[Semi Finals] Sec Bracket: Snow vs. Saphen

Finally, a normal change for once. But compared to all the other rings he'd been in, this one seems more in despair than the rest - obviously because there's nothing much to use to his advantage.

So nursing his right arm that just barely recovered for this match, the swordsman had taken a large flask full of water prior to entering the ring, pulling up his sleeve and pouring the icy cold fluid all over it, letting the numbness wash over his skin and dull the aching pain that still lingered from the last match.

"Aaah...."

A sigh escaped his lips. Bitterly cold to the touch, but better than a burning, throbbing sensation. So pulling himself in after the whole ordeal, the swordsman tightened the bandages over his injuries and looked around to see where his opponent would be. Hopefully this match would be easier fought than the last one he'd endured...

A....bard?

He paused, staring with gaping eyes at the foe. Sure, he'd fought against fire-breathing users, people wielding massive bastard swords, chains, nunchuks, staffs and even a damn shape-shifting weapon. But strings?

There's no reason for him not to be suspicious of its uses other than music. And, to comment against the narrator, if the swordsman had a cold heart he'd be dead by now. After all, only the dead has their hearts turned cold. No pun intended. Yet.

So freezing up his resolve, the swordsman unsheathed both blades without a hesitation's notice. Sure, the bard has some lovely tune to befit his personal theme, but his theme has ever and always been changing, depending on the atmosphere. For this ring, a more befitting theme should be played for the two contestants.

And somewhere in the back reccess of his mind, a melody started to play.

Cerberus Battle

"...."

Somehow, the song didn't exactly fit the mood. His mind tried another one.

Homeworld 2 OST Battle 6

A more dramatic melody? Doesn't really fit the mood taking place in a fighting arena. But what the hell, he'll just loop those two back and forth during the fight for his amusement. His hand still ached, some dulled senses interfering with his precision that he's holding his blades steady.

"Well, since this is the pre-finals for the second branch..."

He glanced at the accumulated spectators, some here to boo at either one of them, or just watch like any other observer in a gladiatorial-fight that is about to commence. "Huh." The swordsman commented, turning his head to look at Saphen with a quirked eyebrow. "Let's give the audience something worthy of their money, I suppose."

And with it, he skid both his weapons together to cause it to spark a bit, getting the blades ready for battle. Starting his walk towards the foe in front of him, his left blade flipped back to a reverse dagger-hold, the right held like any other normal blade and signalling the idea that the swordsman might rely on his right flank for attacks, and the left for defense. With each step, the humidity became thicker, bringing forth a slight chilling sensation as the swordsman lowered his gaze, the otherwise dull eyes turning into a cold stare.

"And here...we......go."

He raised his right blade to point at Saphen's chest, shifting himself into a right side stance while the left remained cocked near his left torso, his distance away from Saphen perhaps....ten feet or so in rough estimate. Hidden underneath the bulky - yet maneuverable - cloak of his, ice was starting to form on the surface of the ground around his boots, slowly spreading out in his area of influence.

It would be odd if this bard used his instrument as a weapon in combat. Especially in melee - it'll be quite an interesting bout with the foe against his katanas. He still has his suspicions, and it didn't take long for him to cancel the otherwise hopeful idea of clashing swords against an instrument the bard is playing.

The fireball was what made him skip the idea of melee combat. Immediately he pushed off with his right leg to slide backwards, using the slippery surface of the floor to give him more maneuverability to move about. At the same time, steam hissed right off from the contact of the fireball impacting the frozen area, causing a brief cloud of fog to burst from the two opposite elements, enshrouding the bard's visual perception, and the swordsman's sight simultaneously.

A fire user...

"...."

Before the fog could dissippate, a split second later something came whizzing right out of the dense shroud, careening towards Saphen in what seems to be a lash to the bard's right to left torso. A katana blade. With the handle held in a blue, liquified....

Tentacle? Not exactly the word the swordsman is willing to use, but nothing could summarize the situation better than that. Apparently, using the brief cloud of dense steam as a small distraction, the swordsman applied some normal water to solidify near his left handle, whipping it out like a makeshift whip to extend his blade's reaching range and deliver an indirect attack that might - in some way - surprise the bard. Should it miss, no matter; the swordsman can whip his left hand - the side leading the whip - to slash again in another direction as long as the tentacle linked his left side to the handle, giving him a direct connection for use, and repeat the strike in multiple volleys to dissuade the bard. For if the use of the strings was indeed a means to fight against the swordsman in pure arcane, mystical ways based on what he saw, then the swordsman would have to interrupt the bard from playing in whatever ways he can.

Yet, he knew, that this temporary means doesn't mean an assured advantage for the swordsman. To make sure that he doesn't get too carried away, his right hand was pointed to the sides, keeping himself at a left side stance just in case, the air starting to get dry while he gathered some moisture for use in this battle.

The swordsman's attack needs to be fast, and quick. Hearing more music played purposefully confirmed his suspicions about how the bard fights, and in need to keep up the pace he'll have to work at the fight with ruthless abandon. To do so, when the fireball struck home he unfortunately lost his hold on the blade, the weapon flying right over Saphen in a harmless slash by then. Surely he can use a bit more charge to use the steam for small measures of grappling, but under such short timing it would be too slow to do anything effective, the opponent having enough reaction to either roll out or perform some methods to counter the extra time the swordsman would have to sacrifice.

It wasn't worth it right now.

Therefore skipping the idea, the remnant of the watery whip then lunged downward all of a sudden to splash right over Saphen's body, some over the instrument in an attempt to ensnare itself over the strings, stilling the notes from playing out into the open air.

At the same time, he saw the second fireball come whizzing ridiculously close towards him, his eyes dilating under the surprise as he ducked, moving again to his own respective right in another mini-slide... And feeling part of his cloak caught in the flames before it was quickly extinguished by the accumulating moisture he just gathered. A waste of some of his accumulated energy, but it was better than having his body catch on fire.

No time to waste!

The steam rolled in under deft gestures with his right blade like a conductor, the already cooling fog quickly rolling over Saphen's position to impair his visibility. It didn't take long for the swordsman to then clench his left hand in a brief fist right after that.

In which ice blasted out from his hand, following the trail of the watery whip that would - or should - be locking Saphen's strings and body in an uncomfortable ensnare, hinting the action that would happen should Saphen still be trapped in its grasp;

Freezing over the instrument or body.

Somewhere in the whereabouts of the swordsman's mind he had it running on overdrive, probing and trying to figure out some key points in undermining the bard's potential control.

Music. Strings. Chords. Vibration. What factor does the bard use to initiate the powers? What kind of filter or interference can he create to still the bard's ability to fight with the instrument? He pondered at the thought, the weakening sensation of lost water signalling him to either recall it and then strengthen its density, or disperse it and gather the moisture later for use when he has the time to.

He decided on the latter when the bright flash of flames caused him to turn his head away briefly, the hood covering his head helping him somewhat in filtering out the irritating light.

"Damn flame --" He cursed in that interrupted moment.

And sacrificing the watery whip that gave him a temporary insight to the bard's ability, the remnant of the whip blanketed the flame spurring on the floor to extinguish it quickly, more steam hissing off and bleeding the heat into the atmosphere as much as it could. The swordsman turned his head to look again at where Saphen was, only to see by then three fireballs of flaming fury careening straight towards --

SHI--

He gritted his teeth, violently twisting his torso to the left while swinging his right blade to slash at the incoming projectiles. Water that he'd accumulated by then - still an insufficient amount for heavy use - blasted out of the weapon and straight into the fiery blazes at full speed, a howling roar of wind hurtling past the flames and in retaliation to Saphen's counter. Most of the cold water burst into steam after impacting the flames, negating the element during its travel. Whatever fire that wasn't negated quickly enough was dispersed into the air by the turbulent wind left by his weapon's wake.

Brief pockets of vacuum that killed the flames' fuel before it could impact the swordsman, feeling the intense heat ripple through him - but nothing more than that sickening feeling like being thrown into a scorching desert.

For now, the swordsman had spent half of his charge. Going defensive, he quickly started to move immediately after snuffing out the fireballs, keeping himself mobile and circling to Saphen's right while he raised his left hand into the air, steam which was widely dispersed about being drawn to his body as if he's recharging his spent energy for use again. At this moment, water can be clearly seen coating his raised hand, the swordsman giving the odd impression that he's defenseless right now.

Is it a purposeful trick, or some deceptive means to fool the foe into assuming it's a trap?

"Tch."

With the charge nearing complete, given that both were readying themselves, the swordsman could see that the bard was trying to bide some time to channel the fiery energy into some vicious form of defense, or offense, whichever was of the more pressing concern. It was fine with him, his own charge taking just as much time as it took for Saphen to get his energy flowing with the rush.

However, with the arena starting to burn as time passed, and the flames becoming the problem itself...

"..."

First things first. Pulling the charged hand down over his face, solidified ice froze over the hood and over his cloak before it shattered the cloth, revealing a set of gears made of ice that acted more or less as a form of protective wear. Not a perfect means that acts like strengthened armor, but with the bonus of dimming bright lights... To improvise against the Bard's deceptive use of flames, the swordsman created his own shades to dim the burning flames that were more or less a nuisance to his focus. Second, unfortunate to the bard, the swordsman had his ways of getting past fiery defenses. Hell, half of his attacks are designed to fight especially against fire users. And unless the flames were acting in some principle that isn't just normal fire...

The swordsman had an unsettling chilliness around him, as if he was smiling under some dark, devious influence.

He raised his blade, a dull hum echoing from the weapon's lethal edge, resonating with the completion of his charge. "Don't think..." He commented against the bard's optimistic mood, the hum growing in crescendo, in lethality, "that your flames..."

Admist the bright light that shone, the shades did their job in dimming the display to a manageable degree. And during the vivid spectacle of blinding light, the swordsman would then unleash three mighty slashes straight at the flames coming towards him.

"Is going to work against ME!" He finally shouted, the slashes backed by the turbulent winds - water, accelerated quickly along with the blade to amplify the brief burst - sending waves of temporary vacuumless pockets to snuff out the fire. Small and brief as it may be, the turbulent areas that would burst from here to there, to and fro gave the spectators something spectacular to see;

Flames which were in the way of the slash, suddenly being snuff off by some invisible force of vacuumless air.

And to the bard... The flames that were between him and the swordsman were left gaping in just a few short seconds, a small opening that spurred the wrath of the swordsman. For a bright burst of blue beam would then blast straight towards the bard's position through that brief gap, careening towards to impact the foe's main stomach at full force like the weight of a swinging sledgehammer.

**BOOM!

**

Condensed water blast. Like a fire hose blasting at full power, all the pressure constrained to an area no thicker than a baseball. The swordsman didn't need to wipe out the bard's defenses completely -- Just puncture an area wide enough to fire a swift blast, and take the bard by surprise. What's worse, is that the beam is similar to his watery whip he'd displayed a few moments ago. Maneuverable, and this time, packing quite a punch.

And the swordsman made a choice. Although it isn't any of the choices that the bard had provided. Given, the launched fireball into the air is a sight to see - and only a spectator would stare at it long enough without knowing the implications while the swordsman glanced at the projectile, a doubtful look on his face --

Then quickly realization, as it curved down like a meteor to bash down at the foe - him- with its burning inferno. But his strike is so close! He can't risk an exchange blow and lose all the momentum of the condensed beam just like that!

In anger, he flipped his right blade into a reverse dagger-hold, pointing the tip of the weapon straight down towards the mat and using whatever reserves he has left to fire a wide blast of water out from his right weapon like a circular umbrella revolving forward, acting as a shield. Pain once more erupted through the barely healed nerves while several recovering wounds started to bleed from the strain, the deadened senses eating at his right flank alive. And yet, without doing so, as the fireball crashed to the ground and threw strewn materials of heat and flames like a bomb, there wouldn't been have any water to intercept the flames and dissipate it around the swordsman as the steam kept the lethal flames from getting close to his body - distributing the heat as fast as it could to nullify the damage as much as possible.

But the heat, by gods the heat...!

"Ar....arrrrgh...!!"

It felt like he was being roasted in the desert with full gear on, the intense heat causing him to sweat even from the remnants of that dissipated energy he'd managed to divert. While his makeshift defense may have taken its toll on his right side of the swordsman's body, with a clenched fist on the left the beam which the bard leaped away from...

The beam turned, quickly curving straight behind the bard's back before the dense whip-like beam would coil around the foe and ensnare the musician in place. Locked. The tip of the beam would first try to slam itself straight into the bard's face or chest area like a striking viper, before using its constriction to at least break a limb or two, using the force coiled around the bard's body. Hopefully.

If that doesn't work - the swordsman would say an almost too-familiar phrase out loud;

"GET OVER HERE!"

And yank the bard straight towards the swordsman, his right flank seeping with blood -- but with the held sword telling all too well what the swordsman is planning to do.

One more thing though. For the bard's best interest, it wouldn't be a good idea to try another fire burst on the body again, now with that much accumulated water close by. The burnt injuries, plus the scalding steam that would burst out if the bard tries to set himself on fire again...

He was indeed caught off guard, once more dragging in fresh contents of steam into his blade again and blinking in disbelief at the bard's sudden ability change.

"What?! Damn!" He cursed, berating himself, for he should've expected this from a user that plays strings.

Ignoring the fireballs, the swordsman quickly moved in the meantime to conserve some charge, using his reflex and his speed to temporarily dodge the small flames while he dashed to the perimeter in an arc to the bard's left. Red droplets followed the swordsman's wake while he winced at the stressed injuries, using light gestures with his left to manipulate the whip to --

Burst. Explode into dozens upon dozens of smaller whips like a nail bomb, spreading out like thorns and vines with the tip of each section coated with a sharp, but small spike. Not sharp nor dense enough to pierce through light armor, but any exposed skin areas? The narrator didn't need to show how it'll cut through any exposed skin, such as areas near the face, the fingers, or the legs.

Some went far and wide beyond the rings and to the ground. Coiling around...?

Had the terrain been in a more open environment, then the swordsman would have given the bard his expectations, able to create large vacuumless airs within his more powerful attacks. But stuck in close fighting rings and a confined space...

He'll have to make do with what he has available to him. And with the bard able to dish out more and more flames, this is...becoming a bother. No worries however; the swordsman had some things done behind the scenes while the bard was occupied with his burst of thorny vines.

And that, as he then gave a shout to pull the bard's attention to him...

"KU-RAI-E! (TAKE THIS!)"

From behind, something came whizzing straight towards the bard's back like a bullet without warning, aimed to stab straight through the foe's right torso. His left blade, picked up by some of the watery vines during the chaos of the burst. Left alone for a while and already to the side of the bard's position during the whole leaping and evasive maneuvers...

Reeling in his hand as if performing some symphonic conducting the swordsman jumped when the flames seemed immiment to engulf him --

Not towards the flames. But back; right onto the ropes of the arena, applying all his weight down onto the flexible strength of the ring before being hurtled straight over the fiery wall by somersaulting over. Keeping it short, keeping it quick - should the unwarned stab by his left blade miss the target, the weapon would be on an intercept course straight for the swordsman - which he would catch in midair before throwing it out again like a projectile to stab at the bard's body in another attempt.

The whip was acting by then like a support structure scattered throughout the heated ring - stepping stones close to his position in which he can dart from one point to the next - sacrificing his dense water for the sake of mobility.

Deflected and twirling in midair, the swordsman caught his airborne weapon during his descent to the heated ring, landing quickly and then retreating back a few steps to avoid possible counterstri--

It didn't come. And what seems to be a nasty surprise cooking behind the silhouette form of the bard, the swordsman did not enjoy the look for one, single, bit.

Whirling both swords about, he aligned both his blades into an X-formation, crossing his arms in front of his chest before taking a heavy step to face his entire body towards the bard's billowing position.

"Let's see how long you're able to play....!"

And in contrast to the brilliant orange flames flickering on one half of the ring thanks to the bard, the area around the swordman went deathly still; all that is of moisture being drawn straight into his body, as if he too, is charging anything but defensive. In obvious notice, if it weren't for the sudden chill that started to plague the other half of the ring and the misty fog that would then be emitting from his body in faint traces...

The clash between flames and ice, fire and water -- A showdown to see whose powers rages most vivid against one another.

There were few methods of fighting against fiery users. Some require terrain advantage, while others relied more on striking the foe quickly before he or she can charge up the chance to burn the entire arena alive. The swordsman's tactic, however, placed a more subtle method on tactics, rather than pure overwhelming power.

Because, as far as he knows, he has a limited span in use against a user that can churn out a fire that can escalate in temperature and intensity without limits.

Therefore, the next move he takes against flames of unparalleled proportions must be done with precise actions. And hence, biding time for him to charge up and counter the bard with the fires of hell...

The swordsman too, gave the bard a response, by showing him how the ninth level of hell really is.

"Condense..."

He breathed, white fog of vicious cold expelling out of his mouth as if he was eating the air around him alive. Flicker of that white fog acted in some fashion like a contrast to the bard's burning flames while he raised both arms high, taking in a sudden breath, condensing things beyond the safety of his strength. As a result, his senses were failing him - his sense of touch in response to his blades...

"HuuuaaaAAAAHH!"

With a swipe towards the lashing heat, a surge of unprecedented, compressed freezing water blasted straight into the wrathful inferno, immediately exploding into steam due to the extreme difference in temperature. If it was simply that, then the swordsman did his job in defending himself.

But it didn't stop there. The steam expanded, being boiled beyond its limit and expanding its range as the cloud of fog continue to sweep right towards the bard's position; Accumulating more heat, and turning the vapor into lethal, scorching moisture. Vapor so hot that it can stick onto cloth, onto skin... And give severe burns through contact to the skin, if the bard is not careful. Even with the bard's ability to use water to divert or deflect the moisture --

Never underestimate water's ability to contain heat.

By then the entire ring would be covered with thick, heavy fog, turning visibility to near zero. Footsteps can be heard amongst the shouts and cries of the spectator's surprise as the sounds of running shot towards the bard's position -- foretelling the foe that the swordsman is making his move to get close to the musician's blinded moment.

He figured as much, the counter in more epic proportions than he'd expected. Yet the running he did quickly after the steamy blast was made paid off, the swordsman popping right out from the sides close to his foe in an arc, left of where the bard stood screaming in challenge and torment while having a clear shot right at the mandolin and the body of his foe.

Didn't he gave away his position prior to the billowing flames with the sounds of his footsteps admist the Reaper's fury? The swordsman didn't bother thinking about the rest by then, thrusting his left blade straight towards the main body of the instrument to permamently separate the strings, and pierce the mandolin with its lethal - if not heated - edge.

He only had a few seconds to spare, taking another step in with his right foot to deliver a violent slash inward with his right blade. To slash right into the bard's left torso.

Scorched marks could be seen covering his cloak, and even his breathing is haggard against the unbearable heat. Yet despite it all, the swordsman only had two advantages which gave him that slight edge in combat.

The running immediately to put himself in close range under the deceptive veil of the steam.

Finally, the most important one... The opening the bard gave, prior to his running and giving him a cool place to finalize his attack -- before the monstrosity of the flaming heat came up from behind to eat at the swordsman's body just as he finished the move against the bard.

He felt the burn clearly; the intense heat that tried to boil his blood alive. But having his senses deadened by the side effect of overusing his abilities plus some leftovers of frost over his thick cloak, the pain didn't come as sharp and crisp as it could've been. And gritting his teeth enough to draw blood, most of the intense blast engulfing the back of his cloak and not the vital areas, if this strike(s) didn't work, then there's only one last resort to do to bring down the foe that is so close in front of him.

This act would probably befit the phrase of... Bringing the fight straight to the opposition.

And just when he thought he was out of water - the foe gave him something to use in its stead. At the last second, though late, ice blanketed his stabbing weapon that was aimed for the mandolin, encasing the blade in its rigorous freeze.

He can use that. His hand twisted the weapon, relying on his eyes to make sure that he's grabbing onto his blade securely with his deadened senses, the ice on its surface... Quickly dissappearing on the spot, being absorbed straight into his blade.

There were some things that the bard didn't know, nor was there any need for the swordsman to reveal more of his pressing concerns in his use of water manipulation. For one, the swordsman doesn't rely entirely on internal magic for channeling and focusing water or ice. That is left to his weapons and gears, designed with special materials that help aid him to amplify and store energy so that it helps negate his own problem in containing energy for use. Therefore, if his weapons are severely damaged or destroyed, so goes his ability to wage magic as well. The same thing can probably be said for the bard, who depends on his strings to cast magic against the opposition.

That's why it takes time for him to charge up, especially during battle conditions that are lacking moisture or water.

But back to the moment of this battle. With the left blade eagerly cannibalizing the ice on its surface, the stab missed its target in severing the strings while the bard crouched, aimed to whack the swordsman's feet out from beneath him.

But the swordsman still has his right blade, which can easily change directions just by twisting his arm down to curve his slash ---

Aiming straight for the bard's instrument to sever it in half.

But just to be careful under that near-second timing, the swordsman anchored his weight down on the leg closest to the swing, as if preparing to take simultaneous damage to inflict a more devastating blow onto the bard's desperado.

(( Last post for me -- Dx Good fight. ))