[Round 2] Omi Barsait vs. Benjamin

"Mommy?" A small male child of around 6 years old tugged on her mother's left-coat sleeve.

"Yes, my child?" The middle-aged woman smiled with maternal glee.

"I wish Omi Barsait had defeated Deitric Jocasta, mommy; that guy's a motorcycle-riding jerk! And I bet he SMELLS! He likely invoked Satan or some other demonic entity to gain victory I bet!!"

"Of course child, to all four points! We all know this.. but don't worry!" As a lightning bolt cackled in the background, she added with a wink: "I don't think we'll have to worry about that for much longer! Look!"

(BOOM!)

[**GLORY**]

The audience gazed upward in amazement as the stormy skies parted their dark clouds, and down descended.. a man with a large black parachute attached to his back, dark-framed goggles over his eyes. As he descended slowly, the spot which he came down from illuminated with sunlight - and birds sang as the rain faded only around him. Suddenly however, a lightning bolt struck this parachute - causing the small child to scream "NNNNNNOOO~~~~!"

"HAHAHAHAHA~ FOOLISH LIGHTNING BOLT!"

The man merely punched the lightning bolt aside, before cutting the ropes himself; thrusting his goggles off with glee as those boots of his touched ground with the ring floor below, raising his hands upward as the sunlight basked him in the star's eternal glow.

"YAAAAAAY~!! OMI BARSAIT!!"

"THE BEST FIGHTER IN ALL THE LAND!"

"I'LL HAVE YOUR CHILDREN!"

"I wish I was NEARLY as awesome as you are!!"

"BLOW ANOTHER OGRE UP!!"

"Honey, I'm leaving you."

Omi merely nodded his head and waved his left hand up high in humble joy, laughing virtuously as his voice echoed throughout the region. However, something dark and ominous slithered through the joyous occasion.

A tanned man with tomahawks and a motorcycle strapped to his back growled and drooled incoherent babble in front of Omi, as the entire crowd heckled the undignified monster. "OH-ME BORSET, I GONNASZ STEAL YER' SHINIES WITH MY TOME-UH-HAWKS BOY, GIT' OVER HERE!!"

Barsait however, merely shook his head- still smiling - and ran forward.. before BASHING the monster straight in the head with his right hand, destroying it in a large spectacle of light!

"BLARGGG! I AM DEAD!"

Omi nodded, responding to the late-fiend: "You are indeed." - before countless more monsters, jealous of his supreme power, ran towards him with envious rage. A vampire, and an ogre, and a dragon, and a cyborg - all mad-dashing towards the calm, spectacle-wearing young man as he merely snapped his fingers, and they all exploded into a glorious shower of light in the sky. Serving for ample fireworks for the crowd to "ooh~" and "ah~!" at.

Suddenly, countless women flocked down from the stands, beginning to disrobe as the long-haired fighter continued to wave and laugh. And laugh. "HAAAAHAHAHAHAHA, HAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! IT'S QUITE OKAY, DENIZENS OF VIRTUE, THERE'S MORE THAN ONE SERPENT TO GO AROUND! HAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA-"

... and a rain drop struck his face.

"Wh.. the hell?" Omi Barsait of Gaia Tenkaichi Budoukai's Round II shook his head rapidly, sitting cross-legged "Indian-style" 7' past the southern edge of the ring dead-center. His hair drenched and sticking to that pale skin, the fellow's chin was resting in that right palm of his with boredom; the left now wiping some water off those spectacles of his before finally discarding of them entirely, chucking them over his shoulder in idle irritation.

"That was an incredibly stupid dream; man, not even the implied orgy near the end redeemed it! Not only am I soaked to the bone, not only is my opponent late, but now I've got this creepy image of Deitric with giant red lips and a 20' tongue walking around giggling in a disturbing manner stuck in my mind." Blinking twice to try and shake the thought out of his head, the act clearly failed as Barsait grumbled idly and outstretched those palms of his towards the opposite side of the 70' diameter ring: "Ah, my god, that is a disturbing image; god, my opponent is gonna catch hell for this."

Barsait sat idly as the gaudy man introduced himself; hair drooping with drops of water betraying the fact those pupils of his were glued to the showy fellow without allowing the singing to shake him any. Quickly, his dismay at the dreams of old were put aside in favor of initial combat analysis; however, the fellow's words quickly caught his attention once directed towards his intentions.

"*Midus? Now THAT intrigues me; never saw the fellow in the flesh, merely by mail when I was arranged to fight next. So, this guy in front of me is an associate of Sonners, ah~? The bye business and his proposition are lofty however; there's an unspoken condition I see right through with your paper-thin antics, pal. I'll be guaranteed passage to the next round all right, but you never specified in what condition." Grimacing as the fellow's instrument warped into yet another, Barsait finished: "His objective's to 'test' me; my real goal here's to stay as fit for the next round as possible, while his is in turn-about, to make me frail. No sense in moving on if I'm half-dead; your charity act won't fool me for a second!!*"

Whipping his head back, Omi allowed his hair to go with the current's flow; jaw muscles activating in response to his opponent, you see. For his hands outstretched in apexes of the opposite orientation, left to left and right to right, practically palm-thrusting the very air. His voice sang into the whips of rain, as his jaw muscled finished forming a most amused, wide-open grin:

"Sure thing. I always did enjoy music, truly enlightens the soul. However. Before you begin the first crescendo, I will offer you just one bit of information I feel you'll most eagerly need to know.

Left and right finger-tips maneuvering about wildly, arms staying rigid in their long extents, three tips on each hand - namely, the middle, ring, and index fingers - began to fester with a crimson light. This was, incidentally, why Barsait wore gloves without fingertips; the serpents manifested from his blood, and the preferred method of procuring them was through pores of the skin. Furthermore, the near-champion of the prior year did indeed have a method of "feeling" such magnificent disturbances; the mass that formed his "serpents" would shake in his body the more equilibrium was thrown off, and thus, his insides stormed as much as the sky up above. But that was a.. minor inconvenience now.

So as those six in total fingers wiggled, rain drops striking them ominously - so too did Omi's demeanor ebb into that of a combat strategist. Grin formed so wide, a spectator might call it .. hungry. Those amber eyes of his rang with a peculiar glint; he had something most dire in mind.

"*70 yard diameter- 70 yards is 210 feet, 7 feet in is 203 feet, 203 minus a gray area of 7 or so feet leaves a genesis point of 196 feet; initial battle operations at 196-166 feet!! Musical item that changed shape, forming an assortment of bubbles for a brief period of time; presumed to have a magical nature, meaning the opponent could be long or short-range proficiency; grassy ground and high speed winds mixed with rain creates a scenario where sudden movements will be nigh impossible to keep precise in due time, and with average adult human running speeds ranging 20-25 miles per hour, and 196 feet translating to little less than 0.04 of a mile with 166 translating to about 0.03.. he could get here on foot in around 2-4 minutes flat provided he maintains a consistent dash, and THAT MEANS-*"

"And a one, and a two, and a...."

[**Power**]

Remaining sitting, Omi Barsait snapped forward with those sharp teeth of his, just like a snake himself: "A SIREN IS NOWHERE IN THE SAME LEAGUE AS A LEVIATHAN; I SHALL DEMONSTRATE!"

A light will quickly envelope Dex as a teleportation was taking place. Dex looked up and stopped his music, realizing what this meant.

"Ooooh, looks like I won't get to play after all. But hey, at least you have a real opponent now."

When he disappeared, another man appeared in his place.

((Cue Benjamin.))

Benjamin Nicolai > A true warrior knows not to celebrate a single victory because there are much more difficult battles to come. > > A wise prince knows not to celebrate a flawless victory because true victory comes through sweat and blood. > > Benjamin was neither of these things, being both a foolish, kingdomless prince and a whimsical fighter, yet he still knew that his first round victory was no cause for celebration. There was simply a gut feeling that his win was somehow tainted or hollow, a feeling that would turn any food to ash in his mouth and any drink to ash against his tongue. In an effort to deny such a horrid feeling a repeat performance, he put more effort towards the next round. > > With time provided to him before between the match-up announcements and the start of round two itself, Benjamin spent a little time in front of the tube doing research. Thirty minutes, a replay and a forecast later, Benjamin knew all he needed to know. One, his opponent was a hand to hand combatant and as such he was leaving some of his heavier weaponry in his suite. And two, the gods had favored him with some pleasant weather and so he was leaving some of his heavier armor home as well. > > All of which brought him here, to this one moment. A moment between moments, a moment when time stands still for one brief second to allow to take advantage of Kodak moment. On one side of the arena, empty air on the other, Benjamin in all his glory silhouetted against a bolt of lightning. > > Lightning that seemed to shimmer off his blond locks which now hung from his head as if conceding defeat to the gravity-downpour double team. Lightning that seemed to ignite his blue eyes, giving them an unearthly shine. Lightning that caused his white shirt to glow and his brown slacks to richen in hue. Lightning that showed reflected off the polish on his black boots and metallic gauntlets. > > Lightning which---

---suddenly and inexplicably transported him to another arena before he would quite get a grasp on the fact that someone had actually dropped out. The notion was just so foreign to him, that someone would leave a battle that required no real reason for men to bash each other into the dirt but pure sport. Such things were hard to come by and harder to stay in, and as such leaving before one had been eliminated just went over the blonde's head. For a moment he just stood head cocked in confusion as one surprise lead to another in quick succession, throwing him off his game.

After he took a few moments stuck in WTF? contemplation, Benjamin brought himself to look around and see just what was going on now. He was in roughly the same sort of place except where there had stood empty space there was now...a new figure who was heckling and wiggling his red fingers around like a madman. A sight which lead to another head cocking and another pause, this time with just a dash of eyebrow raising.

It took him a moment but he finally got around to asking the question that was now playing on his face...

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Did you loose a screw or two?"

Awwww...shit! Ben had rhymed without even trying two! Was this prince becoming one of those rappers he idolized so much?

The Haelstrom Fist > "Yeah, sorry about that. I fell asleep in wet grass with a storm firing above my head, and listened to some guy sing to me and dance around playing a flute for a while before you came here in a beam of light. I probably am a little crazy; chalk it up to sleep issues or calcium deficiency."

"Hmm....."

For a moment, Benjamin stood in contemplation, the fingers of his left hand stroking a non-existant beard as he considered the words of this strange character. It seemed, if these words were to be believed, that this chap was having a rather rough and confusing day. One of those long sequences of "Huh"s and "WTF?"s, not unlike Benjamin's own predicament.

Under such circumstances it was natural for a person to be over protective and fluff up their feathers, or so to speak, in order to seem more powerful to scare off the world and life's wild turns. Birds did this all the time, fluffing up their feathers that is, to give themselves the appearance of a bigger build so that predators are more wary and thus the expression's origin.

Which meant it might just be possible for the man before him to not be a raving lunatic with snakes for fingers and possibly even someone somewhat sane. Whether or not Omi was playing with a full deck or not should become clear soon.

Soon being closer than Ben could have imagined as this happened...

The Haelstrom Fist > Barsait's left eye looking to rip itself apart, the white crushing into dark, dark red as the pupil festered from amber-brown to a sickening, yet beaming green.

It now pretty clear to Ben that Omi had not even been half-baked but rather not baked at all. And the blond couldn't help but gawk.

"Did he just---"

Benjamin couldn't help but spread his eyeballs and stare as Omi pulled one of those bad horror movie lines and moved his eye over to one of those bright red finger cobras. Thus began Ben's third 'WTF' moment of this round, finishing off what we call a triple play of the gods: slap 'em, port 'em and creep the crap outta 'em.

Seemed Ben was gonna need a moment or two.

Ben continued to gawk idly as the eye began to dance among the lightning bolts, weathering against the rain and wind to settle in to an aerial view. Which made alot of his planned tricky a bit trickier to perform, but what could he do? Nothing yet, but before the match was through...Omi would be looking out of one eye.

Speaking of eyes, Ben's own would return to the ground and his opponent once he saw the airborne snake stop moving, to get a glimpse of some other snakes on the move. These being the two others from the same hand, which seemed content to coast over to left, probably as some sorta defensive or sneak attack ploy for later. He let them be, since they weren't as strange as the one carrying the eyeball and like the eye snake, they didn't seem to be trying to kill him. So he just continued to watch in some sorta stupor, that faded with time as less and less seemed to be able to creep him out. Seemed that Omi had played his best card too soon, he should have brought out the eye trick when Ben was in the heat of things. That would have threw him off his game in a bad, bad way.

Having had time to recover, about a moment or two by Ben's measure, the abrupt attack was less surprising. He'd seen these things in action as Omi did his prep work, and as such all the "Woah!' was in the speed instead of the event itself.

In response, Ben did what Ben did best...charge forward like an idiot. Seeming to conjure not magic or defense of his own, Ben simply started huffing it, putting one foot in front of another in rapid succession. The mud made traversing the field a bit difficult but in these early stages with grass to keep it together it wasn't hard to stay standing if you just didn't stop moving. A task Ben was very good at, probably because he was hard headed to a fault and felt everything could be solved with a good application of a power.

Which is exactly how he would attempt to solve this little puzzle, cocking back his right fist arms as he rushed towards the wall of snakes, said fist crackling with blue energy. The distance would close quickly, putting Ben and the snakes on a course to collide at roughly 80 or so feet from Omi. At which point Ben would attempted to throw falling haymaker, a heavy punch intent on sending the three snakes sleeping in the dirt. But as slippery as the ground he raced against was, the blond slipped up and ended up slamming his fist before him a little too early, his knuckles blowing a few inches in front of his intended target.

A fatal miss it was, one that would probably have probably lead Benjamin being impaled, exploded and utterly demolished by the CRIMSON SNAKES OF JUSTICE if it were not for the....

*BOOOOOOM!*

...that followed, an explosion of electricity and concussive force that was released from his cackling blue fist as he stuck. A single expanding orb of electric fury which was amplified to new heights by the charge atmosphere these two men found themselves in. A blow which would not only floor the snakes before they could hope to take a bite outta Ben but also send him vaulting through the air like a maniac, as the prince was not immune to force generated by his own attack.

"FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF----!!!!!"

Was all the man could get out as he was set hurling though the air towards what one could aptly call a den of snakes. Ben could only brace himself and hope something soft cushioned his fall.

You know...like a big breasted woman, although Omi would work just as well.

((Excuse my absence, there was the picnic I told you about as well as simply feeling like crap yesterday. Post will be up soon.))

That "three" would suddenly thrust upwards towards the falling Benjamin like a tri-blade ready to rip an opponent asunder. Fittingly enough, three serpents bound through the mildly distorted air, Omi's right ring and index fingers stretching out once again.. if there was a "slow-motion" feature in play, one would see the serpents bounding out like hungry, hungry demons ready to feast on their prey.

However, events didn't quite progress as one may've originally guessed. For the dark-clad warrior suddenly slapped his face with that left hand, fingers outstretched; viewing Benjamin between the cracks with that serpent behind the youth suddenly erupting into flame. Hydrogen gas tends to rise rather quickly after all, and Benjamin - even intending to escape quickly - was very much indeed airborne. Omi's left eye's vision became distorted to hell with eerily-colored flames, yet the right kept open with boundless enjoyment.

As did his teeth. For a second, at any-rate, as they suddenly clashed down to signal the newly procured serpent's ignition; all three's heads exploding into portable hells, and all three intending to greet the dear Benjamin personally, regardless of his intentions to flee.

Pure hydrogen-oxygen flames [as these would be given the air was still abundant with oxygen] burned at temperatures ranging about 1,040 degrees Fahrenheit, and in this instance, were only visible to the human eye thanks to the odd apparitions that trailed it, giving those flames a sickening, ghostly-red hue. Lighter than air was hydrogen, and so these flames that spawned were amazingly easy for Omi to swing about with those serpents. If you referenced the historic example of hydrogen's potential dangers, the [Hindenburg Airship], one would need to recall relatively few people died from the flames themselves because they would rise.

Not the case with Omi's [Serpentine Manipulation]; he would wrench those exothermic monsters of 4' diameter about like feathers and outright force them to bend unto his malicious desires. And assuredly, as the adrenaline began pumping in Omi Barsait's body to fill the pale-skinned combatant's entire being with dark, dark wishes for the opponent ahead - "malicious" was the most fitting term possible. The only thing burning hotter than that pincer attack, one slamming in from behind and three from the front spaced apart 8" each with the middle serpent aligned with the eye-serpent right along poor Benjamin's spine, was quite simply..

***Don't[Stop Me Now~***]

.. the long-haired, dark-clad manipulator's eyes, and his giggling. A laughter laced with such ominous glee, it would chill the stoutest of men. And two eyes so filled with desire to destroy the man descending towards Omi, one was as unnatural as the next.

**Escape, failure to escape; irrelevant for now, *RAGNAROK BEGAN!***

It was true; the price attached to loftier attacks was that they became more susceptible to mighty gales, and this was no exception. However, like a kite attached to a rather durable string with a steady and constantly retracting base - not to mention the fact while the gusts of air blowing off that lad's mid-air attack could be mighty, the storm winds were as chaotic as the dark skies above. Counting on a steady suppression in a favorable direction was eons beyond overly optimistic.

Still, Benjamin wedged his way past the initial salvo, and coupled this defensive maneuver into a wondrous offensive by contorting that body of his into an airborne missile. Impressive..

.. and yet, to Omi, it was all relatively predictable. He already assessed the prince as a melee-range fighter, and already bore witness to a blast of his strength; the fact they would eventually meet in close proximity never was steeped in doubt. Rather, it was banked on. Despite the stranger qualities of that day, Omi Barsait kept his cool and idly sat in wait while fighting rather passively. This allowed him to conserve his strength, not to mention concoct a number of quick go-to plans, where as Benjamin was gung-ho to dash, blast, twist, and soar his way into range to actually touch the dark-clad warrior.

An admirable desire - but the intent and the actuality would differ. Twiddling his tongue to draw that eye-bound serpent downward and force it to continue on track against it and the desperate air's wishes at the cost of decreased speed, his left hand scooped downward just before that humanoid drill would come into Omi's immediate proximity. A liquid, cool, gunky substance would run between those left fingertips..

.. and then in one simple motion, the scenario twisted again. Omi literally slung a hand-full of mud & low-cut grass, given plenty of time to moisten and soften with that constant rain, right into the easily open, streamlined face of the human projectile. As that left arm flung it upward with relative ease, so too did all of the man's body lurch forward quite forcefully. For you see, he had been sitting "Indian-style" in moistened, gradually loosened ground; changing position was as easy as lurching right ahead and into the ground ahead, mud caked along his pants-legs slopping along as those arms of his struck ahead like a soldier diving into a bunker.

"*Naive!*"

Was it a great distance covered? Non. Would it, legs still in place as Barsait's chin dug into the dew-drenched grass and his elbow-blades ground into the soil, place him just out of where he was a moment ago, past the enemy's trajectory by just enough as those limber fingertips & tongue of Omi continued dutifully dragging the 4' diameter masses of hydrogen flames that while being rained on and blown against with relatively decent force, still had quite little distance to cover before they would greet Benjamin - meaning the youth had little option to double back on Barsait 'lest he wanted scolded to death by three then one enraged serpents dragging red flames like they came from Hell itself? And would Benjamin then have to contend with hitting the ground right behind Omi in plush face-first and still having to contend with the wry Serpentine Manipulation artist so very close by on the ever-constant offense?

The answer to all of these was, resoundingly: yes.

Rushing headfirst into battle is rarely an acceptable strategy if the enemy is shrouded in smoke. To go in guns-blazing towards an opponent notorious for trickery or just generally odd maneuvers would be at best described as foolhardy. Sometimes, running the gauntlet with everything at your disposal being launched in a wave of glory was very much the correct decision to make, but when an opponent expects and even welcomes this approach, foolhardy indeed was the term most applicable to doing it all regardless. Like unloading all of a gun's ammunition on a shroud of smoke where one only thinks their opponent is standing.

Fitting in with this message was Omi Barsait, whom had managed to subtly control this encounter from the beginning. First, he made a few rather simplistic attacks to force his opponent to bridge their distance; that's stamina draining at absolutely no cost to the fighter himself. Secondly, he had been calmly analyzing those surroundings since before Sonners' henchman even had the gull to appear, and had the area roughly divided in distance and composition along with several concepts on how to capitalize on it all. Third, Benjamin, no doubt strong as he was, had exhausted too much too quickly and basically placed himself in harm's way solely to get a shot at inflicting damage, revealing chunks of his capabilities and methods of attack in the process; in short, Omi Barsait knew the battlefield exceedingly well, and now knew his opponent better than the opponent knew he. And as the prince would unfortunately find, knowledge..

.. was the ultimate extension of power. Know your enemy and know yourself, find naught in fear for 100 battles. And unfortunately, Benjamin had made his intentions glass-transparent.

Those flailing legs diffused the falling momentum, and while commendable for being a quickly improvised attack, would do exceedingly little other than perhaps catching one of Barsait's armored shoulders, not accomplishing much. Barsait was lurched over into the muddy ground, upper-body first; an improvised flailing would fail to uproot him at all, much less carry him anywhere. That would've required more proper foot placement as well as better momentum with the legs extended from the onset, not sheer moments before they'd touch.

Omi however, did not proceed to stand. Instead, he merely continued to drag those serpents down, by now having easily covered the minor distance above himself with the main three serpents as they screamed directly overhead, the feel of sickening heat so close that the mud-covered fighter could almost feel his hair catch ablaze if lowered any farther. The fourth now having had ample enough time to tail the rest by a good two feet.

While it would've been nice if that tuft of mud nailed the blond youth's face, it served a double purpose: going overhead, Omi could momentarily spot where the droplets of wet mud fell from Benjamin, giving him a good idea of the exact direction behind him the youth had landed. And as a sharp pain erupted into his mid-back, this pain being the dagger which would unless ridiculously thin only pierce in a little less than an inch or so thanks to the ring-mail armor after tearing through that dark cloth - this combined with the overhead flames showing off the youth's shadowy figure for the crouched over near-champion to spot, the boy had given Omi his exact position. For what?

Four orbs of hell that now intended to, whether Nicolai was ready for them or no, to roar through the storming hell and introduce their own layer of Dante's Inferno directly into his body. Four 4' diameter masses of hydrogen flame that were already coasting past Omi, his right gauntlet trudged in the mud as those fingers and that tongue glided about, and zooming in towards the 'prince' even as that dagger make its incision.

Good Ben didn't wish to run away from his ground-ridden opponent. And with the impact of the fall likely enough combined with mud weighing down his clothing at least slightly, mixed in with those serpents heading in like carnivorous sharks full-force and ready to drag the prince straight into the slums of the Fire Hell - well, he likely wouldn't need to!

Fortunate for all abound.

Misfortune.

A trait of battle that plagued many the best approaches.

Firstly, Omi was more or less prepared for dealing with his own flames, in a variety of ways. The foremost being the fact the mass of crimson in him that formed his trademark serpents ran throughout the man's blood stream, and acted as a repellent from the skin onward towards flames he spawned; it would be different were it fire created by someone or something else. An individual with a flamethrower would be besides disturbing, a viable threat towards Barsait - but his own flames would be repelled like two items of the same polarity.

The second being his tungsten steel-alloyed armor. Tungsten, having one of if not the highest melting point (3,422 °C, 6,192 °F), and highest tensile strength under extreme temperatures (1,650 °C, 3,002 °F+) - was the ideal component of protection for this individual, even if it was a bit hefty to run around in. And Omi's head, covered in wild, lengthy hair though it was - had been dunked against the mud below, currently. It really only made sense; only a fool wouldn't take precautions against the nature of their own abilities, it was asking for mishap not to.

Yet another factor reigned its ugly head: Omi may have not been viewing his opponent all too well, but he could see the shadow shaking - and more importantly, he could hear those footsteps slosh in the mud. It wasn't going to be terribly difficult to readjust the mid-air serpents, literally right above Omi's person, to instead crash down directly behind him.

But as Barsait was, admittedly with a bit of confusion flooding his face, bent backwards bit by bit - something else would strike Benjamin first. Something he truly should have given a little more thought upon before pulling this maneuver. Perhaps he would hear a tiny clatter of it exiting the ring-mesh before it twirled through that tiny bit of space, lashing into the youth.

Quote: > Once he came to stop a few yards behind Omi, his hand went in and out of his pants quickly retrieving a dagger he had yet to use thus far in the tournament. Its presence showing how much he had doubted his fisticuffs would be effective against a real hand to hand combatant, for it had been intended for use against Valentine. > > But now it would serve another purpose as Ben chucked it back over to where Omi lay, hoping to get him as he rose back to stand as Ben assume he would with the danger gone.

Hindsight was 20-20, as the metal dagger would flick out of Barsait's flesh with a very small spray of blood accompanying the exit, before it twirled just once given the space, the metal portion facing the source of magnetism first - intending to hone right into its attraction source. Benjamin.

Now we had yet another unforeseen factor to consider: pure tungsten wasn't ferromagnetic; rather, it reacted very poorly, if at all, to magnetism. However, steel of course did - and this armor was alloyed with it. But the composition was more tungsten than steel, so that factor combined with the weight that magnetic man had to draw Omi from (186 lbs. plus the weight of his various gear, putting it up to around 202 lbs.) - as well as the consideration that Omi plopped right into the mud and it would take an errant second to drag him out of that..

..well, in a few seconds, Omi would fly backwards into Benjamin in the style the blond youth desired. But the four serpents who were very much literally chomping at the bit, had no such considerations, simply being crashed down in a measly arc behind Barsait to strike the (now relatively "stuck") opponent in plush, against the ground.

Part of being an experienced fighter in these sort of competitions was capitalizing on every scenario imaginable, but most of all, capitalizing on luck. And Barsait, an uncertain expression plastered on his face as that body began to trudge out of the mid and arc backwards while the 4 4' serpentine masses from hell would bombard that opponent unless he had quite a tricky method of escape which would be almost impossible given their posturing..

[**Combat Pinnacle**]

.. well, who was Omi Barsait to turn away good fortune?

Benjamin Nicolai was still engulfed in the illusion of gaining victory via closing their physical distance; a matter Omi Barsait would reveal for the folly it had unfortunately became with a very quick, but distinct.. "**HaHAAAAHAHAHAHA~! *MY WIN.***" .. cackle of laughter, filled to the brim with such an ominous quality that it could easily chill the stoutest of men to their very bone. Arrogance from a fighter who rarely made such boisterous claims?

[**BERSERKER**]

Omi Barsait felt his upper-torso begin its rapid folding motion - but would not let that go without punishment for the youth now quite obviously behind him via the feel of the boy's legs. How would this punishment ensue? Simply put: mid-swing, the man shifted his weight onto the right arm, quickly crashing himself with instead of against the magnetic force to enhance a fierce, tungsten-tipped elbow-blade bash right into Nicolai's waist prior to their final connection. This would land in, fittingly, right after the knive's handle-bashing. In fact, that little impaction along with the youth positioning the correct hand to grasp it proper, would likely distract him from the massive strike.

If that wasn't bad enough, Barsait also racked his skull back into the motion mid-swing as well, serving two-fold: first, to crash against the lad's (presumably) upper-chest which fortune-favored would now be a mid sore with that awry knife-handle smacking it, and two, to keep the back of his skull cushioned and protected. Sure, the head in whole could be struck - but Benjamin had no means of restraining Omi's arms yet, and neither would it be an easy process given the magnets in Nicolai's gauntlets would ironically would make keeping the serpentine manipulation artist's arms close with those opposing limbs an easy, easy task.

And now came the worst news of all, with two phases. The first being, the functionality of a curved knife, which is indeed the composition of the "dagger" Benjamin utilized. 7" blade, curved - there was a slight problem with curved daggers, in that while great for slashing without getting stuck in human bone, or possibly for religious purposes - they were terribly poor when it came to stabbing purposes. Given their main function is slicing, a curved knife so thin it could pierce through the rings of Barsait's chain-mesh all the way was.. unlikely. All that would occur, is the tip of the blade managing to penetrate, before the widening curve would be stopped cold in its progression. It wouldn't feel pleasant, but to say it was a particularly deadly risk even if twisted was absurd as well. Ring-mesh was designed above all else to prevent slashing blows by an edged weapon and penetration by thrusting and piercing weapons, you see.

It was theoretically possible for Benjamin to instead take that curved blade and slash open Omi's throat, or drive the tip into a temple - except for one glaring flaw!

Gaian Tenkaichi Budoukai III Rules & Regulations > Each fight will consist of two fighters meeting up at a single arena, which will be an arena all fights will have the same in terms of layout for each round. Winning is accomplished by KO, ringout, submission, or judge's ruling. Killing a person will result in a disqualification.

While there were constantly lethal maneuvers employed in this tournament, driving a blade into one's throat or skull was almost universally considered a definite move to kill. Barsait was completely protected against that outcome, unless Benjamin fancied ending his participation in the tournament right there and then. And Omi, having entered these hollow grounds more times than he cared to remember, was familiar with the rules; that knife in the scenario painted was currently useless, and Omi knew it!

The second factor, was that while yes, the serpent mass inside of him repelled the flames he himself created- it wasn't like bug repellent. It was, plain and simple, the factor that allowed him to spark those flames without killing himself, the "manipulation" in the term Serpentine Manipulation. You could again, liken it to two magnets of the same polarity. But, while Omi did have an arrant second or two before his body dug onto Benjamin like an open book, the serpents had no such deterrent. In short.. they'd have reached Nikolai first, and wouldn't just be scattered away.

One would be sandwiched, catching Omi's clothing ablaze with ease though the tungsten beneath stood fast, between the two fighter's bodies; the man who currently weighed more and had more force to apply downward thanks wholly to the magnetic draw, and likely the only man who would withstand those embers using his own body as a method of grinding that "eyeball" serpent, the dark-clad fighter's left eye finally wincing shut with tears, directly into the lad. The remaining three from earlier, Barsait now having an easy method of craning his head back a little to get a look at how they were going to arc in again thanks to Benjamin's magnetic draw, would with a rapid flicking of that wry tongue, come in at three points low to the ground:

Serpent A, from the north to crash directly into Benjamin's upper-most body.

Serpent B, crashing into where the left arm would be.

Serpent C, crashing into where the right arm would be.

His left hand, looking like it was gripping a sword, was crushing those 4' diameter flames as they began their very low-ground entry, into elongated and thinner shapes to just grind into the youth. It didn't matter if his clothing was resistant to catching ablaze with this offensive salvo, and thanks to Omi being on top of Benjamin thanks entirely TO Benjamin, there was no possible means of escaping that spot that came to mind. Even if Nicolai expertly managed to repel or maneuver out of the way of two of the masses of flame, it'd be all but impossible to do the same to the other two - risky and deadly though this was, some of the flames dimmed down a hint by that constant rain but still plenty enough for the job. And to make it all the more dire: if Benjamin attempted to push Omi off and attempt a harrowing escape? Impossible. Nicolai's own gauntlets would draw Barsait right back onto him.

This was going to be a hydrogen flame BARBECUE!

The snake had ensnared its prey. Time to feast.