Exhibition Arena

{Ring # 25 }

There he stood. A ghost haired dhampir throwing varius blows from varius stances. All of them entertwining and leveling out to some jumble of a style. Finally, after a 'upper cutting elbow'.

Matthew began firing off hand signs. At first just the initial two. Manifesting the darkness under him, on his persons, and under his clothes. It all surged and expanded.

Piling particles of whatever physical substance it was. Creating eventually that same cloak that he had used in his first round. Two more hand signs. And two tentacles launched forward from where either shoulder would be.

Possibly as thick as a elephant trunk. As per in the first fight, and just as strong. Except underneath the darkness, Matthew would continue firing off signs.

More tentacles surged, the first two lashing out like fists at the 'invisible target point'. Three more followed. Once again launching blows before a fourth reached out on a lower level. Ankle level to be exact.

The appendage swept where the feet would be, curling a loop hold on the 'target'. Leaving the mass of shadow to spin. Chucking the opponent out of the ring should it have existed.

Yep. Training was always interesting for a being like him. In anycase, all the 'shadow appendages' whipped through the air. Swirling and contracting as the cloak itself expanded.

Forming a large spherical barrier that would slowly shrink as more spins were performed. And all in all he didn't even know if he was progressing to the next round.

Rediculous..

A thought in regaurds to the scenario of the judges choosing his opponent as the winner. That would quite simply be an outrage. Then again. Wouldn't be the first time Matthew got cheated.

A dragon. A great wyrm, red.

The massive creature was sleeping, tightly coiled upon itself in one of the arenas. The bottom of the bowl-shaped stadium had become a lake of molten earth, one which the mighty limbs and tail of the dragon disappeared into. Snorting flame, the thing rest upon a jewel-encrusted throne of ebbing, semi-melted gold, watching the passage of time with lazy disinterest.

Midus might have sent exterminators, but, it's a FUCKING DRAGON. It's very existence seemed to scream, "come and kill me and steal my treasure" but the call remained unanswered. The few that had tried in small little pockets of adventurers had been reduced to a crisp or worse, dunked in lava and eaten. None of them seemed to be able to pull off that 5-man raid shit you'd expect from video games.

So muster your army. Bring every steady hand and glory-hungry boy you can manage. Unite the banners of warring kings and march towards the paragon of destruction.

Come and fight the dragon.

The only reply from the dragon was an exaggerated yawn, one that would make your skin red, melt candles, and burn your eyebrows off. Frankly, the mouth of the beast was large enough that the opening and closing of it moved enough air around that a hot wind lashed at James, the Director, and the camera crew.

Then came the steady rumble of the beast shifting its weight, stones falling loose from the ceiling as the whole stadium shook. It was a minor earthquake, one that sent the glowing lava sloshing from side to side.

Now, this, was a fucking level 85 boss raid.

The only thing more difficult then the dragon sleeping before the eyes of one Tenris Stromborne, was the Cthullu encounter that the Gaian admins didn't add in yet because they were too busy milking the Gaian cash cows public.

But either way, it would be a great battle. After all, he was Tenris fuckin' Stromborne, High Knight of the Order of Force Majuere, well-versed in both the arcane arts and in physical combat.

Wait a second.

-pause-

-open inventory-

Fuck, he has no potions.

Goddamnit. Tenris is a excellent tank, and capable at DPS and buffing/debuffing spells, but he needs a dedicated healer and another DPS to take the dragon down in a timely manner.

-checks party-

Fuck, empty.

-checks Clan list-

Order of Force Majuere: 0 Online.

Fuck, all offline.

-changes party status from Active to: "Looking for Group"-

James held on for dear life, using his grapple grip!

He mumbled something about any God listening to save him or some shit and then started climbing up its leg slowly but surely; using the small gaps in the scales like foot and hand holds in rock climbing. James was an out doors type person, he had done free climbing quite a few times in his life and was making good time.

Why was he climbing? To get the fuck away from the lava, of course. He didn't like the intense heat and obvious death awaiting him down there, he figured if he went higher he could find a part of the dragon more near solid ground and climb down and just walk back to the director, who was rolling film and taking photos relentlessly.

He was going to kick that fat assholes head in after he got out of this predicament.

SPRINT!

James went the which the dragon offered quickly, burned clothes peeling off as he ran. He didn't just stop once he got off though, he sprinted nearly naked except briefs right at the fat director.

What happened next was basically repeated breaking bones and screams. All was well in the land of GRAPPLE Poster Boy, James.

" That bastard is nuts. This ain't a bear boy!!!"

Shaking his head out of sheer frustration on the stupidity of the grappler, the man watching conveyed the appearance of a pimp or slick businessman. Enveloped in a crimson fur coat draping over his shoulders, Hunk Hammafist stood there smiling with his trademark golden teeth and black scruffy braided around the jawline. If there was a metal detector, the sensors would be roaring relentlessly. Standing approximately at six foot six with a hairy chest, tan skin, small afro, and Aviators shades was the exiled mage turn drug dealer Arthus Le Wolfe.

" What the Fuck, who called God damn zilla!"

[ Bored and the poor Grappler can't be alone. I swore wouldn't use this RPC, but might as well. Editted cause someone had to summon the Asian Killer!]

James just stood there confused.

Godzilla was here now?

Holy fuckin shit.

He didn't even have the mental thought to leave at this point.

The Fiend of the West Wrote:

> James just stood there confused. > > Godzilla was here now? > > Holy fuckin shit. > > He didn't even have the mental thought to leave at this point.

The sky darkened as a monstrous red crystal came to a hover above the GTB exhibition arena. The king of Terror had arrived to once again challenge the King of the Daikaiju for his throne. The crystal exploded revealing the one and only King Ghidorah! Yah that’s right this shit just turned into a Kaiju clusterfuck!

The dragon took to the air, darkening the skies and causing immense fright. The match would be like fighting a flying cougar or some shit, not friendly. Increasing its speed with every flap of its wings, the dragon banked around and then came crashing at Godzilla. It's four clawed legs were aiming to smash into the creature, the read two aiming for the chest, the top two the shoulders.

The red dragon would basically attempt to forcibly perch atop Godzilla, claws raking as it leaned down to deliver a gout of flame directly to the beast's head. The fiery breath of the dragon was more akin to being spat on by the center of the earth - not that the creature knew Godzilla was immune to heat.

Tybalt Steele Wrote:

> Oh come on. Ghidorah had to show up for a rematch now? Gojira backed away from the dragon attempting to land on him, and raked at it with his own claws. At least one of the puny humans seemed to be aiding him. Gojira would later reward the human by not eating him.

The Space dragon roared out a challenge to Gojira. Landing outside the whole of the GTB Expo, the Golden hydra waited for his adversary, whom today would taste bitter defeat!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d_y3ckO3uIE&feature=related

(( Tybalt what Gojira are you using? 54, Showa, Hensei, or one of the millenium versions. I'm using Grand King Ghidorah powerset with above skin ))

EDIT: Fuck it, I'm Shenron!

This time, the skies really did darken. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and lightning struck a nearby building as seven glowing spheres cast their light from the ground into the thunder-headed clouds.

Within moments, the light would swirl and spin and chase itself in loops, and finally as it stopped, from the glowing beams would form the ancient wish-granting dragon, Shenron!

His serpentine body wound through the sky and clouds. He prepared his all famous speech:

"You who have summo-" His booming voice echoed through the battlefield, but was cut short as he stopped moving his mouth. His titanic red eyes blinked slowly in disbelief as he saw the other dragons and dragon-like monsters brawling.

"Oh what the hell," he asked, and with a shrug of his tiny arms, his serpent-like body began to uncoil as he shot forward, throwing himself into the fray, aiming to coil his massive form around Ghidora.

DRAGON DRAGON BALLZ

The dragon dropped from the sky, planting his balls on everyone's chins.

Shenron would find a mighty foe in the King of Terror! The three heads roared out a challenge than preceded to blast the summoned beast with its triple Gravity beams! The force of the space dragon’s attack would probably knock the dragon back, and hopefully make it think twice about fighting a true god.

Gravity beams? Well, certainly those would be powerful.

And what did Shenron have in his back pocket? An ace in the hole? Fiery breath? Lazer eyes? Oh no, he held power over something far, far greater.

The power of wishes!

So, he simply wished for a barrier strong enough to block the beams, and proceeded to hide behind the barrier like a cowering puppy, that is until the beam subsided.

Then, he would cascade forward and curl his massive snakey body into a ball and slam himself into the dragon from space, disregarding any damages that he may obtain.

"YOU...WILL...FALL!!!" his voice boomed.

"GOD...DAMMIT...I...FORGOT!!!"

Shenron was sucked back into the dragon balls, and the storm clouds started to thin.

Though Shenron was gone, there was one last effort left to make a dent in his opponents.

As the seven spheres levitated skyward, they shot outward in an ever-widening circle, right at head level with the other dragons. Since the orbs were flying at super-speeds, they would probably cause a bit of a headache should they impact, and perhaps knock a certain flaming pokemon from the sky.

The Last Pedigree Wrote:

> "Bitch nooooo......" > > Charizard was knocked from the skies by a high impact ball.

Owned. By a flying testicle. cool

As it is magically protected, the ball flies straight through the atomic breath and lodges itself in Gojira's wind-pipe. Breath that, fool.

Ghidorah flapped his wings, sending the Dragon ball off into the horizon with a powerful gust of wind.

The ball zips through the air, with no aim, but the ever-present potential of smacking into something.

Tybalt Steele Wrote:

> Gojira is game. This next ball is served up in the direction of Rayquaza. > > Fuck yes kaiju volleyball.

[Fixxed]

[[I motion to render Hael's post and further posts by Hael or Favored Null and void in attempts to ruin the complete and utter bs that is this Dragon clusterfuck

a Yes or no from all current participates shoudl be democratic enough

Yes]]

"Oh great dragon king, we bow to your wisdom!"

"Your word is like a word that we must listen to!"

In a super special awesome time Paradox Ghidorah never showed up to the tournament, preventing his death. The same probibly happened to Gojira, but thats up to the director of Gojira

NAY. DOST GHIDORAH PERISH? AYE. FOR THOU HATH BROUGHT THINE FATE UPON THEE IN DUE NATURE. REST WELL, MIGHTY BEAST.

GODZILLA, GOJIRA AMONG MEN, STILL THY RAGING HEART. FOR THINE WOUNDS ARE GREAT AND REQUIRE REST. THY RECORDS WILL BE WRITTEN ON THE SCROLL OF AGES, PLEASE HOLD RESET + POWER BEFORE TURNING OFF THY GAME.

THESE WORDS YE DRAGON KIND MUST OBEY, SO SAYETH THY KING, I, THE DRAGONLORD.

On the other side of the obscenely large field of fighting rings...

A young man stood. Alone. Bored. Tired.

He wore a Venom Signet uniform. A blue affair, with silver buttons and the V and S symbol on a patch which rested on his left shoulder. No one would be able to see that patch, as it was covered completely by a jacket-cloak that was unbuttoned at every button save the topmost one. The collar of this cloak-jacket covered the man's mouth, revealing only his very dull looking eyes.

He didn't wear a ring on his gloved hands, oddly enough, but he definitely was in the Signet.

His name was Sui, or 02-88.

He wielded a massive sword over his shoulder. Not as rare in this place as it was everywhere else. Indeed, massive swords were something of a comedic staple at places like this. It made Sui feel nice.

Really, it was a shame that the creature had not attempted to assassinate Sui. The blue clothed man was facing the opposite direction from him. This seemed odd, as the man didn't neccisarily walk at Sui's back to start with. Yet it seemed that wherever the assassin creature ended up walking, he would see the flat of Sui's back.

If he was really observant, he might have even caught the Signet officer's feet shuffling to keep his back facing the man, or he might have seen the bored looking pair of eyes glancing back to re-check his positioning every few seconds.

"I didn't notice you there." Sui said, after the newcomer had walked within hearing distance.

"...you are...an alien creature. And..." He raised his fingertips to his temples, as though concentrating on something in the opposite direction from his soon-to be adversary,

"You are a warrior. Yes..yes. My mind's eye sees all."

Sui was not psychic, for the record.

"You have come to challenge me. But first, a test."

Sui took a deep breath in. As he did, and his chest expanded, power surged through his abdomen and his arm whipped up to the handle of the sword on his back. With an agile pull, the five foot long slab of metal raised up from its leather strap, already unbuttoned in preparation for this unveiling show, and Sui spun on his heel. The sounded of a heavily expelled breath preceeded the storm.

Whumwhumwhumwhum-

The sword was flying through the air horizontally, all of its massive weight spinning at breakneck speeds toward the newcomer.

Way to answer the guy's question, Sui.

A panting Sui failed to respond.

That throw appeared to take a lot out of him. What had been the point? Even if the alien hadn't used its powers the throw, really, wasn't all that difficult to outmaneuver. The fighters were probably fifteen feet apart.

But the assassin had shown him something new. Something interesting. Was it worth Sui's apparent weariness?

The officer couldn't help but smile.

"That was it, alright. Your turn." Sui said, righting himself from the doubled over position the throw had left him in.

The sword, flung harmlessly in the air, slammed point-first into the arena behind the assassin a moment later. It sunk a solid foot into the surface. It must have weighed a holy shitload.

Underneath the tattered wraps of grip-tape, a small sigil sat on the handle of the weapon, one that was matched by a similar sigil that was tattooed onto the swordsman's right palm.

Heidi noticed someone in the distance. She noticed something weird about him. She began to walk closer. Her hands crossed in front of her chest, she wanted to stress to the person she wasn't in the mood to play games. Blue orbs brought the poor man into focus and thus Heidi noticed him.

....Is he homeless ?

She thought to herself. A quirky expression surfacing on her face. For a lack of a better words, he was dirty. Eying him up and down she noticed his apparel it was so last year. But his hair looked nice, sighing at this acknowledgement she spoke.

"You look lost kiddo...I think the homeless shelter is on the other side of town " She barked. Her arms uncrossed and now rested on her hips. Heidi was a female that wanted results, so when she saw a bum and knew where he needed to go she told him so. Her hands remained on her hips as she moved in closer

Oh no this bitch didn't... Kirigo looked at her with a look of disgust. How dare she have the nerve to speak to him like that. As he thought this the song "Stomp em in the nuts" was blasting in his head. Although, this chick didn't have nuts to stomp as far as he knew, he could change it to stomp em in the ovaries. It was close enough. "Fuck you bucket mouth hoe."

The man smiled as he watched the woman get into her stance. It was about that time and he was ready for it. His hand would reach into his pocket to pull out a long red headband which he would proceed to tie around his head. "Hmph, the answer lies..." He would take a deep breathe as he got into his fighting stance. "...in the heart of battle."

...Oh lordy, lord

Heidi sighed to herself. He was one of those people. It made her laugh on the inside as she saw him doing some hadouken move. Then it got her thinking: ..What kind of power does he have ?

But she couldnt think about that now. She began bouncing on the balls of her feets. To the unstrained eye it would look like she was dancing, but she moved up and down. Skipping off her left foot she brought it back around in classic libre style.

"Who the fuck are you ? " She said to the new guy. "Man you guys come straight outta a comic book " She said coldly. Focusing back on the homeless man she ran at him. Launching herself at him she let out a flurry of mixed strike. All of them was using her feet and very fast. Much like flash kicks. The attacks would attack random places, if connected would leave him open for an ultra attack

Killing is not worth living for.....

Kayami looked at the small crowd at 3 people and looked at the guy that seemed to look outdated with his clothing. So she began slowly walking towards them but more at the angle of the outdated man. "Where did you find those clothes mister?" She asked the man when she finally reached them. "Because it looks like you seem to not have the right clothes from this year." Kayami said calmly and unafraid. She then saw the woman named Heidi and turned to her and bowed in a respectful manner that she gives to women fighters. "Hello. I see you are also a woman fighter. It is nice to know that there are other women who are here."

...and I'm hoping to be the one to stop that nonsense...

Well Heidi was now officially safe since the tatsu knocked her down to the ground the sonic boom would hit kyle. From the ground she could hear the girl int he distance attempting to talk with her. It was a blur to her becuase she was now in the zone.

"It Combat time!! " She yelled. Her blue and yellow energy surrounded her in a powerful burst. On wakeup she let out a spinning bird kick, more stylish than the one "Mrs. Chun Li" does. Unlike the moving one it stayed in one place acting like a vacuum. Her energies would surround her as it would draw in her opponent.

..Gotcha

Since he either would be blocking, or taking damage from the sonic boom it would catch him off guard because it had little frames on start up and for a wakeup move it has high priority.

Kirigo would smile at the success of his first technique. He would be cautious of the girl as he was getting up. He didn't know what style she used, or what sort of attacks were in her arsenal, but he knew not being cautious would only be his down fall. As he felt the woman's energy begin to circulate outside of her own body, he would hop backwards to place himself out of her attacking range. He didn't get very much of a break, as shortly after avoiding her attack there was another coming for him. As the projectile moved at him he would put his arms up defensively to take the edge off of the damage, a nice thud colliding with his arms. He wasn't sure how to follow up after defending. One opponent was too far for him to attack and the other was just full of surprises.

This man had to be stupid if he thought she would continue to spin around as the fight continued. What was she some random yo-yo or something. His first mistake was that he disturbed the fight. Second was that he walked towards her. She was already done and landed and prepared herself for the next attack.But his dash and leap is what would confuse her. But non the less she would act accordingly.

...Ya gotta be kidding me

She said to herself. Pivoting on her left foot she centered her weight, and so the man would come crashing down upon her. Her hands reached outwards as if to catch the man, in a way she was. But not really. Heidi would fall over backwards as her hands wrapped around the mans striking arm. Her training had taught her to deflect attacks so she would go with his momentum until his fist had past by her left shoulder. As her back pounded against the cold floor her legs would soon find their way around the back of his neck. "Come to mama! " She would smile. Indeed in this little stunt heidi had hurt herself, but the man would be in a world of trouble now. Her lock on the man got tighter, her legs digging deeper into his neck while she held down his arm putting pressure on his joint. Sooner or later he would pass out due to lack of oxygen, since her legs was around his neck you know

Wrestling match... He didn't want a wrestling match..That was gay and no fun. So she recovered by time he was in the air. Damn this wasn't good. Only one thing to do now. Make a makeshift defense with one arm. So one arm would rise, his chin tucking, and his arm pulled in close to his head. So what would become of the triangle chock the male had performed on him, and by grabbing his punching arm? His elbow wasn't locked. So the leg of Heidi, would come to press against that arm block. A strong and sturdy one supported against his body. Along with that, there was the tucked chin that also stopped his neck from being accessed. The black skin was steady crawling along, his arms. The triangle lock had been blocked by his natural reflex. Now there was the thing of his arm in the ground. He was already on his feet, just bent down with the women who had failed at her attempt at a triangle lock.

Let's play.

The thought was quick as his hand had suck caused the rock to imprint in from his black fist along that light brown skin. He wasn't a vampire, just a really strong human. So what would happen with the woman holding on to his arm. She would be lifted. to a diagonal angle from the male, who looked at her with those golden eyes from her now elevated position. But it wouldn't be that way for long. Her body would suddenly be dropped as the one upright male, bent his body and slung his arm down with the female to slam her body into the ground with ease. However, this wouldn't end well for the female, with her hitting against the cold, hard ground.

Seeing that their lil personal fight was over Kirigo would bring up his own fists.

STYLE CHANGE: M.BISON (BOXER)

The man's entire disposition seemed to change as he switched into his new stance with a disgusted look on his face. "Come on punching bag!" He was ready to finally do something.

What was this, he was faster than Heidi. Very rarely did she meet someone who could maneuver faster than her. She grinned with promise for the three men now stood ready for battle. She looked at both of them before jumping backwards

"Come get soommmeee!! " She laughed in pure carnage. Her fist slammed into the ground. For a moment people would think she was a retard punching the ground, but a crackling noise would begin to resonate through the ring. Then much like in a fictional nature the ground would shatter, shooting up in random places falling beneath her opponents feet.

...Come my darlings

The blue energies surged be neath the cracks forming long tendril like creatures. They had now begun to surround Heidi in her quest for destruction. Her opponents would now have to deal with the ground falling from beneath their feet, and their ass virginity as the tendrils reached out to tear them apart.

The male's eyes would narrow as the woman said some words then slammed her fist into the ground. Then cracks..lots and lots of cracks would come from underneath him that would cause the ground to begin to rock and what not from his feet. However, the male was a fighter..a pretty damn good one at that, so that meant his balance..was pretty damn good as well. And so his weight would shift to accommodate the change in his environment as he begin moving through the terrain, avoiding dangerous things that could possible harm him also. This would leave him outside of the danger zone, but also closer to the one known as Kirigo. Hilo, would smile as he face the male, his right hand shooting out in a jab towards the male's face. It was a simple job but it would hurt like hell. During this time, the energy was circulating in his body once more, going down to his feet, to begin turning them a black color. His kicks would soon be usable also. Pretty soon at least.

OOC STATEMENT:

Someone fight me playing as Dudley! scream

OOC STATEMENT:

OOC STATEMENT:

Please tell me it's Guy... that'd be awesome.

OOC STATEMENT:

BearVsBaby Wrote:

> OOC STATEMENT: > > Please tell me it's Guy... that'd be awesome. > > > OOC STATEMENT:

.: I've got one character that works as the entire cast. :.

The male's golden eyes were always observing. Pretty damn good eyes that helped him see things that ordinary people wouldn't see and adjust to them accordingly. But good eyes meant nothing if your body can't keep up with it. His body was able to. So this martial artist would notice the shift of the mans weight to to left as the attack was slipped but he didn't follow through. Instead, the male stepped back and put some distance between the two fighters. So the other male would, use his method, but instead of going just back, he would go back to the right, pushing himself closer to Heidi.

Annoying little thing aren't you.

However, he didn't stop as he caught from the corner of his eye the appearance of her figure going down. That couldn't be good after all, so the male wouldn't let himself stay in one place knowing last time she did this, somethings erupted from the ground. So he would step back again and to the right this time which put him further away from Tenryu but back on even ground. And a tendril would erupt causing pieces of the ground to shoot up. Just what he wanted. The other tendrils would sprout in random directions around him but none threatened him directly. However something would to her. His arm would extend snatching a small piece of ground that was thrown in the air while it was in the air. The piece wouldn't remain in his grasp for long as he now launched it, straight at Heidi, with dead on accuracy. However, this wouldn't hit the charging male as it was coming from the side.

"Oi..Stop attacking from far away."

What was this, Dragon Ball Z? Regardless to how it happened, it did. The woman had created a solar flare attack that held the intention of blinding them momentarily. Now, Tenryu didn't know how the other man in their bout would deal with this, but he knew that he didn't have a solution. As the light came forth, it was bright as hell and it forced him to stop running as he covered his eyes to protect them. He wasn't sure what the woman was planning next, but for the moment he was going to have play it defensively.

Heidi smiled becuase she had them right where she wanted them. Her blue eyes resonated a gradient hue, as the crystals emitting the bright light exploded around them a bright flash was left. As quickly as they blinded her opponent the crystals dimmed to an almost translucent blue. While they shielded there eyes it gave her all the time she need

" Ice Cage ! "

The crystals expanded each of them into thin glass light sheets. More physical they would resemble long ice plates, but their magical properties were far more dangerous that one could imagine. As they stacked one on top of another they gained in density become far harder to break than an average steel door. Whizzing through the air it had begun to surround them much like a dome, of course the men were to far apart from one another, still the blinding effect was wearing off and Heidi needed time. The glass like Ice like windows stacked all the way to the top and begun to enclose the cage like structure.

" -Ancient Language- "

She hummed, her blue eyes never leaving her opponents. The energy surrounding her hands only got stronger she focused her energy. Heidi was controlling her Ice structures very well for a change. A grin crept across her face as she trapped her enemies in her web.

What the hell was going on during his moment of involuntary lost of vision to the outside world. This was but for a moment however, as he lowered the arm. His vision was still blurry and he was squinting to see things but that was good enough for him to make out general objects. There were doors..doors forming out of thin air and they were causing the temperature to drop steadily. So this lead the male to believe one thing. This was ice. He wouldn't stand there to find out as his steadily increasing vision was telling him, something would happen if he didn't get out of the structure of ice. And so he shall, on to the outside of it all. After all, trying to encase both of them in ice would take to long because of the distance apart from the two male fighters. His arms weren't the only thing that was beyond the normal lengths of strength imposed on his race.

So he would press off once more, increasing his distance between the two as his feet had turned black beneath his shoes showing that the iron skin effect was being used on his feet also. Energy was once again circulating through the males body, but it wouldn't stay there, instead being released as he came to a stop behind Heidi. His arms would whip through the air releasing the energy in the forth in the form of a spinning crescent shaped energy that would travel towards her.

Tenryu wasn't entirely sure as to what had just happened, but he did know the other chick was no where to be found. Because of her disappearance it left the match with only three fighters: Hilo, the girl with the scythe that Tenryu had yet to take notice of, and himself. Seeing as how the ice user had seemingly left there was little reason for him to continue using The Legendary Kunoichi style. That in mind it was time for change.

Style Change: The Legendary Yoga

With this change in style, would bring about a change in his fighting stance. Tenryu would smile as he watched the man from a distance waiting for his move.

Somewhat off in the distance a puddle began to form. Where did the water come from ? the world may never know

He was expecting somethings ,as he had seen many things, but this..was a new one. Shocked the man was, and that shock would be what would stop him from following up, to retort against the attack. Instead his head would move to the side, the fist grazing his cheek in the process as he rolled to the side, coming to a stop in a crouch down position to look at the male for a moment.

"What the fuck."

Why did he do that shit before when they were being attacked by spires. So the male had hidden moves, guess it was wise to expect anything this time around. He would stand back up this time, his hand rubbed the mark where he was grazed before he glanced at the male once more. This was gonna be a fun fight, but he couldn't do anything from here. So he would continue his forward movement towards the man closing the distance once more so that they were in fighting range now. In this range, one thing would happen. A simple left jab would extend itself out from his hand, his fist twisting through the air aiming to collide with the middle of the man's face.

This could pose to be a problem. Well, it would be one if he were to get within striking distance. The solution to this problem was easy do exactly what this style was made for, keeping him away. Now, the man dodged the jab with easy and there no surprise there as the attack wasn't anything all that magnificent. Tenryu would take this as a grand opportunity to reveal yet another trick he held up his sleeve about The Legendary Yoga. "Yoga fire!" With those words Tenryu was able to spit out a fireball towards his opponent. The attack wasn't terribly fast, but again Tenryu's effectiveness had a lot to do with the sole fact that he had so many tricks up his sleeve by the time he revealed them he'd already won.

The exhilaration he'd felt when arriving in Latent during the massive tournament was back, and here Jex Thoth was for another valueable lesson. He could safely assume that these fighters would not be unlike those present at Heaven or Hell, and so none of them would be what they seemed- the cloak and dagger aspect of these Men and their powers was exciting, and far more dangerous than nearly any beast Thoth had come up against, save for some (tasty) Avalonian god-dragon.

Chunk'o'description Wrote:

> Jex is a thin and muscular enigma with a great mass of brown, wavy hair atop his head that stands up like a brushfire that's almost completely taken over his head. His face seems to emerge from it. > Two proud, four-pronged antlers grow from either side of his forehead, just inside his hairline. He wears a headress across his forehead, from the sides of the headress hang the feathers and claws of slain beasts. Antlers and hair excluded, The Great Horned Sage stands at 5'10''. > His skin is a deep, dark, angered aqua color; his eyes are narrow and feirce and cast a faint yellow glow. Running up from his right cheek, between his eyes, to underneath his headress is a scar, jagged and permanent, but not too deep and not too ghastly. > He wears a ghost-thin, crimson scarf around his neck that looks like it could be thousands of years old. He wears a deep dark blue, almost black juban, and tattered black pants that fit tightly, especially compared to the loose fitting juban. His arms, shins and feet are wrapped. Jex stands at a medium height, and is built for agility and swift, powerful movements; he is very sinewy.

Thoth found himself standing inside one of the many arenas, somewhere inside the first ten of them. He was whistling something merry, not looking at all like he was looking for a fight. Tiny bits of things outside the ring and all around grabbed his fleeting attention but, for the most part, he seemed pretty spaced out.

The man's arrival in the same arena as Thoth was somewhat coincidence, and yet, somewhat not. The man had been looking for a fight for a while, and had been wandering the area for a while, just observing the other fights going on and all of the people there. When Thoth had stopped in one of the particular arenas towards the front of the place, he looked as if he were waiting for a challenger, and so, he'd taken up the opportunity to do so.

He jumped into the ring sloppily, almost tripping over the wall/rope/fence that kept other people safe from harm, but soon regained his composure, pulling the dark colored hood over his head even more. The hood was attached to a dark colored cloak which flowed behind him and covered his back and shoulders, only partially revealing the man's leather armor, which was standard, leather armor, tightly wrapped around his body, clinging to his small, yet well-muscled form, not much larger than Thoth himself.

Standing in at exactly 6' and roughly 180 lbs, the man was rather lanky, and appeared clumsy; exactly that, though. He appeared clumsy. At his side was sheathed a single short-sword, made of nothing special, just a steel variant. The sword in itself was about four feet long, nothing special at all. At his hip to the right side rested a curved dagger, something much smaller that he could wield in his off hand without requiring much strength or skill.

The man's golden eyes peered ahead at Thoth before he spoke, quietly. "Good day, sir. A spar, for our entertainment?"

"Ishnaelyr Garnoth."

The man had replied just as the sage stepped forward to give them both the six foot distance, and then, Jex had started the fight. With the quick Chhhhsh, the sword at his side was pulled from its sheath with his left hand and immediately put to work, moving outwards from Ishnaelyr's body to collide with the side of the pole, aiming to throw it out to his left side at the same time stepping into the reach of the pole's blade and effective reach. As easy as that would seem, the golden eyed man knew all to well that if Jex was wielding a pole-arm that large, he obviously had skill, and Ishnael would be hard pressed to fight against it.

Regardless, in the same movement as Ishnael's forward step into the pole-arms range, his right hand removed the curved dagger and promptly twisted it backwards in his hand so that the blade was facing behind him, the curve pointed towards the air.

[ Ring #2 ]

The Prime requisite in combat was motivation and to the hardy Dwarf it was the promise of filling his stomach with high quality mead and perhaps a voluptuous wench to seal the deal. Working as some pet to this gluttonous Transmuter was straining, yet the reward were worth being some tool. Decorated in high grade gray full plate, Maxwell Silverhammer disregarded the usage of a helm to proudly display his long black braided goatee, wrathful amber eyes and grotesque scars on the facial region as testaments to his valor and toughness.

Lugging over a monstrous doubled edged battle axe,this beauty was forged by a fearsome Red Elder Dragon, exceptional and highly prized for its track record in armor penetration and limb severing. Reinforced with metal bands, no adversary was going to have an easy time chopping the handle into two. Imposing to the core, most distinguishing about this combatant was his stature. Stricken by a permanency spell with enlarged, Maxwell was a spectacular mean machine standing at six foot five.With Arthus Le Wolfe lingering by the sidelines, failure was not an option for the magically enhanced Dwarven warrior.

" I know one of ya wenches have the backbone to put this Dwarf in his place, aye!"

For the most part, he was dying to give Draxe some blood.

"Know that Tirrik'uchuu is here. Know that you will leave broken this day."

His morale was reduced tremendously on the sight of an armored colossus, expressing some distress on the situation at hand with his facial features. Abiding by the honorable request the battle hardened warrior initiated, the Dwarven locomotive as many have titled him as preceding his reputation altered his worrisome status and addressed the creature with hues holding a glint of passion, but interest in this combatant.

" Lad, I suppose you are chewing more than ya bargain for! Know we dwarves are natural asskickers, aye."

Taking into account the weapons Tirrik'uchuu were utilizing, that sturdy lance would manipulate the momentum of his intimidating charge, sensing it could penetrate through him without too much effort driven behind the attack. Transferring his form into a battle ready stance, the augmented Maxwell shifted his left leg ahead approximately eighteen inches, pointing into the path of his fearsome foe. With the Dwarf's knee bend accordingly, right leg placed back, and both feet planted firmly on the surface, Maxwell Silverhammer with hands pressed onto the metallic handle of Draxe was prepare for the under dark itself.

Approaching him with haste, Maxwell decided to forsake any possibility of a counter attack and mirror his opponent with a terrifying charge of his own. When dwarves pursue their prey, their stature severed their agility. This hindrance need not apply for him, advancing almost at the same speed with mighty battle axe equipped onto his hands and facing forward straight up with axe head raised above his figure. Bringing his body parallel to the ground, Maxwell was diving out in a tackling motion towards the lower region of the Centaur as they closed the distance in their mighty dash. Getting trampled was possible, yet was daring in his pursuit to injure the bastard.

Building up a tremendous amount of momentum, Maxwell had both arms whipped sideways from the shoulder joint with minimal elbow bend. Quite literally mimicking the Reaper's scythe in motion, the dwarf was shooting out a wide, yet powerful swing of his battleaxe to hack either near the pelvis or durable legs. Without armor, severing was highly possible, but otherwise if stricken some could occur. The sodding beast was going to BLEED one way or another.

Stepping back into a ring since rising from his premature grave sent a cold shiver of nervousness up Canaan's spine. Death doesn't do much help keep the fighting skills up. But this was something he had to do in order to get closer to the person that he had to come here to find.

A white tee that hung loosely from Canaan's body, hiding his slender build and a pair of navy blue cotton pants sufficed for the occasion. Strapped to his forearms were dark blue metal bracer gauntlets with finger armor that ended in pointed 'claws', reminiscent of the magic that he had once wielded. On his shins were metal greaves which, like his bracers, and clawed toes like a dragon's foot.

These two pieces of armor offered him comfort as he walked out to confront the man he'd be challenging. He had to defeat him, or at least do well enough in the fight to catch the right kind of attention. Standing at the almost instinctive 'engaging distance' of six feet, Canaan glanced at his opponent through dark blue bangs.

"Sup, bro. Whenever you're ready."

Normally, Canaan started off fights - he had those kind of aggressive tendencies - but still getting used to not being a dead had left him a little stiff. He'd have to play it by ear from the time this began to the time that this ended.

"Ha!"

Canaan slid his left foot back, turning his body perpendicular to allow the blade to glide in front of him, rather than go through him. Normally he'd have been much faster - reacted quicker - but he felt as though he were trying to fight while chest deep in water. That stiffness was definitely going to make him lag behind his opponent a bit.

'No killing, so he starts off by trying to kill me. Nice.'

Lowering his stance and bringing his right fist forward, keeping his left back, Canaan assumed a crude martial arts stance. The only thing that he could promptly recall at the current moment. "C'mon, WAKE UP," he yelled at himself mentally."

Still, he remained on the defensive. Like he were trying to find just the right moment to attack, the opening he needed to get in close so that he could start fighting. Trying to fight that sword with a direct assault while his body wasn't properly acting would be a critical mistake.

Yoshiro's opponent had soaring the sky above the Exhibition Arena, scanning the landscape, and searching for something that resembled a landing pad. Once he spotted one, the flying contraption known as a Helicopter, soon lowered from the sky. Descending toward the ground, and eventually meeting it. Engine had stopped, and the rotor slowed. Halting once the speed decreased. Out stepped the passenger, whom was also, Yoshiro's opponent. Striding toward the arena, and lowering himself down into it. Instead of making his presence known, if it wasn't already, he simply waited. Noting each movement his opponent made, and waited for some sort of interaction.

King roared, sounding like that of the animal he dressed like, and made his way closer. Strolling across the floor of the arena, and stopping once he was a decent distance away from his opponent. Giving his opponent breathing room, and the choice of accepting the fight. It wasn't like the prized fighter, at all, in fact, he usually enjoyed ambushing people. Loving the reaction his opponent(s) usually gave him. Who would expect getting jumped by a Luchador, that resembled that of a Leopard? I'll answer that for you. Nobody.

Yoshiro Wrote:

> "Let's start."

King obliged his command, and took off in a sprint. Charging toward his opponent with tremendous speed. Picking up even more speed, as the distance was closed in, and once King closed in that distance... King leaped, and lowered his upper body in the air. Kicking out each foot, and propelling them through the air toward his opponent's chest. This simple attack, would be quite deadly, if it came in contact with his opponent. Not only would it knock the wind out of him, but it would also send him flying backward, maybe even fracture each rib.

Yoshiro's fist would meet King's attacking foot, and it wouldn't be pretty. Fist met foot, and fist also met fracturing. Unless, Yoshiro's stance stopped this from happening, which wasn't very likely. King's foot broke Yoshiro's fist on contact. King had planned this entire attack beforehand, so this next movement was planned thoroughly, and King acted upon in. Almost like a natural reaction. Once his foot met Yoshiro's attack, King separated each leg, and wrapped the one farthest out around his arm. The leg that was away from Yoshiro's body, and wrapping it around his arm. Placing his foot against his neck(if possible).

King then took his opposite leg, and wrapped it around that arm as well. Planting his foot firmly against his chest. King also wrapped each arm around what was left of Yoshiro's arm, much like a bear hug, and would extend his hips. Pushing off of him with his legs.

A flying arm-bar.

Introducing Kenji Hood!

The spiky haired individual stepped into the barrier protected, fighting ring. Today he had zero ideas on who his opponent was going to be, but it was a simple exhibition match that was being sponsored by Mr. Cluck's Chicken Shack to air live on YouTube while everyone waited patiently for the judges to list the first round winners. The rep had told him he had been selected to fight this certain somebody due to his "morality" that he had shown when The Vanguard Beast had dropped his guard. From that Kenji guessed he was going to fight some "hero" and possibly get his ass kicked again by the forces of light.

The fighter slung his backpack off his shoulder and with a jangle it hit the floor. His main weapon, The Firebrand, was in need of some repairs. The fire mechanism was exactly shutting off making it extremely too hot to touch. Last he had seen it it was in an emptied out dumpster behind to infirmary until he could think of a way to transport it to the blacksmith for a way to stop its flames from consuming the magical blade forever. With that happening he wasn't left with much choice for weapons. He, of course, had his switchblade in his pocket and had a few magic stones and a Bic. Nothing too great.

Oh and a bear trap.

As he waited he took out a freshly rolled joint and slipped it between his lips and lit it with his lighter. The white paper flared as he sucked in the plant particles.

Machi no hitogomi kata ga butsukatte hitoribocchi~ Hatenai soug--SCRRRAATTTTCHHHH!

Let's stop that for a second. If you are going to play the awesome opening of a hit show that had an awesome dub, you better jam the English version instead. Unlike the Jap version, it has more soul and effort placed into it. And as AMERICANS, we should honor some of our God given common speech. Even if the characters of the show aren't American.

ANYWAY, the door on the other side of the fifty foot ring flung opened, Kenji's opponent stepping from the shadows into the light of the fighting area. Instead of some scarred up, brute looking UFC-style fighter, there was instead a young looking teenager with some pretty greased up hair. He wore a green open coat jacket over a white t-shirt, and some jeans. He was very casual looking, looking like he belonged out on the streets chilling with the cool guys rather in some fighting ring. No gi, no boxers, none of the logical stuff you expected someone to wear whenever they entered into a combat sport.

"Yo," Yusuke said as he approached Kenji, raising his hand in his direction.

Yusuke had been called by someone from a so-called Mr. Cluck's about fighting a Kenji who was currently participating in the GTB tournament. Though he had other agendas to attend to, there was no way he was going to miss out on the opportunity of fighting publicly, with it going up on the web to boot. It was probably being streamed right now, considering the cameras that were rolling.

"So, you won't happen to be Kenji, right," he asked, his left hand removing a cigarette box from his pocket and drawing himself one. Keiko, his fiance, had been telling many, many times to stop smoking this stuff. But why? He was a freaking demon, for goodness sake! His lungs could probably breathe in the poisonous smog from some volcano out in Hawaii, though he hasn't thought of actually going out and testing. Still, he rather get to know his opponent first before they actually start fighting. And what's better than interacting with the person you're going to derange the face of than through the social act of smoking together.

He placed the cigarette between his lips, and had his right hand pat around his jeans. That was when a surprised look came onto his face, noticing he was missing something.

"Ah damn, forgot my lighter!"

"I got a light for you."

Yusuke looked up. "Hey, than..."

His eyes instantly changed to a more serious look as three balls of fire were shot at him. There was no warning other than the realization that fire was about to set him aflame. The attack came fast and it took advantage of the teen's relaxed posture. Suffice to say, Yusuke was careless. The kid rose his right arm upwards as the flames bashed into him, an explosive effect of fire coming forth as they each struck into his body. The teen twisted around in the air, seeming to have been knocked back, and then landing on the ground with his body facing the ring's floor. Smoke was rising from his now charred coat. It really looked like he may have taken a direct hit. It seemed Kenji had got a critical hit. A one hit KO would really pump his reputation and instantly drop Yusuke's.

Or maybe not. Slowly, Yusuke rose back to his feet. His body was hunched and his back was still to Kenji, so he wouldn't be able to see to what extent the damage was. But the boy's arms extended out, removing his smoking jacket one sleeve at a time before tossing it to the side, then turning around. His right hand was slightly black, showing that he did take the fire to some extent, but that wasn't the issue here. That same hand was keeping Yusuke's cigarette up to his mouth as he took a good inhale from his lit cig, then followed it with a good breath of smoke leaving his mouth.

"You know, normally people don't try to light cigarettes like that." He wore a smirk on his face, having forgotten that Kenji just tried to critically scorch him. "But I gotta admit, that was pretty creative on your part."

Having his hand leave his cigarette, he let the corner of his mouth take the task in keeping it there, having his right hand ball into a fist and slam it into the palm of his left hand. Kenji was dealing with a street fighter here, not your average sport fighter. No matter when it was or where he was, he was always ready for a fight. His instincts were honed to a degree that he could act pretty quickly in the midst of a surprise attack and somehow come out with minimal damage. That was just how crazy the kid was.

"I get it, though. You want to get this underway as much as I do. Okay then. Let's rock."

Fasten your seatbelts, folks. It was time for the exhibition match of the year. Yusuke cracked his neck, cracked his knuckles, and rolled his shoulders. His feet spaced themselves apart, sneakers upon each -no kung fu shoes here - and his arms got themselves ready, hanging up, but primarily keeping apart. His stance was pretty freestyle. There was no trained posture he needed to adapt or any specific adjustments he needed to make to his hips or something. The only posture he followed was "natural" posture. If it doesn't agitate him, then he's doing it right.

After this brief moment of preparation, the teen suddenly rushed at Kenji. His arms moved with his body. He didn't even follow the common "shuffle step" routine or "keep your arms up at all times" rules. So what Kenji got was a wild kid running straight at him like a track runner, and then throwing a a left punch in the direction of his face as his feet started to skid along the ground, slowing himself in front of him, left foot in the front. However, this left punch was just a feint. Yusuke's real attack was his right fist, which rose from the side, and went for a punch, instead, at Kenji's left ribs.

1

Hell yeah, a home strike, but that all fell to pieces cause another fireball was heading in his direction from that joint hanging in Kenji's mouth. Okay, at least he now had it stuck in his head that the guy was a fire-breathing maniac who probably spent a part of his day lighting trees on fire for fun, or maybe the occasional bastard in the ass who got on his nerves. Yusuke used his left hand to fend against the sudden attack at the last second. Fire exploded against the back of his hand and left forearm, with some pyres able to shoot into his face that wasn't so easily defended. The heat hurt, scorching against his flesh and sizzling it pretty good. He had some increased resistance against the fire thanks to the spirit energy flowing through his body, but it wasn't enough to stop some scorch marks from appearing.

"Gargh!"

He was stunned for the moment with his left arm held in the same position to protect his face, while he was still recovering from that attack. His cigarette was gone from his mouth and his right arm was hugging itself close to his abdomen, probably as a defensive mechanism due to possibly getting attacked after that. 2

Unsung Warrior Wrote:

> "Ha!" > > Canaan slid his left foot back, turning his body perpendicular to allow the blade to glide in front of him, rather than go through him. Normally he'd have been much faster - reacted quicker - but he felt as though he were trying to fight while chest deep in water. That stiffness was definitely going to make him lag behind his opponent a bit. > > 'No killing, so he starts off by trying to kill me. Nice.' > > Lowering his stance and bringing his right fist forward, keeping his left back, Canaan assumed a crude martial arts stance. The only thing that he could promptly recall at the current moment. "C'mon, WAKE UP," he yelled at himself mentally." > > Still, he remained on the defensive. Like he were trying to find just the right moment to attack, the opening he needed to get in close so that he could start fighting. Trying to fight that sword with a direct assault while his body wasn't properly acting would be a critical mistake.

Pressing Canaan, Corourke stepped forward on his right foot, closing the distance between them to about four feet. He pulled his sword back slightly and turned the blade so that the left edge faced his opponent's right thigh, stabbing and slicing straight across horizontally in an attempt to sever into the muscle of the leg. Unless Canaan had supernatural defenses, the humming blade should pierce into the extremity effortlessly.

Corourke stared on mostly expressionlessly, his face reflecting his diligent "efforts" to cut into arteries.

OOC: Tried something different with the narrative. eh

"Looks like YouTube is doing one of their live broadcasts again." Bill said unimpressed, though he still decided click the link.

"Is it Bo Burnham?" His roommate asked. "I heard he was rumored to be doing a comedy show on there." The spectacle wearing nerd flipped through an issue of Gameinformer. He was really more interested if Infamous 2 was going to fix their outdated graphics than he was with anything Bill had to say about pretty much anything, but he was going to humor him as he skimmed reviews and whatnot.

"No. Not Bo." He replied back. "Worse." Bill wasn't particularly into what he was watching, yet he let the hype machine take his interest.

"Barrack Obama?" His friend asked getting a little bit more curious.

"Hah! Nah. It's actually a fight. Between that one Yusuke Urameshi guy and some faggot from this year's GTB." He said finally answering the guy.

His friend seemed a little bit more interested when all that was mentioned, so he tossed his mag and brought up his Gateway to his lap. Quickly, he got to the front page of YouTube and found out that the "faggot" Bill had mentioned was no one other than the guy who had literally ripped a guy's muscle out during the tournament's first round. He wasn't exactly in the same caliber as the legend Yusuke, but he was up to par for the most part.

His eyes widened as he watched the fight commence. Kenji had just fired off two fireballs from his lit joint and had kneed his opponent twice in a row. But just as he would have guessed... the wonder boy of death was up to something. With a quick pimp slap and a lot of sleight of hand Yusuke was able to kill two birds with one stone. The cigarette was thrown right at the other fighter's eye!

"That one guy is done." Bill said taking a toke from his bong.

POW!!

"Yusuke hit him stomach hard." The roommate pointed out watching as the fight was beginning to tilt in Yusuke's favor. Kenji Hood was forced to take a few small steps back as Urameshi continued his assault, but just as the left punch was about to make bank Kenji brought up a bent knee to block the strike.

"Not a bad block." He said unamused. Bill's eyes then widened. "Oh shit."

Immediately after the block Kenji would jump off his right foot simultaneously lowering his left leg. His right boot shot up like a rocket as he preformed the fabled classic move; The Crane Kick. The kick would be aimed directly for Yusuke's face as he came in with his third punch with enough power for a straight knock out.

"Alright," He said, standing just outside one of the many arenas with Seyumi not far behind. "I'm not going to go easy-"

But then she started ringing.

"Taxi," He said immediately as he started off for the streets. "Gonna have to wave another down."

It wasn't only that the demon-man truly wanted to help the young priestess he'd known since she was a child. He enjoyed all his visits to the temple, and if there was trouble, some bloody mess, Stryphe wouldn't pass up the opportunity to revel in it.

Quickly, his right foot would find itself on the floor again just as Yusuke took the kick and went backwards.

The Marlboro Red had left a few pieces of ash, black marks and tiny bits of dim flames all down the left side of his face, but thanks to gravity it was far gone from his eye anymore. With his fists and legs back into his All American Boxing stance he was ready to handle whatever the Spirit Detective had to throw his way. Rushing him like this was a peewee football game the famed warrior was aiming to take down the spellwarrior right at the thighs, but Kenji had something else in mind. Just as Yusuke's head was about one foot from slamming into his abdomen the spiky haired brawler would torque his body to his left simultaneously sending a low right hook at the teen's face to knock him off his trajectory and give him something to daze about.

Wearing only military briefs, he stood shirtless in the center of one of the arenas, shadowboxing. His tape-wrapped fists flew from jabs to flurries as he pivoted and turned on his similarly-wrapped feet. There was nothing else to say; not that he enjoyed dredging up old ghosts from the past, but his past continued to haunt him--he had once been left for dead, and it was all he could do to will his limbs to move. He fought for life, simply doing what he did, practicing before the next round.

((Happens after whatever is happening in the hotel with Soak. I'm really bored.))

Edward showed up, dressed in his tournament clothes and rocking his arsenal of badass weapons. A certain cyborg had called for him to meet up at this very spot. An old friend. It was a cybernetic grudge match. Ed or Krausse. Sideburns or beards. Crowbars or katanas. It was the ultimate battle. The ultimate test. The ultim-

"By a Velociraptor's diapers, where is this guy?!"

That strike was beautiful.

As soon as he knocked the silly out of Spirit Detective he lifted up his right fist and let out an epic yell to the cameras. It wasn't every day one of his beat downs got aired to millions on the internet especially when he was fighting such esteemed people such as Yusuke. The pop of his knuckles on the boy's face replayed over and over again in his head as he got more and more hyped up.

It was a bit of a surprise when the teenager was in his face again...

Pow!

When he was turning around to bask in more glory he was struck solid. As fast as he could he put his fists back up to his face as more flurry punches headed his way. The second quick punch slammed into his left forearm and was followed by another left jab. His dumbass self got caught in the moment for too long and was having to pay the price. He had been sure that kid's jaw was going to be broken, and the last time he read this kid's manga he didn't remember anything about him having regeneration or indestructible dragon scale bones or some gay shit. While not exactly having the time to flip through his bathroom reading material, Kenji was going to have to make a quick decision or risk being clobbered to death by this rodent of a man. His legs were becoming more and more his "main" weapons as of late. It was time to utilize them further. Just as the second left was heading his way he would block it with his right forearm deflecting it toward the outside as he would simultaneously STOMP! with his right boot to Yusuke's forward left knee.

**"Anyone tell you you're like the Gary Coleman of legendary heroes? How fucking old are you?"** Kenji taunted as he preformed his moves.

"Because I'm cute, cuddly, and my smart remarks entertain the masses?" Krausse responded with a shrug.

As Ed advanced with the spinning crowbar in his hand, Krausse held out his arm to the side with his metal rod in hand, angling it so that the end pointing at Ed was directed at his stomach and the end pointing at Krausse was directed to the ground next to his foot. If Ed kept moving and didn't stop or redirect himself, he would fall straight into Krausse's trap, to be sprung shortly.

"That's a big one you've got there," Krausse remarked with a wink. "But do you know how to use it, sailor?"

If Ed refused to change up his movement pattern from a direct approach, then as soon as he was within two feet of Krausse, the cyborg would slide up the big red button on the side of his rod. A depressurizing sound would emit from it as the locks released and an extra four feet and two inches of tungsten staff would extend. Two feet plus one extra inch of that length would plow straight into Ed's stomach. The implied message was, of course: Mine's bigger.

In some situations, you have to take a hit to give a hit. For Krausse, the hit he was about to take was hardly equal to the hit he was about to give, and that was the way he worked: win no matter the cost. Leonard had nearly shredded part of his spinal chord, and at one point in the past Krausse had even been hit with air strike - but they were things he had to do in order to achieve victory, even if it was eventual. Immortality meant that victory might even come several generations down the line of the immortal's opponent. In this case, Krausse hopefully wouldn't have to wait for a victory and if he lost the battle, then he wouldn't wage a war against one of his few honest-to-goodness friends.

However, just because Ed was Krausse's friend did not mean that, when Ed came at Krausse with intends to go Pete Townshend powerslide on his sternum, Krausse wouldn't reach up with his free left fist and drive it straight into Edward's testicles in a vicious uppercut that would probably send the two children smacking hard against Edward's pelvis. While Krausse was indeed sent flying back a few feet with the breath knocked out of him - but luckily nothing fractured or broken due to his stronger-than-normal bone structure - and his vision spotted, Edward would most likely be puking painfully.

"Birdies..." Krausse wheezed out, bit-by-bit. Recovering far faster than a human meant that he would be up on his feet in a good twenty seconds instead of five minutes. The lack of breath made it hard to stand; the fact that Krausse's head felt like he'd dipped it into a tesla coil made it impossible.

A loud smacking sound coincided with the first impact, followed by a vicious snarl from Edward once his cyber-brain registered the hit. It felt unbelievably good to be fighting again, but the feeling was unfortunately short-lived. Before Krausse was sent flying away, the cyborg's uppercut connected as solidly as one could possibly connect with a moving traget. Which was quite a bit.

Ed's first reaction. Pain. Just pain. Simply unbearable pain. Then he fell to the floor on his side, dropping his weapon on the way down as he grabbed his junk with both hands. The cyberpunk groaned, feeling like weeping but maintaing his composure despite the intense pain. He felt sick. Like he could puke. Motherfucker..

Similarly, like Krausse, he'd recover much faster than your typical human being, albeit not quite like his opponent had. The fellow cyborg was definitely designed better, and was by far stronger and more resilient than the punk could ever hope to be. The cyborg stood up haggardly, retrieving his weapon slowly, giving Krausse the evil eye.

He began walking, limping but still spinning his weapon skillfully in his right hand.

"You're an asshole, boss." He stated plainly, holding his ground once he saw that Krausse was on the move. Shifting his weight, Edward attempted to stand straight and hold the pain until his cells assisted by nanomachines began the numbing process. The cyberpunk hopped on the balls of his feet in a boxing stance; grimacing as he prepared for his incoming opponent. Krausse approached and Ed jabbed out with his right arm. The crowbar elongating his reach as he aimed to stab his opponent in the chest with the small end of the weapon.

"Tch!"

Yusuke's advance was stopped by the stomp to his kneecap. That was a rough move on Kenji's behalf. That was clearly street tactics, moves that held no qualms about formal engagements. Just quick damage in the best ways possible. The kid didn't fall since the kick wasn't from the side, but damn, did it hurt like a bitch! Time to repay the favor.

"Anyone tell you you're---"

"Hgn!"

Kenji got his words cut off swiftly as Yusuke threw his own stomp forward using his right foot, only this was a push kick, and it was aimed at his gut area, aiming to soften it up a little more after hitting it with a good solid punch earlier in the fight. Good thing about aiming for the face: it dropped the guard below.

"Less talking, more fighting!"

If he even had the time to notice, he would see some blood on Yusuke's lip from that punch to the jaw. Looked like he was able to get a smack at his mouth, too.

6

To be quite honest, Edward wasn't very experienced with fighting guys this skillful with weapons. Be they only one specialization or many. Most of the cyberpunk's opponents were pretty straight-forward, metaphysically and not, with their fighting styles. It was surprising to see his opponent use his metallic staff to it's utmost potential. Not pleasant because the cyborg wasn't the sort to wank off to proper posture and martial arts skills. But it was refreshing, he guessed, although ultimately not as successful as Krausse would have surely liked.

The strike to his elbow was mostly successful, preventing a less than 2-inch puncture wound which Ed would have pulled had the attack been a success. Unnecessary damage was unnecessary. The crowbar subsequently fell out of his hands, but his arm (though really warm and numb now) was pretty much fine. After breaking said arm about a dozen times, the bone has grown back - slightly retarded after so many times - rather durable. Prognosis was simple. That arm was out of the fight for a moment or two.

Krausse came at Edward again, skillfully bringing the metallic rod down on the punk's toe. The attack came swiftly after attacking Ed's right arm, and so did the cyborg's left arm. Unfortunately for Krausse Kreuger. They'd trade shots. Krausse aimed for Ed's big toe, and Ed's left arm simply extended (powered by internal hydraulics) towards Krausse's nose/face.There wasn't any cocking of the shoulder; no rotation of the hips, only his prosthetic thrusting itself at the other cyborg's face. As if Edward's prosthetic limb needed all of that jazz to make his punches hurt. Untelegraphed and minus a whole lot of body weight behind the attack, the cyberpunk's punch still held the possibility of causing a hell of a lot of damage.

But the staff?

It struck Edward's prosthetic foot. A non-biological part of the punk's anatomy. A part he hadn't felt a single sensation from in over three years. The metal staff would likely ricochet as it struck at the metal underneath Ed's synth-skin and sneaker. This is the part where Krausse is supposed to feel extra crunchy.

The kid's hips twisted to the left as his right leg followed suit, pushing the snap kick off target enough to where it shot in front of his turning body and only pushed through the air, causing a ripple to ride along Yusuke's white tee. He stepped his right foot down, which dropped his leg within the space in between Kenji's footing, his thigh rubbing against the back of Kenji's, and nearly up against his left ass cheek. The fangirls back home were probably screaming their bras off at this subtle action. But he wasn't thinking about the morality of rubbing up against another man in the heat of battle, Yusuke's brown eyes shooting toward Kenji's face as his right arm swung down, snapping his hand closed around Kenji's left wrist, keeping to the left flank. After that, his left hand extended itself toward Kenji's collar bone, over his single-handed grapple. The grasp wasn't permanent. Merely a placeholder. Once his left arm crossed the distance, he let go, pulling his arm back.

He did not really care whether Kenji stopped his left arm or not. The plan was to merely get his hands busy. It was one of the old tricks of good ole kung fu, which showed that his training from his late teacher, Genkai, was beneficial. It complemented his street fighting style and gave him some technique, enough to survive in an encounter with someone as freestyle as Kenji. Yeah, Yusuke was reading the guy since the start of the fight, watching as he attacked. And from the few moves so far, Yusuke put him in the classification of the typical thug you fought on the streets who had the ability to shoot out fireworks. It was then, and only then, that Yusuke had the confidence to proceed with his offense.

"Hur!"

The next two actions came in a single flow of movement. His right hand that was pulled back balled into a fist, striking at Kenji's face from the side. The attack wasn't going to hit as powerful as he wanted it because something else was going on. The other move occurring was his right leg rising, kicking it forward at the back of Kenji's left leg that was laid in front of his right. It was a simple way of knocking Kenji's balance off, sending the fighter down into a kneel on one knee. The kid's movements were continuing even after this, but, as the rules of time goes, the river of seconds flows at the same rate for everyone. These string of movements weren't guaranteed, but let's find out.

7

Sometimes, Krausse gets caught in a situation where he completely and utterly loses the advantage and is forced to go on the defensive. When Ed's knee connected harshly with his face, Krausse was knocked backwards, albeit with a quick recovery from a backflip to give distance between himself and Edward. His nose had made that delicious crunch that made Krausse's blood get hot and adrenaline course through his veins, although the heated feeling he got was anger at his own stupidity for continually underestimating the cyborg's abilities; but to be fair to himself, it was rare that he fought an opponent such as Ed that had far more physical skill than magical and the intelligence to make good use of it.

Blood leaked down Krausse's face from his broken nose and he spat out a tooth, his eyes narrowed and focused in the look of a man who had caused countless deaths and was ready to cause one more. Ed had experienced fights with Krausse before; thus, he knew that as Krausse's adrenaline rose, it became harder and harder to differentiate a spar from a battle to the death. Now, this battle had reached that point where blood would coat the floor and the barbaric thews of the warriors within would try to best the other, even in severe injury or maybe even death would be the result. When Krausse's bloodlust rose and his eyes narrowed, victory must be achieved, even if he had to spear himself to get it.

"Come here quick so I can break you in two," Krausse called to Ed, the usual melody of his voice cut down to a succinct and menacing crow. The warrior spun his staff and assumed a defensive position with one leg slid back slightly and his staff held out in front of him at a diagonal angle with his hands spread apart a foot on the handle, allowing Krausse a wide range of maneuvers should Ed come at him.

Wind witch.

It was a common nickname for the blue-eyed woman who descended upon the fighting pitch from the sky.

Dressed modestly, in an outfit that resembled something between the robes of a priestess and the uniform of a military, Sheryl Wainwright landed on the ground like a a songbird.

Her attention wasn't even on Anya at first, instead, fixated on some reading in her hands.

A moment after she landed however, she snapped the book shut, and her eyes darted to look straight at the faerie girl.

"Well, well" she began in a melodious tone, pulling some wind-swept blonde hairs back from her eyes.

"It looks like I have a fire to put out!"

Tis was quite the well-deserved compliment.

From head to toe, Sheryl was ... quite the woman, visible even under the unflattering clothes she wore. But this wasn't the time, or the place to be discussing her athletic body and delicious curves.

"Bring it on, little girl!" was the only reply Anya would get before "Wind", as she was most commonly known as, stowed away her book, pointed an outstretched hand right at Anya, and then flicked it up, snapping her fingers.

Anybody who was aware of their surroundings would notice the winds changing around them. It was a feeling impossible to miss. Less quick-minded people would realize that this, particular gust of wind heralded a danger.

If Anya did not move, a small cyclone would erupt at her feet, with enough force to carry her up a yard into the air and then unceremoniously dump her on her ass.

Used: Wind Sprout

So she could fly without magic.

This changed things, Sheryl thought as she leapt away from the counter attack of flame. Not just any flame. Green flame.

Common sense would tell most people to dodge and escape from fire. Another dose of common sense would tell them to stay away from things that were that particular shade of green, unless they were eggs and ham.

In a test of her opponent's capabilities, Sheryl once again pointed toward Anya, tracking the faerie girl with her hand. The difference now was that her palm was face-up.

With a similar flick downwards, minus the flashy snap that accompanied the first cyclone summoning, Wind would create another cyclone to ground her opponent, at least for a moment, and help her gauge what kind of resistance the girl could put up against roughly gale force (50 mph) winds.

50 mph was pretty low on the scale that Wind could summon, but it was an excellent appetizer and if necessarily.

Used: Reverse Wind Sprout

**Norris found himself standing in the ring. It was unknown what the fuck kinda lol magic had put him there but he wasn't going to argue. Obligatory entrance post made, this author would kindly wait for his opponent so they could finish this BS.

Some people had work in the morning dammit.**

**Norris cracked his joints, limbering up for the oncoming battle. He would use no fancy fun tricks just his own power to end this fight. Not knowing what would come from this man, and and the same moment not really giving a fuck; Norris lowered his center of gravity shifting his form to face this opponent from the right side. Claws clenched and placed upwards about his torso at the ready, he waited for his opponent to stop hamming it up to the crowed before speaking.

"Some promise, lets see if you can back it up vampfag. Stop jerking it to the crowd, and lets get this shit over with."

He would wait on the vampire to make the first move, not wanting to expend enough effort into the fight to attack himself in the first place.**

Fast!

Powerful!

Also, relatively foolhardy in Wind's eyes, to be traveling that fast. It was hard to maneuver, and everything was just so telegraphed.

As the faerie girl closed, Wind took a twisting step forward, spinning in place, and jumped up. Using her prodigious control over the air-currents to subtly fine-tune her movements in the air, Wind kicked twice in a blur of blue, the first being a crescent kick with her right leg as she spun clockwise. The follow-up came immediately in the form of her left knee, straight up into the oncoming mass.

The plan was that the crescent kick would divert the spear while the knee would knock the faerie girl into the air. Of course, even the best laid plans could go awry in a fight.

In the time the Nothing had taken to cross the gap, the vampire had lowered his wing. When the bestial creature made its assault, the leech smiled. Lunging in, Norris would find the left dark wing flashing from the side of his vision into immediate view. The edge of the wing was aimed to smash into the Nothing's side, simultaneously cutting into him and sending him sprawling to the vampire's right, as the vampire torqued to the right in order to lend his left limb more pulling power.

Again, the 6ft length of the wind would enable the vampire to intercept the Nothing and send him out of the way well before a conventional attack or counter could be mounted. ( Since Norris' limbs would be too short to punch or kick the body of the vampire )

Well, KB had drawn his left wing across horizontally to smash its edge into the Nothing's side. Obviously he wasn't going to be flailing his arms around before Norris got into range, so attempting a feint would achieve nothing. It was only once Norris closed range that the counter was enacted.

That being said, at 7'6 it was safe to assume Norris' tail was... well, how long? Is it the entire length of his body or what? The options available effectively reduced this to one of two things.

Norris moved in, KB smashed him off to the side, throwing off the attempted tail sweep.

Norris hung back and waved his tail at KB, trying to get it to reach past 6ft of wing to slash at the vampire's feet. This second option wouldn't make very much sense either since the tail would have to come out from Norris' ass, arch around out front ( as lizard tails aren't designed to do ) then dip and reach the feet some... six feet away.

If Norris just planned on standing out of range and wagging his tail ineffectually, the vampire would just take a step back and drag his left wing back and downwards in a backslash, severing the annoying appendage in one decisive strike.

Pain shot up from her lower regions as Wind felt the sharp rod impale her. The cry that was to be ripped from her throat came up empty as she lacked the air necessary to do so in her anguish. However, as the pair of them hurtled toward the arena wall, the faerie would find that the Herald of Gaia had tricks of her own. Gritting her teeth and attempting to shut out the pains for a moment, Sheryl simply reached out with both hands and grabbed for fistfuls of golden hair or Anya's ears, whichever she could reach and hold onto first.

Wind attempted to summon a cyclone right around herself. While neither woman would be seriously harmed by the raging winds, being in the eye of the storm, Wind planned to put a little spin on their flight path, and she would pull hair and attempt to hurl Anya into the wall first.

After all, it was better to use a pillow, then be the pillow.

The pain in her leg intensified as Anya jerked on her weapon, but it was lucky for Wind that only half of repositioning them relied on her physical strength. The rest was outside influence, the result of Sheryl's wind manipulation starting to have an affect.

Either way, as the pair spiraled into the wall, this was going to hurt. Wind only hoped that it would hurt Anya more.

We'll just let the gratuitous image tell the story.

... its close enough, damnit.

When Sheryl came to a few seconds later, (she had blacked out from the initial impact), the first thing she did was cough from all of the dust in the air. The second was cry in pain as she attempted to move. She looked down at her legs to see the spear still stuck in her thigh. She felt like shit all over, but that was just the final straw.

A moment's hesitation took hold of her then. Should she pull it out, and risk further blood loss? or leave it in? Decisions, decisions. But first thing's first, she had to regain her mobility, at all costs.

Groaning, she pulled herself into an upright position, and put her hands together and began to pray quickly, putting all of her concentration into becoming one with the power she wielded.

"Mother Gaia,thoumessengerbeeschesyoutoaidherinhertimeof need,allowmecallupontheGreatWinds,Boreas,Eurus,Notus,andZephyrus,grantmethestrengthtocontinue,andnotfalterbeforemyenemiesherehumblyIaskofthee"

As she prayed, the air around her kicked into high gear, blowing away the dust. The wind became, in simple, short layman's words, an extension of her. Despite her relatively athletic build and ability, this, was all she was truly capable at.

And boy, was she capable. If Anya hadn't recovered and tried something before the end of her prayer, Sherl Wainwright's eyes would flash open, twin blazing azure orbs as she tapped into the power that made her Kazeko, of the Skies of Change.

Used: Aura of the Sky-Child: Passive

-Whumwhumwhumwhumwhum

A big sword. Spinning. Fast.

Right at the dual swordsman's torso. Horizontally.

Where did it come from? Who knows. But it seemed to have originated in the same general area as a moderate looking individual in a blue Venom Signet's uniform.

But there was just no WAY he could have been the one who launched it. He was two shades away from being a complete pale wimp.

Though his eyes did look a bit too bored to have just had a massive damn sword thrown past him.

Lesson learned: walls are hard.

Anya didn't really have a whole lot of options here, and so she crashed shoulderlong into the wall. Since the spear was leading, the initial impact forced her to let go or risk breaking bones - not that she'd have the time to think about this sorta shit, she was too busy trying to not impact her head directly into the wall. She had mostly succeeded, but any observers would notice that her right arm looked wickedly bruised, with green, blue, and black spreading across her arm. Not to mention the whole, bouncing off the wall thing, which all in all left her feeling like she'd been pounded like a motherfucking peppercorn, and not in a hurry to spend the dregs of her power on continuing an attack.

Without bothering to take the time to check in on her opponent, Anya would stagger away, backpedaling as fast as she could while gasping for air up until she tripped over the hem of her robes and fell straight on her butt. Pulling herself up to a sitting position, Anya stared in Sheryl's general direction and watched her get up and charge up. There really wasn't a whole lot she could do at the moment, so with a groan, she pulled herself to her feet and glared in the woman's general direction, eyes smoldering as the bow tying her robe back started growing again. Just a bit longer. Then I'll attack her ass again, and I'm not stopping until I get my taste of her.

Anya gestured at the weapon lodged in the woman's leg, raising one golden eyebrow, eyes sparkling with glee. And, for the record, she would be paying attention while making her little speech.

"You were saying? Because I can smell that blood flowing, I don't see you moving, and oh yeah..."

She raised her right arm. Well, actually, she struggled to lift it and managed to get it about a third of the way up, trembling and jerking along the way, before extending her wrist and raising her middle finger at her mere mortal opponent.

"Let's make a deal. I cauterize that wound, you give me my weapon back, and we get back to it after getting our bearings. Because you will lose if you continue like this, and I want a challenge, not fast food."

She could feel her breath coming back and her soul's flame rising again. There was magic in the air, and she didn't like knowing she'd have to burn it all out with her power.

**TIME PARADOX

• Arena 36 -**

..... Today seems to be like any other day for the swordsman; Boring as hell. Having fought and lost in the first round, he was still feeling the blow from seeing the result, having expected that he would have at least made a good impression to the judges and the spectators. Unfortunately, it seems that the impression he gave just wasn't good enough. Whether it's from personal bias or some blatant reason.. The swordsman right now could care less. He had came here earlier some time ago to vent out some disgruntled steam to some potential foes, but that fight only reminded him of the fact that he's not advancing anymore in this tournament.

In layman's term, he lost. And that feeling of defeat never sat well with the swordsman. Today though, he's a bit more quiet than usual, having calmed down a bit after venting some steam. Wearing the same longcoat, shirt and pants that he wore to the first round fight, the swordsman had his hood pulled back to reveal that bloody red hair of his; his irises matching the intensity of that color. Bulges underneath his sleeves hinted of some potential armored bracers, and the stiff motion near the torso areas of the longcoat and its back hinted the same thing woven inside the fabric. And as for this upcoming fight, he didn't bring the Halberd into the arena today, leaving it at the sidelines as he wanted to...well, go back to the basics on his swordplay.

So, while standing in the middle of the arena, his dual-wielding katanas would be already unsheathed, held in both hands lazily while he stared off into space. Breathing in a slow, steady pace, there wouldn't be much spectators or crowds coming in at this time - the second round of the GTB tournament already in effect...

Leaving the swordsman himself to stand there alone idly, in a place empty of action.

Well that's how it would all start, now wouldn't it?

First, it was, "hey, scout's honor, I'd fix that, and we'd continue fighting". Next it was, "I surrender, suckers!"

Fortunately for Wind, she was genre savvy. Or perhaps, too genre savvy for her own good. Glass half full, half empty.

"No", she replied stubbornly, closing her eyes. When she reopened them a minute later, they glowed a brillant sky-blue, just like they had been when she was unlocking her powers.

"I don't need to move to kick your ass" she proclaimed, raising her hands up above her. A pleasant breeze would be felt around the entire arena, as Sheryl Wainwright tapped into the depths of her power. Wind reached down and wiped some of the blood off the inside of her thigh onto a hand in preparation for one of her more unique air-based attacks.

Her latest statement so far though? Anya should take note of it. It was very true.

-Arena 36-

Humming was heard from the entrance of the arena, slowly growing louder as the source, a young girl, strode lightly into the room and across the floor. Her steps were light, graceful, and flowing, her lithe figure looking as though she were not just walking, but dancing to some unheard music. Perhaps that was why she was humming.

Her long hair was so blonde it was almost white, and was done up in two side ponytails, tied with pale blue ribbons, what one would call ice blue. Her dress was the same color, a long, light outfit that stopped around her ankles. It didn't seem to impede her movement though, her long strides going unhindered. The girl's very short sleeves showed her arms, skin as pale as her hair.

Somewhat detracting from the general etherealness of the teen were the two sticks protruding from either side of her waist. What the sticks were attached to, if anything, were hidden by pink leather pouches.

She seemed lost in her own little world as she drew closer to Snow, but she finally stopped about 10 feet away, deep blue eyes blinking and staring at Snow as though he had appeared out of nowhere, the humming drifting off into silence. Her confused look suddenly shifted to a happy, dazzling, grin, and she waved enthusiastically. "Hi there! Are you here to fight too?" Even though she appeared to be in her late teens, the girl's mannerisms were much more reminiscent of a young child or preteen. **"My name's Jeyme*, what's yours?"**

((*Pronounced like "Game" but with a "J" ))

- Arena 36 -

His ears picked up a faint tune from one of the arena entrances. Turning his body to face the tune, the swordsman spotted what seems to be a young girl approaching him, her dress--wait. Dress?

He blinked in surprise. Is this girl a spectator that wandered into this place accidentally? The swordsman stood there with a puzzled look on his face. Mouth parting open to speak, he paused briefly when he saw two rod-like objects protruding from either side of her waist. Wondering what was inside, he was about to ask if the girl was lost when she, instead, revealed otherwise.

"...Uh.."

Somewhere in the dark part of the swordsman's mind, he swore he heard a bit of Southern Belle accent. With her carefree attitude and how her manner seems...childish, the swordsman shrugged that thought away, remembering that he was in a tournament full of people of different race, gender, abilities and appearances.

Which only meant one thing. This girl is a trap.

"Yeah. I'm here for a fight." The swordsman replied, responding to her enthusiam with a soft smile. "A pleasure to meet you, Jeyme--you can call me Snow. I'm assuming you're interested in a fight?"

- Arena 7 -

In a short while, a small orb materialized close to the swordsman's presence, revolving around him in a lazy fashion. Highly condensed water, superpacked into the size no larger than a baseball, the orb would be a front that allowed the swordsman to bolster his meta-abilities, allowing him to achieve higher levels of effects depending on the amount he has available currently. Obviously, the more orbs he has the more option he has for use... But against an unknown fighter, an orb ready for use is always better than none at all. And as for the current situation--

"...!"

The foe moved his left hand! Assuming that it was a trigger for some potential attack, the swordsman immediately responded to the opponent's motion, his slow pace suddenly speeding up drastically to confront against a potential strike. Shuffling both his feet against the ground, the swordsman kept his stance intact as he closed the distance between the two rather quickly, bending both his arms somewhat for a readied retaliation. In one flick of his left arm outwards --

-- the swordsman lashed out in a small swing with his left blade first, using the length of his blade to have the tip slash towards the foe's right thigh. The right blade would be held back from the bent arm, its tip angled to point a few inches above the foe's head.

What this may bring, the swordsman wouldn't know. But if he did give a damn right now, he'll worry about the consequences later when the foe responds to his first strike.

Orb - 1

Arena 7

There was just enough time for Athous to finish the turning his page. Well, one page was more than enough for now. The swordsman had made the first move much to the dismay of Athous, however it was for a reason outside of the most obvious one of an attacking foe. It meant he wouldn't be able to turn to the next page when he was done! That would not do at all. Even with his eyes down upon the pages of his book, every move Snow made was as plain as day. Athous was a special person and had an extraordinary field of vision that exceeded human view and even with his eyes down turned his peripheral vision was great enough to see several feet in all directions except behind him. At least without turning his head.

The slash succeeded in striking his right thigh but it would be met with resistance. The black mass that had been meant to be hidden just a bit longer beneath his clothing sprang to life and revealed itself to be a long thin chain that coiled around his leg like a snake. As the blade tore through his clothing and caught into one of the small links of the chain it lashed forward from beneath his clothing. Its goal was to quickly wrap around the blade of Snow's. Simultaneously the chain began to expand as if released from a compressed form. Snow had walked right into a trap.

-Arena 36-

Jeyme flashed her dazzling smile again. At least this one had some sophistication about him. He wasn't rude and crude like some of the meanies she usually found. Maybe they could be friends! She wanted to clap at that, but her hands were occupied. Plus, he was pointing those swords at her.

"Dance we shall."

Seeing as neither one had moved since she'd come to a stop, they were still roughly ten feet apart. A little close, for her liking, especially since he could reach her with those pointy swords if he was quick enough. That wouldn't be likely though. Her hand flicked, pointing the wooden stick towards him, and like a little puppy, the ribbon followed the direction, spinning out from it's spiral to dance around his right arm. It didn't aim to wrap around his arm, or to grab or pull anything, no. The instant it neared his arm, she snapped her wrist back, causing the pink silk to start to return to her. This also caused the end of it to extend before it snapped back, twisting in just such a way that the side sliced against the clothing on his arm.

Yes, sliced. For, if he wasn't quick enough, the glittering and flashing's purpose would be revealed. As the ribbon crossed Snow's arm, a slice would appear in the fabric, a short, quick cut that was mainly just testing his defenses. It wouldn't do to try to really hit him in spots that wouldn't be able to be cut, after all.

The whole "attack" was very quick, the motions similar to someone using a whip. The weapons were alike, after all, although hers was much lighter and maneuverable.

In those couple seconds, her other hand was doing something as well. Her thumb had pressed against the crook of her pointer finger, much as if she were holding something between them. If he hadn't been occupied with the darting ribbon, he might have been able to notice that those fingers seemed to be...wet? Something on them glistened in the artificial light, and it seemed to be dripping. No, not dripping, but dropping. The line was thin, maybe a centimeter wide, and extending somewhat fast, reaching the ground and coiling. Not that she knew about him, but Snow, being the master water user he was, would likely easily identify the glistening line as water, nothing more, nothing less. Although the fact that it was holding it's shape like that was unnatural.

Arena 7

Shear luck had given the swordsman a second chance but how long would the luck hold? Even as the chain missed its mark Athous didn't seem to flinch at all. He was enjoying his book. As the strike came in to his left shoulder his left arm would quickly raise in response. Forearm connected with blade where the sound of metal striking metal would ring in both of their ears. For a second time chains came to life from beneath the clothing of Athous aiming to lash grip the blade that had struck against his arm. Unlike last time, Snow wouldn't have the chance to quickly pull away like the last time. Simultaneously, the chain that had aimed to attach itself to Snows left blade did not halt its extension but merely found a new target.

The body of his opponent.

Quickly it flew though the air like a snake slithering under the cover of lush grass and it would attempt to wrap around the waist of Snow. If it were to secure itself without problems Snow would find himself in a mass of trouble. How would he fair?

-Arena 36-

"Oh?" Jeyme's confused voice drifted through the air as a burst of water shot towards her ribbon, then froze, seemingly of its own accord. She seemed to focus more on the ribbon than on his quick movements forward, but even as she stared at the weapon, her right hand flicked, the ever growing whip of water lashing out much like her ribbon had. This time, she aimed to catch one of his blades in the attack, the water looping around his right sword, the one aiming at her. The instant it touched the weapon, the tip of her water would freeze, tying itself to the metal, and she'd take a couple quick steps back, jerking her whip along with her, hoping to disarm him. If he didn't let go, her water would only stretch, causing no strain on her arm.

Her left hand, meanwhile, had been pulling the same trick as her right, just much more subtly through the ribbon. As her water line finally reached the tip, she fused it to the ice that held it down, and with a snap of her wrist, the ice would shatter, freeing the ribbon with apparently no damage to it. The pink silk would return to its casual spiraling at her left. "It seems, Monsieur Snow, that we are kindred spirits! Water and ice, indeed!" She finally focused on his face again, and her pale skin, quick movements, and water whip would most certainly mark her as anything but a normal human.

Whether her disarming move was successful or not, Jeyme would continue moving backwards, her skipping steps looking somewhat odd. Almost as if they were "literally" skipping, the eye not fully able to follow the entire movement. The same with her wrists, whenever she flicked her weapons, it was as if they jumped, rather than moved fluidly, although all her movements held a natural grace.

[water whip: active: left hand: 20ft (through ribbon) right hand: 15 ft ]

Arena 7

Athous didn't like it. There was very few things in the world that he was against. He didnt like the idea of attacking women although his line of work called for such demeaning chores at times. He didnt like foul smells, proper hygiene was always a must. But, on the top of his small list, was the pure hatred for anyone who would attempt to damage a book. Even worse it was his book. Without a second thought the book slammed itself shut as, for the first time, a look of panic overtook the face of the purple haired warrior. His right leg quickly shifted back as he rotated his body, removing his reading arm out of line of fire by placing it to acting rear of his positioning. His left arm moved in motion with his body raising to provide cover to his face in the form of an L-guard.

Explosion-

The water exploded with force enough to cause him to slide back a foot, drenching his upper torso with water. His quick thinking was able to protect his face and much of his hair from being wet. Lucky for him too. Instantly the water froze, not really shocking Athous for the most part. It proved more aggravating to him than anything else. The swordsman had made a grave mistake despite his well placed choice in counter measures. He didnt move first. Snow had targeted his upper body with the water and ice strike and because Athous had used the left side of his body to counter some of the chain that had held Snows blade was covered in ice. He would have been smart to target the chain that was attempting to wrap around his waist that protruded from the lower half of his body for it was by no means inhibited by the blast. It even helped that the chain was already in motion from when it tried to catch hold of Snows left blade. Snow retreat would be halted and it was time for an offensive strike.

Rather than find himself retreating, Snow would find himself quickly pulled in a less desired direction. The ice that had covered Athous upper body shattered as chains erupted from his garments, twelve in all, towards the incoming body of Snow. Athous was going to put Snow in a world of hurt for attempting to ruin his book.

The man swaggered onto the arena, lanky body swaying heavily with each step, and tilted his head to the right giving the practitioner a blank smile. He struggled against his straight jacket, the blades on the ends of the straps jingling like bells as his greaves clanked lightly as he advanced. Breathing in deeply Yuuhi Amamiya let his gaze scan across the room before settling again on the woman across from him.

True, he wasn't quite "all there" as many would put it and he made no effort to hide it. His long brown hair was horribly unkempt and the deep bags under his eyes plainly showed his lack of sleep. The power, no matter how meager, had caused his mind to snap and he loved every second of it.

He smiled at her yet again, this time a hint of malice behind the smile and whispered. "Yes I am" Even though he apparently had no weapons to fight with.

- Arena 36 -

Jeyme's abilities caught the swordsman off guard. He never met anyone in his travels who used the abilities of water and ice before, and the fact that he never encountered such a dilemma in combat made him pause in thought--confused at an outburst of ice that tied itself around his right blade. It was only when he felt the jerk on his weapon that he regained his composure, firing off a small burst of energy into his blade that rushed up towards the frozen ice attached to it. Since both he and Jeyme used the same element, the swordsman pumped his energy into the ice - using the direct contact he has currently to override and take over that section.

With a twist of his blade then, the ice would snap off of Jeyme's water whip, the swordsman severing the connection between the two, and freeing his blade in the process. A burst of laughter would come out from his lips, finding this dilemma quite exhilerating to tackle. What joy to discover someone like her in all of Gaia! All these years of fighting against those that wielded fire, those that wielded earth, lightning, and all the other elements save for water and ice... he couldn't help but find a deep kinship towards this girl in front of him, as if he just found out he has a long lost sister after all these years.

"Haha~!"

The swordsman continued pushing forward with his shuffled steps, occasionally moving a bit more to the left and then to the right to keep up the pressure against her. Using the toes for quick shifts in direction, his tactic was simple; force her back against the wall of the arena, and then coerce her into a corner of the arena so he can take out her ability to move around. After seeing the girl use her ability to break the dead weight on the edge of her ribbon, being a proficient water user himself, the swordsman could guess how she's planning to fight by putting himself in her point of view. From that shift in perspective, the swordsman knew what he'll have to do first...which is to reduce her mobility so he can corner her. Yep. That'll be his first objective right now.

"Show me what you got!" The swordsman exclaimed, unable to hide the enjoyment in his voice, a second orb materializing around him, revolving around in the same lazy manner as the first orb.

Orb - 2

Anya didn't know it, but Sheryl's blood on her lower regions, and the blood on her her hands, in conjunction with her heightened form allowed her access to one of her deadliest air-related abilities.

Seeing Anya raise her arms up, Wind shouted, "Air Vampire!" and rose her crimson-stained hand in response, toward Anya, and clenched her fist.

The faerie girl would feel a brief moment of weariness take hold of her. The feeling of exhaustion would grow almost exponentially over the next few seconds as Wind began to sap the breathe and energy out of the girl, only to be abruptly cut off by the sudden interference of her mana-eating flames.

Curses.

Not that she could use the energy she sapped anyway, but Air Vampire was a a powerful spell for weakening her opponents at range.

At first, the green flames confused Wind. She felt her control over the air slipping from her, and one "marble" ignited on her uniform, sending her into a brief panic as she ceased attempting to control the air and just focused on getting the burning garment off her before it scorched away her modesty.

Thankfully, this also had the unknown (to Wind anyway) side-effect of mostly cutting the flow of her mana in the air, reducing the strength of the flames around her. Unable to put out the flames on her uniform, Wind resorted to just tearing it off and standing there facing Anya, clad in nothing but her underwear, a feast for the eyes of men in the crowd. Sheryl wore a matching black and purple set of bra, panties, garters, and stockings underneath her uniform, the Herald of Gaia was naughty underneath.

And judging from the expression on her face, also very pissed off.

Air Vampire? What the shi-

Unbeknownst to Anya, and not actually mentioned in any previous posts due to both narrators not bothering to mention the obvious detail, a side effect of spearing someone in the leg and then tackling them was that they were going to get that person's blood all over their clothes. And, given the nature between blood and magic...

Anya felt the wind sucking itself back out of her lungs. For a second or two, her only thought was I can feel my epiglottis flapping, but it quickly occurred to her that unlike her father, she did need to breathe to survive, and while she did have a good lung capacity, when it was being sucked out when you had just barely recovered from being winded...

GASP GASP GASP

Oh that's nice...

Air was nice. She could practically hear her blood cells thanking her, but right now, she had other things to do. Blinking a few times as she continued to suck in air noisily and raspily, the fey looked at her right arm and saw the bruise, head shaking a bit. Hurts more when you look at it. Out of sight, out of mind.

Pain was a gift. Gifts were to be shared.

The crimson tone in her eyes began to glow more brightly, and the edges of an "aura" of the same color began to form around her - it would not take super sight to feel the evil radiating from her, simply intuition or animal instinct.

[Agony Curse - 1/2]

- Arena 7 -

Generally, fighting against someone so well-armored like the opponent requires a certain edge in skill. Most particularly is the ability to find an opening within the armor and attack the weak points when available. Although fighting against an opponent whose armor moves under the foe's will is much more challenging than normal armor... Well, the swordsman will see how he can tackle the issue differently.

In a skidding halt, the swordsman's body got caught by the chains lurking under his view. Having focused his attention on finding out what abilities the foe has by sending a fist full of ice at him, the swordsman now found himself being dragged towards the chains that then bursted out of the foe's body. However - would that also mean that the foe's central area is devoid of armor? If the foe uses the chains as a means to both block and attack... Then this will be the only opening he'll get to deal damage to the opponent.

In a quick release, the second orb the swordsman charged shot outwards, following the chain like a navigational guideline as it careened directly towards the foe's body, aiming to impact the area with a dull thud. When it hits however, the orb would stretch and bore through the clothing/armor, seeping past potential openings before detonating outwards into multiple shards of ice a split second later; Delivering a burst of sharp shards that would stab directly into the foe's body. If it goes as planned, it'll definitely wound the foe in more ways than one. After all, removing sharp objects inside an armor is much more difficult than removing it from the outside. Not to mention the foe wearing the armor - which prolongs the pain and injury, depending on how exactly the foe's armor works. This also brings up a good question; If the chains were attached to the armor, would their mobility be affected by the ice inside the armor?

Nonetheless, not all things go as planned, and the swordsman doesn't plan on riding his entire plan on that one attack alone. As he has more pressing matters to concern, with him and those very painful looking chains coming at him.. The swordsman would quickly shift his profile to have most of his left side face the opponent in the meantime. Bringing the left blade to bear, he would also curl up his arm to protect the left portion of his chest, while the tip of the weapon would be pointed directly at the opponent's chest as he struggled backwards against the pull.

It wasn't something he'll get out of without a scratch, but with a narrowed profile presented against the chains - at least the swordsman can minimize the amount of damage he'll get, to some extent. The only question then, is how much damage he'll be able to do to the opponent's body...

Orb - 0

Arena 7

'Clear blue skies gave way for thunderous clouds in times of need for the people of this grievous planet yet they cannot see that it is their own power that causes its tears.' Athous had continued his reading, not in arrogant proclamation of his own abilities to be superior, but merely because he couldn't stop reading. It saved the both of them from some very nasty consequences. Even with his well adapted eyes, his positioning made it rather difficult to pick up the movement of the second orb. He merely felt it as it as ran along the lengths of his chains towards his body. A brilliant move played out by the swordsman that would reap some benefit but not as much as the swordsman would have probbaly liked.

The orb connected with his outer layer of clothing boring through it like a hot knife seared through butter. Inside it met a weaker armor of chains since the masses had been sent out for attack. However, the armor was not foolishly weak. The chains closer to his body were tiny and in its masses, interwoven together to prevent piercing attacks that potentially made its way past his offense. Unlike chainmail these chains were not opened in certain areas, rather fused together like metal clothing that with the flexibility of such and could easily move to his will. The orb would make it through the first layer and somewhat through the second before it would come to a halt.

Explosion-

The orb detonated within the third layer of this three layered armor, sending shards of ice not only inside of his armor but outwards and into some of the chains, knocking five of the twelve off course. That was not the main problem however. The inner woven chain clothing was indeed the strongest layer however, the concussive force from the attack was enough to cause a decent amount of pain and bruising even though he had made his armor "flex" to try and repel some of the force of the blast while guarding against the expanding ice. If his armor wasnt there he would have been in a world of hurt. The force of the blast at his side once again pushed him back along the ground a few feet (tugging Snow along with him), his right leg struggling for balance but still not faltering enough for him to fall.

Dropping his left arm from its guard at his face, his eyes if but for a brief moment, looked towards his opponent. No pain was upon his face nor given expression but it was easy to see through his eyes that he was not pleased. His own attack continued as thick chains that seemed to want to ram into Snows body altered their course. It was a feint yet again and the seven chains that had not been knocked off course would wrap around the unsuspecting Snow who had guarded himself for a strike rather than prepare himself to guard against being further pinned by chains. It was a simple task now to pin his opponents arms upper body with chains and with this done Snow would find that he was in a bad situation. Once tangled by his mass of chains Snow would be no longer pulled, rather he would be forced to stop all movement as the chains lifted him up rather violently in the air and slam him down, blade first at an angle, into the ground. Athous was hoping to destroy the swordsman's blade while causing a bit of trauma to his body. How would the swordsman respond?

The left side of his clothing was completely dismantled, easily falling after the blast to reveal and entire left side covered from arm to torso with chains. It would be easy to assume that Athous was covered in such material. The blade at his waist also became apparent, leaving any surprise in sword handling to be null and void. The ice had already began to visibly melt as if heated by some indirect source but that was to be explained at a later time.

- Arena 7 -

The swordsman had placed his bet on delivering a critical blow to the opponent, expecting that there would be hardly any armor worn inside when the chains attacked. But what the hell is with the opponent's ridiculous defense? Expanding ice within the object can mimick the effect of an armor dent, wounding the foe consistently until they try to remove the gear. Yet, seeing no visible cues that gave any hint on how much damage it caused -with the foe showing no signs of pain or revealing any form of expression that the swordsman could guess, the swordsman would have to assume that the foe is completely layered in some form of near-impenetrable gear or such.

Add that with those flexible, semi-sentient chains of his, and the problem is clear; this is definitely one of the worst match-ups the swordsman is paired up against. His style specializes in fast, flexible attacks, which can be effective against those who wore conventional armor. But brutes and heavily armored people just have too much overwhelming strength compared to the swordsman, who relied more on his speed and reflexes to slip past attacks whenever possible.

What can he do..?

The swordsman continued to struggle against the chains, finding himself being dragged towards the foe when the detonation occured. Not knowing the composition nor how strong the chains can be wielded by the opponent, the swordsman anchored his weight onto both his foot, halting his tracks immediately as ice froze around his boots, allowing him to root himself onto the ground effectively until he disables the effect, causing the chains to tug and pull at a near-immovable object this time. Immediately reaching down with his right hand, the swordsman pulled three glass vials out from his belt, each containing some sort of fluid as the chains quickly came and wrapped around his upper body, constricting him in the process.

"Urgh!"

He knew doesn't have much time left. Feeling a forceful tug towards the sky, the swordsman's rooted stance refused to buckle under the tugging from the chains. Chains that were in contact with the swordsman quickly showed signs of frost -- a testament to the swordsman utilizing his ability while he charged up the required energy he needed to counteract the opponent's chains. If the chains are made of steel or some conventional metal, hopefully...

The foe would find that the chains close to the swordsman are starting to respond more sluggishly as he continued to struggle out of the grip, an orb materializing near his presence, floating idly around him.

Orb - 1

- Arena 7 -

Damn...chains! He continued to struggle, testing the limits on the chains' constriction around his body. With the swordsman supercharging his conjuration ability, the swordsman can feel his strength slowly being sapped into the orb he conjured, weariness and fatigue starting to build up on his body and mind. Breathing a bit heavier, his upper arm would start to droop down from the weight while the orb glowed bright with a blue-ish hue, growing larger in the process. It isn't normal for the swordsman to focus a large portion of his strength into one single orb but...

Against a heavily armored opponent, drastic measures have to be taken to break past the defense. In an environment that lacked the necessary materials to help alleviate the burden on his conjuration, the swordsman would be betting the chance of escape on this one single countermeasure--with the aid of the vials held in his hand.

As the opponent shifted in gesture, the swordsman quickly acted on tearing apart the foe's abnormally warm chains. In a firm clench, the enlarged orb that was now roughly the size of a basketball would ram into the hand holding the vials, gobbling the vials into its center. Spinning rapidly in a clockwise rotation, the orb would then shoot straight down the clustered chains, especially the one wrapped around the swordsman's waist before the vials inside broke and shattered --

-- the orb compressing itself into a size no larger than a pebble for just a few seconds.

In a quick display of pure raw pressure alone, three sharp needle-like extensions would extend out of the highly-unstable orb, spinning around with the rotation as it sliced into the chains like a water cutter - a side effect of the orb trying to vent out the pressure to stabilize itself. If the chains were conventional materials that is similar to the composition of steel or weaker, then the opponent would see all the clustered chains in front of the swordsman being quickly sliced into many small pieces while the orb careened towards the foe in a hissing noise, then disippating into the air harmlessly halfway down the distance after reaching equilibrium to the environment. The burst of energy that would travel down the length of the chains to attack the swordsman would be severed, blasting into empty space if the swordsman is successful in this act. Chains would then fall off of the weary swordsman in clumps and heaps, being severed from the foe's contact, if the chains depend on the opponent's direct touch for manipulation...

The ice rooting the swordsman to the ground would crunch into easily brittle pieces, allowing the swordsman to then make his retreat backwards while he catched his breath, feeling tired from overcharging the orb beyond its density. But using the vials that gave an additional boost of pure water to destabilize the interior pressure of the orb when it compressed in size, the swordsman was able to overload the orb and use its instability as a means to cut past the chains quickly.

However. Should the chains prove to be made of some unknown element that is abnormally stronger than conventional armor, well...fuck.

Orb - 0

Sheryl shrieked.

It was one unending banshee's death scream as she was subjected to the most amount of pain she had ever felt in her life. Every cut she had just opened up on herself throbbed horrifically in her mind, and fired signals along the synapses of her being, leading to a literal overload of her ability to feel.

She slumped down, unable to raise her arms to command her winds anymore. A single blue eye fixated Anya with a steady stare from between the blood soaked strands of her golden hair.

Wind was totally exhausted. The fey girl's magics were diverse and powerful, and she made the mistake of having her mobility taken away too early.

Conversely, the faerie shouldn't make the mistake of thinking Wind was beaten. Ironically, it was near defeat that Wind was the most powerful with her powers, conducting the air through her hands was a matter of convenience, not necessity, and with all of her life blood around her and in the air as a mist, she would unleash her most powerful spell with nearly no physical cue from her part, other then a sudden surge of magic from her being.

"Crushing Crimson Sky"

The sky over the arena would turn an ominous red, and that was the only other hint Anya would get before Wind dropped the sky on her.

Literally.

Sheryl turned a small section of the atmosphere into her own personal hammer, crushing Anya like a bug with a truly prodigal display of air power. Gale force winds would simultaneously pin, shred, and crush the faerie girl into a pulp.

Arena 29 (if it's free, of course)

Sensual deadliness given a new body. The metal of her split faceplate was still wet and warm, fresh from the Forge Bellies' lipped bowels. The pallid flesh behind the mask was similarly new, plucked only hours before from a Meat Mother's gaping maw. She felt alive for the first time and the sensation was electric, it made her chirrup and arch her slender spine backward, kicking out her left leg to step forward with a small, seductive bounce and drag her scything fingers through the red sand. Looking down without eyes, her face opened up along the slit in the metal to let loose an appreciative hiss.

She looked lethal, her slender, armored, almost breast-less frame perched on long legs ending in paired spikes that, at first glance, looked like nothing more than high heels. She had long arms, longer than what looked normal for a human being, but her inhumanity was obvious and the three-foot-long blades that made each of her 'hands' started just high of her knee. She had to keep her fingers flexed to keep the metal out of the sand.

She was literally fashioned to kill and look good doing it. Though, she noted with an irritated, internal squeak, she was forbidden from ever landing a finishing blow. Reaching up between her molded iron breasts, she ran a fingertip over the spot where the cog-wheeled controller lay within her.

arrow Arena 29

Normally she would not have waited for introductions, and for a fraction of a second it appeared as though she was about to obey her instincts and attack upon immediately sensing something to kill. But the iron teeth in her chest stopped her. With mounting annoyance it clicked and made her bow low after he spoke, her arms spreading out at her sides, one pair of spikes fronting the other in an exaggerated curtsying motion. Her blades folded in flush against her fore arms, a measured sign of deference. Dipping her head involuntarily, she hissed her agitation though the soft sound came out so timed to be mistaken for acknowledgment of his greetings. And then she was free and the meat stretched across her metal was hers again. Instinct took over at that moment and it told her to do what she was made to - to kill. Contrary to moments before she was utterly free, then, whatever arbitrary conditions put upon her suddenly vanishing. It was as if the leaden, unwelcome weight in her body wasn't there anymore.

Snapping her head back, her face again split, skull cleaving neatly in two to reveal a maw lined with vibrating, serrated teeth. Two red-black tongues lashed out from the black center and from their pointed tips the flicker of rapidly retracting and extending needles could just be made out. Shutting her mouth, she vaulted forward with an alluring grace wed with nightmarish speed. It was as if the tens of yards between the opponents was little more than a quick jog from one end of a sitting room to the other, her long, powerful legs positively devouring the distance in seconds. With her arms still outstretched, she flicked the blades folded against her arms, the edges flashing in the overhead light, wrists twisting forward. Hunched as she was it was like she was making a hugging tackle, until, at the last possible moment she stopped in front of the shimmering ball of air wrapping around his fingers to swing her arms in, the right going low, the left going high. Blades poised to turn him into a headless torso cut off at the knees.

arrow Arena 29

Too late the fireball was loosed and she would have to react. No time to hiss or screech, small sparks jumped from the swivel joints in her wrist, forcing the blades to turn downward. The momentum of that metal and a sudden slackness in her knees made he go down. Her arms going limp, elbows raising small puffs of dislodged sand as they landed. It was like watching a marionette suddenly cut loose, but it was a deceptive impression to think she wasn't in control.

The dark red muscles exposed along her lower back rippled with intelligently designed strength as she ducked beneath the balled-up immolation and began to whip forward again. Digging her claws into the sand, elbows twisting up to level with his shoulders. Her skull once more split along the vertical groove cut into her otherwise black face of iron. The teeth were visible again and she was dangerously close, tongues extended, needles dripping with some foul venom. Such a display held nothing more than the promise of painful death to whatever it was lunging at - which so happened to be his hips in about a third of a second.

arrow Arena 29

She was a thing of art, as the godling has surmised. An object as beautiful as she was functional. Etched into the otherwise ugly iron plates protecting some more essential areas was a series of swirling, delicate scenes of some fevered wilderness. Birds with skeletal breasts swooping down upon deer chained to the ground. Stylized depictions of those same birds tangled in thorny vines. Snakes falling from the sky. Animals in their teeming, twisted variety fleeing whorls of flame. And finally trees naked but for the vaguely human shapes impaled upon their branches.

The lunge turned into a vault so fast that maybe it was what she had planned from the beginning of the attempt. Pushing forward and then off from her arms, the sand seeming to explode out from behind her as he pushed off with those long legs as well. Like him, she wasn't where she was supposed to be.

Screeching high and quick as she flew forward, her head dipped down, shoulders hunching so that she landed on her neck. The impact of all that energy hitting the sand threw up another plume and if she were a lesser creature she might have suddenly gone limp again, her neck very much broken. But she wasn't a lesser creature, she wasn't some sorry example of haphazard evolution scraping by on chance. The rest of her body curled up, arms and legs shooting out at her sides to let her roll over before swinging the left leg forward and out, spinning about on her lower back to face him. Her lower limbs tucking beneath her, ass thrust out, she tilted her head ever so slightly to the left. She purred out to him, skidding a few more inches closer to the now nearby wall, shoulders dipping down slowly on splayed arms. If she had bigger breasts they would be on display. She wiggled her tush when she stopped, tongues licking up and down at the edges of her iron lips, ready to spring at the first sign of movement on his part.

Was she playing with him?

arrow Arena 29

Suddenly her chin split open, and the sides of his shoe scuffed across the tips of her teeth. Too late did she close down, sparing him but she was distracted. The feint had worked, to some degree, but it was a dangerous gambit could so easily be kept from paying off. Which it turned out not to do.

So close, too close. She launched herself up and forward, following his raised leg. She didn't have time to open her mouth again, tackling the back of his calf just below the knee, bowling him over by catching his leg on her left shoulder, the vertical slit that was her face beyond the blank, black iron faceplate staring at things most intimate. Again she swung her arms inward, blades once more flashing and in mid-air, she was about to skewer him through both sides of his ribs.

arrow Arena 29

Around her neat puncture wound a strange, white, oozing mold seemed to start growing, consuming both her meat and her metal in the process, though thankfully it did not spread... And she did not bleed.

What seemed like one blade was actually three, as said, on each of her hands, and arching her punctured back she screamed as she convulsed. Pushing back against his shouldered leg, folding it against his own chest, threatening to dislocate it as she kicked off against the sand and squirmed. Raking the lethal sextet down the length of his body, tilting them back to scramble the void within his torso even as she split him down from breast to hips, her arms smoking with the cosmic alchemy playing havoc. She shivered in indignant fury she was physically unable to put to words. Feeling the blade scratch at the back of her molded breast plating, she could also feel the hated controller device disrupted as well, the teeth of the cogs trembling as they struggled with the blade wedged between them. Though that was hardly consolation for this new and decidedly hated sensation of pain introduced to her short life.

arrow Arena 29

Though she couldn't break free she seemed to try anyway at pulling her lank arms free, flailing her melting blades back and forth, throwing sparks and licks of deep red flame. Shook with rage as she writhed on top of him, opening her mouth, showing off row after row of shivering, lethally sharp teeth lining the inside of her skull. So close she plunged her tongues into his throat again and again before latching on. Impossibly, horrifically, the sides of her skull around the edges of the hard iron faceplate collapsed to bring more surface, more teeth sawing into his skin and the collar of his suit. At the same time, muscles along her lower back rippled and her spine arched back accordingly. With her stomach stretching beneath the chinks in her shaped abdominal armor, she brought her hips up and directly above her shoulders. If he wasn't distracted by the jaws going about the grisly business of departing his head from his body, he might have time to admire her flexibility as, like a scorpion's tail, she was about to impale his face upon the four spikes ending her iron legs.

arrow Arena 29

Moaning while strips of anathema flesh hung from the sides of her ruined mouth, her entire head seemed to pucker behind her face. Layng on her back she flipped over and puked up the deadly poisons she had ingested in her lack of survival instinct, kicking the dead, useless head from her left foot. She shuddered as another few plops of shredded godling tumbled from the vertical slit that split her face before she turned to him and hissed.

Warped and melted, her blades, her primary weapons, were gone and yet they weren't. True they were useless as blades, but she still had several kilograms of heavy, mostly solid iron on the ends of her long arms. Shame, though, that the first blooding of her enemy had damaged them, too. She couldn't feel half the muscles in those limbs anymore, and what remained was in agony. Still, she would use them because she could - pain meaning an entirely different thing to her than to all the other poor creatures that inhabited this world so new. And why? Because she was made. Crafted to kill and attack until what she was allowed to attack was dead, or she was dead. Whatever, it ultimately did not matter which came first within her simple mind.

So grievously impaired, she went on the attack again.

Struggling to get the balance just right she lunged forward, arms trailing limp behind her, desperate to close the distance but stumbling with each step. She had, after all, plunged her feet into a skull containing destructive corrosives. Still, even limping she was far faster than she ought to be, hobbling in fast-forward, her softly smoking, now fleshy pink mouth open with an enraged squeal as she wildly swung her left arm forward, intending to use her ruined hands to bludgeon the immortal to death.

arrow Arena 29

Her arm went slack, the back of her head splitting open in a fountain of brackish, largely odorless fluids that seems to sprout more of the white, weeping mold even as it flew through the air. The wound itself was positively carpeted in the disturbing stuff and she hung for a second. Her targeted blow, unable to correct itself, thunked off the wall and then rolled harmlessly across his headless shoulders before falling and taking the rest of her body with it. She made no sound when she died.

Slumping down the length of the sand-skewer, she crumpled in a heap at his feet. Her shapely, molded features were slowly giving way to the pale fungus spreading from her mortal wound, and the myriad lesser ones like the sword protruding from her back.

Arena 7

Splendid! The Swordsman’s quick thinking had removed the threat of Athous chains before they had a deal him a good deal of damage. Of course it would leave the Swordsman with a slight misconception as to the physical composition of his main weapons, but that was a benefit for Athous and a downfall for his opponent. See, his chains were not made of steel, rather they could be considered slightly organic and his attack worked more out of circumstance than a solid law of occurrences. His chains were a living being, a creature of metal that submitted to the will of Athous as if it were a part of him. Whether or not it was an actual part of him Athous didn’t know but what he did know that it was a good tool for his line of work and obviously in this match and his opponent had given up his first chance of having a taste of the true power that he held. Well, Athous didn’t want to disappoint the swordsman.

With the death of the several chains that held Snow captive, Athous decided to change up his tactics somewhat. As Snow dashed backwards Athous charged towards him, his book held out infront of him, at chest level as his eyes remained seemingly glued to its pages. He left the swords that he had stolen from his opponent where he once stood, wrapped in chains, the connecting link snapping off as he made his way from it. His left, free hand, reached to his waist, quickly drawing one of his twin blades from its hilt on the right side. His blades were probably unlike the Swordsman’s blades. The blades he used were five feet in total length, the blade taking three of the five feet. The swordsman probably had the advantage in reach but that didn’t matter. Disregarding the Swordsman’s weapons, he brought himself without striking distance, slashing the blade horizontally from right to left at a slight upward angle that would slice through the upper half of his Swordsman’s thigh and lead to his abdomen.

A Chains 87% D Chains 30%/60%/90% Summoning Ability 100%

Somewhere close to the exhibition arenas it seemed someone had set up a rather small, but brightly colored tent. The tent itself was red, with white stripes all over it. It had that carnival feel to it, reminding many people of good times had as children, or instilling a sense of excitement in them.

The man standing before the small tent however, was rather the opposite. His large, greasy belly hung well over the waist line of his pants, barely covered by a pulled taught shirt that seemed stained with fouler things than grease and dirt. With every movement, ripples spread across the sea of fat, and his deep voice seemed to echo from that mass of flesh.

"Come on, ya rats! Who will fight Matambo the Great's prized fighter? Will none among you cowardly fools dare to face the might of Matambo?"

Every so often a fat digit would twist his greased moustache, pulling the fraying hairs back into a whip like projection. His many chins seemed stuffed with confidence as he yelled out to the crowd. Many avoided him at the mere sight of him, only the brave approached, to be put off by the smell that seemed to rise from the man.

His obscene yelling into the crowd continued, beckoning those surrounding to take up challenge against his prized warrior. For someone so large and offensive to make such bold claims, surely whoever he had inside the tent was a fearsome warrior, surely.

"Hmph"

The short man grunted in disgust as he was addressed so rudely and tersely by Fasumbra. His hand fell away from playing with his facial hair and hung loosely by his side as the enigmatic figure accepted the challenge he had been so loudly proffering.

Fucking pretty boy, it was making him look back; suddenly very aware of the sets of eyes on him he cleared a cough from his throat, trying not to make it sound as nervous as it really was. Drawing himself up with as much pride as a short fat man could, he looked at Fas up and down, before letting a laugh escape from his mouth.

"So, the well dressed pretty boy thinks he can beat Matambo! Matambo will show you, when he is done with you, you'll -beg- for the mercy of Matambo."

Not waiting for a reply, the man turned, and swept himself into the tent. No words were spoken in the tent, simply the dull thud of wood hitting flesh, and the familiar sound of chains rattling around. It wasn't too long before Matambo exited the tent, a rusty chain dangling from his hand.

"Let Matambo present the end of you..."

With a yank on the chain, a figure emerged from behind the flap of tent. A gasp passed around the crowd as they all laid eyes on the fabled fighter. Fas might have been expecting a great hulking warrior, or a sleek and lithe rogue, but what he saw before him was nothing more than a shell of a man.

His skin was stretched over the bare minimum of flesh and bone, the pale pallor of his hide was enough to make someone retch. His eyes were sunk deep into his skull, and fixed firmly on the floor. They didn't even dare rise to look at Fas, they simply remained down in submission.

Little more than tattered rags covered him, and he seemed to be covered in cuts and scars of all sorts. A vicious set hung around his neck like some obscene necklace. There were all sorts of puncture wounds covering his bare and sunken chest. His face looked like a child's drawing, covered in misshapen lines and strange shapes.

"Come now, pretty boy, let's see you fight Matambo's prize, and see how confident you are then..."

To say Matambo was less than impressed would be an understatement. Any trace of humor in his face vanished at Fas' last words. He had hoped the state of his champion would have at least surprised Fas, but if he felt anything but cock-sure confidence, he certainly didn't show it. A string of doubt plucked in Matambo's heart, before his greasy confidence swept it away.

In a private whisper, low enough so only Fas would be able to hear, Matambo muttered,

"You'll eat those words, scum. Mark my words."

Deftly he turned to address the crowd, a smile plastering itself across his smug features.

"Come one, come all, witness as this fool tries his luck against the greatest warrior the world has ever seen!"

At that, Matambo gave the chain a sharp tug, pulling on the wrists of his supposed champion, pulling him closer to Matambo. The crowd surrounding seemed unimpressed, but intrigued. That was fine with the fat man, perhaps more word would spread of the fight if they were surprised at the outcome.

Matambo himself turned to leave towards a close arena, with the number 20 marked over it. As he pulled his slave closer, the near-dead man only shambled. There seemed to be no emotion or expression in his walk, and his head still hung down, watching the ground.

A few people from the crowd began to follow, before a number began to move towards arena 20. More than a few of them were curious to see if Matambo's claims were real, or if his words were simply the speech of a deranged mad man.

In the arena the pale man stood, still standing in his rags, with no semblence of armor, or even a weapon at hand. His gaze was off the floor now, searching for his opponent. His breathing seemed quickened, as though he was deathly afraid of what was about to happen, but only his eyes would show his fear.

The man stood at a relatively short height of 5' 10", and none could have guessed how much he weighed, but sufficed to say he wouldn't be landing any powerful blows against Fas.

As the crowd shouted and jeered, Matambo's voice cut through them.

"Don't fail me boy, or it'll be the pit for a whole week for you!"

With that, the slaver threw down a rusted dagger, notched and pitted along both sides, it seemed such a paltry weapon. Surely Matambo didn't intend for him to fight with that.

((Sorry I just cut ahead to being in the arena, but I felt it would speed things up.))

The human corpse fixed his gaze on Fas, watching as he spoke. It was an eerie thing, although he looked as though he listened, he didn't truly look engaged in what Fas was saying. As though he were simply watching a conversation take part between two people, a conversation he wasn't a part of.

The pale man though didn't reply to Fas, he simply bent down casually, and slowly as one weak with hunger tends to, and grasped the blade in his hand firmly. He didn't even look at the blade itself, as though it's presence was an obscenity to the man.

With this accomplished, his dull stare fixed back on Fas again, and a sigh broke from his lips, full of the tiredness of an old man at the end of his days.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry."

Simply these words escaped his thin lips, and a veil of sorrow crossed his face. After that, the man's lips began to move in strange and secret ways, but no sound escaped from him. He simply chanted to himself, concentrating on what he was doing, but keeping a mindful eye on Fas all the same. His eyes seemed to plead the same as Fas, for this fight to not happen.

[Water]

Thud.

Nameless was hit in the chest as he tried to dodge the rapidly advancing sheath. Unable to get out of the way in time though, he was caught in the chest, two of his ribs shattering instantly, causing a quick jab of pain to echo through his body. The only sign he felt it was the small wince that went across his pain. Clearly the man was used to pain.

His eyes opened slightly at the sight of the blade that was clearly meant to rend him part from part. Unarmored, the man felt rather naked, as the stares of the crowd pierced down upon his back. He was worried that Fas would end this too soon, he needed to prolong it, if just a little longer.

His back foot slid backwards, and the old blade he was holding rose with his arm. Clearly the man was mad, to be facing the onslaught and terrifying blade the man was about to unleash him, and standing there nearly naked with but a rusted dagger to protect himself.

As Fas got closer, the nameless man's lip began to quiver slightly. The saw teeth were looking rather unappealing to him all of a sudden...

[Water]

As Fas slowed down his own pace, the nameless began to quicken his own. His legs backpedaled away from Fas, aiming to put more distance between the two of them. As he moved he strafed to the side slightly, his legs bending to allow his free hand to grasp the sheath that lay close to his feet.

His mutterings still continued, despite his movement, his mouth seemed to have changed word forms though. If Fas was watching the figure carefully, he could see what had been more abrupt and fierce words now seemed to be more fluid and dynamic. Whatever the slave was up to, he seemed to have changed pace.

As for Fas' own spell, he would detect no magical spell charging, in fact, the corpse didn't seem to be collecting magical energy of any kind to himself. He was just speaking the same enigmatic words over and over again, seemingly reminding himself of these words, fixing them into his mind.

What could the nameless possibly be planning, his actions had all been defensive, and he hadn't strove to make a single offensive move. It was as though he were trying to lose in the fight. Matambo's face had crumbled into an anxious frown as he watched the action below. It seemed the slaver too was on the edge of his seat.

[Water][Earth]

Fasumbra Langardo Wrote:

> Fas made a harsh tch! with his mouth. To hell with this, Fas wasn't scared of anything. > > “Lets see if my aim is still zeroed in.” > > His left arm raised to point at the corpse. Index, Middle, Thumb, clawing into a center point. Electricity crackled briefly on each digit, giving the skinny being a split second of warning. > > Smite > > The bolt of pure electricity zapped through the air, surging in on its target. There was no sound to onlookers, but Fas and his opponent would hear the BBBbbbBBBzzzZZZzzZtttTTT as it rushed through the air toward him. The hardest part of the strike would be attempting to avoid it; unlike a ray-beam or other linear magic, this was still electricity. Even if the babbling man dodged, the lightning would still try to grab a hold of him. Just like a normal bolt, this one desperately wanted to discharge all of its energy into its target; unlike a normal bolt, this one wouldn’t take no for an answer.

BBBbbbBBBzzzZZZzzZtttTTT

The poor man barely had the time to look surprised as the beam arced across the air and towards his body. At that distance, it would have been a stretch for an athlete to jump out of harm's way, for the malnourished warrior, it wasn't even a reality.

The beam struck him center chest, and for a split second it seemed to the onlookers that all would be fine, a terse breath was held, in the hopes that the man was fine, before they saw the figure disappear in a cloud of red mist as his ruin rained down on the arena floor. Many gasped in exclamation, a few lost control of their stomachs.

For the nameless it was a moment of terrifying agony as he saw the beam cut across the space between them, and strike him in the chest. He felt the burning sensation, like the heat of a thousand suns explode from deep within him, before he numbly felt his body unwinding, casting itself away from him.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the arena's spectator area as more than a few eyes turned to look at Matambo in eager expectation. There was nothing the crowd loved more than seeing a cocky man fall. What happened next surprised the crowd.

"Heh heh heh"

The deep chuckle hung in the air for what seemed an eternity. The fat slaver had one hand wrapped around his moustache, the fingers pulling on the hairy appendage over and over, twisting it around pudgy digits. The second hand was pointed firmly at the arena floor.

Standing where the pallid man had been only moments before was seemingly an ethereal version of him. All the sickness of his body was gone though, the mists that had become him seemed bolder and stronger, the lines cut thicker than his body had. By this time if Fas was still sensing magic his readings would spike.

The brilliant orbs that served to distinguish his eyes from his face fixated on Fas, and his smoke filled lips parted, and a voice that seemed to come from nowhere, yet everywhere at once spoke,

"I'm sorry."

The ghost seemed to raise his hand with a speed that the body before would not have been capable of ever attaining, and with the flat of his palm aimed at Fas, he pushed out.

The resulting movement caused a wave of earth in front of Fas to crash up in front of him. Unless Fas was fast, the rising rock would meet him in the face, sending him back with violent force.

arrow Arena 93

Until now, Arena 93 had been desolated, unused; clean of blood, defeat, and victory - a virgin. Now, the reddish hued, mineral rich sands placed over arena tile were soiled by Krausse's black leather boots as he stepped forth from the shadows of Fighter A Entryway.

Armed to the teeth with his various weapons, magic, and his no-holds barred brutality, Krausse was an extremely dangerous opponent that was both vicious and clever. He didn't stop until his opponent was dead, the fun in the fight was gone, or he simply felt like it; he was personally unpredictable, but he was a professional in war so his methods of attacks always had a degree of predictability to them. His general discernment for his own safety when it came down to taking a hit to give a more vicious one made him all the more a frightening opponent. Trained, but willing to discard the training, made him worse and better than a raging child with a butcher's knife.

Krausse slipped his clear tinted goggles up to his eyes, held by wrap-around rubber, so that his opponent couldn't kick the damn sand into his eyes. He drew his longsword from his back sheath in his right hand and his dagger in his left and held the weapons in a relaxed manner. He waited for his opponent.

:arena 93:

"It can only be described as a most fruitful acquaintance we have been brought together to make upon this most interesting of days," Krausse retorted in a blatantly faked noble British accent. He blatantly mocked his opponent's politeness, never one to make friends of those he intended to put to his sword.

Now why would a man fight while reading a book, Krausse wondered? He did not even lift his eyes from the pages, meaning that either he's insane or that he could see all around him somehow. Either way, Krausse knew, whether through reciprocal insult or simply gut instinct, that the book had to go. Krausse would put his sword straight through the text to defile all sanctity of literature, to put words to the sword and torch as so many driven barbarian invaders had done to so many intelligent societies. Considering Krausse's make and model, he found a decadent irony in his plan that brought a grin that bore a disturbing number of frighteningly sharp shark-like teeth.

The only indication of Krausse's burst of movement was the sand that kicked up in the wake of his sudden sprint. Trivial was the only way to describe the distance between Krausse and his opponent, and it would be crossed in a matter of moment's by Krausse's inhuman speed, where he would perform an upwards sweep slash with his longsword. The blue tinged steel of the blade, carved with such intricate designs and tapered to an edge so fine, would cut that book in two at the spine and maybe take some of the man's hand with it.

Simaltaneously, Krausse began to gather magical energy about him in preparation for a spell.

Shape Earth: 1/1