[Round 3] Deitric vs. James

VS.

Description: A special star is in town and his name is Erin Karter, one of the most famous pop stars in the world of Gaia. Think a pretty boy with rocking white short hair who likes to wear open shirts to reveal his hot bod'. He has agreed to come to the GTB to stage one of the largest concerts in the world. The atmosphere is vibrant as thousands of fans crowd around the circular stage, bright lights swerving here and there to create a flashy, illuminated ring of adrenaline. There's even that fake fog surrounding the DJ platform. However, the singer and his band has decided to take a stand on the higher platform where his DJ is performing, allowing the fighters to jam it out in combat while he lets the performance of his teen voice excite the raging fans screaming all around. Several steel pillars that hold the many lights tower over the stage above up to forty feet, where more steel beams connect horizontally to create sort of a ceiling for the stage itself.

Field Measurements: The stage is a good fifty feet wide in diameter with the twenty foot tall DJ platform in its center. The base of the DJ platform is sloped. The height from the stage to the floor where the crowd is about three feet with stairs at each cardinal direction of the stage.

Ten Count Boundary: Being knocked off stage starts the ten count. The flying rule is also in effect.

Other Penalties: No harming the audience or any NPCs. If your character falls off the stage, just assume everyone backed away fast enough to avoid being hit, with security guards keeping people back. If your character somehow gets to the top of the DJ platform, which is pretty slippery, the NPCs here will get away to let you duke it out if you must.

Fight Ends: After August 5th, 11:59 PM Central

((OHOHOHO!!))

It took about a good two minutes before the sound system was repaired, as this multi-million dollar popstar had back ups just in case. He couldn't let the hype die down for another minute or the crowd would lose their energy. A rising WHRRRRRRRR loud ring roared through the stadium before the music kicked back in. "IS EVERYBODY READY," he shouted to the fans all lifting their hands, not even knowing whether they were alive or dead.

The digital beat began anew, and the kid's voice blasted through the atmosphere once more. Of course, he sound crew weren't happy at Deitric now, both for his ignorance of who Erin Karter was and for his atrocious action of destroying one of their systems.

((The sound won't be back on until both fighters make at least three posts. Then on Deitric's fourth post, the sound will return.))

Deitric remained silent while the crowd parted to let his opponent through. He had last spoken to James in passing prior to the tournament, and he had expected the man to do well. Thus far, he had not been disappointed. Beneath his calm facade was the ever present hint of adrenaline, the thrill of anticipation and the rush that came from combat. Glory was the goal; it was all or nothing. A warrior never hoped for anything less than a proper opponent, and as with every opponent, he was ever expectant.

When James called out his name, the man's response was a simple raise of his hand in a sign of acknowledgment, holding the gesture for a moment only before letting his gloved hand drop back to his waist. The light from the demon slayer's hand briefly fought with the stagelights for dominance before it was snuffed out, but the brave made no significant display of power in response. His pupils dilated momentarily, illuminated with an inner glow before focusing, the light suffusing outward so that the light spread outward from the entirety of both sockets.

"As you say," he agreed.

The warrior threw himself forward into a run, but his path only took him towards James for a few short steps before he leaped up and outward - almost as if he were aiming to throw himself feet first into the crowd.

KERRANG

Instead, the bottom of his boots smashed hard against one of the the tesserated, skeletal towers of metal that held up a stage light array. The metal groaned in protest as the brunt of Deitric's weight bore into it, and the screws that bolted it to the ground snapped as the entire tower - nearly 20' of steel - toppled forward. With the light array ontop, it was like a giant fly swatter, poised to land smack-dab ontop of James Eredas.

And Deitric maintained his balance on the falling tower, looking as if he were riding it on its way down. The crowd screamed in surprise and fear, even though they were safe. Cables were cut and severed, left hanging sparking in the air, and a handful of lights had been knocked free to crash into the floor. The musicians above in the DJ booth cowered beneath the turntable.

Thankfully, that also meant they couldn't play - or sing.

The joys of improvisation at work.

Luckily for the crowd, the lighting array had smashed bulbs-down, all of the shattered glass contained beneath its not-inconsiderable bulk. Hanging like lank jungle vines, thick power cords swung in the air, forcibly ripped from their housing in the lighting array and from the stitching of heavy-duty staples that were meant to keep them above the head of the performers.

One of the sparking cords was in Deitric's right hand as the support tower he was standing on shuddered its last, vibrations from the crash dying beneath his feet. There was a visible, three inch gash in the leather of his studded and strapped jacket where the knife had caught him in the chest and seemingly bounced off. Something black and scaly beneath the leather shone dully in what light was left, as if he were wearing dragonscales.

It was, he had to admit, a close call. Not for the first time, fortune had saved him where fate could not.

Without a moment of hesitation, Deitric adjusted his grip and clasped his hand around the end of the livewire and the cackling, exposed metal wiring disappeared in the clench of his fist.

KSH-KSH-KSH-KSH--

Suddenly overloaded by the power surge that moved down the cord and into the warrior, the arrangements of lights blew out violently, showering a twinkling storm of glass onto the stage. The nearest speakers that shared the same electrical wiring and pathways began to screech and smoke until nothing but white noise droned from them. The larger, stabler pieces of sound equipment simply warbling in protest as their source of power was redirected to a single point; Deitric Jocasta.

The surviving lights - those that weren't direct arrays on the metal towers surrounding the stage - had flickered and dimmed, but were still giving of some sort of illumination over the crowd. Ball and arc lightning burst into existence around the brave and died in the same instance like a light show gone from Hell. The volume of the amps and distant speakers grew and died at random. Not even he could draw out the level of electrical power that served as the lifeblood for the entire stadium without dying, but he had certainly hemorrhaged and directed a portion of it, however small.

The moment had only taken two or three seconds at most as soon as Deitric touched the exposed metal, standing his ground atop the metal beast he'd felled. Sickly black smoke curled up from the hand that grasped power cord, which had ceased sparking, and bright light blazed like fire from inside of the brave's eyes, like a human Jack o' Lantern. The air around him brrrrzzzzed with the thrum of static electricity.

This was what power was. It was like being born again. He had rarely introduced such large external charges to himself before, and each time, Deitric had found that he could barely direct the energy, let alone control it. This time was different though; the energy was leashed and lashed by his will and the experience he had gained since his the first time the scene had been played out, against Ebris Dhifi in his first Heaven or Hell. That time, he had needed to jam the cord into his arm just to draw the power out. This time, it called to him, and he to it.

His will was its command, his whim its direction.

If James hadn't attacked him in the span of those scarce seconds that he had taken to cannibalize and assimilate some of the power from the electrical system of the concert stage, Deitric would drop the dead power cord, letting it sway like a hangman's noose, an unseen body hanging from its unmade knot. The palm of his hand was an angry, burnt, blistered red, but he made a fist all the same.

"Come," he motioned towards James with his left hand, stepping off of the fallen metal spire and onto the stage towards his opponent. Through the pain of his singed hand, he smiled.

Deitric's voice came from his lips, but it was also coming from the speakers he'd seemingly burnt out, casting eerily around the concert stage like some sort of ghost transmission, dying into a feedback of echoes that faded to radio static.

Under the lights where we stand tall

Deitric's head tilted to the side while he watched James go about evening the odds. Rebar was heavy - a straight stick of iron or steel. It weighed more than any sword would have at the same length, but as far as "cracking skulls like eggs" went, the piece of construction material could do a good job. It wasn't the sort of thing most men would want to tango with.

Nobody touches us at all

It didn't intimidate the tribesman, though. He turned to face James after stepping lightly off the fallen tower, shards of glass crunching beneath his boots. His hands had since curled into fists and came up to a high boxing guard as he began to approach his opponent with what must have been a definite sense of purpose powering his swift, sure steps; as if the rebar in the man's hand didn't even give him a single worry.

Showdown, shootout, spread fear within, without

With something like as crude and heavy as rebar, there wasn't much in the ways of subtlety. You built with it, or you brained someone with it. Deitric would have to be blind to miss the swing coming his way as the pole of metal careened through the air, but even if he was muscularly powerful, not even he could physically block something as weighty as that. Not physically, at least.

We're gonna take what's ours to have

Luckily, he didn't have to. The hum of static power grew in power as he threw himself forward, deeper into the path of the blow. It was a common enough tactic for trying to take off some of the sting of a swing, but drawing close wasn't going to stave off rebar. What would, however, was magnetism. Deitric emitted a strong, magnetic field, and when the rebar had gotten close enough, it too had been magnetized - and they shared the same magnetic charge. Opposites attract; likes repel.

Spread the word throughout the land

Even so, the brave's magnetic muscles weren't as strong as his real ones - the swing would certainly weaken as the steel resisted the temptation to strike Deitric, whose magnetic capabilities were more potent than usual thanks to the boost in energy he'd taken, but it could still ugly him up as much as a good punch to the mouth. Thankfully, his upraised arm took the brunt of the blow squarely across the bulk of his shoulder and upper bicep, head ducked down and chin tucked. His armor proved pitiably useless against blunt force trauma. It felt like someone had just broke a broom handle over him, but at least it didn't feel like rebar. It hurt, but not as much as it would have. Not enough to stop him. And that was a problem - he wasn't stopping.

They say the bad guys wear black

The Khasmin man stepped in past the quasi-repelled rebar while it struck him, barely pausing as he sought to move in to close quarters. James - unless he had swung with both hands - still had one hand free, but if he could hit his opponent, then the black-garbed brave could hit him, and he was certainly close enough for either happening to occur. Ducking slightly, both his arms shot out like twin pistons, aiming to smash his fists as hard as he could squarely into James's chest, his right aimed for the center of the chest, knuckles up, and the left aiming for a couple of inches below the solar plexus, closed palm up to provide a mirror opposite to his right fist. Normally, it would have hurt, but the circumstances were far from normal, if the dual blows struck.

Quote: Wrote:

> ►Jackhammer from Hell - Aptly named for the sort of power delivered by the strike, this is one of Deitric's recently used techniques, and possibly one of the most self-destructive. Pooling whatever amount of energy he wishes to use into one arm, he releases it all at close range in a quick straight, mirroring the hammering motion of its namesake. > > The energy released is extremely concentrated, and the result is usually spectacular for the opponent, to say the least. The more energy, the more potent the blast, but the damage it does on Deitric as "backlash" quickly builds up, and can result in broken knuckles, fingers, or even a broken arm. It has been named after the jackhammer because of the straight back-and-forth motion of the hammerhead, which the motion of the punch usually resembles. Used up close almost exclusively.

We're tagged and can't turn back

Not one, but two super-powered blows, aimed squarely for the demon slayer's torso, up close and personal. It was like someone had just loaded a double barrel shotgun and then unloaded it point blank, without the bloody shredding of flesh and fatality, but with all the sort of raw, obscene violence. It was going to be a painful experience, to say the least, when - if - the two fists hammered home across the sparse distance between the two men.

If both blows struck, there would be enough forced generated and transferred to blow the fire warrior back off his feet and several yards through the air. Deitric wasn't exempt from pain, though - beneath the sound of the blows (if they had indeed struck) would be the quiet, crackling of finger bones breaking as his left pinky and ring, and right middle finger all broke in tandem under the force of his blows, sending fiery lances of pain running through both his arms.

The pain would be worth it, if the twinned blows struck. Even if only one struck home. The wear and tear the technique put on the darkskinned tribesman was nothing to the stress it put on the bodies of his opponents. If a few broken knuckles or fingers were the Devil's Due, then he'd just have to grit his teeth and pay it; gladly so.

Step aside for the Cowboys From Hell!

If there had been time, Deitric might have been surprised. But surprise was simply part of the game; no fighter could anticipate every single move or motion of their opponent. It simply didn't happen, even the greatest tacticians could predict so many potential responses. It was when a fighter was presented with adversity that their ability became apparent through improvisation on the fly; good fortune often concealed it.

Their size difference slowed the throw, but that mattered little - with the proper application of leverage through the right mechanism, even weight and strength could eventually be overcome. But a sacrifice throw put one fighter on their back in order to do the same to the other, it worked because momentum forced one man along an immutable path. What happened when the same throw was applied to an opponent who could change their momentum without physical aid?

It became a trap of the opponent's own making.

James had thrown himself onto his back in order to force Deitric off his own feet, and it had succeeded - the larger of the two fighters felt his weight lurching inexorably forward, his feet leaving the surface of the stage. But the tribesman didn't intend to go quietly; he wasn't going to let the daemon slayer take him for a ride that easily. At the same time James's foot ignited with a flaming boost into the brave's stomach, something else burst to life, point blank between the two men, emanating from the black-haired warrior's fists.

Abilities Wrote:

> ►Maelstrom Spiral - Deitric's only true "finishing" move, is similar to the Thunder Drum attack in that it only requires the use of one hand. The main difference is the expenditure of energy and exactly how it manifests. Assuming he has enough energy generated or enough to expend, Deitric can pool it all into a single fist before attacking. > > Once the attack has started, the energy begins to spiral in a cyclone fury from his fist and backwards, spilling over the warrior and the area around him. The attack hurls Deitric forward, enveloped in a swirling tempest of power. Anything in the way of the attack will usually be knocked back, and anything directly struck by the punch will feel the sudden reversal of the spiral, abruptly pushed back with an explosion of force and electricity.

Without an iota warning, all the energy that had been pent up in Deitric's arms - unable to be put to use in direct punches - was suddenly unleashed in the form of a massive Maelstrom Spiral, bearing down right ontop of James. The burst of fire around his abdomen had pushed the lower half of his body up, when abruptly the Spiral drove his entire body back down, arms and upper-body first. The entire phenomena was large enough to engulf not only both fighters, but a circular radius of almost four meters. No amount of pyrotechnics could compare to the lightshow that was going on at that moment.

Enveloped in a massive sphere of cackling, raw power, the force bore downward, essentially trapping the daemon hunter in between a rock and a hard place - the lightning swirl of the Maelstrom, with Deitric at the center was the hammer, and the floor was the anvil. The entire stage was alight, as if someone had turned on one giant light bulb right where the two fighters had been. So much force was being emitted point blank that the stage beneath them begin to dent, bowing inwards from the immense pressure.

Suddenly - like all Maelstroms - the cyclonic sphere of energy abruptly reversed itself. Instead of propelling Deitric forward, it was now meant to propel his opponent away - but with nowhere to go, James would be (if he had been trapped in the first place) pushed harder against the ground while the tribesman would be thrown up into the air, the spiral of power pushing him upwards as it engulfed the area of impact in a cone of lightning, sound, and fury. Loose pieces of metal tumbled about as the excess of electricity played havoc on the electromagnetic field. Throughout the entire episode - which only lasted a few seconds, at most - and for a long moment afterward, the roar of thunder ripped through the stadium, enhanced by the distinct acoustics of the stage.

With a crash, Deitric landed like a meteorite in the DJ station, smashing a massive, multi-tiered keyboard-synthesizer beneath his body. He had managed to control his landing by turning in the air, but his flight path had been a bit beyond his means. He hoped they didn't intend to have him pay for whatever he had just broke. He didn't know the name of it, but the pieces he was lying in and on looked expensive.

Erin Karter swore aloud and the entire quintet of musicians skittered to the back end of the DJ station, which was proved to be fairly spacious. They disliked most of the fighters, but now one of the more notable ones was in booth with them. Garbed in black leather with studs and spikes and all manner of straps and bolts, with smoke curling off of him as if he had just dragged himself out of a burning building, the long haired fighter terrified them. For a moment, they thought he must have been dead.

"...Ow."

The brave picked himself up out of the wreckage, his entire right side throbbing painfully, and Erin and crew skittered even further away, if such a thing were possible. Hard plastic and electronic material proved to be a not-so-great landing, but it was better than the floor, and not nearly as long of a fall; the zenith of his upward flight had only been ten feet higher than the DJ booth. Rising from the ruined, ten thousand gold machine, he looked out over the stage to see what had become of his opponent, who - if he wasn't mistaken - he had crushed and electrocuted into the floor of the concert stage.

But there was always room for a surprise or two.

"Tch," Deitric tutted thoughtfully while he watched his opponent pick himself up off the ground. The metal strings of the guitar in the DJ booth thrummed softly, reacting to the magnetic and electric interference in the air from his presence.

'I would have guessed as much,' he thought. The front of his jacket was scorched, and the leather was beginning to peel, but the tribesman had long since stopped caring about cosmetics. He crunched broken keyboard keys beneath his feet as he stepped up behind the hollow countertop that served as the front of the booth and the half-wall for the disc jockey to set things on.

The brave surveyed the stage briefly. Shattered glass covered the ground like barbed wire, and the tower he had overturned sat across the "front' of the stage like some the skeletal remains of some sort of animal. From behind, the musicians watched him warily. For a moment, it looked as if his back were widening, like Deitric was going to grow wings at any moment.

WHUSH

Instead, the counter-top he'd been standing in front of went flying through the air towards James. The widening of his back had been his lats flexing as he suddenly ripped the table off the ground and into the air in one, upward shove. Like a desk, the underside was "empty" to allow for equipment storage below the actual counter top, so it wasn't terribly heavy. A good eighty pounds of cheap plastic, fake wood, and acrylic was flying through the air towards the demonslayer.

Despite James's suggestion, the long-haired fighter wasn't coming down. He wasn't an idiot; the high ground was an advantage, and he didn't feel the need to relinquish it just yet. It gave him the perfect position to hurl down punishment at his opponent.

The musicians didn't seem to agree with his assessment, and due to creative differences, chose to fled the scene and promptly got the fuck out of Dodge before one of them got electrocuted into a coma, or burnt to a crisp.

James wouldn't get too much time to muse on matters - a second, considerably large item was already on its way towards him. It looked to be part of the DJ booth. It was, in fact - Deitric had dislodged the upper component of the DJ booth that acted as a decorative overhead, and now nearly two hundred and fifty pounds of cheap construction material was flying toward James Eredas.

After hurling the counter-top, the brave had reached up and grabbed the edges of the overhead, which mirrored the actual platform in make - bright lights built into the sides, made of black plastics and painted aluminum. It hung from the real ceiling, made to strengthen the impression of the DJ platform being a sort of tower.

It had taken some effort, but taking a step forward and putting his weight into it had managed snap the overhead from its flimsy supports, sending it hurling towards his opponent. He had practically shot-putted the chunk of decorative construction at his opponent, holding it overhead and pushing with his legs to send it down with enough force so it flew, rather than topple and tumble. It weighed more than he did, truth be told.

"You won't win any fights by staying down there," Deitric called out calmly, standing tall atop his metaphorical hill, no strain evident on his dark skinned features. He was right; as long as he held the higher ground uncontested, he could throw whatever he liked at James, and force the demon hunter to expend his energy ducking, dodging, or breaking whatever the tribesman threw his way.

And the brave wasn't getting any weaker. The air around him had begun to hum loudly again, catching the right pitch and making the cymbals and guitar strings near him resonate. The more time he spent throwing whatever was on hand at James, the stronger he became. He wasn't under any sort of pressure, standing ontop of the platform, and he wasn't about to physically exhaust himself by throwing guitars or parts of a drum kit.

Deitric was a ticking time-bomb of power, especially when he was given time to put himself through his metaphysical paces and really begin to gather energy en mass. The longer an opponent waited, the more likely he was going to explode - and the more powerful he would be when he did.

He was the king of the hill, and no king willingly handed over their crown. He was more than happy to sit on his throne until he wanted to move forward, and if James didn't seek to dislodge him, then all the better for Deitric. The crowd certainly didn't mind - it wasn't as flashy as things had been moments before, but no one decried the piecemeal destruction of the stage and the action it provided.

Deitric was wryly bemused by the course his opponent was taking. When James made it onto the stage with him, he would find the tribesman waiting for him, holding an unfamiliar weapon in his right hand, a length of hollowed, black metal nearly three feet in length.

It looked like the remains of a mic stand, broken off as close to the base as possible. It had broken unevenly, leaving the edges sharp and jagged, revealing the hollowed insides of the pole, making for a rather sharp goad of sorts. Compared to a length of rebar, it was light - not even five pounds worth of material - but what it lacked in power, it made up for in speed; not unlike a whipping switch or flogging stick.

Without waiting to see if James had gotten his footing yet, Deitric stepped forward, jabbing the improvised mic-stand-turned-rapier at his opponent, aiming to lance the rough points of metal at the broken end of the stand at his opponent's face. Beside him, the strings on the guitar bent and bowed from magnetic interference before finally snapping violently when he stepped towards the daemonslayer.

A handful of particularly brave news reporters had gotten as close to the action as they dared - using the massive skeleton of metal supports as walkways, trying to get a glimpse at the two fighters, but just as the brave stepped forward to lance his mic stand at the other man's head, the live feed from the cameras went from grainy, to pure static, the film in the cameras blotting out as the machines refused to operate so close to the electromagnetic anomaly of the tribesman.

Cameras wouldn't see the fight up close any longer - only eyes.

Deitric let James parry his attack aside, the wayward stab shifted off-course as the daemon slayer sought to close the distance. The tribesman released his hold on the mic stand, its purpose served. Perhaps he was mad, goading his opponent to attack him, but Deitric had long since developed a particular method to his madness.

He didn't bother parrying the punch when it came; instead, his entire body seemed to erupt in an explosion of movement and electricity as a second Spiral burst to life, the focal point emanating from his right hand, which was reaching now for James's face, his entire form propelled forward with the supernatural speed of his Maelstrom. The two men had, intentionally or otherwise, thrown one another into the face of each other's attack; James was going right into the outstretched hand, and Deitric into the incoming fist.

The two warriors were on a collision course for one another, and Deitric's right hand was aiming to catch James's face in its grip as he drove forward. His one key advantage wasn't speed - it was likely that neither man could have changed their paths at their juxtaposition of attacks if they wanted to - it was that he had reach. His greater reach, combined with having his hand already outstretched from using the mic stand, would hopefully enable him to catch James off guard enough for his gambit to work.

However, his reach couldn't save him from the explosion coming off the end of James's fist. The cackling, short-tailed comet of light that was Deitric Jocasta erupted into flames as he shot forward, literally throwing himself through the birth of the Dou Technique as his hand (presumably) smashed palm-first into the demon slayer's face and closed tight like a vice grip, aiming to carry him along for the ride, head first.

If Deitric were successful, the crowd would be privy to one of the most amazing light shows ever seen on the stage in front of them. The Spiral tore forward, and nearly at the same time, the fiery explosion of James's attack would expand and be drawn outward into a plume of blazing fire, following in the trail of Deitric as he burst through the flames. The roaring firestorm followed their flight, trying to engulf the brave a second time.

The Maelstrom Spiral was powerful enough to carry both fighters forward, careening through the air as if they had been fired from a slingshot.

And right into the face of one of the massive light arrays that was used to light up the stage; a still-standing twin to what had been toppled earlier in the fight. The entire array died and went dark with a crash as Deitric aimed to slam James's bodily into the lighting array with all the power of his Spiral backing him. The bulbs and glass covers burst around them and the metal housing twisted, creating a blizzard of razor edged shards. The lighting array served as the fighter's "backboard" - after he smashed James into it, the Maelstrom Spiral would "rebound."

Forcibly blasted apart, the cyclone of energy would send Deitric flying the way he came, sending him skidding on his back across the DJ booth. The platform looked like a scene from a warzone - their dual attacks had left any instruments or electronics destroyed, and small fires burned pieces of debris littered atop the platform.

Their entire exchange - Spiral-facegrab, punch, and subsequent flight into the lighting array would only take a few seconds, perhaps, but the subsequent results were astounding, if it had proven successful. Astounding, and painful for both parties involved.

Rolling to a halt against the dessicated remains of the drum-set, Deitric managed to ignore the world's spinning long enough to pick himself up off the ground. Smoke hung off of his body in a dark pall as he rose. The leather he wore was heavily warped from the heat, and there was a sound of crackling from where the ablative plates beneath his leather had fused together into one mass where the explosion had been hottest and hit hardest; the stomach and bottom of the ribcage.

"...."

Deitric had also become a short-hair; his once long mane of black hair was now a shorter, messier affair. His face - the only part of his body that was exposed - was a considerably brighter red than before where the flesh had been seared, painful burn weals covering his features. His shades crackled and fell from his face when he stood, leaving burnt plastic stuck to the side of his head where pieces of the earpieces had melted on his skin. The underside of his jaw along the right left side was blackened, blood leaking from between the cracked, ugly skin. The tribesman suddenly found himself sympathizing with his previous opponent, Shinji.

It was turning into a rough night. When he stood, Deitric let out a groan. A few of his ribs had been cracked under the pressure of the explosion, and standing didn't really make his torso feel any better. Beneath the leathers he wore, his entire front was burnt to a lesser degree than his face, but where he had metal studs and spikes, they had been heated and left scorch marks on his flesh through the leather. Truth be told, he hadn't expected to be throwing himself into an explosion, just a punch, or some flames. He should have known better.

Forcing a deep breath in and out of his protesting lungs, Deitric made his way towards the edge of the battered and broken platform to find James. He had exhausted a considerable amount of energy, even with the amount he cannibalized earlier, and his mind throbbed right along with his body. Dozens of small scratches covered his face, hands, and shards of glass were embedded all over his leather jacket and the leggings he wore over his jeans.

It was a small comfort that his opponent was probably considerably worse off than he was; and that was saying something. Deitric looked like he had just taken a stroll through Hell and back, but he was still standing. Whether or not the same could be said for James Eredas might still be up in the air.

Deitric's features didn't offer any hint as to what he thought. He remained silent as he stood at the edge of the platform, twisting left and then right at the waist, causing the fused plates of armor to crackle and break apart so that it wouldn't hinder his mobility. The hidden armor could still serve its purpose however. Breaking was part of the process; that was what made it so effective.

He was only mildly surprised that James was still standing. The light in his eyes flickered a few times, before regaining its luminous haze. The fighter's boots crushed the horizontal lighting panels as he began to walk down the side of the platform, the plating beneath serving as steps where the lights had been layered to provide a diagonal effect. Every time he took a step, the next series of lights beneath him would flicker and die before he shattered them beneath his weight, causing a slow, cascade failure down the entire length of the tower.

A hint of superhuman power was left in the dark skinned fighter yet, but he wasn't using it. It served him better to quietly generate energy, rather than an unnecessary show of force. Instead, he opted for something more physical: his tomahawks. The twinned weapons had been freed from his belt, one in each hand. The metal was a dull, leaden gray, and no light reflected from the axeheads. The edge of each was wickedly sharp, and their design was meant to punch through armor as well as flesh. The only elegance to the weapons was their simplicity; they were perfectly suited to their purpose.

Unlike a sword or other weapon, there was no "stance" to adopt with his weapons of choice - they remained at his side, waiting to strike. The brave stepped off from the bottom of the tower and began towards James, the last vestiges of smoke fading into the air around him. Nearby shards of metal wavered and quivered as he passed by, inching closer to him as if he were a giant, albeit weak, magnet.

"Discretion is the better part of valor; burning out instead of fading away still has the same result," he warned as he approached, his voice still picking up and casting over the nearest speakers in the same, eerie manner. Deitric watched his opponent carefully. He commended bravery, but James had gone through two of his most powerful attacks; he felt the daemon hunter was stretching himself dangerously thin. Too thin for it to be wise to continue.

The piece of metal flew towards Deitric, flying upwards from the ground at a diagonal towards his face. As it neared, the flight path began to mutate and change; it curved away from the diagonal path, away from the brave, and right towards his approaching opponent. Flying like a projectile from a slingshot, the spinning piece of metal cut through the air like a buzzsaw towards James's chest, having gathered momentum from his kick and the curving redirection.

Thankfully, a small piece of debris was much easier to manipulate than a heavy length of rebar, or an incoming sword or mace. These weapons were heavier, and had physical, driving force behind them in the form of someone swinging them; thrown projectiles lacked heft to them.

As ever, Deitric didn't stick to being stationary for too long - he disappeared behind the DJ platform even as jagged piece of debris began its rebound. James would have to deal with the piece of metal hurtling his way and follow quickly if he wanted to get the brave back in his sights.

Not quite yet.

Instead of keeping close to the tower, the fighter began to veer off, moving towards the open ground off to his side. For all intents and purposes, he was playing cat and mouse - letting James come forward only to use some means to disrupt him before pulling away, forcing the other man to follow him out into the open and away from the tower.

He was moving backwards to keep his eye on the man who was no doubt following him, but he was still keeping a good pace. The only things slowing James down was dealing with the piece of debris, and rounding the corner of the DJ booth - the demon slayer wouldn't find out if Deitric was waiting to ambush him, or if the tribesman had moved elsewhere, as was the case, until he turned the corner. The angle the tribesman took to move away from the tower was keeping him out of James's immediate sight until they were on the same side of the booth.

The crowd bustled around the stage, trying to watch and discern the tribesman's intent. As the only one with weapons, it would have been easy enough to attack, but he wasn't; he was purposefully drawing the moment out. Waiting for the moment he deemed best to attack.

All around Deitric, the small shards of metal debris rattled, following along in his path as he backed away. Caution on the part of James was wise, but it also gave his opponent time to put a little more distance between them - the brave had cut away from the platform and had backed away.

As if he were going to throw his tomahawks to James in an underhanded double-toss, the short-haired tribesman swept his weapons forward and up from his waist. The magnetic pull invested in his weapons tugged several pieces of metal along in the path of the dual tomahawks' swings.

Whoosh--

And at the apex of the swing, the magnetism suddenly stopped, leaving the pieces to follow the course of their due momentum. It was as if Deitric had taken a handful of the debris and swung his arm, letting go at the last second to hurl the items; small shards ranging from the size of coins to the breadth of a human hand flew through the air towards James. Without any magnetism to guide it, the collection of metal pieces and chunks flew through the air like a small, haphazard swarm of shining insects.

Because they weren't actually thrown, so much as slung towards him, there wasn't a lot of power, or accuracy - but there were a lot of the little things, and getting peppered with a bunch of metal wasn't going to feel great unless the target happened to be a masochist. The Khasmin warrior wasn't going to waste that much energy on the maneuver when he had better places to put it to use, when the time came.

It wasn't a real attack - at least, it wouldn't end the fight. But James would have no doubt noticed his opponent by the time the eight or ten pieces of metal took to the air, and it was meant just to get James's attention, and to bring him back into the fight, now that Deitric was standing out in the open where he wanted to be.

[JUMP IN THE FIRE](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wG_R5n9yIPg)

An inferno blazed to life in front of Deitric, and it gave him only one direction to go. He didn't have time to think or anticipate, but if he had, his actions would have been just the same. Going left or right, forward or back would all end with him getting burnt in some fashion; but only one direction allowed him to retaliate.

He went forward.

Abilities Wrote:

> ►Blitzkrieg Knee - Similar to the Thunder Drum, Deitric channels his static power into his legs before letting the power explode outwards, propelling him forward for an explosively painful knee attack, which will usually discharge some amount of electricity on impact, depending on how powerful the attack is when used.

The next thing James would see after bringing the enormous tidal wave of flame to life was his opponent's leather-clad form bursting through it, hurtling through the air like a human rocket, electricity cackling to life around him while the flames licked and seared at him as he passed through the wall of fire. Deitric's right knee was raised, aiming to have him slam headlong into James's center mass. Whatever sparse distance the demonslayer had left between the two of them, the Khasmin fighter cut across it in a flash.

Sometimes, a fighter had to bite the bullet and go through some measure of pain in order to gain the advantage. Whereas many fighters shied away from the concept, it was so integral to Deitric's fighting style that he no longer hesitated in the face of pain; when provided with a situation where it came to being hurt and retaliating, or getting away safely, he most often chose the former.

And going through the flames a second time was certainly painful, but the one advantage he had was that the wave of flames had been so big. The larger surface area something had, the less force it would exert at any one point; in contrast, Deitric's propulsion was concentrated solely on his body, so that it cut through the enveloping fire like a blade. Like a fish, slicing through the water of a wave.

The fires burned him anew, but hopefully, he would have an element of surprise on his side and catch James unawares. He had used the last amount of energy he had been able to gather with relative safety - if the fight was still going, it would have to be purely physical, unless Deitric wanted to risk burning himself out.

[FIGHT FIRE WITH FIRE](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xjlgUx7_aN0)

Deitric hurtled through the air like he had been fired out of a cannon, and that might have been his greatest advantage in their exchange. James wasn't kicking a man who had simply jumped through the fire, or who was jogging - he was kicking someone who was literally shooting through the air at the speed of a dead sprint; which he had been able to accomplish solely through supernatural means.

He was almost like a two-hundred-and-thirty pound human wrecking ball, flying through the air. James would certainly succeed in kicking him, the martial artist's foot smashed into the brave's upraised arms - which were raised to help protect his face and chest from the fire - and pin them to his chest, but what was going to happen to the daemonslayer?

Very likely, he was going to get knocked back, and down - all that momentum and force of Deitric's airborne charge had to go somewhere, and his opponent had volunteered himself as the prime candidate. When the heavier brave practically flew into the kick, it would be as if he had "stuffed" it; there would be a heavy amount of recoil, enough to probably send the kicker onto his back. Standing on one foot didn't make for a terribly sturdy stance, after all.

To his credit, James had entirely and painfully arrested Deitric's forward motion - the man twisted in the air from the force of the blow and he dropped to the ground as if he had been clotheslined, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Neither fighter was likely in a good position, if both of them were dealing with the subsequent backlash of their own attacks.

Ignoring the throbbing pain racing through his forearms and the shortness of breath that came from landing on his back, Deitric scrabbled off the ground, picking himself up as hurriedly as he could. He could feel the heat roiling from the flames just behind him. Both men had apparently exhausted their supernatural abilities, but Deitric still had one advantage.

He hadn't let go of his tomahawks. The twinned weapons gleamed in his hands as he rose, the sputtering flames behind him casting a shadow over his features. Deitric wasn't out of his element here; he hadn't been born with his lightning abilities. If he had expended them, he was still left with the more traditional approach: muscle and steel.

Deitric stood and peered over the edge. His clothing was still smoking faintly after his last encounter with the Eredas flames, and the leather he wore was shredded where it had blistered beneath the heat. The stage behind him was practically demolished - DJ booth had been cleaned of every piece of equipment, and the tower itself was collapsing in on itself after withstanding the constant strain. Dead power cords hung in the air and were strewn about the ground along with countless shards of glass and twisted metal debris.

He looked tired. More importantly, he was tired. The worst of the burns throbbed, and his entire face felt as if the skin had been seared away. He watched James for a moment to see what the daemon slayer did. When it became apparent that his opponent wasn't going to rise, Deitric contented himself to step off the platform, landing rump first on the edge with a grunt. He kept a good posture while he sat; any slouching would have put pressure on the handful of ribs that had been bruised and cracked.

Resting his tomahawks across his legs, the tribesman idly tapped the back of his heels against the foundation of the stage while he sat and waited for the medics to make their way through the crowd to the two fighters. It had been a rough, altogether worthwhile fight, he decided. The crowd had formed a half-circle around the pair; James on the ground, Deitric seated on the edge of the stage.

Behind the brave, the musicians timidly made their way back onto the stage, flinching as they stepped across the broken glass and remains of their equipment. Guitars were little more than splinters and twisted strings, the drum set had been separated into barely recognizable parts, and they'd never be able to collect all the pieces of the turntable. There was no way they could finish the concert.

Deitric didn't mind.