Strip Club

STRIP CLUB

Loud Music and flashing lights permeate the dark room with a long stage running down its center and tables sporting stripper poles as bodies move around them. 18+. Only on pay per view.

Terrain

General - Loud music, dim lighting, and flashing lights may disorient the senses. The center stage is unused, reserved for the fighters, however, the fighting area is not limited to only that.

Weapons - Discarded clothing.

Bonus Effects - Spectator damage in effect. Dont harm the ladies.

A black H3 hummer with glossed paint pulled up in front of the Strip Club, and four figures stepped out. One of them had a pair of mirrored shades on. Fortunately for him, they hadn't been broken in the last round- they were his favorite pair, too.

The captain, wearing these shades, could only grin.

Damn... we got the luck of the draw on this one.

He began walking forward, his teammates in tow. This was going to be, if nothing else, a damn good time. That, combined with the fact that they would most certainly give those inside something better than a pole dance, was worth being sent here.

Right behind Evan was Airstrike's Vice Captain, Johnathan Nemesis. He was clad in a red t-shirt, over which he wore a black bulletproof vest. The shirt was tucked into arctic camouflage cargo pants, secured by a black leather belt. The pants themselves were tucked into a pair of combat boots. He also wore a pair of black elbow pads, a sheathed combat knife strapped to his thigh, and a pair of black no-finger gloves covered in arcane red symbols.

As they walked inside, Johnathan couldn't stop a massive grin from spreading over his features. Though the center stage had been cleared of dancers (to the interest of some club patrons, and the annoyance of others), every other platform was occupied by dancing, twirling women with barely any clothes on.

Or none at all.

Still, staring at the ladies would be put aside for later. Right now . . . he had an a**-kicking to focus on.

Taki quickened her pace and got to the entrance first. Clearing the path for the rest of her teammates, she got rid of the paparazzi with the only method she knew: throwing them the hell out of her way, but she restrained herself from more than tossing them a few feet to either side of the entrance. They didn't need any more flags.

As soon as she entered the club, however, Taki had one of those small, full-body shivers that only came from witnessing something disgusting. In this, that something was all the lecherous patrons eyeing Taki's very ample, shall we say, "assets".

Note to self: Kick more a** before we leave.

She put it out of her mind, however, and focused on the task at hand: Airstrike exercising their right to give Bloodfire a good ol' country asswhippin'.

"Hello, Kain. Feeling up to a fight? Hopefully something better than last time," Deitric grinned, leaning back in his seat at one of the tables. He almost blended into the crowd - except the weapons and the shield. He wore notably 'street' clothing; simple jeans, black boots, and a black leather jacket over a white V-neck. He didn't look too stunned by what women were left. Life in his homeland was much simpler, and at times a top didn't suit someone - male or female. So the chest was just another part of the body. Not to mention, the warrior was too conservative to really take in too much of the environ.

The warrior noted the other's team's entrance, but ignored it. He was waiting for James - the man hadn't gotten to fight, so he needed his chance to show what he could do. Dietric had done that himself when he, by all counts, had tore into his opponent and had him on the run. Of course, it didn't seem that way to Deitric, who had limped away, but the media always saw things differently.

"Bah, suck a nut, bro." He replied to his Vice. It was in playful jest but he couldn't help but agree with the man.

"Well, I can't be wholly to blame for that. That guy moved s**t with his brain. Pain will happen--JAMES!"

Though, his teammate didn't seem incredibly pleased with being here...that'd have to change, maybe he was just sour about not being able to get a fight in their last match.

"Team Airstrike. Don't know much about them so...you're going to be the guinea pig against them since you didn't get to brawl last time."

Oh s**t...

"I'll be right back, guys. Forgot my weapon again."

Out of the strip club he bolted and just as fast returned with his large warkatana.

Deitric chuckled as their team captain rushed out to grab his gear. Again.

"You really need to remember to carry that sword on you. A fan is going to steal it soon. Just put it between your belt and pants or something, " the tribesman advised, turning to offer a raised hand in greeting to James.

"Yes, you get to do the honors. I'll fight second again, and Kain will fight last this time."

"Last I heard I won my match," Deitric laughed as he leaned back in his seat for a moment before letting it come back down on all four legs, using the momentum to hop up to a standing position so he could better watch the fight. He hadn't seen his teammate fight much, nor had he seen the other team fight at all, except on the reels that were on TV.

As James took his place onstage, Johnathan climbed up from the other side. His expression was so firm it was as if it had been chiseled out of a block of stone. As he took up position on the other side of the dance pole from his opponent, a few of the dancers looked his way, but didn't approach him. He was kinda handsome, but not a pretty boy like Mr. Eredas over there.

He slid into a stance -- right foot back and perpendicular to his torso, front foot forward, knees bent, open left hand up by his face, open right hand hovering by his hip.

It was go-time.

[1/17]

Evan took a seat and counted how many bills were in his wallet. Oh, there was enough in there to keep him occupied for a while as he waited for an opportunity to attack. For now, he would watch and see what happened. He placed the wallet back into a pocket of his BDUs and turned his head to look at Taki.

"Morivan," he muttered under his breath, "You've got Kain. I don't know what his issue is, but we will not let him go any further. I'm putting Ves on tomahawk gai. Understood?"

James just seemed to relax even further, the sunglasses hanging loosely from the metal fingers of his right hand. He grinned darkly, and his bangs floated gently into his face. He arched his back slightly, the left hand clenching itself, still poised on his left hip.

"Come on then, I don't have all day" he laughed.

2/17

Fierach Wrote:

James just seemed to relax even further, the sunglasses hanging loosely from the metal fingers of his right hand. He grinned darkly, and his bangs floated gently into his face. He arched his back slightly, the left hand clenching itself, still poised on his left hip.

"Come on then, I don't ha-"

2/17

Johnathan struck while James was in mid-sentence, taking a quick step forward with his right foot and jabbing with his right hand to pop James in the face. It was simple, but it was only an opening move, after all.

[3/17]

It was a jab that'd never really come close to hitting. There'd be more then enough distance for James to react and take a small hop back, easily backing out of range of the attack, whereupon the youth would whiplash his left hand out from his hip like like a bolt of lightning, hurtling the 11-inch knife from its holster with good accuracy straight into Johnathan's gut.

Whether that had any impact or not, James'd recover his left hand just as he would flick his right hand out in what looked like a jab, however, he was actually flinging the metal-rimmed sunglasses in his right hand with even better accuracy straight into Johnathan's eyes, with enough force to sting, badly.

Wonder if that was a first in the tournament. He had heard of people winning with toothpicks, chairs, and the crowd, but sunglasses?

3/17

Even as James hopped back to evade, Johnathan kept stepping forward in order to pursue. The knife flew forward, and Johnathan made no move to stop it . . . and it simply bounced right off the bulletproof vest he wore.

James really needed to pay more attention to what his opponent was wearing.

Then, even as Johnathan continued to move closer, the glasses zipped forth towards his eyes, but only to be caught in Johnathan's left hand, which he still had up by his face for that specific reason: protection.

By now, Johnathan was at perfect range to stab the glasses forward at James' face as if it were a knife the moment he caught them.

He needed to teach James that it really wasn't polite to throw things.

[4/17]

[Gotta go for a bit. Prob'ly back in a half-hour.]

No way was James going to be stabbed by his own sunglasses. Now on a stable footing, he didn't have to recover his right arm from flinging. As his foe charged in with the make-shift weapon, James drew his right arm back in slightly, and took one massive step with his right foot into the attack, performing two maneuvers to accompany it.

First, his right arm would be backhanding outward, and it'd come from the inside and push the attempted stab outwards and to the side.

At the same time, he'd be twisting his body to bring his left side into his foe as a follow up, left elbow flashing and left leg steppin' as one. Hallmark of his style, a violent and expolsive elbow check to the side of the face.

Bajiquan influence at its best.

4/17

But it was a simple matter for Johnathan to bring his right arm back and put his forearm up next to his face to block the blow. James was throwing his whole shoulder into it, so that wouldn't stop the blow cold and it would make his forearm sting like a b***h, but it would be nothing more than a kiss on the cheek after that.

And, since you had to be quite close to deliver an elbow to the face, it would be quite easy for Johnathan to move his hand forward and grab a fistful of all that pretty hair on the left side of James' head as he drew his left fist back.

Then he would start delivering a series of punches straight to his opponent's face, keeping a tight hold on that hair as he did so.

[5/17]

And so was Johnathan.

First off, an armlock such as the one James was employing right now only worked best if your opponent was was somewhere within your strength range or below. Johnathan, however, had at least 60 more pounds of muscle than this man. All he had to do was flex and resist by trying to bend his elbow, and James' efforts to try and cause him pain would be severely hampered. In fact, there was a decent chance that he could break free.

Second, the attempt at a sweep would be of little use. Johnathan's stance was solid. And, again, there was the fact that he was simply stronger and heavier than James.

Third, the moment James' right arm finished locking itself in place around Johnathan's arm, he immediately released James' hair and his hand darted down to his right thigh so he could draw his combat knife from its sheath. The he would start jamming the blade into James' left side repeatedly. (Alternatively, if James had already had the bright idea of grabbing Johnathan's knife, he would grab James' wrist as he started to draw it, and keep him from doing so.)

[6/17]

"A nyuk nyuk nyuk nyuk."

One of the patrons in the back-ground laughed in a tribute to the Three Stooges at the eye-poke.

Thats what he got, he went for James's hair? Yeah, all bets are off. Plus, James was feeling particulary brutal from not having fought in the first round, at all.

Now that that was done, James withdrew the eye-jab stepped back onto his left, now perpendicular to his opponent, and heaved him forth via pulling the locked arm, James twisted his right side in to add more force.

"Hah!" he gave a martial artist's cry.

James did this with the intention of pitching his foe off balance or face first onto the ground. Either way diminished the chance of a critical counter-strike from Johnathan's knife, as the heir would be on Johnathan's left, he'd have barely any force, range, or targets to swing using the bladed weapon.

If Johnathan pitched forth to the floor, James'll maintain his lock, now twisting Johnathan's arm behind him painfully, and he'd plant his right foot on the fallen man's back.

If he didn't stumble, Jame'll just let go of the arm and be ready for a followup move of his choosing.

7/17

Master Nemesis Wrote:

Well, Johnathan now had a blinded eye to worry about, but even in a state of pain he still had enough sense to know that he needed to stay on his feet. So as James pitched him forward, he did his best to resist the momentum, and only came forward a couple of steps before whipping aro-

[8/17]

Just in time to catch James's flying black jacket straight into his face. The youth had easily slipped it off off his shoulders and tossed it with one arm as the other man was stumbling, and then charged in after it.

While Johnathan's view and arms would be obscured and somewhat tangled up by James's fashion senses, the youth would dropkick him painfully in the chest straight off the center platform, into one of the side platforms, where the exotic dancers scrambled off their poles and scattered for fear of having a flailing combatant slam into them.

There was a distinct possibility that Johnathan might have a pole break his fall even more painfully though.

James always wanted to throw his jacket at somebody like that, he'd seen it in a Jackie Chan movie.

8/17

[Be back soon. Gotta go make a phone call.]

James, missed, to say the least, and then he landed on the second stage, but he quickly recovered and went into a short roll, crouching a short distance away from his landing spot to safely avoid any counter-attacks. Most martial artists knew how to take a falling hit with less damage, and James was no exception.

He looked up at his foe, and grinned viciously. It was a miracle that his foe knew where James was, being blinded and having to rely on sound in a noisy club like this.

"HEY CYCLOPS" James shouted over the sound of the music, ready for anything. "HOW'S YOUR DEPTH PERCEPTION?" he'd add.

9/17

Master Nemesis Wrote:

Whoops. Forgot to add that he looked around before he saw James. ![smilies/icon_xp.gif]

Johnathan simply smirked as he hopped off the main stage down the stage that James was on, holding the knife in a reverse grip in his right hand.

"Fine! Thanks for asking!"

He brought his hands up again, left by his face, right held about a foot in front of his chest. In this manner, he would advance towards James slowly until he was within striking range . . . then jab at James' face with his left fist.

Just like he had at the beginning of the round. Only differences now, he was a blind in one eye . . . and he had a knife.

[10/17]

Hmph. For some reason, James was under the impression that Johnathan, merely because he was a little older and bigger than James, he was incredibly slow. But this was not the case.

As James attempted to move around behind Johnathan, he simply pivoted on his left foot to turn with him, slashing outwards with the 6-inch blade of the weapon from right to left and aiming right at James' eyes as he did so. Since he was attempting to slip right past Johnathan to get behind him, he was within perfect range for this.

It would be interesting to see how many ladies were fawning over him with he had a gash going across his face and right through his eyeballs.

[11/17]

James just kept stepping and turning to stay behind Johnathan, a few inches ahead of the blade, after all, he'd already be halfway there when he intercepted Johnathan's wrist. The man'd have much better luck attempting to slash at James's body then angling up at his eyes.

Hell, with a sudden burst of strength James also twisted his Johnathan's arm up into the air behind him. The man'd be lucky if it didn't pop out of it's socket immediately, he'd have no leverage to counteract it, and if he continued to try and slash right to left, he'd be cutting into his own arm.

To top it off, to slow down Johnathan from trying to turn with him and ensure the man's defeat, James drove his right fist straight into the man's back, right on the spine, his guantlet aiding like a form of brass knuckles.

11/17

Johnathan just begged for this would his next movements. James easily saw the knife being raised up to stab at his arm, and he'd shift Johnathan's arm slightly into the path of the knife strike. 70 pounds heavier or not, all of it would be for naught in resisting the police hold. John would be unable to bring his strength to bear and James had an extreme leverage advantage, twisting the man's arm up in the air behind him, threatening to pop it out immediately, accompanied by pain.

To accelerate the process, James, lifted his right leg slightly and stomped down on the back of John's right leg. Attempting to turn and keep up with the more lithe James, this, in all likelyhood, meant that the poor guy'll pitch forward onto a knee, straining his arm to the breaking point.

If fate had a sense of humor, Johnathan would have his arm wretched out of it's socket, again, a burnt eyeball to help his team run for the "Most Eyeballs Lost" award in HoH, as well as anther broken ankle.

Oh wait, Johnathan would already have the first two.

12/17

The tripping attempt would miss. Simply extending the leg, the left leg, missed James's leg, since, you know, he was stepping to his own right. Even if John was stronger, James was more agile. Plus, the man couldn't exactly aim with his target beind behind him.

James didn't move his arm fast enough though, so the knife buried itself into his forearm. Unleashing a roar of pain and rage alltogether at once, James used the rage to fuel himself, still gripping onto the wrist like a vice, fighting the pain like no normal man could.

Since Johnathan's stance wouldn't be as solid having just tried to trip James, James'll address the issue by stomping on the back of Johnthan's right knee again, since he happened to shrug off the spine punch and the first stomp attempt so easily. The attack would pitch Johnathan forward onto the floor, where James would use John's own forward momentum against him and attempt to wrench John's arm back and up one more time, seeing as, merely the positioning of having his arm behind him, negated much of Johnathan's superior strength, twist or no twist.

"RAHHH!"

Besides, military or not, it wasn't like James couldn't bring up his own demon-hunting heritage, combat experience against some of Gaia's finest, and everyday training routinues right?

13/17

The back punch? Well, he was wearing a bulletproof vest, after all, and a punch wasn't horribly effective against something like that. As for the first stomp, well, it wasn't too easy to hit someone's leg accurately when they were dancing around so quickly.

But the second stomp to the back of his knee caught him, and he went down . . . However, even as Johnathan was forced to fall on one knee, he kept an iron grip on the hilt of his knife. As he went down, he pulled that knife down along his forearm, opening up a GAPING wound. Once the damage was inflicted, he would immediately pull it free.

That kind of pain could make someone pass out . . . but Johnathan wasn't counting on it. Based on his own experience with him, he knew that the man had very high pain tolerance.

Since the wound was inflicted on the arm holding his left wrist, he would attempt to take advantage of that and wrench it free so he could stand up and turn around quickly. If not . . . well, he would address the problem then.

James gritted his teeth and immediately pulled his arm down, along the following slash, his grip somewhat weakening now after the initial stabbing. He opened his mouth to yell in silent pain. Warning signals went off in his mind but he shut them down. A form of manual override, drilled into himself.

And then, it was as if time froze.

"Its not like he can avoid his inevitable defeat now is it?" a tiny voice whispered to him in his mind. It was James's instinct, his warrior's ability. He had to get serious, now, or else he risked losing the battle.

"You have something to prove"

He didn't worry about the large wound in his left arm, it wasn't life threatening (yet), and it wasn't important. Plus, the awkward way Johnathan would've had to reach over and up to stab with a reverse-grip meant that the knife wouldn't go deeper then a couple of inches at most.

"Oroyaki!" he roared the base technique to steady himself as he jumped up on the kneeling man. As he did so, his right hand bashed against the back of Johnathan's head with an open palm, gripping it tightly an moment later. James would knock John forth flat onto his belly with his own body weight, blasting flames from his right hand and searing the man's scalp, not yielding in it's grip.

The man would be hard pressed to pull his right arm out from under him, it'd end up pinned, and even if he could, reaching back to stab blindly without being able to turn one's torso to follow was hard. James wouldn't need his left arm for anything as he'd begin to raise and bash John's head facefirst into the strip club's floor with brutal force.

"RRAAAGGGGHH!"

-WHAMWHAMWHAMWHAM-

13/17

EDIT: James would be sitting on your back, pinning you to the floor like that.

Well, that weakened grip was all Johnathan needed to yank his arm away from the police hold and place him palm flat on the floor so he could push his body up, and free his right so he could plant that on the ground as well. The first push would whack his forehead against the floor and rattle him, but after that he would shove hard off the floor and rear up to get this monkey off his back and send him falling on his a** to the floor behind him. This was pretty easy when you had superior officers that stood on your back as they made you do 50 push-ups. CoughEvanCough

As for the blast of fire to the back of his head . . . the tips of his hairs were barely singed. Curious . . .

The moment he was off Johnathan's back, the larger man would twist around on his knees before James had time to recover, and pounce at him. If James were still on the ground, he'd land on top of him, pin him down with his knees on either side of his body, and start stabbing away at his torso, over and over again. If James had somehow managed to get up, there still wouldn't be time for him to recover his balance before Johnathan would tackle his midsection, and start stabbing away at whatever he could reach: stomach, chest, sides, arms, legs.

His FIGHTER beeped to let him know that time was almost up.

[15/17]

So the man somehow managed to free his arms into position in time to prevent fully being pinned down. James hurtled his body forward back onto the man to add an extra "oof" to prevent the man from rising back up. In addition, his left knee would move up and and smash into Johnathan's left arm, and the same for the right side, destroying any hope of the other man regaining his leverage, pinning them both down with James still on his back. The metal fingers on his right hand, aided by a rush of adrenaline and more powerful flames dug into John's scalp in a crushingly vice-like grip that would scramble the man's brains pretty damn soon.

When Johnathan fell back onto his front from the counters, the handsome punk would continue to bash the other man's face into the ground, resulting in organic putty... breaking his nose, teeth, forehead, and anything else that was going to give out.

Game Over.

Oh and James didn't hear his own FIGHTER beep to signal that the timed end of the match was near.

15/17

Time to improvise his powers.

Even as James was bucked forward and off, he hit the ground with his right side, on his good arm and went into a smooth roll, ending up facing John a short distance away. The man would miss his springing attack, and should he continue, he'd find a bit of fire in his eyes.

James would fling a spark into his face from his right hand with good accuracy, it'd be impossible to miss at this distance, he'd have thrown at whereever Johnthan was. A large, fiery, and crimson spark of fire that he quickly gathered up in his right hand, an easy feat considering that he was already channeling his powers into it.

"Reverse Style Technique, Flame Burn, Mu, Mad House Bomber!" James's mind shouted at the same time he actually roared "You will fall!"

The spark would blow up straight in the man's face with a good deal of concussive force at James's command, pulping at Johnathan's face as if it was hit by the fist of an angry god, leaving him wide open for a final strike as time was finishing up.

Upon which James'll burst forward violently, teeth gritted, fighting off the pain in his left arm, letting it fuel him and apply all of his bajiquan and other fighting techniques for one final James-style haymaker. The charging right step, magnifying the twist of James's torso into the attack, issuing power up into his armored arm as it extended, into Johnathan's face. He controlled most of his muscles in the arm and shoulder to expand and contract at once, further magnifying the hit. And to top it all off, he'd issue another blast of fire from his armored fist, not bothering to make it one of his normal concussive fire punches due to the fact that he just used a special Reverse Style technique.

A trained fighter, being hit in the face by this technique, under any normal circumstances, would probably be KOed instantly. Even in its slightly weakened state, this would most likely send Johnthan flying if it hit almost anywhere.

James didn't need raw weight and strength advantages. He had technique, and skill.

16/17

Yeah sorry. If Johnathan threw the knife just as he thew the spark, instinct would take over and James would activate the spark earlier then planned, blowing the knife off course from the air back in course angle at the Johnathan's legs, since the spark and the knife would be along the same general pathway. He didn't have to speak or think it, he just had to will it.

Why did his spark go off anyway?

Simple, only those of Eredian birth and blood could control the flames of their bloodline. Only they could control their fire. The blood within James seemed to boil and laugh at the attempt of this lesser being to control their hereditary power.

As Johnathan might've been blinded or suffered a little from the shockwave, James would follow through, unfazed against the bright flare up of light (Besides, it was his techniques, he was prepared to resist the light shockwave that came at him), with his special punch technique, because he'd have two words of his own.

Depth Perception.

The punch would impact moments before the FIGHTERS beeped to signal the end of the matches.

Game over.

17/17.

"s**t," Veszafein cursed when he heard his FIGHTER go off. Turns out he didn't have as much time as he hoped for. "Gotta... finish... up. Ugh!"

"Ohhh~!"

Several minutes later...

Veszafein walked out of the "VIP room" with a smug grin on his face and lipstick marks on his cheek and neck (though hard to see in the dim lighting and his ebony skin), buckling up some final straps to his leather armor, checking that he had everything on him for his fight. Looked like he had a little something extra too, finding the stripper's pink panties tucked under his belt. The blonde girl came out a little later, staring lustily after him. He stepped up on stage to face the tribesman, standing opposite him with his left hand resting under the hilt of Shadowblade, staring the man down. Back to business.

"Let's make this quick," he said in a flat, cold tone.

His weapons were out in a flash of movement - black longsword in his right hand and a dagger in his left.

"Whenever you're ready," Deitric grinned at the dark-skinned elf. He'd seen others like him before, but he never caught the name of what he was. Dreugh? Druw? Something like that. He'd never spoken to one, but he'd heard some rumors about the black-skinned elves that came from below the earth's embrace.

The warrior tapped his spear's point against a nearby stripper pole before hefting the shield up infront of him and shifting his feet so that he was perpendicular to his opponent, offering only a slight, sideways profile to the drow, his spear resting on the outer-left of the shield's rim, waiting and ready.

[1/17]

"Hmph."

Spears didn't make handy weapons indoors, but the club was open enough for it to still be a threat - at least, until they moved off stage. That shield was going to be another matter, but first he was going to have to past the spear. A rush attack wouldn't work; he'd be skewered before he could get in range to strike. He was going to have to use his speed and agility to get the upper hand - and some tricks.

Veszafein shuffled forward cautiously, staying weary of any of the man's movements, hoping his opponent intended on staying defensive just long enough for him to get in close enough.

1/17

So that was his plan.

Veszafein shuffled back a step when he came charging forward, only to see him position himself with the pole between them, poking at him with his stick. Veszafein sidestepped the spear so that he was standing on the outside of the weapon, and immediately riposted. Stepping in and turning his right side toward the spear, he slapped at the haft of the spear with his sword, hoping to trap it between his blade and the stripper pole, or at least use it for leverage for his following movements. Continuing with that turning motion with another step, he flipped the grip of his dagger in his left hand as he came around with it, stabbing with a downward motion of his arm at Deitric's forearm (of the extended arm) with the dagger. Not forgetting his sword's position, which wouldn't be as firm now with him having his back toward the spear's haft, he completed the 360-degree turn with a final step and a chop from his sword at Deitric's bicep. Left arm swinging away would pull the dagger out, gouging a vicious wound in the forearm.

((Lemme know if it's not clear enough for you and I'll try describing the movement/attack better.))

2/17

Well, it'd probably whack his left arm instead, since he was coming around to stab with it. Bracer absorbed much of the impact and the spear would clatter to the ground. Veszafein stuck his dagger back under his belt as Deitric retreated away, scooping the spear up quickly in his left hand and hefting it over his shoulder, poised like a javelin thrower.

Quote: "No strikers, eith--"

Hope he had his shield up while wasting words, because that spear was coming in fast! It was deliberately aimed to strike the shield anyway, so as to provide a moment's time that Deitric had his eyes off the swift drow. Unless he evades it altogether, which then some unlucky person would likely end up catching instead - and it would be Deitric's fault for their pain.

3/17

"If you say so."

Veszafein made a gesture with his left hand, spoke a whispery word. Suddenly, there were (roll + 3; max. 8 ) five illusory copies of himself surrounding him. Before anyone jumps to conclusions, this isn't some lame Narutard jutsu s**t, but a simple illusion spell assassins of trade can learn if they want, and Veszafein wasn't one to neglect any skills he could use to his benefit.

Flanked by his doubles on either side, Veszafein dashed toward Dietric to quickly close the space, bringing his sword up before his right shoulder and holding the pommel with both hands, closing in to strike.

4/17

Mirror Image - Duration: 9 minutes

Apparently the tribesman's math was a little skewed. There were only five Veszafeins. Not that it mattered at this point. The images would file in as necessary to all fit on the stage, which was wide enough to allow two to three people to stand around in and still have moving room, supposing this was a standard stage commonly found in strip clubs. Veszafein jumped as he saw Deitric suddenly drop, thinking he was going for a low attack with his tomahawk, but then feeling the tingling of magic as electricity burst from his form and lanced across the stage. He wasn't attacking just yet, though - not with that shield in the way - but it did provide a nice springboard. The images of Veszafein would all perform the action of landing on Deitric's shield and springing off of it immediately, but only one of them would actually touch it. Being only a measly 120 pounds, the burly warrior would probably barely even notice. Doing a quick somersault and landing perfectly on the floor behind Deitric, off the stage, Veszafein would quickly spin around and slash out with his sword from left to right, slashing across at the back of Deitric's shoulders.

5/17

The images only vanished if they were directly attacked. Area effects or jumping on electric shields didn't qualify as such, and they would react normally - all the more to throw off the guy looking at them. There was no such thing as a bad fall for Veszafein though, as he would immediately shift his weight to accomadate with the movement, though his landing would be a bit rougher than intended. He/they would land on/around a table not far from the one Deitric toppled over in a crouching position, watching the tribesman, whom was now crackling with electricity.

Who was this guy, Thor?

Grabbing a glass of water that somehow hadn't toppled over when he landed on the table, he chucked it toward Deitric, just to see what he would do. Veszfein certainly wasn't going to get close to someone sparking like a battery. This action would, of course, reveal to Deitric which of the images was actually real - at least, until the moment after he threw the glass, after which the images would seem to move through each other and take up each other's positions.

6/17

8 minutes remaining

Deitric idly stood back, ducking down a bit -- the glass smashed against the wall behind him, but he didn't lose sight of his opponent. He knew which one was the right one, and his eyes followed it, and only it. The electricity around him died down - no need to expend more energy than needed.

"Come on and fight, already," the man taunted, waiting for his opponent to attack.

Deitric didn't look to perturbed from what he was seeing.

Maruawe.

Of course, the word wouldn't be heard - it was a thought.

But it was the right thought.

From behind the set of Veszafein's came the spear, flying behind him towards its master at the heed of the command word. It wasn't flying point first, it was flying length-ways, and the haft would fly right through the clones until it hit the flesh and blood one - and if it hit the real one, it'd merely whirl around in the air on its way to its owner, probably knocking him off balance to face-plant on the ground, if even that.

The warrior grinned, leaping back, sliding off a table to put it between himself and the opponent again. It seemed as if he were content to play with his opponent to see just how long he could get away with it. He was counting coup, as it were.

Dragosani Kain Wrote:

"MNT!?!?"

Kain thrust his left arm out, pushing back the lustfilled woman. His body nearly doubled over and he clutched at his chest, his face contorted with pain and surprise.

::GNNNN...what....is...this!?::

It was nothing to do with the fight, but something from within. His breathes were harsh and his body burned from...something!? The shirt began to emit stream from the collar, arms and bottom, a faint white light lined with orange ran in a lightning rigid pattern down his arms.

Kain tore at his shirt and more of the strange markings lined his body. It wasn't before long that the light was absorbed back into the skin, but left behind darkened scorch marks in same shape of the sharp patterns. The pain left with the fleeting light, leaving the Devil, not only shirtless, but confused.

::...the...hell?...::

Strange happenings were brewing.

The spear came short of Deitric's position, but he didn't really care. It had done what he needed - gotten rid of most of the clones. And since only one of the Veszafein's had kicked a table, he figured it must've been the right one.

The warrior started forward, stepping high to place one foot on the oncoming table, using it for leverage to leap through the air. He wasn't going particularly high, so much as he was forward - he'd used the table as a good base to throw himself forward like a human spear, aiming to smash into his foe with his shield and bowl the much smaller warrior over. He knew which was which now, and there was no need to pay attention to the one who hadn't kicked a table.

[9/17]

Deitric was grounded - his shield clipped the ground when he didn't find a solid body, hitting belly-first on the hard floor. The shield's arm-straps were tore off, but he didn't really care - it wasn't doing him much good anyways. He grunted as his opponent wrapped something pink and lacy around his throat, trying to choke him out - and it was working, but not to the extent it would panic the larger fighter. He dropped his tomahawk and reached up quickly, grabbing hold of Ves's wrists while he was busy trying to choke Deitric out, almost as if he intended to flip the smaller warrior over.

Crackle--pop!

Deitric's powers reared up like the quills of a porcupine. He lit up like a light-show, but not quite as spectacularly as in his first fight - there he'd had an opponent with similar powers. Here, he was more like a bug-zapper - and Veszafein was going to be the bug. Deitric wasn't about to let go, either, he'd fully intend to keep his grip on the elf's wrists. He kept the outpour of shocking power on the max, pushing his head against the grown as he got his knees under him before pushing hard off with his feet--

-- and standing straight up, hoisting his opponent up with him by that deathlock grip on his wrists. He was hoping the electrical shock would give him some breathing lee-way, pulling on his opponent's arms to try and loosen the pres of the cloth on his neck - the elastic was letting him breathe a bit, but not a whole lot. Other than that, he was just going to hold on tight - the black-skinned elf was going to be dealing with a lot more pain than Deitric was, that much was for sure.

[10/17]

Nothin's gonna stand in our way!

Deitric growled, pulling out with his arms to try and loosen the hold slightly. With his opponent dealing with muscle convulsions, he was tense, but Deitric was bigger, stronger, and with any luck he could get a little more air than he was getting right now - which wasn't much. Then again, with all the pulling and tugging, the panties might just end up tearing. They weren't that tough, being all lacy and lady-like. After all, the men around these places liked some real classy broads, right? Even as he choked, he grinned though - his opponent had given him another means with which to attack.

Nothin's gonna stand in our way!

The warrior turned, as if he were going to try and thrash about to get his opponent off - instead, he hurtled himself backwards as hard as he could, now that his opponent's legs were about his waist, aiming to smash the small of his opponent's back into the edge of the walk-way. There weren't any tables in the way, since they'd been smashed/kicked/toppled with the fighter's movements, giving him a straight and narrow path right to the stage. He was going to use the edge of the stage and his own weight to smash his opponent's spine.

Not tonight!

[11/17]

Deitric grunted, his left hand still grasping the wrist tightly, his right hand sliding down-- and grabbed ahold of the hilt of his knife. The warrior felt the blood running down his shoulder, but he ignored it - he was used to the pain of a bite, after dealing with animals for so long.

He pulled the weapon free from his sheathe in a reverse-grip, and began jabbing it furiously into the drow-dragon's side. Even in his position, he had plenty of power - his arm simply worked back and forth, and the knife was going to stab in and out of the drow repeatedly, around the hip and side, right where the kidney would be.

The blade's point was fine and more than keen enough to tear into armor like leather and even chainmail. He wasn't holding back, either - he was going for broke. He was still pumping electricity out all the while, shanking with his knife with wild abandon. If his opponent didn't relinquish his hold or find a way to stop him, he was going to be rather perforated before long. Deitric's left arm still tugged at the drow's arm, the panties starting to give way.

[12/17]

Stabbing power didnt equate into penetrating power, so unless that knife of his was sharp to the point that it ignored armor, much of his stabs were going to have much of their intended effect dulled by hard leather, with maybe only the tip of the blade punching through on occassion and giving Veszafein a p***k, unless he got lucky and managed to stab the same place more than one or two times.

The pain was starting to become numb. He strained to loosen his fingers and let go of the fabric tearing under his fingers, since Deitric obviously wasn't going to get choked out if he was still standing at this point. Veszafein unclamped his jaws from Deitric's shoulder and thrust his forehead at the back of Deitric's skull, and again if the first didn't stun him. Left arm free, he fought against his constricting muscles to lower his legs and bring his hand down to the dagger tucked under his belt, pulling it out and stabbing at Deitric's lower back. Kidney shot.

12/17

Sparks of electricity were still discharging off his body when Deitric disengaged. Veszafein dropped to a knee, catching a breath and bringing his dagger hand to his wounded side, blood staining through his armor and dripping from the big gash in it. He still had his sword in his right hand, having never let it go. Worst of all, he smelled like slightly burned flesh and sweat. Ick.

Another standstill.

Or was it?

Veszafein suddenly nodded his head.

13/17

[Didn't see the striker post when I posted - but there was also a no striker statement at the beginning of the fight, so.. >.>]

Deitric started moving again in a circle as soon as he could. His opponent had dropped to his own knee too - but Deitric wouldn't rest for too long, himself. He had to keep moving, to keep his adrenaline pumping and his heart racing. It had been a much closer call than those around would know - if his opponent hadn't relented, he might've ended up choking the fighter out.

The tribesman didn't fully catch the nod - he was still on the move, weaving through tables and chairs as he moved in a circle around the drow. He was moving slowly, keeping his eyes on the drow, though he could hear everything else around him. It was like hunting - there was sound, but there was a stillness that allowed every sound to reach his ears. Even the shift of shadows from the lights above moving caught his eyes, but he didn't concentrate on it; instead he took everything in around him for what it was.

"Care to give in yet? You look like you're leaking a bit too much for comfort," Deitric smirked. He knew he'd burned the drow - his own hand was even burnt from the extended use of his ability, but not nearly as much as his opponent must've been. He didn't want to charge in, though - better to wait and catch his breath as much as he could. He was breathing heavily still, but it was no longer a deep, wheezing inhalation of air trying to keep himself going.

[" He just side-stepped it and finished his sentence."

Post 4/17, and it was never argued, either.]

[But there was never a "No" either.

-shrugs-

He can go ahead and striker.]

Hrrgk!

The Khasminic tribesman felt the heat and closed his eyes, throwing his arms up. He'd felt the heat of the fireball just before it'd exploded, but it wasn't enough of a warning for him to do too much about it. He threw himself to the side as hard as he could when the fire ignited around him, throwing himself over a table, rolling as swiftly as soon as he hit the ground. He dropped his weapons and stayed beneath the cover of the tables, using his leather jacket (which was only slightly alight) to smother the fires on him as best he could (combined with a heavy amount of rolling and that sort of thing).

Since there was no way to tell how large the blast radius was and how many of the "smaller fireballs" coming from the larger one were coming for him and if they would even hit him once he dove into table-cover, it was safe to assume he'd come out of the situation heavily burnt but largely intact. Not a charred skeleton or car-crash-burn-victim, but not just slightly burnt, either.

He rose up groggily, open-handed and looking at his opponent. His face was marred red with the burns, and his hair was shorter on the left side. His left arm was burnt up as well, but the sleeve of the jacket and his shoulder had taken a majority of the blast. No blast radius was given, so it was just assumed it was pretty big, which was why the entire left half of his body was smoking, though most of the fires had gone out when his instinct to move (read as: GET THE ******** OUT OF DODGE) kicked in when he'd caught fire.

Apparently, stop drop and roll was, in fact, a good way to keep one from being caught on fire in a horrible, horrible manner. He was missing a large portion of the legging on the left side of his jeans, and the skin beneath was a mixture of gruesome black and red from the burn, but he was putting weight on it - it was burnt, not broken. His left eye was squinted, but still serviceable. He looked pretty beat up and burnt, but if he was still standing, he would still be willing to fight.

The warrior hawked and spat, watching the drow still with his one good eye. He wasn't willing to go down, not yet. The striker had hurt him - even more than his opponent had - but he was made of tough stuff, and there was no match for the human desire to stand and fight and triumph. Especially combined with adrenaline and the willingness to go through hell and high water.

[14/17, I guess, since this would just be a continuation of the one above.]

Master Nemesis Wrote:

Master Nemesis Wrote:

ter Nemesis"]Rather than a concussive explosion, though, this one . . .

It's not a concussive explosion. It's not gonna, send you flying. o.O ]

[My bad, read it as being a concussive explosion. Lemme edit my post. Also, next time I make a mistake, just PM me.]

Striker - Offensive

I will not be pushed

I will not be stamped defiled

I will not be crushed

::Balls to this::

While Deitric extinguished the flame, V moving in for his strikes, and Johnathan was stepping out, Kain tapped on an offensive striker on his FIGHTER and rushed in with his sword drawn.

The Devil would move with all haste and wouldn't waste any time turning his blade around for a blunted edge descending vertical strike at V's sword arm.

3.2 seconds....

The force would probably snap the bone and stop V in his tracks, especially when Kain would continue with his charge and barrel into the Drow, leaving the two tumbling amongst vacant chairs and tables. Since Kain was ready for this he'd also have the Drow to break his fall and keep momentum to roll over and off of him to exit his Striker.

3.4 seconds...

Leaving his STRIKER total at 6.6 seconds. It was quick and it was ruthless. D' needed space and Kain was obliged to give it to him.

((EDIT:: Misread and edited out false information))

Kain turned back to the fallen V, wondering how his attack didn't go through he certainly couldn't have heard him with all of this loud music playing. Bah.

In anycase, his main purpose was fulfilled, giving Deitric some breathing room and he rubbed his arm and back from his crashing into V. Kain could be happy with getting at least that.

Veszafein was rolled out of the way of the incoming table, pushing himself back to his feet. He turned to face Deitric, a blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, breathing hard. He was tired, but he wasn't out of it yet. He seemed to have forgotten about his wounds, and any pain that was ailing him. His FIGHTER was beeping that the time for their match was almost at an end, but he hardly heard it.

"At least... I'm not fighting like a p***y,... unlike someone..." he said in a strained voice.

Adrenaline kept him going, giving him the strength for another burst of speed, dashing forward toward Deitric to attack him from the front - an uncharacteristic move for him, but he didn't really have time for other options. He was leading with his sword, pointing forward in an exagerrated thrust aimed for his sternum; his dagger was held back, ready for whatever came next.

15/17

Veszafein found it curious why Deitric would let him stab him through his hand, until he saw him grabbing the hilt of his sword and remembered he was a goddamn living battery. Just before he would unleash another shocking discharge, Veszafein released his sword, turned to the right with a pivot of his feet, and thrust his dagger at Deitric's side, just under his ribcage. And just as he suspected, electricity sparked out of his sword, so he made sure to let go of his dagger as soon as it hit the mark (if it did), bringing his hand away quickly to avoid being shocked again. Right fist came up with an uppercut at Deitric's chin, hopefully to stagger him if not knock him to the ground. If not, he'd turn on the ball of his right foot and bring his left back and around with a reverse-roundhouse kick at Deitric's face, with a little hop off his right foot to get his left foot up that high. Damn tall people.

16/17

Kinda hard to grab something when there's a blade impaled through your hand, severing all the tendons that make finger movement possible, not to mention a crossguard being in the way as well. But anyway...

WHACK!

Veszefain didn't see the tomahawk coming in when he went and stabbed Deitric. The blow staggered him, and he stumbled back off balance, conveniently taking him away from the kick aimed at his knee. He shook his head, trying to clear the birds flying around his head, when -

WHACK!

He got hit again, and this time with a jolt that sent him flying across the room, flying back on stage and sliding across it a few inches. He didn't get back up for the full 10-count.

Out like a light.

17/17

"WOOO! Yeah! Awesome fight!"

Kain lit up a smoke and took a heavy drag, grinning more than a hyena at a veal party.

The two brawls quickly taking place on after another and with such precision got his blood boiling and ready to go. The Devil was also juiced up from his striker, a lovely initial jolt of adrenaline before the fight he could hardly keep from bouncing and dancing to the music.

It was him up next and he stepped over to Deitric for a friendly pat on the back, not wanting to add to his injuries he did it lightly.

"Marvelously done, my friend."

Now he Kain just had to wait for his opponent.

"Losing a bit of blood is always good for the body eh D-man?" James smiled as his teammate came back from his fight, victorious.

"Could've done a little better though" James thought. Of course, he was the one thinking like this, then again, not taking a hit in battle wasn't any indicator of skill, only that one didn't want to make sacrifices for victory. His own left arm symbolized that. He had no doubt that it'd heal by the next battle, both by the skill of the HoH medics and by the low passive resistance of his blood to corruption and disease.

"Break a wing Kain" he called out as the third member went toward his fight.

((Nevermind. Doing it later.))

"Uuugh..." Veszafein groaned as he returned to the world. His head pounded and he was sore all over. Medics were attending him, stitching up his side and rubbing cream on his electrical burns. One of them was injecting him with something. He looked across the club to see Deitric.

"********>

The song in the club had ended and before the DJ could hook a new track Kain was on top of things with a mighty bellow of METAL - courtesy of Dave Mustaine's Megadeth-

"Don't summon the devil,

Don't call the priests,

If you need the strength

The conjuring. Obey!!!"

Indeed the song was very alive with the man and it would seem as if the other Instruments flowed from his very being!

He followed up with a hard headbang and stabbed his sword into the stage. He made very sure that he didn't get too absorbed into the 'mantra' as to neglect his opponents. People weren't very courteous and would attack while Kain was enjoying himself...precaution and jazz.

James sipped away at his martini while waiting for Kain to start.

Well Kain ceased his bangin' and decided to relax a little.

He sparked up a new cig and rested against his weapon. He looked around through the flashy lights that were wicked trippy and tried to get a feel for the music.

He lightly bobbed his head and stifled a yawn by attempting a drag on his smoke. He looked to his teammates they seemed to share similar feelings, hopefully his opponent didn't get lost at the lady's room or some pervert got grab assey. Considering she was an HoH competitor that wouldn't be very wise.

Or maybe it was going to be the other man that Kain had saw with the team...

In anycase he would wait and tap his foot to accompany his head bob. He couldn't help but wonder...

what was his kitten doing?

((Know what? ******** it.))

Evan took the stage, shaking out his joints as he did so. After taking a moment to size up his opponent, he nodded and said, "Let's hope we make a good show out of this... the ladies are watching, after all."

He stepped forward and took a fighting stance, right leg leading. Ah, well... let the games begin. Swordfite? Nice. He had just the thing. Drawing the blade that was sheathed behind him, he advanced towards Kain, pretty much ready for a good limb-hacking fest.

Brutality ensues.

Incoming.

The sword met the flat of Evan's falchion held in his right hand as it moved from left to right. Upon the parry, he shifted his body to an angle and shunted to the outside of the attack. Evan's weapon was three feet long- not much compared to Kain's. That said, he would try to get close now before the b*****d had the chance to thrust, cut, or anything else again.

With an explosion of movement, Evan would race forward and get within a good striking distance before delivering a left punch to the right side of Kain's head. Hopefully at this range, it'd break his jaw wide open.

-2/17-

Well there was one thing about Evan's fists that protected him from his fingers being bitten into, and that was the fact that they had a good amount of titanium covering them. The Gale Force Gauntlets and Greaves were mostly weapons, but they doubled as protection against blades. Still, that didn't make the kick any less of a threat, and seeing as he was focused on making the side of Kain's face cave in, he didn't have that much time to react.

So he reacted with an attack. Hell, it was faster than moving out of the way.

The kick was coming. It was low, it was fast, it was aimed for the knee. Seeing as his legs weren't that far apart during the punch, he raised his right leg and rammed into the attack with his heel as it made its way toward the targeted area. That wasn't all he did though- he followed through with the counter, stepping hard on that ankle.

Something broken, maybe? Maybe.

EDIT: s**t, got my sides mixed up! Changes marked in bold.

-3/17-

Sneaky b*****d.

Evan saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and quickly stepped out with his left leg, effectively moving him farther away from the incoming attack. At the same time, he forcefully tore his forearm from Kain's grip- or at least, he tried to. Who knew how strong this guy was? As for the blade, here came the falchion again. Once again he stopped the incoming movement with the flat of the wide blade and knocked it to the side.

Favorable position: He had his opponent's back and the weapon was dropped. a**-kick time.

He grabbed the left side of Kain's head and began ramming the pommel of the falchion into his jaw. Several times. Hell, he even threw a side knee in with his right leg for good measure.

-4/17-

Sprawl!

Yup, they were on the ground, and Evan had just gotten a nice facepainting. Then again, he had his teeth clinched and turned with the attack, reducing its force by just enough not to get himself a new set. He'd be sore in the morning from that one and sporting a bruise- it still hurt like a b***h. Still, some of the damage had been migitated.

Now it was time to respond.

That same left arm had blocked the pommel strike, but it was now about to be subject to severe pain as Evan's own left hand grabbed the fist and and twisted the wrist. Locked, hopefully.

The back of Kain's upper arm, along the tricep muscle, would then be subject to a slicing motion. It would be the first real sword attack Evan had attempted, and with any luck as well as their position, it would get through.

Kain would have trouble extending that arm for a while.

-5/17-

"AHHGH!"

Well that st hurt. And his air was neatly cut off, too. But dammit, that sword attack had gotten through. He'd get another one in later, but for now it was time to get his a moving. Why? Because his guts tightened at that very moment, and when they did that it was never a good sign.

Evan rolled to his right, then rose to one knee, coughing twice and gasping for air. It'd only take him a second or two to recover, but once he did he would do what he had forgotten to earlier. After quickly making his way over to Kain's sword, he flung the weapon off of the stage, over the chairs, and onto the floor below with a solid fling of his left arm. Normally, this wouldn't be possible, but a blast of air at a good clip could do the job nicely.

With that, he turned to face Kain and pointed the falchion at him with a smile.

"Not half bad..."

-6/17-

He's a tough b*****d. Good- anyone else and this would be a waste.

With that, he began walking towards him, his blade slung over his right shoulder. It was an all-too-casual approach, which meant that something was up. Then again, if he was going to be relaxed about this, Evan had no reason not to emulate.

He began picking up the pace, the sword leaving its relaxed position and resting at his right side. He had a weapons advantage, and he would take it gladly. It wouldn't take long before he set the sword at his left side and briefly pivoted on his left foot. The extra momentum from the whirl movement would bring the sword and his right leg around on their own, and he would and cut to his right, aiming to slice his opponent right underneath the rib cage with both hands wrapped around the grip.

-7/17-

Darkness was everywhere. Kain was gone.

The hell!?

His blade still made its way towards the intended target as his eyes narrowed dangerously. Oh no, not today. If he thought this was going to stop him... Kain had another thing coming.

The blade made contact with that left fist. He wouldn't be using it for... well, for never. At least, not for the rest of the fight. But then the darkness was concealing that movement of his. Not to mention that his blade couldn't move... but that didn't matter, because as soon as he felt the falchion ram home, no matter what else happened, he kicked forward with his right leg to where the general location of the head would be. Hard. It was a gamble, though... he couldn't see s**t.

Didn't matter either way.

Sure enough, the fist came ramming home, and he got knocked for a loop, flying backwards for a good distance before landing flat on his back. The room spun wildly as he sat there with one eye bloodied shut.

"You in pain yet, son?" He shouted as he regained his bearings.

How could he still move, much less talk?

Simple. He wasn't your average combatant.

Quote: Enhanced Fortitude: Evan has the capacity to take multiple concussive blows and continue moving or fighting, up to the extent where he can take the limit of human tolerance and stay on his feet. It will take more than what is usually put forth to make him stagger.

The Khasminic warrior had been seen pacing around the acceptable boundaries of the fight to keep his blood-up, and now it would be painfully apparent for why he'd decided to pace all the way back-stage, beyond the curtain that was backgrounding the current fight. The darkness had been clever on his ally's part. A perfect chance for him to repay the favor of the fire-ball he'd gotten whomped with not too long ago.

Click.

Ten seconds and counting.

Deitric didn't let out a cry, or even make a sound - he just burst into motion from his vantage point. He was more than running - he was plowing forward, moving full-steam, his powerful legs pumping up and down to carry him forward, despite his burns and bruises and cuts. The numbing agent worked well - he could run just fine when he couldn't feel a damn thing.

He'd burst out from behind the curtains and back into the limelight just as Hugin was recoiling through the air from the uppercut. If there was ever a more perfect time for Deitric to striker, he'd never known of it. The pounding beats of the club camouflaged the clacking of his boots more than well enough - not that he needed stealth. He'd lower one broad shoulder and spread out his arms, ready to bring the pain.

9 seconds left..

At the last second, he'd give an extra bend in his knees and launch himself forward like a human rocket, smashing his right shoulder - the unburned one, thankfully - into the small of Hugin's back with all the force a full-sprinting, two-hundred and twenty-five pound warrior could muster, wrapping his arms around the man's waist, his good hand locking around the wrist of his right hand, which was too damaged to work properly after the fight with his drow. For all intents and purposes (especially for the news casters commentating elsewhere), he'd just given Hugin the flying-tackle of his lifetime - but that wasn't all. Because Deitric couldn't fly, that meant he couldn't slow down--

--or stop, for that matter.

7 seconds left..

The two combatants would seem to fly for a moment. But just a moment, and no longer. They'd soar, alright, but that flightpath would quickly descend, sending them plummeting downward - right into a table with a nice set of six chairs around it, which would make an excellent landing pad for a star finish to Deitric's tackle. Especially because he'd be putting Hugin face (and probably chest) first through that table, and possibly one or two chairs.

5 seconds left..

Deitric clenched his turquoise eyes shut when he'd feel the table give beneath their weight with a crash and loosen his arms. They'd both roll, but Deitric would be bucked forward considerably, since he was "on top", or second to hit ground-side again, anyways. He wouldn't bother trying to attack again, he'd just let his momentum carry him along until he could get his feet under him again, where-in he'd get up as quickly possible and weave his way through the tables and chairs on his way out of the fighting area, leaving Hugin down in the dirt and splinters to pick himself up and continue the fight. However, he would let out a triumphant cry as he left, raising his fist high for all to see.

3 seconds left

Striker Finished.

-8/17-

WHAM.

"HRRRRK!"

Dammit, that was painful.

And this would be even more painful... a table was coming his way from the ground up. If there were any consolation, it would be that this was a soft floor...

BOOM

Evan actually skidded for a while before he started rolling, the wind knocked out of him. Face and chest impacted hard on the ground, and he was basically not having a good day right now. He groaned and shifted on the floor, one hand held to his head.

Feels like a ******** dump truck hit me...

Stunned, slammed, and shocked. But still there. He had a bit of trouble breathing, sure, and the room was all fuzzy, but he would get up soon. With that, he began the painful process of recovery, and he would have to do it damn quick!

Deitric grinned as he got out of the fighting area with two or three seconds to spare. The patrons who were still present were cheering for the man; a flying tackle was just the sort of thing they liked to see. After all, a mid-air tackle ended careers in college ball and the NFL (and Gaia NFL?) plenty often. The warrior turned about-- only to begin pacing again with a wide grin splitting his face.

"Let's see if he gets up from that.."

Master Nemesis Wrote:

Even as Deitric exited the fighting area, Johnathan tapped his FIGHTER to signal his Striker, and barreled in.

As he rushed in, he performed a roadie run at first and snagged Kain's sword in his right hand as he passed it, off the floor where Evan had knocked it away. Then he straightened up to perform a full out sprint once he had the weapon.

As Kain was hopping towards his downed opponent, Johnathan charged straight at him like a man with nothing to lose. Kain, with only one ankle to stand on, wouldn't be able to defend himself very effectively. A swipe from any direction would be blocked by Johnathan's left arm, and a thrust would be parried by his left palm. The Devil wouldn't be able to dodge either, not with that broken ankle. It would be a simple matter for Johnathan to body check him and send Kain to the floor.

If he managed to keep a hold on that pole, Johnathan would simply plant one boot firmly on it to keep it from being used as he raised the sword over his head in his right hand . . . and drove it down through the right shoulder of BloodFire's captain, pinning him to the floor. Few things were more humbling than being run through by your own sword.

SHISH-KAIN-BOB

Johnathan right foot wasn't going anywhere. The floor may have been slippery, but because of it Kain would only slide himself back a little since Johnathan's boot was firmly planted there.

The left boot, though, was atop a smooth, round dancing pole, on the same slippery ground . . . and his foot slipped out from under him, sending him to one knee. Johnathan grunted as he dropped . . . but this presented him with a wonderful opportunity anyway, which he took.

He punched Kain right in the broken ankle with a lightning fast left jab.

Following this, Johnathan would quickly get back to his feet, and hightail it back to the ringside (with Kain's sword still in hand, just to make sure that the other man didn't have the opportunity to use it), his FIGHTER beeping just as he leaped over the boundary. The Judges were gonna find that questionable, and would probably have to look over the recorded footage . . . but it would be worth it. Johnathan wouldn't be surprised if Kain passed out because of the sheer agony that it would cause him.

Hunh.

Kain applied pressure and felt pressure of his own. A nice crack on the top of his head.

Yeah.

His vision went blank as it was overcome with stars, the attack on his ankle sent a new wave of pain through him and he felt incredibly light headed, even nauseous.

Like Evan, Kain had a certain fortitude, but that would be due to the horns on his head. They were ramming tools and that required a hard head, but that didn't save him from his weakness now.

His head was lolling and his heartbeat echoing in his head. He was out for 2 seconds before rolling onto his right side and vomited. Mmmm.

He had his vision but the nasty headache, and tense neck were still there. This fight wasn't going to last much longer, Kain still had a trick up his sleeve though.

[10/17]

Things would be all to clear again when he was being boot ********.

Kneebar....mmmyess, but Kain wouldn't be a Devil without his tricks.

Quote: Adrenaline Rush - When in battle a rush of blood and energy is sent to the parts of his body that is in need of added power. This quality is mostly used as a rush of energy for Kain, giving him the ability to increase his endurance in an area of his body, increased half of his muscle strength, includes speed, for a turn.

His leg would resist against the submission hold and be ineffective, in turn Evan had exposed his thigh and, were Munin around to remind Hunin of the coiled black thing at Kain's waist.

Quote: Tail: His tail's special properties are its shape shifting ability, generally piercing implements such as spears but is not limited to. The tail is incredibly flexible, having no distinct bone structure which makes it excellent for wrapping around objects and barbing itself for tentative gripping. Showing itself at the hint of danger...

His tail would lance out now, hiding in the protection on the inside of the kneebarred leg, and pierce the inside of Evan's thigh, going straight for the Femoral. Evan would be feeling extended pain as spines spiked out to solidify its hold.

The act of this was to slow the blood flow from a major artery to his brain and force him to pass out, it'd be like a chokehold that cut off the bloodflow. To add to this, if Evan tore the tail out, he'd be risking severe bloodloss from the spines shredding the artery. It was an attack he tried once before and failed against The Destroyer Maximos, hopefully this time it worked.

It was Kneebar versus Stroke.

[11/17]

"AHHHHHRGGHGHGH!"

::WHAT THE FAWK!?::

His tail would feel the agony of it being torn. It wasn't so weak to be easily ripped, but it being barbed inside the man's, now ruptured artery, there wasn't much of a choice.

Again, the Devil would be hit with pain that surged through his spine. His tail still connected to his body would shrivel and shrill out an odd squealing sound...weird it could do that- BUT IT DID!

With the release of his leg and torn tail, Kain was ******** pissed and started kicking at Evan's face with his unbroken leg. WHAM WHAM WHAM!

Each kick would push Kain away from the downed man. He was holding his breath and sweating profusely. He was going apeshit. It was a moment of knock him out before he bleeds out.

[12/17]

Kain couldn't hear anything. Not from that crack to the head and the continuing loud music. The flashes from the lights combined with the head trauma blinded him, he was also on an autopilot, but this was of savagery and not under command of the All-Fathers eyes and ears of an alter-Midgard.

No no, this creature created from Sutre the Fire Giant and Hel the Keeper of the Underworld could only take so much. His was sure of his tail attack, it would've knocked out a lesser man, but Evan was a true adversary.

Those bullets would be the final cut. They'd keep Kain down this time and leave him coughing, it was shameful and it pained his ego, but he had to admit defeat where it was due.

He'd be on the stage floor too weak to attempt anything else. If Hugin would allow it, Kain would remain on that stage for the 10 count.

[13/17 - End Game]

And, up he was taken by the...medics?

These women weren't medics they were just dancers lifting the poor disoriented Devil man into their lap. When his vision was able to focus again he saw....underboob.

Mmmmmyes. Underboob.

That was just fine, it'd be better than any other healing that hack doctors could fix.

"Oh...you're quite lovely..."

His right hand reached up and pet the side of the brunettes cheek to which she giggled and clean up Kain's bloodied arm. You see, it was now, out of battle, that his regenerative properties would kick in. The call for medics for him was an excellent and welcomed offer, but there was no need for it.

The lovely ladies helped him to his feet, his bulk distributed over both their shoulders. His legs wobbled and he still favoured his left leg, but he still had something on his agenda.

"Well, you gave me a good fight, thank you."

and---

"YOU! You sword stealing mah fugger, give it back."

Dragosani Kain Wrote:

And, up he was taken by the...medics?

These women weren't medics they were just dancers lifting the poor disoriented Devil man into their lap. When his vision was able to focus again he saw....underboob.

Mmmmmyes. Underboob.

That was just fine, it'd be better than any other healing that hack doctors could fix.

"Oh...you're quite lovely..."

His right hand reached up and pet the side of the brunettes cheek to which she giggled and clean up Kain's bloodied arm. You see, it was now, out of battle, that his regenerative properties would kick in. The call for medics for him was an excellent and welcomed offer, but there was no need for it.

The lovely ladies helped him to his feet, his bulk distributed over both their shoulders. His legs wobbled and he still favoured his left leg, but he still had something on his agenda.

"Well, you gave me a good fight, thank you."

and---

"YOU! You sword stealing mah fugger, give it back."

Hugin held up a hand towards Rae before he raised his right hand towards Kain.

"Do forgive me for this."

The Runeslayer was forcefully jerked from the hand that it was imbedded in, pulled away by an air current that had wrapped around it like a whip. With that, he wiped it on his right pant leg and sheathed it behind him again.

"Sergeant Nemesis, you will drive the others back to the hotel. Immediately."

With that, he nodded towards Rae. Time to go. NOW.

A few minutes after the strange red head disappeared with Evan White another puff of sparkles exploded slightly above Kain, returning what belonged to him!

Back at the hotel Wrote:

Rae handed Evan the wet towels to clean himself up as she knelt down to look at the tail wrapped around his leg "Oh dear.. you should go back where you belong!"

She lightly stroked the tail a few times and smiled as it disappeared again, a bit of magical glue attached to the severed end that would allow it to reattach itself to it's owner without too much trouble.

Johnathan couldn't help grinning as the fight came to an end, and Hugin/Evan was the clear victor.

"Hoo-rah."

Then Hono appeared, poofed away with his Team Captain, and Kain demanded his sword back, all in the space of a few seconds. Without a word, Johnathan walked over to where the ladies were tending to the Devil, and slipped the hilt of the weapon into his palm. Then he turned back to his other team members.

"Alright guys, let's get go- . . . wait . . . where the ******** is V?"

Johnathan took a bit of time to look around for his teammate -- including the private rooms, just in case he had decided to spend a little more 'personal time' with one of the ladies. When he couldn't find them, Johnathan simply sent him a message through his FIGHTER to meet them back at the Hotel, and left with Taki.

He'd be back later, though. This was definitely a place he would be visiting in his spare time.

He should know better than that.

That third drow, the one that's life had been snuffed out, was on his feet again. Zombified, or some such. Laying in wait...