Omi Barsait vs. Lazenca Miranda

Omi Barsait vs. Lazenca Miranda

FIGHT!

Inna dat cohnda, we have Omi, who had survived his other fights and gained insight into how people are going to be here. Two full fights, think about that! Perhaps the man would go to the top, or perhaps his opponent would stop the progress here and now. Either way, Omi had to be prepared and loose and knowing what kind of thing to suspect.

Inna dis cohnda', we have Lazenca, who'd not been in his matches for more than three minutes before something happened to make him advance. The first time, the guy melded with the ground and healed himself... it was the melding that dq'd him. The second guy was sure to be a good fight but maybe he started feeling sick, scared, worried, left his oven on... because he'd bowed out just before Lazenca landed his first attack of that fight.

The warmed, heavily armor'd blade user against the cold, lightly armor'd hand/feet user. Yeah, this was going to be phire.

"Where is he? He's up!"

"I'm here..."

Lazenca had been in the back, trying to get his muscles a bit loose and making sure his equipment was secure on him, not rusting from lack of use. Hopefully he wasn't going to get creamed in this fight due to not knowing how people would come in this battle. Well... no, he knew. That first guy made a fortress of himself. The second guy had a gun [thank goodness he agreed not to use it] and was just a good fighter. However, those were just demos. It was like a sampling... getting the demo of a game that gives you a few abilities and throws you in front of a midboss fight, but has a timer on it so that you never get to finish. After all the story gleaning and watching the graphics, you get to the fight only to have the game reset on you.

"That crowd again..."

As Lazenca pulled down metallic gauntlets, he lifted his head. Thumb and forefinger continued to grip the beveled gold-colored trim. The less elaborate shinguards beneath the loose black slacks (Dickies brand, y'all) were fine, just fine. His necklace was too... that sucka was strong, able to withstand someone's attempt to steal it not long ago. As his bare feet carried him to the tunnel's exit, he lowered his lids so that the amount of light being thrown at him was limited.

A fade to white, and Lazenca found himself looking up to the roaring crowd. Bets had been placed on him, for he did manage to survive the ziggurat attack... people depending on him to bring home that extra side of bacon cheered. Those who doubted his skill, reasoning that his wins were only due to his opponent's flubs, were making known their wish to see him fail. It was initially hard to see with the wind whipping about them... air in the eyes and all... but Laz's eyes took a moment to readjust to the whisps of sand circling and took a deep breath.

Quote: > "Well met, and good luck!"

No doubt, talking to Lazenca. Crystalline eyes turned to the direction of the voice, and Lazenca lifted a hand. Thank goodness his opposition was at least sportsmanlike. Win or lose after this battle, hopefully they'd have a hearty handshake. Laz was getting tired of dealing with those tight-assed "bow before me, your new god" guys. They tasted horrible.

As best as he could, he observed the man. Eyes focused through the winds and to the best of his ability, Lazenca saw and smelled none of the dreaded weapons. However, it would be best to warn him, lest things get out of control. A hand raised to the air and he spoke over the sounds. It was easy for him... he carried four voices speaking simultaneously, with one of them speaking backwards. They all sounded as if they were talking in a grand hall, which had a great, spooky kind of reeverb effect horror movies would be smart to reproduce. However, Lazenca didn't sound fearsome otherwise. Right now, his mood was completely steady and his hair was black-blue.

"The same to you. No firearms, I really don't like 'em. Would that be okay?"

The winds died down for a moment. Only to pick back up again in a furor; then, suffering another brief departure. This allowed for some comfortable words to be exchanged by the mercenary, though currently, in a comical fashion no less, he was blinking rapidly at the four voices of sorts heard but all at once. Odd, really; the very nature of the sound reminded Omi of one speaking in an empty hangar. And to dwarf the winds as it did..

Still, he did right soon respond with a nod & voice loud enough to carry, "Surely. Never was much of a fan of getting full of lead myself." Despite the intimidating demeanor of his opponent, Lazenca - the opponent seemed to be rather friendly. Or civil, at the very least; a new one for Barsait in this tourney.

[Recapture]

First, he had battled Ki'oshi Renetzu, Round I of the Gaian Tenkaichi Budoukai Barton Branch. A fighter with a physical prowess & speed hard to match, and more ways of nullifying any one given assault from Omi than thought possible. Yet, in the end, Ki'oshi's own abilities proved to be the fighter's downfall..

For by shielding himself with what was, more or less, a sheet of metal enveloping the man's flesh- he had weighed himself down considerably. Prior to rule edits, prior to more recent arena changes; Ki'oshi' was disqualified, which in the end, proved that attention to detail far surpassed pure power.

Omi Barsait vs. Ki'oshi Renetzu > Finally, the match was over; Ki'oshi' had been disqualified, by being driven ten feet below the ground. A 'ring-out', so to speak. > > Omi fell to his knees, panting heavily - tired and admittedly exhausted. It was just then, that the realization of there being a crowd around him - people, returned. And so, slowly, his right arm rose into a victorious fist. This day, he had fought and became victory against a great foe. But, he was also moving on. > > ------------- > > The crowd clapped and cheered after an astonishing match-up before the announcer chimed in with his familiar tone. > > "Omi Barsait is victorious! The warrior advances to Round Two!" > > More cheers and applause, even as the fighters exited arena-left.

Next, the mercenary felt his physical prowess, while certainly above ordinary, lacking due to the nature of his prior bout. So, he sought to improve it through both the tried-and-true methods of harder labor, all in the means of bettering himself. And, besides the common methods, what way to improve oneself at battle better, than.. to seek friendly competition?

In entered the fellow-tournament fighter, Raine. Never did quite catch her last name. A quiet, shy woman, clad in dark apparel, whom seemed to be pleasant enough to the mercenary in conversation- though, albeit, with an overwhelming kind of grief accompanying her tone. Perhaps, something else? Never did delve too deep into that, either.

Regardless, the two, Omi & Raine, had what was agreed to be a friendly bout in the Gym facility of Tenkaichi. Unfortunately for Barsait, at one point or another, the concept of their exchange being "friendly" was all but tossed aside. In fact: in the end, rather harsh words were tossed towards the mercenary & his 'foolish' nature, as well as a mid-bout attempt at a rather permanent means of paralysis..

Omi Barsait vs. Raine > ... > > > Omi grinned; his arm was released. Good, now he could turn the tables. At least.. so he thought. He loved the flow of battle. He loved the addreniline, the rush, the tenacity.. but, that was not his chief purpose in battle. Not at the least. And if it came down to harming others - mortal wounds, however few he had dealt due to keeping himself in check, made him feel disgusted with himself. Both because he felt true skill would allow defeat without murder, and because of the moral issues lining a death. > > However, as he rammed forward - the mercenary saw what she was doing ahead of time. Yet, as his teeth gnashed together, he also knew - not a thing could be done. Raine had him. His eyelids began to widen in surprise, as her hands grasped his wrists. With such force, he knew there would be no immediate escape from such a grip; and then, it got worse, as he grunted in pain whilst her right foot dug into his back. > > A bit of paranoia began to unset upon him. He could feel more and more pressure being applied - the pain splitting across him, as his mouth began to open wide in silent anguish. Now, he was being faced with far more than just the risk of a tournament-ruining injury.. if this attack succeeded, it was entirely possible his spine would crack. He could die. > > ...

Fortunately, the mercenary managed to narrowly escape this sudden leap from non-lethal melee play, to an outright attempt at death. And from there, obviously, the match was well ended; though, the mercenary did walk away from the match with a little more focus on his time at this lovely tournament. In a competition for money, any well-meaning face may lead to a snake, it seemed..

Irregardless, his next, official match came up. The cryptic, mute Number 66. A gunman, with more technology on hand than any average fighter; and by all means, the man with an obscured face fully used them. Personal barrier. Goggles which analyzed the man's surroundings in such an acute manner. Powerful gunshots that could render a man dead in but an instant. Slowly, it was also made apparent: something unnatural lined 66's abilities..

Though, more pressing to Omi, was the fact he could've well froze to death.

Omi Barsait vs. Number 66 > This is only employed for a split moment, and then two barbed, Teflon-coated shock rounds are deployed despite the shielding betrayed by the winds. Even with his vision back to normal, Number 66 is able to draw in on the same trajectory, aim of the bandaged hand more composed than a quantum singularity constituted solely of Valium. They zip along towards Omi's center of mass at hypersonic speed in all of their Tungsten-alloyed glory, which means that they'll be heard before they get there. And in one unmelted piece. This is surprisingly conventional technology of an era that some would easily identify with as 'real life.' > > Within the second pull of the trigger, the miniature extinguisher reached its apex at the dead center of the arena sky, whereupon it whirled 'round faster and faster like the dervishes of old, gouts of pyrotechnics shooting from either end reminiscent of heavy sparklers on Diwali day. It fractured into a few hundred pieces with a smattering of fragmented pale smoke, and in the next instant whizzed out into clusters that daisycuttered into even more clusters, which set off into the equivalent of fireworks composed of liquid nitrogen. Colder than the reaper's sword, a few points above absolute zero, which was far lower than that of the chemical in any conventional setting. This stuff had been tinkered with to rival a rapidly expanding version of the Boomerang Nebula. > > It was a testament to the quality precision construction of the explosive that it would rapidly expand to all but the outermost few feet of standing space within the fringes of the arena, an oval of relative wintry solitude that included the inspector, now a little under halfway across the distance 'twixt his opponent.

Chaos. It was by a hair the mercenary got through the arena, which became reminiscent of Dante's depiction of the lowest level of Hell. Yet, in the end, Barsait reversed the situation something fierce; and Number 66 decided to, calmly, forfeit in face of this matter. Exact reasons were unknown, though there was a distinct possibility, he had little other choice to make.

Finally, the mercenary had a practice bout, partly by accident, with the feminine spear man, Arcanine. While no doubt a friendly fellow, the degree of why he was friendly, caused no lack of irritation on the dark-clad mercenary's part. Especially when passes were made upon Omi, before, during, and potentially after their bout.

In fact, despite his playful demeanor, Arc appeared as though he would prove victorious with his last action. Yet, perhaps it was this lack of focus, and insistence on playing around, that caused Arcanine's rather sudden defeat..

Omi Barsait vs. Arcanine > His eyes widened sharply - managing just by a bit to force his left hand off course, at the cost of any kind of blow to occur. It shifted along the outer-left edge of his ankle; no pain inflicted, but all the same.. Omi had to commend his opponent, for using his own assault against him. Little time for such an act, however, as the mercenary faced a new problem: Balance. It was bad enough, him being on one leg as it were; now, with a rather dexterous set of motions, Arcanine had freed his weapon from the mercenary's dead-lock. > > It seemed like this spar would spell an unfortunate end for the dark-clad swordsman, for the staff whirled about against his backside. The mercenary couldn't evade such a motion. And he well knew it, too. So, at the last moment or two before contact, one counter-action was performed. > > In a motion which inspired the saying "An eye for an eye..", he hopped. Lifting his right foot off the ground, using his opponent's temporary grip of the left leg to keep himself from falling outright- and immediately slammed the booted foot down on a new surface, which kept him from being swept outright. Arcanine's unsifted, unprotected right foot. The thrusted-down boot dug in, feeling the powerful admantium metal clash against him; if it weren't for the mesh Omi wore beneath his cotton clothing, a rather sharp pain would have ensued in the rear-anklet - though, it still stung a tad to feel metal strike metal. > > Irregardless, the mercenary now moved to end the match. Arcanine was skillful, Omi would readily admit. In fact, in terms of motion & flexibility, perhaps, Arc surpassed the mercenary - though, that would be a matter of opinion. However, there was something the mercenary did have over Arcanine: He never missed an opportunity, however slight. And one, he most certainly had. Perhaps enthralled by the punch heading his way & the seemingly sure-win of sending Omi's legs out from beneath him, the man had forgotten.. this was not a purely melee match. They did, in fact, have weapons - and the staff, powerful in impact and range though it were, did not have a keen edge like the mercenary's own tool. > > Simply sliding along the shoulder it had been at earlier, with truly nothing to resist it now - Caladbolg, radiating in it's brilliance, moved along Arc's shoulder-blade rather swiftly- before stopping about an inch or so prior to the neckline, now more carefully coming to the neck. Not quite touching, but the edge was just a hair or so off from pressing against Arcanine's throat. > > Meanwhile, the averted hand from earlier - the left fist of Omi, it's homeward punch dashed to dust - had it's revenge, as it merely came over the foot it had so narrowly avoided striking without intention, and planted it's fingertips - all save the thumb - against Arcanine's opposite shoulder. Suggesting that, if Arcanine were to try and shift away from the blade and continue his assault, he would be pressed against the cutting edge in futility. > > Exhaling to the side, he gave a casual set of words: "Very good. However, I don't suggest we continue from here; it would seem, I'm victorious in this situation, neh? Trying to persist may cause an accidental injury or so. Care to have another spar, perhaps?" Chuckling jovially but once, the mercenary held the position taut; if Arcanine did try to prolong the current struggle.. well, the situation could, by no intention, prove dire. And he most certainly doubted either of the combatants desired that.

[Recapture End]

Now, the mercenary kept his position taut; eyes glancing ahead. Seemed, the swordsman was allowing Lazenca first assault. Out of respect or strategy, or both, was not readily apparent. Yet, hearing the encouraging comment, and loud as Hell noise from the stands- Omi narrowed his eyes in irritation, before allowing his right hand to form a common thumbs-up. Still quite visible, despite the miniature sand storm. But, now, his eyes were busy adjusting to the odd battlefield they were present within.

Out in the Midwest, thunder bellowed, and lightning struck the grounds. Apparently, it wasn't bitter enough out for precipitation to turn to frost, for rain most certainly was brewing. "Alright.. time to see if I can keep my place in this contest of Gods and bastards." He thought with a confident, nonchalant smirk.

The battle was underway, to the chorus of lightning & audience cheers.

It wasn't until the mercenary's opponent was just outside of relative arm-distance, than the swordsman began to react. However, he could not help but grin a tad at the shuffling motion.. that was something he tended to do at the start of a melee exchange himself. Still, Omi was never one to let the opponent control the pace. Even if it meant potentially wounding his own body, the mercenary was about to give Lazenca a proper retaliation for the onward charge.

By allowing Miranda to come right on in. One would expect to try and move out of the way, given the choice commonly; especially with the size difference between the two. That factor could not be argued with. Yet, instead of trying to evade, the mercenary shifted his right arm right over the left; performing a simple shoulder roll. Lazenca would not be back fisting Omi's nose, nor face. Rather, his knuckles, protected though they may be, would meet a rather durable chain mesh, covering protruding shoulder blade. Obviously, hitting that would cause more harm than good.

Yet, that was just the beginning of the motion. For, having outstretched his right shoulder, the mercenary spanned back his already drawn left-foot, and used the shoulder roll as a means of delivering an otherwise easily-seen telephone punch, with the gauntlet-encrusted left hand. Still, the motion was fast, despite shifting from analysis, to defense, to offense. A curved punch that arched into a straight shot; hand plate edge flicking forward towards, ironically, Lazenca's own nose. Perhaps, Barsait was currently playing the 'give your opponent what they give you' game, opting not to display his common motions. Or.. perhaps, he was trying to set up something more complexed? Regardless, getting hit by a blow from that trajectory would not be pleasant. And by shuffling in, while good for blow resistance & keeping one's posture while still moving forward quickly- Miranda would have a hard time maneuvering around the leftward punch.

A blunder the mercenary immediately regretted, grimacing at just how much he had over-reacted. Omi had already realized, in his over-zealous anticipation of the oncoming blow, the mercenary had over-measured the impact of the relatively light strike; thus, giving Lazenca a range of options that would have, otherwise, not been available.

Still, this light error would not throw his momentum off. As expected, the dark-clad swordsman's opponent thwarted the leftward punch without receiving harm. Yet, used to giving a light jabbing motion with his blows- he retracted the punch best he could. After all.. his right shoulder, just now having given the defensive roll, still wasn't completely out of the picture. No doubt, a counter punch could not be delivered from this position. Not with Barsait's fists, at anyrate- both were contended with. Left fist just now returning to his body, right being sent off course entirely by the light push given off by Lazenca. And now, Omi's lead side was no doubt, his left; thus, since Miranda was now forward in a right-position.. the mercenary seemed hapless but to take a blow or two. This was reaffirmed by the right leg lifting upward, no doubt, one of the potential few means of delivering his next assault.

Yet, a punch was not all an arm could deliver.

Repeated himself; that's exactly what Omi did. Except, now, the mercenary was not performing a right shoulder-roll. After all, by trying to land that punch with his left hand earlier- his body alignment shifted to the left. Lazenca's right. Which meant, lined up with the risen leg- what better to do, than perform yet another shoulder roll?

Yet, as the shoulder blade protruded at his flesh- the mercenary did not remain stout. No.. rather, before Lazenca's rapid coil could slam into Omi's body from his own right side, Omi was slamming his own body into Lazenca from the very opposite direction. Left shoulder blade, bone covered by metal, gunning right upon the uncoiling fighter. How could a spiral kick reach it's full momentum, if the spin & counter-clockwise twist is never fully realized? Much less, since his right hand, having been thrown off-course, was now between himself & the right leg of Lazenca- still not quite in the position for a punch, but certainly a nice guard if that kick did manage to find home. Kicking a slab of metal - the hand plate upon the gauntlet which Omi wore - would serve little purpose, one would think.

Perhaps, he did jump the gun, so to speak. Yet, Omi was more than content with the last choice made, even if it did not flow onward as planned. Suspecting something as simple as a sideward-kick, the mercenary was instead rewarded with a knee to the head. Light pain, nothing serious, was the result; even he could not help but wonder, "Was that all?"

Yet, now in much more of a rush.. Barsait did not let the actions transgress without reward. Sure enough, Lazenca had escaped immediate harm, and even managed to give a small bit of damage to boot; nothing grave or dire, but a blow none the less. Yet, there was a fatal flaw in how Miranda pursued that achievement: currently, left side coming to the ground whilst right knee remained closed, there was more than just a few moments where, that very knee used to strike the swordsman was up for grabs. Literally.

Neither of his arms were attended to. And they'd both had plenty enough time to swing back into proper placement- namely, the right arm, still backwards in opposition to the left following the shoulder ram. It didn't take a stellar feat, or expert physical prowess to grasp the knee itself. Care was made, to not shift the leg & allow Lazenca to merely uncoil it and turn the presented situation into a disadvantage. Why try to move past it, or grab at the leg, when the very kneecap was available for a certain mercenary's fingertips to dig into?

If Lazenca was attempting to warn Omi in the previous blow, than perhaps, he would take care to keep his wits more concerned with concentrating on the fighter's own conditions; for the mercenary took advantage of the fact that Lazenca was bracing to land on his left side, and began to drag backwards with as much might as musterable; gritting his teeth whilst dragging Lazenca, in this awkward pose, right back to the mercenary. And granted, the left arm couldn't wind back to meet Miranda with a powerful blow whilst the man was more or less dragged backwards in such accord, but, another telephone blow - or a powerful blow that has an obvious path & is easy to deal with - was not in the mercenary's intentions. Amber eyes flaring, his left hand shot forward just as earlier; except now, in a much more likely case of getting off a strike, and a changed arc of motion, since the shoulder roll-charge left a straight punch as a hard choice of action to make. The metal edge of the left gauntlet's handplate glinted wildly. In this situation, Lazenca couldn't use his left arm to reach over and meet Omi's own; there was just too much distance to span, and it was already preoccupied with meeting the ground. This left, promptly, the right- and in the bizarre direction the two fighters were meeting, who was to say even that could be risen in proper defense?

If uncontested, the sickle jab - or a sharp jab that tries to turn gradually without losing much of it's force - would swing over, and slam most abruptly towards anywhere from Lazenca's right shoulder, to skull. Furthermore, with that metal handplate's edge coming outright like that, to just call this a blunt blow would be an understatement; sickle jab was a rather ironic move to come into play, for Lazenca may as well have had a horizontal blade heralding forward to pierce what it could.

Leaning into the strike, his teeth gnashed together for the impact upon, hopefully, a spot in Lazenca’s body. Yet, to no avail was the smashing blow; for Miranda, while taken by surprise no doubt in the grasp of his knee, managed to find a way through the situation. The ‘draw’ made it’s debut, as the clawing motion struck forward, towards the swordsman’s face. It was a horridly rapid move- and not even aware of the white ‘lines’ which, put simply, would cause some rather devastating damage to the mercenary’s face.

So, what could he do in this instance? Feeling his left handplate mash about as though two blades had truly clashed, it was a bad situation.. sure, his Sickle Punch could, potentially, slide right along into Lazenca’s visage. But not without the mercenary taking some lovely cuts, or worse, in return. So, he took advantage of the one thing possible: Miranda trying to keep a sense of balance, and the lack of attendance to Barsait’s own legs.

It was a gamble, the ways their bodies would motion about; Hell, this could still potentially cause both of them to be damaged. By their own devices, no less. But, it was done without hesitation; right hand letting go of Lazenca’s knee with a light push off the cap to move upward faster, his left withdrawing – though slower. His left fore-arm brushed against his opponent’s right wrist abruptly. As the clawing motion was made- Barsait then followed this up by having his right hand, now a formed fist, stop dead against the claw; handplate tilted just to Omi’s own left, to meet the clawing marks, whilst the swordsman did tilt his head back. Had he just done the latter action, no doubt, the claw of Lazenca – combined with that bizarre after-effect claw that dealt quite real damage.. well, the situation would be poor for the mercenary, no doubt. And as he felt not one, but two rough sets of blows grease across his handplate; if he could afford it, Omi would have looked puzzled.

Yet, this didn’t mean the role of Offensive-to-Defensive had been switched. Once again, Barsait was eying Lazenca’s legs.. the right knee was now ungripped; no doubt, Lazenca would try to straighten this leg out, and bolster his balance. Not something Omi intended to allow, as his own right foot shot out in a very simplistic, straight-thrust motion; a slight raise, then bash forward - the dark, tred-laden boot of the mercenary digging against Miranda’s knee, regardless of whether it’d began to unwind or no by then- followed by, a push.

Whether this would seriously throw Lazenca off balance or no, was not something the mercenary intended to immediately find out; for Omi used that push to gain the momentum in order to shuffle backwards, feet clasping the arena sand again- and with that, he managed to get a little spacing between the two combatants. Surely, Lazenca could follow up on an offensive charge.. but thanks to the issue of he trying to regain his balance, then having it possibly off-settled – the likelihood of him immediately charging after Barsait, was slim. His left hand kept at that lofty position at the side; fist formed, but not rose. His right, however, was open by a bit, and rose horizontally in front of his mid-face. Though, his expression had turned towards one of eagerness, like the exchange that just occurred was, bluntly: entertaining.

Ever heard the saying, one yawn brings a thousand? Whether you had or not, it wasn't too long before Omi himself gave off a low one, before shaking his head to get nice & conscious; before his eyes regained a frugal focus. "*Alright, those encounters got me nowhere.. if it gets down to it, his fist has a certain advantage, due to that claw. At best, I could catch him once with my handplate's edge; that damned thing could hit me twice. Four times in one go, if both hands managed to get at me..*" Letting out a slow exhale, which manifested itself into a whisp of the cool air - Barsait flashed another grin.

"Than, I'll give him no alternative but to take damage." A gust of sand fluttered by between the two fighters. No doubt, the wind was starting to get a tad fiercer, as the sand bellowed to & fro; yet, on the next tuff of furious wind, the mercenary advanced before clear eyesight could be regained.

A berserk charge..? It was odd; his arms were crossed at the wrists, hands formed in fists, and handplates barging forward. As though he were trying to ward off something.. The swordsman circulated his arms- as though he were about to throw a rather wide pincher-strike, by having his fists expand outward; left to the wide left, right to the far right, before bashing together upon the lowered stance of Miranda. This would be rather simple to get around; all Lazenca would have to do, is lean forward, and Omi would be at the mercy of the man's attacks. Except, the hands met, clashing of metal causing a spark or two to bellow out, several inches or more before they'd have ever came upon Lazenca's face. Hell, it was a bit too far for either of their arms' reaches to come about... The two 'O'(s) were facing Miranda, before something much more ominous circulated out of the man's fingertips; his feet grounded back, just in case Miranda did decide to charge forward. What did emit from Omi's limbs, one could ask?

Three thin, perhaps five inch diameter, spectral-red lights. The tips in the shape of serpents; obviously, one of the reasons why his gauntlets were fingertipless, for they seemed to emit from his flesh in some manner. Yet, they were in a triangular position- all keeping in place, though the lower-left circulated about whilst gesturing towards Lazenca's legs, the other at Omi's mid-torso's level of height. Just eying forward.

Some of the audience murmured at this odd sight, though some, having seen the display ten fold & more in Barsait's prior matches, merely watched on. Yet, as airborn fire began to circulate along the paths of the serpents rather slowly- the uncoupling hands of Omi now assuming their previous offensive stance - left hand lowered, right hand raised - one could well assume just what was happening.

The melee exchange was about to recommence. Except now, as the mercenary's pupils seemed to relatively guide these odd "lights", his expression tensed- and at that moment, the three, rather slim pillars of fire darted forward, like blades of blaze. They were a good.. foot ahead of his own fists, spiraling about in a triangular pattern whilst his own body shuffled forward; hands lowered. For now, Lazenca would no longer have the luxury of just putting apart Omi's melee barrages- he had three unnatural sources of flame, emanating a red glow upon the sandy ground, swishing towards his body. If Miranda was not weary, in his pursuit of getting around the mercenary's assault or the flaming pikes, he may find the other striking him.

Along the rows of the arena crowd, tents & small shelter began to arise. Certainly, rain & thunder pire would soon envelop the entirety of these sandy grounds; but, the mercenary lost his interest in the whirling sands, the cold weather, and the dark clouds swarming about to the arena's relative east.

No, instead - Omi held a look of resolve. When the flaming 'serpents' spawned to life, no physical reaction was noted in Lazenca's being; could this be perceived as a lack of interest in the spawning of the burning appendages? "Huh.. No matter; this will no longer be ending in melee stalemates." Flexing his fingers outward a few times, the serpents shaking about as though the mercenary's very grip guided them- his stance kept sharp. Then darted forward.

It was a shuffle once more; his left hand the fist, right hand open. Miranda had a nice stance for gaining or creating space - but, as he would soon find out, just mere distance would prove to be useless in the oncoming exchange. For whilst the dark-clad swordsman seemed to be gunning towards Lazenca with his left hand, the fist bellowing forward in a straight haymaker that would normally hold an utmost ease for maneuvering around - his right hand, still well in front of his face, was gesturing fingers in different directions. Right index finger that way. Ring finger gesturing this way. And the three flaming cylinders seemed to coil through the air quite rapidly in response; perhaps, even faster than the man's arms. Furthermore, as his fingers arched back - then arched forward, the odd serpents of kindling fire stretched to & fro; since they appeared to be composed of fire and a disorienting red light - it was a rather confusing display, no doubt. Two of the three serpents spawned off his right palm; the third, circulating back & fourth around his left fist. Despite the obvious nature of his forward strike - two of the flaming snakes were criss-crossing in a double helix. Right over the course of the fist, well after it'd come out to the apex of it's reach. If Lazenca merely dashed backwards - the serpents would likely catch up with him. If Miranda just came forward, his face would meet the glinting edge of the left gauntlet's handplate dead on. No better.

And Barsait's eyes were gesturing around; the third serpent of flames spiraling to the left & right just above the path of the prior two snakes. A counter-defensive, awaiting for Lazenca to move to the side - just like an actual serpentine, eying it's prey & their movements.

"Charging forward!? Perfect-" The mercenary unintentionally conjured his thoughts whilst leaning into the blow, fully intending to meet his opponent. Though, in those brief moments, Barsait had to admit: it was a rather forceful lunge.. yet, as he felt a few misses pass by Miranda, one serpent missing a shoulder - before the bizarre, perhaps even the last thing Omi could have expected, did indeed occur.

A handstand?

The slightly comical look of surprise that overtook Barsait's face was immediately replaced by extreme annoyance, as he felt the descending legs come upon & ensnare his shoulders. Feet digging to either side of his neck, and taking a firm hold; before an impressive feat of physical prowess lifted Barsait up farther than he would have thought immediately possible, and vaulted him right on over.

Whipping his left hand to the side quickly, the abrupt motion seeming to cause the already-spawned serpentry to fade into non-existence with a slight flicker - Omi felt his center of gravity reversing, then coming right back to normal. If he had the time to consider it, the mercenary would have, in the common circumstances, given time to credit such a well-apt act. In fact: if the dark-clad mercenary hadn't mapped out a vague course of action prior to the toss of his body over Lazenca's back, it was unlikely for him to have performed any action prior to striking the ground below.

Yet, it was already obvious, something was amiss.

While he did enjoy a well-meaning spar, the mercenary seemed to take these arena matches with an ever-growing level of resolve. Not to mention, a rather defined sense of focus. Why summon just three serpents, one may ask, when in previous fights, the mercenary had managed to muster & manipulate so many more..? One could guess, it was so he could continue fighting in a melee manner whilst still keeping precise control of the serpents he had formed. And surely, a viable assumption. Yet.. "*I can summon a damned lot more of these than before, and not just from my hands. And granted, this guy didn't just charge in like I hoped, but.. LET'S TRY THIS OUT!" Eager thoughts exploded - as did a torrent of the serpents, right through the chain mesh surrounding his flesh - right through the black cloth of his shirt - and in a rush, all flooded right up along his shoulders. It was brief, the time of contact between his neck & Lazenca's feet; not enough time to channel a great* amount of the ominous appendages out.. but enough time to stretch & skew an impressive thirty-two miniature, crimson snakes along the man's boots. Yet, his hands were not the ones mustering these about - no, in that situation, they couldn't. Suggesting..

Omi truly had grown in his time here at the tournament, now managing to manipulate his odd 'red lights' with body parts & even just light twitches, if acknowledged, besides the mere gesturings of his fingertips. His right hand managed to raise up enough to get the lower section of the elbow to split the impact of the sand- before his entire body followed suit, causing a rough exhale of pain to flow from his lips. Even though the surface of the ground was sandy - the impact was still rather fierce, and by no means, felt pleasant. The casual member of the audience would have probably only caught the flipping of the mercenary upon the ground, and a rather bizarre explosion of red lights; yet, the dexterous would more likely have noted, the small flood of what could be considered, "explosive leeches", right along the plummeting Miranda's blind region. And so, no doubt, as both hit the ground - it would first appear, Miranda had proven victor, having buffered out the damage of the fall much more than Barsait. Yet.. not letting the dull thud of pain from striking sandy soil shake his wits, Omi quickly gestured his right hand - and no doubt, traveling along Lazenca's legs, and with a speed far faster than the mercenary's limbs.. the serpents ignited. While they were moving along the legs - they would no doubt, try to reach higher & farther, as well as spreading out in numerous directions in the hopes of ensaring their prey- Omi bounding back forward in an off-balance, dizzy sort of manner - trying to impatiently catch his breath. Though, his hands were far too busy flicking fingers this way & that without allowing even a glance back in guiding the serpents all about to cause as much damage as the situation could muster, in order to cradle his face..

These flames were not natural, as one whom encountered them would soon find. If the nature of the bizarre red serpents guiding flames by Omi's inclination weren't an odyssey in itself, than one would find that, the flames seemed to actually roar along their path. Like a powerful current, with some bizarre force guiding it along - ripping the flames about as though to wound what need be. The darkened arena was, by this act, partially illuminated in the bizarre lighting.

Some of the crowd seemed genuinely surprised by this act. First, used as a pseudo-cushion to keep himself from being hurled out of the ring; then, used as a pseudo-shield from the ripping cold ushered fourth by prior opponent Number 66, it seemed that the versatile nature of the serpentine attacks.. were only matched by what odd - yet obviously, effective - means of implying them the mercenary hatched up next.

Bounding across the sand, the mercenary whipped around on the climax of his feet - teeth gnashed, well aware that his was for naught. Certain areas of his body ached with a dull pain, although thanks to the surface in which he was brought down upon, the extent of said agony was lessened- as his back straightened quickly, hands extending to each side. While painful, obviously, the aerial assault did nothing in terms of keeping Barsait down.

Lowering his jaw a tad, a rather fierce exhale began to flow from his lips - bangs of his dark hair coming just to the two eyes below them, right hand beginning to rise whilst the 'serpents', denied of their strike, seemed to be fluttering & roaring about. Backwards, back towards Omi without their guided flames. Yet, just as it seemed the odd appendages would stream out of control, well past the mercenary's own position - his right arm thrusted upward in a swift motion, palm facing towards Lazenca with his fingertips in a bit of a clawed posture. And all of the serpents, at once, stopped; no longer revolving about in the air, but remaining perfectly immobile. Some of the serpentine tips facing this way, some that..

"Somehow, he blocked those with pinpoint precision, without even seeing them coming.." Jaw clamping back until his mouth was shut again, albeit the slightest show of his teeth - which were grit together - something bizarre seemed to be occurring in the general perimeter of the swordsman. Perhaps, it was the fact that his right hand was shaking, as though pressing against a great force & struggling. Perhaps more noticeably at first, it was the air about his body - which seemed to be rapidly accelerating in heat, the very vision through this sudden & drastic raise in temperature just outside his skin rather.. alarming.

Yet, what would no doubt catch all's attention, was his right shoulder. Forward side. A beaming, horrifically fierce series of lights radiating through the chain mesh beneath his clothing; easily piercing through the fabric of the cotton. It appeared, for a few moments, as though Barsait had some kind of bizarre, fierce red pauldron beaming off his flesh. For just a second, his expression turned into a rather grim - pained, but obviously excited grin - before his hand began to slide forward, as though pushing something, jaw dropping once more to lowly howl out in what could have very well been.. a rather unpleasant category of pain.

Eager, was what Omi felt now. Perhaps, too much so; but, unlike his prior official matches, unlike the sub-engagements he had to sort through about the grounds of this arena, the mercenary was now facing a potential impediment to his progression. And, not by someone whom gave him reason to detest, either; rather, just a fellow combatant attempting to stride forward. The rush of the arena, perhaps truly kin & alive for the first time since his participation in this tournament, had gotten to Omi; too interested, was he to see how far this match could justly proceed. Still, Lazenca was intent on creating distance, before Barsait could close in for another rampage with the coils. Confident this would not slay Miranda, and decidedly more in a state of refusal to allow the fighter an escape from such a potential assault - Omi grounded his boots the best he could, though still he slid across the sandy soil; eyes fiercely gazing ahead, right palm now looking to bellow against the odd heat. And finally, the source of the hand's friction was made quite visible. Much to many - suddenly shocked - eyes.

More than just a few audience members seemed to either gaze in awe, confusion at exactly what was happening.. or, turned their gaze a tad, fearing that whatever exactly the action commencing would bring, could very well bellow sand out towards the stands even worse than the prior state. For, the stilled serpents from before were now parting. Branching out rapidly - more so than any of their movements, as just one coil seemed to spawn some twenty or more. And even more bellowed from his palms - the unnatural, red light cast down upon the darkness of the arena suddenly becoming much more intense in it's radiance.

"Gahh..!!" His voice was being drowned out by the bizarre sounds of heat distortion & rapid force flowing in front of him, and if by then, Lazenca had gotten to his feet and managed a glance back - then most assuredly, no longer would Omi be at all visible, for flames slowly took away all potential sight of him from that direction. These uncountable amounts of serpents were all festering around one another in a forward column, perhaps five stemming out on the eastern, western, north & south sections.

A spherical cross.

Finally, flames roaring off his right arm as though it had become the manifestation of Ifrit, with that never-discontinuing howl - all of the massive horde lit aflame. Rapid force backing them, the mass of red embers rotated rapidly - quick enough, that the mass appeared to be fully rounded. Decidedly larger than either Omi or Lazenca, the four protruding sections were the most undefined; dense coils of flame waving in the air, as though fully intending to punish Lazenca if he tried to escape their retribution. No longer was the howl of Barsait audible, nor twas the audience's murmur. Was it wind, that one could hear deafening the ears? Or, as sand seemed to be torn from the ground beneath the mass of inferno - was it that ripping, guiding force?

Regardless, it would be rather pointless to point out: A quick shield of icy substance would prove.. inadequate, against this steadfast impaling current.

Fas still sat comfortably in his seat, surrounded now by people watching the fight, the roar of the crowd filling his ears.

He watched as Omi attempted to "FINISH HIM", as Mortal Kombat would say. Quite the display by Omi, but it appeared Lazenca was attempting a strategic escape.

The part of the crowd that was here for blood, gore, and courage roared in disproval of his "running away" from the attack, but those who had intellegence when it came to tactics understood perfectly. Sometimes, it's better to live and fight another day.

And of course, there was a large number of fangirls surrounding Fas, eyeing his muscular body with great hunger, a few of the shyer ones hanging back and watching from a distance.

Fas continued watching, silent, but always thinking, calculating the outcome of the match with evey factor involved...It appeared that Lazenca was showing too much of his powers, yet Omi remained using melee and a bit of "magic" with his snakes, and had yet to use anything else. And neither person seemed like they were losing momentum, but Fas still had his money on Omi...He had more in reserve and hidden than Lazenca, and in warfare, the more you hid the more power you have.

Eyes shaking in suit with his body - all focused on trying to maintain this massive assault, Omi could just barely notice through the roaring pike of flames surging away from him, that Lazenca had moved away from that general direction. The air festering in front of his pupils would be too distorted with raw heat to pay close attention to the transformation from bipedal man to wolf; yet, that was irrelevant. The basic shape of Lazenca was quite visible. And it seemed, right arm shaking with a fury whilst that intense light beaming out of his shoulders radiated something horrid whilst his arms seemed to bask in flame - Barsait had no intention of allowing Miranda to escape harm any longer.

With a strange sound, as though a bone had cracked or set into place - his left arm suddenly wheeled upward, fingertips now motioning about again as though guiding the lesser coils. It seemed, the purpose of the four 'legs' of the spherical cross were made apparent, as the serpents began to strewn far ahead of the blast - now moving at a speed putting their old to shame, the illusion of the serpent quite vivid, as their jaws dropped down. Eleven, twelve? Some estimation in that area would work well, for they all bellowed out about the area of the wolf.

Yet, not a single coil seemed to head at Miranda. Four were hanging above him quite some ways, perhaps even six feet higher - two were festering flames at the sandy soil below, another few flew about the wind.. it was a rather bizarre circle around Lazenca. A two dimensional one that was all but too simple to get around; just what on Earth was Barsait attempting now?

All was revealed. For stepping forward as though thrusting his right arm against an even greater force, the inaudibility of the arena couldn't hold back the fainted sounds of the fierce howl ripping from the mercenary's own lips. Teeth were barred, as his agonizing cry was once again drowned out in that tremendous force. But then, the intents of the shallow encircling were made rather clear- for suddenly, the massive impaling flame designed to strike Miranda began to go much faster. And it was spiraling in such a furious manner now, that gusts of wind were being blown about in every direction.

"I won't let you get.. away..!!" His voice growled out through gnashed teeth, with a voice all too assuring that, Omi fully intended to keep his word. For it seemed, the smaller serpents coming even relatively near Lazenca's feral form, had acted as guides for the larger mass. Urging it right along as though in rapid transit. Faster than the speed an average man could dash with no effort at all, and certainly much faster than it's prior roaring- the spherical cross would suddenly seem to lurch at the wolf with a renewed fury. As far as fifteen feet prior to the very "tip" of this spherical crucifix of blaze, one could quite easily see the air distorting something fierce. And feel it's cause: temperature increases that made one forsake the idea of the weather being even mildly chilly, as an insane man's distorted dream..

Incredible. Omi, sweating & panting something fierce with the stress put on his body by maintaining such a show, had to marvel at the dexterity of Lazenca; once again, not only maneuvering about the coils and managing to escape, but bounding towards him in that feral state. A massive charge was facing Barsait, and if it were not contested - which seemed so difficult to even attempt in that position - it was unknown exactly what would happen to the mercenary. Never in this tournament, had he quite felt so threatened; Lazenca did not have much in the means of pure force, but it was well made up in a general sense to survive. And with that, Omi faced serious opposition. Deadly, no doubt.

Though, the thoughts rushing through his head of his previously-bested opponents & comrades having lost their place in this tournament, made defeat by such elements not an option.

The mass of flame would take too long to wind back & catch the wolf by the back. Far too long. No, the mercenary only had one course of action mapped out for this specific element of the bout; his teeth flashing with a fang here and there, as though to meet the ferocity of the bounding beast. But.. his right hand suddenly became a stout fist. And sure enough, the flames outward-bound began to flicker away, obviously easy to call off than manifest - though the massive tendrils of heat were still evident. It seemed, in an effort to channel more of them nearby him quickly: He was sacrificing the force & presence of the ones abroad..

Lazenca was close enough for the shoulder-ram. And some large amount of the coils were still abound in the arena, fire here & there; the removal of said masses still in the act. Yet, the flaming arm which before, had just been their guide - was now suddenly raising it's surrounding temperature something fierce. The handplate upon his right gauntlet was shining white & red, as though it had been freshly forged; and his eyes were open in bloodshot. Only one word could be gritted out, despite his expression never changing at all: And this would be, strained though his voice sounded, "Sorry."

Mid-arm. Shoulder. Wrist. It seemed all of the coils emanating from his body were channeling - and newly fashioned ones sprouting - upon his right arm. There was no way, in the impact & the rush of his own flames, those legs could be made to stray away from the impact ram; but.. it seemed, Omi had no intention of missing that shoulder charge, either. For once again, the arena shone brightly as could be - this time, from one source.

No longer hurling the blaze about in an attempt to catch Miranda, it seemed Omi intended to use his own body, even at the cost of a potential strike into his legs, in order to cast down the sun's Earthbound fury onto his opponent.

The swordsman's entire arm, raised in what one could describe as a reverse uppercut, was beaming with an intensity not unlike the spherical cross from before; that horrific pressure flowing about it, flame crackling all about. Yet, as Lazenca would close his shoulder on in to topple Barsait - he would find the act made too easy. For Omi shuffled right in, allowing the wolf to make contact, at the cost of his balance, just to slam his fist downward with a highly lessened chance of missing. Barsait would probably gauge forward in an arch - then have his feet sent upward, toppling himself over the wolf. Though, with how that fist was now extended by those dire embers, growl emitting from his lips at the pressure his arm was undergoing - not only was it likely Lazenca would be struck.. but, equally likely, the ground beneath them would be utterly annihilated at such a point-blank display of inferno. No doubt also: neither of them would have a very good sense of sight, or.. Hell - any sense in proper array when that thunderous fist of ember stroke down. Given a wolf's general shape, then adding in the fact that Lazenca was considerably larger than the norm; a good estimate for a spot to be struck, would be the mid-to-upper back.

Nicknamed "H A E L S T R O M - S T R I K E" - a kind of blow Barsait had practiced, ironically, many a time during his practices admist the rounds - this punch utilized the body's position in order to deliver higher levels of force behind a punch, regardless of the direction the opponent faced. Even without the horrific force of fire & ember, this was something horrid. The adaptation of it used here, was rather varied from the norm; for normally, it was a vertical-to-upper punch, to try and catch fighters near his height or higher. But, in this case.. For in a shuffle motion, the entire body arches downward; using the thrust of the shoulder in opposition to a regular uppercut, so no resistance is met by the air. A downward arched punch, basically. An unhindered blow with a pin-point accuracy, made possible to perform on such short notice, thanks to Lazenca's lowered stature. Again: it was likely, the ripping force would come near the wolf's back in some region. Though, to be struck anywhere by that monstrosity, would be without need to say: A catastrophe.

Fas resisted laughing as best he could.

It was hard though.

Lazenca had gotten caught in a rather ingenius blow, and Fas guarenteed that had he been going even 2 MPH slower, the blow would have been enough for even Fas himself to surrender. That was some serious hurt, since Fas had a huge pain tolarence.

Fas focused his attention on Omi, watching his actions.

The crowd was screaming for blood and gore, and once again they failed to see such technical aspects of this match...most just came here to see someone die.

"Fucking Sadists..." Fas muttered to no one in particular, but then noticed the young lady who collapsed into a chair right next to him.

"...Afternoon, Miss..."

(( Just a status quo post, so Tac doesn't close it.

X is moving. ))

Noticing how his opponent did indeed manage to rise, the mercenary half-heartedly, only out of slight exhaustion, smiled. It was nothing better a sight to behold for Barsait, than that this match would not end before their limits were shattered entirely. Rain was bashing down upon his dark, wild hair - and it was not long before his right hand strode upward casually, and flicked his bangs aside, letting his eyes in their amber hue have as clear a sight as they would. No sooner had this been done, than that same arm drooped back to it's respective side - around the time Lazenca had assumed his more.. conventional appearence.

Flashing his teeth in a grin, showing that Omi was still quite lively, he decided to forsake the stance he had taken so many a time before. First, his right leg came forward. Then his right shoulder & arm; his entire right side took the forefront, face gazing outward at Miranda. His right hand rose upward, gauntlet still covering it smugly, and seemed to extend just in front of the swordsman's face. Two inches away from the tip of his nose, in fact. Handplate facing outward towards Lazenca. However, his left side, in suit, came backwards; left leg grounding itself just an inch or so back from where it began, left arm lowering down considerably. For it seemed to cross over his stomach, fist just barely apart from his shirt.

His legs squared just slightly with his shoulders - and his chin lowered a tad. Odd as it seemed amongst their match, Barsait presumably had assumed a boxing stance of some sort.

"Heh, sorry if what I did hurt a tad 'ere.." He called out from that same stance with a friendly voice, chuckling at the end of his sentence. "..But aye, come at me whenever you feel ready." Cutting through the winds, the occasional spec of sand, and the precipitation clodding down upon the two fighters - judging by his voice, it seemed Omi was all too eager to get right back into the fray. Of course, this was to be expected. In a tournament where his friends had been bested by questionable tactics, where he had nearly fell prey to death but two times outside of his designated matches, and where the future was all too uncertain, a kind spirited - yet challenging bout was a God send to Barsait. A gift, all too readily accepted.

It seemed like the mercenary fully intended to sit back and wait for his opponent to come in again, same as all of their prior melee exchanges. One would surmise, the burns lining his right arm would be a hindrance; yet, they weren't severe enough to limit said arm's usefulness. Rather, the arm felt nice & limber; just what Barsait wanted. Still in the same position as before, it seemed for the longest of moments that indeed, Omi would force Miranda to take the dive forward once again..

But, this was not the case. For in a rapid display of lower leg-strength, Barsait shuffled forward; keeping in the position with his slightly lanky build, charging forward like a freightrain. So much for playing it defensive. Yet - just as it seemed he would come into Miranda's general proximity, Barsait stopped on a dime; shuffling back a foot. But not before whipping his right hand forward, metal edge lashing forward - in a bizarrely fast jab, which held a whip like motion near it's end; flicking at Lazenca.

It would come close enough to Miranda, that a rather endearing cut of a blow would be possible at Miranda's left hand - right where it twere guarding his mouth; but, Omi refused to come in close enough for a retaliation from that right. He was now using footwork in a much higher degree than any time prior, the upper sections of his boots balancing his body with each shuffle; for each shuffle back and fourth, would lead to another jab forward with that metal edge, like a humanoid blade. This made it hard to retaliate too - for most of Barsait's body was tilted backwards and to the left, behind that right arm which jabbed with such a fury. And at his stomach, ever motionless despite the degree of movements the swordsman made - was his left hand. Poised. Fist drawn.

Now, one could likely see the situation unfold; Omi was throwing very sharp, literally more so with the gauntlet's handplate, jabs that would be hard to counter what with Barsait's body position & constant movement. And if Miranda decided to close the gap to alienate this advantage.. that left hand, like an ever patient Reaper, would circle forward along with the rest of his body in a rather hefty left-hook; again, handplate's edge coming forward. In short, the mercenary was playing a pressure game. Try to deal with the rapid cutting jabs, or step in and be countered with a hefty punch from Barsait's left? As the rain dabbled about with each to-be jab, Miranda would have to make a choice fast; for Omi was right-handed, yet.. Oddly, he was in a southpaw position, predominantly for the left-handed; but by doing this, his dominant - and stronger - right fist could doll even more pain behind those piercing jabs. Damage would add up if a counter measure was not employed, and most swiftly. And if Barsait could manage to start getting in blows around the hand guarding Lazenca's mouth - especially with that odd whipping motion to his jabs, which caused the overall impact to increase..

One would surmise, with the little effect the mercenary's blows were imparting, he would give up that method of attack and attempt something else. Yet, no such course of action was considered; instead, he continued the ever constant shuffle, jabbing his right fist forward with a fury at every pass, despite the left arm blocking them. All the while, his left hand kept in the same place, same position, never changing as though patiently awaiting Lazenca to try and close the gap..

.. Or was that entirely true? For now, the fist was starting to shake; still a well-formed fist, still awaiting it's opponent, still at it's same position.. but shaking more and more rapidly, as though resonating or trembling rapidly beneath some kind of wave striking it. Yet, this was all that was truly seeming to be different in the assault; Barsait just kept throwing those powerful hooks, ever patiently waiting for Lazenca to either try and come at him, or lose his guard's edge. The crowd began to seem confused; it was obvious the jabs were not imparting any lasting impact, so why was Omi pursuing them with such a level of persistence?

Jab.. jab.. jab.. if each would be met with Lazenca's arm - then so his fist's hand plate and Lazenca's guard meet each time; the jabs growing more fiercely, though no doubt still meeting the same results. That left hand, however, really seemed to be rumbling in place, now..

"Keep it shut tight.. don't let a single space between your fingers exist.."

Such odd thoughts kept running through the swordsman for hire's psyche, fervently as though Barsait was trying to keep himself focused despite his repeated actions. Another jab; another block.. and yet again, another punch followed by an arm keeping it at bay. The crowd began to grow restless, both due to the fight seemingly going nowhere, and due to the fierce gales & down pouring rain just splashing down.

However, Omi's rate of breathing was increasing. Now that was bizarre; surely, the grand attack earlier would leave one a tad weary, but just moments ago, he had seemed quite fine. And while surely, throwing those jabs would exert more energy than just blocking them - it didn't seem enough to wear the swordsman down. Those in the stands that could keep their patience had a different problem: Confusion in this contestant's actions. Wasn't repeatedly doling out blows without results just going to eventually make him opened up for a counter assault? He was never known to make such mistakes before..

"He's actually doing it.. I can't believe it.." His thoughts dully played out, the left hand now shaking even more rapidly in an almost alarming manner whilst his right hand flicked outward, again & again. His vision seemed to be dulled as well - though his blows kept their tenacity. "It actually worked. He must think this rain will quell my attacks entirely.. than.. this is my shot. I won't have another time like this. In that stance, he can't just bolt away in any direction, and he's too close to move in or move back. Lazenca.."

Teeth gnashing together, another flicker jab erupted forward; the shuffling growing faster. ".. I apologize, but even if it tears me apart, I'm finishing this." Slowly, his head seemed to bow just a tad in that last jab; was he about to fall unconcious? Had, truly, the accumulated blows prior to then caught up to he?

Not at all.

Head bolting up, his entire body instantly came to aliveness with a fresh gust of adrenaline, and an alarmingly content expression - as though the battle were already in his hands. Despite how things looked. Then, shuffling back again, two words came out, as his eyes narrowed with those amber brown pupils dilating - "Forgive me."

And that was when the left hand, fingernails digging into the palm to have kept so enclosed, unraveled with brevity. And this time - no jab would commence. And no one arm would be enough to block what Barsait would toss Miranda's way next.

A distraction. That had been all Omi was doing with the jabs, after the initial blocking. Lazenca, in his content to keep in place and ward the blows away, did not appear to have taken into account what Barsait may have been doing during the entire, seemingly useless exchange - or why that left hand shook in such a manner. This would prove costly. He had been building up those serpents inside of his palm. More condensed until his fingertips unraveled, there were quite a number gushing outward, as though the pressure at his left hand aching to muster them at their target had finally been unleashed. Instantly, the darkness of the area they had stood at was replaced by fierce, red light; and Barsait's entire body gunned forward. Blocking, jabbing - all of that was irrelevant now. Even if he were struck in return, what he would muster forward was not going to be denied. That, Omi was most intent on.

The flames Barsait mustered were most unnatural. For unlike say, your average magician of folklore, or one whom dabbled into the arts of "magi"; this swordsman's "serpents" feed off just one element. And scream out their flames from said substance, odd though it were: Oxygen. So, the two combatants being so very close, as the expanding coils opened their "mouths" - one would be surprised to see water all around them suddenly hiss into a thick gas. They could not ignite water, perse' - however, the serpents were now acting in two channels. One, to try and ignite, but fail, the element oxygen in the waters pelting over them - thus removing the element in the process, a failure though their efforts were. But.. by just defeating this element, small flames quickly being rained upon generated by surrounding oxygen - just what was left of the rain?

Remove O from H2O, and you have the very reason why most any opponent against Barsait reading too far into the "Elemental Hierarchy" on how water normally bests flames could quickly find themselves dead: Hydrogen to the second power. More commonly known as Hydrogen Gas.

Just a spark. One little tuff of flame had to touch that gas, that unnatural air before grand, horrendous flames bellowed forward - the mercenary howling in a deafening roar with his left arm now backing his currents instead of the right. Truthfully: Barsait didn't assume that southpaw stance earlier to try and best his opponent with a superior jab. His right arm was simply too weakened, too wounded, to channel fourth another assault like it had before. So, to common reason: Omi used his other arm.

But now, in that small, small distance Omi & Lazenca shared - a mass of roaring, ebbing flames were gushing towards their prey. This, in such a short time, put Barsait's past ember attacks to shame; in fact, it would most definetely dull both of the fighter's sense of sight, and the small droplets of water coming down, while they would eventually put the flames away at the cost of much of their numbers merely evaporating, if given a little time, were not enough to douse the flames before they would reach Lazenca at such a short distance. The mouth - the very tip of it seemed to just be one grand serpent, the rough size of either fighter's torso - perhaps a tad larger. But in such an expanded state, it appeared as though a dragon-like being was about ready to devour Lazenca. And quickly, the crowd's protests of not seeing any events transpire were hushed, perhaps even by force as even from their distances, they had to shield their eyes a tad. In fact, their eyes would probably water at the intensity radiance those Hellish flames gave off; hence, many averted their gaze entirely.

Needless to say: A raised left arm would not block this.

An enn-pee-see leaning over the outside wall shook a fist and sipped a beer.

"BLOOOOOOOOOOD~!!!"

Despite the power of the quick assault, Lazenca kinda knew it wasn't going to be over. Indeed, the sword had yet to be drawn. The Glare wasn't going to kill the man... it'd been used many timed before and the way it was used this time, was just going to do the damage it did... no death. All the waiting and watching was for making sure that indeed, that attack wasn't fatal. Omi could have attacked with lethal intent, but indeed he didn't. As such, Laz wasn't going to increase the lethality. The line was visible and as long as things stayed as gentlemanly as two people fighting for dominance and advancement in the ranks could keep it, then it wouldn't be crossed.

Lazenca had only landed three hits, however strong they were. He didn't expect that someone who made it this far would be felled in three blows. It would be nice, absolutely... but Lazenca wasn't counting on it at all. When Omi made his way to a standing position and spoke, Lazenca nodded. Indeed, indeed.

A fire beast? Ha... I've stood against he who has Essence. I should be fine here.

The sword was drawn and Lazenca shifted his feet to keep his body facing Omi. He stood up straighter, right arm handing while the left was horizontal. Would he be able to fell this man, who seemed to turn into a monster? Time would tell. This next volley had to be a good one... and a quick one, because now Omi had an idea of how strong Laz was, and was much more likely to pile on the pain.

And OH. Don't diss the video game comparisons, yo. scream

Lazenca wasn't going to let Omi just have his way with everything, if possible. Not another waiting game because as funny or lame as the comparisons were... this was no video game, where time usually paused as intricate setup motions were being made. This was no cartoon, and Lazenca was under no obligation to let Omi actually finish what he was doing. He'd changed his body, wasn't that enough?

To stay, to wait and counter. At this distance, they were going to be repeating what had happened before, with the timing to do a hardcore fire attack there... and Lazenca was probably going to be roasted with something hotter than before. Indeed, waiting was dangerous. But was it any more dangerous than rushing in? Omi had at least the time to conjure the coil, his mainstay attacking element. And now, the sword. Quick movements had saved Lazenca from getting burned, but could the same movements save him from a larger coil set, a larger man, and a sword?

Only way to find out.

*"Damn it, I'm starting to fight like him... rushing in headfirst."*

He ran, and his shadow stepped in perfect time. He'd dodged them before, proving to be faster than the coils. Close calls, flame all around, roaring and heating the cooled air. He ran in a wide circle to the right, doing everything his canine body would allow him to not get taken by the larger, unattatched coils of the beast named Omi. The patch of burned sand smelled like an old bonfire and well-learned lessons. Omi need not worry about covering so much space with his speed, because Lazenca was going to match, and break it. Push the limits, go for broke, all that good stuff.

This fire... he couldn't be afraid of it. It was only going to get worse from here.

You still underestimate me, sir.

Right foot.

I'm not only stronger than I look.

Left foot.

I'm not only smarter than I look.

Right foot, right foot.

I'm faster than I look.

Left foot, left foot.

I'm faster than your fire.

Right foot, left foot.

I'm faster than my own shadow.

Left foot, right foot.

The fire surrounded and it became obvious in very short time that Lazenca was being herded forward. He couldn't move to the sides too far, lest he endanger himself more than he was by running to the volcano, the source of the heat. Sweat did not break for he, who was absolutely forced to maintain an extroverted aura to keep about a foot between he and the heat. But how long could this exertion last? Would Lazenca be able to last in it all?

He was betting on a big yes. The path was true, and everything seemed like it would go well. Run up before the flames circles aroundLazenca had outrun the flames once, he'd beat the serpents. But this... this new charge made Lazenca's eyes open wider and his ears pin to the back of his head.

"He means to ruin me... to send me out in a blaze of glory...! Well if he wants to meet me head on, then I'll bring the noise."

But the attack planned for him was much more than Lazenca anticipated. Lazenca wasn't skilled enough in aural reading to be able to tell different people apart by energy signature... no, he let his nose and ears do that. But in rapidly approaching Omi, he felt the heat and the raw power increase. Yes, this was going to be hellish for Lazenca, but Omi was welcome to share. Tens of feet dropped to the single digits.

And now with Körper...

Nothing lands, left foot.

Special: Körper (Medium band: [i]BODY[/i] wink > So-named to follow the name of the band on the right. A focused will activates the proper enchanted bracer, increasing his power doubly for a very limited time. While physical abilies are increased (stronger, faster, better reactions, etc.), aural abilities suffer.

The crowd would see the wave of red and white as the flame converged. They'd hear Lazenca's loud snarling howl as he was washed over in the flame from behind, screaming for a bit of sanity in this insane suicide rush. They would also see Omi exiting the flaming assult with ragdoll physics on. The farther away, the better.

Rewind the tape, zoom in.

It took but a thought to initiate the properties of either band, and the mere rememberance for Korper, the knowledge of need was all it took. Lazenca was going to rush into Omi, that was sure. Omi was poised to draw his weapon down and initiate the forward wave when Lazenca was at a certain spot. Aim, timing, everything would have been good if not for Lazenca's increasing his speed doubly. Such an act, the quick change in velocity of the target with little adjusting time- indeed, Laz'd done his best to wait until the last possible moment so that he could gain a bit of suprise on his opponent. Get in just before the big assault came, to ensure the hit. It was going to be a 'simple' cock back and swinging hook with the left hand that hit three times as strong as Laz's regular strength would allow, rocking Omi's skull like a hurricane filled with brick houses.

Special: Doppelganger > The first ability learned by Tenma ne Garo style users, the fighter is able to make a semi-sentient shadow clone. If the fighter is an elemental, the Doppelganger takes on his/her elemental properties. If it's defeated, the "Doppler" will become a maelstrom of whatever element the Tech's user is. It's based on the prime principal of TnGaro: teamwork. The higher the skill of the user, the more times Doppelganger can be used, and the deadlier the combatant becomes. Like this, another set of Negative abilities can be unlocked. > > When the Dopper is activated, its physical prowess is added to the user's attacks if it attacks 'within' the user- it becomes two people punching at the same time, and feels as such. When the Doppler is fully detatched from the body, it cannot be reattatched without restarting the Tech. TnGaro dicipline.

Very doubtful, was Lazenca's getting there and halting the frontal attack before its launched... such a subtle motion to release it. It was only going to be the frontal that he felt, though. It was the Doppelganger activated just before Lazenca's waiting for Omi to emerge from the massive assault, that saved him. All mention and notice of a disappearing shadow, was because of that manifestation of energy that looked like Lazenca. The steps in time, falling out of time... he and the Doppelganger, moving as one and then slowly, slowly coming apart as he began to resign himself to a lack of aural control.

When the back attack hit, the Doppelganger erupted into a shower of ice, which did nothing but protect Laz's back for a few seconds, and hopefully the rush of fiery serpents from all directions behind him would be over before all of that temporary protection melted.

But the frontal assault... the turn of the blade that was going to be matched or beaten by Lazenca's single pushthrough? He'd have to take it all. And with the ability to use aura to protect his body supressed, he felt pain like he hadn't felt in a long while. And yet.

I'll be faster than my own nerve endings, throwing shooting pain into my skin, into my spine, into my mind.

Snarling, almost stumbling as he went to regain control of his body from the massive WAVE that washed over him, and having shifted between this and the next second that he was in the Negative [werewolf] state, it was now he that seemed the monster. Standing (when actually standing still and not leaned over to run) no less than ten feet tall, covered in blackblue fur that swayed violently in the burning heat he still ran from, ran through with no more assistance from Korper, with crystalline eyes taking the odd purple hue with the red surrounding him...

A sound. An echoing of his voice before it even left his throat, all four screaming something different. One, laughing. One, thanking Omi for this bout for it was truly one that shattered limits. One, releasing a guttoral sound that sounded between a howl and roar. And the final, repeating "switch" constantly.

They all may as well have been saying "We're coming for you."

Lazenca was sure that he couldn't stop the sword from moving. And as such, along with the burning sensation and the charred fur (thank goodness he didn't wear clothes, else they'd be taking a beating that'd definately set them to burning and disappearing), he'd have a bleeding gash across the chest, sliding to the side. The blood there was warm, but the fire was more so. Because of it and an adrenaline rush, with the fighting going on, the feeling of that cut would be supressed for now and the fur would start being matted with the blood that flowed from it. If he slowed or stopped, the sting would reveal itself to him in spades. But other than the sting, the feeling of what could only be described as wetness sliding against him, the wound would be ignored.

How far away did Omi go? A solid hit to a normal person would knock them back a step, so with the enhancement perhaps three feet, with another three because of the somersault? The distance between them wasn't great at all. A second, maybe two to breathe, before they were nose to nose once more.

The crowd had been roaring ever since Lazenca's attack, because they knew that everything before was an intro, them testing each other. When the ante was increased, the crowd knew big things were happening. And now, it seemed like Omi's grand attack would be a grand finale. Insanity continued on for every moment each person moved, and wouldn't stop until both men were finished. It was a moment staring them in the face like a giant WALL of defiance.

Embrace it.

Both men had suffered changes in this bout, and the calm that prevailed in the beginning was all but dead this late in the game. Calm was gone from the arena, calm was gone from the mind. The fur would reflect this change. Alpha Shift Black... such a dangerous condition. It was the proof of his legal insanity, his true killer intent that recognized no law or reason. The mind was singular on the objective, and the body was forced to comply while ignoring its own problems, like the blade piercing the back, and the flames and energy that would follow.

Oh, there would be blood. But not all of it would be Lazenca's. No motion was wasted, no lack of motion was wasted. If Omi didn't know it by now, the current sequene of actions this would be a good lesson for the next time they fought, if there was a next time.

If a person stumbled forward enough, he was going to fall. He was unable to regain balance and continue running on two legs, so he dropped to fours. This is when the sword would be pointed forward, and all heat would converge. Going to fours there and dropping in front of and ever so slightly to the left of Omi in such a way that he no longer moved his legs, the force came.. it was simply the hunkering down and his huge size that stopped the initial large force from ripping him away from his opponent, actual pain of the attack notwithstanding. And then his large body pushed upwards, back first. The small, miniscule movement to the side made it so that when his back flipped over the head, it was going to be to the side of the blade.

Feet took Omi's neck, and the two were airborne with the entire attack trailing them in a whirling pattern.

The force of it all was supremely great, and Lazenca seemed to shoulder-check a steel structure. But other than the force telling his body to stop moving, he didn't feel it. The blade may turn between the time Lazenca went from running to sliding an inch, to subjecting Omi to a full Locomotive Frankensteiner, but he didn't feel it. This was, without a doubt, the most and longest flame series that Lazenca has EVER been a part of. But he didn't feel it.

Auto: Negative Gain > Allows the user to absorb the energy from any one element for a limited time. Infinite auto-ability for elementals, but those with enough skill can temporarily change their elemental alignment.Revert happens in a matter of minutes, or when the threshold exceeds the limit.

h X c > And the final, repeating "switch" constantly.

This wouldn't be the first time Lazenca "leveled up" during a battle.

For the first few seconds, it was as if a wind was blowing through. A strong wind, a wind that kept his fur moving along with that being generated by the constant revolutions in the air, but just air. The heat would increase as the threshold was steadily met. Halfway through the altitude climb at 1.5k rpm, the threshold was met and surpassed, and the smell of burned fur reached his own nostrils. But even as their bodies passed the fifteen foot mark, even as the Omi's fire and Lazenca's blood trailed their track like a rolling flare, that didn't mean he felt it.

State: Alpha Shift (Medium Band: [i]FORCE[/i] wink > The mental illness is more disadvantageous than anything, but Alpha Shift: Black forces a bloodlust that works much in the way of a bezerker's rage- pain won't be felt at all. On the other side of this, Alpha Shift: White will make Lazenca apathetic, even depressed- very dangerous, for he's not likely to defend himself if he falls into this condition during battle.

I do thank you, Omi. Truly, you're a great fighter, and I'll respect you for the rest of my days. But this is truly the final...

When the feet parted an inch from his Omi's neck, a meteor fell from the sky at twenty feet, tearing the air and trailing Hell's flame on its way to the wall nearest Omi, which happened to be behind him.

...goodbye.

He floated and burned, and turned and tumbled and fell. And then he landed upon the spreading sand, paws finding purchase on the ground. The opponent was far away, and the stone fell... no movement. Was he alive? Oh, let him still be alive. He had to see the result of it. A long time ago, Lazenca was a fighter pilot, and learned to ensure the "kill." He had to check... it was the habit, it was the rule.

The body tingled, a thousand pins sticking into every part of his body as his own aura slowly started to build back up, the cold trying to return and flush out the flames that hung onto his fur. When the condition wore off, he would feel the damage of burns and scalds. His aura was currently concentrated on maintaining some semblance of cold in the oven; none could be currently sent to those facilities needed to heal wounds quickly. No... as he walked to Omi's position, he would bleed and take the chance to spit out blood. The vitae was on his chest, and it was only that which would have any effect on him at all. The fire was forgotton. He'd taken no solid physical damage, until that sword slice... there was no lingering damage to slow him down. So he could move. Bleeding though he would, he would move. The blood flowed at not too fast a pace, but it was a steady one. Too much, and he'd have to actually stop moving.

When silence reigned, Lazenca started to run. His mind was torn between wanting Omi to feel pain, and wanting him to stand. "Get up, you aren't dead. Your serpents suggest your living status, so I'm glad for it. Stay down, or face me again. You're doing your best, but you can't win them all. You can't win this. Get up. Stay down. Get up."

Typhoon_Omi > "TH--"

He didn't need to look for Lazenca. Through the thinning smoke, Omi could probably see Lazenca's large fist crossing the gray to meet his skull in a haymaker-type punch, aimed to land before Omi's new aura had a chance to pick up. And if he had to punch again to make the knockout happen, then Lazenca would use the free hand to block as needed, and go with another hit aimed at making Omi losing conciousness.

"STAY DOWN!"

And yet there was one spectator who was not afraid, not blined, not phased by the massive dragon-like flame coil.

Fas still sat, watching his freind battle, his bright green eyes flickering in the light of the dragon fire.

"Don't lose, Omi." Fas said, before vanishing suddenly, unsure if his words of pure hope and encouragement would reach the ears of his good freind. Maybe they would help him just a little to bear the pain a bit longer...

Barsait had delivered a Hellish assault, surely fitting to be one of the pinnacles of this very match's highlights . . but unfortunately, the name 'L A S T B R E A T H' was very fitting. For right back at the indentation to the wall which Barsait had moved forward from in an effort to deliver his impaling attack, did he lie again.. no longer in that accelerated state. One could finally appreciate the torture maintaining those states despite his body's conditions had brought - for one could spot his haggard breathing, limp left arm, blood oozing from places unseen beneath his mesh and right through the clothing he wore - which did not go unscathed, a number of holes lining his attire despite his own protection - and his pupils, an amber brown hue once more. Shaking badly.

Though, the quickest thing one would notice, would be the raw steam emitting off his flesh. Legs, arms, shoulders and back all had steam which, in itself was deadly hot flowing off them; much to the discomfort of the swordsman's weary torso. However, his body was also in a unique position. On his back, dug into the sands with a strained, painful drawing of breath that seemed to wound him with every pass. Left eye shut tightly, unlikely to open again this day.

"D-did . . I defeat him?" He asked in that miasma of a mental status once more, haggardly raising himself up by the left wrist- before his arm gave way, body falling right back to the sand with a light cough of blood flowing from his mouth. This stained the sands near him, though did not impart failure in the mercenary; for he attempted it again with his right hand giving more aid. Slowly, but surely, his body managed to come into a sitting position - right knee digging into the sand, nearly dead left hand falling to the sands.

And gripping cloth.

Caladbolg. Where he had left it, somewhat; it had been moved from the indentation to the sands near it by the vibrations of his own attack's howls but moments prior. Yet, that glowing blade did not seem to have been, to the contrary of it's owner, so much as scratched..

"Ku.. ro.." He muttered dizzily, recalling just whom fashioned that blade, as though thanking the swordsmith in a daze that threatened to crush what consciousness the swordsman had left. Sliding the handle across the sands limply with his left hand despite it now being little more than dead weight, his right fingertips finally felt the handle's grasp - and rose it outward. Point forward. That glow, perhaps more than anything, keeping his weary head from diving downward into the sands. It was impossible for him to stand properly. Yet, with legs that shook like they would break at any moment, Barsait tried to do just that; frame carrying him forward one or two steps, before he fell right on his knees with a muffled scream of pain. A stabbing sort, striking him right at the sides and chest in no doubt, warning of grand injury. Yet, this would only give way to him trying it again; closing the distance between the two opponents at a monstrously slow pace, body caving in to the sands again & again whilst his right hand would dig the blade into said saids, forcing himself upward with an almost desperate, though hallucinatory kind of focus.

Sound. Sight. It was hard to keep either going for long. Occasionally, the crowd's cheers or cries, or comments of pity or discontent would ring in his ears. Then, all sound around him would fade away like a forlorn wind, only to repeat this pattern whilst his blurred right pupil's vision tried desperately to keep his opponent, so far away, in sight. Right hand collapsed to the dirt, handle in tow. Left body veered upward in an imbalanced kind of lunge that only plunged him to the sands again, before what sounded like a bone cracked. Somewhere, most likely, along that limp arm. But anymore, pain was a second nature. Pain was the wrath that swallowed his being whole, that threatened to rob his prescience from him at any time.

He didn't care much for it.

Ten feet away? Eighty feet away? His vision spun and blurred; Barsait was, only by sheer stubbornness, grating along parallel to the scars in the arena grounds he himself had created. Sweat formed at every point of his body, and most assuredly, his muscles did creak. Sword, arm shaking, still extended as though ready to descend once more; though in his current state, nothing seemed certain. Nothing at all.

Speaking was even going to be a chore, if Omi Barsait had the chance to do so again this day. So forsaking such an action, he merely trudged on along those Hellish sands; the heat in the arena, even moving so far after the [HAELSTROM], unpleasantly high. No longer could he run. Throwing a punch would be absurd, for the tendons in his hand would scream with agony before the knuckle even met resistance. Projecting another coil was, in that drained condition, impossible; and despite the grand boosts they had given, achieving another 'state' was also, sadly, not enforcible.

All the swordsman had now, was just that. A sword, an arm going through Hell to wield it, and a body defying his mind's every scream to fall to the ground and rest lest he die; right eye fervently glaring ahead at Miranda, despite the horrible distortions that met him. Perhaps he did hear those words from Fasumbra. Perhaps, he caught a glimpse of the other spectator in tow.. perhaps even, he was just fixated on not falling. As though to remain on the ground would be the greatest sin he could commit. His bangs were down over his currently dead eye, his skin was lax.. and the expression on his face was nothing short of frightening. As if he were being tossed into Hell, and resisted without falter. But through ache and through that Hell: Barsait was going to continue his side of the battle. Even if he were to be overwhelmed until no more were he awake.

Finally, still in the rough midsts of where he had been before - the mercenary fell right upon his kneecaps. Jaw lowering and rising just a bit with each haggard inhale, whilst his one comfortable eye began to regain just a bit of it's composure. Enough, Barsait could clearly spot his opponent out in the distance. The distance too far for his feet to carry the wounded swordsman. That horrid series of sands which would drag on and on, though only so many feet, seemingly forever to his vision . . .

"Than.." Raising the Caladbolg just a bit - the tip sunk into the sands. Not too far, but enough his body could shift onto the handle, and use it as ballast. His breathing kept up that quick pace; his body prospiring onward.. all he appeared to be doing, was eye out his distant opponent from afar. Not even bothering to rest his left limb, knowing how useless that would be; right calmly pressing against the light blade's swordguard, to keep the wrist raised just so. Hand loosely slung over it.

What was he doing?

Catching his breath. Nothing more. Both fighters were wounded; but, the way Barsait saw it, if his opponent would take the time to regain his composure . . so would he. If Miranda began to resume approaching he, than well, Omi would gladly meet the feral wolf man with the last of his own relative strength. Why, after all in expanding futility, charge onward when he could instead, give his body at least some small taste of rest? Granted, no amount would sustain his wounds; at least, no amount he could seek in these arena walls. But if it were enough, a more elastic spring in his wounded feet could be called upon, or a stronger thrust from his right arm be called forward.. well, than it was in all manners and forms, worth the pursuit.

The crowd, however, was growing impatient. This had been an extravagant match, but the two were so close to collapsing, any average eye could perceive it so. And they craved one of the two to be felled.

That soft glow Caladbolg's metal gave off, however, reassured the horridly strained eyes prior. Omi could only smirk, though a bit of his olden, undried blood oozed from canines in response to this. "My.. a waiting game against eachother or ourselves, Miranda?"

So, it seemed the inevitable closing rush commenced once more. Miranda would, much to his own growing agonies, come charging in at Barsait; to which, the swordsman responded long prior before his opponent could come to that five foot distance, by raising the blade from the warm sands below once again. Scattered specs of the loose soil cascading over the warm, glowing blade Caladbolg, as it rose up once more in calm wait for Lazenca.

True, Omi couldn't stand perfectly, but he could manage a bit of a risen-squat; enough, that he merely 'stood' and waited patiently for the onslaught to come. Many would perceive this as his last, mostly futile stand; and quickly, an image of stubborn foolishness was painted upon the mercenary by most all of the arena's spectators. Perhaps, more in a commendable light, but still - it was a common, unspoken consensus that he should have just fell to the ground and called it a well-fought day. What purpose was there in trying to grasp victory, if the chance of he never being able to battle again grew more and more?

The mercenary, bangs now overshadowing his temporarily dead eye, couldn't have given any less of a damn. As soon as Miranda had came into that five foot distance, one would have expected him to, at least, try and move away. Yet . . .

Exhibition Match: Omi Barsait versus Raine > "She's strong. And even then, I feel as though she's holding back. People like this.. here, everyone is at such a high tier. And everyone is amazing - even divine. Could it be my place to compete-" > Gritting his jaw, the mercenary's amber eyes followed her movements - as his hands tried to assume a proper stance again, fists in front of his face and elbows bent upwards. But, he didn't expect her to launch an assault from that position; then again, he had done the same thing himself before. Still, his gut was unguarded. And, her bizarre kick wasn't just unexpected. It was admirably quick; and judging from her initial strike, would pack an incredible 'punch', so to speak. > > Then, his eyes seemed to gain a focus. "*No. I am just as great as they; whether they tote their bloodlines around and say mine is weak filth, whether they have experience over my head.. I have my own experiences, that they can never have themselves. One's strength, and the impact their blow can deliver are -not- the same thing. Even a giant could have his massive fist lose it's grandeur, if dealt with correctly. This girl fights like me, to an extent; loose movements, quick reactions, but in her case, with a tremendous amount of power. Then.. I'll cut through her attacks like they were nothing*!" His formed-fists tensed, as did his left leg - which slid in front of the right. > > Immediately, his left elbow forced itself downward, like he was getting ready to throw a punch - but at what? It was lower than her feet, even.. > > Though, it was low enough to come up at her lower legs. Raine had just put herself in a vulnerable position, by making such an attack at Omi's front. Had it been launched from the side, the back, or anywhere inbetween - it would have been much harder to deal with. But, straight from the front.. her advantage of the moment disappeared, replaced by a confident grin that came over his lips. His left hand roared back up with a fierce, fast movement - plenty of spring in the low uppercut, yet, with a grand amount of force. The air's swish over his hand only confirmed it's strength; his blow, basically, raising Raine's out-stretched legs above their original destination and at a diagonal direction towards himself. Both feet just above his forehead, or in that area. The kick, was ruined.

. . . Yet, the vision of that overwhelming charge which Barsait, at odds, had met dead on.. seemed to flicker in and out in his vision. Almost as though, for a few precious moments, the vision of that fighter over-rode his view of Miranda. And suddenly, though most chiefly, the question Lazenca himself had posed quirked into his head whilst the next actions commenced:

Lazenca Miranda > "ANSWER ME! OMI! HOW MUCH MORE ARE YOU WILLING TO GIVE?" > > But he was going to survive, by any means necessary. > > "SO I KNOW WHAT I HAVE TO MEET, AND BEAT!"

"*Is it not enough..? Are my goals so lofty that they fall prey to others'? I want to become greater, to protect those I care for, even if they don't share the sentiment.. I want to keep my sense of self-worth alive.. I want to make these hands delve into a purpose and claim it for my own.. if need be, I'll have my skin cut, my bones shattered, and right down the line: My soul taken, I'll gladly give my life! I'll have my name suffer the grieving of those that will, and bleed as tears strike it's tomb; I'll sacrifice my happiness & my wit, isn't that ENOUGH?!*"

Too many points of escape had been closed off by Miranda. No, to think Omi could escape harm would be a fool's grand folly; But, agility to move away was not what Barsait had nor desired. Light, in-place foot shuffling to keep the two fighters nice and aligned, before the lovely pendulum step. Unfortunately for Miranda: Barsait would not, at all, try to escape this kick. No, mimicking his first blow of his first bout in this entire tournament, in fact, Barsait suddenly sprung off his feet - at a diagonal charge forward, right into the foot with a howl, giving Miranda no chance to catch his barrings or trap the mercenary in some awkward position.

Omi & Lazenca were no longer in a position where they could trade blows, count their losses, try to fool the other into taking a hit here and there; and the mercenary, it seemed in the end, had realized that quicker than Miranda, for whilst his body lurched into the foot happily- overlapping it, even, as the tip struck his gut - something shone over it. His left arm, his legs, his torso and his gut especially were all rooted by Lazenca's foot..

But those were irrelevant: The right arm had extended happily over Miranda's leg, and gashed in straight towards Lazenca's chest, the mightily Caladbolg. No fancy motions. No round-about strikes that could be warded away by a free hand. A very straight forward, rapid thrust, which had no intention of meeting resistance, save piercing whatever foolish limb tries to merely block it's keen edge. Barsait's eye, what was visible of the good one, was feral as could be; and his body pressed into that lunge like its' existence depended upon it, for which, that very well may have been the case. The crowd had, once again, something to eye with voice-robbing uncertainty.

Lazenca received his reply, amidst that chilling thrust of the ethereal blade. In finality, dull rage ascending into the mortal coil:

"More than YOU CAN EVER GIVE!"

The unbrideled and insanely endowed wrath of Shagrath > Due to h X c violating the AMP several times in one post, wasting everyone's time for over a week, refusing to edit any part of his error filled post after being contacted several times, refusing to comply with opponent's actions, being in direct violation with GTB rules, arguing flawed and pointless things as logic, and pissing me the FUCK off. I declare Omi the winner by Death.

*As the sword came in it exceeded the length of Lazenca's leg with the added length of an extended arm. As he came in to break Omi's arm he only closed the distance between himself and the blade tip. With such idiocy how had he even gotten this far?

The blade runs Lazenca right through the chest as his wide stance makes him an even bigger target for his opponent who happens to be striking from below. Blood spills as the heart is pierced with Lazenca collapsing into the waiting embrace of death. Sliding down to Omi's hilt as the final breath escapes his cold, dead lips.

Shagrath walks over to the two fighters as this is all unfolding. With the match over he is free to be in the arena. Both looked battered and bruised, but only one survived. Some humanoid black shapes in scrubs put Omi on a stretcher where he is escorted off the field to the infirmary.

Casually strolling out of the arena, Shagrath snaps his fingers on the right hand inbetween steps as the corpse is immolated in dark neon green flames with black cores. As he exits the southern gate the flames burn out as not even a single ash is left. No trace of the body that once lay there.

As the door shuts with a resounding clang the arena floor looks to be a whirlpool of quicksand. The millions of grains re-align themselves according to Shagrath's will. The sword in the sand is once again as the stage of life without the safety on is as pristine as before it had ever been defiled with the blood of such hubris individuals.

In the dark corridors there was little noise. Making his way back to his chambers, Shagrath's eyes glittered with their old sadistic malice as he rejoiced in that moment of destruction and rebirth. He'd have to make a better one next time. Somewhere in the Abyss was Lazenca's eternal self; Shagrath's underlings were ever so happy to get a new toy.*

Omi wins by Death