HoH Square 08

Exhibition fighting

Deity recognizes that amongst the crowd there are those not content to empty their pockets in exchange for product or service. In an attempt to pander to all parties, Deity has made available the means for those who seek it to be able to express themselves in combat.

Deity has made ready a number of opponents for to compete with in exchange for fabulous prizes. There is, however, the chance to fight someone else at your request and their consent.

Deity maintains a zero mortality rate within the Square and would like to remind participants that they must abide by all Heaven or Hell tournament rules with the exception of profile registration and any rule stated to be void and agreed upon before the fight.

Medical fees for services rendered to all participants are waived.

Grudge Match

Two fighters step into the arena and duke it out. Anyone can be challenged, but competitors from HoH looking for extra screen time are favoured. All HoH rules are in place, including the 17 post limit, but these fights are not judged. They are simply for guts and glory.

If you are still in the main game you cannot sign up for an exhibition match. Square Staff will be checking for active FIGHTERS before the fight.

Grudge Match Schedule Wrote:

1.

2.

3.

4.

Challenge Match

Deity has prepared special competitions for those willing to test their mettle.

All HoH rules are in place, including the 17 post limit, but these fights are not judged. They are simply for guts and glory. Challenge matches begin and end in the round time, there are no challenge matches during the judging period.

If you are still in the main game you cannot sign up for an exhibition match. Square Staff will check for active FIGHTERS before the fight.

Possible Opponents Wrote:

1. Marshall, Lieutenant Grade One (HARD MODE)

1. Insult and Injury, the Butchers in Black

1. Friar Brennick, Exoteric Monast

1. Arzhael, the Sword

1. Dvalinn, the Giant

1. Shanun, of the North

1. Catharsis, the Dancing Blade

1. Joshua, the Reaper (TEAM BATTLE)

1. Heavy Lifter, the Crusher

1. R. Agent Five, the Hidden Guard

1. Abel DeLuall, the Tortured Machine

1. A large treasure chest, the End of the Line

Only two of each type of match can be going on at one time.

Every fight must take place within the confines of the arenas provided.

HoH Square exhibition arenas

Set forty feet into the ground, the giant cube cut into the ground is below a high rail for spectators to watch from safety. Sixty feet wide along each wall provides fighters with ample space to entertain the crowd. There are two large drop-down steel shutter doors at opposite walls for entry.

General - Floored with sand, walled with concrete painted with sweat, darkened smears, and gouges from swords and other weapons.

Weapons - Sand

Natural Element Resource - None

Bonus Effects - Everybody is watching

Lights. Thousands of lights.

High about in the corporate lair in the center tower, suited men just paced the length of the room, hands clasped behind their back.

Below, suited counterparts roamed the crowds. Answering questions here. Offering deals there. Making quite well-written arguments as to how these spectators and customers could better empty their pockets.

The tournament had only just started, but the draw of this place had filled it with people. Too many good opportunities to buy commemorative souvenirs and recordings of the fight. Filling themselves with food as they watched the action on screens that surrounded them.

Hell, they might even see a competitor or two within the crowd.

A greasy looking middle aged white man walked into the arena, he was here at the heaven or hell to watch a few fights. He could never enter such a tournament however. Bill was an every man, an every human man. He looked healthy enough though his clothes were disheveled and looked unclean and his face had a certain grime to it. He worked a hard job in a repair shop and he had actually just got off work, he had a hard day and he felt like working off some steam on someones face. He was dressed in some overalls and a white T-shirt. He was currently armed with a large wrench and a screw driver that was in his back pocket.

"A'ye are you the guy I'mma Spose'd to hit?", he said while picking his nose and flinging whatever he pulled out to the ground. He already started to walk towards the man who entered the lit arena. He wasn't super tall like most gaians, he was about 5"9 but there was a certain raw nature about the man that added to his intimidation factor.

"Tch, Bullshit!", Bill moved in. He didn't move like a boxer, or a fencer, he moved like an angry mother ********. Needless to say he would close the distance fast. His right hand came up as if to draw the eye while his left would upon getting close snatch the screwdriver from his pocket and jab it forward into the mans abdomen.

The colossal metal warrior walked through the crowds as though they weren't there. It was simply too much of a chore for the creature to push aside the crowd, so it walked through them, occasionally stepping on one or two members, crushing a limb here or there with its colossal weight. Most of the crowd would have been able to see the creature coming however, with its twelve foot height towering over most people.

The creature was completely armoured, not a single hole existed in the armour. Not even in the faceplate, which was a crude term for what actually existed over the beings face. Rather than the usual ornamental displays of different creatures, or simple holes cut for the face, there was nothing there. Simply another piece of black plate metal fused over the faces area, yet curiously enough, it appeared the creature had no difficulty seeing, although the people being crushed would find that difficult to believe.

It wasn't long before the creature reached the arena, and casually jumped the fence, landing at the bottom of the pit. A few people watching would wince, expecting colossal damage to be done to the creature's skeletal structure, although the figure seemed to be fine from the fall. Arising from the sand it looked around, and in a terrible, gutteral sound that sounded more like a squelch than a voice it called out to its opponent.

"Catharsis!"

Sieg ecstuffuan Wrote:

"RAH!", The man would keep on coming forward. He wasn't into all that technical martial arts st, he just knew three things about fighting 'Be aggressive', 'Go forward' and 'Don't be a p*y'. Forward pressure is what he would do here. Seeing the man holding his stomach he would attempt to kick him in the chest, thrusting his rubber boot hard into the sternum.

This cocksucker wasn't gonna give up and it didn't seem like anyone was gonna stop him either, Roy had to fight for his life. The man's were highly telegraphed, so it wasn't a matter of Roy studying any type of fighting, it was matter of adrenaling rushing through his vein and telling him to move.

Dodging to the man's left, Roy would lash out with a wild swing from his left blood soaked hand and immediately follow up with his right swooping in from under intending to knock this ****** onto his a.

Sieg ecstuffuan Wrote:

Blood would shoot from the mans mouth as the left had come for his face. His left and right hands were down trying to thrust as hard as he could into the kick. As the punch hit his face he would grab for the wrench and immediatly come up in a diagonal swipe with the metal instrument going up from right to left...Though as he did the mans right leg would sweep bills legs from under him and there was a chance that could throw off his counterattack.

Bill landed hard on his back and he would attempt to kick up with his right leg at the mans groin.

Roy was coming in aggressive to monkey stomp this a, so when the kicked up aimming for the groin, Roy caught it sole on the inside of thigh. "******..." He exclaimed as backed up limping.

Roy began to scan the arena wildly looking for an edge. Nothing but sand.

Bending over slowly he groaned from the pain of the stabbing and gripped a fist full of sand.

Slifer Ozura Wrote:

"Catharsis!"

Spot lights lit up the arena. The ring fence above the sand floor would instantly be packed shoulder to shoulder with spectators. Nearby speakers would chime in the fight music.

People fighting each other was one thing. But challenge matches were something else entirely.

"What is your name, challenger?"

A disembodied, charismatic voice would beckon down into the pit towards the metal behemoth.

Roy would catch his attackers hand with his free one, throwing the sand into the man's as he pushed for leverage over the man. Forcing himself up, roy would attempt to drive his attackers back and consequently againist the natural motion of the elbow joint.

The large metallic warrior's head craned towards the source of the noise, exposing a piece of chainmail which allowed mobility in the neck. The creature happened to be facing away from Catharsis at the time, so its neck bend in an inhuman way to seemingly look right at the noise, although with no eyes it was difficult to tell.

The crowd fell silent after seeing the human shaped creature bend so, and in that silence a terrible noise arose. It was like the crushing of a body between two rocks, mixed with a scream. It seemed the creature had difficulty vocalizing, so it had chosen an easier option, just creating noise inside its metal casing. It slowly turned around after the noise, to ease the strain upon its neck.

The metal warrior looked at the painted man before him. Suddenly, the figure took a step before him, then another, taking its time to make its way over to the small creature before it. There was silence from the crowds as they watched the mysterious figure move.

As the music played in the background, the creature seemed to move only at the end of a single bar of music. Perhaps it was a taunting manouevre, regardless the giant seemed to be in no hurry to reach the diminuative creature in front of it.

The eerie blank faceplate seemed to look directly at Cartharsis, an aura of dread would begin to seep into the gayly coloured warriors spirits as the metallic hulk approached. The ground quite literally quaked as the creature drew near, a small shudder running through the ground with every step taken. It appeared the creature weighed a fair amount, one wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of this things fists.

((I would like to point out that the creature does have a slight passive aura around it, that will begin with demoralizing Cartharsis, and by the end of the fight, Cartharsis will most likely have lost most of the will to fight. The aura fills anyone long enough near by to the giant to feel depressed, anxious and a loss of will))

((You're just lucky you're fighting a scout, not a hero))

As the creature moved towards the dancing fighter, it seemed unphased by the knife tricks its opponent was making. There were cheers from the crowd, but it affected the beast little. The crowd could all have been booing and it would have done little for the things moral. That was when the knives were thrown at the heavily armoured creature.

The knives traveled with speed towards the large armoured behemoth, and in the blink of an eye they struck the figure. There were six large clinks as the knives made contact with the beast, followed by six thuds.

The knives had only made small, thumb-tack sized dents where the daggers had struck the armour with force, but apart from that, no real damage had been made to the heavy armour. The metal figure had stopped as soon as the blades had struck, perhaps to allow the fact that the daggers had caused it no pain, not even really dented the armour he wore, to sink into his opponent.

After the small pause the creature moved again towards Catharsis with a little more speed now, there was roughly thirty feet between the two now, but the distance was rapidly shrinking as the creature moved. It was slightly unfortunate for Catharsis that his main skill appeared to be puncturing flesh, rather than piercing armour. The creature seemed to relish in closing with its opponent, to let blood over the small frame of the man before him.

((Yes, yes I am))

The creature continued moving as he neared the small man. One of the figures' hands slowly clenched and unclenced, as if the thing was anxious to deliver some pain to the man before him.

There was roughly twenty foot in distance between him and the man now, and that was when the knives struck. The first one made a small dent in the armour, and as it was falling out, the second knife struck the first, about halfway up the blade. This caused the dagger to changed direction, and strike in a slightly higher position than the first blade. When the third blade struck, it hit the second falling blade, and shot down towards the ground, before clattering with a fall.

The creature was moving even faster now, at the pace of a jog for Catharsis, yet only a stride for the large being. Perhaps if the small man wanted to make more of an impact, he would have thrown the daggers with more interruption in-between them. There was little more than ten feet between the pair now.

(( xD ))

So far, no one had leaped into the pit he was in to answer his untold challenge. Well, then, he would have to change that, wouldn't he?

The Japanese teenager looks up toward the people who were looking down and says toward them: "Which one of you have the bravery and guts to step down into this ring and fight me? Who here believes they have a chance of surviving another day on this planet? Vampire, wolf, I do not care. Just come down here and show me what you're made of."

Quite some talk for someone of his appearance. Some people were upset, talking amongst themselves as they speak of the rudeness displayed by their challenger. But while they spoke, Vex Glaston just smiled. There was no better thing for him to do right now but to smile.

It looked like someone answered the call, a fellow wielding two swords, one drawn and the other sheathed.

"Heh. Finally, someone braves up to answer my challenge. Be warned, however. Blood is likely."

He sets down his suitcase, and puts in the four numbers to the combination, unlocking it open, its back toward Stranger A. In a soft compartment lied many knives of many sizes, each glinting off the sunlight, causing some of the people on Vex's side to wonder what was in that case of his.

He grabs a small handle knife which showed no blade, a switchblade, and places it into the left pocket of his pants. He next grabs a handle with the blade defaultly drawn, about the size of a pocket knife, yet with a hard covering over it. He lifts up the sleeve of his pants on his right leg and slides it into his black sock. He then takes up another knife, a length of four inches as the blade yet bites down on it between his teeth, held horizontal for holding purposes. Finally, he picks up two wakizashis, each about one foot in length, each held in a hand.

His left foot closes his suitcase shut and slides it off to the size, finally ready to do combat. Vex looked like he was well prepared to kill someone, holding that knife in the bite of his teeth like a cutthroat pirate while wielding two long-bladed knives in his hands as if he was about to do some slicing and dicing.

Sliding his right foot forward, he stretches more than his left leg, which was bent on the knee, sitting on them as he brings his right side forward. Holding the blade in his right hand in the reverse grip, he holds the one in his left in the normal forward wield, both gray eyes centered on his foe.

"Ready," he says with the movement of his mouth.

((Not exactly. The sword in his mouth is a knife, but you'll see some similarities later.))

Stranger A moves forward, Vex does the same, his feet sliding along the ground. He was moving much slower than Stranger A, but it did not mean he was going to be slow in general. The stabbing forth of the sword wasn't seen much of a distraction with him not that close in range. The flying of the sheath, however, was something that gave him a surprise.

But reflexes were a good thing to this normal looking teenager, only having to rotate his right arm wildly in a counter-clockwise motion to his left, letting the extended knife in his right hand knock it away to his left. After the glare of light from the metal of the weapon, he returns quickly back into stance. But he was now moving closer to Stranger A with his weapon now drawn, entering into an even closer range, or what he wanted to enter into.

Because once he could at least get within three feet, he knew he could strike for some vital areas.

The switch of the stance meant Stranger A was lowering the threat of Vex's forward blade hitting anywhere, so he knew he was going to have to compensate for this with the right moves. It all was going to count on timing and accuracy. First strike was indeed his opponent's, having him do a quick step to the left while moving the grip of his right knife into fencer's grip, which was a more loose, but forward grip. The blade strikes against the sword's tip, deflecting it more in the direction to Vex's right and out of the way. Taking initiation of getting closer, Vex does not hesitate to thrust outward at the same time with the same knife, aiming a cut for Stranger A's right wrist.

The left hand was loosely shaking the blade it held, awaiting the right time to use it, which wasn't going to be long.

He was gaining ground. He couldn't let up or he would face having to go through trouble getting into close range again. This person was using two hands on a katana, so his one handed wakizashi wasn't going to be enough if they ever go into full strengthened contact. So he brings in the left knife closer to his chest as he swings his right arm outwards, the sword slashing and scarring through the right breast of his coat.

But like a fencer, his feet quickly push him in, having him moving toward Stranger A's right side while thrusting one more time, aiming for the right arm again, the forearm being the only thing he could focus on in such a quick time to try to hit. The movement was nearly a blur in speed, so the spectators were going to have a hard time keeping up with each individual strike.

The left knife was now held ready near Vex's right bicep, held vertical but tilted Snow's way as the thrust is used, ready to get even closer as Snow would be pulling his sword into a defensive manner.

There was always that one good thing about knives: they were light, yet sharp. With a thrust, he could nab at flesh with little problem, like a jab, and return his arm to himself. This was important in consideration because the katana swinging down was his notion to dodge it as best as he could. He was already sitting on his knees, his feet on toes skidding him along, so by ducking to the left while canceling the thrust into a wild swing to the right, he could have the blade slide along the katana enough to decrease its momentum and alter its course just enough for him to get out of harm's way.

The evasion was to the left, too, so the quick lean got him closer and more to Stranger A's right. The swinging right knife that had canceled from the thrust would cut a scar around Stranger A's extending palm, but it would be unfortunate to capture Vex's wrist, as it was moving well out of range to return to its reverse grip in front of him.

Simultaneously, of course, with the move came a thrust from his left weapon, pushing out his arm and aiming for the right abdomen of his opponent. He should be able to get just close enough for two inches of the knife to cut at clothing and flesh, assuming it makes it.

Vex was sitting in a death trap, and Stranger A probably knew that, too. One mishap, and one of them could lose a limb, eye, or whatever unfortunate body part that gets in their blades' paths.

Blood began to flow freely from where the blade had struck, and the blade was drastically altered from its course as he watched the events unfold before his eyes.

Stranger A's eyes narrowed. Wet-like substance continued to drip from where the knife slid across his palm, and as he directed his approach to compensate for the yet changing environment once more, Stranger A did what was just as natural as his instincts;

He moved. Not taking any chances to get too close against the enemy's blade, Stranger A pushed off with his right heel to put some distance between the two, redirecting the altered course of his own blade to slap or slash straight towards Vex's left elbow like a flick. Like an escaping counter, it was meant to stall off possible rushes by the opponent while he gained a bit of ground to recollect and prepare himself for another possible attack by the foe with knives.

It felt numb, moving his left hand about. Perhaps just the skin stretching and widening the wound already inflicted on it, he couldn't afford to let the distraction hinder his focus against the enemy.

With his strike yet again blocked, the Stranger retreated a few steps, using that motion to give him a bit of ground before he finally stopped just six feet away from the opponent, enough to give him grounds for the second clash.

"....."

Since he can't hold his weapon with both hands effectively now....

Stranger A flipped the blade again, having the blunt edge of the weapon point towards the ground as he suddenly raised his injured left hand, placing the weapon directly between his thumb and his fingers. Letting the blunt edge rest gently against his palm, he lowered both his arms so it looked like as if he was holding a rifle at chest level.

But on the contrary, the tip of the blade is pointed towards Vex himself one more time.

And swinging his right hand about, the tip began to swivel and draw a small circle in front of the swordsman, the blade now being used roughly to --

Is he using it similar to a spear?

Stranger A began to walk towards the opponent, keeping himself back into a left side stance.

It was a relatively untried new method that Stranger A has been developing for some time. Still not perfected and never used in actual combat, it was also new for Stranger A to try his new mode of combat out. But given the circumstances, and with his grasping palm injured...

He can try out some methods he's working on, but most likely the opponent would be cautious about how he'll wield this style effectively.

But with no rest for the wicked, and having the better opportune moment before the enemy realizes the problem, Stranger A suddenly hunched his body down as low as possible; the legs buckling, and bending....

Until he dashed off at an unexpected speed straight towards Vex. Still with small steps to allow himself the ability to respond or move immediately on the whim, but quickened to add more momentum and weight behind the presumed attack.

In less than five seconds, he covered the distance between the two. With a deft positioning of his left hand like a targeting system, the blade shot out at an even faster speed due to the initial running as it careened straight towards Vex's chest like a stab.

But only halfway, so the left grasp at most was positioned at the blades' midway section at best.

Stranger A was going to try something new out. And depending on how Vex responds...he might be able to see whether or not his experimental style of combat would work against an opponent such as he.

And there it was.

That decisive strike.

Gritting his teeth, as contact was made by the two rushing assailants, Stranger A did the unthinkable;

He retracted the weapon almost immediately by pulling the stab back. Not only would it slip right out of the X dagger hold Vex was doing when he ran, but because his leverage and anchor point is the left hand itself, all Stranger A needed to do was simply pull the stab back - aim -

And then stab again in small rapidfire successions.

This was the case here as Stranger A pulled the contact back, using his left hand to aim the lethal blade before he stabbed again towards Vex's right side, the Stranger's small stepping previously giving him the ability to turn right and use the right leg - in this case - as the focal point where he swivels and stabs right into the unsuspecting teenager.

Since his length has much farther reach than Vex's knives, by the time Vex would hit the Stranger's hilt, he would've been able to pierce the tip of his sword straight into the body.

But just in case that things don't go as planned, his footwork has already kept him to the point that with just a push off of his left leg, he can increase the distance between the two if need be.

That might hint his repetitive motion, but for the time being he has no time to think of any other fancy way to move around without problems.

From then out there was no actual fluidity or choreography to direct the actions in fruitless notion; It was more intentional and to maim type fight while the swordsman delivered that fateful stab.

Unfortunately, even that was to some degree a disappointment when he felt little to no penetration of the body itself. Having the opponent down was one thing -- keeping the opponent down was a completely different factor.

So to keep his right side protected at all costs - as it is the only side currently that is able to hold the blade without problems - the man moved his feeting so that his left side was facing Vex, ready to deliver another strike down to keep the opponent at bay...

But how fast Vex managed to get up was astonishing. Even for the swordsman, it took him by surprise as he saw the enemy rise up from its feet as if the attack didn't phaze the enemy's ability to attack at all.

"..!!"

The knife came up instantly, nearly hitting the swordsman's right hand while he was currently prepping his move to knock the fighter back down. Without thinking, Stranger A used his right hand to deliver a unexpected horizontal slash towards Vex's exposed left side, underneath the bicep, letting go of the edge of his blade held by his left hand.

If need be, he'll sacrifice his left hand for the sake of getting that attack through.

The hot dog was done, chip crumbs were scattered about and clinging to his armor, some cheese was splattered all over the table, and somehow Arzhael had gotten his hands on some cotton candy despite there not being a cotton candy machine within five miles of the Square.

That being said, the gladiator was currently working on a cheeseburger smothered with all kinds of toppings ranging from ketchup to horseradish. How anyone could consider that a potentially appetizing meal was a mystery, but then again how someone built like Arzhael could eat so much without becoming morbidly obese was an equally good question.

"Why aren't you guys tryin' this stuff?!"

Arz pointed at his cheeseburger and fries in between chews, eyes wide with child-like wonderment. Was wonderment a word?

It was in Arzhael's mind. So amazing was his Heaven or Hell experience.

Regardless he'd be the most annoying guy in the break room, having his eyes fixated on the TV when he wasn't trying to shove food down his partner's throats. He'd exclaim whenever something cool happened, and at one point he stood up and spilled popcorn everywhere exclaiming "ANTHARAS" when the dragon appeared on screen. In order to prevent him from leaving the square Arzhael was restrained and actually locked in the break room for quite some time.

Which was a shame, because he really wanted to kill that dragon.

"What fu-?"

Arzhael dropped his cheeseburger, cleaned off his face with a napkin, and strapped on his gameface before he was forcibly shoved out into the pit area.

Unlike Catharsis, Arz was revealed all at once, first being literally pushed out into the arena tunnel entrance before he started jogging forward, pounding a closed fist against the wall he was running against as he went.

As he entered the arena he'd raise his fist to the crowd, head bowed forward and bobbing as though he were listening to some as of yet unheard music. Then, once the roar of the crowd died down, Arzhael would simply lift his head and grin.

The man was covered neck-to-toe in what could pass as dark blue tinted full plate armor. Over his shoulders appeared the hilts of two distinctly different swords, and if one couldn't tell from the s**t-eating grin plastered on his face, he was a bit of a jackass.

"Hope you know what you're getting yourself into, kid."

His ears buzzed with the roar of the crowd upon Arzhael's entrance, but Gaara stood unphased. Sizing up his armored opponent even as the man ran forward, sand skipping in his wake, his pupilless gaze remained blasé . . . but something like the tiniest of sadistic smirks settled upon his thin lips.

Then the smile--if there had been one--faded, his arms uncrossed, and he moved, breaking into an easy forward jog to match Arzhael's. He wasn't sure if this product of Deity Inc. knew of him, but there were those few in the crowd who did, and they recognized this wanton forward assault as very un-Gaara-like behavior.

Nightsnow Wrote:

From then out there was no actual fluidity or choreography to direct the actions in fruitless notion; It was more intentional and to maim type fight while the swordsman delivered that fateful stab.

Unfortunately, even that was to some degree a disappointment when he felt little to no penetration of the body itself. Having the opponent down was one thing -- keeping the opponent down was a completely different factor.

So to keep his right side protected at all costs - as it is the only side currently that is able to hold the blade without problems - the man moved his feeting so that his left side was facing Vex, ready to deliver another strike down to keep the opponent at bay...

But how fast Vex managed to get up was astonishing. Even for the swordsman, it took him by surprise as he saw the enemy rise up from its feet as if the attack didn't phaze the enemy's ability to attack at all.

"..!!"

The knife came up instantly, nearly hitting the swordsman's right hand while he was currently prepping his move to knock the fighter back down. Without thinking, Stranger A used his right hand to deliver a unexpected horizontal slash towards Vex's exposed left side, underneath the bicep, letting go of the edge of his blade held by his left hand.

If need be, he'll sacrifice his left hand for the sake of getting that attack through.

((Now, back to our fight. :3 ))

The first knife barely misses, but the katana was swinging at the same time at his left side. It would strike home across Vex's left side, causing the teen to become messed up in the fluid motion of his spin, and instead making him go even faster as he causes himself to fall back away from the sword as it came in, continuing across the chest area. By the time the sword was to the side, Vex himself would have fallen to the ground, left side facing it with his hands on the ground.

But his feet quickly hops him back onto his feet, well placed out of range of another sword swing, and kneeling, his right hand across against his left rib cage. That sword slash had blood falling from a scar in his clothing. He had fallen back when he was cut, so the cut across his chest got more shallow as it came to the right side. So red blood only flowed from the deeper part of the cut. He still had a grip of his knives, the one in his mouth continuing to be placed, even though the look on the teen's eyes showed anger to the pain. It looked like Stranger A was able to cause some actual injuries to him, which was quite an insult to Vex's skill.

But the boy was use to this type of combat, so he would surprisingly raise to his feet, even as he was starting to have his clothing stained under his left arm's side. This would make it harder to move around his left arm due to the connected nerves, but the pain was going to put a surprising twist on this fight in little time. And the cut in his right shoulder was for now, something he could deal with. Back into his ready stance, his right hand was forward, reverse grip, while the left hand would throw down its knife. That's right, he actually got rid of one of his wakizashis.

But reaching into his right sock, he removes that pocket knife with the cover over its blade and throws it off with a flick of his wrist, revealing the steel of the blade. Holding it in hammer grip in his left hand, he was ready to resume the fight, a grin returning to his face after a brief moment of deterrance.

"Let's see if you can do that again."

Arzhael's eyes would widen as the sand puffed up in front of him. Not because he knew what was going to happen exactly, but because sand puffing up on it's own was just plain freaky.

The fact that this sand then turned into four perfect shurikens and headed towards his eyes didn't really seem to help change his opinion, either.

Crossing his swords in front of him seemed to be more out of panic than preparation. He held them there, about a foot in front of his own body, mouth still held open as he continued on with his mantra.

"aaaaaa.....HAH!"

The swords uncrossed, each one moving to their respective side. The tallum blade moving to the left, the Dark Legion's edge Moving to the right.

Arzhael wasn't sure how durable the sand blades were, but if they still held up as shurikens then they would be batted down and to the side by the respective blades pushing against them, not cutting through them.

Swords now at his sides, Arzhael would rushed towards Gaara, intent on taking advantage of the opportunity that suddenly presented itself.

If they suddenly burst like they were made of...well, sand, then Arzhael would have a s**t ton of sand in his eyes and he'd be all sorts of confused, even going so far as to taking a couple steps backwards and rubbing at his eyes with the not-so-comforting metal arm guards.

(( I think I'm post 8, and you're post 9...? Or am I post 9 and you're post 9 this time?

Anyways -- ))

Good. This time he can feel the blade actually cutting into the brat's body. However minute or shallow the cut might be, it also meant that he's starting to probe and break through the defensive guard which Vex has currently in store for him.

Now. If only he could use his left hand...

He tries to clench the injured palm. Damaged nerves and the freshly clotted wound began to leak again, causing Stranger A to wince in pain.

Ok. So he still can't hold a blade effectively on his left side. The fingers felt fine - moving them about doesn't distract him much in contrast to clenching the side to a fist.

Which means....

He watched the current scene of events unfold. Blinking once more in watching Vex ridding himself of one Wakizashi and replacing it with a pocket knife....

"......"

He was thinking. His katana doesn't have a complete set of mobility in regards to close quarter combat. One swing, and it's more than enough time for someone to get close and deliver some fatal shots while he fathoms up another strike. But with his left hand unable to grip and wield the blade by itself...

He'll need a type of attack that can at least critically injure the opponent and constrain the opponent's ability to counter or attack.

Cocking the blade up, Stranger A aimed the blade towards Vex once more, shifting his stance appropriately to the situation.

An offensive attack that can penetrate through the opponent's defenses with one hand..........

"......Blood."

Stranger A reverted the style back to his previous form - the yet unnamed style combat that had him hold his sword like a lance. The tip of his left fingers and thumb was holding the swords midsection, helping to balance and maneuver the blade better than his original swordsmanship combat. Knowing that the opponent has seen the attack once, he'll have to improvise yet again and add a little bit of fluctuation to his style soon.

After that moment of deterrence, the man ducked once more like he did last time, taking off like a jet towards Vex with quickened short steps as he aimed for the opponent's chest with the intention to stab right through it.

However,

Only at the time when he gets just three steps away from striking distance - regardless if Vex moves closer or away, the Stranger would twist his torso slightly to the left, the intention of stabbing turning instantly into --

A horizontal slash from left to right, aimed to hit Vex's lower right torso and to the left with the aid of his left hand to push - and massively increase the force behind the strike.

For Vex, with one hand holding each blade, the ability to take or cushion the blow is going to be a major factor in the attack.

And depending on how the opponent reacts, Stranger A has got some nasty tricks up his sleeve to show his other sets of move created right on the spot.

If there was anything Afro-sama couldn't ignore, it was certainly a damsel in distress. No matter what kind of distress, Afro felt compelled to do what he must to save them from their peril. And it was thus that he spotted the woman in the brown suit eyeing the snack machine, before having her attention pulled to his raucous arrival. Much to the jealousy of all the girls in his crowd, Afro strode on over to the girl next to the machine and eyed the contents held inside.

"I couldn't help but notice you standing here staring wantingly at something," he said with a large grin, "Oh ho, not me, of course, but something in there, perhaps?" He nodded to the machine. "In need of some change, are we?"

Indeed, he had noticed her beauty, and noticed it well. Were she a fat chick, he'd be gone by now. However, being surrounded by attractive women frequently has desensitized him to the alluring factors of attractive women. She would have to really impress him for any of her charms to work.

"Well, if you insist," he replied with a smile.

Afro reached up into his afro, fiddling around for a moment. There was a telltale sound of a bell from a cash register cha-chinging, and he pulled out a dollar. Inserting it into the machine, he punched in the number for the chocolate muffin she had been eyeing - as he too was having a chocolate craving, but was ignorant of the fact that it was the same muffin she had been eyeing - and purchased it. It also happened to be the last chocolate muffin. Taking the muffin from the dispensing tray, he whistled a tune and made his way to the fighting pits, opening the wrapper and taking a huge bite out of the muffin. MmmmMMMM!

Upon reaching the pits, he raised a finger to the sky and issued to significant words to the fighters gathered around.

"OPEN CHALLENGE!"

Did she teleport? Did womanly fury give her wings strong enough to warp and displace? Who knew, but in what seemed like an instant, she was facing the afro-clad sonuva, with the metaphorical flames of Hell slowing out of her eyes as twin rivers of hatred. You just don't get between a lady and her cocoa fix.

"I'm gonna fetch that muffin and shove it back up your a**."

It was a somewhat poetic way of saying that she accepted the challenge, and all the conditions that came with it. Without further ceremony, she threw her top hat aside and put up her fists, ready to dispense both pain and bruises.

A metahuman was drawn into the pit, seeing the chance to fight for entertainment. He was an age-old gladiator, who lived for this stuff. Throwing a hot dog paper holder into the trash can, he drew up his spear from over his back.

A Greek, and more importantly, a Spartan. It was Phylas of Sparta.

He stood 5'10" with only sandles on his feet, but the copper toned man looked rather fierce with his other array of weapons. On Phylas left arm was a spiked round hoplon shield with a pike on the center protruding outwards, the rest of his armor included the following.

Gladiator Armor Set Wrote:

Bronze Breastplate: A breastplate made of bronze that is light, but can withstand a hit from some of the finest blades. It details his muscles on his chest and back.

Ptergis: Appears to almost be a skirt with cloth surrounding his thighs and down to almost his knees. This cloth is lined with brass and iron peieces to give a flexible armor.

Brass Greaves: On each arm and on his shins are greaves made of brass. These can deflect bullets when used right, and carry recurved daggers that are built in so as not too be seen.

Spartan Helmet: Plates that covers his cheeks, a nose bar from the top, and a full back of the head covering. A line of red feathers covers the top with a pike sticking out of it.

Two hilts of blade protruded over Phylas' shoulders, but for now his right hand gripped the 11' Xyston war spear tightly. Coal colored eyes looked between the plates of his Spartan Helm, the red feathers blowing in the light breeze from the lack of surroundings in the pit, and his feet shuffled in the dust.

The ninefoot warrior strode through the crowd, their heavily armoured form seemed to impede little of their movement, as they walked with the air of royalty about them. Occasionally the warrior would snort at the small humans before him, before carrying on towards the pit.

He felt disgusted to be near so many living creatures, their heartbeats and pulses fairly drummed in his ears as he walked among them. Disgusting, living organisms always were. The way the injested food, and excreted matter, it made one almost want to gag.

No matter, sooner or later they would all succumb to the same fate, the inevitable end of the line. Death. Here wasn't the place Xanathos would grant them their passing though, there were strict orders that he had to follow.

The armour surrounding the figure seemed to cover him from head to toe, metal as black as pitch, a rare metal from the forges of the empire. The armour featured several large spikes in key places, such as the shoulders, each spike coming up over the figure's head, to be used as a weapon. There were also small spikes on the elbow and knee guards of the warrior, along with the unique helmet. The helmet was fashioned to look like a skull, the skeleton nose hiding the figures real nose in shadows, only the figures eyes were visible through two metal sockets. Deep blue eyes, cold and glacier.

Strapped across the figure's back was a large broadsword, capable of being wielded with two hands or one, and on the figure's waist was a small short-sword, with a serrated blade to tear through flesh.

As the warrior approached the pit he noticed the Spartan, and a smile crept across his hidden face. Getting to the edge of the pit, the warrior rose, standing on the corner of the fencing of the pit, and called down to the Spartan.

"Tell me warrior, what brings you to this pit? Fame, fortune, or the challenge of a fight?"

((I believe its awooo awooo ))

The large warrior laughed at the last comment of the warrior, there was spirit inside this living obscenity, that was for sure, but it was all misplaced. No matter, Xanathos would correct him in the ways of the fight, these mortals always needed prompting by their betters.

"The honour of entertaining these...people" Xanathos seemed to strain the last word, as he looked around the filthy masses. "These people are like cattle, sheep, nothing better than that." With those words spoken, the large man jumped from the towering height to the bottom of the pit. When he landed the ground gave a thud, sending out a wave of sand beneath him. His cloak delicately floated around his form, which was crouched on the sand.

Xanathos' had been build for combat, had been built to last. Such a fall was little for one of his standing. Rising to his full height of 9' 5" he looked at the small Spartan on the other side of the arena. He didn't even draw his sword as he looked at the Spartan, this looked like a match that could be done without the help of such tools.

Xanathos had watched the Spartan walk over from the middle of the arena, a good thirty foot distance, and the whole time he had observed. The warrior seemed to favour the spear he carried, rather than the tiny swords that he carried over his back. So much lesser than Xanathos' own sword on his back.

Back to the action, Xanathos had come to the fast realization that the Spartan was going to strike at him with the spear, so as the warrior came closer, Xanathos became more on edge. His legs began to balance on his very toes, as he watched the warrior approach. So predictable, these humans.

As he saw the Spartan's arm twitch, Xanathos moved, and fortunately was rewarded by the Spartan not pulling the wool over his eyes so early in the match. As Xanathos' pivoted on his left foot, away from the jabbing spear, while still able to remain on his toes. At the same time his left and right hands shot out, grabbing at the shaft of the spear closer to the Spartan, in the attempt that the Spartan pulled the spear away, it gave Xanathos' more time to grab the spear end, and if the Spartan didn't pull away, Xanathos would have better leverage so close to the warrior.

EDIT: 1

After the pivot, Xanathos was only six foot from the Spartan at his closest point. It also happened that the shield which the Spartan carried was on the furthest arm from Xanathos, making any attempts to swing across to Xanathos awkward, as it would result in the Spartan pulling across his own body, over and through his own spear to reach Xanathos. The angle's were not in the Spartan's favour.

So Xanathos let the Spartan pull him back, and at the same time his right hand, the hand closest to the warrior released the spear, and extended down towards the Spartan's face. At the same time his feet shuffled two foot forward, only a step for Xanathos, thus closing the distance between his fist and the Spartan's face. A ton of weight was now descending rapidly at the Spartan's face, and while Xanathos still gripped the spear with one hand, it ensured the Spartan would not be getting away from this hit, or he'd have to drop the spear, and even then, quick thinking would be required, Xanathos' punch was less than a foot from the Spartan's face, thanks to the yank provided by the warrior.

2

And suddenly, a man stepped into one of the squares.

He was about 6'4", with ivory skin and long, white hair. He wore a calf-length gray coat, buttoned up so that it hid whatever he wore beneath it, a pair of gray slacks, and gray dress shoes. Even the no-finger gloves he wore were gray. The only thing on him that had any color were his eyes, which were blue as glacier ice, and myriads of of tiny blue, yellow, and white symbols on his gloves.

He stood in the center of the pit, looking around without an expression on his face. Perhaps he was looking for a fight?

Xanathos was surprised by the Spartan's actions, but by no means disheartened, he was greater than these mortals. He was a crusher of men, and the Spartan was about to be crushed. Xanathos' fist crashed down onto the large spike, about the same time that Xanathos' large pauldron spike hit the Spartan's shield.

There was a terrible sound of metal puncturing metal, as the pike went through Xanathos' gauntlet, while Xanathos' spike punctured the shield, and somewhere below where the Spartan was trapped.

It was around that time that the shield toss would be iniated, and the large mass of Xanathos would spin over the Spartan, and hit the ground with a crash. It was instinct to get off the floor as soon as he was hit, quickly turning and pushing off the ground with his left hand, his right now a mess of black, vile blood and twisted metal.

Xanathos began backing up while drawing his sword from his back, looking at the damage done to the Spartan by his own shoulder spike...

Being curled under the shield, and seeing DOOM approach in the form of a shoulder spike, all Phylas could do was jar the shield downwards as the spike went through... not metal, but dragonwood. Wood was oft used in shields, because it was lighter, and would catch a blade better than steel that'd simply blow through with a puncture. It'd slow it down enough, so that as DOOM was acting as the axis of a flip, it'd come down against the bronze breastplate meant to be a Gaian bronze that could withstand some of the finest blade, and only lightly puncture into the man's abdomen, being forced too go out with the toss.

The buttspike on the end of the spear, allowed for more firm planting, which resulted in a faster toss. Now, that knight should be jarred, having an entire ton come crashing into the earth while axled on a shoulder spike.

Phylas, on the other hand, was working with gravity for the most part, and could withstand an abdomen puncture at that level. However, his shield was now s**t. Again. That'd be expensive to go fix so was left in the leap, and there was no way he was taking a lone spear against big and nasty.

He left that thing sticking out of the ground from the butt spike in the dust, while withdrawing both blades from over his shoulders. Getting into a low shoulder width stance, the man was ready too bolt as soon as the death knight neared.

Lakonian in his right, and Kopsis in his left the man prepared for the worse. Phylas slid into a left lead low stance, with the Kopsis being presented as the defensive weapon. Its ability to amputate would not work well on this armor, and would serve only defensively. He'd have to get that leaf blade, the Lakonian in some mighty good thrust. It twirled in his right hand, while his eyes looked for an opening. Blood trickling down from the puncture, and then ceasing...

swords Wrote:

Lakonian: A straight double edged, and leaf shaped blade with a swelling at the tip. This sword is made of a damacus alloy and is located over Phylas' left shoulder. 20" blade with 6" Cruciform hilt.

Kopsis: This is a falchion blade that is not as damaging to armor and flesh as the Lakonian, but is better at amputating limbs. So, it can be just as deadly. 26" overall with a 20" blade as well.

But at the same time she darted forward, so did he, so that they met a bit earlier than she would have expected, and she wouldn't have time to lift her knee. His left hand shot out, fingers open, intending to strike her right on the nose with the heel of his palm and make her see stars.

Meanwhile, his right hand drew a dagger from his vest, holding it in a reverse grip . . .

BeautifullyDecayed Wrote:

Him moving forward wasn't going to hinder her much though. It didn't matter that she couldn't raise her leg, she hadn't really meant to do that anyway. As he made his move to bash her face she simply dove off to his right, her left. As she passed his arm she saw it move and knew he'd gone for a toy.

She hit the sand floor and rolled, the sand softening her impact, but slowing her slightly. Still she managed to roll her feet and come up standing off to his right , she quickly spun and darted back in behind him. All of this was done in the span of time it took him to throw his punch, realize it wouldn't land and pull his arm back from the attack. Then she darted forward again. Now behind him she twisted her torso to the left as far as she could and then brought it back around, aiming to bring her elbow into the small of his back with all her power. She may be female, but she was half demon and in very good shape. Her abs, back and shoulders had a lot of muscle coiled up in the attack.

If it hit she would use the contact to 'spring' or push off his back and spin back around to her left so that she was facing him again. If she missed she'd continue spinning to the right and step back quickly so she could see him better.

Oh, but a roll would take much longer than that. Perhaps she was used to dealing with large, lumbering opponents.

This man was much faster.

Even as she was standing up, he was already turning and dashing toward her again. Having just come up from a roll, she would still be slightly off-balance as he came at her and slashed the knife, right to left, aiming for her face. Should he succeed, her face would have a nice, large, bloody gash across it, and maybe even a wrecked eye.

All the while, his facial expression remained as blank as a fresh sheet of paper.

BeautifullyDecayed Wrote:

So, he was quick. Quick made things more fun. No complaints from her. The shifting sand told her he was coming and she already knew he'd drawn a knife/dagger/pointy object so she was fully prepared for an attack having to do with a knife. As he swung at her face she jumped. Not up, at. She leapt at him, as slash meant he wasn't thrusting his arm, but swinging or swiping it. This was important to her because it revealed the lenght of his arm to her.

She leapt at him, planting her hands on his forearm and using her upward momentum and arms to push herself up. As she pushed up she wrapped her strong legs around his waist and clung to him. She was now hanging by her legs from his waist. Moving quickly she shifted her grip on his arm and shoved up. As she shoved up she ducked down and maneuvered under his arm. Pushing against it, instead of continuing to push up, once she had her head under his arm. Using this push and her legs she monkeyed her way around so that she was now clinging to his back, legs secured around his waist. Immediately she retrieved a dagger from her boot.

However, even as she shifted her grip on his arm and started to push it up, his other hand snapped up like a striking snake, grabbed a fistful of hair on the top of her skull, and wrenched her head back painfully hard. Then he pulled the arm she held away to break her grip, and brought it forward again to press the blade against her exposed throat.

"Surrender now, and I will not kill you," he said in that monotone voice of his.

But even as he nails started to sink into his flesh, and started to stain the sleeve of his shirt red, the man still had no change in expression. He didn't seem to care that his arms was being punctured in ten places at once.

Then he did the unexpected: He bent forward quickly, still pulling her head back to keep her neck exposed, opened his mouth as he turned his head sideways . . . and sunk a pair of unusually sharp canines into the side of her neck to start sucking away at her blood..

Surprise surprise. A dhampir, half-man, half-vampire.

When the man in gray saw her draw her hand back to stab with the knife, her hair slipping through his fingers slowly under his weight, he simply released her hair so that she fell like a stone, and her attack was thrown off. Rather than plunging into his neck, it sunk into his shoulder, just below the collarbone . . . and only a couple of inches above his heart.

Close call.

Still, as she fell the ground (tearing up his other arm in the process, not that he seemed to notice) and he took a few steps back to re-evaluate, he realized that she must have nicked something critical -- the wound was pumping blood at an alarming rate, quickly staining his breast with a dark shade of red that was a stark contrast to the rest of his outfit. His arm was better off, at least, since it was harder to make people bleed to death by cutting up their arm than most people think [OoC: As that horrible but accurate interwebz saying goes, 'Down the street, not across the road']. She had done some damage, though: some of his fingers couldn't move properly, thanks to torn tendons.

All in all, he calculated that he had another minute or so before he would lose too much blood to continue fighting effectively.

So he held on to the dagger in his right hand with the fingers that could still grip, pulled another dagger out of his vest with his left, and waited for her to get back up again so he could finish this.

Ah, but just because he was bleeding profusely and wounded in the arm and chest did nothing to slow him down. He was still fast as HELL.

As she came at him, he quickly pivoted backwards on his left foot roughly, turning so that he was facing her just as she passed by, slashing at empty air. And he kept turning.

But that wasn't all.

As she was running away, with the same motion that he used to draw the dagger from his vest with his left hand, he threw the blade after her, aiming for her back right beneath her left shoulder blade with the intent to pierce her lung. She was fast . . . but even she probably couldn't outrun a thrown knife.

And, unfortunately for her, there was virtually no way to sense it coming.

BeautifullyDecayed Wrote:

Sense it coming. No. But logic it out, yes. She had started her sprint when he'd moved to grab the knife with his left hand. As she passed him she could obviously tell he was spinning to face where she would be in seconds. It was also logic that at this distance he would probably just chuck a knife at her, and so she rolled. To her right, so that she would placing herself in front of him.

His knife would bury itself in the sand and as her right arm came up out of the roll she would fling her own dagger at him. She was aiming for his inner thigh. His right inner thing. There's a nice sized artery located at everyone's inner thing. Hopefully she'd hit it.

Once the dagger was thrown she would roll again. Back to the left to scoop up the knife he had thrown. then she'd scramble to her feet and spin again to face him.

Thop

The knife she'd thrown sunk home into his flesh . . . but not his thigh. As she had thrown the weapon, his arm had blurred . . . and the blade impaled his hand instead.

His hand was practically useless to him now, but that didn't matter. He didn't think he was going to need it after this, because there wasn't even a millisecond of pause or hesitation as his left hand reached down, yanked it back out of his hand, and threw it right back at her in the same motion.

Were it successful, it would bury itself in her stomach just as she had finished turning around . . .

As she rushed, he simply stood there . . . let her get closer . . .

And let her ram the blade home into his side without stopping her.

But he wasn't gonna let her get away with it.

The moment the knife started to sink into his flesh, his left hand snapped down and clamped around her wrist with a firm grip, effectively trapping her in place. Simultaneously, his leg shot up so fast that it was a blur, and RAMMED his foot/knee (depending on the range) up into her stomach.

Right into the wound he had created.

The first couple of stabs got him. He seemed unprepared for that, and for the first time in the fight, his face actually presented something other than a blank slate as it twisted slightly in an expression of pain. These wounds were beginning to rack up and have an effect on this emotionless man. He was losing blood at a catastrophic rate now, and he probably had another fifteen seconds or less to finish things.

It was only those stabs that really got him, though, because after that he reached his injured right hand around behind his back, using it to catch the knife a couple of inches from his back. To the girl, in her dazed state, it would probably feel as if she were still plunging that knife into his back over and over again, when it was really his hand that was getting mangled.

Simultaneously, he would release her wrist from his left hand, draw another knife . . . and surgically pierce her in the back twice to puncture each lung and take whatever energy she had left out of her body.

His vision blurred, and he felt quite lightheaded, but he did his best to ignore it.

The dust beneath them steadily turned into rust-colored mud.

The man seeing that she was down, dropped to his knees in front of her. He raised the knife in his hand, ready to deliver the finishing blow . . . and paused, as if thinking about something.

Then he reversed the knife in his hand with a ripple of his fingers, and brought down the hilt of the knife on the back of her skull to knock her out.

Once again, there was no reaction from the man as he quickly sheathed the knife and blood continued to pump out of him. Then he waved his left hand, and spoke under his breath.

Somewhere in the crowd around the Square, a man watched in shock as the water leaped out of the open bottle of Dasani DaLevi and flew down into the pit.

Little floating globs of water quickly zipped to the various wounds the man in gray had, and the moment they made contact with his flesh, he wove his hand in a different manner and whispered once more. The wounds froze, halting his blood loss.

There was another small glob of water that remained hanging in the air, and after giving it a moment of thought . . . he used it to freeze up the girl's stomach wound as well.

Then he passed out.

The large warrior looked at the bleeding Spartan, a chuckle went through him as his injured hand wrapped itself around the base of his sword's hilt. He would be doing very little to control to direction of the sword with simply the injured hand, but seeing as his fingers were fine, there was no sense to leave the arm just hanging.

Xanathos was well aware that the Spartan would need a puncturing blow to injure him in his armour, the same as Xanathos would need a puncturing blow to injure the Spartan. Xanathos would simply strike for the unarmoured spots with his large sword, hoping to keep distance with his longer sword. That would be key to this fight.

"Come Spartan, show me that legendary Spartan courage" Xanathos backed up slightly, at the same time dragging his backfoot slightly. It looked like shuffling, his entire body backing up with the foot, making the whole thing look natural...

(( Gotcha. ))

• 10 -

As Stranger A mentioned before;

It all depends on how the opponent reacts. The taste of his knives has already told him how dangerous it can be when at close range, and even if he maintains his advantage over length in weapons it won't guarantee a safe clean hit.

But this isn't about safety anymore. This isn't about fighting a brat that knows no limits in bragging about his ego and cockiness towards other fighters.

Hell, this is personal.

The intention to kill inside Stranger A is murderous. And unlike the problems his predecessor is cursed with - the faint similarity between Stranger A and a man named Snow - Stranger A did not need to worry about any demonic cursed within its body or soul. Nor the killing intent or such conflict between psyche and bloodlust...

For though there is no other party that influences its thinking and actions, Stranger A can willingly give himself to murderous rage if he wills it.

For he commands it.

And for this battle, he thirsts for the sake of blood, possessed like the demon which once haunted and sapped his predecessor's life away everytime it was awakened.

And to be bathed in his victims blood once more.

The attack pushed on. With the horizontal slash missing the brat's torso by just some damned few inches, the man buckled both his legs lower to suddenly put him as close to the ground as possible without losing his balance. His left leg was in front, held fast and firm, cushioning the momentum of his running like a pivot point.

Rushing his right leg immediately behind it to draw a circle on the ground, the man went into a low clockwise twirl using the right leg as a navigation point, ducking his torso and twisting it to the right as to deliver the continuous strike in a revolutionary circle --

Before something clipped the back side of his hood, tearing straight through the fabric and missing the neck by that same margin of error he missed the brat's body.

The brat may have aimed for the man's left bicep brachii, but the turned shifted Stranger's A body elsewhere - as he wasn't expecting it - to a more vital point of the body.

"....!!!"

He paused, just briefly when he realized that he'd just escaped a narrow margin of having his neck cut. And with the latter possibility being an agonizing and slow death had the attack landed...

The eyes focused back onto the assailant, narrowed and held with a chilling, murderous stare.

He didn't have time to care that Vex's blade may be rigged with hidden projectils. He didn't even care if all of the weapons were rigged.

Right now,

at this very moment....

Once Vex dashes close to Stranger A, the slash would continue forth where it once started, only this time it would be aimed for Vex's right leg and towards the lower body joints like the pelvis.

If not for the no-killing rule, the Stranger -will- make the brat die a slow and agonizing death...

The same type of death which he has done to his victims. Ah...but that is another gruesome story to tell, perhaps later after the match...

Once more the opponent proved versatile that the wound Stranger A inflicted wasn't deep enough. But no matter. As time had slowed - in a figurative sense - under those striking glare, Stranger A was about to wield his katana up to slice the opponent from the left torso right when ----

SLASH!

Pain. A pure knife-like pain which immediately burned through any sense he has kept distracted so far. A searing pain which caused his eyes to close shut, a wet substance felt pouring out of the gaping wound and blinding him in the process.

His head recoiled back to the right, the body of the enemy seemingly distorted out of shape in his mind. His mouth was agape from the shock of being blinded, and although it might give perfect leeway for any other fighter to just shift back and bawl at the wound --

No!

He shall refuse his opponent the glee of victory..!

His right leg pushed itself back, adapting to the weight being pushed towards his chest. With the left acting as said before, a cushion, his left hand shot out, grabbing hold of the thing rammed at his chest. In those few seconds where the pain hasn't settled in completely yet, he has to...

"You're not getting away...!"

It was only a second or so later after the combo strike. But for Stranger A, everything felt slow as he cocked the blade in his right hand from its momentum, flipping the lethal edge towards the opponent....

And fired a stab that is to completely pierce the liver/chest section which should be in front of him. Although he cannot see nor guess completely correct from his injuries, the sense of grabbing onto the leg thrown by Vex can give him enough estimate to at least stab the blade straight through the opponent's body, in a last-ditch attempt for countering before his eyes are blinded by the blood and/or the pain on his face.

No matter if Vex tries to slash again. With both feet airborne and only having a few second lapse of timing to land back down, the Stranger intends to use all that necessary time to provide the answer for the brat to understand completely. Depending on how the 'thing' shifts in his grab, he can roughly guess where the opponent is moving.

That shall be the answer in response to the battle scar on his face.

-12-

Pain and more pain. More wet like substances flowed off of the body and flesh being torn by the knife's asunder. But regardless of how things would occur, even admist his own eyes being blinded, the stranger would not back down.

Will not back down.

Blood seeped through the pores and the gaping mess left by Vex's torrent of slashes. Clothings ripped and slashed to shreds, revealing the bare skin underneath, scarred and full of the marks left by the viper's trail.

And when the countless strikes had finally stopped, there was the ensuing silence that permeated the ground of their fight.

Ba-dump.

His body felt heavy, worn and hacked to pieces by the brat's use of the knife. Sluggish and weary, everything felt numb. Cold, even, while the cloak he wore slowly turned red under the loss of his blood.

Ba-dump.

A voice. It was faint, almost imperceptible to his ears while the dull ringing tone of the noise caused his mind to waver, drift off into a seemingly subconscious realm. Is this all that is there for him to do? Is this the only thing he can do, as frail and outmaneuvered by the being before him?

Ba-dump.

Ba-dump.

Ba-dump.

"......Ku....kukukukuku...."

His uninjured left eye suddenly opened, focusing on the opponent before him. The same opponent that asks for his surrender or the consequence of death.

To answer the statement which now hangs the balance of his life, the answer was obvious.

With a speed that briefly, just briefly, surpassed his own reaction, Stranger A, oblivious to the death that would eventually - either way regardless - kill him, slammed his chin down onto the top of Vex's wrist hard, pinning it down in place to restrict the motion of the knife --

A step in with his right leg as if to ram the opponent directly -

Before he swung with all his might, with the blade held at his right hand towards Vex's left chest. To embed his sword straight into his opponent as far as he can, before his injuries were too severe to keep him conscious.

And with how things are positioned - there was nothing hampering the way between the distance.

A point blank attack that would not give Vex the necessary time or space to dodge the strike.

He himself may die in the process --

But.

He'll take the b*****d down with him as well.

-13-

There is only one place to go but forward. And unlike Vex - who may be trained in fighting with knives at close range - the Stranger, despite all logic continued to push onward like a rapid torrent, bending and moving according to the object blocking it.

If he cannot push, he'll slide.

If he cannot confront, he'll curve.

If he cannot attack, he'll counter.

The absence of something blocking his chest or throat was loosened, foretelling the swordsman that it was an all or nothing attack. And instead of just waiting to be attacked, he pushed on.

Move!

His leg was already in motion. The knees were poised, bracing the numb weight in readiness. Stepping in once previously with the right leg, all that energy was already focused towards his left calf, the potential building up, up...

With one push, the man launched his entire body into motion, cutting the attempted stab towards his forearm short -

For it instead impaled straight through the Stranger's left forearm, halting the blade in the process.

"Urk..!"

And in this case, the blade that was sliding off of Vex's reverse held grip on the left knife slid faster than usual from the close-up sprint, with Stranger A twisting his blade in his hand in a slight circular motion - once to have it slip off and just under the reverse held knife on the left...

And then bringing it up from beneath to jab the lower edge of his blade towards the already injured section of Vex's left shoulder, just underneath the armpits.

His face will be located right in front of Vex by then. The mad step inward would cause his face to go in and bash his forehead straight into Vex's face, with more than enough force to break the nose in the meantime in a consecutive strike.

The eyes were blurry, disoriented and unable to focus anymore. One more strike from all of this afterwads would be all he can muster before falling unconscious from the consistant bleeding throughout his entire body.

James had decided to investigate the festivities that had occurred withing HOH, mainly to be keeping an eye out for a certain experiment. It was here last year, so surely it would be lurking around somewhere. She pushed up her bottle cap like glasses as she walked through the busy crowds. She blended in way too well.

"Jessie! Where did you go? We need you to find her!" she screamed rather impatiently as she jumped a few feet to try and look over the crowd causing her gray locks to bounce. A few meters in front of her stood her younger, moronic colleague browsing some of the stands. Yes, he was that pathetic.

She rolled her eyes and decided to go out on her, after all...something you just got to do by yourself.

Afro-sama was still in the area. His opponent had vanished on him all of a sudden, much to his disappointment. Oh well, more muffin for him. He was munching on the delicious muffin as he was climbing out of the pit when he heard some disturbance among the crowd. People were getting out of the way in a hurry as a darkly clad figure came storming over in his direction. Someone must've really pissed him off.

"Say, he looks kinda familiar," he said to himself, raising his shades and squinting his eyes. Drow, no doubt, except he'd never seen on with black hair before, and he doesn't look like a half-breed. Maybe it was dyed to match the rest of his attire. Who knows.

Disappointed that his opponent had vanished on him, Afro finished his muffin and once again announced that he was open to any challengers. And just so he could weed out the chickens from the roosters, he still had his giant chainsword (refer to reference pic from last post) out, leaning against it with the blade's tip stuck in the ground.

Nightsnow Wrote:

-13-

There is only one place to go but forward. And unlike Vex - who may be trained in fighting with knives at close range - the Stranger, despite all logic continued to push onward like a rapid torrent, bending and moving according to the object blocking it.

If he cannot push, he'll slide.

If he cannot confront, he'll curve.

If he cannot attack, he'll counter.

The absence of something blocking his chest or throat was loosened, foretelling the swordsman that it was an all or nothing attack. And instead of just waiting to be attacked, he pushed on.

Move!

His leg was already in motion. The knees were poised, bracing the numb weight in readiness. Stepping in once previously with the right leg, all that energy was already focused towards his left calf, the potential building up, up...

With one push, the man launched his entire body into motion, cutting the attempted stab towards his forearm short -

For it instead impaled straight through the Stranger's left forearm, halting the blade in the process.

"Urk..!"

And in this case, the blade that was sliding off of Vex's reverse held grip on the left knife slid faster than usual from the close-up sprint, with Stranger A twisting his blade in his hand in a slight circular motion - once to have it slip off and just under the reverse held knife on the left...

And then bringing it up from beneath to jab the lower edge of his blade towards the already injured section of Vex's left shoulder, just underneath the armpits.

His face will be located right in front of Vex by then. The mad step inward would cause his face to go in and bash his forehead straight into Vex's face, with more than enough force to break the nose in the meantime in a consecutive strike.

The eyes were blurry, disoriented and unable to focus anymore. One more strike from all of this afterwads would be all he can muster before falling unconscious from the consistant bleeding throughout his entire body.

His left foot slides backwards hard along the sand, the pushing force having his right shoulder press into Stranger A's chest to keep him from knocking him over. Since he was already bending his knees, this made supporting the weight against him easier, but that was only one of the multiple actions his body takes. He is surprised as the left forearm takes the hit instead, causing Vex to go stumbling back as the rush occurs.

".....!!!" His right hand left the wakizashi that was stabbed through the forearm as his left places the pocket knife quickly into reverse grip and pushes against the incoming katana. He braces himself as his right hand flows down and grabs the right wrist of Stranger A, his left pressing the knife hard in a diagonal angle against the katana to keep it as far away as possible.

Why? Because a few inches of it had hit its target, stabbing into the wound.

Cough. Blood flies from his mouth before he is suddenly headbutted into the nose from the right, not expecting such an attack to happen. His eyes were wide and lifeless at this point as his head leaned back, the world blurring once more as he felt his conscious continue to fade in and back into reality. The concussive force was even enough to cause blood to start flowing from his forehead, the forehead having made more contact than just with his nose.

"....."

And then Stranger A falls unconscious. He could feel the lifeless grip letting go of the katana, his right hand securing the handle quickly as the hand fell away. Stepping away, Stranger A falling forward into the sand, Vex watched the man lying before him with a speechless gaze, momentarily forgetting the pain that was aching through his body. But with one pull on the handle of the sword, he removes it from its spot, causing him to lean back his head and let out a loud cry, blood splattering from the deep wound.

The sword falls onto the ground, Vex standing there as his world shifts into his mental conscious, that debating voice in his head distorting his perspective of the world he was in for a few seconds. He could not describe what he had just experienced. Even as blood flowed from his body, his right hand over his left side wounds, he just stood there hunched over, thinking of all sorts of things randomly.

School, his friends, his family, they all just flowed into his head before he just fell forward and struck the ground face first to the right of Stranger A's own fainted body.

Fainted.

The medics rushed in and quickly took care of them.

((Nevermind, Madi's coming back later.))

"Figured you were looking for a fight, heh," Afro said, standing straight and hefting up his giant sword. "Let's do this then!"

He would jump into the pit and await the moody elf.

Veszafein Zauath Wrote:

Veszafein was in no mood for words. Not like he could respond. Cutting off the afro man's witty banter, he charged forward in a sudden burst of speed, right hand grabbing the pommel of Shadowblade, and whipped it out in a quick-draw strike, slashing across at Afro's torso. But he wouldn't stop there. Following the momentum of the first strike, his left hand would grab the dagger at his hip, reverse-gripped, and slash across with that at Afro's face. HOSHIT!

Moody was an understatement. Good thing Afro had cat-like reflexes. As soon as the first blade came swinging out, Afro was moving behind his giant sword, using its sheer size to shield him from the assault. Since the sword was nearly as big as he was, it wouldn't be hard for him to duck behind it and let the strikes ring off the broad side of the blade.

"Hey now! if we're gonna fight, we should be down... ugh... there!" he said, grunting, pulling the sword out of the ground and swinging it across with both hands to slap the broad side into the elf and smack him down into the pit. Or at least, that was the plan.

It would be here that Afro-sama would display his power with the use of a single word. Unintelligible to those not educated in the language of Truespeech, but powerful to those that were, the right word or string of words could reshape reality. In this instance, all it would do is slam Veszafein with a torrent of intangible force to toss the drow up to 40 feet away from Afro-sama.

"Make a hole!" he yelled at the crowd, giving chase as they parted for him, dragging the blade behind him with a trail of sparks.

Veszafein Zauath Wrote:

Something slammed into Veszafein, throwing him through the air. The afro man was a bloody magic-user! He shouldn't have been surprised. Veszafein managed to somersault in the air and land on his feet, crouching, looking ahead to see the crowd parting for the afro man, charging toward him and dragging his sword behind him. Idiot. Veszafein would wait for him to come just within range, and then drop a globe of darkness on the area around him. Radius: 30 feet. Let's see how well he could see in utter darkness. The crowd screamed, thinking they'd been blinded, running around in blind panic. Thankfully for them, it was away from the clashing swordsmen. Afro-sama could see quite well, actually. Benefits of wearing a pair of sunglasses that not only prevented one from being blinded by any effects, but also enabled one to see even in magical darkness. Just one of many wares one could purchase at a novelty magic shop. Afro-sama's charge would go unheeded, and he'd still be able to see the drow. If he wasn't already moving, Afro would leap up, heft that giant sword above his head, and bring it swinging down to cleave the elf in half from his scalp to the ground. Otherwise, he'd adjust to react to the drow's actions.

Silly drow; tricks are for kids! The sword made a good vaulting pole, with the tip being struck into ground and such. Using mostly momentum and arm strength, Afro flipped over his sword, landing on his feet on the side of it that Vesz had just previously been standing, at the same time pulling and wrenching it out of the ground, spinning around as soon as he landed and swinging the massive blade around in a wide, 180-degree lateral slash.

Veszafein Zauath Wrote:

This guy was insane. That's all he could think as he watched him pull off the manuever. Veszafein pivoted on his feet, turning to face the man, only to see the toothed edge of his giant sword coming for him instead. Both blades came up, crossing to block the strike with a loud clash, but the sheer weight and momentum of the heavy sword pushed him back and off balance, stumbling backwards. He would recover after a step or two, dismissing the darkness since it obviously had no effect, other than crowd control, and went into a defensive stance. Dagger was out in front, held normally, with sword held back at hip level. That moment was all Afro needed. Letting his sword swing out, he let go of the pommel with his left hand, holding it out toward Vesz, and uttered out another word. Normally spoken to heal wounds, when reversed, this word did the complete opposite. The power of his word would wreak terrible gashes and wounds on the drow's body, and if he could keep concentrating on it, more would come.

Afro-sama yelled out when the dagger pierced and impaled his hand - only he couldn't hear anything now. Did the blade strike him deaf? He stuck his giant sword into the ground to pull the dagger out of his hand, tossing it to the side; but the silence remained. Silence!

A silencing dagger. Only mage-killers used those type of weapons. Seems the two of them were meant to fight. Silence wasn't going to prevent him from using his magic though; it'd just make it more difficult. Hoping that Vesz was still reeling from the injuries inflicted on him, Afro grabbed his sword and charged toward him again. Once in range, he'd bring that massive blade swinging across, right to left, to sweep Vesz off his feet.

The drow was quick, even while wounded. But Afro was too. He couldn't hear him coming, but he damn well sure could see him still. Charging from the front was hardly a sneaky tactic. Afro brought a foot back, pivoted his body, and rolled away from the lunging strike, the blade only slicing a thin lin across his chest. He brought his injured hand forward to grab Vesz's wrist, the other to grab him behind the shoulder, and turned his body toward the drow's back, pulling his arm back and pushing him down to slam him down into the ground with an armbar. He would then apply pressure to that arm, twisting it and pulling it back until he popped it out of the socket - unless Vesz was reasonable enough to tap out before that. But he doubted it.

"AAAAGH!" Afro yelled out - if he could be heard anyway - letting go of Vesz's arm and staggering back, pain flaring from the dagger stuck in the side of his knee. That damn dagger again. Supporting himself on his remaining good leg, he pulled the dagger out, but this time didn't toss it. He wasn't gonna let the drow grab hold of it again. No, this time he's stab him back with it in return! Dropping to his knees to straddle the drow, he brought the dagger slashing across to slice open throat.

Or the blades would clash, since he too was slashing at Vesz's neck, and there would be a locking of blades. Afro, using his advantage of position, would start pushing them down to bring both blades down toward Vesz's throat. If only this damned silence was gone, he could finish it! His lips were moving anyway. He knew the words were coming out, but he couldn't hear them. He had to rely on practice to get the inflexions right without the need of hearing them. There was still a chance of getting it right, and if he did, Vesz's sword would begin glowing white hot, and he would be forced to release his sword or severely burn his hand.

((2 or less = failure

Edit: ...lmfao))

POW! b***d. Afro reeled back, feeling moisture in his nostril. b*d must've broken his nose. Falling back on his a, Afro pushed himself away from the drow. Couldn't get to his feet on a bum knee without something to pull himself up on; not without a considerable amount of pain, anyway. He crawled toward his giant sword, still stuck in the ground. If he could make it, he could use it for leverage to get himself back on his feet, maybe even chop the drow down finally.

Clunk

A boot belonging to six hundred pounds of armor locked the blade to the ground. An armored hand belonging to a remarkably similar suit of armor simply closed around the drow's own sword and lifted it harmlessly to point into the air. Two more Security Officers were behind Afro and Vesz respectively.

Deep blue with gold trim, bearing badges and emblems of Deity Inc. and HoH Security, were there to intercede and prevent what was likely expected. While it was set as an exhibition match, it was not in the designated area. One of the participants was also disallowed to fight in such events, as he was still an active competitor.

Mirrored helmets cast faceless looks of neutral warning.

"That is enough. You, Veszafein Zauath, are not permitted to compete in the Heaven or Hell Square at this time. This fight is out of it's sanctioned zone, and therefore in violation of Heaven or Hell rules.

You have been warned. You will leave now."

With precise and perfect enunciation the likes of which could only come from a prerecorded message given by a voice synthesizing computer. The dull tone and dead pan delivery would make it rather difficult to tell just which of the Security Officers had spoke, as none of them gave physical tells of speech.

Which one spoke was irrelevant, because the warning was just as serious coming from any one of the four. Afro-sama would be given time to ready himself and would be escorted to a medical tent. No warnings would be issued to him.

Afro-sama breathed a sigh of relief when security showed up. His knights in shining armor? He only caught on to the last half of what they were saying, as the silence effect finally wore off, and watched the drow walk off without even a word.

"Whew... Thanks, guys. Sorry about that. Eh heh... ********."

Real great. That's exactly how he wanted to foreshadow next year's HoH, by getting his a** kicked. He's been off the trail for too long...

Afro-sama spoke a word and his body started glowing with a greenish, healing light. His wounds took a while to completely close up and heal over, but he was able to get back on his feet after a minute.

Meanwhile...

A hand shot out of the shadows, grabbing Veszafein by the scruff of his scarf/cloak and pulling him aside. A black robed and hooded figure slammed him hard against the wall outside the hotel, behind some concierge stand, eyes smoldering like lit coals under the shadow of the cowl.

"What the ******** is the matter with you? Trying to get thrown out?" hissed an angry voice. "Remember what you are charged with."

"Oh? So you want to be restored, is it? Very well."

The robed figure would restore Veszafein, completely, jaw and all, and then throw him out to where he had snatched been snatched. A pale hand rose from the black sleeve of the robe, pointing at him. There was no need to verbally warn him again; he knows what will happen if he loses again. Failure is not an option.

And just like that, the robed figure was gone.

There was another stranger in town today.

Stranger B.

And although unrelated to Stranger A and to the swordsman named Snow, this was a dual-wielder, his hands folded in front of his chest, and wearing similar cloth that is remarkably close to what Stranger A and what swordsman Snow wear during their travels.

Gauntlets.

Belt to strap the cloak in.

A hood.

And finally two customized kodachis in each hips of his.

Replicating the nefarious swordsman who would mimic the style and attack methods of Snow, one of the team members in Urameshi, Stranger B has in no regard any relation with the supposed name mentioned above.

Seriously. The narrator swears on its lying behalf.

But rather to keep his name unknown for the time being - for the sake of liability - Stranger B merely unsheathed both blades on his end, brandishing the weapons with both hands and cocking them in a readied position.

A little bit of glint and ice began to form on the tip, while Stranger B merely takes in a breath, a sudden feeling of damnpess beginning to spread across his arms and cloth, gathering more and more moisture in the process.

Ice was forming, and Stranger B eyed the opponent with a weary, odd sadistic smile. He was preparing for the fight, and he waited when he would either be a.) charged up enough to commence the fight, or b.) strike first and ask questions later on the dead body.

...

.....

Yeah. That sounds about right.

In other words - a huge hulking behemoth that has most likely the agility which he, the swordsman possesses.

Not too surprising, considering how it was in relation to the man he faced previously in Leviathan.

But no matter.

The swordsman sighed, watching the armored individual with certain distaste. It's one thing to fight against those who wear simple cloth like he does - other than light armor and the occasional vital joints where he needs to protect in case of need - and another completely different story to fight against a fully armored individual.

Unfortunately...

This is a fight. And crappy things like this happens all the time.

So bearing the full brunt of his sigh inwardly, the swordsman who no one knew as Snow would walk up to the pit where the armored individual stood, stretching his arms and taking both his swords out immediately; katanas, custom designed with an additional hilt above the tsuba guard for unknown purposes which the armored individual would not know.

There is no way in hell his weapons would be able to pierce through that heavy looking armor.

So as a result --

Moisture began to get damp on his skin, moistening it and causing his blades to glisten under the sunlight. He cracked his head a bit lazily, pretending to take his time getting ready while he was stocking up on some energy around him to use for later.

"Sooo...."

He questioned, eyeing his opponent with a quizzical look. "Do you sweat underneath those armor, or...?"

Hell. It was four inches taller than him. So behemoth like?

The armors and the scary looking weapons are more than enough to make up that part of the myth behind behemoth -- heavy duty and not fun to fight against.

The man didn't have much to say.

"Meh. I'm used to unfair positions. Unfortunately, I neither have the resources to buy those types of armor your wearing, nor the capability to use them in such short notice."

He paused, water beginning to drip and slither down his hands and the bracers he wore on each side.

"And since I'm almost always facing off against those that wear nearly impenetrable armor - diamond armor, things stronger than what a conventional weapon can pierce or cut through..."

More water began to form, this time billowing out and flowing about his bracers and arms like a protective barrier, forming the shape of gauntlets.

Does it serve the function as a protective gauntlet, or...?

"In any case --"

As more water and moisture gathered, the man took his time charging up the necessary power for this fight. It took a minute or so, the water eventually encompassing his blades and the outer layer of his cloth, most of it gathered on the bracers and near the shoulder sections and swirling in ever increasing motion.

And without warning, his blades shattered into shards and pieces, fracturing inside the outline of the water-shaped blade.

The pieces were kept within the confinements of the water-shaped blade, hinting some possible uses of it.

"Shall we get the fight started then?"

The swordsman flicked his wrists about lazily, the end pieces of the shards cutting through the ground beneath while the blade acted like a whip, following the handle's direction. And lowering his stance, the man went into a right side stance, facing the armored individual with a lowered glare.

(( Testing out some ideas here. If you don't understand, just say so and I'll edit accordingly. ))

"Giving some examples." He continued on with that same lowered glare - if not a dull one at best. A bit of silence left the swordsmans lips as Kay laughed at the exchange of words. And a bit annoyed at the armored individual's laughter on his experimentation, he was eyeing the opponent rather deftly, gauging and watchful of any areas he could use in the fight ahead.

As far as he can tell, the only place left unarmored were the eyes and the exposed skin just around the face/chin area.

Tch.

A bothersome thing to overcome, that armor...

For all the things Snow has learned up to now, there was only one thing held true in most of his combat against such individuals --

Many of them wear it to withstand direct blade slashes and piercing. Which means cutting through it is an impossible thing to do at his current state.

However, it also means...

The swirling motion occuring on both sides of his bracers rapidly increased in speed and density, the whip-like blade also being affected in the process. Even the shattered pieces held confined within its watery barrier were revolving rapidly like a powered turbine, the momentum gathering up like a crescendo within a symphonic melody.

"No, I'm not going to use whips against you like you would expect."

An obvious statement, since he never was intending to use his blades like whips.

"I would use them --" He left his words unfinished, swiping at the incoming broad sword with his left watery blade as an example --

Before something unexpected happens.

What came in contact against the enemy's broad sword wasn't just some simple resistance. It was surprisingly a massive, heavy blunt force, added along with the swipe that he has just done; having significantly more power than what a normal fighter would expect from just simple blades.

And enough to nearly negate the broad sword's momentum completely, cancelling the strength with a similar strength from that supposed 'whip-like blade', Snow raised his right handle towards his right shoulder height level, aimed towards Kay's shield.

And he stabbed towards the shield itself by twisting his torso to the left, the revolving centrifugal motion of the water behind the stab adding much, much more punch in blunt force, with more than enough power to knock Kay back at least a few steps or so.

"-- Like this."

For those that might ask, "How is it done?"....

It was an idea that Snow came up with during his observation in the first round of the tournament. Often lacking heavy brute force in his attacks, he was troubled, if not disturbed when he saw the increase of fighters that held brute strength behind their attacks, as well as them wearing armor which helps defend them against sword strikes and stabs - the things he does often in combat. And knowing that most of his weapons can't even pierce nor cut through armor easily, his strike was either too light or weak, unable to paralyze nor even stop the opponent if they decided to rush Snow, which he finds himself trapped in most of the time.

So what's the next best thing that he could use to turn the tide in his favor?

It dawned on him when he was elsewhere, watching a brawl between two fighters in a match in Guldor.

Blunt force.

The attack doesn't have to cut through skin nor pierce through it -- as long as there is enough heavy force in an impact against an object, even if wearing armor a man or woman would feel the blunt force quite clearly through the armor as if punched hard, regardless of where it strikes.

And that was something he can use, even as a swordsman.

But how, considering that his only ability in this tournament is the ability to manipulate water and ice at will? Not to mention the lack of overpowering strength if resorting to hand to hand combat...

It took a few days to figure out a possible approach in testing out that idea. By condensing and adding density to the water around specific areas on his body, say, his hands or elbow for example, he could, by revolving it and let it gain centrifugal force, easily build up the momentum behind each strike he does without much problems. And since none of the momentum or power is wasted because of its centrifugal force around an axis, he could contain the power behind the motion relatively easily as long as he constricts the area the water is revolving in.

And testing it out, Snow discovered that adding more density or pressure to the water revolving around the section gives it more weight and blunt force. So even a common punch or a simple strike to the body could feel like being hit by a 30 mile conventional car weighing 1 ton at full speed.

Not even enough to kill, but more than enough to leave a hard blow against most armor-based fighter and with some heavy bruises afterwards.

So for this trick to succeed, all Snow needed to do was simply direct it out when needed, and let the momentum the water was building up to condense, reduce in area dramatically to raise its pressure/force, and carry that momentum out towards the given direction and impact the target with that heavy blunt force.

The process is analogy-wise, similar to opening up a fire hose and hitting someone weighing 180lbs with it at short blasts. Enough to throw the person right off their feet with no problem over a small distance in physical pain.

The only problem - or setbacks to this type of attack - is the time it takes to build up to the necessary density and the momentum behind the force. Since Kay gave Snow enough time to charge up enough power for it, it gave Snow the necessary heavy force needed to injure armored fighters without much problems, at the expense of sacrificing his cutting and piercing ability through skin and/or more common-type armors.

It wouldn't be surprising if Kay was thrown back a few steps after the right hand stabbed towards the shield - the minute of charging up and condensing the water around areas on his bracers gave him enough time to make the momentum heavier and build up its potential energy.

And keep in mind, that Snow does not know much about the Gambeson which Kay wore. That particular material has the most likely hood of diffusing the impact to some degree, lessening the heavy blunt force to some extent.

The water which was concentrated near Snow's shoulder joints would continue to swirl and elongate, hinting at some possible uses or purpose of it later depending on how Kay reacts to his...new idea of attack. The shards within the water would serve another purpose once he confirms something from the opponent's reaction.

As far as motion-wise...

...Since he manipulates water through....

...

There was no sense of his hands feeling heavy or sluggish due to the condensed water revolving around it. He could move his hands just fine as if doing hand to hand combat normally.

(( Whew...hope that makes sense. xP ))

It was supposed to be meant as a gesture on how he was going to use the whips as a means to throw the opponent back with blunt force. But unknowingly, the man was using the method relatively new, so flaws within the attack method became apparent when he felt little to no resistance against his stab and swipe.

But that's where his method of manipulating water comes in, and where the fragments of his blade plays a factor in strengthening the weakness itself.

The momentum behind the water was strong. But it wasn't simply misdirected. With the fragmented blade also being constricted and violently spun around in the centrifugal force it was being contained in, its purpose isn't to cause major scratches and pierces through soft tissue or soft armor.

It was meant to guide the direction of the water like a striking snake.

So as the force of his stab was directed elsewhere from the convex emergence of the shields' body, the shards - like homing missiles within the water - would go into an arc to aim for a strike directed at Kay's left temple, directing the blunt force to arc along with it at an attempt to dish out some damage.

Some of the force would be buffered from the obstruction of the shield, but with the resulting blunt force being like hit by a mediumweight right hook is not an impossible thing to rule out...

But.

He wasn't going to test that idea out yet.

He needed to see if it is possible to direct the blunt force subtely, quickly without raising suspicion, as well as how well he could land a strike on that precise location of the enemy's body. So immediately afterwards the man pushed off with his legs after hearing Kay boast about the neat trick, the water circulating around his cloak and body acting like a spring to launch him even further and faster than what his footing could do as he tried to see if he could control the arching attempt with pinpoint precision.

What Kay would see is just the blunt force of the water stab go at an arc, only to fly over his head by some margin of degree.

It was unsettling, as the navigation was an unfamiliar experience to the swordsman's attempt at directing the blast.

The swing that would come for his left bicep would miss by some inches or so from the tip of the broadsword, the swordsman already retreating to gain some distance and reformulate on how to use the attack more effectively.

And how to direct his attack better next time, so it would land that blow and knock the armored individual out cold if possible...

From a physics standpoint, most of the objects discussed in relative motion would be some form of solid object with relative mass. However, as the object he'd propelled did not partake a physical form but a more fluidic type, the properties of water is different than a solid mass in the laws of physics.

The water in the beginning had no relative bounds. Being constricted and limited to only a certain area, the point of the firepower was its strong blunt force that could topple heavyweight people - especially armored individuals - off their feet.

That was, and still is the original purpose. As he had stated before the attack even began, he was to let the momentum carry itself out towards the point of impacting the target.

Which meant that the water surged off of his hands like a long projectile, being directed and controlled by the fragmented blade he'd purposefully shattered to navigate the snake-like stream of water during mid-flight.

The easiest way to imagine it would be to imagine a long malleable spike for example being fired off from a cannon. With the spike being the water, the momentum carries itself out without affecting nor throwing the entire cannon back in the process, except for small recoils due to its relatively untested use.

It's the same principal, but used in a different manner.

So while the force of 1 ton traveling at 30mph is just based from the concentrated density and the centrifugal motion of the water swirling about his hand, it does not mean that he is throwing his own weight behind the attack.

He's merely directing the water expelling off of his bracers and towards the target. Nothing more.

But back to topic now.

While launching off such concentrated water at short bursts near his arms to cause blunt damage is one matter, the water coating that was covering the rest of his cloak and shoulder points was a completely different factor.

As far as what he has done, he has not used that portion of the water there at all. Only the concentration near his bracers.

The fluidic properties of the water covering his cloak was used previously to gain a firm hold on the ground, and literally throw Snow back in timing with pushing off his legs --- remember. He never shifted nor moved at all in his stance. He only used his torso to direct a stab towards the shield --- so that the water, like a compressed spring, with the aid of the ground, pushed Snow back even faster than what is possible, allowing Snow the ability to move out of the swipe of Kay's sword completely and then some more.

So when Kay rushed in, Snow was already thrown back at least a meter or two back from where the shield would've impaled and killed the swordsman instantly, and where the broadsword would've cleaved his arm in half.

To make the idea more simple, it was like some form of water tentacles thrown on the ground and pushed off, so that the main body would be thrown back to avoid the attack in general.

When the swordsman landed, he was already some decent distance away, the water-made tentacle already slinking back to his cloak again, and at least well out of the range of the armored individuals' capability to strike.

And now, to use the water like a living tentacle...

The swordsman would now then attempt to direct the water with the fragmented pieces within it.

The wasted water stream which was knocked off course by Kay's shield would curve upward in the meantime behind the armored individual, high into the air...

Before it went into an arc suddenly, glinting under the sunlight as it went for a quick blunt strike straight towards the back of Kay's neck. Curving around and hitting the area like a slingshot.

There wasn't anymore additional water fueling the strike or connecting his bracers to the weaving water snake form, so it foretold that the current heavy blunt force is already weakened in comparison to its initial strength. How he has the capability to control the fragmented blade in midair is a secret, and revealing that would immediately reveal the major weakness in Snow's strengths.

And that is best left unknown, for the spectators were watching each and every move of his.

Especially his would-be opponents. Possible fighters that would use that weakness to strike and take the swordsman down in mockery.

Of course, it was trying to test the idea out under live combat situations, but the force behind it was already weakened. At best it could knock enough physical blunt force towards the nape of the neck/head section and knock the individual unconscious. But Snow doubts the probability of that happening.

Right now he's just testing out the flaws in his attack, not taking the entire thing seriously, and observing just how well he has to coordinate or focus to strike the intended target without much problems.

The water which was wasted can be salvaged again later. But for the time being, it looks like Snow was defenseless at the moment.

Remnants of the fragmented blade on his left handle were scattered about the ground due to the rush.

And just slowly, some of them moved on its own, some water being collected in the background...

Name one swordsman without armor that does not need to use powers to break through all that defenses. Those that do would most likely be called powerplay, and Snow, as much as he would like to have that much power, doesn't have that much to begin with anyways.

And so on and so forth. To Snow, it appears that the armored individual can figure everything out on a second's whim, but that wasn't what the swordsman is here to judge.

Another crash of water, and the attack struck the shield again.

So far, all of his attempts at knocking the opponent back has been in vain.

And what to do?

Obviously the armored individual doesn't feel weary by it, and by the looks of how Kay can easily use the momentum so quick and so fast without even exerting energy and look lazy in the process...

The swordsman was busy collecting more water to use, seemingly unable to do anything about the momentum behind that blade ---

Before he retreated yet again, using the water on his cloak like additional sprinting mechanisms and using that to launch himself out of the way and to the side of Kay's left position, outside the range of the shield hopefully.

He summarizes what he has observed until now;

The armor protects the guy.

The sword cleaves through heavy armor.

The shield can puncture wounds in exposed skin.

Everything is guarded and a pain in the neck to get through.

It was time to test out another method.

Unlike previously, where he has to direct the water flow from his own body, this time he is moving water left from his previous attack as his next staging ground for his experimentation.

When Kay stepped forth to chase after Snow, it would not be on firm ground in which the armored foe would delight to move in.

Nay --

The water left by his previous retreat has oddly begun to freeze, causing a portion of the ground about to become slippery in the process. Given that the effect is not instantaneous nor as fast as the motion Kay is moving in, the swordsman was biding his time to charge up another attack while making the terrain more difficult to move in.

Even for an armored individual, at such notion, balance wouldn't really be the key for a heavy fighter....yes?

Probability of tripping and becoming off balance would be the best thing to happen.

If not, Snow can figure something else later with the frozen ground, once it expands enough.

Meanwhile, the snake-like form of water which crashed against the shield expanded and lost its constrained state, sacrificing its blunt force as it seeped towards the materials around the armor, molding and pouring itself in through any minor holes or cavity it can find. Most likely the black material would hinder and stop this method, but the swordsman wants to see if there is gaps within the armor.

If any at all.

Remnants of the blades fragment for that particular, wasted attack would suddenly veer off of Kay and rush straight towards Snow's handles, reforming and remaking it back into its original blade before it shattered.

The same thing would happen for the one on his left as well; fragments snapping back in place and iced over, creating two blades that looked to be intact and fine on the outside.

More ice and water would flow around Snow, the ground stiffening and icing up in the process while he continues to retreat quickly from the attacks that would critically injure him in the process.

And what's wrong with an opponent that knows how to dodge? There is no injuries which Kay has suffered at all, and the armored individual has the huge advantage of its armor and weapon by itself. Certainly Kay does not seriously believe that the swordsman would fight such brutality straight on, knowing it would kill the swordsman in the process now, would he?

No opening for the swordsman to use.

The man halted his motion, raising an eyebrow in response.

".....?"

Talk about being short tempered. Yes, he's outmatched. Yes, he's retreating for the time being to build up what he has to gather. It's not like he can throw absolute power off instantaneously, unlike some fighters here.

And since when did a fight mean that it has to be fought straight on?

The man sighed, scratching his head and sheathing the blades back to its respective scabbards.

Typical.

Problem.

The man doesn't have the money to buy such expensive things. And unlike those who spend countless gold or money just to purchase such stuff, the swordsman does not have such luxury.

Hell, he doesn't have the resources to do so, like he'd said in the beginning.

Most of the armored individuals these days are either filthy rich, or don't know the hardships of living out on the streets.

Wearing such things to bolster status and prestige....

It makes the swordsman want to grimace in disgust.

Spoiled, the lot of them.

The swordsman was belligerent, feeling down in the dumps as he stripped off his weapons and laid them to the side. Damn them all -- he'll prove one day that armor would be their demise.

He'll make certain of it.

Tap, tap, tap.

The strangest person was arriving for the HoH square Pit Fights. "Wizend" and "Crone" came to mind. A short woman, hunched over, tapping along with a cane she used as a prop. White, thin hair cut to shoulder length, straight. She was dressed in blue jeans, a blue buttoned up tee shirt, and pink floral sweater vest left open. Like most Old People, she was not of medium build, but rather towards the thin looking side of the thin/fat balance of things, and quite wrinkled, her skin darkened by the sun after years of hard work in the fields.

As Kay's fight ended, the old woman dropped her cane up at the top, and started to work her way down into the pits to face her 'challenger'. Yes, this old crone was going in for a beatdown.

"By that you mean beat yer a** red sonny boy, yep," came that old, cracked voice. It seemed the woman was missing a few teeth as well, her mouth as she spoke a gnarled mess to look at.

She slowly ambled over towards Snow, with small, tiny, delicate steps each bit of the way. Her left hand fumbled for a pocket on her sweatervest, pulling out a pair of old lady glasses, which she they pushed up onto her nose so she could finally "See" her opponent.

"Well now, bad a** little man eh sonny? Beatin' on a helpless old lady?"

The old hag still approached Snow, however, instead of a "fighter's stance", she brought her arms up, close to her chest, left cross over right, almost as if she was cowering, with her shoulders shrugged up agianst whatever pain Snow felt like bringing against the poor old woman.

Maybe Snow was right about that?

As the kick came in, the old woman stopped. In the time it took the leg to travel 2-3 feet towards her chest, her arms uncrossed, left hand and right hand both coming to absorb the kick in a block... and a Trap, grabbing hold of his foot and applying a twisting motion, left hand going down, right hand going up.

The Old Hag, an old pro maybe? Her 'counter' to the attempt to pull her in was simple, and effective, keeping her head out of range.

Her arms extended from being folded up near her chest to out straight as she applied the twist. Soon as she applied the twist to his foot, and the poor boy was airborne, the Hag let go of the foot, withdrawing her hands.

Meaning that really, nothing at all was in range of his spinning aerobatics. Not until he fell at least.

First point, Old Hag.

Kay was finishing his cheeseburger, tossing the wrapper away as he watched the fight. His gauntleted hand clapped rather loudly against the one that was not.

"Get 'em grandma! Show that tentacle man who is boss!" Kay thought this whole thing was very amusing.

If only sword --

No!

Shaking that thought off of his head, the swordsman didn't know whether to be insulted by the old woman's intimidating approach, or be overtly alarmed from the fact that the cross arm stance is...

"....How long have you been fighting?" He questioned.

And giving a few pause to give the old Hag some time to respond - or if she doesn't in the end - Snow would step in, changing his stance to left side stance - which meant left leg first - before reaching out with his left hand to aim for a grab on the woman's left elbow with his fingers.

Against an intermediate fighter, the counter would've been effective.

But for the swordsman, the counter was anticipated. As the old Hag has shown to him in the beginning - she is the defensive type, needing the opponent to attack first before she can utilize counter combos to bring the fighter down without much difficulty.

Principals in Tai-Chi and similar forms of martial arts.

To counter the retaliation the old Hag is doing, there is a method;

He twisted his left foot and ankle to face outward toward his own position. Doing so causes the body to twist and shift its weight more towards the left foot, while strengthening his balance in the process.

This way, when the old Hag attempts anything similar to tripping him, it won't be the joint where it bends inwards --

It would be the joint where his front ankle would be facing the woman's attempted trick, effectively sealing that potential possibility in the process.

As the old Hag grabbed onto the forearm of Snow's left side, Snow merely needed to bring his left hand down to forcefully draw a clockwise, small circle while he - hitting the old Hag's elbow to make it bend inward before he shoves off with his right leg - aiming to deliver a left shoulder thrust straight towards the Hag's left side.

With the descent of her foot from out of the sphere she came, the clack of her stilettoe heel against the hard pavement while a flick of her hand brushed her bangs from her eyes. Kiyo's warning did not fall upon deaf ears and she nodded like she understood, chosing not to give a verbal sign of hearing when she guessed he would be so intune with her that such was suffice. Frost lingered about her as she scowled, the scent of fatty acids and other disgusting forms of meals assaulting her scenes with enough kick to give her a migraine. Her full blue lips set in and undetected grimace until her companion's hand rested against the small of her back. Her brows raising at his question at which she gave a soft melodical laugh and stepped away.

The change was instant, one couldn't expect her to go about a spar in a dress with such a long hem and fine material everyday. There was also that issue of flashing, it happened before but she wasn't to fond of that moment since her favored black heels were damaged and deemed unfit. The dress vanished, leaving behind a flexible black tank top that hung loose about her upper body while worn jeans hugged her hips complete with broken in black boots. Her slim hands pulled her long raven black tresses up into a high ponytail as she turned back and blew a kiss to Kiyo.

"Sounds interesting enough." With that she leapt, easily manipulating the wind to send her sliding towards the open area.

"Sounds fair enough to me," she replied briskly as she landed. It had been awhile since she had fought, it wasn't really her forte and she found the idea rather...meh. Yet with a shrug she'd crouch down and with a dagger appearing in her hands drew out a symbol, the ground shook and parted as the screaming form of the demoness Barbelo was forced above ground. Without pity Sharlen grasped into the screaming demoness' chest and ripped free The Executioner in its simplest form. A long black blade with a bone hilt, nothing fancy to it. With a single word, she closed off all the Bone Executioner's extra tidbits and whirled the blade forward, testing its balance.

She'd begin simply, blade point directed at the ground with the sword held in her right hand. Her arm itself held away from her to the side while she took what would appear a dancer's position. Her purple hues intent "I must say though I do doubt I will offer much competition."

The Bone Exectioner was the simplest of the Executioner's forms, its length about thirty-two inches with such a strong hilt that it was basically a one handed weapon and light. Yet the metal was strong, it was resilient, it was chaos contained so to speak. Since she had sealed the powers bestowed upon Bone, it would not give off that tingling aura that often effected those it went again, the blade itself strengthed by Barbelo's blood and soul. The demoness was the Bone's sheath, it was a thing used to chaos and destruction.

"Thank you lovely," she purred while she barely stepped to the side to avoid the blow. She was used to speed, as an abomination according to Divine text, her very existence undermined the celestrial and divine, ya da ya da. She had lived by the saying 'fight or flee' and usually fleeing was the best choice against a large host.

She did not merely just sidestep, the movement would of been to minimal to detect unless you were truly looking for it and expecting it. Her left hand flicked to ping against Kiyo's weapon while at the same time her right arm whipped into play. A twist of her hand and a flawless pivot upon her left foot and she'd swing the Bone Executioner to make a decapitating blow. Now wait, don't think she was going to kill him or anything. She made the direct order for the Bone Exectioner to just knick his lovely face, not scar or kill. For across the hilt of the blade, the words BONE EXECUTIONER was engraved into the hilt and sanctified with her blood from centuries before. A good weapon only cut through what the master willed it, and the Bone would listen.

Ever so fleet of finger she was able to maintain her cool while taking her mistake. She didn't freeze up and natural ambition not to be beaten to easily aided her into reacting swiftly and manuvering her hand to made the Bone's blade do a complete 180 in her grip. It was a simple inward flick of her wrist and the deft mobility of her fingers that would bring the sword's blade to rest up under her arm. Yet timing would not be on her side, which was a second problem so the only solution was simple. So she didn't complete what she planned

Flee

To an extent.

Releasing the Bone, she yanked back her arm and fell backwards. Mid-fall, pitching her weight to the side to complete three full bodied rotations. By this time, Bone would of hit the ground and she'd be less then a foot away from it. Being on the ground seemed a no-no, so she'd reach out mid fourth revolution and using her nails, dig them into the ground and jerk herself forward and out of the spinny-cycle-ness that would have her screwed over if it continued. A bit shaken but in one piece she'd kick her legs up and over her head. Landing upon her toes while keeping a sharp eye upon Kiyo's nasty little snipsnip. To play of logic or reason? Logically a long blade like such would have a lag time between each attack, her best course of action would be a quick 'light' attack that kept Bone within manuvering distance followed by a stronger attack during the time which Kiyo'd need to redirect. Reason claimed that he'd be prepared for that though so she was back a square numero uno.

Then there was the issue of Bone just laying there twelve inches from her hand and the fact that Kiyo could easily come up with a way to block her path from said sword. Tricky tricky, she could play tricky as well. Forgetting Bone for now, she'd throw herself backwards and away from Kiyo's path, away from his eight foot reach as well as adding another two feet for safe measure. At the same time drawing the dagger she had used previously to hand and flipping it between her fingers before slinging it at the space between where the tibula and fibula of his right leg would be.

Another day, but someone stood in one of the Square pits, regardless. Days ago, a terrible, yet memorable fight had broken out in one of the rings. Two people wielded knife and sword in close and fast action combat, spewing blood and nearly losing limbs, until finally it ended with both fainting from major loss of blood. Many spectators did not like the violence, but there were fans who found it simply fantastic, even going to the lengths of saying that the single match was better than most of the fights in the first round of Heaven or Hell thus far.

That was a compliment worth accepting, but Vex Glaston had no clue of it. He was just here, yet again holding that suitcase in his left hand, the seventeen-year old Japanese teen waiting for someone to leap in and challenge him. His gray eyes were closed as he soaked himself in mental admiration of his skills, the black bangs of his short hair nearly masking them in shadow. Today, he was not in his school uniform, but instead a blue jacket over a white t-shirt, with jeans and shoes on his feet. An average appearance, but that appearance will soon be flooded over by the more sadistic one under that smirk of his.

Kay was walking away from another lunch, as the scores for the previous matches were delayed, and headed over to the side of the occupied pit to see what was going on. His kite shield, clanking against the back plate of his cuirass, gave way to his presence. Leather and metallic bracers crossed over one another, as the man folded his arms on the fence, and looked down at them.

"...oh, two kids fighting this time?"

Kay's eyes, though mostly hidden by the helmet, reflected a bit of interest. His lips were curled into a smirk.

"Guess it's better than watching a man get beat down by a grandma."

4'2" with a beard near as long, a battle worn dwarf in a torn white suit with dwarfen mithril runes up and down, made his way into the pit near where the two kids were fighting. Z.Z. as he was only known by those of Gaia, was so old he'd forgotten how old he was. The wrinkles in his leathery skin were hidden by the muscles that made up the most of him.

Short.

Stout.

And tough as nails.

"Alright lass, let's see what ye' c'n do agin'st a real man!" He laughed and walked towards the center of the sandy bottom through one of the side. His old black boots scooted up some of the dust as he planted himself in a left lead Irish boxing stance, balled fists rose before him, he waited for Lilana.

"No ye ain't! You call 'at a stance? Why I c'd huff and puff 'n blow ye' over 'er some kinda fairy tale 'n such!" The dwarf dropped his fists and walked over to her, "ye need ta have yer feet planted, like'n shoulder width."

Z.Z. stepped back, standing rather relaxed, putting both hands on his rotund hips, and looking up at her. "Like dis, ya see?!" With a very focused face, lips quirked, and biting on the corner of his lips, he thought. If this were a real woman (dwarf), he'd know how to tell her to fight. Elves, humans, and pansies like Lilana had to do things different though. All agile and such.

How did they move?!

Z.Z. blinked, "...how strong are ye?"

She had stumbled back when he came toward her but calmed down when she saw his calm demeanor. "Well, I'm not sure. I've never tested my strength before. I might not be very strong. I don't work out or anything. But maybe I'm naturally strong." And so began her rambling. " You know how some people are just born with strong muscles and stuff and some aren't. Maybe I was born with strong muscles and bones. Maybe I was really, really strong all along like--like Superman or something I didn't know. How cool would that be? If I were strong like a Super hero that would be so awesome. I could fight crime, and win fights and stuff. And maybe, maybe I could even beat up Master Oda and get back at him for that one time he completely put me int he hospital. Did I tell you about that? Gosh, it hurt so bad.." she took a breath, "I didn't know what I was getting into when I smart mouthed him. He's so strong and everything. I'm just so little, and he completely beat me up. I thought I was going to die right there and then. But afterward, he took care of me and took me to the Hospital. I thought that was really nice of him. He even gave me a job, see? And he brought me here so I could see some fighting and I could learn as well. I can't wait till I can fight like him and beat people up the way he does and...", she went on and on and on and on...

"Mm...." Kiyoshi looked down along her form, shaking his head. "I think I shall teach you one day, how to avoid having that happen in the future, for all the gifts of divine knowledge which you bestow upon me." A smirk passed over his lips, while sheathing it back over his shoulder, in the strap between his cape and tuxedo jacket. His left arm vanished into a white sphere, coming out without the gauntlet.

"I trust you... have some sort of magic for that..." The Chimagin asked, walking up to her, and kneeling to place his right index finger along a cut dropping from her side. Some of the blood, he rose to his lips and licked off, Kiyoshi obviously enjoying her taste, as she well knew. "...shall we be out of this dust, my queen?"

"Aw. My queen, but not here as a show for weak flesh." Kiyoshi nodded to the spectators above, and around the pit. Though he did steal a one, left hand sliding behind her neck, and right at the mid of her back, he pulled her forward into a harsh kiss, where his tongue invaded her lips, before withdrawing and stealing more of the blood she'd coated her lips with. It fed the blade, and the curse which kept the Chimagin in constant hunger of it.

And of blood, there was no greater taste than his lover's.

"Shall we exit through my means..." Kiyoshi's right hand slid up her back, along the places her wings would typically extend from, "...or yours? I do not think you have yet graced me with a flight." Words as cool as the touch of his skin, the white dragon gave a devilish smirk, and looked to her eyes. Still he remained very close to her, keeping his breath mixed with her own, even as he spoke.

TIME UP.

With the lack of a move on either side for the better part of a week, a wall shot up between Arzhael and his challenger before the announcer indicated that the fight was called off.

Arzhael would retire back to the break room where he was bound to have a heart attack. Meanwhile Gaara would be free to do as he pleased.

Anyone else was now free to issue a challenge to The Sword in the square.

Hmm? Why, over there!

The old crone, formerly of the Pit Fights, wandered over towards Arianna. Her cane was back in hand, tapping her way out as the silver haired, bent over, thin old woman in pink floral sweater vest made her way towards the River Spirit.

As she drew close, she cleared her throat loudly, trying to get the attention of Ariaana.

"Poor deary, you seem to have something on your face," she intoned, already with handkerchief in hand, wiping at Arianna's skin. It was mud colored after all, she thought the young woman was just dirty.

"There, wanna get a good look at ya, betcha real pretty under all that gunk," she kept wiping away at her face, trying to get her 'clean'.

Huh...

The old woman stared at her handkerchief peculiarly, wondering for a moment why it was so wet. Dirty made sense, all things considered though. But wet?

She must have dampened it, ah, yes. Damn old age.

"Ah see now deary. You look so much better now that you're clean."

The old woman flashed her a sweet, innocent looking smile. Even as she started towards her, pacing with her cane in a slow circle around her, nodding slowly to herself. And making the occasional noises like, "Umhuh, yup, ah."

"Now deary, what would your name be?"

"Clarice, of the Hunter Clan," the old bag answered in turn. She even gave a little bow towards Arianna, very polite, the bow would have looked at home in victorian era balls, with quite a high measure of grace and poise to it.

As she rose, Clarice tapped her cane against Arianna's right hip, "Good child bearing hips... you know I have a very nice son that so happens to be looking for a lovely, well mannered lady."

"Barren eh? What a shame, you have that nice, exotic thing."

The old woman shrugged it off, just like water on a duck's back as she gave Arianna one last look over.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to have bothered you," suddenly she seemed to be aware of what a pain she must have been, "Please, let me make it up to you, I insist deary."

"Oh no no no," Clarice stepped forward, inching along at the same rate that Arianna was retreating, not relenting in her 'request' even the slightest.

"Oh how about a meal. You're all skin and bones, you must be famished, yes? I'll treat you, anywhere you wish."

And BAM!

I'm in the middle of a Square...like some kind of Plaza or some s**t.

And there's a crowd. They're cheering.

It must be that homecoming parade I was promised, only most of the people here look like bloodthirsty maniacs. Looking back on this incident, I should have realized that I was in fact, in the HoH Square, but I was too busy waving to the crowd and blowing kisses for that.

Little did I know...

Oh look!

A sign up sheet. I wondered vaguely if it was for a party before shrugging and snitching a beautiful fountain one from some girl's blouse.

How you say...I have no idea, it was just there.

Anyways, within a few seconds, I signed the sheet, my name right next to the man now walking away, and then I grabbed a couple young ladies, draping my arms across their shoulders. I'd go to that party later..maybe talk to that guy with the crazy afro...

"Say Cheese!!"

Of course...the camera went off and I stared right at the light.

Silly Snick, now I'm blind.

Wha?

A shouting in my ear; I'm kinda confused with the camera flash, and then pushing at my back. It would seem the crowd wanted me to go somewhere.