West Division

Western Division Arena

In the center of the Leviathan Stadium, the large stadium-sized arena pit has been divided up into four sections.

Upon the pounded-flat dirt floor of the arena, a wooden platform has been brought in with a cloth mat stretched across it tightly. This will serve as the stage for the Preliminary rounds of Heaven or Hell, where the fighters show their talent to the event coordinators.

Preliminary Round fights have no time limit, but fights must be completed before the current round ends.

Fights go ten posts long.

A single penalty flag counts as a failed test.

Here again... seems like I can't ever get away from this place.

Yellowed eyes blinked once, before taking in the temporarily transformed ground arena of Leviathan. It was an odd sensation, knowing that the start and end of this tournament would apparently begin in the same place. Making it a sort of circle...a completed motion of events and actions.

He could see how Athan, Kael and Rage had been split off, receiving instructions on which partition to be at, where they would presumably wait for their opponent to show.

Vahn himself had taken his time, not exactly as gung ho as the rest of his team seemed to be...sorta. Athan had been busy yelling something at the people in charge, while Rage was paying his respects...and Kael.

Kael was being...Kael.

"Ah...?"

Dark locks shifted to the side, before a single hand came up and brushed them back up, so they stood on end once more. Coming up to where he was designated to begin, he was treated to quite the sight.

Cocking his head to the side as he moved forward, he brushed the side of is nose with a thumb, slightly grinning.

"Your my opponent...?

I've never seen you before."

He stood facing her now, the flaps of his black coat falling to either side as he left thumb ran down his nose, while his right hand supported the flammard balanced across the back of both his shoulders.

"Wha---? You new or something?

Just got in?"

He motioned with his left arm, fingers wide as he grinned even wider now, moving to the right in a slow circular motion as he stared at her.

"Don't you know who I am?"

The fingertips of his right hand drummed lightly along the haft of the flammard, even as he shook his head. "That's fine--- I'll just have to show you---!"

With that being said, he would jump start things, moving forward as he rushed to close the distance between them. As he moved, the grip on his Fang would tighten-- so that when he came within distance of using the blade's length--- which in addition to the length of the hilt (since he was gripping the blade with just one hand) would measure to around 4.5 ft, give or take some inches--- he would swing horizontally with the flammard, a right-to-left motion.

Of course there was no murderous intent behind the swing.

Swording range was awesome, but this chick was awesomer(lol).

"Tch--!"

Nothing but air was met as his Fang (which shall be henceforth refrenced as the flammard from this point on) whistled on by, and the bountiful babe went on by to his right.

Depending on the exact measurements of the platform, and the distance in which they had both started at-- and their present distance now-- she had to be pretty close to the edge by now.

Give or take.

The miss wasn't a complete waste of course, as he just 'handed' off possession of his Fang from the right hand to the left upon completion of the arc, pressing on the heel of his right foot, as he spun in place to face her once more.

"Probably not---"

Yellowed eyes kept her in focus, even as he raised his Fang about eye level, point forward and his right hand coming to rest along the middle of the blade, past the first set of guards.

"---but I'm sure it'd help to pass the time." He broke into another dash now, keeping the sword position, before pistoning his left arm forward, thus stabbing straight with the Fang.

She would probably dodge again-- but this time he was ready for it.

Schiiiiict.

There was a audible sound as her dagger bit into flesh and drew it's trail along, parting both clothing and skin, as both bodies went through their motions.

----Tch.

She was apt enough to read his move, and act accordingly, rolling underneath his dashing lunge to strike at his support.

The metallic thudding of his greaves upon the wooden platform sounded out, as her serrated edge bit just below the kneecap, his jeans not really made with dragon sinew, tugsten, or nintendium. Her cut was stinging a bit with each movement-- but most of all, he was annoyed she drew first blood.

However, his response to her dodging would still be coming--- she had probably anticipated a hammer blow from above, but he had something else in mind.

As she rolled out and stopped, Vahn's right foot would already have been planted down, a small haze of heat rising up (not really visibly noticeable unless one were looking for it to begin with) as he once more swiveled on the ball of his right foot; which would be the metal toed portion of his greaved boot.

With the Fang in his left hand, he subtlety moved the blade in his grip, so that the flat of the blade was now more prominent-- and as he spun counter-clockwise, he would strike from the left-side to the right-side--- essentially backhanding with the flat of the Fang. The muscles in his left shoulder tightened even as he kept his right arm in front of his body, fingers clawed. "Too bad!"

He was aiming to strike out at the crouched Fiora, whacking her with a bit more force than normal in a circular motion as he spun to re-adjust his position and apparently taking advantage of her ogling his blood.

The floor beneath him would noticeably darken, as if someone had left an iron on for too long or something on the material covering the platform.

He apparently didn't have to see her with his own two eyes to guess her position after the roll-- acting purely on instinct..or perhaps something else.

There was a sharp hiss of metal on wood, as Vahn's circular motion was completed-- again nothing but air.

Wooosh.

Crap..tacular. Yellowed eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance as slid his lead foot back, knees bent slightly as the Fang was switched back to the right hand once more, the entire sword being spun once, the blade's tip cutting along the fabric of the platform.

He was face to face with Fiora once more, eyebrow arched.

"Aren't you a little old to be playing with dolls?"

If she were really paying as much attention to whatever it was she was making happen...then there'd be no denying the fact that the smell of something burning would reach her nostrils. The air around the doll would waver, and seem to fold in on itself...suggesting the presence of something hot..a haze of heat that was emanating from the doll apparently.

Before it would become too hot to handle, and then it would lose all form of definition as it burned from the inside out.

"Teh. Dunno what you had in mind lady---"

But why? Where this heat come from?

The answer was in the blood. Vahn's blood to be specific. Within his body lay the dormant power of something primal...natural to an extent. And while it could only exist in a purely oxygenated state-- the amount drawn from Vahn had been small.

So it had taken a bit of time for a 'spark' to come to life... but once it did--- it was Vahn's to control.

"--- but I never liked playing with toys."

So once enough time had passed-- his blood had ignited, and within the confines of the doll, birthed. Although since it had actually occurred inside something... there wasn't really anyway for Vahn to salvage or pull any out for more usage.

The he--ll----?

He watched her, eyebrow still raised. In a way, he did feel kind of bad. Or at least he was telling himself he did. Or maybe he just actually feel bad for half a second there.

Hard to tell.

"Look--- no need to get so upset, lady."

He took a few steps forward, motioning with both arms as the chill in the December air caused a reaction from his bare chest.

"Why waste time playing with dolls--- when the real thing's right here!"

Again, he would charge forward, the Fang held out and to the side, point lowered so it almost touched the ground behind him.

--! Yellowed eyes widened as he suddenly found himself meeting her head on-- his left foot stamping down to forcefully halt all momentum so he could bring his Fang to bear.

Shi---! Unfortunately-- not in time, since swinging it at this point would just surmount to flailing it around uselessly.

That and the fact that she was suddenly so in his face--- he felt a chill run down his spine. That electric feeling of knowing something was wrong.

"Being rough is what I'm all about."

He was resisting the proximity as much as possible, knowing he was at a disadvantage in using his blade in this close of a range.

"Uff---!"

The back of his head hit the platform, as he suddenly found his balance thrown and his feet gone from where they should have been.

This sucked.

Like seriously, sucked-- harder than a hoover dirt vac. He was practically at odds with whether or not he should retaliate and to what degree. She looked like she would break if he just man handled her... god help her if she turned into some hideous form or something however...

He would hit it like the fist of an angry god.

He was now becoming irritated, losing any appeal for messing around with her he had.

"Lady-- I'm too hot to handle-- so there's no bein' gentle 'bout it!"

Right eyebrow arched, he'd get into that loudmouthed mode, the irritation seeping from his voice even as his body temperature became noticeably greater. Touching his very skin right now would be like touching a iron that had been plugged in a few seconds ago-- that slowly building heat, until it was uncomfortable to touch.

While not much of an offensive thing--- liken to produce any kind of aura, it was more of a viable discomfort and should give him the personal space he cherished so very much.

"That is enough."

The official announces the end of the preliminary fight, asking the participants to step out of the fight area and make room for the next set of fighters to enter.

The first round of Preliminaries was over.

"Whatever you wish."

Donner stepped onto the mat, the small crowd surrounding it parting to allow the large man through. As he stepped on his left hand, glistening metal, wrapped around his fleshy right, the knuckles beneath cracking audibly over the murmurs of the onlookers.

His eye was cocked to the music. A Queen admirer? Perhaps this tournament wasn't all filled with bloodthristy miscreants. And if not, they at least had some taste.

He pivoted his right arm around by the shoulder, loosening it. He was dressed casually - just a pair of black slacks and a white tee-shirt, his long blond hair trussed up into a ponytail behind his head.

"Do we begin immediantly, or is there some order to this?" Donner asked, dropping his hands by his sides, keeping his eyes square on the man across from him.

Donner's face held no emotion, only a blazing determination in his eyes. He nodded to his opponant's request, before lifting his fists, his right fist forward slightly as he began his approach, his metallic left coming in close, lifted up - a typical boxing stance.

As soon as he was in swinging range of his opponant, he attacked.

A sudden right jab was popped forward, followed by a left straight, his body twisting and his feet moving beneath him to give the punch power. Regardless of whether they were blocked or deflected, his right would come back around in a right cross, each punch aiming for the head.

((1))

This had been Blakes first mistake.

Swiping the wrong arm.

Donner's left arm was completely prosthetic. Totally made of metal. All Blake's shiv would do was spark as it was dragged across the metal - into Donner's awaiting right hand, his fingers catching the hilt and the hand gripping it.

As he did this he pulled Blake's arm out, straightening it across Donner's broad chest, and put his left arm up and over Blake's shoulder, placing his armpit onto it and pushing the prosthesis back, putting his fake tricep into Blake's throat.

Now Blake's arm was caught in Donner's grip, the large Aesir's right hand gripping the man's hand whilst his left arm pressed back against his throat. This began to force pressure against the man's elbow as he pulled back with both his left arm and his right hand, pressing his chest against Blake's elbow.

Now all Donner needed to do was press his chest forward with force and...

...Blake's arm would dislocate.

So he did.

((2))

Damn. People needed to learn how to read.

But they were still close. Donner didn't back down, but kept on the push. His own hands came up, his palms open and his fingers loose as he stepped forward, keeping the flow moving.

His left hand came forward as he advanced, the palm of his hand keeping the knife at bay by aiming for the wrist, the hand ducking under the knife's blade and grabbing for the forearm. No risk involved with the metal arm, all the better if he managed to capture it, but he just needed to keep it at bay.

His right would come forward as well, his entire body pivoting to the right as his right palm came forward for a forceful push to the chest, putting his shoulder into the blow. The force of it would be enough to push Blake off his feet.

((3))

Donner grunted as Blake's head smashed into his nose, the crunch of cartilage loud and the flash of pain mirrored by Donner's own face.

His eyes wild, Donner put a foot back, pivoting his body in retaliation - as both his arms came up, his left ignored by his foe, his right still on the continuous swinging deflection manouvere that Blake had put him on, his hands gripping Blake's head to pull it down into his knee as he pivoted his hips around again and lifted his leg up high.

In order to headbutt Donner, Blake would've had to step into his open arms, arms that had a longer reach then most of the fighters.

((4))

"That is enough."

The official announces the end of the preliminary fight, asking the participants to step out of the fight area and make room for the next set of fighters to enter.

The second round of Preliminaries was over.

Greetings

Yes, the ronin was late, not completely punctual this day it seemed. No matter, he had arrived in time for his match at least, and not a moment more would pass with his absence. The silhouette of his figure would become very apparent to the eye of his opponent, at least if they were in-tune with their visual perception. Within a few seconds notice, the wave of a dark green yukata would make itself known, followed by a pair of leather bracers around his wrists. Next came his face, hair and eyes. The raven black strands were tied back, with two folds of hair protruding from an area just above his forhead. The multi-colored hues would also make their imprint, hopefully within his opponents mind. Finally, the mantle piece of the appearance itself, his treasured family, Modified Uchigatana, the Yosimoto, was placed within his darker green sash at his left side.

He'd walk in with a smile, and his hands half curled into fists, already preparing for a tough fight. He knew lethality was not an option, so his fists would have to be a primary, next to the back of his blade of course. He would approach the center, and stop about twenty feet short. Having heard his opponents words before, he would outstretch a closed fist, in a show of respect to the female warrior.

"You want it, you got it...."

It was soon to begin...

He'd give a smile over to her, and approach at a slow, but controlled rate. Four steps forward, and planting his right foot in front of him somewhat firmly, he would bring out his hand once more, and grasp her own firmly, though he was suspicious at the moment. No worries though, something still gave him an edge in this situation. Now, if nothing was up her sleeve, he would let go of her hand, and walk back towards his starting point, where he would assume his widespread stance, and bring his hands out in front of him, with the Right higher than the left, and more forward, with open palms as well.

It had begun....

(1)

Step 1, Step 2...

Kurohas wide side stance wasn;t the most manueverable of things, but he would make do with what he had presented himself with. He'd step forward, starting with his right leg, and follow up with a step from his left. Slow, presented, and very strong in stance. He added just a bit more pressure to the rear, his left leg, so that he could have a variety of movements and techniques in front of him. He took but a few steps, which seemed to be nearly even with his opponents movement speed, and neared three feet from the center. The next step would initiate the starting point of physical combat, where the line would truly be crossed.

He planned three things, ahead, and then took his final step forward, hoping and practically letting his opponent have an apparent open shot at him. However, his hands were definitely placed in a readied position, so the girl would have to be careful with her movements if she were to strike first....

(2)

Ah, she intended to sweep, judging by her beginning drop. That very first action was very plainly addressed, and gave Kuroha the time to even out the pressure on both of his feet. By doing this, in the spread fashion that they are in, the leg sweep would hit at the side of each ankle, and stop. Sure, it would send a shock of pain through both of his ankles, as well as something through her leg, but the stance is what saved him for this one.

He seemed not to wobble to much upon the impact, and instead start to lean forward a tad after it had happened. Even with such a light lean, Kuroha would jump off his his right leg very lightly, and extended it outwards after doing so at a low angle, even with that of the womans face. The hop wasn't even of four inches, and was quickly supported by the replacement of his left foot from where the right was, as to have a good balance still. The intention was to hit the woman right in the face with the bottom of his wooden sandal. This could definitely break something if it were successful, and could even end the battle on the spot if she could not take to hard of a hit to the head. However, he would see soon enough.

(3)

-G'night-

Out of the Dust, into the War....

She was trying to use stealth to her advantage, and with the dust cloud she had created, it was likely that she wouldn't make an immediate attack. Kuroha suspected, being a ninja in his Twenties, that she wold strike when she thought he would least expect it. Well, his suspiscions were proven correct, when her left hand flung out from the dust cloud, and went for the hand opposite of his blade, the right hand. Her grasp was tight, however, she may have failed to realize his open palmed hands were still in play, and thus her punch would be intercepted with a now tense and open left palm. As soon as her punch made contact with his left hand, it would grasp it, seeing that it had taken the brunt of the punch itself. His grasp would be tight on her fist, and his next plan would take place.

Kurohas right hand and forearm would then rotate 180 degrees, just a moment after he intercepted her right hand punch. The rotation would cause her arm to rotate with it, since it did not seem to firm of a grasp, and her forearm was not likely locked. If this were successful, his third step would commence.

Kuroha would launch his right foot for her gut, and if it were to make contact, his left hand would go for her wrist, grasp it, and launch her over him by leaning down, rolling back, and letting go of both of her grasped arms, as well as kicking off with his right leg. The throw would definitely make a good distance, possibly Fifteen to twenty feet, since she was pretty light in the weight factor.

Elapsed Time: Approximately 3.72-4.14 Seconds for technique completion

(4)

((Edited for Clarity))

Ah, she had saved herself from a tough throw by wrapping her legs around his waist. Well, to the judges watching, this would probably appear to be a very odd position, almost inappropriate one would think. None the less, the battle was still very real, and suspicions were extremely obvious. Why would someone put themselves in such a close position, without the use of their arms and very limited use of their legs? Well, there was only one apparent option left, a headbutt.

Kuroha had thought of this as she was struggling with her arms, in order to attempt to break free. His right was held by her left, and her right was held by his left. He saw one sure fire way to stop the headbutt, and possibly turn the tables of the entire battle. Kuroha would also, however, have to be very precise in all of his movements. He needed everything to go according to his mind precisely, and it had amazingly enough, for the most part.

Here's how it would break down....

Kuroha would have to wait for the exact moment for when she brought her head back enough to when her throat was opened just enough for a strike, his left hand would release her right hand, lean his head abck slightly, quickly come up in an inverted position, and wrap around her throat in very quick succession, using his thumb to add pressure to her Trachea. This was an inverted single hand choke, having his hand face opposite of what a normal choke would be, and yet just as effective. He would have her in his grasp for only a moment, as that movement was just for stopping the headbutt and putting her into a slight submission.

Following such a technique, if successful, would be Kuroha leaning forward, stepping once and jumping forward in a diving fashion. He would have to let go of his choke, however, as to not create a lethal damaging impact to her throat or neck. The damage that could be done would range from a deep bruise to the back, slight muscule damage, whiplash and possible loss of conciousness...

He wished her luck in hsi mind if this were all successful...

(5)

((O.o? Okay then....))

Her movements would prove useless, as said in the last post. This would be so, simply because just after he had latched onto her throat with his left hand, he would take but a single step, and launch himself forward into the diving motion. Her act of trying to slam her heels into his feet would prove to just be an aerial writhe on her part. Now, since they were both about to slam into the ground, Kuroha would place his left hand upon the top of the center of her chest after quickly removing it from her throat, and push down on it, as to add some extra pressure for the impact she was about to endure. Her hands were also on his face still, which was going to cause a bit of concern for him. But none the less, all was to happen at this point...

BAMMM!!!!!

They would both impact the ground, with the woman taking nearly all of the force with her back it would be. Kuroha, now free of her grasp, would bounce off of her body, and forward, feeling the claw of her fingers over his face. He would close his eyes, as to protect them, and felt lines of skin rip from the left side of his face. Three nail marks travelled down his right cheek, bloody all the way down. That hurt...

He before he hit the ground again, he'd bring hsi knees forward, and let them slide him to a stop. He had travelled about six feet from the intial impact, nbot to far, but not to close, and with his bounce upon his opponent, it would have caused some extra damage, regardless of what protection she would've had. He feared that the Yosimoto would have to be drawn soon...

(6)

There was indeed a problem here, his eye would not open, and it was in pain, his left eye to be exact. This proved to be most difficult for him, having only half of his depth perception, and half of his peripheral vision left. He was not going to open his eye from this point on, as the ripped eyelid still provided some protection from the outer air, and wasn't nearly as bad as it could be. He'd clench his left eye shut totally, taking in the pain and turning it into strength. His calm would definitely help as well.

It was time to bring out the Yosimoto, as he was at quite the disadvantage now, having half of his sight gone. After the match, he'd try and deal with it himself, but right now, it was as good as done until the end. He would close his right eye gently, keeping his left one clinched shut still, and he would let his hearing take place of his sight for now. It was something thaat defeated nearly all of his opponents from before, so he would try his luck with it now.

His right hand would slowly reach for the hilt of his Yosimoto, and grasp it firmly. After doing so, he would simply turn his body slightly to the left, and keep his head in the direction of his opponent. He could hear everything so clearly now, having cut one sense, and adding to the rest of them. The woman would probably think he was stupid for doing this as well, but she did not know the extent of which this spanned. She wouldn't realize this either, but Kuroha had just evened out the table for himself....

He would wait, and listen...

(7)

The scream did nothing but twinge his ears some. Regardless of what she did, Kuroha knew that not only her, but any opponent would take their weapons into hand if their opponent had already done so. He would keep his eyes shut, and his ears intent on what was in front of him. If she though he was to make the first move, she was sadly mistaken, as he could not. However, he would draw out his blade about two inches from its sheath, as to keep it on the ready.

Remembering what her weapons were, Sais, he also needed to be very careful in his movements, as two weapons against one put him at yet another disadvantage...

( 8 )

-Apparently, I have no more time-

His chains rattled, the sound of metal clinking and clanking against metal was his only distinctive call. They imprisoned the beast, but retained more than enough length to free up some mobility. In each hand was a crude bar mace, it as battered from continuous wear and the flakes of blood from past blows caked the inner crevices. While the practically undead cyborg made his way to the fighting area, the armored fists clenched the leather bound wraps on each mace. He was not a particularly tall bloke, but he was wide and throbbing with immense musculature. None of it was natural, all of his strength was synthetically induced from therapy and stupendous amounts of steroids, HGH, etc. Each armored boot step was another mark into the ground.

A low growl escaped him, the computer ticked away countless simply calculations and equations. Lacking a whole brain would cause for a lot of the computers processing power to go towards insuring things functioned correctly and in a timely manner. The pallid skin on his face was criss crossed with scars and old stitching; yet it stretched into a horrible smirk. A bar mace in each hand, a smirk upon his face, five computers to work at keeping his body in check and the adrenaline flowing unhindered.

One opponent.

Oh yes, these were the things he lived for. The simple desire to inflict pain, as soon as those computers unhinged their control from his primal instincts. Keeping his rage in check, was the biggest task above all. Like any cheesy horror movie that included those distantly related to him. Zombies showed so unkempt rage and anger that they didn't seem human, and were little better than animals. There wasn't a big difference between the two, other than that he had an off switch.

As he waited, with his hands down at his sides and hunched over slightly, the computers started to undo their control. Ever so slowly though, so that time could be spared between the arrival of the one paired to bleed with him. There was no point in him going completely berserk before anyone even bothered to show up.

Not the type of person that loves to wait all the time, it was a rather dull day today when the judges were watching the small grunts and muffled noises of combat echoing throughout this tiny secluded area that came from the combatants here.

He was sitting down, ruffling his hair a bit and eyeing the other fights that were occuring about his vicinity. A bored look that was plastered all over his expression, the only thing that came in interest to him was his katana, impaled onto the floor next to him and sticking up lazily like he was sitting down.

"......"

Good grief. There has to be some way to keep his sanity and focus here...

((EDIT))

And just as he was sitting there doing nothing, he'd noticed the vile, awful stench - also known as bloodlust - permeating throughout the place, coming from one source;

The huge, bulkin.....

....

"Oh...you have got to be kidding me..."

Groaning in despair, it wasn't the first time he'd faced off against people who...well...have enhancements and upgrades covering from their head to their toes. But without the luxury nor the ability to purchase anything even remotely close to decent armor, the man got up from where he sat, pulling his katana out of the ground and twirling it in his right hand for the time being.

"All right, cyborg freak."

He shifted to a side stance, right leg first and left leg bracing his weight behind his position. Pointing the blade towards the would-be opponent, he sighed.

"Let's do this."

((2))

Battle cries are usually horrifying at best, but having more than enough fights to dissuade the inexperienced, the man had no need to flinch, his expression still dull as usual, and only the eyes showing a cautious glare at the hulking beast.

Huge maces, insane strength and with cybernetic implants...

Damn. If only he had some electrical shock or something to fry the equipments off the cyborg...

Excluding the already obvious, the man was in no position to face the cyborg in a head-on assault. Heavily in a disadvantage, there was only some few spots where he could actually strike on the cyborg's skin to inflict at least some damage...

But...

Hopefully the cyborg is an idiot to what he's about to do.

On the unexpected charge by the undead monster, the man quickly moved his blade to the left, angling it down and bending his legs lightly to push him into a slightly hunched position. Retaining the same right side stance towards the berserker, the man thus began to do a charge of his own, keeping his steps rather small and his strides restricted, occasionally oscillating his blade from left to right like performing a minesweep in front of him.

Since the cyborg clearly has more physical attributes than the swordsman possesses, there's only three things the swordsman needs to test out to find some opening against the freak;

The cyborg's resistance to sword strikes against the flesh, how far the gears are interwoven into that bulking, rotting flesh of the cyborg - as in, whether or not there is metallic electronical equipment or armor inside the flesh - and finally,

The cyborg's ability to think and improvise like a strategist.

So when the cyborg is within striking distance - when the cyborg's reach is able to hit the man with the mace, that is when the man would test via trial and error.

3.

Although they held little physical control, they were still in charge of the mental working of Number 63: the computers that is. They were witnessing the world around them through his cybernetic eyes, each taking careful stock of what was occurring the rapidly changing atmosphere. What they saw amused neither them or the cyborgs brain stem. It was if their opponent didn't even have any idea of the sort of blading he was wielding. Previously when he had openly waved it in front of the undead beast, they easily compared it to the many previous ones he had encountered. So why would a man with a single edged sword swing it from left to right? That seemed to defeat the purpose, if you weren't care enough about your timing, you would be caught inside of your guard with little to no way of defending yourself.

This was exactly what was about to occur.

Number 63 had stopped for nothing, only speeding up in his strides. All of the thunderous footsteps just about annihilated the floor caught beneath. As the man with the sword had maintained his defensive stance, which limited his reach considerably, and even went so far as to hunch and aim the sword downwards just a tad; what good was to come of this? 63 had the height advantage, the reach advantage, and on top of that his bar maces each increased the striking range by just a few inches under two feet. At this point 63 was taking off from the airfield, and the swordsman was still taxiing the runway. Trying to get a good feel of the near undead's speed was even harder to define as he still speeding up and there was just a few more steps left. Everything, if the creature could manage it, would come down around his opponent at once. A fitting song for this moment in time would have probably been "No Leaf Clover" by Metallica for that hit line: 'It's just the freight train coming your way'.

There it was, the sword, the stinger of the bee. Sadly for the little bee... the cyborg was a hornet.

The right arm suddenly whipped out horizontally before the left even made a twitch, an unexpected move. He was aiming to cast the sword out of his way and press the attack forward. Things were all going to start coming down hill from here. Keep in mind he was still charing forward, not even bothering to slow down.

She seemed to have him in quite the predicament, however, something she did totally had been totally overlooked. She tried to Throw down Kurohas blade with the mere use of her hand. She decided to twist it in his hand, in which he was holding onto it very tightly from his slash, and slam it into the ground. There was no point to it really, because as soon as it did touch and let go of her grasp, he would draw it back towards himself, and jump back about five to six feet.

However, just as he raised his blade into offense once more, a sound rang out...

"DIIINNGGGGG!!!!"

The bell signaled the end of the match, and in his opinion, quite a good one. He would resheath his Yosimoto, and bow tot he woman, saying to her...

"Domo, you were worth the challenge..."

(10)

Then without staying for another word, for say nor listen, he would walk off of the stage, and await either a scoring or the next preliminary matchup to ensue in front of him...

}Not throw down, but smash the tip into the ground. No matter now.{

As the bell rang, Asherah let out a deep sigh. She stood up to hear her opponent speak. And with that she smiled. Clasping her swords to her hips, she nodded up to him and giggled.

"You too hun."

And just as he did, Asherah turned and walked off the stage, whistling, and leaving behind nothing but a good fight...

}10/10{

5.

63 wasn't playing that game, he was getting annoyed that his opponent refused to face him directly. Or at least stand up for himself and fight back mono e mono. Rather, like many of them did they tried to put distance between themselves and the monster; in some sad attempt to wear him down with simple hit and run attacks. While it was true that the cyborg was more of the sort to run headlong into the face of danger. It wasn't just that he was accomplishing, rather he was intent upon hitting hard and then not stop hitting. The whole bull run idea was simply there so he could get from Point A to Point B and dominate the opponent. Not hit once or twice and repeat. The quintuplet of computers noticed where the blade was and that would make it easier for him to guess where the attacks would start from. Anyway, to put it simply 63 pursued after the swordsman, moving a bit faster than before but not full on running as his right hand scooped up the bar mace hanging from his wrist and held it tight once more. At the moment, unless the opponent started to run, the cyborg would be on him once more. This time with a lot more control.

6.

Assuming that someone had just tried to... boomerang throw? A katana at him, this s**t was getting a little ridiculous. If Number 63 had been an actual human he might have found the entire situation a little humorous; however he wasn't completely human at all. With a simple drop of his left hand (as it was already open to a degree) grabbed onto the boomerang as it was hurled at him. Of course this caused him to twist his upperbody back and cease his running, the left arm stretching all the way to the rear. His gauntleted hand gripping just above the cross guard with the blade pointing to his front. The right arm was still raised and his face continued to glare daggers in response to the almost disappointing attack. He refused to move from this position that practically depicted him about to thrown a javelin; except instead of tossing, he had just caught one.

Why were people giving him weapons?

7.

Of course, it only made sense for boomerang thrown katanas to basically explode into a thousand pieces when caught by someone wearing heavily armored gauntlets. Of course. Number 63 wasn't even finding this to be much of a fight, rather just an annoying silent argument with someone throwing s**t at him. EDIT: What of the shards though? Well, most of the blade was pointed ahead of him, so they more or less fell to the ground with a clatter like a big back of change had just ripped open. He wasn't exactly concerned with the minor scrapes he received from the rest. END EDIT

The cyborg decided to throw s**t back.

Chuck!

Whizz!

Zoom!

Over exaggerated onomatopoeia for the noises the remains of the sword would make as it was tossed. Roughly a handful of blade and hilt was redirected right back at the charging swordsman as he flicked his left arm upward. Stepping forward with his left leg and standing level with each foot, shoulder width apart hunched with his waist and knees bent. Catching the grip of his other bar mace and bringing both across one another in an 'X' formation. Just as his opponent was close enough to strike, so would the cyborg.

8.

He didn't do any of the above things that were expected, nor had he planned to; instead like Monty Python once said:

"And now for something completely different."

Number 63 didn't even flinch as the swordsman continued to charge towards him in a zig-zag pattern. His eyes seemed dead set on that sword as it posed the biggest, if not the only problem to him. Instead of lashing out prematurely or even indicating in the slightest that he even planned on defending himself from being stabbededed (intentional) in the head. It was only until the blade was literally heading straight for his brain did the cyborg act, like a chicken. Not the frightened kind, but like an actual chicken. His bent elbows flapped inwards and this brought the overlapping bar maces to a skew and he started to press up. Due to this, the blade that was heading straight for his head would have had to go right through the opening between the two maces. However because the cyborg had literally mashed the two almost together, the blade would meet an incredible amount of resistance. Of course this was probably warping the blade beyond recognition as well, but the cyborg was the stronger of the two and thus the sword would stop. Unless of course this man suddenly grew Superman level strength.

With the blade tip about four inches away from his head, that was a close one. He had not once paused pushing though, if anything s**t was really about to hit the fan. Bending upwards with his knees, body and everything else that had been bent. His arms and hands continued to hold the sword in that vice grip as he pushed away for a second longer; then by using all of the strength his arms and back could muster; he did the following. The spiked knee of his right leg soared up after his upperbody twisted to the right with a powerful crank and pulled the sword along with the bar maces. This setup his opponent to quite literally be tugged into an oncoming knee strike to the get and or ribs. Now unless his opposition abandoned the sword in the next second or two since all this crap started: he was going to be hurting and even then there was no guarantee he wouldn't be from that point onward.

9.

Wasn't this supposed be a preliminary match and wasn't this tournament supposed be kill free? The rules seemed to have changed without him being informed of this.

And yet here 63 was, fighting a guy who refused to take a hit, defied physics without breaking his wrists in an attempt to do some sort of weird pole vault. [How do you pole vault upwards without letting go of a sword when your wrists and arms are twisted to the left because your opponent twisted the swords in your hands in order to perform a crank?] Anyway, the cyborg simply twisted around on his left heel as the swordsman took his dandy time floating back to the earth and released the end of his part of the sword from the bar maces grip. Sending it straight towards the remains of the blade in the samurai's hand. If he could animu physics, so could the cyborg.

He would then be prepared to block anything that might soar back down at him with the bar maces, once more in an 'X' formation across his upper body and neck.

10.

Number 63 almost silently chuckled, the noise was more akin to a hiss. Seeing blood spilled for the first time, he was driven even further into a blood crazed fury. His arms lurched backwards as the man went about using his maces as yet another way to escape being thrashed. Before he could turn around, the remains of the blade sunk into his shoulder blade. The cyborg screeched aloud and twisted all the way around fiercely, raising his bar maces before launching his entire weight full throttle at the now swordless swordsman. If he couldn't kill him, he was at least going to try and smother him to unconsciousness. The sword was still stuck in the bone, but it didn't appear to be even close to stopping the enraged cyborg, and as for blood? It was an off-white saline solution dribbling profusely from the cut, as it already began to try and coagulate around the wound.