Razen "Mirror" Inthar vs Alchert Midward

Razen "Mirror" Inthar vs Alchert Midward

FIGHT!

-Whoosh!Whoosh!Whoosh!-

Something was moving inside the far gate. Bits of motion showed through the dark, and that loud sound of air parting to quick motion.

What it was wasn't going to become clear instantly- just that whatever was making the whirling noise was very large, as it came forward out of the gate, spinning blurring man in its center and the object sticking out far beyond it's end into colorful pastels of what might have been clearly discernable shapes, stilled.

Alchert spun like a wild man- appropriately- not making any sound but his breath as the feet stepped on, keeping him proceeding forward just a few strides beyond clearing the exit of his side of the ring-

A boot planted hard, body leaning into it, and the hands let go. Before it was even clear the man had stopped, Razen was going to be facing down Alchert's "sword", spinning like a thrown tomahawk- only horizontally instead of vertically rotating- coming at him leveled just below the shoulders, fast. Of course, the object wouldn't clearly be a sword. The speed of spin and forward motion combined would blur it so that the handle wasn't all that clearly distinguishable, a little peice sticking off a massive hunk of material that looked less like a sword than a massive hunk of rock crafted in shape of some such thing.

What it was, in fact, was an organism all it's own, covered with a tremendous amount of carapace with strength comparable to iron, coming to rough wedges that one would for sake of convinience refer to as blades. They came to a 45 degree angle more than any sharp edge, but with a sword a good 5'8" of length from blades beginning to end, with a handle almost two feet in length. That blade wasn't just long, but about three inches thick at it's center before it started sloping into the blades. Nine inches wide from one blade's edge to the other. It, naturally, was going to weigh over a good 80 pounds.

Though it couldn't really be called a sword as it was alive, if it could, it'd be a behemoth among them, and nothing anyone normal could even swing, much less fight with. Or fling at high speeds.

The man with his foot planted, twisted down and around like a pitcher from his throw, however, was not normal. He was over seven feet tall, his shoulders were as wide as those of any two normal people of five-foot-something, and the part of his body not obscured by a ragged brown cloak wrapped around by the sudden halt of the spinning, was his head. Covered in thick black hair and a beard, each sparsely decorated with gray, leathery skin, amber eyes that looked more feral than human, and an expression of the extacy of the hunt to match.

It wasn't a mechanical horror nor some fairy mage.

Razen was fighting the Beast King.

Alchert midward was not one of thoughts that could be clarified into words, nor were they entirely clear. But the man- if he could be called it still- recognized the massive weapon returning to him. He could have tried to stop it- his body was larger, stronger, faster than any usual humans. But he didn't have the supernatural speed it'd take to get a grip on the handle instead of taking it dead on.

The massive man slammed down onto his palms, and knees, running like some bear, and barrelled forward, roaring out from under the shaggy hair as he rushed forward, charging toward the man opposite him.

The blade would slam into the closed, thick wooden gates where he'd passed from before, stuck with the blade wedged most of the way through the splintered wood, leaking a clear liquid down along the door.

In a way, there were several beasts there- the only ones, of present, that Alchert had any control over- but in another way, there was only one. Perhaps the fiercest of all.

Alchert Midward was no longer himself, but a collection of a whole, the head of a body of many. And he was here to prove-

No, wait, he wasn't. No clarity like that. He was here to satisfy beastiel instinct that flared most brilliantly in combat, but most importantly, to eat. And eat strong beings. Old traditions held that one gained the strength of beast they betook the flesh of, and only more so if they killed them. Alchert was there to fill his belly, and rise on the food chain.

So, naturally, if the bear charge was allowed to get that close, the first thing he'd encounter after the initial impact, was a head coming up to take a chunk out of his side while he slammed him to the ground.

Though, if all went as choreographed all the time, fights would have been much shorter.

Stopping the forward momentum was good and great- but the fact was, that Alchert was no projectile. As soon as his momentum stopped, the push of his feet and palms against the ground would continue bringing him forward, though slowed to the beginning of the charge. Having waited so late, Razen wouldn't have much chance, or likely expectation of need to, avoid a large skull planting itself in his stomach with more than enough force to knock a smaller man onto his back.

He'd be spared the follow through of the man crushing him into the ground and tearing him to peices by his magical riposte. As if struck by a speeding car, Alchert suddenly folded at the middle, shoved over onto his side and rolling along the ground to a stop just over a yard from where he'd started. His huge bulk did give him some advantages, even in a game like that where he'd be facing down his own force. A hit that might have left the average man broken was little worry to the monster.

"Hrrf!"

The beastiel man snorted like a bull, planting heavy palms on the sand and climbing back to a low crouch, half standing. This time, he paused, but a moment, staring down the other man like a buck deciding whether to charge another or not.

And slowly, he started forward, not in a charge, but step by step, lumbering toward the little man at a determined gait.

It wasn't fleeing? Then it had a trick. But cautiousness didn't enter Alchert's line of compiling natural impulses. He- they- were a stout being, and could take more than their fair share of punishment. Thus, to hunt effectively, rather than playing cautiously, they followed the natural course of hunters without need for that instinct.

He'd simply stalk his prey until it was worn out and had shown him all its tricks, habits, and ways, and then strike it down and have his feast.

If the man was just going to hang there in air, Alchert would trot right up to him, and immediately crasp a massive, meaty hand around the wrist of the hand not supporting him in the air, and then reach quickly around for the one pointed toward the ground with his other hand.

And then stretch out.

Making use of his larger size and beastiel strength, he'd simply pull his arms out to either side, pulling the man's arms in opposite directions until the elbows and shoulders started popping and dislocating, continuing to stretch with his chest bulging forward and arms thrusting back behind him, until one limb ripped clean off the body.

Superhuman speeds. Mmm. Tastey.

Physics wouldn't fly out the window simply because his body was at the moment that much better than a normal person, whatever cause or effect in the case were.

The feet came down on the arm, landing, and Razen started trying to run up the arm.

Maybe, with his superhuman speeds he'd be able to go from landing to starting to step forward before the inevitable happened.

Running up an arm, even if Alchert's was larger than the usual, would have been an acrobatic feat taken slowly, considering the small area to stand in further complicated by the contours of muscles. This wasn't even the primary issue though. Alchert's arm wasn't anchored with a hold on anything- it wasn't even trying to hold weight up atop it. Just stretching forward.

So as soon as Razen landed, the arm would start to fall under his weight. Depending on if he was running already or still landing once the arm fell to a certain angle, he'd either slip right off and fall onto his face on the ground, or else fall forward if he were running, landing with his stomach over Alchert's shoulder, legs over the front and upper half sticking over the front.

If he was on the ground, Alchert would simply drop his weight forward, off his feet, while he twisted his body a little. No effort, right off the bat, dropping a lot of force down into his knees- due to his great weight. Knees intended to land on Razen's back. A rib or two was almost doubtlessly going to crack. If he was over Alchert's shoulder, he'd grab the man's belt with the arm he was draped over the shoulder of, reaching up over top him and taking hold. The other arm would grab the ankle of a the leg nearer his head. Then pull on it, dragging that leg out, thigh in front of his head, and bend forward to bite down on the fleshy muscle of the leg right through any fabric he might have been wearing. Alchert wouldn't slice through the muscle immediately, but his teeth were good for biting beyond the usual human structure, a personal evolution, and would sink in deep very fast. If Razen struggled, he'd rip a chunk of flesh off his leg. If he didn't, the jaw would continue going tight until that bit was severed, which would be cleaner and easier for doctors to adress at least.

Whatever was pressing down on the arm, it was coming down on thick muscles somewhere in the forarm, on an arm not anchored or actively resisting. About all it would do was fling the arm back to Alchert's side faster.

Where it'd come up from again quickly. As Razen did his jumping retreat, he'd have a nice view of Alchert's walk picking up into a stalking trot, quick stepping with long legs and keeping the man effectively clearing any distance away from the massive beast.

It was just as soon as he "landed" that he'd have arms coming down toward either shoulder, to grab the upper biceps in the massive, meaty hands. He'd grab anything else too though, head, neck, ankles, or clothes, whatever happened to come into reach if Razen tried to retreat or move away.

He just kept quickly marching in to keep him getting away, bent slightly forward to loom down heavily, half-bent arms snatching for a grip. Even if he had to chase Razen all the way back against a wall to get a hold. Whatever was grabbed, however, was almost certain to find itself broken expediently there after.

An eyebrow quirked, as the thing stopped his hands, it's mouth moved and made sounds at him. Alchert wasn't entirely sure what to make of that. He understood the attempt of communication... but judging from his eyes, it was no more to him than some foriegn language, the raving of a madman, or perhaps the chittering of a squirrel.

The eyes were focused hard though, a feverish focus of the hunter. It was not pitying or emotional, simply analyzing what was going on before it. Intelligence concerned only with taking note of this and moving forward. Cruelly natural apathy.

The hands continued to press, but pressed over, forward and down, all the big beast did for that first moment of the lock was press in, holding Razen in place.

And then the right boot came off the ground, coming upward with the leg bent and planting itself in the upper stomach of the man and continuing to press in, a hard kick snap kick. The leg would press out, going straight, as Alchert's body weight just kept leaning in, probably winding Razen and assuredly knocking him back onto his bottom.

Alchert would only shamble forward quickly again, this time bearing down, likely toward a self-same lock as the last, only this time with the smaller man on the ground.

He wasn't fighting heatedly anymore. He didn't seem desperate, or really concerned.

Just silently methodical.

Alchert wasn't letting up.

Sliding backward meant friction, and he'd be moving backward slower than if he'd fallen over, and Alchert would practically be on top of him already by the time he snapped his punch. Which wouldn't connect any line of force to his throat.

Rather, a large hand coming forward would smack right into it, leaving a red line from being struck across the thickly calloused palm, which slammed down on the hand no longer emenating an opposing force. The grab would slow just a touch from that strike, but that was just a snap as force, where as Alchert's press downard had follow through.

The beast of a man didn't even bother with the strike hitting the side of his stomach, twisting his arm around and twisting at his hips, titanous strength jerking the other man's arm hard and flipping him off his feet onto the ground on his back, still held by the hand around his fist.

And Alchert would step onto the shoulder connecting to that arm, placing rather than stomping, and twist the heel in and down as he pulled up on the arm.

With a grip so far down it, the arm wasn't coming off. But wit hteh preassure atop and pulling, Razen's shoulder and wrist both were facing iminent displacement, and in a matter of a few seconds, the hand itself would be torn off the wrist.

And go straight into a waiting maw, powerful jaw crunching through bone and enjoying the fresh peice of flesh before Alchert would go for the next morsel.

There wouldn't be any waiting around for witty comments.

If Razen's body didn't move with the pull, the grip around his hand would still be drawing it forward along with Alchert's arm, full twist of the massively thick limb and twist behind it.

Which would, instead of pulling Razen off his feet, do the job that Alchert's foot would have done for him after he'd forced Razen to the ground for him. Anchor the main part in place, so he could break the middle by stretching it.

A pop as the wrist was dislocated, snapping as muscle and sinew broke, and a sickening squelch sound as flesh tore open and the hand came off, before more than a word of the witty commentary would get out.

Doing nothing was never a very good defense.

Alchert would pop the severed hand in his mouth, and simply sweep the man's legs with a wide arc at ankle level of his left foot.

((Do me a favor, and don't shit around.

I don't mean to be rude, but honestly. This is moronic. Say what you're doing. Don't tell me what happens and leave it, as far as anyone besides yourself knows, as "just because".))

((I'm sorry. I always get frustrated when people do metagame thinking, even passive-defensive like that, but... that's about the most understandable case. shrug I'm not going to blame you for not wanting to explain how it all works, but....

I don't need to know how it all works. I need to know what exactly he's doing right now, not just how it should resolve. How, exactly, he's keeping himself absolutely anchored, hand and all, someway or other. I understood it, if this is as much the same as it seems to be, when Alchert tried to crush his hand, but at this point I don't see how he would be interjecting a field between his hand and what's already gripping it, nor how that freezes any movement. Even if he has a field of force about that hand, between his and Alchert's, if he pulls on the field surrounding the hand, considering that it's small and more of less fits to the shape of the hand, it wouldn't slip off. Which leaves the result of it pressing the force against that field, and not so much fighting it as sliding it by pulling on it, through the fingers wrapped over it and securing hold due to the shape of the first growing larger out toward the knuckle, and of course, just the wrist area being smaller. It's not a matter of breaking, or defeating that field, if that's here; it'd be like if he put that field up around himself and Alchert had a hand laid on his side already and just proceeded to push. No harm from the push itself, but the opposite and equal reaction bit says that if he's at it's base, it's only really going to have the effect of really good padding.

A man wrapped in several feet of that cushy packaging foam stuff won't care if you hit him all day long. But if you push on him or grab the foam and pull, he's coming along. Otherwise, it'd be hard to ship things wrapped to be protected for shipment.

To put it most simply... I don't see how this this thing is supposed to prevent him being moved, even if it can protect him from blows. I'm figuring this is either because you are doing what I have to assume you are and didn't think it through all the way, or else you're using a different power/doing something different with it than what it seems to me you are, and since you haven't bothered to explain what is actively being done here, I simply have no clue what's going on.

It'd be like somebody with fire powers telling you that they used their power and left you with horrible burns covering you. I don't think you'd settle for that, you'd want them to say what they're actually doing so you can understand and respond, whether that response come to that conclusion they wanted or otherwise, no?

When you do things, you have to say what you're doing. I don't need the full physics of it. I just need what you're doing, not just that you're using a power. Less explenation is usually fine when your powers are limited to effecting yourself, but when you involve other people or other people's NPCs, they need to understand what's going on.))

Even big as he was, a grenade was nothing to scoff at. Much less two. Explosives generally had a pretty fair amount of kick behind them if you had enough together for them to more than just combust and burn away.

The explosion went off, breaking bone, as the fingers snapped backward at the knuckle and more than one something cracked inside the meat of the hand. Alchert lurched back one giant step, eyes now curious atop all else as he took up a stance again even as the series of punches came in, arm wipping back around in a circular motion and leaving a small whisp of blood from where the skin had split by the pressure.

No doubt Razen had some buffer, but one would have thought the principle of equal and opposite reaction would have crushed his hand pretty badly inside as well. Obviously not enough to stop him throwing punches with it, maybe not at all, but you would have thought... just ouch.

In anycase, there was something to wonder about on the cannibal's side too. He didn't seem to care about the pain of his hand shattering. Not in the least. Perhaps that, though, could be written off to his questionable sanity.

Alchert wasn't standing still, flailing his arms at incoming blows to knock them off course. Considering that they weren't getting their choice of striking point, they'd all harm the great man, but... he was built like a bear more than that. No one was going to make any real progress, just leaving light bruising all over where they smacked into the skin.

He'd start stepping in after a moment though. He wasn't going to wait around. The main point at first was just thrusting the broken hand at Razen's face, smacking the palm into the eyes, spreading thick blood all over his eyes, trying to temporarily blind him. Otherwise, it was mostly his body just pressing forward at Razen, to either make him back off or just shove into him repeatedly and reverse roles once more by putting him to stumbling back.

Time limit reinforced. If you do not post, Kuroiten by Thursday, 6:00 PM central, you are DQ'ed.