Fierach vs. YummyBiscuits

HELL. FUCKING. YES.

After beating that cat to a bloody pulp, more or less, you could definitely say that Marx was riding a wave of confidence. A confidence he just knew wouldn't be let down in this fight.

He walked into the room, a got a few calls, a few cheers, and a few jeers on top of it all. It looked like a few of the people running around with coin in their pockets had bet money on his win tonight. Marx would have done much the same, as a smile crept onto his thin lips. With his clothes once again restored to their pristine sheen, the silks running gracefully along his thin frame, and a new weapon at his side thanks to the little level up system the GTB had implemented, he felt great. His thin fingered hands raised up in a sort of welcome to the crowd, and was answered much the same as his initial entrance.

Already, he had made it to the semi finals. On his first try, he had done this. It spoke to him in the oddest of ways. A Djinn, recently freed from the confines of his sword-based prison, went so far!

Marx stepped onto the checkered floor, and his left hand dropped to his right side, quickly pulling out the long and thin blade he held so dear. Like the new weapon he had, it held a weak enchantment that let him Channel prana through it. Prana, that in such an excitable, emotion filled room like a gambling den, would be ripe for his picking. Nice. With the ball in his court, Marx began to gather a bit of this energy, the prana. A ghastly green effluence gathered itself around the edge of his blade, and with a smirk, Marx waited for his opponent to show himself.

[ Charge + 1 ]

Marx raised an eyebrow in anticipation. The guy walked over from the band. Man, he was the type of guy who belonged in a street gang. Leather jacket, gloves, some admittedly sweet glasses perched on his nose, man. And his opening statement, what in the world? Besides the aura of palpable mystery clinging to the silk enshrouded Djinn, there wasn't much that hinted at inhuman origin. Marx quickly deduced that this guy had to be skilled in the art of identification.

" You caught me. " Marx said, with a toss of his sword wielding hand. The green energy building up on the edge of the blade gave off a glimmer as it moved through the air. " Marx, The Djinn. "

[ Roll is good. ]

Upon giving his name, Marx gave a hop. Unlike other fighters, Marx wouldn't be the type to wait for a name. Honor was the sort of trait that varied between people. As far as it went, Marx was on the move now, his feet propelling him across the distance.

With about ten feet between the two fighters at their starting points, Marx quickly came within range of his opponent. His left hand had been brought towards his right hip, and the moment that less than five feet was between the two, Marx swung. The green energy rolling across the blade broke from the swing, and immediately flew towards James. The blade ended with his arm extended, and above his shoulder. The resulting explosion, if there was any, would hide the quick follow up strike. The light weight blade would be brought back up with a slash towards James' chest.

The second that the slash of green energy touched the armored paw, it would explode. Just... Explode. The unarmored hand of a mere human could suffer greatly from that sort of grievous error in judgement. Nevertheless, James had sweet armor coating his fingers. The explosion, at such close range, was similar to a weakened hand grenade, with all of that force centered on the hand. Ven armor couldn't save it from some sort of injury.

Marx moved quickly in the moment that smoke enshrouded the pair of fighters. Through the thin stuff, Marx caught eye of the Human's movement. A quick roll towards Marx's left. Foolish boy, why go towards the dominant arm? While Marx was neither fast enough to reach him, nor did he have the reach to do so, it would be best to capitalize upon that. Turn the opponent's weaknesses into his strengths, and use them. Gain an advantage, and push the enemy into a wild flurry of blows. After all, it had worked last time.

A quick foot shuffle into the midst of the smoke brought Marx in line with striking distance. Four feet separated the two men as Marx brought his blade to bear on him. With his shuffle, the blade which had been used to strike nothing but air a moment before was brought to chop deep towards James' right arm. It seemed somewhat less protected, and if Marx was right, it's hand would be damaged.

There wasn't much Marx could do about fire blowing up in his face. It felt like a punch to the stomach, eliciting a harsh " Oof "from clamped lips. Marx didn't fly into the chandelier; a mere four feet into the air, and a handful backwards instead. The Djinn landed somewhat evenly, before shifting his stance once more. Well, the Djinn knew that his opponent was no joke.

There was more distance separating the two now, and Marx used that to his advantage. While he took a step to lessen the distance to a bit less than four feet, his right hand sought purchase in the charred silks of his shirt. With a grab, Marx pulled out his newest addition, a Katar. The blade rested somewhat less than a foot off of his wrist, but that would be all he needed here.

With the step and grab, Marx swiftly slashed towards's his opponent once more. It was a feint, however, to detract attention away from the Katar he had just drawn. Instead of flaying open a chest, the sword cut short, and Marx stepped forwards with his right hand, going directly for a stab. Left side, just above the hip bone.

Marx wasn't the type of guy to wait around with a thumb up his ass. The second James jumped into the air, only for his hands to grasp the chandelier, before swinging off, Marx had begun moving himself. It was natural assumption that someone would fly off came to Marx in that instant,and he began back pedaling, before twisting around to face the falling James.

He would use the moment he landed, and would be ever so slightly unbalanced, to strike. Marx raised his left hand, and swiftly chopped away from his body, before following up with a strike from his right hands blade, by stepping into the strike. He hoped to make sure that he human would at least take one of the attacks. All the same, Marx would use his speed and his the light weight composition of his weapons o his advantage here.

The attack that would have come from the Katar took a new purpose. Using his own natural agility, and the ease with which one could move the light weapon, Marx quickly moved the flat of the blade, as well as the bauble covering the back of his hand into a position that allowed an easy block of both feet. A simple move, that left the solid positioning of Marx's feet in prime position to reply in kind.

James' back was to him, with his feet in the air, and essentially locked with the katar. It was very simple to pull his weapon back into position, and chop towards the back of his legs with a sweeping pull, aimed to cut the back of the knees all the way through to the bone.

Marx had a light weapon. His sabre was of the prime weight, allowing twists and attacks that could be executed in less than a second. It'd be marvelous to see the human dodge this one, especially with his vision blocked in such a way.

The Djinn had not prepared to be thrown back. Since his blade had likewise been thrown back with him, there was still the chance of a bloody gash being torn along James' left leg. Leather, and the force of Marx's attack still there, a clean gash would result.

Marx managed to keep his feet under him, but went stumbling back about seven feet. But, unlike what James had wanted, that chandelier had already fallen. Those few seconds the two had been away from the metal thing had left it to fall against the checkered floor with a crash of bending metal and breaking glass. Marx roughly slammed into the metal monstrosity with a grunt.

But man, a swordsman of Marx's caliber weighed their salt on how fast they could get back into the midst of it. With about ten feet separating the two men, Marx went right for the kill.

Marx set his left hand's blade outstretched from his side, and advanced with a swift series of choppy steps. Speed and agility in one. He came within striking distance once more, a smirk splayed across his face. Slash, and punch, the same old trick from earlier. Only this time, the slash went right for the thigh, and came from the left side to the right, while the katar he had flashed forward was only a feint. Something for later,

It was something about the weapons.

Their sleek profiles, the smoothness of the metal. The second a hand clamped around the metal of his sword, Marx would belay the strike with his katar. Instead, he transitioned from his solid striking footing, into one more suited for pulling. There were not any notable rivets upon the hands of the glove, so it was more than simple for Marx to pull his blade free. After all, what can one hold onto, when the thing they are grasping for is smooth, lest for the cutting edge?

With the placement of his feet, Marx had likewise evaded the strike towards his knee. His left leg naturally had been moved back to pull away, so the kick came up short.

Marx replied quickly, with the agility natural to his species and likewise ingrained into his body. The Djinn, primarily an adeptly swift species due to their usual nonphysicial forms, had natural speed which bellied that of most humans. Trained martially, it was magnificent to see one go to town. Marx called a burst of green prana into materialization, quickly coating the weapon closest to his opponent. His Katar would glow with the sickly colored stuff for a mere instant, before it broke off, and flew towards James' chest. Prana, by nature, was explosive, and at such a close range, man, wold it hurt the slayer.

There was only one thing to do. When a warrior had his main weapon in a vice grip, you had to get it free. The grip James was presenting made that difficult. So, Marx forced the issue. The energy covering his blade dissipated, before he pulled his right arm back.

Instead of letting his opponent counter with a punch, or a kick, or even the odd throw, Marx took a last step, before pushing his weight forwards off of that foot. Marx timed it right in between one of the Demon Slayer's own steps, the one that would have resulted in a kick. Nevertheless, Marx kept moving, using this momentary uneasiness in James' step to move forwards.

Max let his leg rise like a over, before wedging it against James' knee. He pushed off harshly, throwing himself into a backflip that left him with not a foot between himself and the chandelier. His grip wouldn't falter, but he knew that even with the cool gloves the slayer was wearing, Marx's grip on the ergonomic handle would reign supreme.

Marx's flip left him plenty of room to get a scope on what was happening. Any back flipply fighter knew the get your eyes on the opponent as quickly as you could, with as little time in between seeing and not seeing as possible. This left Marx a bit of breathing room, which he quickly employed. Upon James lift his hand up, and create that tiny spark, Marx swung into action, quite literally.

Prana would quickly gather around his weapon as he began falling towards the ground. His Katar. Glowing with green emery from a moment before, when it had not been dispelled, had sort of sat upon the blade, stagnating. No charge, or extra power to it, Marx simply swung his arm out in a swift chop, sending a small, dense, and edged chunk of prana flying towards what would bean explosion of fire.

The chink of prana, no more than a foot in length, exploded once again. Co tending against the storm of fire, the secondary explosion would wipe both attacks out. If only it were a video game, that cool counter thing would have popped up.

With James being closer to the explosion itself, the Human wild be in for the brunt of the force, while Marx got almost all of the heat. It washed over him with a squeal, and what force hit him forced him back a step. With his lips uncomfortably chapped at that point, .the Djonn began his approach. Careful steps forwards this time, taking his body away from the chandelier, and at a diagonal to the Human. Oh, the time to attack would come.

Marx hardly had enough time to push off, before another attack was thrown his way. With the movement to the diagonal, Marx pushed off with his right foot, turning his body so that his left lined up with James. The spark flew past him, impacting on the wall with a solid thump. Marx didn't look back to see what went on; his attention was on the human.

Closing in might not have been the best way to go through with a sword user. Especially a Djinn, at that. Close ranges, even with a normal Djinn, was the worst place to be. Prana bursts, close range, caused quite a bit of harm. And when sent through a blade, it meant trouble, and Marx's eyes narrowed. This human would learn.

A thin coat of green prana covered his leading saber. The long black blade would be wreathed on the stuff as James closed in, And Marx moved to counter, by bring his right hand up towards his chest. With his blades held in front of his body, Marx could execute a simple feint.

James neared, and Marx jabbed with his Katar. A simple straight. But, it was pulld in swiftly, leaving quite a bit of space between itself and the target. Feinting like that would attract the attention towards the Katar, and Marx swiftly went on the offensive. With a flash of green, Marx swung his blade towards James' chest. It would likely be open, and going on that, Marx intended to lash the green prana against his chest directly.

Marx's reply was simple and sweet. He felt a hand wrap around his fist, just as he began pulling it back. Quick reaction was the best way to go here. Instead of striking with his blade, he moved his body forwards and to the left, dragging his right foot. And meanwhile, while James attempted to wrenched his arm, Marx locked it into place, refusing to let it move, so he could anchor the human.

He would use the slayers own movement against him. With James moving forwards, Marx simply tripped the guy. Even a trained warrior like James would get caught in the simple ploy. All it took was some simple placement,

Whether or not the trip itself worked, this left Marx in a wonderful position. With his opponent's arm open, speed would be needed. Speed, Marx had. His sword was pressed forwards in a quick jab, right for the kidney.

Marx's arm was essentially caught. No biggie, as of this moment.

But the thing is, even if his opponent is on that side, a sword can still touch everything. Since the human didn't even try to go for a block, Marx's sword would slam into his side before he could throw himself into the air. After all, what would make Marx stop his stab? Twisting like that was a good way to dodge a trip, sure, but that left your entire side wide open.

Marx's blade would tear into the area around the kidney, his aim wonderful. The second the blade bit deep into the human's flesh, it detonated. A very small explosion, sure, but one that would cause quite a bit of harm to the internal organs of any being. It wouldn't tear the man in half by any standards either; it's size and strength dependent upon the object it was coating. Hell yeah, this human would be hurt.

The white-haired judge had been watching the fight for some time, waiting for the crowd to tear the two fighters to pieces at such a bad show. He should have had been called in earlier, but alas, he was too nice of a snake-kin and had allowed it to be dealt with between the two.

But that was it.

Putting down his cards on the table as time seemed to slow and stop within the field of battle, the Cleric made his way through the crowd before looking at the two fighters for a moment, his arms crossed over his chest, allowing his left index finger to tap his goatee'd chin in thought.

Reversing time a bit until Jame's foot had kicked off Marx's chest and the spin around the appendage began in earnest, he lifted up the opposite hand of Marx holding the sword.

Measuring the length of the blade, he shook his head slightly as it's 2 feet of length was exactly what Marx needed in this short space. Sliding the blade up so that as he was pulled forward by the weight of James on his arm, his blade would...well it would stab into the front of James' jacket above the kidney and detonate, it's position causing James gloves hands to slip on the arm a bit disrupting the twist.

Stopping for a moment here, he pondered a few things as he loosened James' fingers around the appendage before hand.

When he activated time again, James would be rotating around the arm, with quite a bit of pain in his side from the Prana explosion that had loosened his grip. He would find that in the begining of his next post, he'd slam his back into the ground under the arm with Marx's hand still in his grip of his hands and quite possibly feet.

Marx would find himself being pulled forward on one knee unless he had the strength to lift James off the ground one-handed. His arm would still be extended, but his sword hand would be free to do what it will.

Dusting off his hands, the Cleric walked out of the ring, restarting time, indicating that it was Jame's (Feirach) turn to reply.

Marx was just as quick as the slayer, more or less. Suddenly pulled to his knee, he knew the danger that his held arm presented to the slayer. His blade, about nine inches in length, could easily pierce the slayer's body as he fell onto his back, and the Djinn to his right knee. There was a chance the blade could pierce right into the slayer's open stomach.

Marx couldn't do much here. He resisted the pull, by supplying his own strength in the arm, and twisting the other way. Djinn, as creatures made of prana solidified, were much more durable that normal. His strength, and the durability of his bones could hold out for a while. Essentially, Marx pushed his arm in the opposite direction of the roll, forcing James to remain flat on his back. The position was bad; but it could turn around. Marx knew that, and he moved to turn this portion of the fight around, and engage his advantages again. His blades in particular.

His reply was quick, and happened at the same moment he was earnestly attempting to pull the slayer back. His blade lanced in between the two, a swift chop for the slayer's right arm. Since Marx was pulling towards his own right, and therefore James' left, there wouldn't be the chance of striking himself. By aiming here, Marx intended to cut through the jacket and into the flesh with a strong and quick strike. The blade could bite through the jacket, and the arm itself with this sort of move.

This was it. The moment of decision.

The second his hand released the hold on his wrist, Marx pressed himself forwards, taking the advantage of James' ability to kick away. The kicks would still be able to reach him, but at the reduced range, they wouldn't pack more that a light tap compared to the bone cracking ability they would have had otherwise.

But the real aim was simple. Simultaneously, his right hand was pulled back. With less stress put on the joint now, it was set solidly, and close to the humans body already. A quick jerk, and then a forceful push combined with his already present body weight would force the small blade through the jacket, and into the waiting flesh of james' stomach.

Sighing again as he stopped time for the second time in less than a minute, the Cleric made his way back out on the field taking a good long look between the two of them.

Pulling a baton from his inner cloak, he bounced the metal object in his hand for a moment before popping the Djinn once in the upper arm that was being held by James, indicating that the arm was being put through quite a bit of a beating with all of the damn twisting it had been going through.

Looking at the katar blade that was held by the Djinn that James was trying to blow up along with the wrist, the Cleric shrugged slightly and allowed the action as he took the knees of James and tucked them up against the fighters chest as he held the trapped arm of the Djinn between his knee's.

As the Djinn had moved forward to allow James to keep yanking on that arm, the Djinn would have been almost atop the fellow to get out of the range of those kicks.

Pulling back on the arm even when James had only one hand of grip on the wrist would have been improbable, even if that was all that Marx had been trying to do.

Looking at the sword-hand of Marx, the Cleric wondered where the hell was the motion in this hand for the last post. Leaving it held in James hand, he shook his head slightly and turned around once more.

The Djinn was going to lose the damn hand, no question about it.

And with that it was the Djinns turn as the Cleric restarted time.

James grinned as he felt the wrist he was holding shatter under his vice grip and God's Dust technique, charred bits of flesh and metal sprayed everywhere, some of it splattering onto the daemonslayer's face, and probably onto his opponent's too. His specialty shades protected his eyes from the worst of the damage, and while the heated debris singed him and left small bleed marks, minor compared to what his opponent probably felt.

The only consolation the djinn might've had from losing the hand was that the intense heat also cauterised the wound even as it created it. Major blood loss, the being would not suffer.

Instead of backing off like most normal people though, the djinn pushed forward, attempting to extract his pound of flesh in revenge. The sword grinded its way through his right fist slowly, but surely as the Marx attempted to stab him. James admired the singlemindness.

But the djinn did not know who he was messing with.

He was Daemonslayer James, Champion of the Eredas, and the Scion of Flame.

The grin on his face wasn't wiped off at all, even when the tip of the sword finally stabbed itself a centimeter into his jacket. It stopped cold, and it could go no more.

James kicked off with both legs one more time to throw the djinn completely off him, before getting up onto his feet. The daemonslayer would unzip and open his jacket, displaying the combat knife he holstered on the inside, near his chest. The sword tip had struck the flat of the blade inside its holster in his jacket.

"Don't even need it for you" he added.

Energy Meter: +1 Passive Charge

1/15

Time slide to a stop as the Judge made his third ruling in as many seconds it seemed.

The Djinn would find that his entire hand from the wrist down had been shattered.

Why the hell did those two fingers matter????

The Judge didn't give a damn and with a muttering under his breath, pulled a ballpen hammer from his pocket along with a small table that he'd pulled from under a very lovely lady in a bright red dress.

Taking the table and placing it in front of the Djinn, he pulled the hand down and proceeded to smash the two fingers and the wrist to bloody shards. That had would be useless entirely for the rest of the fight.

And with that he pulled the table off of the field and went back to what he was doing, starting time with Feirarch post.

He wasn't even going to go into if that slash went in or not...

The Djinn couldn't help but smirk against the pain. His wrist glowed dully with the energy coating it. With not only the energy of the crowd around them, many shouting for Marx to be taken out while he was just standing there, but the energy his own pain inspired within him, the green energy fluctuated madly. With such high emotions, the energy itself was responding to the moment. " Your league? You just got lucky, fool. "

Marx didn't advanced. His foot shifted slightly; the right foot going forwards and turning inwards. The energy simply kept building, wild green tendrils began to stretch from the main mass around his ruined wrist.

[ Charge +2]

Marx sneered back at his opponent. The plan he had slowly been setting up would come to fruition. He knew that with one hand, there was no way he could beat this guy down like he had planned. That stabbing ploy had been to simple, to forward. And now, well, he couldn't do much.

But take them both out in one shot? Oh hell yes. That would work wonders. The prana he was collecting became more and more unstable as more came to join it. By being collected in a tight group as such, the energy became incredibly explosive; if a blast that had not charged was enough to knock the demon slayer to the ground, image three turns of charging! Slowly climbing from the ability to rend flesh from bone, at this point, his technique would be enough to destroy the human, more or less. Lethal, sure, but Marx had become angered. His hand, ruined. This man would suffer for that.

The green energy covering his ruined wrist began to gather more power onto itself. The tendrils from before pulled back in, before slamming back into his ruined fist. Only a bit longer would do.

[ charge +3]

[ My opponent used meta knowledge in the post before this one. It would not be known that The energy Marx uses becomes more unstable as it gathers charge ]

Marx didn't give a snooty reply. It was beyond that point now. This was where Marx would use the full extent of his power against his opponent. Show him the danger in crossing a Djinn. That reason was clear. Marx stepped forwards, before bringing his blade up defensively. With a start, the Djinn would take off in a full tilt run towards James. He kept his arm back at first, only raising it towards his chest as he neared. Marx knew to be wary of the fire this man could summon, and if said blast would erupt, a quick slash of the blade, followed by the true nature of the attack would be more than enough to break through the wall and reach the man behind.

[ Rolling for the attack here. Roll is good. Actually surprised about that. ]

While Marx had planned for the attack to simply detonate, it did otherwise. He had planned on taking both himself, and his opponent out in one last ditch effort. Being formed of prana, Marx would never truly die. He could only be broken. Death was nothing before the warrior. Instead, the attack worked. A sudden flare of green energy, expanding from an arm thrown away from his own chest. Almost like a punch, Marx aimed for the centerline of his opponent, that imaginary line running down the middle of a person, to make sure that this attack would at least nick him, The attack that shot from his ruined arm was at least three feet wide. With nothing to guide it, and created of such a wild amount of untamed energy, the full force of the prana would launch towards his opponent, ready to detonate, if even a hair breached the stuff.