HoH Episode 3

Round 1 is already over and many have fallen. The victorious can only continue to push forward, struggling to reach the top and to claim hold of their goal.

Now those worthy of meeting fist to fist have been thrown together and only one thing can result---!

Ready?

Heaven or Hell!

LET'S ROCK!!

Highlights and awesome moments in fights can be posted here.

Note from the editor/administrator/god of you people: Do not RP in this thread. If you want to RP your entire fight do it on the goddamned stage and post a summary or quotes of it here.

Respect your fellow contestants, don't flood the thread. Makes things easier to find.

Designated Hero Wrote:

Athan smiled a little. At least this man was tough. He could respect that. Hell, there were a number of things he respected about this guy already. He didn't seem to be into trash talking, he met him head-on in mid-charge, and seemed honorable enough.

"Yeah...I'm ready."

Respect or not, that didn't mean Athan was going to take it easy on this man, oh no. With a glove that could grow into a knife, well, he had to be a little careful that didn't matter.

"The hell is that man thinking?!"

With his right hand still hefting the giant sword as if it were a javelin, he stepped forward and...

SWORD!OUKEN!

...hurled the large weapon right at Yamir's midsection. Athan was about eight feet away when this happened, and while the sword wasn't meant to be thrown, it had enough brute strength behind it to send the twenty-plus pound weapon sailing through the air with enough brutal intent. The flight path was erratic, but it was large enough that it wouldn't miss if Yamir just stood there. If it missed, well, there'd be a nice hole to match the dent in the door.

The moment that the sword left his hand, Athan pushed off his right foot and sprung after it. The weapon would reach Yamir a second or two before Athan would. There was no attack, he was simply covering the distance.

[3/17]

Down, down forward, forward

FIERCE

Joseph Brown Wrote:

Of course all this was being covered on live TV.

"Oh! That's gotta hurt!" Rick said live from HoH Square, "That was one of his most powerful attacks and he charged right through it!"

"Our special guest analysist Stephen Colbert is here to give his opinion on this fight. What do you predict is in Ryugi's future?"

"Pain, Rick. Lots of pain. That Joshua is a godless killing machine.

"Oooo... How will last year's Silver Medal Silver Dragons pull out of this?" He flipped the fade switch, "Find out after a word from our sponsors."

Ryugi Kazamaru Wrote:

Newscast Wrote:

"Oh! That move by Tzenidaar is bound to leave a bruise!" Rick winced as the Chimera attacked with his wings. "The Ryugin Captain, Silver Moonblade is bound to feel that one in the morning folks."

"And with us via satellite to comment on that last move is none other than lead vocalist from the famous Death Metal Band, Dethklok! Nathan Explosion!"

"Nathan, what do you have to say about that last move?"

"Brutal."

"An EXCELLENT choice of words if I DO say so myself!" He flipped the fade switch once more. "And we'll be right back to the brutality after this word from our sponsors."

Dyne Tazon Wrote:

CREEEEEECCKKKKKKKKK FUUUUU The cracking of the Earth, and Vahn's striker attack, would be a dead give away that the trajectory of the move was to strike Dyne. Sadly, he had nothing to defend himself.

Dyne was struck, the massive fist of heat would tear at the fabric in a large radius about the stomach region of the human. Burnt bare flesh replaced toned abs covered by black and white fabric, not only that, a new arc was formed from the impact of the blast, but a new idea as well.

Breath was loss from Vahn's strike, but not the flow of adrenaline, which suppressed the instant pain, he would definitely feel the blow later on when he had time to relax. In a spiral up above, he faced the sky faced downwards face first, his backside pointing upwards at the sky, it was a freakish sight to see as both legs, broken and healthy were outstretched by gravity below the torso as well as his arms, multiple smells emitted. Burnt flesh, the sweet metallic smell of blood, and then the smell of sweat under all these layers.

Dyne's good arm slapped at the air like a swimmer in water, a pulse of gravitons clustered at this motion right under the palm, re-creating the trajectory of the arc straight into the rain made body of water at the center of the Crater.

Splash Dyne thought as he slammed face first into five to six feet of water, blood and massacred flesh swam from the General. Not done...Not...done... Dyne was done, and it was up to the paramedics to save his a** from drowning.

His mind faded into unconciousness, he had taken two strikers including the target. That red head was lucky, if it weren't for the Axe wielder, the Tazon would have torn him apart, within lively limits. Dyne planned on taking on each of Glacier's current strikers in a one on one match after the tournament.

It would be up to the rest of Team XD to make up for this loss.

13 - Match 1 ended.

Trei_Shouri Wrote:

The first round is over, leaving fighters from both sides battered and bloodied, but it is only the beginning; Trei now has to open the doors to the darkness for the second time in a matter of moments, and face down a fear that has defined his nightmares for nigh onto twenty years. In a strange way, Owle is being kind... she's being kind enough to push Trei to the threshold, to force him to stare his nightmares in the face... Unlike the rabbit girl Madison, Owle seems to understand the bonds of battle. It wouldn't do for Trei to do any less than to show this girl the whole of his soul...

Normally, Trei would approach in silence, or bearing a roguish grin. He would jest and joke, taunt and jeer; but now, if his fellows should turn their ears towards him, a new tone seeps from Trei's almost unparted lips... the sound of reverence and faith, and of the utmost respect that forms between linked souls. At first, his words are murmurs... however, his words become stronger as his faith in his impromptu prayer rises, and his words reverbrate throughout the car...

"As I stand at the edge of Death's vale, I pray to no god.

I seek not divine forgiveness, nor evil's curse.

I pray to my blade, and to my opponent.

I pray that you bare your soul,

and I shall bare mine to you.

I pray that, where speech fails,

my fists will tell a thousand tales.

I pray that my blood will sing of my honor

I pray that your blood will sing of glory earned..."

At this point, Trei has risen and strode forward, shrugging off his silken shirt to reveal a lean, but well built, torso wrapped about in sporadic bursts of gauze. As his voice grows in strength, the wisps that form his aura begin to circle faster, until he is surrounded by a gentle maelstrom of wisps that light his face with an almost benevolent glow. Ten steps forward, and he shifts, his right leg and side forward, his left side back, and his right arm raised so that his palm faces his opponent... yet, his face doesn't turn.

"In battle, we cross blades with cruel Fate

as we attempt to become masters of our own Destiny.

We ascend past the gods... we conquer even bittersweet Death.

And so, I pray to you, my opponent..."

At these words, Trei turns his head, looking his opponent directly in the eyes, and his emerald iris is literally dancing with flickers of the same iridescent light that dances around his form.

"Accept the only thing that is mine to give;

My soul, as can only be seen on the edge of my blade.

Give me the only thing that is yours to give;

your heart, as can only be seen in your clenched fist.

Drive me through the Vale...

and into Destiny..."

With his final word, the wisps of his aura sworl down his outstretched arm, where they condense and blend together to form a pulsating ball of iridescent energy that glows with the promise of battle to come...

For this moment, this fleeting instant caught in the winds of time...

Trei will hold nothing back.

Coolest start of a match ever.

Fenrir Fenix Wrote:

BANG!

Blind, deaf; flashbang. Everyone in the crowd would be momentarily senseless. They'd scream, shout, duck for cover, and fall over.

Leaving one extremely purposeful man standing as if expecting the blast, and undoubtedly immune to it.

Scratch that. One man and six hundred security officers in fully sealed suits of powered armor. Each equipped with dampeners that cancelled sound beyond a certain level. Microphones on the side helmets would record the sound and instantly replay the sound through the internal processors of the armor, where it'd normally be put through to the auditory receptors mounted in the pilot's ear. With the sound so loud, the electrical signal created by it would stop in the processor and keep the pilots from becoming deaf.

Bright light, while over their heads, would reach the camera array on their masks. All the pilots would see white light for a split second as the internal HUD switched to infrared view. Visible light was irrelevant this far down the electromagnetic spectrum. You can't flashburn cameras, anyway.

So there'd be a gap in everyone's consciousness where they'd be deaf and blind, experiencing only the sensation of their body huddling over and ducking.

Meanwhile, numerous security officers cleared leather. Metaphorical leather, because they didn't have six-shooters and rawhide holsters. They had automags; the massive eight pound sidearm that was practically built into mk. V armor.

Countless caseless 5.7mm copper/potassium hollowpoints tore through the air. Each round would be hit or miss; burying themselves in in the wall of some building, or finding the flesh of the dumb ******** testing security.

Each hollowpoint would mushroom mid-way and enter the body with a potassium slug. The pressure of the closing temporary cavity would exert pressure on the slug, while the water content of the blood would oxydize the potassium core.

Science-y description = Bullets that exploded on contact with blood, making for exit wounds nearly a foot across.

The security officers reholstered after emptying their twenty round magazines. Everyone in the crowd stirred as the blindness wore off and the ringing in their ears faded.

Then they screamed. Again.

Towards the back of the crowd there was a pair of legs, some shredded clothing, and about a hundred pounds of ground beef. But how'd that happen?

What!? Nobody saw because everyone is blind!? People just don't get ******** up like that.

Oh well.

Gaia is a messed up place. Someone get a shovel.

DO NOT ******** WITH SECURITY

Lone Hand Wrote:

He stooped down without looking at the crowbar, o'course. Both eyes remained pinned on his sword-toting adversary. Kichiro deflected the knife and flipped the wakazashi around to sink the extent of its edge into Kurashu's left shoulder/collarbone area, even as the movement of the opponent's other arm--which K had a mind to watch--brought on the flash of steel, and another blade, even longer than the first, came skimming toward his knees.

The crowbar had been snatched quickly, with the preceding knife throw more of a diversion to grant him the precious second or so to get to his makeshift weapon. He knew he was ill-equipped here, and in a bad way; two deadly swords vs. his scrap metal shield and a crowbar with compromised integrity, a rubble-covered dumpster at his back. But the grin never faded, and a rivulet of blood seeped over the brim of his bottom lip as teeth clamped down on the knife between them, a thought transpiring even as he moved.

I like these odds.

Still crouched after retrieving his steel pole, his leading left foot shot back the moment Kichiro came in and swung the blades at him. The sole of the boot planted against the dumpster, and then fired off like a bazooka.

BOOM~

He sent himself off at an angle to the right, almost back-flipping from the force of the projection as his body spun into the opponent, knees bending while feet left the earth and both body and legs were swept away from the bisecting trajectory of the opposing blades. Kichiro was left with a smoking hole in the dumpster where Kurashu's foot lay moments before, ringing ears and probable shell-shock, a violent swirl of gravel from the blowback of the explosive evasion, a faceful of trashcan lid as K passed up and by him...

10

Kichiro's knees bent and feet rotated as Clash fired off, and the wakazashi carried the momentum of his swing swirling above his head, rotating his wrist and letting the blade do the work.

A warrior didn't stop when the explosion hit and the soldier across the street was firing, he grit his teeth and moved on till that moment came where he could rest.

Kichiro's vision was blurry, but he saw Clash skyrocketing upwards and knew he had to keep that wakazashi in the way. The man was standing, the other was crouched down to grab a crowbar, Kichiro had more than enough time to react as the man went flying upwards.

So the wakazashi was in the way, and the crowbar rid up and over the curve of the blade as Kichiro rotated on his feet.

Sliding against blade instead of cracking skull, Clash would likely not be making a 5.0 landing. Actually, he'd be lucky if that crowbar survived the hit on that wakazashi after being coated in liquid silver so long ago.

While wakazashi and crowbar were hitting, and Kichiro was turning on the balls of his feet, the katana would be carried up at Clash's knees. Being so close in range, and that arc being easily carried upwards from behind Kichiro, the katana would most likely leave Clash bloodily scrapped as he went soaring over head.

And then the two would be seperated, and Kichiro would be seen for what he was as Clash went carreening along from the force of his own explosion.

Wakazashi going back to a reverse hold with his right hand and brought to his left shoulder, Kichiro's katana would be held against his left hip. His left leg would slide back and he'd stand up to full.

Holes in his clothing, scorch marks, glints of metal all over from Kichiro's hidden blades on his top half. He was breathing heavy, but the chimagin had once been a shinobi.

Sight and smell in the sewers of a palace during a spy mission, were mere bonuses.

Kichiro acted on instinct, vibration, and even the slightest change of light or shadow. Upon finishing the turn, an old skill would come in. He flashed a bright yellow light, and flames poured out from his solar plexus over his blades.

The right blade having a silvery flame down the center of the otherwise yellow blazing sword.

"Your a** is mine."

Kichiro spit out a piece of gravel, and advanced. The heat from the explosion before, aiding him in his creation of flame. Yellow blazes began to build on his cheest and pour into a small sphere that rotated around his hips.

10