East Division

The lack of crowds was anything but a problem. One grew used to them over the course of one such of these events, but it was much quieter with only the staff present. Less bustle. Everything seemed a great deal more peaceful.

And it was quiet.

Quiet enough that he could clearly hear the Led Zeppelin without turning his MP3 player up at all, anyhow.

The young man took his time about crossing the pit, eyes half shut behind a pair of shades that were without a doubt unnecessary, not unless you intended to get some shut eye anyhow. Going by the tussled brown hair and lethargic motions, he had been doing just that not too long ago.

His hands, in dirty brown leather gloves were partially tucked into his blue jean pockets, though he carried a large duffel bag, straps thrown over his shoulder, a length of leather covered something protruding out from it's unzipped top. Of course, he had a t-shirt and leather jacket on over that. All of which, save the bag, appeared to be in terrible shape, rips and tears in the material- the side of the leather jacket were shreded to the point that one side of the zipper had come entirely off, and the other was only partly there. Jeans were missing patches of a thigh and torn apart at the cuffs. The plain white t-shirt at least appeared to be okay besides a small rip out of the colar and some old browned stains surrounding it and trialing down. That he was clean shaven was about all that could be said for him.

Kael did not look like a guy who had his s**t together.

He didn't even look around at the other parts of the arena and their stands as he stopped by the eastern ring.

He folded the glasses and popped the white wires from his ears, reaching into his jacket pocket and tucking everything away, turning his music off. The bag slid from his shoulder and dropped to the ground with a royal ruckus, and in a moment he'd stripped of his jacket and thrown it overtop.

He turned his red eyes in a slow rotation over, scanning the adjacent rings with ne'er a care, so far as sleepy eyes said. He turned around, and sat on the edge of the wooden platform, stiffling a yawn as he stratched the small scar across his cheek and began a rather half hearted stretching routine.

It may have been just the preliminaries, but he could have at least show some excitement.

Kael turned his head around slowly, and offered a lazy smile. His body relaxed, pulling the extended legs and arms back in, stretching apparantly over. "Kael. Same sentiments."

He took a quick visual once over.

...guess I'll keep my shirt on after all.

Something about fighting a woman without a top on seemed inconsiderate. Maybe it was an odd observation for him to start with considering the quickly following thoughts.

She's holding a weapon.

I should have come with my gear on after all.

He stood up, and walked away from the stage, bending over by his bag, and took a grip on the object sticking out. When he straightened up he pulled it out after, a long way up, and finally lifted it free to show a rather plain crossguard and hilt. Plain except that it seemed too long, even for the four foot blade it was attached to.

One hand on the scabbard, and a second on the hilt, he pulled the broadsword free, and rested the side of the blade lazily back on his shoulder.

"I am assuming you wanna do this with toys?"

He bounced the blade gently on his shoulder and stepped back up onto the platform, bouncing the ball of his left foot to test the sneaker. He'd been figuring people would come wanting to play it easy and hold their tricks in reserve for these matches, so he'd come planning on a fistfight, with all of his equipment in his bags instead of on him. Wasn't the time to be putting it all on though.

...why is it I always seem to end up fighting women though?

[-1/10-]

"That they do," Kael grinned, still slouched and lazy in posture, right hand twitching slightly, making the tip of his blade bounce considerably way up in the air above and behind his shoulder.

Red eyes met red eyes.

There wasn't any hostility behind them, any maliciousness, but he wasn't entirely as slothfully mellow as his body language was indicating. A hint of violent, hot anticipation.

And she moved.

His eyes snapped to the weapon and back to her main posture, taking a single step forward with the sword back over his shoulder, planting his left in front. The blade came forward quickly turning lightly to place the side of it in his left hand as she skidded, standing firm and watching for movement of her weapon during the rapid approach-

It hadn't been touched, dragging behind, and she was getting close.

His right foot slide out and behind him, left leg bending forward.

Instead of moving out of the way of the hit Kael bent his left leg forward, right far out behind as a brace, left hand coming forward to point the blade of the sword out toward his left.

"-ngh."

He grunted, only faintly, through a clenched jaw as he let the kick strike his braced shin, sliding his leg back minimally, no doubt with a new bruise. Rather than wasting the time just eating the blow however, he'd have thrust forward, jamming the point of his sword into the cloth covered wood they were standing atop on her far side, up at waist level.

She had to have more in mind than this, and he wasn't quite ready to take the opportunity for a tackle or start swinging away until he knew just what it was. Mainly though, he was not standing still waiting for her to bring the scythe around at his legs, acutely aware that they weren't protected by the boots he normally wore.

If putting his sword in was simultanious with her throwing the kick, then the motion of his right leg was immediately after, thrown at an insignificant delay as soon as the other had absorbed the blow. Rather than come for a kick his right leg stepped high, planting the ball of his foot forcefully on her ribcage, undefended with her hands on the ground. Kael leaned into the sword, pushing with his right foot to help him kick up the left quickly, knee high, spinning on the planted ball of his foot with both hands working the hilt of the sword for stability.

Essentially, he a little spin and hopped over her, landing lightly left-foot first, followed quickly by right as he retreated in waht almost looked like a stumble away from her, yanking the sword free as he went.

Just that quick, the wildly playful grin was on his face again, and he backed away toward the center of the platform. Maybe they weren't large, but it was better than standing around on the edge like he had been, waiting for someone to flop out of bounds.

His right hand came up, and the sword went onto his shoulder again, flat against it, and beckoned her on with the left. For all of it, he didn't say a word though.

[2/10]

The acrobatics puzzled him more than worried him- she was doing it again. And while she had speed, the movements looked overblown and inefficient to him, just making the suspicion that there was a trick she was waiting to pull stronger.

The sword dropped off his shoulder out behind him, tip almost on the ground.

Kael didn't back off or dodge when she started into the flip. Instead, he charged straight in, lowering his left shoulder with the forearm thrown up in front of his head. As Callista bounced off of her hands Kael's left shoulder slammed solidly into her back, leading a standing tackle with much of his 190 lbs of weight thrown behind it. The expectation was that with her airborne and he heavier and braced against the flooring, he'd send her tumbling and disoriented from the sudden interception. For it he'd have her legs slamming his forearm against his head, but it was much better than a straight hit.

He'd reel from the contact, stumbling a single step backward before recovering.

-and now press it!

The swordsman followed quickly on Callista, adding adding a second hand to his grip on the sword and levelling it out to parallel the ground, trying to be in range to strike by the time she'd be stood up.

[3/10]

Seeing her all crumpled up he slowed down again. Not quite chivalry, but it was a pain how often he seemed to end up fighting women. It didn't help that she-

-don't get onto any train of thought like that.

Just slow down and let her get up. This thing is about show as much as fight anyhow, and there's more of both if I-

And that was when something flashed underneath his sneaker and pain washed over it.

"Wha-?"

The first reaction was to life the foot up and avoid setting it on the ground, as if that were the trap causing him to flail for balance. That only made it worse, and he stomped it down, cursing, and lifted the other foot for a step, when it happened again.

-the hell?

He gritted his teeth, stepping forward, and when it happened again he stomped it down.

So when they're up, fire? Damn.

She had plenty of time to get up, but by now he was watching her, not his blackened sneakers falling apart on his feet- glad they hadn't simply gone up in open flame. He brought the sword back around and took up the half hand grip again, moving his left hand from the hilt onto the blade, holding it in front of him.

Kael leaned slightly forward, sliding his feet along the earth trying to prevent the flame popping up more and scorching his feet. He wasn't moving quickly, no matter what, and while this gave him a lot more reason to want to finish the match quickly, he suddenly had to play defensive.

Kael turned the tip of the blade down and dropped it in the way of the chain, blocking it from his knee with the flat. It saved his kneecaps, but the deflection of the flexible weapon snapped the chain across his thigh in its passing instead.

Kael flinched at the heavy bruising, showing his gritted teeth. The tip of his blade slammed into the wooden platform again, supporting his weight once more- this time making up for a lack of practice in combat with it. The knee came up high, cocked, and with a quick turn, Kael delivered a flaming roundhouse kick toward Callista's head.

[4/10]

What-

His eyes went wide, and his thoughts entered a spiral of wild curses.

Later it was bound to register that this was a pair of pants falling apart already, that he was lucky he hadn't worn one of his few good pairs, but right now, the fact that she was putting burn scars on his leg to match his hands.

"-aggchhhh!"

His grins were gone, gritted teeth exposed. And she had a good half seconds look at him tight with pain, eyes flashing from the burning hand on his leg to her face. No recognition of her expression showed.

Now you're not-

He leaned his body forward, and he forced his entrapped leg down, flaming hand and chain still attached, the knee of his other leg shooting up at her torso quickly and back down. It was a hard enough blow to crack a rib if she didn't stop it with a hand, which honestly would be perfectly easy to do. The intention of it was to keep him on balance while he yanked the point of his sword out of the wood though, and maybe occupy her arm.

-giving me alot of choice!

In as free leg came to the ground again his sword rose in one clean arc of motion, his left hand sliding the hilt to the end and wrapping itself over the pommel- which then came crashing down in a crushing blow toward the top of her head.

[5/10]

What was coming down was the pommel- not the blade. The blade up in the air, the swing around was dropping the blunt mass of steel on the opposite end of the hilt down like a hammer- and with no head to make contact with, it'd stop short of hitting the ground. After all, he'd been trying to unbalance her and then swing it for what would have been a knockout blow or near to it, not put her off her feet right off, which made it more difficult. Bending down had broken the flow of his swing if anything, though he'd continued trying to complete the strike.

It left him halfway standing from bending to bring the pommel that low. Kael didn't hesitate to turn his head around, looking for her, and he'd was bringing the blade up and to the side, starting to turn when he saw her move, and tug.

He got his hands out in front of him in time to stop his nose jamming against the platform, but he still fell with a grunt. Pushing up he turned his head around to get a look at her. His left foot rose, but abruptly stopped.

No, better idea.

He pushed off with his left hand, flipping himself over, belly up, and moved his left leg quickly next to one of her legs, hooking around it where he could manage, saved distraction by the burning pain in his other leg. He pulled with both legs, regardless of if she was still pulling or not. Probably significantly heavier, he was likely to draw her toward him instead of vice versa, but it didn't matter. With a chain binding her hand and his leg together, and two legs locked tightly together, neither of them was going far from the other.

This should have left each belly up on the platform, heads away from each other, with Kael's right foot drawn somewhere up around Callista's torso, leg just slightly bent, his left leg through her right. Possibly pulling closer. The ensurance that she wasn't going further away was all he needed- he had plenty of reach with a four foot blade added to his arm's reach anyhow.

Kael put his left hand on the hilt of his sword again, turning the blade as he drew his upper body upward by his abs. With a sudden flicking motion of his arms he'd snap a heavy blow with the flat of his blade, coming in from her left at a slight downard angle, intended to catch Callista in the temple and either put her out or disorient her.

Kichiro stood on the edge of the fighting area, after hearing his name announced along with Mr. Crawley. Hands remained stuffed into overcoat pockets, hidden in the heavy black leather as were many of the weapons beneath. The Chimagin really didn't like the idea of fighting Mr. Crawley, again.

There was a tournament previous where Kichiro had attempted to fight the man with a katana, and it turned out that the Chimagin decided to rather walk out than try to fight the man.

Headache.

This was the sole word used to describe Kichiro's feelings about fighting this man, again. Whenever they'd fought hand to hand, it was only a matter of time before Kichiro was falling flat on the mat. Now he wasn't with any of the restrictions he typically had when fighting Mr. Crawley, but he didn't have any either. The man had no clue what sort of immunities, powers, weapons, etc. that Mr. Crawley would have in his arsenal.

Sighing, crystal green eyes glanced back from beneath a straw hat at the katana hilt over Kichiro's shoulder. He didn't think he'd be using that weapon, this time. No, Kichiro would test the martial artist' range, and see if he could keep himself from being tossed to the ground.

Looking back to the area where the fighters were needing to make way, Kichiro's scarred face was moved to the direction where he'd meet the man again in battle.

"KICHIRO ODA! IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO FEEL THE FIYAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Crawley hopped onto the platform out of nowhere and swung two bats. One was obviously designed for Metallica fans and the other was a bat wrapped in barbed wire.

He was gonna make a man out of this private.

"Wait where are your two swords?"

"... STOP PLAYING GAMES!"

Crawley skipped forward with a bat in each hand at Kichiro. Obviously with the intent of beating him down. He was gonna corner the guy. Then he was gonna put the hurtin' on him. Force him to cry like a baby.

"C'mon.. bust a move"

Because Mr. C was getting all up in his grill and had the intention of violating personal space laws. Just.. not quite yet.

Crawley stepped out of the "line of fire" save for the ones that were just outside that line. For those he swung both bats simultaneously from one side of his body to hit the shuriken.

Which would cause them to explode on impact(?)

Anyway Crawley sought to cut Kichiro off by advancing upon him at an angle. From there he used the Metallica bat (left) to swing across at Kichiro's head to home-run it or something.

If Crawley could face palm. He would.

"I can't believe they allow this crap."

Of course now Crawley was mad and he remembered why he didn't like magic in the first place. With what remained in his hands from the bats. One being metal and if it could completely destroy metal then it could probably destroy Crawley upon impact.

And killing.. wasn't allowed.

Crawley walked forward and dove into a roll, ahead of the intersecting paths of the daggers or whatever. Rolling forward into Kichiro's personal space in a tiger-like crouch not too far from his legs.

One severly damaged metal bat still in his hand.

He was daring Kichiro to move with his posture. Because there wasn't much place else to run now.

Authoritative_Nuisance Wrote:

Going into a crouch and circling out to Crawley's left, Crawley was there. After all. Crawley was poised and ready in his little tiger crouch. When Kichiro moved out to his left Crawley let the top of the bat drag along the ground in his left hand while he stood very close to Kichiro with his right hand ready at chest level.

Bold, because though Crawley was close, he was still getting the short end of the deal because Kichiro could easily stab him.

But Kichiro was in hand range, and Crawley is a man of miracles.

Okay, since Kichiro was standing there. Didn't bother paying any attention to anthing else except waiting for Crawley to make a move.

Last post Wrote:

Crawley let the top of the bat drag along the ground in his left hand...

He might be surprised by that bat careening up between his legs to smash into his groin with an upward flick of the left wrist. This being a light movement for Crawley who had a wrestler's grip.

Authoritative_Nuisance Wrote:

Lesser degrees of flames, yellow fire, blasted out in a nine foot sphere around him. Kichiro must've felt pretty good. He just unleashed some awesome strong attack.

Of course. .. Crawley didn't really give a s**t. He didn't think it was strong enough to hurt him.

Mr. C the awesome Wrote:

Pro-Wrestling Ability - NO SELL -: In the face of any attack that is blunt in force the Crawley may choose to "Not Sell" his opponent's attack for one turn every five turns. Not selling idoes not make the user immune to damage. It simply prevents the user from being phased or showing body language that indicates he is hurt by the attack.

So he grabbed Kichiro's head from two angles and palmed it. Kichiro took the time to slash the swords at the bat. and Crawley would take the time palm his head with both hands and violently twist it to one side with killer intent.

Of course if Kichiro didn't die he'd just be knocked out, huh. And maybe Crawley would be burned bad but.. oh well. Nothing a nurse and a happy ending couldn't fix.

Authoritative_Nuisance Wrote:

Kichiro's head came flying in between Crawley's hands, propelled faster by the fire in his control, going into a headbutt in to Crawley's nose/ face area while tucking his chin and raising his shoulders. Crawley = Standing.

Kichiro = not.

But technicalities are unimportant. Though the question of whether the sphere is still going is of some importance. Because there was no lag time between magic attacks.. or there was an attack within a magic attack or.. whatever. blah blah blah.

So, with the hands that he was going to palm Kichiro's head with, he ended up deflecting him inadvertently via face/chest push. So Kichiro could propel himself out of Crawley's ring with that nonsense.

Magic flames coming off a really hot blue sword, didn't simply just vanish.

Kichiro would be deflected off Crawley's block somehow, and propelled back to the center of the platform after circling and then being rushed into from a tiger stance down below. His boots slid against the mat, and then he stopped.

Instead, depending on if Crawley had propelled Kichiro further than the nine feet sphere, where Kichiro had brought about during his supposed time of doing "nothing", he might still feel some of the yellow fire burning around Kichiro.

Kichiro's blades twirled on either side of him back into the cross block in his propulsion back, standing and watching Crawley with a quirked brow.

"Um.... that it?"

Kichiro's yellow flames would withdraw back into the sword, from the sphere, once covered in alcohol, now just having yellow fire from the previous expenditure in his attack the same as hisother sword.

Kichiro rushed in at Crawley's back as he turned it towards him, moving in a fluid shuffle step, and then advancing forward to the right while rotating his hips counter clockwise and moving to keep the majority of his body facing his opponent. He'd advance into a four foot range, and then snap his left blade out from its crossed position.

Tip going from Kichiro's right shoulder down, across Crawley's thighs in the mirroring side and out in its ending path, with his right blade hovering back for if Crawley decided to try and put up some sort of defense.

The man would leave cuts deep, and burn them shut if Crawley just stood there. The fight wasn't over yet.

Kichiro watched Crawley run away, stopped, and turned to watch him go. He fired a couple fireballs towards the man's back, since he seemed healthy enough to run across a platform.

The fireballs each came off Kichiro's swords, leaving nothing but shining metal with Kichiro's burning hands behind.

Now it was over.

Kichiro's face was a bit sore from blasting into deflecting hands, he had some piece of bat hit against the inside of his legs, but generally had accomplished keeping range from Crawley.

The man was a headache to fight, and apparently, powers were the asperin.

Kichiro would hop off the platform and sheath his blades, going somewhere to watch Deitric's fight.

Since Deitric just kept sitting, Kichiro took the time to collect all his spent weapons. He wondered how the explosions from his fireballs blew up the bats, but merely shrugged passed that debri and began re-equipping his stuff.

The man would then go back, waiting for the other pre-lim to start.

A single, fluid motion brought the Khasmin warrior up from his seated position to a standing on. He pointed the tip of his spear - relatively short in comparison to some used by other warriors - down towards the ground and eyed the man who had entered the ring. With a roll and shift of his shoulders, the red man's shield slid from his shoulders by its straps down to his forearm in a loose, but ready position.

"I am Deitric - and you are my opponent, I assume?" Deitric asked politely, watching the other man from across the ring.

This probably won't end well..

Deitric sighed inwardly and gave another quick roll of his shoulders, but otherwise showed nothing of his thoughts. If he had any powers, he wasn't revealing them. He only seemed to have that which was at hand - a few weapons, all of them tribal and foreign in comparison to most other fighters in the tournament.

"That's right. I take it you want to start?" Deitric responded, gripping his spear tightly. He could feel a tingle run along the grip of his left hand over the haft of the spear - maybe there was more to this tribesman?

Whatever the case was, he simply began walking - taking a leisurely pace, at that. The thick leather of his Hell's Angel inspired boots clicked harshly on the canvas-covered wood as he moved forward. He was definitely moving towards his opponent, but otherwise he seemed like he was just going to take his time and meander forward.

[1]

Deitric watched, but his features still remained impassive - thoughtful, maybe, but most definitely lacking any true emotion towards the display. Instead, he continued to wander forward, giving the spear in his hands a quick twirl--

And loosed it towards the man in front of him, the faintest of blue sparks jumping from the butt of the spear to the tips of his gloved fingers. He'd stopped it mid-spin so that he could hold it in a better grip before loosing it. His movements lacked the twisting and stretching suggesting a powerful throw, though, as if he'd forgotten to put any of his weight behind the spear he'd just hurled towards his opponent. In fact, the be-feathered weapon looked as if it'd strike his opponent in the left foot or shin, or maybe not even strike close enough to actually damage him.

Behind the flying spear came the owner, though, boots slapping against the floor as he loosed his tomahawk from the belt loop. He hadn't waited long from his impromptu-throw, and his gait still wasn't even at a sprint. In fact, he seemed to be going just faster than a jog. The tasseled and tribally decorated medicine shield was held across his body as he quickened his approach, guarding his vitals as he moved. At most, he might approach the man a couple of seconds after the spear struck, instead of immediately so.

Maybe he was just lazy.

[2]

Whump.

The spear thudded into the platform behind Deitric. The warrior had smoothly slipped under the projectile. The spear passed over his shoulders and head harmlessly as he rose back up. By the time his spear had traveled, been caught, and then thrown back at him, the tribal warrior would be perfectly within range of the potent weapon in his hand.

Deitric's left arm pumped as he lashed out with the tomahawk, aiming a hard, downward chop for the man's right shoulder. He was within arm's reach of his opponent, and right in front of him - all the layabout from before had simply been part of a small ruse - he'd seem slow to those around him, belying just how fast he could really move when he had to.

[3]

Never one to sit back and watch, Deitric followed quickly, his shield still up to bear, aiming to quite literally bash the man while he was upside down in his cart-wheeling movement to batter him away and down to the ground. It was as simply as running - he just had to keep the shield in front of him and bodily smash his opponent, which would be more than enough to throw him to the ground and send him skittering away if he was struck mid-cartwheel.

That was the good thing about the tomahawk - it wasn't a huge, double-bladed thing that would cut swathes through whole ranks of men - it required considerably less commitment, which allowed the user to stay limber and in movement all the while.

If the shield bash was successful, Deitric would hold, ready but waiting to see what his opponent did, turquoise eyes still watching impassively. If he somehow missed his battering move, he'd simply continue on before turning about at a fair distance to face his opponent again. Apparently, the warrior was simply more intent on stopping his opponent before he could get started rather than really doing a lot of harm.

[4]

Deitric didn't even notice his opponent's flask - or lack thereof. It was probably somewhere off near the judges' table, or off leaking on Kichiro's shoes. Poor fella.

The warrior gave the tomahawk a quick twirl. For better or worse, he'd come through rather unscathed, but his opponent would probably have a few bruises to speak off - even with a lessened strike, a tomahawk and a shield bash were nothing to laugh about. Unless you were a masochist.

"You aren't really the sort of fighter for this kind of environment, are you?" the red clay-skinned brave asked, giving his shoulders another roll. He was a little disappointed - the man hadn't drawn a weapon, and he hadn't given any indication of doing so. Deitric suspected that the fire that had been around the man's arm would probably come back, but then again, maybe the man wasn't the same stock of fighter as the tribesman had expected from Gaia.

[5]

Shaman.

By nature, the word meant something to Deitric - it was the Common word for what he had had some training with before leaving his homeland. But he understood that most shamans were far different than what he had in mind - at least from what he'd seen in his recent travels.

In response, he only grinned, holding up the tomahawk for his opponent to see. Beaded lengths of leather hung from the hilt just below the axe-head, ending with wide feathers of some predatory bird.

"A weapon," Deitric stated plainly, advancing forward again -just like before, he took a purposely leisurely pace. He could always talk later - but right now they were being judged on fighting, not how well the spoke to each other. Hopefully, the man had some sort of weapon on him, at least, or else Deitric felt he was going to be knocking his opponent around for the rest of their match.

[6]

Detiric huffed like a bull in superstitious annoyance at both the spirits and the flash of light - the spirits of man were not meant to return to the land of the living - not usually, anyways. He offered a slight nod at the weapon in his opponents hand - he recognized what it was meant to be.

"Fair enough," Deitric spoke. He gave a quick twist of his upper-body, flinging his right arm up. The shield straps seemed to twist and undo as the shield slid up his arm, re-binding over his shoulders to leave the arm free and protect his back. His fingers slipped around the plainly made hilt of the long-knife at his belt, drawing it out swiftly. Barring any light show as what his opponent had, the tribesman's body and weapons seem to come alive with blue-white arcs of electricity, dancing sparks jumping from one place to the next over his body and armaments.

"Whenever you're ready," he called, keeping the knife in the reverse hold, raising his tomahawk up to make a summoning motion towards his opponent, strands of lightning jumping from tomahawk to owner and back again with the movement.

[7]

If his opponent wasn't going to attack, then Deitric would. He'd have a hard time activating many of his charms - As soon as Jacob ended his sentence, Deitric rushed forward - no good standing around if the other man wasn't going to do anything.

With no alternative, he closed the distance between them, lashing out quickly with the cackling dagger in his right hand. The blade lanced out quickly, aimed for the man's hand, or just above it, for the actual sword. No reason to bother dancing around if they both had weapons, the fighter reasoned - better to get right into it than to wait and watch like before.

After the other fighters had cleared out, a tall young man with an orange pompadour haircut walked onto the scene. He was dressed in a long white overcoat that he kept open, showing the muscles of his chest and an abdomen wrapped in gauze. Below that was a pair of white pants that were stuffed into almost knee-high black boots. He looked like some sort of stock character taken out of some Japanese high-school drama movie, giving off the look of a typical school bully. But that was not really the truth about Kazuma Kuwabara.

"So these are the preliminaries, huh?" said Kuwabara. "Wonder who I'm going to fight..."

He hoped the training he had went through was enough. Kuwabara was probably the least resourceful of his team, but that wouldn't stop him from enjoying the fight.

From the sidelines Xerion looked around with a bored look on his face. The large man, 6'6" high and made of muscle, waited patiently for his opponent to show up.

Looking at his gauntlets Xerion smiled, just wanting for his fight to start. Apparently his opponent was a guy called Chance, who was meant to have no powers or something. Whoever the guy was Xerion was ready to pound his face in.

((Eh. I'm pretty I need to post there, since I haven't for I'm not sure how long.))

Gamma would break stride at a few feet's distance as Kuwabara offered his ready. Half a moment would have Gamma taking a drag off his cigar, exhaling...

And would, unceremoniously, kick Kuwabara in the balls.

A simple movement to shift his weight to his left foot and sweep his right boot forward at an angle to catch Kuwabara in the groin from the angle he had his hips facing. While seeming to be a lame attempt, it wasn't lazy. Gamma meant for it to connect, so there'd be as much force as possible behind it.

Which would obviously be far less than a kick set to strike hard, rather than some half-assed attempt to surprise. A block and counter wouldn't be hard to muster but Gamma seemed, despite the poker face of the blank mask, entirely unconcerned.

+[All good.]+

And there was his opponent. Heading into the ring Xerion began cracking his knuckles, neck and other crackable bones. Once in the ring Xerion called out to his opponent with a hey! Once done he would wait for his opponent to step up.

+[Here we go!]+

Removing the blue cloak covering his chest Xerion threw the top to the side to reveal his bulky body. As the cloak hit the outside ground the beat of We Will Rock you by Queen began booming over the speakers. Rubbish in the arena would move with the pounding of the beat. Xerions toes rose up and down to the beat within his boots. What a beat to fight to. Now then.

"Ready, let's rock." He would say before storming forward towards his opponent with the intent for a good fight. Xerion was easily bigger than his opponent, which would be both good and bad. His strength would be higher, but his speed lower. But strength is always good.

+1+

+[Queen is the only way to start.]+

Xerion would rush forward, gaining momentum with each long step of his 6'6" form. Chance's leg rose quickly which made Xerion move to the side slightly, about a foot distance. With that the kick came down on Xerions muscular shoulder.

CRACK!

The kick landed which send pain through out Xerions body. The kick possible left a few cracks in the very hard bone, but not broken yet! With the mans leg now on Xerions shoulder, through the pain Xerion shot fourth, his momentum taking him anyway. This would make the position Chance was in very awkward, which in turn would push him backwards. Xerion was like a ******** bull!

If Chance were to fall back, or lose his footing in the slightest, Xerion would dive forward for two reasons. Chance would in turn fall back and Xerion could then mount him, or it could snap Chance's right leg pretty badly. No man should be able to bend like that anyway.

+2+

The knee would smack into the side of Xerions head, sending ringing sounds through his head. His eyes shut tightly from the pain, but the pain would be not as much as a normal knee would be as this knee is focused only on Chances momentum mixed with the strength in his right leg. So recovery would be much easier.

Xerions head bent to the side from the knee slightly. And with that Xerion would continue forward a few steps before charging at the rising Chance. He was like a berserker! Running forward Xerion would go for a clothes line with his left arm to take the guys head off. But not literally.

+3+

+[If I could get the momentum of attacks going I could so make Xerion say "I'm the Juggernaut, b***h!" That'd be a laugh.]+

If only the two were in a wrestling ring, then Xerion could bounce of the ropes and go for another clothes line. Sadly, Xerion had no such luck. Instead he had to come skidding to a halt. His body bent down and his left hand took hold of the mat, making him stop faster. With the stop Xerion would push off with his legs and gauntlet covered hand and Blast towards Chance.

By the time Xerion had began running back Chance would be on his feet about six feet away from Xerion. Sadly, six feet was easily covered for this juggernaut. His feet pounded the ground as he came towards Chance, both his hands up just out infront of his head like a grizzly bear, tips of fingers and palms facing Chance.

Once Xerion would be upon Chance, unless Chance dodged, Xerion would bring his hands slamming down on the mans shoulders. If his hands were planted the gauntlet covered hands would grip into the shoulder tightly before Xerion would tilt his head back then shoot it forward for a headbut straight to Chances head.

+4+

+[Good point, Edit!]+

Well that looked like it could'a turned into something epic, but then Chance ducked down and tackled Xerions lower leg area. This sent Xerion forward with his arms out in front of him. Landing on his hands Xerion flung his legs forward for extra momentum and did a handstand. After reaching handstand position Xerion pushed off with his arms and flung himself onwards to land on his feet once more. Quickly he spun around upon his feet to face Chance.

Even Giants can be ballerinas.

+5+

A belt as a weapon, handy for choking things. Well that's no good. Removing his blue goggles and lightly chucking them to the side Xerion looked back at Chance with blue eyes.

Breathing in and out Xerion rolled his shoulders, and experienced a bad pain in his right shoulder from when Chance landed an axe kick there. Grunting quietly Xerion would move forward at a good paced walk with one foot going infront of the other at an angle. With a weapon in play Xerion was sure to take things much more seriously than before. Everyday items can be used as weapons after all.

+6+

As Chance came in for the strike so would Xerion! Xerion would jump forward and smother Chance as the kick came round. The kick would smack Xerion in the side but he would be ontop of Chance. Hopefully this would bring Chance backwards and down, as Xerion Weighed 240lbs. If successfully done Xerion would be ontop of Chance on the ground, so the belt might not have very good use. And on the ground Xerion would then attempt to begin punching Chance in the face with everything he's got.

That is, if they got onto the ground and Xerions jump wasn't stopped.

+7+

+[Soldier on!]+

Xerion, failing to jump onto Chance and force him to the ground, just kept going, stopped, then was smacked in the back of the head by an iron buckle of a belt. Grunting as the belt hit Xerion turned around, took two big steps forward and sent a hook flying at Chance's face.

The belt buckle hurt quite a bit, but Xerion was made of muscle, strength and awesome. The pain was over come be adrenaline, which would mean after said adrenaline died down his head would hurt like a b***h.

+8+

[ 8 ]

With each step that X took forward, Chance took one back. Two steps later, they were in the same place as before.

The canvas belt was off to Chance's left side after striking his opponent across the head with it. As he was rushed he swung it back to lash the man across the face. No doubt it would sting; the heavy iron buckle had potential to deal serious damage.

[ 9 ]

Chance could only watch as the belt was taken from him. Immediately he relinquished his hold on it. Unfortunately he was hung up on the piece of canvas, though only for a moment. It was just enough time for the punch to connect.

Bam

His face contorted and snapped to the right. Pain. Lots of pain. However! Despite X's large size, it wasn't unheard of to survive one, single, measly punch from someone larger than yourself. Chance could go toe to toe with a man bigger than himself. It wasn't as if the beast would snap him in half.

With this in mind, Chance charged forward in a flurry of mad punches. The bell had rung, ten seconds remained in the match. He would put on a show for the judges that they would remember.

First he ducked down low and issued a hard right hook to the behemoth's left side, just below the ribcage. Synonymous with the hook, a left knee rose to connect with the opposite side. Finally, as his right hand began to come back, a left elbow strike to X's right cheek was issued.

Last but certainly not least, headbut after headbut meant to collide with X's head until time ran out or his opponent was down.

With this flurry of attacks and unrelenting offense, Chance felt there was little time for the slower man to react.

[ Canvas Belt: Discarded ]

[ 10 ]

His series of punches, knees, elbows, and headbutts had been completed quite well. X's retaliatory hook had missed and gone over Chance's head while he was ducking low. Finally the bell rang and X backed off.

Still in the heat of the match, Chance began to move forward again. Tunnel vision. He dipped his right side downward, preparing for an immediate uppercut.

As if time had slowed only for him, the bell sounded in his head alone, a second or two behind what actually happened. The uppercut halted mid-travel and Chance relaxed. The blood seeping from his nose was wiped clean and a hand was extended in a friendly gesture. "Absolutely." He said a bit nasally.

[ End Game ]

Chance followed X out of the ring and off to wherever it was that they were going. Good match I 'spose.

Kuwabara watched as Gamma's head went with the blow. As soon as he made contact with the hook, Kuwabara wouldn't stop there. His hips would whip around into the other direction following up from the hook, this time with his right hand coming in with an uppercut to Gamma's chin. Turning his hips would also turn his upper body to keep his ribs out of striking range. This would leave his stomach vulnerable to the roundhouse if it wasn't for his left arm. As he turned into the right uppercut, his hooking left arm would pull down to meet Gamma's shin with his forearm. It'd hurt like hell, but it was better than taking a shot to the ribs.

[2/10]

Kuwabara's uppercut for the chin would miss as Gamma leaned back, his fists returning to their normal position swiftly. However, as Gamma came in with the beer can, Kuwabara's reflexes simply took it as another strike. He wouldn't take the beer can to the head, nor would he try to parry it like some reject from a Kung Fu movie. He would move his right (back) leg outward to the side to base his weight and swifly weave around it to the right, the can flying behind him and out of the way. His reaction to it was so quick that Kuwabara wouldn't even notice it was a beer can. He couldn't, or else he'd just end up distracting himself.

With the can dodged, Kuwabara would be able to see the grab for his coat much more clearly, his guard opening up as Gamma's hands came in. Kuwabara was not as muscular, but he was far from weak. Added to that, even though Gamma was bulkier, Kuwabara was not much smaller than him. As the grab came in, Kuwabara's arms moved inward from the outside, his body lowering in peparation for his next move. This would lower his gravity, making his intended maneuver not just easier, but making him more difficult to get off balance.

Gamma definately had strong arms, but movements inward were stronger than movements outward. The inward moving force of Kuwabara's arms from both sides would cause Gamma's arms to cross, which would put Gamma off-balance with those arms of his for just a moment. In that moment, Kuwabara would give a strong pull to jerk him forward and to Kuwabara's right, causing him to lean forward. Kuwabara would fall back, still grabbing on to Gamma's arms by the wrists as he let Gamma's weight pull him into the throw. As Kuwabara rolled back, he qould curl his right leg up and chamber it before thrusting it into Gamma's lower abdominals to send him flying behind Kuwabara.

This wasn't some play-around kick, either. If it connected, Gamma would be feeling it pretty hard. It had enough force to send him at least three feet behind Kuwabara, considering Gamma's weight.

[3/10]