Ben vs Malachi

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: Benjamin Nicolai

Representing: Team God Caliber

Played By: Benjamin Nicolai

Blue Player: Malachi

Representing: Team Tourists

Played By: supernal days

“So I says to him, I says –”

His sleeves were rolled back to the nook of his elbows, because Malachi would have absolutely loathed getting any kind of sauce on the cuffs of his suit. His tie was loosened, so that the crimson ends of it trailed down either side of his neck, and the first two or so buttons of his dress shirt were undone. All in all, he seemed very relaxed and was enjoying himself immensely.

“Yo! I’m walking here!”

The five or so other people seated alongside Malachi were suddenly swept by a wave of laughter. While the chuckles and guffaws were dying down, Malachi looked up to the sky and frowned at the sun.

“Jeeeeeezus, I’m late. I’ll see you guys around.”

Five minutes later, his foe was within sight. It wasn’t very hard to spot him. After all, he was the only person besides Malachi who was clutching a sword. There was about 30 feet between them when Malachi finally stopped walking, let his left hand rest on the hilt of his sword (sheathed and strapped to his side), and called out.

“Everybody! We’re going to need about 100 feet of space in all directions, yeah?! DON’T WANT ANYONE GETTING HURT OR ANYTHING SO JUST MAKE SURE TO KEEP YOUR DISTANCE AND STAY ON YOUR TOES!”

Then he paused…took a breath, and looked to his opponent.

“You ready?”

OOC: Black suit, red tie, white dress shirt. Black hair, teal eyes, 5’10”, 160 lbs.

The gradual transition from man to machine was a palpable one; slow, but obvious. Breathing deepened, stance tightened then loosened, ready to either hold his ground or sprint into action at the drop of a hat, and his pupils narrowed by a fraction of an inch while his eyes grew a shade of teal brighter.

He grasped the hilt tightly in his right hand and drew the blade lovingly from its home; freed from its task, his left hand grabbed the lacquered scabbard and drew it from its resting place as well, to let both hand and scabbard hover gently at his side. This man, this Benjamin… he worried Malachi. With that buckler in tow he was much better suited for true warfare. All Malachi had thought to bring was his sword.

Right?

He exploded forward. The tip of his jian carved a shallow trench in the ground as the distance between them was devoured by the famished beast of blood. It was an obvious opening gambit, and he knew that his opponent would be prepared for a charge by the time they were within striking distance if he wasn’t prepared already. But it didn’t matter. Just because one can see something coming, doesn’t mean that one can stop it.

His left arm, out of defensive instinct, had come to rest close to his chest.

Malachi was a bit of an artist himself, you know. A true Da Vinci who flourished his blade like a brush stroke, exceedingly delicate and hauntingly precise, that meant to bite hard and drink deep of Benjamin’s blood. Most people aimed high, attempting to touch the torso or the head, so he aimed low. It was meant to cut just beneath Ben’s kneecap and cripple him outright. You could see it in his eyes; Malachi wanted to end this as soon as possible.

[1/10]

Ah yes, the infamous buckler. Malachi had made special note of it before, for the very reason that he did not want to lose this skirmish because of it. You see, Malachi Aurelius was no fool. Benjamin could not possibly know that, though he could make his educated guesses, but anyone from back home that saw the color of his suit and tie knew that he was a force to be reckoned with.

He tried his best not to make faulty assumptions and molded his life around a creed of common sense. In this case, it was that Benjamin brought a buckler to a sword fight because he had both the skill and desire to use it. So when it was put in to play, well...let’s say that the elder Aurelius brother wasn’t necessarily surprised.

With a sudden clash, Ben’s buckler was met with Malachi’s scabbard. The grip was kind of awkward, but comfortable enough to maintain, and he lined the sheath up with the length of his forearm to provide ample support. Contact was short-lived however, for as soon as he had provided enough counter-force to halt the man’s attack, Malachi stepped back and worked with the looping momentum that Benjamin had provided to his sword by moving it out.

He just moved it up and circled back. It was a looping arc, but it was tight and concise; the jian’s keen edge would cut deep into the middle of Ben’s forearm and then draw to the side. Malachi took a step back, widening the distance between them a bit, as he attacked and brought the sheath back to his chest.

Though it was likely obscured by the flurry of movements, if one was paying attention it was an unmistakable development. Malachi’s eyes were glowing.

[2/10]

When Malachi stepped back, his arm drifting down as he reset his guard, he hadn’t done it just for show. When Benjamin cocked his arm in preparation for another attack, the suited man quickened his step accordingly. It provided enough distance that, if Ben wanted to attack, he’d have to take a single step forward.

Left arm tensed, ready to work, and until the buckler encroached on his personal space, no more than this was necessary. His right arm tightened in much a similar fashion, thirsting to carve another arc in the air and mimic that cut on the expansive canvas of Nicolai’s fleshy physique. The plan was simple. When the man sent his buckler out again, he would attack in identical form and alter the ending movement in his belligerent symphony.

Piece of cake.

Then came that tell-tale shift in weight. It was wholly necessary, placing the onus onto one leg to free the other, if Benjamin had any hope to make his kick even marginally effective instead of just a breezy love-tap. More than enough indication for an organic tool of war; an amateur could have surmised what was to come, and so a master of the art was already thinking three steps ahead.

Left arm still at attention, Malachi brought his jian up and to the side to slap against Ben’s outstretched leg. If Ben pressed onward, Malachi would have to lift his leg just so that his kneecap wouldn’t stay grounded and break. It was inconceivable this, alone, generated enough force to halt the man’s momentum… but that’s not what it was meant for.

It was meant to provide Malachi with a rail, a guideline, a frame to work inside of. His sword slid up Benjamin’s leg with a harrowing speed. When it was inches away from meeting the junction where Ben’s leg joined his pelvis, Malachi brought his sword straight up in an earnest attempt to cut a clean, vertical path along Ben’s torso.

Thereafter, Malachi brought the jian back to its lowered guard and attempted to step back after repositioning his foot on the ground.

[3/10]

With a dissonant clash, his attack was thwarted.

Malachi’s brow furrowed intensely and the glow on his eyes grew furious, splashing incandescent teal into the air. The buckler was becoming more of a nuisance as the fight dragged on. If Malachi had any hope of ending this, he would have to disarm the man or he would have to trick him. Maybe both.

That was a plan for what the future held, however, and Benjamin’s present expertise forced Malachi to act in the here and now. Like a boxer tightening his guard, Malachi brought back his right arm and tucked his left elbow closer to his chest. Just as it seemed that the sword might cut into him, Malachi’s left arm exploded out and intercepted the slash.

Repeated exposure to attacks could only result in one thing; his sheathe cracked. This saddened him immensely. Malachi quickly realized that his scabbard would only be good once or twice more, whereas Benjamin’s buckler was nearly infinite in that sense. He took a few steps back, enough that they were both outside of the other’s immediate threat range, and reset his guard.

Left hand clutching the scabbard close to his chest, right hand grasping the hilt of his sword and holding the blade down. His eyes, still aglow, shifted anxiously in their sockets as he drank of their surroundings.

“Uhh…..”

And then he took off, dashing to the side. If he ran backwards, Ben could outpace him and he’d have to be a fool to turn his back on someone like a swordsman, so running to the side was really the only option. Get some distance and keep his eye on his foe. The crowd shifted accordingly. The closer that he get to one end of the human circle, the farther away that he stood.

The time would come, if left unimpeded, that Malachi would find himself behind a barbecue. That is, a still smoking grill stood between him and Benjamin. By then he’d have his sword sheathed again and would fit the bottom end of the scabbard in-between the slits on the grill, prying it off and exposing the burning coals at the bottom. Sliding the sheath into the sash that held it to his side, he grabbed the legs of the grill and swung hard at Benjamin.

A grill that could be thrown could be deflected, but Malachi’s interest lay in what Benjamin would do with the shower of hot coals cascading against his body and the ash that could spill into his eyes.

[4/10]

He could spy Ben through the metal legs of the grill, and that was all he needed. That familiar tension in his leg, the shifting in weight necessary to put any real force behind the coming kick (he had seen Ben go through these motions before and it was becoming easier to identify), so Malachi ditched half of his plan. Malachi fitted his shoulder against the grill and brought one of his legs out behind him to act as anchor.

So when Ben kicked the grill? It didn’t move. Don’t get me wrong, it shook. Shook hard. But it didn’t lift or move back, Malachi had made sure of that. The second thing Ben would notice was that his leg did not fall back into place, disregarding the rules of gravity. Malachi had reached between the grill’s legs and, with both hands, grabbed the leg Ben had offered to him in his kick. One hand right above the ankle, and the other right above that hand.

It was a death grip, anyone close enough could see that. The way Malachi hang onto that man’s leg made it seem as if he were moments away from devouring him, as if this was his last chance at life. He attempted to pull Ben’s leg through the grill, hard, so he’d have a bit more to work with. But it didn’t particularly matter. Not at the end of the day.

All he needed was a scoop of resistance, just a bit of that reflexive tug where Ben attempted to bring his exposed, outstretched limb back to his core. At that moment, and not a second after, Malachi pushed against Ben’s leg frantically. Yes, it was enough to knock a grown man off his feet, least of all a man that was balancing on just one leg.

And when they fell, a graceful twister of metal and flesh, Malachi made sure to angle his shoulder and tip the grill Ben’s way, showering his chest and face with red-hot coals. His eyes had grown a full notch brighter when Malachi grit his teeth, putting real effort into this leg (get it?) of his assault, but revealed nothing as of yet.

[5/10]

Not bad. Unexpected, yet effective. Ben had managed to remain on his feet, no meager feat given the circumstances; if Malachi could have taken Ben to the ground, he would have been able to end this sooner rather than later. No way Ben would have known that though.

In order for Ben to have been able to use his sword effectively as a crutch, at least one solid enough to curb the impact of a man pushing with the whole of his body, it’d have to be buried in the ground something proper. More than two inches because any less and the sword would have dug itself up, offering little resistance. A negligible fact most of the time, but right now it meant that Ben had to tug his sword from the ground and that gave Malachi a full second of time that he didn’t have before.

He knew right away that his charge wasn’t worthwhile. He’d either feel Benn fall away or he wouldn’t. And he didn’t, simple as that. It meant that Ben had found away to keep himself rooted, keep himself standing, and no one knew more about the fact that Malachi didn’t have his weapons ready than Malachi himself. The moment he failed, he distanced himself, took a few steps back at a proper pace to give him a proper distance.

The pace at which Ben pressed forward dictated the pace at which the glowing-eyed Malachi readied himself. If Ben pressed the initiative like a mad-man, Malachi would have his sword drawn by the time they were within striking distance. He’d step to one side, use Ben’s forward momentum against him and let him impale himself on the end of his Jian.

But if Ben took it easy, took the time to weigh the matter and scrutinize his foe, then Malachi would draw his jian simply and hold it low.

“You’re uh…” Malachi was panting a bit. “You’re better than I expected you to be. I would have gotten most people with that last thing.” He wiggled his fingers on the hilt of his jian some, making sure he had a good grip on it, and was doubly sure that he had his scabbard at the ready in his left hand. “So uh…um, how about you drop that buckler, I drop this sheath, and we settle this?”

[6/10]

There could be no doubt that Benjamin was an exquisite fighter. He had forethought, coming prepared for a weary and drawn out battle; he was able to adapt and improvise, talents that no fighter should be without; he was able to keep up when it came down to close-quarters combat, an area where most fighters lost their nerve. But fight did not always go to the stronger man or the faster man; sometimes the battle went to the man who wanted it more.

Malachi wanted it. Simple as that. And this tempestuous desire bore in him a thunderous aptitude. A passion.

That the buckler pushed his sword away from its intended path was of no consequence; Malachi’s eyes were set on much more important things. The scabbard, always tightly grasped, was brought up and to the side just as before, pushing the sword away in much the same manner as the buckler as it came to impale his kidney. It bit through nothing but air. He then quickly lifted his arm above his head as Ben’s thrust continued, then stepped forward; Ben’s raised arm gave Malachi access to his foe’s inner ring of personal space, and he was loathe to let such an opportunity pass him by.

Once he was close enough, nothing else mattered. The sword was still above him, true, but even if it was brought back it’d be at too awkward an angle and much too slow to do any real damage; his only concern lay in the buckler which would pain him if it struck him now, but would not deter him. Malachi brought his left hand, scabbard and all, to press against Benjamin’s back (at this point Benjamin’s side would be close to Malachi’s chest) to push him forward while Malachi stepped around him.

Then, his artistry and grace never once leaving him, Malachi curled his arm back in with the edge of his sword set against Benjamin’s torso. It was more brutish a cut than he would have liked, but Malachi had no time for propriety. He cut at Ben’s gut even while he pushed forward, meaning to cut his stomach open and leave him eviscerated. Should his clothing prove too resilient, however, then his last attack would come in a devilish outward arc intended to catch the inside of Ben’s elbow and leave him without limb.

A new series of backpedals followed, distance was gained, and Malachi reset his stance.

Benjamin would not speak to him, it seemed. Fair enough. When you meet a swordsman, draw your sword: Do not recite poetry to one who is not a poet.

There was an unsubtle difference in the point-blank power that came from a handgun, a sword, and a fist. The force a body can generate at point blank range is paltry, but reinforced with a buckler the strike was enough to make his ears ring. He caught the motion on the outer fringes of his eye, just enough time to mentally prepare himself for the upcoming assault, but barely any time left to do anything else.

Now let’s take into account Ben’s position. His sword arm was raised high, thanks in no small part to Malachi’s expert maneuvering with his scabbard, and Ben’s buckler arm was now above his chest, as it was needed to be able to strike Malachi in the face. That meant that every square inch of his lower body was exposed and Malachi’s sword, which was already down there, had a clear shot to finally do some damage.

Malachi quickly pressed his left hand, scabbard and all, against Ben’s right shoulder (both pressing against his body and keeping his sword arm at Ben’s inside) and pushed him away with a frenzied energy born out of concern for his own life, stumbled backwards unceremoniously so that he could get a foothold on that precious quality of distance, and slashed all at once. The movements of his sword were simple, quick, and efficient; they seemed reflexive, an autonomy born out of repetitive training that Malachi would be able to execute drunk, much less a little dizzy.

He drew his sword back and forth, the motions reminiscent to a saw, several times along the outside of Ben’s thighs. Slower, deep cuts to tear through sinew and muscle and drastically reduce his mobility, followed quickly by faster, shallower cuts that would emblazon his nerve endings with pain and remind him that he was very much alive.

Malachi was still a little stunned, and to be honest outright surprised that Benjamin had been able to catch him so cleanly with what so many would consider a novice offense. But he’d get through it. He always did, and this was no different.

[8/10]

The most interesting development of the most recent round of actions was that, much to Malachi’s delight, Ben had to release his buckler’s grip if he had any hope to actually grab Malachi’s shoulder. It didn’t mean anything, not when they were so close to each other, but Malachi was just glad that it was out of the way.

He felt blood trickling down the side of his face, flowing freely from the contusion that Ben’s buckler had made on the side of his head, but it wasn’t in the way of his eyesight so it was something that he didn’t pay much mind to. Not right now; not while he still had a fight to win.

What bothered Malachi the most was not that Ben proved impervious to his push or even that Ben was eager to wrap his arms around him in an inappropriately intimate fashion. No, what bothered him the most was Benjamin’s face. Despite being cut, despite bleeding, the man’s face was wholly unexpressive. It was always daunting to meet a man that felt no pain.

With that thought in mind, Malachi steeled his nerves against the next to impossible task of crippling a stoic and adapted to the startling circumstances of proximity. As Ben wrapped his arms around Malachi’s body, Malachi returned the favor. The only difference here was that Malachi had never seen it fit to drop his weapons. His left arm wrapped around the small of Ben’s back and his right arm was (I promise he’s not trying to be fresh), just on top of Ben’s buttocks.

Jeez. The entire scene must look like quite the sight to the spectators.

Using Ben’s body as a rudimentary form of guiding system, Malachi leveled the flat end of his blade against Ben’s left leg (on Malachi’s right). He drew the sword up, angled the tip in a bit, and then pushed down with all of his might, attempting to make a kabob of Ben’s right leg.

Throughout this, Malachi made sure to plant his feet firmly and squat his knees a little. The last thing that he wanted to happen was to be swept off his feet and slammed into the ground, so he took measures against it. Ben wasn’t the only one that knew how to make himself immobile.

[9/10]

Ah. So that’s what he was hiding all this time? Makes sense that he’d want the game to be brought into close-quarters. Stupid Malachi, real stupid. You should have seen that one coming a mile away. Too late to whine about it now. Chalk it up to experience and move on.

Now, where were we? Ah, right. That Benjamin’s arms came down on Malachi was of no consequence as he would have his arms properly wrapped around Ben’s torso by that time. Both men were fueled by some awkward mix of eagerness and desperation, and so this was not out of the realm of logic.

So when Benjamin electrified Malachi, he caused the suited man to seize up horribly and, though he was severely lacking in the accuracy and grace that he would have liked, forced him into assault. His sword had already been positioned by the back of Ben’s lower body, and all of the seizing caused sporadic cuts all along Ben’s legs, buttocks, and thighs.

The suplex was of no substantial consequence, especially not on the moist, springy ground of a park Maybe on the concrete alleyways of New York, but not here. It’d be uncomfortable, Malachi had to give Ben that much, and maybe he’d bruise a little but it wouldn’t cause any serious damage and it was a far cry from a knock out of any kind.

Malachi resigned himself to laying on the ground. His left hand still clutched the scabbard, and his right was treating his sword to a white-knuckled grip, but the rest of him was perfectly relaxed. His eyes, still glowing a ferocious teal, seemed soft in the way they scanned the blue of the skies. And the smile he gave was a simple one.

“That was a real good fight man. A real good one. You almost got me real bad with that last move you pulled outta your a**. Almost. If we were allowed to kill each other, I figure things mighta gone down a different path. Thank goodness we’re not, right? Real good fight man, but now I know one of your secrets.”

Malachi’s sword sang a sweet, metallic tune as it was slid into its cracked home. The man, lying prostrate on the ground with his sworn for of a few moments ago, had yet to move.

“Do me a favor yeah?” Malachi angled his neck some so he could look at Ben, still all smiles. “Make it to the finals, will ya? For me.”

[10/10]