pain. Hallucinatory lights, knock the air out of you, drain your chi kinda pain.

Speaking of pain...

*Crunch!!!*

The sound was so loud in his ears that Kell wasn't sure just how many individual noises had come together to create such an inner-cacophony but he knew it couldn't be good. That thought occurred in the flash of existence it took for his brain to begin interpreting the pain.

It first came to him like what he might've interpreted the sensation of being set on fire to feel like with all the speed and suddenness of the crack of a whip then it was almost instantly overpowered by firecrackers of pain setting themselves off over his left side. As if the individual pains fought to differentiate themselves from each other but couldn't all fit simultaneously within the limited scope of his perception. His vision dimmed and the sound of the rain around them became disturbingly distant. Kellindel was dimly aware of his uncertainty as to whether the sensation was simply overpowering his other senses or if it was realistically simply just KOing him. The fact that he could suddenly taste and smell the hurt didn't bode well for the second option.

Then he got over it. It still hurt just as bad, but it was as if his perception finally caught up with everything that had just happened. He sucked in a breath, unable to determine if it was asphyxiation that was causing the burning in his lungs. The movement of his diaphragm forced him to notice a strange looseness in the left side of his chest. That was at least two ribs cracked. As he hissed the air back out of his lungs the falling of his shoulder caused him to become aware of another limp sensation in his right arm. Amazingly his wrist didn't feel broken, but something in his hand and forearm certainly did. He fought the urge to look at his wounds. The pain prevented him from perceiving the warm sensation common along with the rapid blood loss accompanying a compound fracture. Looking would only serve to raise his chances of suffering from shock and besides, there was a large chance that he was going to see something that would make all this worthwhile.

Wait, he was spinning. Kellindel's eyes snapped around in their sockets, attempting to interpret the whirling vortex that composed the reality around him. He fought a sudden sense of vertigo and searched for something material to lock onto. There! The ground. Approaching very rapidly.

He twisted his body around, attempting to put his feet under him. Instantly regretting the action as pain burned through his torso, and regretting it again as he landed. His feet slapped the wet sand underfoot, quickly followed by his ass as he overbalanced and fell back into a skewed sitting position.

No time to take that all in, if he sat around it might seal his fate assuming his opponent had somehow beaten the odds and avoided his sure hit. Shock was a danger, as was sitting around. Still, he was surprised by how little time must have passed since he was hit. Given that he'd turned away it could've only been mere moments.

His fist tightened around the handle of his sword that he'd somehow maintained a death grip on during his trip. The weight of his water-logged cloak made the garments presence known to him as he pushed himself up, gritting through the pain. A warm wash and the taste of copper in his mouth caused him to reflexively spit. His mouth was bleeding. He'd clenched his jaw too tightly.

Fuck the luck.

He looked upward at Ichigo, whatever condition he may be in, ready for whatever the guy had left, if anything. He was damned if he was gonna lose after coming this far. Not before he ruined Mooo's shit.

(Hm... that came out a bit longer than I'd planned.)