Regardless of the outcome,
Designated Hero Wrote:
[Offensive Striker, Engage!]
Athan furrowed his brow at the development of the fight. Owle was holding her own fairly well, but the girl wasn't a fighter. He didn't know how much longer this was going to go on, but he wasn't going to sit idly by and watch as things got worse.
Athan worked his way through the crowd, his right hand stuffing the roll of athletic tape into his vest pocket. Leanne's curiosity would have to be sated later.
His hand then moved to his FIGHTER. His eyes glanced downwards as he came to a stop in the midst of a crowd. A flick of the switch, and the striker was activated. Athan moved forward, pushing full through the crowd before planting his right hand on the barricade just as Owle launched herself at Soiree. He furrowed his brow as her attack didn't go as planned, but a whole new opportunity opened up as the ball of scales that was now Owle was deflected upwards into the air.
Three seconds had passed on the striker.
Just prior to Owle reaching the peak of her ascent, Athan sprung into action.
Four seconds.
His left foot moved quickly to the top of the barricade, and Athan pushed off with surprising grace despite his bulk. Being that his legs were stronger than his arms, Athan was able to clear the barricade and get airborne, now about five feet in the air (counting the barricade and his own vertical), with relative ease. At this point, Soiree may have noticed the crowd's volume nearly triple in excitement. A couple TVs that were broadcasting the fight for those near the back were flashing "STRIKER - ATHAN COLE - Project: Swords!" in bright red letters across the screen, and a few cameras panned over to watch the action. Many zoomed in on Athan himself as he ascended.
Five seconds.
Hands outstretched as Soiree had just begun to follow through with his kick. Given that he was kicking with enough force to cause a twenty pound ball to ricochet uncontrollably with his toe, there was going to be a considerable amount of force involved. Stopping the kick now would more than likely be just as beneficial as finishing it.
Athan snatched Owle out of the air with both hands, instantly moving her behind his head as if she were an incredibly large soccer ball. Or, more accurately, a rock.
Six seconds.
Athan began to head downwards due to the nature of gravity just as Soiree was just either recovering from his kick or lashing outwards with the full intent. Athan was only about three to four feet away, and heading closer, dangerously close to being kicked himself, but that was of little consequence to him. He dug his fingers into the scales, securing his grip as he bent his knees, still in the air, and roared with the tremendous effort he was exerting as he brought both arms forward and over his head. The beastial cry, the sheer tenacity and volume with which he shouted, was enough to quiet the first few rows of specatators.
Owle would leave his hands as if she were fired from a cannon from less than a yard away from Soiree's face. Athan was more than capable of pressing a thousand pounds with those arms. The sheer density and strength of the muscles in his shoulders, chest, and arms were almost incomparable in this tournament. The cameras, completely focused on Athan, weren't able to even pan over in time to catch Owle as she flew at a downward, more or less forty-five degree angle. The only camera that caught the entirety of the scene was the one cameraman who was perched atop a nearby building, given the task of keeping all fighters on screen at once.
To put the throw into perspective, if this were volleyball, think of it as trying to get out of the way of an eighty mile-an-hour spike with less than a yard and a split second to react in. Except, instead of an eighteen yaer old girl you had a fully grown meta-human hurling a very dense scaley object from more or less point blank range. The sheer force with which Owle would strike would be enough to warrant concern from just about anything, ranging from solid rock to tempered steel. Bare flesh and bone, unfortunately, were fairly low on the list of things being able to withstand severe blunt trauma.
And to top it all off, that foot and a half wide ball was aimed directly at the center of Soiree's face while he was off balance or on one foot. Not enough time to roll out of the way, not enough room to duck...
Seven seconds.
Athan would still be coming downwards, and, depending on how the event played out, his final three seconds as a striker would be heavily influenced.
