HoH season 08. Source: valucre.net static Gaia dump.
ROCK CONCERT
Acoustic is lame because its not metal. Stage diving optional.
Terrain
General - Participants fight on the stage while the band plays.
Weapons - Spare instruments, y'know, in case they get busted or something.
Bonus Effects - Damage to the band or crowd counts as a penalty.
The crowd parted more as he took each step. The indie band set up on stage began to play their version of Voodoo Child as Chance's sponsor had requested. It wasn't yet his time to fight, but he was here. Already he was making money.
He took his place beside the stage, joined by hundreds of adoring fans.
Closely following behind him, would be Kuroha, with the Six foot iron pole in his right hand, perched over his right shoulder at a turned downwards angle. He'd look the most out of place in this battle, next to the freaks in costume that is.
As the indie band set themselves up on stage, and prepped the crowds who were ready for the double-sided show, He'd come up behind Chance and ask simply, and blatantly...
"Are you ready?"
Chance barely heard his compatriot over the roar of the crowd. He merely shrugged. "I suppose."
Psshhh...Man, what the ********?! Indie Band?!
He said, already dressed in his wrestling attire. He was standing where the Strikers were supposed to be sitting/standing.
Yes, Strikers, because he wasn't going to fight in the first round of the fight.
Unfortunately for the Indie Band, the crowd consisted of metalheads. They were expecting a band like Slayer or Dethklok, but they got an Indie Band.
Faggorts.
Expect a lot of booing and piss filled bottles.
(The battle shall begin tomorrow, and it will be EPIC!)
A few hours have passed since the hotel incident. George sits on the Mata Leon side of the uh... "arena".
Two things are clearly noticeable about the man:
The first is his kickass lucha mask. It's brick-red with what looks like multicolored graffiti sprawled all over it. On top of that, it has a bitchin' lime-green Mohawk forming a 'comb' over the top. The scary thing here is, he is also wearing a neck tie of matching design!
The second thing is his attire, a full body suit made of spandex. It was colored to look a nice black and white tuxedo. Yes, a tuxedo. Just imagine one of those tuxedo T-shirts, only everywhere! His black leather ring boots are glossy and ready to stomp face!
Unfortunately, the face stomping would have to wait until the band was done setting up. Until then, El Fantasma passed the time by playing a mean game of dominos.
Damn ******** straight the crowd would be pissed.
The gnashing, roaring pit of metalheads began to huck anything they could find or get their hands onto at the faggoty Indie Band, including their own feces.
Bring on Dethklok. Bring on Slayer. Bring on Bodom. Bring on Metallica.
Bring on anything besides this s**t.
[ Why am I doing this? ]
As Voodoo Child came to an end additional band members came forward. A guitar solo started. A perfect recreation of Seek & Destroy began. Obviously it was a talented Indie band, not a shitty one.
Kraun, from the Crimson Hawk Hotel Wrote:
Kisame Foxcross Wrote:
Kuroha was just laughing on the inside with all of this background commotion. He was still tinkering around with the FIGHTER, learning a thing or two on its mechanics, but really nothing important had been learned from doing so. It was hard to concentrate with all of that incessant yelling going on though, and he couldn't help but turn his head towards the extremely boastful masked warrior, and simply give off a "Tch...".
It was almost sad, seeing a "luchador", as the latin breed called them, having to hide his face from battle behind a mask. It almost seemed like they were playing super hero. None the less, it was nothing to laugh at completely, considering that the man behind that mask was known simply as Crawley, one of gaias most prestigious of hand to hand fighters. Kuroha hoped that he did not face him the first round...
Kisame-Foxcross Wrote:Kuroha would finish teh Udon off in a timely fashion, and then decide to tinker with this little "FIGHTER" device around his right wrist. He wasn't one for tech styled things, but he'd learned how to run a computer or two, so it wouldn't be too hard, hopefully. He found that he could open this thing up some, but from that point on, it was all too advanced for a man raised in the japanese country, and brought up in the bushido code. He wondered if there was a way to communicate between team members with this thing, but that would require him to embarassingly ask another for assistance with the device, and that just didn't seem all to good of an idea, since he could be potentially facing that person tomorrow.
Jeeze, technology was a -blam!- sometimes....
Kisame-Foxcross Wrote:Kuroha would put back together everything he had messed with in due time, close up the top of the FIGHTER, make sure it was exactly how it had been before, and then suddenly get a vibration into the wrist from it. A message from Chance? Yes it was actually, with all of the match information and the team they were up against. Well s**t, this would be tougher than he thought, and unfortunately, his fears of fighting the one warrior he scoffed at, were to come true possibly if it were his luck, and by the look of it all, it probably would happen. He just hoped from this point on that he concentrated on the fight, and nothing but the fight....
Kuroha would change his formal robes back into his green yukata, fasten the yosimoto at his left side, get his 6 foot iron staff readied in his right hand, and head off for the place of which he were to battle. Oh joy, this was going to be fun...
The top of the bracelet would snap back on soundly, however, the screen would be blank, and would remain blank. The FIGHTER was a delicate and rather important piece of equipment. It held information on each participant it belonged to, and the potential threat of someone tampering with it to cheat or for any other purpose was too great, thus, upon being 'damaged', where in this case, it was opened up, the device shut itself off and self destruct, letting out a small plume of black mechanical smoke.
Perhaps this man should go see a tournament official and try to convince them to give him another one so that he may participate in the tournament.
((In addition, read: HoH Manual, post 3; HoH Battle Programe, Section 5; FIGHTERs, paragraph 5:
Quote: Should a participant have his FIGHTER damaged, he or she will be unable to participate. Specific attacks aimed at the FIGHTER during a match will not be tolerated and will result in an immediate banning from the tournament. ))
And with that, Kuroha would leave to find another official...
((Jesus Christ, I need to be a bit clearer on what I mean by 'opening up'. Whatever, I'll go with the officials...))
Some s**t happened, and Kuroha was given a new FIGHTER bracelet.
Because it would be a shame if he disqualified himself before even having a chance to fight in the tournament.
Kraun Wrote:Some s**t happened, and Kuroha was given a new FIGHTER bracelet.
Because it would be a shame if he disqualified himself before even having a chance to fight in the tournament.
Some more s**t happened, blahblahblah, and Kuroha returned, very greatful that the officials were understanding of the circumstance
((I owe you Kraun...))
Fashionably late as always, Jose-Luis would finally make his way onto the stage next to his team, nothing resembling his former intoxication left on his face. Without too much to say, he'd start stretching out and studying up on the arena and size up his opponents. Most'd notice the sudden large amount of modern improvised body armor showing on his arms, head, and under his killer coding ninja monkeys shirt.
Little guy in a lucha mask - Jose-Luis blinked a few times, wondering at the odds of that happening - a angry looking dude, and another angry looking dude.
Whatever. He'd heft his crowbar and adjust the black tape to his grip a bit more, and finally give a nod to his teammates. Thanks mostly to his narrator being sick, he wasn't entirely sure on the situation on who was going in, having had to leave that to Chance.
Blake had walked from the hotel to the concert, trailing behind his companions and fiddling with his gun. He was ejecting each round individual with a pull back of the slide to empty the magazine. It just wouldn't do to break the rules this early.
By the time he got to the concert it was empty and back in his holster. Looking around he walked to wear his team mates where and stood around, trying to ignore the music.
"What is this s**t?"
A flyer had said that they'd have a metal band playing, not some knock off of Metallica.
[ If you don't like the music, ******** change it. I'm not playing narrator. ]
Chance Climbed up onto the stage, shoving aside one of the band member's and stripping his guitar from him. He turned to look back at the giant crowd. He saw an excessively large Mexican with a mask. Well that was just great. Halloween already. But he didn't want to hurt the shabbily dressed Mexican. No, He had his eyes on Blake.
A middle finger pointed out to Blake. It curled into an obscene gesture. "C'mon, let's go!" He shouted above the crowd. That was who he wanted to fight. He'd accept no substitutes.
Continually he swung the axe guitar in his hand, threatening its previous owner whenever he came near. It was a bitchin' guitar; there was no way in hell he was getting it back.
Kuroha would place his palm over his face, gesturing towards his teammates actions. It seemed Jose-Luis had just shown up, which meant three people were present, and the match was to begin, unless of course the other team wasn't ready yet. By the looks of it, Chance would go first, unless of course he were to also break the rule of attacking the band members. That was a penalty, and he did hope that Chance knew that. None the less, the wandering ronin would stand at the side stair of the stage, his six foot iron pole still over his shoulder, and his right hand balancing it out.
"This is gonna be a long day..."
Kuroha said to himself...
Chance thought briefly about the constant bitching of the band member without a guitar. He wondered if he was allowed to bludgeon the b*****d if the pestering continued. What if the nameless band member attacked first? He wouldn't be attacking, he'd be defending. Maybe if he beat the hell out of the band, they'd get a better one, like Disturbed.
With the end of the guitar pressed firmly against the Band Member's throat, Chance looked for approval from both the crowd and the authorities.
Pleeeeeeeease?
Now mind you, no one had been hurt nor attacked...Yet.
Crawley showed up onstage with Fox's trashcan full of JUNK, and a Fire Extinguisher... and took a good look around. Then he nodded at his teammates.
Red and white tights.
Red and white mask.
Wrist tap.
Knee pads.
Wrestling boots.
Big muscles.
Angry face.
Yeah Mr. Crawley was ready.
[ I'm off 'till later tonight when Impact is back. Later all. ]
Chance continually waited for Impact to make his way to the stage.
Blake didn't miss the challenge, he was more then willing. Picking up a spare guitar he dragged it behind him with his left hand wrapped around the neck. He was still dressed in his tux but with the way he stood there was no way it was going to survive the concert.
"Piss poor opening act."
Muttering to himself Blake motioned towards the staff. They came forward and even while the band played a song, lack one guitar player, they were forced off the stage. The crows stirred a bit at this, a little confused and just a bit hopeful.
Grabbing a microphone from the stage Blake looked out to the people and a bright light shown down on him.
"People! We are here for METAL!"
"Put your hands together for DETHKLOK!"
As if on cue the real band came parachuting out of the sky, the fabric that held them aloft was ablaze in a display of pyrotechnics. Even as they came down Nathan Explosion could be heard tearing out his lungs shouting.
"BRUTAL!!"
As they crashed landed onto the stage they began there song, Bloodrocuted.
Stepping aside for the real show Blake looked at Chance and grinned and held his weapon high and slammed it down in an explosion of sparks and shattered the body of the instrument, there would be another on hand when he needed it.
With the body dangling from the neck by the metal cords Blake pointed at Chance. No words needed to be said.
Chance looked up to see the band float from the fire-torn sky. "Excellent." He noted as hazel eyes trailed down to Blake. A large grin appeared. His usual calm and collected self disappeared. "ALRIGHT! LET'S DO IT!"
The guitar was pointed forward at his opponent. The previously threatened band member booked it after he realized he had been forgotten. Chance would find him later, after the match.
The fight was to take centre stage. Nathan Explosion was upfront at the mic, Toki and Skwisgaar were playing no grandpa guitars off behind Blake while Murderface was behind Chance, Pickles was at the drum which formed the last wall along the back of the stage.
Blake excepted Chance's challenge and charged forth. Howling as he went his voice was drowned out by the ear bursting sound that could only be produced by Dethklok. Holding the neck of his shattered instrument in two hands he rushed and when Chance was within range Blake swung the guitar from left to right with a downward stroke.
Forward momentum carried him forward still and if Chance didn't do anything to get out of the way or force Blake out of the way Chance would find Blake's left shoulder slamming into him
The fight had started, the stakes were high, the show must be good.
-1-
[ 1 ]
Chance began to back pedal as Blake charged forward. He waited for the right moment.
Blake swung as soon as he was in range, and Chance couldn't run faster backward than his opponent could in the opposite direction. With a grip on the neck of his axe guitar, Chance shuffled to the right as he moved back.
And the swing.
The flail sailed past and at the end of the swing Chance ceased running and braced for a nihilistic impact. But first, his swing.
The guitar in his own hands meant to travel the short distance to the side of Blake's left knee. With any luck it would knock him over and halt his advance.
What had began as a bull rush had become a chaotic clash of directions.
Blake felt the guitar strike his leg and while he didn't think about it then knew that it would be bruised. The blow stopped Blake's legs; but momentum was still taking him forward. Now he just didn't have his legs beneath him.
The only thing he could do was press down with his right foot to give him one last burst of energy. It pressed down and straightened in a nice easy flow and sent him into a shoulder tackle again Chance that would get the two meeting face to face real personal like.
-2-
[ 2 ]
Chance tumbled and rolled over the hard and unforgiving stage. he slid four, maybe five feet back and away from his opponent. Murderface leapt over Chance as he slid under, partially blocking Blake's view. His broken guitar has slid off into the crowd.
Scrambling to his feet he rushed forward to attack his downed opponent, shoving Murderface aside and stealing his bass guitar.
Using all the strength he had, Chance launched the guitar past him, aimed for his opponent, who might be struggling to rise with his hurt knee. The bass never reached a height of more than two and a half feet.
After the toss, Chance continued forward after pausing to realign his momentum.
The crowd roared at the display. Their only hope was to see blood, lot's of it.
Blake slid and tumbled, rolling across the stage before slamming his back into a set of lights that cracked, throwing that part of the stage in darkness; but the pit crew was on the ball and had new lights up in time to show Chance taking Murderface's bass. If there was to be a riot this would be the starting moment of it all, the crowd booed and hiss their disapproval and began to throw drinks at Chance.
Spilled beverages slicked the floor and even struck Blake. The tux was well on its way to being ruined and he had a guitar being thrown at him.
"********."
Blake knew how to take a blow, he'd spent long enough getting his a** kicked but there's something different about being hit with an instrument that, there's no way to describe it. Except maybe in blood.
With a bruised knee and shoulder Blake stood up. Now was his chance as Chance had something else to worry about. He'd just stolen the bass guitar of one of the most famous names in metal and he didn't look happy, not that a nihilist like Murderface would ever look happy.
Up on his feet now Blake tore the jacket of his tux off, revealing the soft silk shirt he had beneath it. His shoulder holster visible.
Wrapping a sleeve around his right fist Blake stalked his way back to Chance.
"Come here."
-3-
From off to the side of the stage, El Fantasma watches, and waits.
Okay, he's not so much waiting as he is:
ROCKING OUT!
George is just as into the event as the spectators. He also looks pretty bitchin' with his wall-graffiti mask with the green Mohawk.
This luchadore is gettin' his air guitar on!
[ 3 ]
Chance looked behind only to see Murder face walking over with a mean look on his face. Chance turned for a moment and issued the bird. He yelled at the incoming guitarist. He turned his back on him and smiled, drawing something from his leather jacket. A vial.
He held his right hand high in the air.
The vial, holding a crystalline solid within, was thrown to the ground three feet in front of Blake.
CRRRRAAAAACK!
In an explosion of wood splinters, smoke billowed from the large hole in the stage. The explosion itself missed Blake in its majority, but the crowd roared nonetheless.
Obscured by smoke and debris, Chance was absent from view on Blake's side of the stage. At the very worst, Blake might incur a wooden board to the face. Nothing even close to lethal.
STRIKER - Offensive
]Jose-Luis had been waiting through the music, roars, and scent of the sweat for that little vial to make its appearance. And with a deep breath, heart beating, he was ready to raise his crowbar like a baseball bat, right hand on bottom, blunt end out, and start in on a hard charge to introduce Mr. Crowbar to Blake in an intimate, up close and personal manner from behind.
Which, as the vial arced through the air, Jose-Luis did, relying on the explosion, smoke, debris, and other diversions to make his spur-of-the-moment "yhelotharCROWBAR" moment a touch more covert on both the sound and visual effects. Not that you needed it with a strike from behind, but still...
When he got within melee range - about five feet - he'd twist his body and swing hard and low, going in an attempt to send the five and a half pound steel crowbar into a crushing shot to the outside of Blake's right knee.
Simple, painful, and effective.
Either way, he'd finish off in under ten seconds by going with a dive off of the stage, going off to crowd-surf around. Which was totally metal.
Wild emotions went through Blake as he was caught in an explosion, had he the time they might have formed the words: s**t, a bomb!
Blake had thrown his hands up about his face instinctively as whatever it was smashed onto the ground and exploded. His steps at faltered with the throw and need to protect himself and the explosion had sent a chunk of wood whirling for his head. It struck his temple with a glancing blow but blood would start to run and Blake was thrown off balance.
Of balance he was pitched backwards and landed on Jose-Luis as he was swinging a crowbar. It just seemed as though Blake was just getting beaten up, the crowd loved it.
Jose-Luis' swing wouldn't stop, despite Blake falling on top of him, his arms flailing to his sides. There was at least one good thing about falling though, the crowbar landed higher up on his thigh, wasn't much though. Blake would need to check with a doctor after the fight.
-4-
[ 4 ]
Chance leapt through the smoke of the burning stage. With Blake on the ground, Chance grabbed a smoking board from the stage and raised it high. With a relatively short distance between the two, he swung. The three foot section of board came down on Blake over and over again in an attempt to draw blood, break his legs, or both. The two fighters had caught even the band's attention. The crowd was close to storming the stage.
Oh well, what the hell. Seeing as how he wouldn't get to get out in one smooth motion, Jose-Luis threw his head forward, relying on the M1 helmet to do his talking for him. To the back of Blake's head.
Contact or no, he'd twist his body and roll up and away from his crouch-in-motion, jab the crowbar backwards blindly in hopes that it'd hit Blake somewhere, and charge forward towards Chance, crowbar in his left and horizontal to do a midsection handoff before leaping out of the combat area with time to spare.
Blake was beginning to feel as though he'd been hit by a car.
He'd been slammed in the head by the ******** behind him and it seemed he was wearing a helmet at the time. He didn't feel the second strike of the crowbar; but it scrapped across his back and tore skin and shirt. This just wasn't his day...
"What the hell?"
Muttering he had only a moment to curse himself as Chance came in with his chunk of wood and began to wail on his legs. Blake wasn't going to think about his medical bills.
Enough was enough, he fell completely on the ground and his ambusher was handing off the weapon to his opponent. That was it.
Still with the coat sleeve wrapped around his fist he put it to good use and whipped Chance with a jacket soaked in soda. It was sticky, it was wet, and the texture of the jacket couldn't help but make it feel even weirder.
As he did that he pulled up his legs and prepared himself to get back on his feet.
If he got to his feet he'd slip his left hand into his pants pocket and slide something onto his fingers.
-5-
[ 5 ]
Thwap!
Chance was whipped in the side of the face with the wet coat. Jesus Christ did it sting. A red welt appeared seconds after. With his left eye instinctively closed, Chance eyed his compatriot with his right. The board in his hand was tossed to the left after another successful swing and he grabbed the crowbar. Now the fun would begin.
Weapon in hand, Chance stepped forward, swinging the curved end with his right. With any luck the curve at the end of the bar would hit Blake across the left side of his head, his cheek to be precise. A second swipe would soon follow with the curved wedge out to pierce his opponent's right shoulder. The crowd might finally get what they wanted, blood.
All the while Chance kept his left eye shut, it might have been hit by the tip of the coat.
He'd flinched earlier, he wasn't flinching now.
The crowd was getting the show it wanted. Dethklok and strangers beating on each other on stage, with weapons ranging from Murderface's guitar to a jacket.
Blake didn't step back, didn't duck down, he moved in closer. Shuffling forward he got in real close.
His left hand came up and out of the pocket after they has grasped what he kept in them and were coming up in a guard. He may have been close enough that Chance's crowbar wouldn't hit his face; but Blake had gotten hit in the face enough times for tonight. Tucking his head down his shoulder scrunched, tightening the guard.
Maybe Chance would see the set of knuckle dusters now on his fingers, maybe he wouldn't care but his wrist would hit Blake's forearm. It helped a little, the side of Blake's skull was rocked still by the crowbar hitting him even after he protected himself. A concussion seemed a likely out come if he kept this up.
All through this though Blake's right hadn't been idle, with Chance's left eye closed there was a bit of a blind spot. A straight jab for Chance's face, with enough force to whip the coat back at Chance.
-6-
Quote: STRIKER! {Offensive}
When Impact blocked Chance's attack, he would come out running...
Towards Chance's back...
AND DROPKICK CHANCE IN THE BACK!!!!!
--
An authentic Pro Wrestling style Dropkick would land about the time Chance pulled back for another swing.
Logically, the Dropkick would push/kick Chance out of the stage, which would count as Out Of Bounds.
It would be very hard to hear or feel his steps, considering the mass amount of people screaming and the band playing.
[ 6 ]
With no expectation of being dropkicked in the back, Chance flew forward, crowbar in hand. With Chance's right arm reversed to come in with a backswing, Blake would face an accidental flying elbow...To the face. After which Chance would bounce slightly off the larger man and go off into the crowd.
He flew into the hands of the roaring crowd.
And they carried him 'round the outskirts of the stage. The count had begun. "That way you ******** metal heads! That way!" He yelled at the top of his lungs, pointing and making obscene gestures. Slowly but surely, Chance surfed his way back to the stage, some ten feet behind Blake.
He climbed back onto the stage, having wasted only seven seconds. With an even tighter grip on his crowbar than before, Chance signaled for Blake to bring it on. "Come get some, big boy." He blew a kiss.
The crowd surf was a nice break.
George is still rocking out HARDCORE! on the sidelines.
He peeps out the fight between his headbanging and air guitar jam sessions. He saw someone go flying into the crowd and get surfed back towards the stage.
Badass!
Man, he's pumped. He can hardly wait until it's his chance to dance.
But until that time comes...
DUNNA DUNNA DUN DUN DUNNA!
Blake had saw Fox running up, he hadn't expect the dropkick though and he was taken unaware by the elbow. It glanced off his jaw and Blake was falling backwards into a tumble, the third one of the fight.
His body wasn't liking the punishment but it would get the chance to rest later, for now he had something to do. As he tumbled he pushed himself back up to his feet and with a lagging leg and a weak knee went after Chance who was just coming back to the stage.
Fox had already left, his dropkick done.
Balling the jacket up in his fist Blake threw it at Chance as he got close to the stage, almost close enough to reach. The jacket billowed outwards as the chest would fly to strike him just bellow the face, the arms flailing at random.
Crouching down Blake waited for Chance to pull himself back onto the stage, Blake was ready for him. Grabbing the side of Chance's head Blake's fingers grasped for an ear or just hair, it didn't matter. With that done he threw the punch he'd been waiting to do for a long time. It was a downward blow and the half pound weight on his hand, along with the short little nubs along each knuckle, would give it a lot of power.
Blake was slamming it downwards onto Chance's head, he'd pull back and do it again, and again and again. Chance would need to do something big to stop him or fall back into the crowd.
-7-
[ 7 ]
Chance was pissed off. He didn't like being kicked out of the ring, he also didn't like people waiting to beat on his head during the return.
When Blake reached out to grab a tuft of hair, he was rewarded! With a five and a half pound bar of steal to the wrist. Chance had switched hands when he came up to the stage, using his right arm to hoist him up. With his head partially down he saw Blake reach. Waving his newly armed left hand high, Blake would receive in turn a slap on the wrist, with a crowbar.
He who reaches, receives.
Even if the crowbar somehow missed, Chance's forearm would block the reach, making it excessively difficult to grab at his head.
Then he stood, pissed as a cat fresh outta water.
Kuroha would have to go halfway up the steps of the side of the stage in order to get a view of Chance's position. It seemed he was just getting back onto the stage, and in some serious trouble. But, until another Striker opportunity arose, Kuroha could do nothing about it. Knowing Chance, however, some witty defense was probably aligned and ready for action, so it probably wouldn't be too much of a problem...
Blake had waited just a little too long, he wasn't going to fret about it now.
Of course the growing bruise on his arm wasn't helping things either and if he had time to stop and think he was pretty sure something had cracked.
That wouldn't stop his left though. Blake had spent enough time on the ground and it was only polite to return the favour. Chance with one leg up had paused in his climb to attack Blake. The strike had landed home; but Blake had readied his fist and it still shot out to slam Chance in the face.
And given the opportunity he would continue to wail on Chance. The crowd would go wild, those that had helped Chance up would be splattered with blood.
On an entirely sub-concious level Blake was very pleased with himself.
-8-
[ 8 ]
BAM!
A sadistic and bloody grin formed as he took the hit. His head snapped to the left, looking towards the crowd. Blood sprayed from his mouth and sprinkled the bloodthirsty metal heads. Yeah, they ******** loved it. Blood Sport. Nothing better.
An equally sadistic laugh was issued as he rolled to the side and rose to his feet. The grin only got bigger. He cleaned his blood stained teeth with his tongue and spat on the stage. The laugh, turned chuckle, continued and grew in volume. The crowd loved it.
He rushed forward, crowbar in tow. First he swung low to the gut, left to right with the curved wedge, holding it with just his left. It was meant to miss while he was just barely out of range. The point was to detract attention to what he really wanted to do. Draw blood, in quantity. Still giving off his crimson smile, the wound up backswing came hard and fast with the blunt end of the bar. It headed straight for Blake's cheek with the goal of loosening a few teeth. Nothing better than teeth on the stage. Now this was fighting.
The band only played louder as the fight became more heated, the crowd cheered for both fighters, but more so for the one with more blood flowing. At this point they liked Chance, with the red stream flowing down his jaw.
El Fantasma notes the evergrowing rowdiness of the crowd.
Man, what're these scrubs gettin' all worked up over?
He finally pays attention to the fight on stage. What he sees are two men exchanging one hell of a beatdown. Behind them was a band that, reguardless of running into "technical difficulties", still played hard.
Damn, they're ********' each other up.
A quick glance at his FIGHTER reveals that the clock is just ticking beyond the halfway mark.
Hmmm....
George sends a message to his teammate Crawley via his FIGHTER and starts making his way around to the rear of the stage.
"HEDZ UP d00d. I g0ts PLANZ 4 u."
((Due to an earlier lack of clarification and to keep things rolling the crowbar from here on out is officially 1.5 feet long. This has been done in agreement between myself and Chance.))
Blake didn't watch as chance rolled, his legs straightened and a short kick was sent into Chance's abdomen, then he let the guy get up.
When Chance rushed in Blake stepped in, shuffling forward, and took the blow to his lower ribs. There was a crack and then a wet feeling as skin was broken and blood began to swell but Blake ignored it because he was giving Chance all he wanted in more.
He had gone in with a boxer stance, his arms up high to protect his head. The blow to his body rocked him but he still sent his left first straight at Chance's face. Were he lucky Blake would strike the bridge to the man's nose. Later he might think about what may should a knub hit an eye.
For that matter was Chance still keeping his left close?
-9-
Ha ha, they're wailing at each other.
He thought, leaning forward on a rail in the Strikers zone.
He felt weird, wearing Wrestling like clothes in a concert.
[ 9 ]
[ Impact: Yes, his eye is still closed. It's undamaged, it just waters when open. Chance doesn't really have the time to mess with it right now. ]
This was more than he could have hoped for! His opponent was still going! After taking a crowbar to the ribs even! And, did his eyes deceive him? More blood!?
CRUNCH!
The second punch of the evening. Chance had turned his head to the left and looked away from the punch to save his nose, at the cost of a front tooth. One of his pearly whites cracked in half and skidded to the ground when the brass knuckles smashed into his beautifully bloody face. More crimson added to the design. The blood was dripping in volleys now, the floor would become slick with blood not too long from now. The huge group of Metal Heads could barely contain themselves.
The bloodthirsty fighter with the crowbar only continued his maniacal laughter as more blood caught his already wide eyes. The texture, the smell, the taste. Oh the taste.
The backswing of the bloody weapon was magnificent. Specks of red cascaded and ran down the shaft with each swing. In this case, the unhindered backswing that was aimed for Blake's face. Even more teeth would litter the arena. Both fighters would be drenched. Quite the bloody affair.
Something would break, Chance's jaw was a likely suspect, as was Blake's right arm. Sadly his jaw never entered the equation for the destruction.
Blake had kept his right arm up in a guard for his head and Chance's whipping of the crowbar smacked it against the back of his forearm and continued its destruction from when it has cracked the wrist.
About the only part of Blake's body that didn't hurt was too busy trying to pummel Chance into submission.
After his straight he had pulled his fist back and even though Chance would start his swing first Blake's fist would smash again into his face when the crowbar hit Blake's arm. A straight line is always quicker then a curve.
But Blake wasn't done, he had planted his feet and with a wild abandon he pumped his arm in a furry of jabs. None as powerful as his straight; but what it lacked in knock down it picked up in weight of numbers.
This fight couldn't last much longer with the sustained damages both fighters had accrued.
-10-
[ 10 ]
A straight left, then a right to the face. A crunching sound. All of it happened in such a minute amount of time it was truly astounding. Pain was dealt left and right. The remainder of his front tooth loosened and dropped.
After two left-handed punches Chance decided it was enough. He back up and away from the flurry of hits and turned the crowbar around so that the sharp wedge faced his opponent. With ample strength and power he lunged forward, willing to take any and all punches just to deliver the blow. His head went low and his unarmed hand aimed to wrap around Blake's back. The relatively sharp end of the crowbar was driven forward to Blake's gut. Chance knew that killing was forbidden. But this wouldn't kill the b*****d, not with everything he'd already put up with.
Chance's right eye was swelling up after the repeated punches but things weren't quite as bad as they looked.
Meanwhile Murderface scrambled to capture one of the broken teeth. Eventually he caught the pearly white held it high, the prize of the night. His bone pick was cast aside like yesterday's news as he began to play his bass guitar with a partial tooth.
Chance backed up just as Blake was pulling back to send out another blow; it looked like he won that exchange of blows, even at the cost of his right hand for the arm was broken from the wrist down and the forearm cracked.
He'd gotten something in exchange though, Chance's right eye was swelling up and he still had his left one closed. The irritation of a starched coat edge and coke is not something to trifle with it seemed.
And then he gave him even more of a gift, time. The grip on the crowbar was reversed and while it wasn't much it gave Blake the chance to see what the man was up to as he tucked his head and lunged.
Now even if Chance wasn't going for a fatal blow Blake knew that sticking bits of metal into someone's gut was a good way to kill them and he wasn't taking any bets.
There wasn't much Blake could do though, sure he could move his legs but the abuse they had taken was starting to get to him. His knee hurt like a b***h and then there was bruise on his right thigh and hits along his shins. For now they needed to rest as best they could and he had already planted his feet for the slugging match.
His head hurt, his body ached and he was pleased with himself; so long as he avoided getting impaled upon a crowbar.
So with little option for finesse Blake opened his left fist and reached out as Chance came rushing in and grabbed the crowbar's shaft and began the process of directing it away from his gut and moved his hips to the left to turn a glancing blow into a miss blow.
But every good defence is also at least a half way decent attack. Blake's left arm bent and his elbow came up on an even level for Chance's face. Chance's own momentum would do the damage.
-11-
Striker - Offensive
Kuroha would watch Chance's actions intently, and figured "Hey, its my turn!". Well, with that, he'd run up the stairs, dash at a controlled speed towards the rear-facing Blake, and come up behind him within a matter of three seconds. Immediately after stopping, almost in a fluid motion, Kuroha's right arm would attempt to wrap around Blakes throat and neck, and compress itself, while his left arm would go under the armpit, pull it down and overlap the bicep, and hold back the incoming elbow that was obviously intended for Chances face.
This would free up Chance to have about 4-5 seconds of beating on Blake with the crowbar wherever he pleased, which could very well end the match there. Was the beating had ensued, Kuroha would let go of Blake, rush to teh edge of the close-by stage, and jump off into the crowd, like the metal samurai he was...
[ 11 ]
With Kuroha interference, it looked like it was time for a gang bang. Now that his opponent was all tied up, Chance yanked back on the crowbar as hard as he could, keeping his hand inside the curve of the bar and using it as a handle. If the crowbar came with, Chance would flip the bit of metal around in his left hand, holding the wedge. Then he wound up for a left to right swing at Blake's right knee using the blunt curve. With any luck whatsoever, his knee would blow out.
With Kuroha holding the beaten man up by the neck, he'd wind up a second time and go for the left knee. If time was still on his side, he'd take a few more cracks at each leg, say two each.
If for some unknown reason the crowbar did not come with, Chance would wind up with his left leg and kick it straight on, delivering the exact same results.
The crowd could barely contain themselves. A bitchin' concert, bloody match and a bass guitarist using a combatant's tooth as a pick. Life just didn't get any better.
Two of them, again? Seemed Blake was getting real popular all of a sudden. The crowd loved it though and Blake always was a sucker for the crowd.
Kuroha had one arm around his neck and he could feel the pressure as the smaller man tried to choke him. Blake knew what they were trying to do, they were trying to make him an easy target, a victim. No one made him a victim.
Letting go of the crowbar Blake would reach behind him and wrap his left around Kuroha's head, it wasn't much of a hold being over the shoulder and with the difference of height; but it was something. His legs tensed as though he was bracing for a blow. This happened as Chance twirled his crowbar again.
"Wanna see a real show?"
Even as he spoke the words and Chance was pulling back for the swing, a real low one by the looks of it, Blake was springing his feet up and with both heels of his shoes kicked out his legs at Chance's head.
The kick even if missed, which was unlikely at the range, would put Kuroha off balance. There's a major difference between a 6'4 220 pound thug and a 5'11 179 pound samurai. So with his forward double leg kick at Chance Blake would topple himself backwards and force Kuroha to the ground with his weight.
His legs weren't going to like him after this.
-12-
Kuroha would feel a slight shift in force towards the beginning of Blakes spring in the feet. Kurohas very first reaction? Let go of him before something bad happened, and so he did just that. It was unavoidable that Blake would fall flat on his a** after Kuroha swiftly slipped his hands out from around Blakes neck, and from under his left armpit. It would, however, cause Kuroha to stumble backwards in an attempt to regain balance. He did, but with little time to spare, so he;d have to jump off the stage in his last ditch effort at avoiding a yellow flag. Metalhead samurai, who knew?
At first it seemed as if Blake was getting the better of the two men. Unfortunately for him, it was only temporary.
SMACK!
A poorly executed double heel did little more than tap Chance on the head. None the less he stumbled back. The blood stains on his black shirt were beginning to show. He took two steps forward, where he had previously take three back. He paused, crowbar in his left hand.
Drip... Drip... Drip...
Blood dripped from his own mouth onto the stage. A toothy grin formed as he spoke loud enough only for the two to hear. "I hope you've made peace with your favorite God..."
His left eye opened fully, no longer watering. His blackened right eye was all but swollen shut. "Heh..." He wouldn't let Blake rise from the ground. Never.
Blake's outstretched legs were the perfect target. First a swing straight down to meet with his opponent's right ankle. The curved wedge was pointed down. If Blake even started to rise, Chance would issue a second swing, right for the man's supporting knee, whichever it might be. Hopefully Blake's author would realize that Chance would not simply speak and allow Blake to do something troublesome in the meantime. If need be, he would interrupt himself in order to bash.
Haay guys! Offensive Strikerrrr!
Up from the depths -of the crowd-!
Leaping very high!
Moving stealthily!
It's sexiness in the sky!!
IT'S CRAWLEY! (daa da daa-daa) IT'S CRAWLEY! (daa da daa-daa) IT'S CRAWLEY! (daa da daa-daa)
And a Metallica baaaaaaat~
-- Crawley quickly leapt up on the stage from one of the off-angles of the crowd, landing one foot first and bringing the other up. This cut down on time. Remember this.
He wasn't obvious about it. Because he had been paying attention and...
Chance Wrote:His blackened right eye was all but swollen shut. "Heh..." He wouldn't let Blake rise from the ground. Never.
Never say never. From behind Chance, Crawley wasted a second (3) and smiled at Foxcross. Then, before Chance would swing his first swing at Blakey. Crawley swung his bat, both hands, at the right side of Chance's head. Woah hey there partner.. don't die on me yet. Crawley'd grab the back of Chance's collar after and yolk him up. Meaning he wouldn't let the poor guy fall down like a limp dicked chump.
And now it was on to the real stuff.
YOU DIDN'T THINK IT WAS OVER DID YOU?!
"CHESTOOOOH!"
Crowd: CHESTOOOOOH!
Not wanting to waste time he moved to secured a double underhook from Chance's back crowbar-hand first (pesky crowbar), then the other while he and the crowd yelled. (we're like just over the half-way mark here) Then he dipped his hips, tooted his butt out, thrusted it back up and in at Chance's (pause, no homo)... and bridged like a ******** back off the stage. Taking chance with him to land on the back of his neck.
Blake was left watching the show, his a** a little sore but all in all it was better then getting his legs broken. Grinning he slowly stood up as Crawley not only hit Chance with a bat but then proceeded to do a wrestling move on him.
"What I say about seeing a real show?"
The question was rhetorical.
-13-
OOOooo~~~!
Was his reaction
PIFF!
All this Striker-ing seemed like a war of backstabs...
But hey, Rosa started it.
This was all Kuroha had for Crawley, since it was obivious he was pissed for not originally doing what was planned, and thus, did not like Crawley to much for either the bat thing, nor the yell of Chestoh. So, as the waves of the crowds surfed him back over to his own side, he could only hope that Chance had someway out of this. But, since it was one hell of a stealth attack, he was pretty sure nothing could be done at this point. He'd place his feet on the ground, give himself a facepalm, and realize that now, it was iminent that fighting crawley was going to happen, whether he liked it or not. Heh, well then, it might get a little more bloody for the both of them then, if it was their fight, because Kuroha was not only intending to win, but to do more damage than the wrestler could possibly imagine. That is, if he could get in close enough to do so.
For now, all Kuroha would do is sit and wait for the results of the last attack...
CHESTOOOOOOH!
[ 13 ]
CRRRRRRAAAAAACK!
The bat hit Chance like a ton of bricks, or, like a bat. His world went upside down, different colors and shapes of all sizes. He tumbled to the right, caught completely by surprise. Last thing he knew he had been caught by someone. Juan? Kuroha?
And then, more pain. he was ditched off into the crowd, which caught him. And for a moment all the men and women in the audience went silent as they held him up. Chance twitched once. The audience went off in a spectacular uproar of approval. This man was done.
They ushered him to the stage, shoving him back on. The beaten, bloody, multi-colored man slumped to the stage. His head was against the stage floor where he struggled to right himself. He made it onto his left knee, his body still leaning to the left. His crowbar was off somewhere in the crowd...
Blood gushed from his mouth and streamed down his head, pooling slowly on the stage floor, more than ever before. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity to him, he righted himself.
A quaint middle finger rose from the blood drenched hands of Chance.
He chuckled as he swayed back and forth.
Obviously he hadn't had enough.
And in the meantime, Jose-Luis had found the snack bar. Which was a bit anti-climactic, but hey, someone had to get some hot food and cold Gatorade.
'Oh, and some ice and bandaids."
He waved his arm about, indicating the bracelet. With this being done, he'd start moshing through the crowd, eventually being lifted up and ferried back to the side of the stage thanks to the SUPAR MAJEK of "plot device" and whatnot.
Improvised first aid for after the round, maybe, if such a thing was legal. If not...
HOT DOG OM NOM NOM.
They were both pretty weak on there feet; but Blake was holding steady compared to Chance's swaying.
The show had been something; Crawley and Chance, who both probably weighed more then three hundred pounds, had thrown and been thrown off of the stage and Chance dazed and confused had been caught by the crowd and not a single spectator had fallen under the force. Seemed they had strength a plenty to shove Chance back on stage for another beating.
Blake had waited tell he regained his feet, standing not even a full arms length away from Chance, and just as he was rising his hand in the one finger salute Blake let him have it.
He began by throwing his weight into one last punch; his right leg stepping forward and pressing down against the floor boards, the hips twisted and the shoulder rolled as the arm shoot out in a desperate blow to end this.
"******** you..."
Chance was saying.
"******** off!"
Blake was saying.
"WHOA! BRUTAL!!"
Nathan Explosion was saying.
One left hand wearing a set of knuckle dusters would slam into Chance's face, pulverising what was ever left of his mouth. There would be enough force to throw a wobbling man off their feet.
-14-
As Luis arrived, Kuroha would quickly approach him, and without warning, immediately hand him the his Iron Staff. This was definitely in need of Kuroha's next fight, if he were to have a much better chance against his opponents. He was known to have some very bad experiences when it came to hand to hand combat and all, and Jose knew that from experience, with his clear boot to the face towards Kuroha.
He'd then say...
"Hold it tight, horizontal, hands close to the center, and I swear this will be very fast."
He drew out his blade, and awaited those things to be done, so as that he could commence the creation of a "Modified" staff, instead of a flat edged one...
He'd take it as suggested, throwing the hot dog out at the crowd. A random fat woman would eat it in midair.
HOT DOG OM NOM NOM
"Aight. Be quick, homes, an' be sure to stretch out. Don't wanna see ya get too hurt. An' remember what I talked 'bout before? ********' whale on them dudes."
He didn't seem to mind Chance being beaten upon at all. He'd either go down or win; no use crying over it now. The old strategy hadn't worked; and now, Jose-Luis would implement his own.
He wasn't Team Captain for nothing.
Kuroha slowly raised his blade into the air, and then slashed down at the right side at a 60 degree angle, coming somewhat close to the ear of Jose. With the force, speed, and precision that he slashed with the first five inches of the staff would be cut away. This, in turn, would create the tip of the staff, to have a sharp edge, in exchange four the five inches taken from it. It was now more like a quarter staff, a bit lighter, and able to be wielded in a single hand if need be. The new crude spear edge would probably come in handy for whomever he was fighting.
He'd take the staff, thank Jose, and see what had happened to Chance now. It seemed like nothing had exactly happened yet, but Blake had gotten onto his feet somehow, which was quite amazing to see with the amount of damage to his legs that had been done...
[ 14 ]
Lights out.
Chance hit the ground with a thud, knocked the ****** down and out. There he was, sprawled out in the middle of the stage covered in blood. Now that was a ****** match.
((I'll be back later tonight for our match Crawley/Dash/Fox))
YEAH!!!
He clapped his hands fiercely
Thats how we do it!
He was quite happy.
Who would go next? Dash, Crawley or perhaps himself?
"Balls."
Well, seemed Chance was out.
He'd wait for judges or some kind of official... something, anyway, before going to retrieve his weaponry. And possibly drag Chance's a** back to their side and wake him up with a splash of water to the face.
Pocketing the knuckle dusters Blake grinned at what had just happened and did the only thing he had left to do.
He threw up some devil horns and howled for all the pain his body had taken.
Then he stumbled back to his team's side of the stage.
"Someone get me a smoke and a stiff drink."
Yeah, somebody!
He said at the staff in charge of the stage.
Good fight, man.
Knockout victory awarded to Team Mata Leon.
First fight between Team Mata Leon and Team Pwn't had ended. The judges would take note of this before observing the stage once again for the second fight to take place.
As for the band, well, they'd start to play a different song after the great ovation they and the fighters recieved as both the song and the fighters had finished at roughly the same time.
Where the hell was George? You'd think he'd be there front and center, cheering on his teammates right? Yet, the man was nowhere to be seen!
You could bet money that he was up to no good, though.
Wherever he was...
Rosa Vernal Wrote:going to retrieve his weaponry. And possibly drag Chance's a** back to their side and wake him up with a splash of water to the face.
That.
He'd improvised some black electric tape with paper towels on it for bandaids and the like, but if Chance got up, he'd leave him to do it himself and double-check to make sure his crowbar was still sharp.[/size]
Blake was reaching out for a chair to sit when exhaustion finally took him and he fell to the floor. An attendant that had begun to leave for the ordered drink watched and with the help of another began the task of carrying Blake away for medical attention.
He was pretty bang up, bruises all over his body. Gashes and scrapes to his sides, a broken arm and cracked ribs. Blake was going to be out of the fight for a while; but for now he would sleep.
Chance awoke to the familiar sounds of drum, bass, and heavy metal. He coughed and hacked, spitting the blood that had accumulated off to his left. He sat up slowly. Then his memory returned. Before his vision cleared, he balled his hands into fists, ready to beat the st out of Blake. But he was a little late. His last stand was not at all a conscious one. He didn't even remember getting hit. The last thing he saw was the bat. "What the ******? What happened man?" He looked around in confusion.
[Oh. Crowbar is at normal length of 36". Invent some excuse for it later, like a low grip or whatever.]
"Baseball bat an' st. Then ya got decked. st happens. Somethin' ta drink over there, and some food. Dunno if staff's here, but there's some improvised bandaids too."
Jose-Luis didn't turn around for another second, watching him.
"Concussion, or will you be fine?"
He tapped at his side to indicate the mouthpiece he used. Nothing but prepared there.
With his new crude edged spear-staff thing, Kuroha was seemingly ready to fight, however with no info on whom his opponent would be, he was a dead duck for now, that is until he would walk up onto that stage. He was under a bit of pressure, since Chance had very narrowly lost his match. It meant that if he lost his own match, then there wouldn't be any advancement into the higher up ones, and though he came here to simply enjoy the thrill of the fight, getting knocked away in the first match wasn't all too appealing to him. It mattered little to him though, as he would give it his all against whomever he was to fight with. He just hoped that his plans would work for his match.
He'd step up the stairs slowly, taking his final wandering thoughts before combat, and bring with him his Yosimoto, which was at his left side within his sash, and the crudely edged 5'7" quarter-staff/short spear, whatever you wanted to call it, as well as his keen and sharp senses. He wasn't going to go down without some sort of damage coming about to his opponents. From there, he'd stretch himself out a bit, leaning from one side to the other, making long leg stretches and what not, and then cross overs and such. He needed to be loose....
Crawley climbed up on stage, took a microphone in hand, and walked up to Kuroha just as he stepped up the final step to be considered on the stage.
The lights were shut off courtesy of the light folk backstage, save for two spotlights, one of which was fixed on Crawley and his movements and the other on Kuroha. Mr. C cut him off from even making it to the middle and had gotten very close. He was staring him down, belittling him with his eyes from behind his mask.
"I SAW YOU TRY TO HELP DO MY FRIEND IN, BUT INSTEAD, YOUR GUY GOT HIS a** HANDED TO HIM WITH ALL THE TRIMMINGS BY ME AND BIG DADDY BLAKE. SO I'VE GOT ONE QUESTION FOR YOU BROTHER..."
He got even closer so the microphone was the only space between them. His forehead pressed against Kuroha's. He his body language was intense and he was breathing heavy.
"WHATCHA GONNA DO, BROTHER?!"
He grinned.
"WHATCHA GONNA DO, WHEN FANTASMANIA IS RUNNIN' WILD ON YOU?!"
He nodded repeatedly and looked at the crowd.
"Oh and one more thing....."
Then he back stepped off to the side, keeping his eyes on Kuroha the whole time.. then he jumped moonsaulted back off the stage while exclaiming.
"CHESTOOOOH!"
The band would begin to play a song in tribute to Mata Leon.
((XD, Hulk Hogan, classic....))
Kuroha would simply look upon Crawley, and smile to him, intent on showing no fear in his eyes what so ever. Sure, there was worry, but there was almost never fear in Kurohas eyes, as fear is what was known for driving his strengths crazy, and if he lost control here, he'd find himself in a freakin' rage against everyone, not just Crawley, but his teammates, the band, the crowd, everything. Good thing he took his anger management classes, eh? Well, as Crawley said his words, Kuroha would say nothing in return, only analyze every last sound that came from the mic and his voice. His smile would grow bigger in time as Crawley approached further, and eventually turn into a slight maniachal laughter as the mic was brought close to his mouth, a side that was rarely seen in the Wandering Ronin.
Not a single word uttered though, and thats all that mattered to him. Now, based on the words spoken by Crawley, it seemed he was a bit overconfidant against the samurai. Surely, Crawley'd be proven wrong in his thoughts of him...
Then, as if mirroring Crawleys own movements, Kuroha would do the same, minus the moonsault of course, and he would simply step down two steps, keeping ready to enter into the battleground once all was clear and done with. He would need one more thing before he went into the ring, however, and he would have to approach Chance in order to aquire it. The match would begin after he had gotten what he needed...
((Only post for today, apologies in advance...))
Kisame-Foxcross Wrote:
Then, as if mirroring Crawleys own movements, Kuroha would --
Chance stumbled to the snack bar with his furnished a blood-soaked and toothless grin. A cute blonde wearing an overly short and revealing miniskirt turned to take his order. "I need aspirin. Lots of aspirin." he said, wiping the blood of his still raw face. The scream was heard throughout the crowd. The woman bolted.
Evidently he looked pretty banged up.
"You." His right hand moved to the right, grabbing the shirt of a man named... "Glen." He said, reading the name tag. "Tell me. Why did she run?" He pulled him closer, yanking on his shirt harder than before.
"Um...Well uh...Sir. She's a vegetarian."
Chance furrowed his brow. His grip increased. "You trying to be smart little man!?" He yelled back.
"N-no! It's just that...Um....Well..."
"Out with it!"
"Your face looks like hamburger meat."
The man fell limp to the ground after the earth shattering left hook. Chance reached over the counter and grabbed a bottle of Aspirin. "Smart a**."
He returned to the Striker zone.
[ Edit: To clarify and comply with the rules of Heaven or Hell, the man that Chance struck did not in fact work for the stadium, but was actually a friend of the aforementioned hot blonde woman. In fact, he wasn't even human. It was an android. Thus Chance violated no rules, lest beating on a calculator was illegal. ]
Hmm...
Something was a bit off here...
The crowd, having been basically silenced from Crawley and Kuroha stepping up to the stage, there wouldn't be as much noise, even for a metalhead group. It would also have caused the band to probably go silent, so Crawley could be heard through the amps and subwoofers, since it would kind of be useless to speak into a mic, and have your voice overpowered by heavy death metal guitar and Bass, plus a bit of serious low pitch growls from the lead singer. A single voice wouldn't drown everything out completely, pertaining to Crawleys speech, since it was over.
So, something very familiar from behind Kuroha would be a bit faint in his left ear...
"CHESSSTTOOOOOH!!!!"
Kuroha, being quite the normal of men, couldn't help but turn his head to the left halfway to the sound. What did he find? Well, the well-light, or whatever the name was for the dim surrounding light around his own spotlight was, would create a silouhette upon a nearby set of bars holding up stage lights not more than ten feet high. It was a little ways away, but that silhouette, which was carrying quite the large rectangular figure and obviously the only other thing that would have said Crawley's own call, had to be someone from the other team. Crazy a**...
Well, as the man leapt, Kuroha would keep his head turned halfway, and await the beginning of his descent, and as the man came closer, Kuroha would smile, and take a single step back, before following up with a quick duck and roll backwards, curling in his legs and arms, covering his face and the top and back of his head with his arms. Now, he wasn't sure if the man realized this, seeing that it was the Mata Leon team member Dash from a second glance in his roll, but he was about to get hurt a bit more than he wanted to, considering he was carrying something that had to weigh an extra ten to thirty pounds, depending on its size. Plus, from ten feet high, he'd get a bit of a rumble in his knee's and shin, unless of course he was planning a body slam as well. Either way, Kuroha would get out of that little thing pretty quickly.
From there, he'd simply roll back onto his left knee, point his crude spear-staff out with the edge pointed forwards and his arm half-cocked back, and merely smile at such antics. He didn't know who he was messin' with....
C. fox Wrote:STRIKERESU! - Offensive
Kisame-Foxcross Wrote:He didn't know who he was messin' with....
s**t, YOU don't know.
He stepped a foot on the rail he was lent on, and leap towards Foxcross
With a...trash can at hand! Yeah, one of those tin foil trash cans you see in Pro Wrestling hardcore matches. And he wasn't going to use it to hit Foxcross.
He would land behind Foxcross, but at the same time he would be slamming down the open side/end of the trash can all the way down over Foxcross's body. Like some epic movie, where the guy does some bad a** jump in slow-mo to stab down the dragon's heart.
Anyways, Foxcross would be ''inside'' the trash can, all pinned and constricted by it, also without being able to see what could be done next.
All yours now, Jorge!
He said as he jumped back to the Striker zone.
Edit: CHESTOOOOOOOOH!
Excellent, he moved.
“CHESTOOOOOOOOOOOOH”
-THUD THUD-
Missing his mark, Fantasma releases the subwoofer and goes into a roll to soften his landing. The rogue piece of speaker equipment slides off just to his right and out of the way. Surprisingly it collapses on impact, flattening itself like a broken down cardboard box.
Wha, so it was empty?
Anyhow, just as the trashcan comes down over his unsuspecting foe, Fantasma springs back to his feet and closes to within grappling range to attempt his next feat.
“ALL RIGHT!” –skiiirt!
Stepping behind Kisame, Fantasma’s left hand grabs firm hold of the samurai's pants/leg hair/ kimono whatever is covering his legs. His right arm wraps tightly around the trashcan with such force that it crushes inwards (Yep, it’s one of THOSE trashcans). Now, if Kisame still managed to hold onto his spear during all of this, it wouldn’t be of much threat to the man because he’d adjust his position accordingly.
“HUAH!” The Tux-spandex wearing, green-Mohawked luchadore glances back to shoot a grin at Pickles.
The drummer ceases his fierce wailing and stares in disbelief for all of 3 seconds.
He knew what was coming, as did the crowd.
So, he got the hell outta the way!
What happened next would be immortalized in highlight reels for years to come.
“YEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!”
(Of course, Kisame is facing the other direction.)
If you were watching it on TV, the belly to back suplex would be seen as a triple take from three different angles-
STRAIGHT INTO THE DRUM SET!!!!!!!
(Lucky for Kisame, his trashcan helmet would absorb much of the blow.)
And the crowd goes WILD!
[2]
Jose-Luis was right, they would striker-ify. Oh well. Win or lose, it wouldn't matter. He'd just bide his time for his own retaliation, slightly wondering where the ******** Chance had gone.
And also vaguely wondering where the ******** the other guy had grabbed that garbage can. He'd be able to use that in a while for general damage effects.
Hikaru Tokugawa, an android and a Gaian.
He was on the look out for an android that had participated in last year's HoH, Minute Springs. All the heated action had drawn him to watch this concert, and fight out of all the rest. Still, he'd be watching for Minute. At present, he was in an old gray cloak, and his identity was rather well hidden. Perhaps if someone looked closely under the hood, they'd see some peculiar things.
But a peculiarity in Gaia was common, and there was more entertaining things to watch.
"Chestoooh."
Hikaru nodded in agreement.
Somewhere, amidst the crowd, a grown a man just st himself.
"HOLY s**t THAT MOFO JUST SUPLEXED HIM INTO THE DRUMS!"
Rosa Vernal Wrote:And also vaguely wondering where the ******** the other guy had grabbed that garbage can. He'd be able to use that in a while for general damage effects. PAYING GOOD ATTENTION...
Mr. Crawley's entrance post Wrote:Crawley showed up onstage with Fox's trashcan full of JUNK, and a Fire Extinguisher... and took a good look around. Then he nodded at his teammates. ... is key when facing your opponent.
Know thyself and thine enemies.
But the masked marvel, Mr. Crawley, was amused as he kept swinging the Metallica bat into his other hand. He was watching the other team with a smile on his face.
After hitting someone with a bat in the head he felt empowered. His team had just exhausted all their strikers but Crawley felt that ... no matter the cost... he just might do one more.
--Especially if he could find a good excuse.
"CHESTOOOOOH!"
Chance popped up next to Rosa, scarfing down near lethal amounts of Aspirin to cope with his headache. His head just turned to the stage. Pills rolled out of his mouth. "Damn."
A sudden curtain of darkness would fall around Kuroha, and an impact against his right forearm would also be felt, since he was holding his iron staff partially out and cocked back. The impact caused a good sized three inch bend to form around the rim of what appeared to be a tin trashcan, judging by its cylindrical shape and a round rim, not to mentiont hat it had a metallic ting to it when it bent. That impact didn't too to much damage, but would cause a slight bruise to form a bit later, thanks to his bracer of course -view sprite for reference-, nothing more. He had been strikered from behind, pshh....
Kuroha listened intently to the outside world echo within the can itself, since the opening still retained the amibence of the outside. He heard the faint words of...
"He's all yours Jorge..."
Well, if that wasn't an obvious call to begin an approach, what was? Kuroha would watch intently at his right arm, and the good sized bend in the rim, staying kneeled the entire time still to keep himself safe. A shadow had percariously began to block out the floodlight going through the bend, which meant that it was his opponent most likely. Show time...
Kuroha would swiftly bring his left arm to his right side, while simultaneously opening his right palm, and slamming it on the ground. Yes, that also meant that he had dropped the pole for a moment. What he would do after doing so, was that he'd lean all of his weight to his right side, and use his right leg to launch himself into his opponent. This would impact into Jorge's side, either the arm or torso, and most likely topple him over.
After doing so, Kuroha would quickly get get himself out of the can opposite of the way he had tackled, and take up his staff once more. He... was... pissed!
What?
George went in for the grab, circling around to Kisame's right as he reached for his pants leg. But something... was amiss here. The samurai started moving.
Well, this just changes everything.
El Fantasma was standing pretty close to his opponent, and was about to execute one hell of a suplex the moment the trashcan went over Kisame's head. By the time Kisame regained enough bearing to examine the sounds around him, George's pretty much be all hugged up with'em.
Unfortunately, things never go quite as planned. Kisame's sudden burst of momentum causes Fantasma to move towards the left while holding onto him.
Pickles would see this, and still:
GET THE HELL OUT THE WAY!
One way or another, Kisame was going to slam into the drums.
Only this time, he wouldn't be alone.
"FU-"
SMASH!
They collide with the instrument, but seeing how George has a little more composure and bearing (he can still see where he's going), he'd rotate his body and sling Kisame (trashcan and all) in front of him so he'd take the brunt of the impact!
Where would this leave them? The luchadore would be laying on top of the can AND Kisame in the middle of what used to be a nice set of drums. (Expensive too).
[3]
Oi, not fun....
Kuroha's attempts are a ram weren't exactly successful, however he did feel both the momentum of Dash and himself head towards the left, opposite of what he had aimed for. Guess the opposing forces thing had made itself known in this fight. Anyway, Kuroha, who's back was facing the drums, though not known to him atm, would impact pretty hard both on the drum, hearing cracks of wood and rips of the drums themselves. Though a flexible tin can it was, it aborbed a bit of impact upon landing on his back, but the weight of Jorge above just didn't help much.
Slightly Dazed, and with a good pain in his back, Kuroha would wriggle himself out of the trashcan as fast as he possibly could. Once that was done, he'd grab one of Pickle's fallen drumsticks, and with serious intent, hold it horizontal in each hand, to be able to press it firmly against his opponents throat after pinning his arms to the ground with his knees over his biceps. It was sort of small, and yet it was made of some pretty dense wood, pretty good for bashing people over the head if need be. Plus, it was the closest thing nearby that would aid in such a duty.
Fantasma was shaken up by the fall also, but any bells he'd hear ringing were drowned out by the crowd behind him.
They were going nuts! No one really had a clue what the hell just happened, and they didn’t care. They came to see s**t get tore up, and that’s what they would get.
Kisame moves, as does George. His eyes scan the immediate area for a weapon, any weapon!
He found them:
A disembodied tom tom,
and a decapitated cymbal!
When Kisame finally freed himself from the trashcan…
-WHUMP!-
Fantasma’s right fist shot straight into the tom tom, puncturing the object and granting him a kick a** “glove”. In his left, he scooped up the cymbal by the remains of its metal stand .
The drumstick assassin would be going for his throat right as the luchadore spun around and sat up to face him.
PWISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSH!
Drumsticks first clash with the cymbal shield in his left hand! Fantasma’s body keeps rotating counter-clockwise, following up the “shield” block with:
A FLYING TOM TOM FUELED SLAP!
The blow would be aimed at the left side of Kisame's body in attempt to knock him back. He’d continue rotating after this and simply roll away, hoping to put some distance between them.
[4]
Striker - Offensive
C. Fox Wrote:STRIKERESU! - Defensive
Lol, jk. He watched, a bit disappointed things didn't go as planned, BUT, at least El Fantasma managed to do what he wanted, and that is slam someone into the drums, even if he had to go along.
Things were going to get interesting.
Payback was gonna be a b***h.
Going to his traditional two-handed crowbar grip, Jose-Luis would charge in hard under the cover of sound, the sharp end of the curve facing in on his right side. With both hands on it and with a slightly twisted body, he fully intended to do a power strike. If any martial artists were around, they'd notice the similarity to the Rince an Bhata Uisce Bheatha style of fighting.
Quote: The drumstick assassin would be going for his throat right as the luchadore spun around and sat up to face him...
And at this moment, Jose-Luis would make the first strike - he'd snap his crowbar outward out of his left hand with his wrist while thrusting his right arm outward, going to send a nice friendly 36" 5.5 lb piece of steel to CRACK against the side of Dash's head, right to the temple...
Two seconds.
His left hand, meanwhile, would arrive a bit later, and grab firmly onto Dash's head almost instantly after the initial contact, jerking hard and down to not only go for a second introduction to Mr. Crowbar to the back of the neck, but to expose the grappler's face...
...to an M1 steel helmet cordially provided by Jose-Luis going for a massive headbutt to the nose. The angry Mexican crowbar artist's right leg, meanwhile, would continue up, going for a knee strike to the lower back at the same time as the face-shot.
Three seconds.
The left would pull down more and release, while his right arm would twist and jerk back from the elbow after the strike, sending the pointy end of the curve of the bar back towards him and across Dash's neck. Yay for scrapes and bruises, but with a shattered nose, there'd be blood enough.
He'd let Dash drop to the floor after that strike, but he wasn't done.
Four seconds.
He'd take the time to adjust his grip again, curve up, point out, and then raise the bar over his head and strike for the ribs, hoping to shatter a few and increase the total "brutal" level by one or two margins.
Six seconds.
With his last remaining time, Jose-Luis would drop to his knees, and make a final, friendly little introduction.
Mr. Thumb, meet Mr. Eye.
He'd headgrab and drive his left thumb into the guy's eye socket, hard. This had the minor side effect of popping the eye out, which was generally considered harmful.
Seven seconds.
He'd get up and run like for the sidelines, left hand up and throwing up the horns.
Beating people with a crowbar was TOTALLY METAL.
Edit: Oh yeah. The Mortal Kombat guy would suddenly appear and yell "TOASTY!" sometime in the middle of this for no reason whatsoever.
Nearly with exact timing of Kuroha's strike against the cymble with the drumsticks he had picked up, Jose-Luis had come in for an a-whoopin' of his own. Now, by all rights of the tournament and Team Mata Leon's prior actions in the last match did Jose have justification to his actions, but it wasn't like Kuroha didn't want some of this too. Som he'd drop the drumsticks just before the second coalition strike of the headbutt and knee-to-back manuever that would soon be provided by Jose. At that moment, Kuroha would step forward twice, ck back his right arm at a low placement, and send a shot for Fantasma's gut. He tried his best to time this out so that it would be as close to the knee that Jose had sent as possible, providing, once again, an opposing forces situation in a different aspect. The punch would cause some pretty bad damage upon impact too.
After his punch would impact his opponents gut, Kuroha would take the time to quickly back away, over to the close-by broken drum set, and pick up the biggest object over there...
Thats right, he picked up the -mostly- intact base drum from the set, with its wood cylinder still in perfect form. The only damage was a punctured drum side really. Anyways, Kuroha would lift that big ol' beast above his head with little hinderance, and approach Fantasma. About now, the end of his beating had come to the point of the eye gauge, which was perfect in Kuroha's timing. As soon as Jose left for the sidelines, Kuroha would give off a slight yell, and forcefully throw down the base drum, baring its wooden outer layer, and allowing it to smash over Fantasma's chest. Good luck getting outta that friend...
(Post revised due to confusion.)
Yep, Fantasma is still on the ground, sitting up and prepared to block.
PWISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSH!
Drumsticks first clash with the cymbal shield in his left hand and- wait, what the hell?
Who the fu-!
He spots something out of the corner of his left eye. It was very angry looking to rearrange his face with a crowbar. Sadly for Mr. Crowbar, Fantasma’s head proves to be an elusive target. However; there is a nice drum cymbal that’s more than willing to accept some steel loving.
PWISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSH!
Crowd: “OH!”
Fantasma moves his arm and tilts his head instinctively to shield himself. All kinds of four letter words formed in the back of his mind, but before they could manifest themselves-
PWISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSH!
Crowd: OOO!
The M1 steel helmet smashed against his instrumental shield! Its impact forced the cymbal back into his face. Man, this definitely ******** his nose up! There was blood.
The impact of the headbutt sent him forcebly to the ground. From this position the knee wouldn't be possible, but the sharp end of Mr. Crowbar still left him a parting gift along his upper back. More blood.
That wasn't all! Jose still has a firm grip on his mask! This causes it to be ripped free from Fantasma's face only to reveal:
YET ANOTHER MASK!
Crowd: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!
Fantasma always carried a spare!
The luchadore found himself staring up at the lighting from his position on the ground.
[5]
[Aikanáro Elendil - TOASTY! says:
Alright. So basically, I just missed the knee, and semi-completed the headbutt, you on the ground with me on the... left side, kinda behind.
Roderrick says:
Yes.
Roderrick says:
Something like that.
Roderrick says:
How do we... fix this?
Roderrick says:
Post wise...
Aikanáro Elendil - TOASTY! says:
I'll post this bit from the convo and then with it, my attempted IC actions.
Aikanáro Elendil - TOASTY! says:
With fox going for the drums.
Roderrick says:
So he doesn't punch me?
Aikanáro Elendil - TOASTY! says:
Would you be willing to get punched?
Roderrick says:
Yeah, but when?
Roderrick says:
Since he says he does it while you're head butting me and kneeing.
Aikanáro Elendil - TOASTY! says:
About the same time my knee strike would go flying past your side.
Roderrick says:
Okay.
IC posting will resume at :04 seconds of the Striker. Any and all posted actions beyond said point are invalid as per agreement.]
themightyjello Wrote:This is for everyone!
There are 2 days left in Round 1 of Heaven or Hell 2008. If your team has not completed (or you don't expect that they will complete) at least 2 fights already, you now have permission to start another fight even if there is one currently ongoing.
( Let's do this Rosa. )
Which'd leave Jose-Luis with a mask in his left and a crowbar in his right, kinda behind and to the left with his leg in the air. Never one to give up on an opportunity to induce victory through use of force, Jose-Luis would throw the mask down at his opponent's eye area and simultaneously bring his foot down, aiming to stomp down and shatter some ribs.
Five seconds.
Assuming there was contact, things would continue. Such as Jose-Luis going for the beer bottle on his left and twisting in position with his foot sliding so as to pin down the man's arms with his knees. He'd also try to enforce this action with a punch to the already broken nose with his crowbar-aided right fist.
Audience Wrote:OOH!
Six seconds.
And follow up with the beer bottle to the face around the eyebrow area, shattering it. Here's hoping that Dash had a fairly thick skull - even if so, that's some concussion-inducing force thar.
Dan Forden Wrote:TOASTYYYY!
With the broken glass left from the bottle, he'd...
Seven seconds.
...drag it hard across the dude's forehead. This would (hopefully) cut through the mask and into his skin. While not a OW JESUS ******** sort of pain, there were a lot of blood vessels there and people tended to not fight quite as well with a bunch of their own blood running down their face.
Same time, repeat crowbar punch with the right, going for the right eye. Black eyes also sucked, not that it'd be visible through the mask.
Eight seconds.
HEADBUTT, TO THE FAEC. Yes, the faec. After being hit that many times (if this applied, anyway) it would cease being a face and be a faec. Because blood is totally metal and also for the lulz.
Another forehead strike, to be precise. After a beer bottle shattering overhead, you'd likely think that this'd be kinda painful, if not "my concussion has a concussion" level.
The Band Wrote:mad guitar riff
Nine seconds.
Cue "get off with a side roll" onto a bit of broken glass cutting his arm, and a walk forward to bow at the audience, his Striker being over. Nothing like blood and having the band as human shields.
Oh yeah, and he'd then wander over to Chance to grab additional pylons weapons. It'd be his round soon, possibly.
While Jose had put his not so little beat down on Fantasma, Kuroha had made his way over to the broken drum set, looking for a very specific piece of instrumental artwork. Immediately, he had found it, amongst the rubble and woodwork of the old drum set, he had found it. The big base drum that he had wanted oh so much, would be picked up, lifted over his head, and then be turned around with his body, back towards the nearby Fantasma.
Jose, whom had nearly ceased his ten seconds of insane metalhead goodness, was just smashing a bottle atop of the masked warriors forehead, ouch. Well, the pain had yet to subside for poor old Fantasma here, as he would soon find out.
Jose would roll off the stage, just about the time Kuroha had gotten within a three foot range of the luchador, who even with his swelling eyes, would see an odd, crazed look in the samurais face. And then, without a word said from him, Kuroha would bring back his arms, and then quickly snap them forward, letting go of the drum at the very end of their motion. The results?
One large order of drum, straight to the head and chest with the plastic side faced down, as to avoid any lethal damages. This would end in quite hte drum solo if it hit...
Rosa Vernal Wrote:-Which'd leave Jose-Luis with a mask in his left and a crowbar in his right, kinda behind and to the left with his leg in the air.
Dashboard Wrote:The sudden blow, compounded by the punishment he'd taken moments earlier caused the luchadore to fall forward on top of Jose, unconscious. As a final act of defiance, Fantasma bleeds all over him!
Crawley popped up on stage with a steel folding chair and a metallica bat to address his teammate that was knocked out in a brutal fashion because someone was seeking hard vengeance. He walked over to the carnage and stood over all three of them.
Since Foxcross was the only one not burried under stuff, Crawley spoke to him first in a very low, monotonous voice. Not with the usual microphone pomp and circumstance he spoke with.
"Get the ******** off my stage"
As far as Jose-Luis was concerned, his part in the round was over, but it seemed his opponent had a different idea. He'd go down with the hit, but there was no way he'd let his arms get pinned.
"Oof!"
The impact against the ground would drive some air from his lungs, but would also move his right (and left) arm up. He'd aid this motion by moving his arms in, using his free left arm as a being-whaled-on cushion, resulting in a few smacks to the face as opposed to being drummed.
When the other drum hit the guy he was striking on, Jose-Luis would pitch his hips to the right to toss the guy off of him, then roll away to his left side before getting to his feet, leaving Kuroha and Crawley alone together for some intimate close-quarters contact.
His part in this fight was over.
Well, before we get carded for Jorge staying too long on the stage, having been knocked the ****** out, he leaps over from the striker zone, rushing towards Jorge's body and dragging his a out by the armpits/shoulders, back into the striker zone.
He'd start slapping the s**t out of Jorge to wake him up.
Crawley retrieved a microphone and started walking around. Because of the mask on his face, his facial expression could not be read exactly but due to his pace of movement, one could see that he was upset.
After pacing for some time he stopped and looked around. Then brought the microphone up to his lips.
"So I hop up on the stage to aid my good buddy with a bat and a chair after he was knocked out...."
Crowd begins laughing
"Okay I'm lying.. I got up here because I was ready to start fighting. To get down. To leave my mark on the face of the third guy on their team since decided to come up here and attempt to beat Whore-Hay to death..."
He pauses and begins walking around...
"And he knew I was coming for him because I didn't want my guy's sloppy left-overs. And the first thing he does when he sees me is backs off. He doesn't want any part of me.. he's AFRAID of me.. so you know what he does?"
He looks at Jose-Luis and nods his head, but there's somewhat of a sarcastic mood to it.
"HE LEAVES HIS TIRED AND DAMAGED TEAMMATE UP HERE LIKE THE SELFISH a*****e HE HAS REVEALED HIMSELF TO BE"
There was a scowl on his face, clued in by the shape of his mouth as he spoke.
"I'll tell you something about me that you may not know. I mean, everybody else here knows but it seems like Jose here needs a few clues, a few hints, a few words of wisdom, a few words to live by."
He tapped the bat he was holding lightly on the ground. The chair he was holding was laying on the stage near him.
"When I'm not fighting. I'm just an ordinary guy. I like the color red. I like dogs. I like steaks. I like smooth jazz. I like beer. And I like women."
Pause.
"But when I am in the ring...... I. AM. GOD. I AM A FORCE OF NATURE. IN THE RING I CANNOT BE CONSOLED. I CANNOT BE TAMED. I CANNOT BE REASONED WITH. AND I CANNOT BE BEATEN. UNDER THE TUTELAGE OF THE ONE OF THE GREATEST FIGHTERS OF ALL TIME, REIKO SAKAGAMI, I HAVE BEEN BRED TO DESTROY ANYONE WHO CHALLENGES ME."
He slammed the bat down onto the stage, causing it to bounce up and land on the chair making a clang and rattling sound as his pace around the stage quickened to another position.
"AND WITH ALL DUE RESPECT TO REIKO, I AM THE GREATEST OF YESTERDAY, I AM THE GREATEST OF TODAY, AND I WILL BE THE GREATEST LONG AFTER EVERYONE ELSE IN THE TOURNAMENT HAS BEEN FORGOTTEN."
Then finally he walked over to Team Pwnt's side and stared at Jose-Luis
"But even as great as I am. What I don't have a reputation for.. is leaving my teammates high and dry. I don't have a reputation for selfishness. I work hard. I make sacrifices. I do what's necessary for the team for our benefit, not just mine alone.... SO I DID NOT GET UP ON THIS STAGE TO FIGHT A DAMAGED OPPONENT. I DIDN'T GET UP HERE TO HAVE AN ADVANTAGE THAT WILL ULTIMATELY DETERMINE THE COURSE OF THE FIGHT."
He turned his back and started walking away to the other side of the stage as he said.
"So let me tell you something Josie... you might want to take a long hard look at your choices. Because from this point on.. you will only be famous for being a yellow, spineless, coward..."
He dropped the microphone and stared at Josie from his position on the stage as band used whatever the hell it was they had left to Play. His. Music.
Jose would roll off, and Fox would jump in to take his fallen comrade off of the stage, quite the show of teamwork for both Pwn't and Mata Leon, quite admirable, yes...
But now, it was time to get serious. Apparently, Kuroha's crazed smile never left his face from when he let loose the drum atop of Fantasmas body, and Crawleys words were to extend it farther across his face. A maniachal laughter would cross over his attitude, random and totally insane, scary even. Crawleys words are what did this. However, one sentence crossed his mind, that caused his laughing to subside some...
"Damaged?"
He would say...
Cutting halfway through without warning, Kuroha would make a snap turn around towards crawlets position, and would take a couple of quick steps forward, lean and stop on his right, and then he would draw his Uchigatana Yosimoto in a low horizontal fencing motion, to draw it across the back of the thigh of the wrestler Crawley. He'd yell while doing so...
"I'm just getting started!"
Kisame-Foxcross Wrote:"Damaged?"
He would say...
Cutting halfway through without warning, Kuroha would make a snap turn around towards crawlets position, and would take a couple of quick steps forward, lean and stop on his right, and then he would draw his Uchigatana Yosimoto in a low horizontal fencing motion, to draw it across the back of the thigh of the wrestler Crawley. He'd yell while doing so...
"I'm just getting started!" "Goddamnit."
Crawley used the metal bat that he never got a chance to slam on the ground and did a slight turn while swinging the bat up in an outside arc with his bat wielding hand to deflect the sword away into the air and then he pointed the bat at Kuroha's face with an outstretched hand.
"Don't announce your attacks clown."
1
As his blade was knocked up and away, Kuroha would use his leaned position to bring his left leg forward, snap it up and forward, and aim a rib shot LOL SPARTA kick, his wooden half-block sandals headed to possibly bruise and mark the area with some heavy force. Kuroha would clench his teeth while bringing the Yosimoto back into his hands at the right side after putting his foot back down in quick succession, and then step back, or hop back, depending on what Crawleys reaction was. Kuroha wouldnever neglect to take his eyes off of him though, as doing so would be the worst mistake in his fighting carreer. He needed to be ready, and stay ready.
(1)
After receiving this.. "Sparta" kick and having his left leg go back, Crawley immediately performed a counter gut-stomping push kick at Kuroha's midsection with the same left leg in response.
Then Crawley charged foward into Kuroha's with the bat turned up and both hands on it vertically but slightly out to the left so Crawley's right elbow would connect with Kuroha's chest first.
Of course it wouldn't hurt, but someone running into you would put you off balance...
2
Kuroha had attempted to hop back then, since that was one of the predicted outcomes of Crawley's reaction, however he wasn't totally successful in his retreat. Crawley had launched off a gut-stomping kick a bit earlier than Kuroha would have liked, and though his jump back rid it of some of its impact, he was still hit with some of it. The results would send Kuroha back a couple of extra feet, and cause his upper body to lean forward some. As he landed, he felt his breath leave him a bit, as well as the ground move beneath his feet in a slight slide, but it wasn't over yet.
Having kept as best a gaze as possible upon Crawley, he was able to intercept the incoming actions, and prepare for them justly by sliding his left leg back, and keeping his upper body forward slightly. The immediate incoming elbow struck against his chest, and just before it had, Kurohas left arm would extend outwards for the vertical grasp of the metal bat, in order to stop or even just hinder its inevitable advance.
After doing so, Kuroha's right hand, still holding the Yosimoto, would come across in a heavy right hook, with the blade pointing up and out of Crawleys way.
(2)
Mr. Crawley Wrote:Then Crawley charged foward into Kuroha's with the bat turned up and both hands on it vertically but slightly out to the left so Crawley's right elbow would connect with Kuroha's chest first.
Kisame-Foxcross Wrote:The immediate incoming elbow struck against his chest, and just before it had, Kurohas left arm would extend outwards for the vertical grasp of the metal bat, in order to stop or even just hinder its inevitable advance.
Mr. C just one more time to be clear Wrote:Then Crawley charged foward into Kuroha's with the bat turned up and both hands on it vertically but slightly out to the left
Kuroha was thinking two steps ahead of Crawley. Except his steps were in the wrong direction. Kuroha's hand now extended across his body. After Crawley's elbow hit his chest with Kuroha taking hold of the bat.
He let go of the bat and spun off him. Or rather, around him counter clockwise. His left hand took hold of the left cloth on his left side at the waist area. He completed coming around back and his right arm wrapped itself around Kuroha's abdomen area, joined by the left arm.
And before Kuroha could mount a thought to counter.. Crawley's grip tighten. His hips dipped. He thrusted his hips forward and bent back into a bridge to send Kuroha back, up, over, and down onto the back of his shoulders, neck, and head, completing the german suplex.
German Suplex
At the very least, Kuroha'd drop those weapons he were holding.
And in a strange twist... Crawley held the position as the crowd began to do a pinfall count.
ONE.
TWO--
3
Jose-Luis casually ignored the man's speech. If Kuroha had decided to stay in and fight, then Jose-Luis trusted his judgment. In the meantime, though, he'd be going to get beer. Lots of beer. After all, Jose-Luis figured that everyone who had fought could benefit from a drink or two. And with no strikers left, he figured that there was nothing better to do.
Wiping a bit of blood from his face with one of those napkins he'd brought earlier, he made his way through the crowd with a few pauses to sign shirts, shake some hands, and the like before going to the front of the line.
"Uh... gimme fourteen beers. Ees for the fighters."
The woman behind the screen would raise an eyebrow, but go to get them anyway.
"In a bottle, por favor."
s**t...
Kuroha immediately noticed Crawley let go of the back, and start his turn towards his left side. Kuroha took to the instinct of his sword after he felt the tug at his left side of the center yukata, and would invert the uchigatana in his right hand 180 degrees forward, aiming the edge at a 50 degree angle downwards. When this was finished, Crawley's right arm would just be finished wrapping around his right side. Kuroha would forcefully thrust the blade downwards, to stab his blade almost directly through Crawley's right thigh, in a very forceful and very swift attempt at stopping his foe's suplex attempt. If successful, it would pierce just before he would dip his hips down.
From there, Kuroha would turn his upper body to the left, while sending an elbow for the Crawley's temple, while he'd most likely stop in his pain, and if he wanted to keep his leg from sustaining any more damage, if the stab was a success...
(3)
Kisame-Foxcross Wrote:Kuroha would forcefully thrust the blade downwards, to stab his blade almost directly through Crawley's right thigh, in a very forceful and very swift attempt at stopping his foe's suplex attempt. If successful, it would pierce just before he would dip his hips down. There was silence and blood. You know the kind where everything goes quiet and you can't see the hero's face or even begin to know what he's thinking. That kind. It was preceded by the crowd's "oooooh."
Crawley just stayed in his regular position. But of course, his opponent was going to try and escape with attempted strikes and such. When he'd find that, well, he can't.
Crawley activate. Out of nowhere and with blood gushing out of the wound, Crawley dipped his hips, thrusted them in, bridged hard, and attempted the move once more. This time it was more accelerated due to the adrenaline rush, Kuroha was likely to be haunted by stars and stripes for the rest of the fight.
"CHESTOOOOOH!"
Crowd: CHESTOOOOH!
Immediately after though, Crawley's bridge form shattered due to his sword-in-leg. He fell over on his left side and roared the silent roar of a champion in pain as he removed the sword from his leg.
He clawed his way across the floor of the stage, taking a chair with, as fast as he could and sat with his back against a steel pillar construct for whatever was above them as he tried to get in as much recovery time as possible.
4
The slight pause was definitely something to worry about just after Kuroha had launched the elbow back at Crawleys temple, and it wasn't until it was to late that the words and idea clicked into his head...
'Oh ********>
Crawley had went ahead with his actions, in a heavy, almost hellish strike, and the only thing Kuroha could do was to curl his head forward as far as it could go, to avoid a broken neck. He'd also, however, grip onto his blade for as long as possible, for a little special surprise against the masked wrestler. Crawleys attack hit hard at the top of Kurohas back and shoulders, adding on to the last matches pain of the impact on the ground from Fantasmas trash can combo. However, Kuroha had gotten in another hit before getting hit with such an impact, aka the surprise.
See, what happened was that when Kuroha inverted his Uchigatana, he switched the positioning of the edge by doing so, changing it from outwards to inwards. That meant that when Kuroha gripped onto his blade, he had locked it into a combination that would seem to be unavoidable in the damage section. As Kuroha was brought back in the suplex, the edge of the Yosimoto would go along with his movements, and cut upwards on Crawleys leg, furthering the damage done to the leg.
Now for the effects....
Lets just say the wanderer would rather be in a coma, so the pain would totally be dead in him.
His vision was blackened upon impact, and it came back to him not even a second later, like a black flash had gone on. From impact to reawakening, Kuroha would feel the total effects, with blurred vision, major headache, and dizzyness. He kept moving, however, to show that he was still concious and all. He'd regain his vision within seconds, but the pain and dizzyness would not subside at all. He'd Crawl towards the his blade, from where he could see it, and at least take that into arms, so he could defend himself in some way. Crawley, at about this time, would probably feel that his leg would be mostly irrelevant to him, since that deep wound would not allow him to stand too well, nor make any charge attacks against Kuroha. That left ground attacks, and aerial ones, if he was crazy enough to do so.
Using his blade for balance, Kuroha would slowly raise himself onto one knee, and eventually his feet, the dizzyness gradually leaving him as well, and finally turning towards where Crawleys image would be. He was panting hard, and trying to regain his composure as well, and for two battles, he had sustained little damage. Then again, the last battle wasn't really his at all, nor were many strikes exchanged...
(4)
Crawley braced himself against the steel construct as he stood up and trusted the weight of his right leg to the chair he held.
Then he started jamming the chair into the ground rhymically. So if Kuroha was dizzy he could hear the sound.
"I'M OVER HERE! COME GET ME!"
5
Jose-Luis had missed that, but thanks to the Replay-o-tron that was suddenly mounted on a wall that was conjured from the nether realms of plot device, he caught the replay of it.
"...Make that twenty-eight beers."
You could totally cure a concussion and major leg wounds with alcohol. It was a proven fact of SCIENCE.
Chance watched the match with great lack-luster. He was bored. Why? Because he wasn't in the ring doing it himself.
Test.
