Main Bracket: Akechi vs. Deitric

A bye?

Deitric grunted, zipping up the front of his leather jacket slowly. Once finished, the warrior dusted his hands together and stepped out into the light. The crowd cheered at the victor's appearance, hoping to see a real fight this round. Deitric moved forward with a nod, and the nearby mage cast his spell. After a moment, the warrior stepped forward and up, suddenly walking on air. Coins clinked together as he tossed the magister a few gold pieces before making his way out into the open air of the arena, raising an arm to the crowd.

Without a word, he began his descent, and soon touched down on the platform as the spell wore off, leaving him just as he was for the real part of the day - the fighting.

"Time's wasting.."

Deitric watched on impassively, keeping his hands at his sides, resting idly just beneath the axe-heads of his tomahawks. Standing at well about six-three, and and most likely the heaviest human combatant here, the red-skinned warrior looked deceptively small for his weight. In truth, while he retained almost the same look as he had in his first showing during the Heaven or Hell tournament, he had actually built up to an impressive two hundred and fifty-two pound weight, but his build and choice of clothing hid it well - he only looked to be around two twenty or so.

"That's right. And you're Akechi - though, I can't say I know any of your call-signs, I've yet to see you fight," Deitric offered politely. He wasn't taking the piss; it was the truth, he'd yet to see his opponent in a match, and only knew him by name and nothing else.

With a flicker of movement, Deitric drew both of his tomahawks free from the belt, giving each one a deft whirl in his hands.

"Whenever you're ready."

The black haired tribesman remained like a statue when Akechi began his charge; remaining motionless and calm. As the man drew closer, subtle shifts took change in the warrior's stance, suggesting that he was getting ready, his weapons up to bear and his legs wider.

Clink--

The right tomahawk flashed to life in Deitric's hand, slapping the on-coming knife away while the warrior lurched backwards suddenly, throwing his weight back and down as he back-pedaled once and lowered his stance abruptly. With his opponent's weight on the same side as his own, the fighter's sudden motion towards the water's edge combined with his own weight and push would bring the far end of the platform up with a groan of protest.

Of course, that also meant trouble for his opponent - suddenly, he wasn't running on flat land anymore, now he was going to be running on a decline, and in a forward charge that meant he was likely to lose control at the abrupt change in the angle of his movements. That was exactly what Deitric was aiming for - to force his opponent to stumble and lose some of his control as the man was only a handful of feet away; hopefully too close to viably pull out of the charge as his inexorable momentum would pull him down the slope that was making it all too easy for him to lose control.

Both of the his weapons were still up, held in a loose, ready stance - he had pulled one trick card from his sleeve, but it took more than one card to win a hand. What else did he have planned for his former teammate's ally?

Deitric grinned, electricity cackling to life between his teeth as he kept his low position, his booted feet unbudging, keeping him solidly placed on the platform even as it shifted. Water sloshed over his boots and the current carried into the pool. When Akechi fell to his back and caught himself with the hammer, he was still eight or nine feet away - and the man was almost six feet in height, not to mention a stretched arm and the length of the claw hammer. But that'd matter later.

He hurled his both tomahawks as the mercenary came to a halt. One was aimed for the shoulder/armpit of the outstretched arm, while the second was spinning towards the man's free arm, aiming to cut away his ability to fight back and end the fight early. But that wasn't enough of an insurance measure.

The warrior was already shifting as he threw; years of training and usage made it more than easy enough for him to move in just about any manner while throwing. His stance lowered even further as both his arms came down from the double throw of the 'hawks, reaching down to grab a-hold of the leg nearest to him in a lightning fast flash of his arms - it didn't matter which it actually was. He was going to grab at the ankle or calf, and resort to grabbing cloth if he had to to get what he needed done. The cackling storm that had boomed to life around him would come in use - repeated, constant shocking would hopefully make it hard to react to Deitric's sudden grab for the offending leg.

Assuming the red-skinned fighter managed to grab a hold of the leg, he'd merely twist his body and fall back into the water. It didn't look like much, but it held a lot of potential-- with the twist and fall, Akechi's leg would most likely be snapped at the knee, ankle, or even shin by the hard edge of the platform if the entirety of the move was completed. If he lost his grip on the claw hammer, he'd be following Deitric into the water - an almost sure-shot way to lose.

The Khasmin tribesman kept his chin tucked in during the move - he didn't want to get kicked in the teeth, and he kept his shoulders hunched to help guard him from the second foot. He would probably take a bit of a beating, but nothing came without sacrifice in Gaia.

Deitric wasn't escaping - he'd grabbed the leg for a reason. As soon as he grabbed it, he'd made a corkscrew drop right off the ledge, meaning both of Akechi's legs would have been twisted side-ways, with the outside of the knee touching the platform.

POSSIBILITY ONE

Deitric's positioning had been low, but he hadn't been laying down - more like a two or three point football stance. All he'd done is dropped his weight off the side with a twist of his body once he had a grip - Akechi might end up slamming the heel of his boot into Deitric's shoulder, neck, or even head, but chances were, he was suffering from a snapped leg in one part of his lower leg. Deitric would be somewhere in the water, having released Akechi's leg once broken.

POSSIBILITY TWO

If the leg some-how hadn't broke, or even if he'd managed to get the double leg lock on him while the warrior was falling into the water (thus somehow holding Deitric's entire weight while he was in the water), then the red-skinned fighter would have used his arms to simply push himself out of the leg lock (having already had both hands on one leg, making it pretty easy to open said lock), while disappearing into the water, both weapons splashing futilely at where he'd been moments before. He'd be somewhere in the water then, possibly under the platform, but at the most, unseen.

POSSIBILITY THREE

Akechi succeeded in the leg-lock, but because the claw was unhooked from the platform and Deitric was still dropping off the edge of the bouyous platform, it meant that both attacks would be unsuccessful - both his leg break, and Akechi's attack would both fail, and both would slide into the watery depths. But that would mean only trouble for Akechi - Deitric's powerhouse charge would be unescapable, and the water would be a perfect medium for him to attack from any distance he pleased.

[What if posts ftl razz . I normally don't make 'em, but I'm in a hurry and my MSN is wonky sometimes.]

The flashlight hit home, but not where Akechi was expecting. The warrior had kept his head low, chin tucked, and his shoulders hunched. The flashlight clipped his right shoulder and the side of his forehead with a dull pound of pain, splitting the skin open without doing any real damage. The bit of blood that came from it tinged the water around it pink, though no one could see it.

Bzzt~!

Deitric was already submerged, and he kept his eyes open and head down, so the constant jabbing only did so much - he didn't need air, and at this point he was just getting slammed in the forehead and top of the head with the rim of the flashlight's light source. His plan hadn't gone quite as intended, but it did leave him in a good position, one that Akechi was probably going to regret, and most likely never realize until it was already happening.

Bzzt~!

While the psion was scrabbling for purchase on the edge of the arena, himself most likely half submerged and dealing with the cackling power that Deitric radiated, the tribesman quickly took advantage of his 'floating' position while Akechi was kicking with his free leg - he caught Deitric a few times, but the water kept it from being too bad, and he still had the man's leg.

Bzzt~!

The fighter ignored Akechi's thrashing as he pushed himself upwards - but not with his legs. The water roiled and thrashed around him like a thing possessed as the warrior suddenly burst upward from the waters, still holding onto the psionic warrior's leg. Electric power surged around him in the shape of twin wings. However, neither wings would be easy to make out, except in maybe slow motion; because Deitric was spinning like a raging cyclone, and he was taking Akechi along for the ride.

"Hrwaah!"

Taking two of his rarely used techniques and putting them together, the red-skinned man had combined his Eagle's Dance and Hawk's Flight - instead of merely flying or spinning, he was doing both. Deitric had quite literally taken flight in possibly the most violent way possible. His form was a-blur from the rotation of his body, and he was flying upwards, several meters above the platform itself.

Normally, this display of physical and electric prowess would only be just that - a display, something the crowd would cheer at seeing. He wasn't punching anyone, and thus there wasn't a direct "target." But, there was something else - Akechi, stuck in Deitric's shocking, vice-like grip. The expenditure of energy would be well worth it. At least, the crowd probably reckoned so.

He would have started spinning when the be-leathered warrior did, while he was still submerged, and would have been forced to fly along with Deitric up into the air as the warrior took momentary flight, spinning them both along the way.

Besides the rough and tumble spin-cycle while still on the edge of the platform, Akechi was also going to be dealing with a great deal of strain on his leg, still caught within Deitric's grip and forced to be the foci of Akechi's own spin. The rest of his body might not do so well either, and the constant pulse of electricity the fighter was putting out along with the wild, barely-controlled spin was going to make it hard for Akechi to do much of anything.

Assuming Deitric reached the apex of his cyclonic ascent, he'd do the simplest thing needed - let go. Akechi was far too heavy for Deitric to throw out of bounds, or out into the crowd, so he'd be aimed for one place - right back down at the platform they'd been fighting on. A throw down to the ground from several meters up, powered by the spinning flight of his opponent was going to hurt the psion quite a bit - but then again, if he wasn't too disoriented, he might get a decent landing. As it were, Deitric was sending him hurtling for the ground head and shoulders first.

Once he (presumedly) threw his opponent back ground-side, the warrior's own air-time came to an end, and he simply dropped back to the ground some forty or fifty feet away from Akechi's landing position. The throw hadn't been straight down, so the man would have traveled a ways, though Deitric would have came nearly straight down - he'd controlled his style-jump enough to land back on the platform and not in the water.

Around them, the crowd roared - no names could be heard; nothing that could even make it clear as to whether or not they held the crowd's favor other than the sheer volume. Simply a rolling sonic storm generated from the thousands upon thousands of spectators, all rolled into one massive sound that drowned the announcer himself out.

Crack--!

The hammer blow glanced hard off the side of Deitric's head, jarring the teeth in his mouth and tearing an ugly red gouge down the side of his face. The blunt head of the hammer caught him in the shoulder as well, but the muscle and flesh there kept it from doing too much damage - the glance to the head had taken some of the momentum too.

The warrior's world spun, and in more ways than one. He managed to maintain both his consciousness and his grip, the afore mentioned Flight of the Human Cyclone still taking place - even if he'd lost his grip, he'd of still been going up, the momentum had already been set into motion.

The warrior had spun counter to the way Akechi's knee was supposed to bend, a loud crack echoing in the arena as they made their way up. Further twisting and flailing would most likely tear up the inside of the ruined leg even more before the man slipped from the redskin's grasp - more from the inability to hold him, than any intent to force the man into the ground.

Thud.

Deitric would have slammed home just a split second after Akechi had been allowed to plummet to earth like a human comet, rocking the platform beneath them like a capsizing boat, stabilizing the previous bucking caused by Akechi's most likely none-too-graceful landing. Then again, the fighter hadn't made too good of a landing himself, landing feet first before collapsing into a kneel. It had been momentum and grit that had kept him and his opponent aloft, not coherent though.

The wound on the side of his head and face wasn't bad looking, but looks could be deceiving. The actual wound was unseen beneath the half-mask of blood that coated the man's face and went over his shoulder. He kept himself steady with his hands as he knelt, keeping his unfocused eyes on Akechi. Inky blackness touched at the edges of his vision, but the warrior kept his teeth grinding and tried to force it away.

Stupid hammers..

In the back of his mind, Deitric lackadaisically noted he probably had a concussion. He blinked hard and managed to regain his eye's focus, but his head was still pounding and the only sound he heard was the rushing of blood in his ears and the sound of his own heart beating. He didn't bother trying to move - he could worry about that later. Akechi probably wasn't in any position to fight right then, either. The Khasminic man's static aura sparked weakly, tiny, blue arcs of power drizzling around him and in the puddle of water that had formed under him.

"..."

The crowd cheered louder, each person chanting the name of their favorite fighter in an attempt to rouse their favored to rise and fight. It was far too loud to discern if either of them were in the majority - it was likely split.

"Hrgk.."

The warrior grunted at the sudden mental assault. He felt the ground fall away beneath him and everything went black.

~

Dust. Grass. Clay, soil, the smell of Khasmin. Beneath him, Deitric could feel the crushed grass he was laying on and the loamy soil, cool to the touch in the crimson evening sun. His eyes refused to open, though. He couldn't of been where it seemed he was though, despite the fact all notions seemed to be pointing to one thought.

The sound of bare feet crunching grass and soil down beneath them reached his ears. He turns his head slowly before pushing himself up, rising onto his hands and knees before opening his eyes. He fell back onto his rump, turning his turquoise eyes upward to see what had approached him. It wasn't Akechi - the man's leg was snapped.

White buffalo fur, and the head-dress of the ever familiar buffalo-shaman. Deitric grunted in annoyance. The buffalo man merely looked down, the upper half of his face unseen beneath the head-dress, but the bottom half remained in the perpetual scowl he always wore. He was actually shorter than Deitric, but no matter what, he always seemed larger in a sense that transcended simple physical measures. Creases of age and disappointment were notable around his mouth as he frowned.

"What sort of trickery is this, shaman? I can't be here right now. Outside of my exile, I'm thousands of leagues away. But of course, your hand is in this," the warrior fumed as he rose to a standing position. No blood covered his face, and he could no longer feel his wounds. That didn't mean he was happy - this wasn't where he was supposed to be.

My child, you are perceptive as always, the shaman retorted casually, bringing his staff 'round in front of him.

Clever, but not smart. You fight with your mind, not just your wits. You have learned little. But you will, in time. Now, go away. Go back to your tournament.

"Stop speaking in ridd--," Deitric growled in response, but the white buffalo shaman responded by slamming the head of his staff into the fighter's forehead.

~

Deitric flinched and closed his eyes. He opened them and immediately felt a sense of vertigo and illness - he was still in a slumping position that might still be considered kneeling, if only barely. The gentle wind was replaced by the roaring crowd and its cheers, and his head felt like it had been split open. The soft soil of his grassland home was again the hard platform upon which he and Akechi had been fighting.

Blood dribbled from a split lip that he didn't remember having, but his eyes were focused, and he at least knew where he was, and what he should be doing. He was back in the arena. It had felt like hours had passed, but he knew it had only been a few seconds - two or three, at most.

Damn shaman.

"Not over yet..," he reasoned calmly as he rose to a standing position, drawing forth the gunstock club that had been slinged over his back. He could feel a buzzing in his mind from the lash of the psychic attack, but couldn't identify it - he had no training with the psionic, and his own latent potential was so slight and unnoticeable that it aided very little in resisting the attack. However, simple stubbornness did help.

Taking the weapon in both hands, he began to approach the crippled psion. It was time to finish their fight, he supposed. Warm blood covered one side of his face, painting him in murderous hues as it slicked down the front of his already drenched jacket and in his hair. His walking gait lengthened and his stride quickened as he fell into a run, bringing the weapon to bear as he charged the psion. Beneath the calm exterior, he was seething - not with rage, but with battle lust, and with the same cold, stony determination that always overtook the warrior during battle.

*LET'S ROCK*!

The warrior tightened his grip when Akechi drew the gun out. He knew firing them was prohibited within the tournament, but he still had a strong dislike for the things - though, the more modern ones not quite as much.

He had a major advantage, at the moment. A larger weapon with more reach, and being both larger physically and having longer arms, that made the difference in weapon reach even more noticeable. Combined with Deitric's mobility, he had it a lot easier than Akechi did, thus far.

Deitric closed the distance between them, using the three feet club to its full advantage - making sure that he could strike the psion, but that Akechi couldn't necessarily strike back immediately. He swept his weapon in from his right, aiming to strike at the side that Akechi had his weapon, aiming to strike his weapon, or perhaps the weapon holding it with the inward curve of his club so that it was all blunt force trauma, and the spikes wouldn't come into play.

At the last second, Deitric twisted his wrists, sending his attack up. It was a tiny feint, but a feint nonetheless - instead of striking the arm, he was aiming a little higher, most notably, the jawline. His footwork was still light, so that if Akechi moved, he could react - he was using the length of his weapon to its fullest advantage, making sure not to get caught too close to the warrior and his improvised club.

?!

Deitric felt the claw dig into the bag of his leg, leaving shallow puncture marks in his jeans. It hurt, but it wasn't serious - but the sudden flare of pain did catch him by surprise and force him to stumble; but only a bit. Some bleeding and an ache, but nothing crippling.

Damn!

Akechi closed the distance between them with a push of his good leg, aiming to try and block Deitric's blow and strike the warrior down where he stood. It was a good idea, but the red-skinned fighter had other plans. His weight shifted forward to try and compensate with the sudden wounding of his leg, and when Akechi moved to try and body-check the fighter, he intended to return the favor - only correctly. And unlike Akechi, he had much more control over his movements, as he could stand on both legs.

Letting his still-functioning knees bend he shifted himself down low, hunching forward as he hurtled his already barely-under-control bodyweight forward. The gun slammed home onto his back with a clang - something didn't seem right there - while his own shoulder aimed to smash into Akechi's gut. He'd originally been swinging for the kneeling man's head, but now that he was standing, it looked more like a swing for the waist - and now that he was hunched over, it was more like a swing for the bad leg. However, the rapid, impromptu shifting of his stance meant the attack would have no power to it.

The warrior grunted - assuming all went to plan, Akechi's strike would have hit against Deitric's back, but Deitric would have forced his opponent to stumble back and use his injured leg to back-pedal and inevitably fall. Careful of his opponent's capabilities, he would stay out of their respective reaches now, holding his club down low. He stamped his knee down on the man's claw hammer, keeping it in place. He knew his own tomahawks weren't able to be manipulated, and he knew not where the flashlight was, but now he had some idea of what the man's own powers were.

"Give up. You're already crippled, you don't need to continue or else you may never fight again," Deitric warned, offering to let his opponent stand down. He had ruined the man's leg - for all intents and purposes, he was going to be a cripple unless medical aid came soon.

The warrior grunted as he felt the hand curl around his neck, but his hands had gone instinctively around the back of Akechi's legs while he was driving him back - he still had the club, but he could pressed his forearms to the backs of the man's thighs during the 'drive' of his body-check. When Akechi tried to force him up, Deitric let out a wheezing choke of air, but twisted his head, keeping it at the psion's hip as best as possible.

He stumbled a bit more when Akechi tried to bring him down, but all Deitric did was bend over, looking akin to an ostrich hiding its head in the dirt. He still had his arms placed well enough, and he could use that. He dug his chin hard into the man's side to keep them from breaking apart, not exactly wanting to get smashed in the face by a pistol, and began to heave upwards, pulling Akechi clear from the ground. On the way up, he dropped his weapon to tighten his grip on the man's legs, holding him up in the air for what seemed like a frozen moment in time, the man half-slung over his shoulder almost.

***UP--

THEN DOWN!***

Bright arcs of blue power burst to life around the warrior like seraphic wings, sending them both flying upwards, Akechi most likely taking a massive shock from being so close to the source of static energy, and the most obvious display around Deitric's back and shoulders. Without ceremony, he simply let go of the man's legs mid power-leap, letting the cripple plummet back down to earth while he soared up higher, reaching his apex before falling back to earth several meters away from Akechi.

[Shitty post 'cause I can't have time to do anything decent at this damn class >.<]

Deitric grunted as he felt his opponent resist, tilting his head down to let Akechi's own skull smash hair-line first with his own. Neither of them had the ground for stability, so even with all their strength behind the blow, it wouldn't of hurt the other beyond the norm - though, that wasn't to say it didn't hurt.

It did.

A lot.

Now, the red-skinned thunderhorse could feel himself plummeting down - but he was going down headfirst. That didn't seem exactly right. Deitric clenched his eyes show as they began their descent, cocking both arms back before slamming them forward; right into Akechi's body, which was laid flat like a target for him as they fell. Neither punch had any real power behind it outside of pushing - no ground, no stability, and no thunder or lightning to spare.

Deitric's double-punch fully extended his arms between the two, forcing his head out of the impromptu-headlock and sending him falling away from Akechi. Having no way to regain control of his free-fall now, the warrior smashed to earth with a crash, a pop issuing from his right shoulder as it popped out of socket. The stage bucked beneath them, threatening to capsize like a rocked boat before calming.

Around them the crowd went quiet while both fighters laid on the ground. Blood covered the warrior's face from a gash on his forehead from the most recent headbutt - better than a broken nose, if only by a little - and one on the right side of his face. For a moment, he didn't seem to do much than breathe before stirring.

"Nnngh.."

The tribesman sat up slowly on his rump, turquoise eyes squinted and staring around as he rolled over and fumbled about uneasily to draw himself into a kneeling sit, his right forearm hanging over his raised leg limply. His right eye kept closed, a bruise forming above it from one of the kicks he took to the face early in the match, not to mention all the blood.

He raised his left hand to the crowd as he tried his best to keep his good eye focused on the form of his downed opponent.

[Stupid college thing -.-]

Deitric growled, managing to get the toe of his boot under him as he forced himself to stand unsteadily, keeping his left fist raised up to the crowd. His right arm hung at the side - it was only dislocated, which was slight in comparison to what could have been done. He turned slowly, taking in the full view of the crowd that had erupted at his victory.

"Time to go.."