Alphonse vs Cain

Stage0: Preliminaries

Frostschild Memorial Park

The sun is shining, the audience is pumped, it's a great day to kick a**.

While in memorium of those whom disappeared in the tragic Unity incident, this park is a lively place. In preparation for the fight some HoH fans brought their blankets and barbecues to watch the fight. It's a good old fashioned cookout amongst the violence.

Terrain

General - The green grass and general outdoorisness, while nice looking, should be accounted for.

Weapons - Barbecues, grilling implements, potato salad, trees.

Bonus Effects - Watch out for errant spectators, they're not as contained as usual.

Red Player: Alphonse Rudrough

Representing: Team ODESSA

Played By: (superpsyco77

Blue Player: Cain Bodokai

Representing: Team Jagged Edge

Played By: Master Cain

It was true, his opponent had been here, and enjoying his burger to boot. Taking another bite of his burger, some of the lettuce slipping out and he tore a bite away, an old man stood up. His graying hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and his tan skin was beginning to show obvious signs of age and time worn wear. He wore a worn brown bomber jacket and a faded pair of blue jeans, blending in exceptionally well with the crowd around them. With a sigh he stuffed the last remaining bite of his food into his mouth and, with a good deal of hurried chewing, swallowed his meal before the fight.

"Clear the way people!" the old man called out as he stood up from his folding chair, knees creaking softly in protest as he stood. Just a bit longer old friends, we have one last tournament to see through he though to himself as he stretched his arms over his head. By now the yelling of the two fighters had caused many of the spectators to scatter, leaving a night open area still littered with the various personal effects of the spectators. Reaching one hand over besides him the older man grasped the handle of his bastards sword, which had been silently resting against the arm of the folding chair while he was eating. Hefting up the hand and a half blade he let it come softly to rest on his shoulder, letting his other free hand come to rest on the back of his folding chair.

"So here we are then young man." he said, to his opponent. "I wish you the best of luck, may the best man win." he said with a smile. He was confident, but not overconfident. He had faith in himself, and that had always carried him through. "Now enough dawdling" he said as he closed the gap between them, dragging his chair behind him, until he was about 15 feet away, "Time to get going!" and with that he hauled back and threw that collapsible chair, which weighed no more than seven or eight pounds at max, straight at his opponent. Did he expect it to hit? probably not, but it was always good to start off with a surprise as it always made things more interesting.

So his opponent was content to bash and crash his way through this fight with his bare fists eh? More power to him if he truly did not need a weapon, at the very least he had earned the respect of this particular old man.

"Indeed it is..." the older gentleman said to himself as his own muscles tensed, his sword falling from his shoulder into the grip of both of his hands. True to poise the hilt of the blade now rested firmly gripped in both hands, about at his pelvis level, the point at the end of the blade ending just below his eye level. His legs spread, only slightly, in anticipation of what was to come. He watched, in almost slow motion, as his opponent flew towards him, aiming to simply crush him out in a single fierce blow. It was amiable to put so much power and hope into a single attack, but he simply could not let it connect. His whole body tensed as he himself began to move, shifting his Left foot, and soon to follow his whole body, in a counter-clockwise spin away from where his jumping opponent was to land and hopefully crush his face. In a swift turn the old man would hopefully not only move himself out of the way of the punch, but end up behind his opponent as his momentum carried him past. But why waste such an advantageous position with but a simple dodge? no, he was going to counter.

As he turned his body the b*****d sword would be lifted up and, as his opponent went by during the spin, the old man would attempt to connect with a moderately quick downward diagonal slash down his opponents fleeting back. It was a single fluid motion, a dodge combined with a counter. It was the earmark of a swordsman of at least some skill, or at the very least someone with decent reflexes. Should the attack miss he would still be a bit out of direct facesmashing range, and his sword would be ready to keep his opponent at arms reach.

Ah, so much like himself his opponent wore a layer of protection. Not only was he strong, but he was smart also, making him all the better an opponent to fight. So that meant this old man could stop playing frail, and start actually putting some energy through his old bones. That is to say, he was not only going to take the kiddy gloves off, but he was going to show how 'shocking' of a fighter he really was.

He had all but since ignored his own abilities since the start of the fight, whether or not he had simply forgotten of had chosen to do such was known only to him, but now that it was at the front of mind, and he had to focus a bit in order to store up a charge. As his opponent lashed out, in an attempted to latch is hand around his own weapon, Alphonse did a number of things. First he would bend his knees and, in a small hop backwards by forcing his weight off his front foot, he would attempted to move out of the way of his opponents coming hand. He would get just out of the way to keep his weapon free, but that meant the foot would get a solid passing connection with his knee, sending him wobbling for a second until he regained his composure. Sure he knee was sore, but it was no worse for wear, and he still had his weapon free. At the same time he would mentally focus, and all over his body his hair would stand on end, almost as if passing near a strong static charge. He was slowly, but surely, drawing in electrical energy from not only the air around them, but also from his own bodies friction, even from the connection his opponents kick had with his knee. It was all around him, and he was drawing it in to himself for later use.

But now it was less the time of charging as it was the time of another counter attack. With a bit of space on his side, namely about 3 and a half to four feet, he would toss out a slow but potent horizontal slash, aimed at about face level. He expected his opponent to either move or put up his hands to block, but if he didn't it would be a nice slash that left a nasty cut across his lower face. Now he also rightly didn't expect his opponent to take the brunt of a sword slash with his hands either, unless he also had some sort of armored hand protection. Nasty cuts and what have you. So he wholly expected his opponent to dodge, or perhaps launch another count of his own, so he had to prepare. Lurching forward as his swung his sword the old man would wait until his own blade passed before transitioning into a favorite move of his, a straight on shoulder rush. Hopefully his opponent, coming off a block or another movement in the form of a dodge or perhaps an attempted counter, would not expect a shoulder to the upper chest. Should this fail, his sword was now down near his torso, so he could still potentially use it.

1 Charge.

Ah, first blood had been drawn. Even if it was only a couple crimson droplets at the tip of his blade he knew that this meant the fight truly had been joined. No battle ever ended without blood. But as of right now he had quite the conundrum to deal with, either press the attack further given the distance and risk severe bodily harm or retreat to a safer distance and hopefully resume the attack from there. Well one thing was for sure, he could not afford any damage to his Right arm right now, and that glowing hand coming right down on him was not lookin very pretty. However he believed he could both keep up the close quarters fight AND still be able to use his sword. That was the great thing about b*****d swords, you really only needed one hand to use em. Shifting his weight a bit he would end up shifting his whole body a few inches to the Right as a whole, lining the man's strike up not for his Right arm, but for his left.

Now the match would not be perfect, from right elbow to left elbow position, but chances were the strike would connect close enough to the pressure point to cause a decent amount of the intended amount of damage, if only on the opposite arm that it was intended, but that was fine. As he felt his arm lose that useful feeling he simply shifted his sword into his right hand, and would now fight with the blade in just one hand. But his training allowed for this, it was no huge setback. But now for ANOTHER counterattack. As they did only have a very small space allotment between them he was going to put into play another of his favorite moves, the headbutt. Cranking back his head quickly as the man's strike connected he would let fly all the fury of an old man as his forehead, hopefully landing with a resounding crack of skull meeting skull. What this would intend to do was stagger the opponent, maybe even send them reeling, the big objective was twofold. First he wanted space, and a staggering man was easy to keep your distance from, second, he needed that room for his next move. Provided he had the space he would let fly a quick snap kick, hopefully to knock his opponent to his back. It was much like the kick out of 300, but shorter and only meant for a small knockdown. That was all he needed.

All the time he was drawing in more energy, preparing his battle ready reserves.

1 charge+1 charge=2 charges.

It was true he would continue forward after his snappy little kick, but not very far. Taking only a couple steps to close the distance one hopeful final time against his now downed opponent he would stop, standing over and to the left of his downed fellow fighter. His blade, now gripped solely by his Right hand, was pointed downward right at the mans chest. His left arm, now feeling the full effects of the man's previous strike, hung limply at his side like a wet noodle. He was sweating, panting a bit, and a large red mark had appeared on his head from where he had given that headbutt a few moments ago, but he still looked calm, even smiling a bit.

"Now young man." he started, still in his position over his opponent, blade thrust menacingly downward. "You have faught well, and preformed as well as anyone could have hoped for. However, I think it might be time to call this match." he said, the tip of his blade glinting a bit as the sun peered through the sparse leafy canopy above. "There is nothing bad about knowing when to call it quits kid, but I"ll leave you a choice." he said as he shifted his weight a bit.

"First option. You can admit you have been beaten, and walk away with both your honor and your body intact. You can think this the wise path. " he started, his tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. "Or, you can continue. It is likely that if you try anything, I will end up impaling some part of your body on the end of my blade here, and the injury will be severe. This is also an honorable path, proving just how iron willed and steadfastly committed to winning you are. Either way you have my respect young sir, now what'll it be?" he said, tightening the grip on the handle of his sword.