Science Labs

Ugh. This smell was horrible. Reminded James too much of a hospital. He hated hospitals.

Sure it was necessary to getting all patched up sometimes, but luckily James didn't have to stay in one and recover there. He healed pretty well on his own, and he'd normally rather have magical healers like a White Mage or a Serial Healer or something like that attend to him then a bunch of white-suits with scapels.

At any rate, James was an early riser. Getting up before the rest of his team did, he took his Captain position seriously. It was up to him to carry the team and devise strategies, give advice, and counter measures against any form of opponent they came up against. Griff he could rely on, but Snow was questionable and Ben was a damn noob. If this team was to win and do its best, they had to stick together.

James sat on a nearby counter, to wait, and silently studied the room while doing so. He had already yelled at his teammates in the suite to wake up, shower, grab a bite to eat, and the whole shebang, so they SHOULD be following soon.

To any opposing team members that might come in and sight the lone Captain, they'd notice that he was of slightly, shorter stature then most in the tournament. Standing at 6 feet (or so he liked to tell himself, he was actually just below), James would hardly be an intimidating fighter, with his long blackish/brown bangs, his handsome oriental facial features and casual punkish dark outfit. Hell. He was actually the smallest on the God Caliber team.

This was all belied of course by the air of quiet confidence around him, present in usually only the best fighters. There was metal covering his right fingers apparently. His left hand was wearing a studded and spelled punk glove, created for combat with James in mind. Muscles rippled under his clothes, James was still arguably the physically strongest and most violent of the group though.

Last, but not least, there was a small bulge within his jacket indicating something stowed away, although it could've just as easily been mistaken for the folds of the jacket itself or some s**t like that.

As his eyes scanned the area around him, James thought he could feel a sort of pressure on his soul from just being in here. He didn't know what it meant, but god, damn was it annoying. Like somebody pressing constantly on one's head.

This was one arena that probably didn't have any spectators aside from the ones over cameras. He was pretty grateful for that. Upon checking who his team was up against yesterday, James decided that the less people around, the better.

Today was going to get really ********' ugly.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

You damn well better believe things were about to get rathin' ugly - real rathin' ugly.

WHAM

The little pansy that came earlier had kicked the doors open - this time, they were nearly thrown across the room. Sterilized metal doors buckled and were forced open again, bent awkwardly on their near-broken hinges, as something with a rathton of MEAN plowed into it. Of course, most would know just who the rath would already be damaging the Throne-damned arena in their entrance alone.

That, or the made up words the author was posting, but what can ya do?

Ebris Dhifi's right boot came back down from the brutal front kick it had just performed to lovingly greet the sumbitches inside and proceeded to begin the lumbering gait towards the innards of the lab - each step eliciting an odd jingling/clanking noise within the folds of his duster. The bounty scum's blues scanned the entire lab as he thudded forward, and instead of growling at something that many would assume he didn't know a rath bit about, he instead gave an ugly smirk. Ebris wasn't too knowledgeable on most of the grod in the room, but he definitely knew certain substances - the kinda grod that helped quite a bit when he was bagging trickier marks. Of course, Ebris didn't feel any sort of problem when stepping into the laboratory, as his legendary strength and durability were powered by SCIENCE and fueled with HAET.

His attention then diverted to the punk sitting all daintily on one of the tables. Trendy clothing, a purdy face and long, glamorous hair. Didn't these rathin' Jimbos know what happens to them once they stepped into a bloodsport arena?

"This is th' best I'm rathin' offered - a Throne-damned purdy boy f*****t?"

Then, he saw some other faggert in the room who had entered while the ever-powerful FIGHTAN gods were setting up this fight. The chump was just as big of a pansy, wrapped in a sissy cloak and carrying dainty-painty curved swords. Pretty much everyone who had ever tried fighting Ebris with them dainty swords had met BAD END. This f*****t'd find out the same thing.

"AND YET ANOTHER PANSY ARRIVES! Did you wimmenz-looking faggots miss the model shoot next door or some grod?"

Ebris spat to the side in contempt. WHERE THE RATHIN' FIGHTERS AT ANYWAY? If the other two assholes of the Jimbo's team was this way, he'd take 'em all on at the rathin' same time. About 15 feet in, the scum's head crooked to the side and peered in some after getting a better glance at the assmuncher in the punk clothing.

"Wait. Do I rathin' know ya from somewhere?"

Apparently, he had beaten the grod outta too many Jimbos/had friends do the same thing to remember them all effectively. What was a professional a** kicker to do?

Sonofa...

Colin had barely woke up that morning, prying himself from the embrace of the femme he'd fallen asleep with, his voice a hiss. Still a little sore from the night before, he glanced at the clock and decided that he had time for a quick shower.

And by quick, I mean a minute.

In and out faster than Speedy Gonzales, Colin tossed on shirt and his tattered acid-washed jeans, his shoes, which he'd lifted from some little wanker that tried to jump him somewhere between day one and day two of his hike to the Hawk, matched his shirt in a freaky way. Grabbing his duffel, he looked back over his shoulder at her form, still sleeping, and he smirked.

Why not.

Walking back over to her, he bent over and pecked her cheek. Least he could do. He didn't remember much, be he remembered all of that night in the cave now, and he knew who she was. She was worth saying goodbye to. Heading out the door, Colin shouldered the bag and took the stairs down. nice little warm up for the event to come.

+++++

Down in the lobby, Colin was having a little trouble with the clerk.

Look here.... Steve!? Bloody Trannies everywhere!

The clerk lowered his head.

I'm gonna tell you this one last time, and you're gonna give me my FIGHTER, got it, or am I gonna have to get Ebris to haul his bloody baboon arse back over here to pound it outta ya?

Steve squeaked and shook his head. Last thing he needed was some giant pounding his face in and babbling on about rathin' pansy jimbos and all that grod.

Good. Colin Ryall, Honestly, Nice Guys. Now, my FIGHTER, if you'd so kindly.

+++++

An hour or so hike later and Colin stood outside of a door that looked like it's tried to stare down a stick of TNT and lost horribly. Shaking his head, he checked his fighter one last time to make sure this was the bloody right place.

Code: [CPZ] SCIENCE Labs

Looked up at the sign above the door.

[CPZ] SCIENCE Labs

Back down.

Code: [CPZ] SCIENCE Labs

Some scribbles off to the side of the entrance said something about lies and cake. Bloody nonsense, really. And in he went. Wasn't much else he needed. the sound of that drunken prat echoed all the way out here and, if he didn't know WHO it was, would have sounded like a bull trying to give birth to a kidney stone the size of its skull. A few minutes later, Colin entered the room, saw Ebris right off since the bounty scum's shadow eclipsed the opening and gave the illusion of a dead end that was almost believable if it weren't for the smell of old amasec, and then saw the other two who were there. Not really bothering to take them into much consideration, Colin dumped his bag onto the floor with a thud and clank, and he'd wait for Ebris to acknowledge him in his loving way. It'd probably include some kind of insult followed with the word Jimbo or, if he was feeling really chummy today, his butchered name. Drywall. Seemed he was verbally illiterate, too.

On the taxi ride over, Colin had buttoned the shirt up to about the middle of his chest before deciding he didn't care if Ebris saw the hickeys. Hell, it'd be a jolly good time trying to explain to Ebris exactly how much of a dyke Zandra really was. He wondered how red his face would get once Colin told him, or if the boy-o would even believe him.

"!"

No matter how much he heard that nickname, it brought an unmistakable urge to just strangle the man that came up with that name. Notably, the current Captain of God Caliber, of course. But keeping that irked remark at bay, the swordsman raised both hands helplessly into the air as if accepting some form of defeat. And just as he was about to let James work out whatever kinks he was planning to do --

"Wha--?"

The swordsman blinked.

"What about my face?"

He glanced at one of the nearby mirrors hung on the wall. Didn't take long to realize what the hell James was talking about.

"............Aw, SON OF A --"

His one good mood turned sour again, and with an exasperated look of shock on his face, the swordsman tried - to no avail - at wiping off the marks on his face with his bare hands. "Who the hell did this?!" He thundered with rage, turning on a water faucet nearby to splash his hands with water - forgetting the fact he's still drenched from the shower this morning - and tried to remove the stains on his face.

"GODDAMMIT!"

There will be hell when his turn is up for the fight.

]=[

While the girls of God Caliber had been bunking, Griff had been involved in more masculine activities. Specifically, he'd left the party the night before at about ten thirty, eleven and took his wife upstairs, where he promptly ruined his suit and tore his wife's dress in several places, getting his all powerful rocks off.

By about one thirty, his lover was out like a light, and Morivan found himself with a wicked spot of insomnia. Not the kind that ruins your following day because you sleep in for seven or eight hours. But the kind of insomnia that makes you a ******** madman for twelve, fifteen hours. So Griff promptly took off.

He locked his wife into the hotel room with a small note, telling her he'd gone for a jog. And he did just that. He ran. He ran around the Crimson Hawk. He ran up and down flights of stairs. He ran around Latent before headed back to the hotel nearing three thirty. He was still wired for sound. He passed through the bar, asking for a two liter of Dr Pepper and a pitcher of water before heading to the gym.

Pull ups, sit ups, a maddening amount of crunches and curls. He lifted weights for a while, resting for short bits between individual exercises before he looked up at the clock. Seven AM. He downed the last bit of the soda and tossed the bottle, headed across the lobby to the men's sauna, grabbing one of the individual booths. Luckily, this early there would be no one around. Those who were wasted from the night before would be out cold.

James and most of the other captains were probably already out and about. But Griff wasn't a captain. He wasn't even officially the vice captain. So what did it matter if he wasn't first or second to show up. The warm water soaked into his body, and his concerns washed away.

Despite having shaved before the banquet, Morivan still managed to have nearly a full beard. Magic, perhaps. But he'd been very low key at the ball, so chances anyone would actually notice that difference was slim. Other than the beard, his appearance in general was a stark difference from that of Avan or James, who were extremely concerned with their appearances. Griff's eyes were a bit baggy, his body's natural reaction to having worked all night. His stubbly face, thick goatee and mustache, shaggy black hair all counteracted the pristine look for James.

As for his actual attire, a thick suit around his torso and every point on his body that wouldn't weaken his movement too badly. On the front, a defiantly gripped fist rested on his chest, a symbol unaffiliated to the team. Thick gloves, thick boots, a generalized fighter. His belt was covered in several small buds that could be gripped if approached in just the right fashion. Lastly, on his right hip, a loosely tied sword tied to his belt.

As Griff turned down the hallway, he could hear the roar of some gigantic dipshit screaming his damn fool head off. James and Snow were already around, he could feel it. And he was only seconds behind Colin's own entrance. He just shook his head as he wandered in. Ebris' massive... self... was the first thing to catch his eye. "Heya, biggun." He muttered as he turned to see James and Snow. Now, James he'd seen at the party, and the only thing he'd drawn was a "Have Fun" on Snow's face, leaving the sharpie on his chest. Who did the rest was beyond him.

"So, when're we gettin' this s**t started? You goin' first Jay, or is it..." And it was then that Griff noticed the dickballface, which caused Griff to burst out in boisterous laughter, just shaking his head, begging for mercy as he reached for his belt, grabbing his mask and gasping for air as he fastened the cloth to the body.


"Ah haa haa haa..."

]=[

""

The laughter didn't help soothe the already pissy mood the swordsman has. Washing it for the seventh time, only a few traces of sharpie marks was actually washed off.

Leaving only the drawing of dickballface and the 'Have Fun' right next to each other. Whoever drew the picture above the words last night when the swordsman was passed out...

Is going to recieve a thorough tearing of flesh and bones when he finds the culprit behind this.

But to vent off his anger...

Heat seethed through his breath as his body took in the water around him. Although finding the sensation to be a bit more sluggish than usual...

"...?"

Behind people's gazes, he tried taking some water into his gears before the fight starts.

And, just like that previous sensation, the feeling was a bit more heavier than usual. Instead of something that can be taken in so easily, the substance felt a bit more like some liquid with a really buoyant surface tension.

"What the...?"

]=[

Griff was still standing near the door as Bengayman walked into the room, grimacing. "What the ******** is that noise?!" Ben's feet carried him over the threshold and Morivan just snatched the Bose off his head, flicking his blond hair in the ultrametroa suspension it was meant to be in.

"Can't even listen to real music. s**t."

]=[

"Good choice of music"

"You look angry" James offered, the grin on his face growing.

He was all calm and quiet badass and s**t. reached over to the counter nearby and grabbed some sort of bottle that had a wick in it. It was like a scene out of a movie or something, the Last Samurai warrior just watching Hell stomp toward him. Hell of a way to start off the first fight in Heaven or Hell.

"I think you need a drink"

He pulled out the wick and took one swig of the substance, filling his mouth with it. One hundred (AND TEN) percent alcohol. Tasty.

Then he promptly tossed the alcohol lamp and the rest of its contents as hard as he could at Ebris's ugly mug. Hell, when James was done with Ebris, it might actually be prettier.

1/17

Fierach Wrote:

"Good choice of music"

"You look angry" James offered, the grin on his face growing.

He was all calm and quiet badass and s**t. reached over to the counter nearby and-

Really, Jimbo. Talk and get distracted and grod while in front of Ebris Dhifi?

Now, it wasn't as if the bounty scum could get to him real easily, as there was that rathin' counter between the two of 'em, positioned horizontally (as thats what the layout was). Kinda an annoying barrier, and it probably would allow faggerts to get away with grod talkin', as a person would have to jump over or run around the thing to get to the punk - both of which would give em plenty of time to do whatever the rath they wanted to do.

What Ebris did still take some time. Jimbo would indeed get some rathin' insults off and start to pick up the bottle.

And that's about the time the bounty scum broke into a massive dash, frame hunched with right side forward, and proceeded to ram his entire mass, via the shoulder, into the side of the counter -

CSSSHRRRACK

• knocking it right off of its base.

It was pretty rathin' crazy, but Ebris was a rathin' crazy HUEG GAI himself. The sumbitch was near-inhumanly strong, as well as rathin' heavy and could build up straight momentum real quick. The shock of the blow hurt his shoulder a bit, but his old bones were reinforced through Wolff's Law enough to take that kinda grod. It wasn't as though there was no reason Ebris was called the HAET TRAIN, after all. Best thing of all? There was another counter directly behind him. Hooray for rathin' symmetry!

Now, few things could happen at this point. The Jimbo could have bolted to the side and avoided most of the two heavy counters smashing together. The attack was real quick, so a leg or foot might get caught between them though. Jumping would prolly avoid some of the blow too, but the guy wasn't crouched already, so even more bits could get caught. Ouch. Or, the pansy could actually try and be a man and take it like one, all the while getting a successful throw at the bounty hunter, which would break against his shoulder and cover it in kerosene. Of course, he'd then prolly be sammiched between two several-hundred pound counters, one of which was being driven/slid forward by a large, angry semi-hairless ape.

THE CHOICE IS YOUR'S AND YOUR'S ALONE. GOOD LUCK.

[02/17]

Meanwhile, the swordsman continued his futile attempt at washing the marks on his face.

And while both sides of the party were blaring out songs that he couldn't care less right now, he was experiementing a bit beforehand so that when his turn comes up --

The swordsman would know the limits on how this arena is constricting his usage of powers.

Of course, the only expression that the swordsman can ever give when he heard that remark was --

Oh, woe is he. Not only to be picked on by his teammates and - god forbid that DAMN captain of his, but the opposition too? This is too much, TOO MUCH!! If it weren't for that damn bartender giving him some heavy liquor as a mistake last night....he wouldn't have been in this type of mess in the first place?

That damn Bartender...he'll have his revenge! Soon!

But back to scrubbing that damn obscene picture off of his face. He'll pay a bit more attention to the other opposition when he gets the markings off. And if he doesn't by the time his turn comes...

...

He'll be in a very, very irritated mood when that time comes.

"I knew he was a pansy."

The seven foot someone remarked, tossing a glance towards Dickballface.

"Is that a new way of coming out of the closet? Pansy a** face paint."

He would chuckle at his own comments. It was time to start some taunting.

TAUNT 101 - In the name of SCIENCE.

"You know I was. I went for one last round. I had a few moments to go back and blow off some steam."

He would grin. Colin knew the many bite marks and bruises on his back and neck. He wore that s**t proudly too. If only the shirt didn't cover up most of it.

The man looked down at the baton as it poked the E on the shirt, narrowing his shadowed eyes.

"I don't give a s**t. We are still missing one member. I guess he'll be getting last dibs."

Lifting his eyes, he glared at Colin before pushing the baton away from his chest. The armor kept it from even putting pressure there, but he just didn't like to be jabbed in the chest.

"I know you want a piece of me, but first, I'm going to get me a piece of the pansy right thar. Which position do you think he likes?"

He would gesture towards Dickballface. Oh yeah, he wanted to play grabass with that one.

Slippery Jimbos make Ebris MAD.

The whole room seemed to shudder as the first counter slammed into the second, nearly ripping it from its own foundations - enough to severely crack it, regardless. The fight hadn't even past the first minute mark and Ebris had already wrecked a good portion of it. Unfortunately, there wasn't a lovely crunching noise to go with the slam, signaling that the faggert had gotten away. Lucky little grod.

Because of this, Ebris was on the move as soon as his momentum had stopped. The punk would have to be content with the beaker shattering against the side of the bounty hunter, just below the shoulder, which was due to the man standing up and turning towards the sumbitch. The alcohol drizzled down the side of his duster, as it was a synthetic material and not cloth, but some remained.

Grunting like a bull, the old man stalked forward with long, powerful strides - not a dash, but still very quick due to the length of each step, arms slightly poised up with elbows pointing out, as if ready to snatch something. Time to get in close with the little grod and show him how many pieces can be ripped off of a human body without actually killing 'em.

03/17

?!

Any metas in the area would feel a significant change in James. His spiritual presence seemed to intensify in strength.

To any others, the only hint of his new technique manifesting itself was the subtle touch of deep crimson starting to leak out of the corner of his mouth.

He took a step back with his right leg, presenting his left side toward Ebris. The martial artist drew his hands back closer to himself, near his chest, left arm over and infront of the other and seemed to wait as Ebris rushed at him.

A ball of fire seemed to flicker into life and form in his left hand. No. James needed more time for this to work, even as the tactics swarmed about in his head.

At the last possible moment before he'd be within reach of those arms, James lunged forward and looked like he was attempting to run low past Ebris's left side, with his left arm still shielding his front of course. As a side effect of his technique kicking into gear, James was moving slightly faster then normal, not that it was probably enough at this point. He wasn't going to risk being caught by both hands. One, was alright though.

3/17

"That was a little fast..."

He tapped one finger against the screen on his FIGHTER that was now telling him that a battle had begun in the room ahead. It had only been a few minutes since the first of them had arrived and already the gloves had come off. It wasn't surprising in the least who had been the first one to jump into action, he didn't even need the readout on the FIGHTER to tell him what the bloodcrazed dumptruck was up to.

"...but not unwelcome." James slipped his hand into his pocket along with the FIGHTER wristband and leisurely walked the rest of the length of the hallway. This James Eredas wasn't a first-timer in HoH but in his last unfortunate encounter with the tournament it had been a Striker that sealed the deal. The rule of the battle was that no assists were allowed, according to what the FIGHTER had told him... but that wouldn't change his fate. Ebris was now the metaphorical bull in a china shop with all that delicate equipment in front of him, and James Eredas was the unfortunate b*****d caught in the path of a stampede with no one to save him.

Mr. Black wouldn't make a scene as he entered the arena; simply strolling through the double doors that had been torn off of their hinges and finding an edge of the wall that he could lean up against.

"...huh..."

Something caught his eye as James reached into his pocket for his lighter; cupping it in one hand as he lit a cigarette. The lighter went back into his pocket and with his middle finger he pushed the bridge of a pair of costume spectacles up his nose. In fact, rather than wearing any traditional clothing it appeared that James had arrived to this SCIENTIFIC battle wearing a lab coat and fake glasses.

"Hey, Katie," he shouted over the ruckus...

"These guys didn't have a girl on their team when I checked the roster. So who the hell is that?"

So everyone was rathin' showing up at this point. Looked like they were hoping for a show - Ebris was more than happy to oblige.

Unlike before, the brute wasn't blindly charging into something. This meant that he didn't have the kind of HURR UNSTOPPABLE power behind him, much like the trains he had been equated to many a different time, but it also meant that he had rathin' control going on with some pretty damn good momentum going on. It was the best way to move, and it was why HUEG/tall sumbitches were the best runners in the world - they got them long legs to take 'em places them little groddy buggers could only dream of. Sure, they were quick and sneaky and slippery, which was a pain in the rathin' a**, but all of those quick and sneaky and slippery little faggots quickly found out how little that meant against Ebris.

Of course it didn't take long for glamorous leader to resort to his goofy woowoo grod. A guttural hiss escaped Ebris' maw at the sight of the forming sphere of fire before suddenly bursting forward to meet him. Ebris, being the gentlemen fighter he was, happily obliged with an increased pace, his foot snapping down harder now and cracking the tile with each successive one now - just before burst-level speed, with his arms still extended and form more hunched. The pansy prolly was gonna do some grod like HIDDEN FIRE PAUNCH or something rathin' like that, like those silly cartoon ninjas who dressed in all the colors of the rathin' rainbow.

Jimbo had done guessed a wee bit wrong, though. Ebris didn't wanna grab the punk - naw, he had something far better.

The last thing Jimbo would see would be Ebris shifting to his right with a right step and the massive bounty hunter's arm swooping down as the left leg came in, and everything would go topsy-turby and PAIN.

Ladies and Gentlemen, it was a CLOTHESLINE FROM HELLLLLLLLLLL~

Purdy boah Jimbo's own high-speed dash had sealed the deal. With great speed came little to no control. The speed was great enough to avoid getting snatched by the bounty scum's grasping paws, but with Ebris' own speed + arm swing and the punk's own speed, it created a recipe for disaster, arm block or not. It was also lowered more, towards the collar bone of the Jimbo, meaning that trying to duck it was gonna be outta the question, especially with all the speeds involved. The blow was so strong that it'd send the much lighter fighter cartwheeling through the air from the centrifugal forces involved with the blow. The b*****d'd honestly be lucky to keep his head from that kind of clothesline.

After the left arm swung up, Ebris proceeded to halt his momentum - didn't wanna run into the wall right ahead or anything - after one more right step and then spin around, duster tails whipping about all intimidating-like, and stalked forward at the same pace to whatever and wherever his opponent decided to go flying off to. NO BREATHIN' ROOM ALLOWED.

[04/17]

NO U.

Well sorta.

So Ebris thought he had the wily young fighter.

David versus Goliath buddy. Ugly b*****d would never see this coming.

Contact hurt immensely, but James knew he had to endure. The moment right before Ebris's arm slammed into him, James pushed upwards with his body and revealed his other arm out from under.

He was brandishing a knife. Masters of Defense CQD Mark V ATAC Fighter Combat Knife sheathed within his jacket.. So thats why it was hiding behind his left arm.

The martial artist resisted the impact and clung/wrapped on with both arms, going around the man's tree-trunk-like arm as if it was a pole. All the time, his knife carved a vicious path through Ebris's arm. James didn't even have to do anything special, it was just fueled by the extreme speed at which both collided.

Pushing upwards enabled James to tuck in his legs at the moment of impact and rotate freely. An extra twist of his body and extension of the legs toward the end directed his legs toward the back of Ebris's head for the finisher.

The giant hobo would pitch forth to the floor, the force of the clothesline and his size coming straight around to kick him in the back of his head (literally), while having his left arm chopped up by a large knife like a freaking can-opener thanks to the centrifugal forces within.

As for the flames? That was a bluff (atleast for now) to get the HUEG GAI all riled up and charge him.

With Ebris possibly on the floor, James got off, and rolled away to get some distance.

4/17

James managed to hold on long enough to carve quite the canyon down Ebris's arm though. His knife was one nasty piece of work, specialized and made just for him.

At the end though, the heir was flung back, but not far enough. Instead, he landed on his back with an "OOF".

Which quickly translated into a "HUT" as James managed to gather himself together long enough to use what remained of the momentum from being thrown back to tumble backwards into a flip onto his feet. Man PLANNED to get hit from the beginning. Guy was ready for it. See that blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth? That wasn't cause of what Ebris did. Thats what James was doing to himself. Ebris might not know what he was doing till the martial artist hit him.

Then there was the problem of Ebris still charging at him. He definately wasn't going to stay in the way and, knife still in hand, James deftly managed to take a giant leap out of the way of the human wrecking ball last second and into a new bunch of counters.

Ebris would plow straight into the wall if he didn't stop though. Not like James thought that it'd really stop the guy. But a metal yellow box out of the corner of his eye might.

5/17

It was sufficient enough to say that by the time Ebris turned about to look at James, the latter had already reached the strange, metal box. Thing took up a section of the counter of its own, and it seemed to be quite far from any other implements on the table. His knife was left nearby.

Also, door quickly unlatched, and flung at the oversized hobo's upper body with supernatural strength. A variety of materials within spilled out in his rush to do so, plastic simply thudding as they hit the floor, while glass bottles shattered and contents spilled out. All of these shared atleast one word in common if one looked close enough.

Flammable.

As for the supernatural strength? It was finally evident. James's new special technique, as he infused his flames into himself. While, increasing nearly every aspect of his physical abilities, be it strength, speed, agility, he was actually, killing himself in the process, and straining his entire body.

6/17

James, closed his eyes for a moment, easily stopping the metal box as it slid back toward his feet.

Well, he definately knew he wouldn't be fighting for a day or so after today.

"Fine then"

Ebris was stronger then him, and a dirty fighter, but fully empowered, James could give him a run for his money in the strength department. Not that he'd last long from himself, but, James was an actual martial artist, and still one of the strongest of his weight class.

With this self-destructive technique, just maybe.

Now he could feel it kicking into actual gear. His muscles twitched as they tried to contained the power being poured into them. He'd get this done even if it'd kill him.

Well, not really kill, but James'll get this s**t done.

"The old fashioned way it is"

He stalked forward toward Ebris, a dark look in his eyes, both hands out and arms bent at his sides.

7/17

To say that this would be interesting would be overstating it. James was an excellent infighter, and he was matching himself up with Ebris, perhaps the strongest and angriest man in the entire tournament in extra-close quarters, something they both excelled at.

James would be making the first move (sorta), almost exploding into action with precision footwork. He spun to his right, slapping (well, more like punching) away Ebris's left arm as it came at him with his own left hand.

He didn't even bother to actually perform a follow-up, James's followup was just to simply ram himself into Ebris as if he was a wall he had to smash through. Of course, having just smacked away Ebris's left with his own arm meant that the first thing ramming into Ebris's solar plexus was James's left elbow.

And elbows, and issuing devastating power from such a close range was James's specialty. This Bajiquan principle taught the required muscles to work in tandem, contracting and expanding, tensing, at the moment of impact to deliver maximum power. It was a strike that his own teammates would cringe seeing, knowing that if it were them on the receiving end, they'd be ********. Beastly endurance or not, if Ebris thought he could take the blow unaffected, he'd be horribly shocked to find out otherwise.

James's face was contorted into a feral snarl as his right hand quickly shot up to get a grip on Ebris's mouth and lower jaw in the aftermath of the devastating hit.

8/17

No, James actually only used ONE type of shampoo.

Acme's all-in-one Shampoo and Conditioner for Handsome Anime Hero Guys.

Years of impact training had left James able to smash through walls with his bare fists. Much like the best Muay Thai fighters, James's bones were stronger then normal, something garnered from healing over from hundreds of fights.

He really didn't expect the durasteel plate though, even if he did almost ram through it.

Even as Ebris attempted to crush his right hand, James felt nothing. THAT hand was encased in an armored gauntlet remember? Lucky for him

Due to a few reasons worked out by both players over MSN. James's head just barely missed the beaker of NaOH. Getting slammed into a table was still pretty rough, but he was used to it by now.

After all, such things always did happen to smaller fighters. Its like they had a "THROW ME. SLAM ME" sign on their back.

What did transpire was that Ebris was open, and the martial artist himself grabbed the beaker with his left hand, and bashed it through the giant hobo's close face, along with a focused blast of flame. Three hits in one. James's fingers would be cut up by the shards of glass and the lye would seep into them, causing a good deal of pain, but he'd be going through completely with the motion and backhanded through the debris, smashing some of it even further into the man's ugly mug, and simultaneously unleash a small, but focused blast of flame.

Made possible by Ebris using his body weight to force the both of them down and sticking that HOLYSHITITSTOPPEDACLOCK face closer.

The arena also worked both ways. While it slowed down James's ability to use his powers in anyway, that also meant that it slowed down the rate of damage he inflicted upon himself from using this particular technique. Having done nothing but bluffs and tiny sparks and empowerment of himself so far, he was finally ready to cut loose.

He's always chargin' his lasers.

9/17

Well it wasn't like James's head wasn't already swimming in a sea of pain. He just wasn't out yet.

Something Ebris was going to try and rectify of course. James could only close his eyes and brace himself as he was pretty brutally dragged and then smashed ground yet again. He felt his arm being released, and the time, had come as one eye opened and stared upward at the giant hobo with deadly intent.

The entire fight seized on this one moment... and James grabbed it by the horns. He had been waiting for such a choice chance.

"RRRAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHH"

It might've been a cry of pain.

More like, utter rage though.

Much like how he had smacked away Ebris's arm the first time, James did the same yet again, diverting the course of the sledge-hammer blow by neatly striking it with his left hand, although, not by enough as it clipped the front of his neck. Massive discomfort.

10/17

Poor Jimbo.

The face smash into the ground would do two very painful things. For one, the sheer fact his skull was being smashed into something extremely solid with immense force was gonna ruin anyone's day - even Ebris' infamously thick skull wasn't denser than a foot of concrete supported by steel rebars. The tile was the second part. Now, that grod wasn't durable at all; grod, it shattered real easy. But that's where poor Jimbo's problem came in - he was now getting a face full of broken pieces of tile, all pretty rathin' sharp and more durable than glass. Luckily, his face wasn't getting rubbed in it (just yet, anyway), but the initial impact would maul the side his purdy lil' face and head pretty rathin' good.

It was then the pansy started doing all sorta huckin' and jivin' and Ebris knew he was starrting to get desperate. Didn't he warn the boy that bad grod was gonna happen if he got up close to him? His rathin' funeral, it seemed. During all his panicking, it seemed glamorous leader forgot one important fact about his whole problem:

He was face first in a pile of broken tile and concrete.

Ain't that rathin' pleasant. Unfortunately for him, when Ebris let go of his arm to immediately slam down on his neck with a sledgefist, he really couldn't see what the rath he was doing. Also, how can ya slap something outta the way when it was in front of the slapper arm and heading down immediately after letting go? Ya can't, that's what, though he did succeed somewhat.

Fierach Wrote:

"RRRAAAAAAAAA-WHUD"

"Shut th' rath up, Jimbo - you'll wake th' grodpacked neighbors."

The sledgefist did its work - partially. Jimbo's flailing left elbow managed to deflect the blow somewhat, but it was s till a pretty rathin' brutal blow. If the b*****d was lucky, it'd be time to take a nice, long nap. But, since this punk seemed extra frisky today, it looked like Ebris had to get a little bit mean. Just a bit, anyway.

When Jimbo started to flail some more, it because all the rathin' obvious he was grodding his pants at this point. Sure, his elbow was free to go all whilly-nilly, but that grod ain't gonna hit no face when you're facing a counter and a pissed off ape is kneeling next to your head, holding you down with all the love in the world. The angles don't work that way, plain and rathin' simple, nor does Jimbo have enough length in the arm to do it. He'd have to dislocate his shoulder and do all sortsa weird grod to do that. Same with his right arm - that one was pinned nice and snug by the Jimbo's own body.

Poor Jimbo. Should have used his goofy woowoo SSJ mode to do some other grod first, but what he tried to do just plain wouldn't work. Even if it had worked, the fact that he expected it to knock his jaw clean off would have sent Ebris into hysteria if he had known. Jaws were already rathin' durable as hell, and Ebris had been socked full-force by the likes of Athan Cole and that CHIMERA rather from last year's elimination, and the worst that had happened was his jaw nearly breaking. But flying off, especially by a pansy? HURHUR.

Now, it was Ebris' time to goto work. As pansy boy was huckin' and jivin' on the ground, the old b*****d did something rathin' simple - lift jimbo's head a wee bit off the ground and thrust his arm and body to the right. Jimbo would then probably find out what it'd be like to get his head shoved through a thick wooden cabinet door, with the splinters all around him poking him all nice-like in important places around the neck.

Man, Jimbo was really having a bad day.

[11/17]

-- In the meantime...

The swordsman got the sharpie off of his face after the 38th time of washing it. Luckily there were some cleaning agents that weren't harmful in contact to the skin or if in the eye, and using the product, the swordsman finally turned around to glance at the current action between the two Captains.

A red, blushed-like look on his left cheek was all that is left from the consistent scrubbing and removal of that goddamn sharpie mark.

"..."

Tucking his hands into the sleeves of his cloak, the swordsman waltzed up next to Griff that seemed to be acting up a bit.

"..."

If he had a fan, he might've just whacked Griff to his senses, but that was not his type of personality, so he refrained from whacking Griff back to his senses.

"Well."

He stretched, watching the desperate struggle between Ebris and James.

"This is turning out to be pretty much a slug-fest, don't you agree?"

"Well, if you do cook us all...I'm going to have to kick your a**." The swordsman' replied, raising an eyebrow and having an expression that clearly stated his business.

The swordsman pulled his hood back down, hiding his gaze as he thought about Griff's question.

"....Hm..."

He then shrugged. "I'm fine with about anyone...though,"

The eyes wandered to one guy that seems grotesquely buff, with what seems to be a b*****d sword strapped behind the guy's back.

"If there's a foe that uses swords, I'll be the one to oblige that."

"Shut th' rath up, Jimbo - you'll wake th' grodpacked neigh-?!"

With a loud RIPPPING sound, James flexed the muscles in his right arm and pushed off using all the muscles that he still could, forcibly tearing free, his hair being ripped out in great chunks.

At the same time, James's left hand shot up and gripped Ebris's open mouth.

Here was his choice chance.

Eyes blazing with fury, James simply unleashed all of that "WOOWOO" meta power that he had. There was no physical empowerment (hadn't been powering up since they actually started with their fists flying), all of it was channeled into his left arm to well forth repeatedly in one glorious display of fireworks as James unleashed all of the pent-up energy he had stored within his body. A normal strike was capable of stunning the average man, but having the sacred flame explode into the hobo's ugly mug from within and the outside multiple times?

Ebris had gotten cocky over the "pansy". How could the guy fight and react his best if he didn't think any guy was worth his salt? James, for his part, figured it'd take nothing less then a great deal many head-shots to truly take down hobo, and he got his opportunity. Finally, the patience for dealing with so much pain had paid off. Who said that James was in a panic and flailing about like a mad dog? ******** that.

No pain no ******** gain. The bruised and broken side of his face was nothing compared to the constant FLAMINGGRENADEFIST going off right inside Ebris's mouth. James's internal battery would be nearly dry, the effort so far through this fight had nearly burned him out, but all of it, just for this one moment of meta over human, was worth it.

For Ebris? Atleast James made sure he used enough power to ******** the hobo over. He'd feel like he was being punched a dozen times over in all places on the face and just inside the mouth, and the repeated concussive bursts would be accompanied by searing, blinding flame. This was James's signature flame style attack.

Shock Fist technique, nicknamed the Grenade Fist. Directing the force of the blast away, toward his opponent.

Ebris wanted woowoo st powers. He got woowoo st powers.

Now just for the man to quit humping him and get the ******** off. James'll let go as soon as Ebris went away or something. He wanted some distance after all.

11/17

The only thing that was smashed into the cabinet was a fistful of hair, as James had bore the pain and ripped himself out of Ebris's grasp.

Although his attack didn't go through completely, it also meant that James didn't waste any more of his power beyond the initial burst. Atleast he tried not to. The flames erupting from his hand sputtered and lashed out at Ebris's retreating form, losing focus but gaining range as he brought it back to help balance himself and attempted to stand up.

The good news was that the leftover lashes of flame would actually reach Ebris's body. The bad news was that it wasn't really going to do anything.

Unless it lit some of that alcohol that seeped into the hobo's clothes. It'd be unexpected and completely accidental of James, but it'd be welcome.

He tried to stand up to fast though, and suddenly, his head spun harder then ever. Using the counter to support himself, for one moment, James just, appeared to actually flail about, not really knowing where he was going.

Then he met the wall.

s**t, he was right back where he decided to start the whole ill-conceived straight-out hand-to-hand exchange.

Trapped!?

12/17

Ouch. The pansy was getting his a** handed to him. The seven foot someone was enjoying the show. There was a lot of blood, blood was good. He couldn't wait for his turn, but it looked like the moron fighting Ebris was going to try and take this fight to the death...his death.

"TAP OUT!"

An angry yell of frustration. He lifted his arms, crossing them across his chest, muscles bulging, and bruises quite noticeable now or were those just really defined teeth imprints?

Oooh yeah.

Except getting hit by the grod wasn't that pleasant at all.

The foam they use in these little things wasn't ordinary foam - it was chemical foam. As in, grod that was designed to specifically counteract fires. Unless Jimbo had SUPRAFIRE that couldn't get extinguished or some grod, his goofy woowoo grod would find itself suddenly finding itself with ANOTHER thing hindering it pretty rathin' badly. Regardless of whatever grod it did to the punk's flames, it was still chemicals. And that grod was getting in his eyes and mouth and nose and so forth. While it wouldn't be as rathin' bad as the toned-down lye, glamorous leader would find tears pissing outta his ducts like a race horse. If he inhaled it at all - which is pretty damn likely, as Ebris was pretty sure that despite this grodpacked punk's wonkiness, he needed to rathin' BREATHE - he'd be hacking pretty damn badly.

So, back to the flame grod. Let's say that the Jimbo was able to light that grod up on the ground. Didn't Jimbo learn that trying to trap Ebris was generally a pretty rathin' bad idea?

WHOOSH, everything went up in flames. Problem was, it was only on the ground, and all of the grod that had gotten on Ebris had already died out after catching on fire for a brief bit due to him wearing flame retardant threads. That meant that good portions his boots caught on fire, maybe some bits of his jeans too. Jimbo was gonna find out that it took a HELLUVA lot more than that to really take out Ebris.

So, Ebris continued to lope forward with giant steps, ignoring the steadily building pain in his feets, all the while continuing to lay down the steam of fire haet -

POOOOOOOOSH

POOOOOOOOOOOOSH

THUNK

• before slamming the butt of the thing directly into the Jimbo's center mass really rathin' hard. Ebris aimed for the gut, but anything in the general area was good enough. As he used periodic bursts instead of a full stream, the bounty hunter was able to keep an eye on the pansy. If he tried to bolt, well, he'd run blindly into two wonderful counters to either side of him.

Yeah, it really was a rathin' trap.

[14/17]

Bad rathin' move.

Remember the fact that the bounty hunter was doing the periodic bursts that let him see it? Rathin' Jimbo sure as hell wouldn't have been able to see it, as, y'know, his face and eyes were rathin' covered in chemical foam. The scum also wasn't charging - he was stepping wide and powerful, but not uncontrolled. In fact, he was entirely in rathin' control of his movements. He was prepared for the peter pusher to jump off to the side in hope of a desperate escape.

So, as soon as the Jimbo prepared to jump, Ebris burst right then and there, towards the middle of the direction and was right on rathin' top of him.

WHAM

Right into the Throne-damned wall.

Plan would have worked if Ebris had kept it as a full stream, or the Jimbo hadn't been blinded/covered in foam, or whole other lotta grod like that. It'd take too long to jump when standing on a ground slick with foam, as well as not being able to judge the jump in all the confusion - a quick glance before getting blinded would only help marginally. There are more pressing thoughts at hand, such as a rathin' berserker thudding towards you. As for hitting him - Ebris was pretty damn large. Him bursting in would allow him to hit even just the legs, which would be enough to take him down. After which, the bounty scum would crawl on top of him and the pain would resume once again, letting the fire extinguisher roll out of general range, though Ebris could lean over a lot and still grab it if need be.

Ebris gritted his teeth as he felt his lower leg flesh begin to cook at this point, but that didn't matter. What mattered were his fists slamming down and down and down again in the general face/head area of the punk with all of his rathin' fury and hate. This grod had gone on long enough - it was time to end it.

[15/17]

It was there. He could feel - rathin' feel it.

Right in there. Boiling. Seething.

The little rather just wouldn't drop. He just wouldn't rathin' stop moving.

It was there. All the way back from the scummy, groddy streets of Durem.

The Anger. THE RAGE.

Well, the Jimbo should done be proud of himself. He had managed to drag Ebris Dhifi around for an inanely long time, considering how short it usually took for him to maul something to near death. Grod, the b*****d had put up one rathin' long fight and had almost made it to the very end - to safety. Ebris would have been denied his complete victory over what, a rathin' goofy woowoo peter pushing meta?

NO.

At this point, Ebris' anger had been held in check for far too long. People laughed and claimed that the bounty scum's mind was rathed up, but it wasn't a joke - they were spot on. He had seen a whole lotta grod his entire life and it had done gone rathed him up. There were reasons behind the hate, the madness, but did it rathin' matter beyond the fact that he had it? Maybe for another day, another story. For now, all that mattered were the dilating pupils, the shuddering frame, the grinding, gnashing teeth, the foam forming at the corners of his mouth - everything that only hinted at the kind of HAET lurking beneath. The last time he had gotten like this within the confines of the Heaven or Hell tournament, a dragon had been brutally mauled and had lost its rathin' jaw, despite the grievous injuries it had inflicted upon the old man.

Ebris Dhifi was one rathed up motherrather, and this little grodbag was just about to find out how much.

All semblance of control left Ebris at this point. Maybe it was the fact his senses didn't register his body crushing into the Jimbo's after his tackle; maybe it was the fact the fight had dragged on without seeing the punk's faced caved in till it looked like a bloody crater; maybe it was all the rathin fire the pansy had been throwing around the whole damn fight. It could have been any of those reasons, a combination of them and more. It didn't rathin' matter. All that rathin' mattered were the two mitts that clamped down on the f*****t's left leg.

And squeezed.

And squeezed.

And squeezed.

Ebris' own quivering digits screamed in protest from the sudden grip, which utilized every mote of strength the bounty hunter could muster. The Jimbo had been killing his body with his goofy woowoo grod - Ebris was killing his own with his current lack of self preservation. When it came down to it, the scum's strength surpassed his durability - a fact that could be seen whenever he used his "knockout blow" technique, which was so powerful that it could break his own arm. Ebris was tapping into that grod right there, and what his fingers and wrist felt, Jimbo would be feeling and more through his boot and into his ankle, almost assuredly beginning to crush it.

But that wasn't the goal. No.

Ebris took a step back with his left, spinning on the heel of his right. Jimbo, while groping for grod on top of the counter, would suddenly find himself yanked back with sudden, immense force, and would then find himself soaring through the air, and then -

WHACRACK

• pain.

The slanty-eyed faggert was slammed into the wall right next to Ebris by his own leg. Yes, that's right. The bounty hunter had yanked him off the table, spun around and rammed his body into the wall with all the force he could bring forth. It was one of the most base kind of things someone could do, even for Ebris - he had planned on dragging the f*****t down and mounting him while in a sane mindset, but Ebris wasn't sane anymore. This was the quickest, the easiest, and most brutal thing he could do to the pansy. And it worked.

Ebris whole frame shuddered visibly from the reverberations of the impact, filling him with pain that his unstable mind blotted out. The wound on his arm had begun to bleed again and while much of the flames on his jeans had died away, some remained, which had burnt away the pants to reveal completely charred flesh. The Jimbo had done some very nasty things to the bounty hunter, but he was gonna do things back that would haunt him for the rest of his rathin' life - if he could remember it.

As soon as the Jimbo's body slid to the ground from gravity, he was yanked up again. He could kick his other foot and try and shatter some fingers, but the others would remain. If he had grabbed some grod off the table and threw it, then Ebris would beast through it. If he went for the goofy woowoo grod, then video records would show a giant, flaming berserk man slamming a hapless victim around the room like a rag doll. Even if all of that grod meant taking Ebris down as well. It didn't matter. The only thing that rathin' mattered was the next swing - into walls, into the ground, into counters, into everything.

WHUCRACK

WHUTHNNK

WHUSPLAT

[16/17]

Last year Dzan had cracked his head multiple times against a steel crate. Same guy also strikered him in the back with a sledgehammer, of all things. That was then, this was now. Handsome he may be, but James Eredas was no pansy.

Not by far.

He'd changed from then. Brutal training after the tournament. Development of his new self-destructive skills had earned him more permanant scars then he received throughout the entirety of his fighter career so far. He'd have never gone the distance before at such a disadvantage.

And he'd never give up, not toward the bitter end.

Anyway.

He still had some of that SUPRAFIRE left.

Time to leave the old man with something to remember him by.

It was like riding a damn bull at the rodeo, only a hundred and ten times more violent. James used his grip on the old man's head to curl up and cling on for as long as he could for a final special delivery. One last GRENADE FIST at the only target James could make out in the frenzy. The bounty hunter's face.

One solidly delivered punch to Ebris's right eye region. One last focused blast of SUPRAFIRE to accompany it.

Defiance!

The punch awkwardly performed, it didn't even matter if the fist didn't make contact, that was the unlying purpose. The culimination of whatever power James could scrap up at the last moment would explode into the ugly mug of Ebris Dhifi like a SCIENCE-portable nova. If he managed to hold on a little longer and prevent himself from being completely tossed about the arena, James'll do it one more time, but the second time probably won't come anywhere near connecting. Angry man was angry.

Thats going to leave one HELL of a mark.

16/17

That giant bear-sized crater in the wall left by Ebris earlier just got a whole lot bigger. There wasn't much to be said about a 170-something pound human deadweight hurled into the cracked wall, except that it consisted of massive amounts of PAIN and AGONY.

This looked like the end for James, atleast this rou- wait, what the ********?

The guy was starting to get up. What the ******, was he a ****** zombie?

Whoops, not that kinda zombie. More like this kind, except with eyes.

Anyway. DID HE FEEL NO PAIN?!

Well, technically, he actually didn't. He was unconcious already.

His eyes were blank, even as his body and arms slowly shifted themselves into a fighting stance.

It was rumored that martial artists who trained sufficiently enough, and had the supernatural willpower to push on beyond all odds, were capable of fighting even as they themselves where unconcious, their body having memorized the necessary movements and were capable of just instinctively reacting and fighting on.

He started to move forward toward Ebris, seemingly intent on keeping the battle going.

And then he just, rather anticlimatically toppled over, right before the FIGHTER on his left wrist beeped and told them that the round was over. Ebris Dhifi won by KO. So close, yet so far. The earlier warning beeps signaling that the round was nearing the end of its time limit was easily missed in the ruckus of battle by the both of them.

Bones broken and fractured. Internal damage to his muscles abounded. James was going to need one hell of a medic, and he'd likely be fighting in the next round with some sort of disadvantage, if at all.

17/17

]=[

Morivan stood in silence, just sorta thinking. He wasn't really all there for just a moment, pondering all the while why he felt so detached. Perhaps after so many explosions and crashes, he just didn't feel like he was there anymore. Somewhere far off, there was a man, sitting on a beach, sippin' on spiced rum and coconut milk while his wife layed across his lap, her slender hands massaging his-"Was that some kind of bloody mental tactic?" GOD DAMN IT!

Morivan snapped out of it, watching Ebris standing over the near corpse of James Eredas. The Team Captain had been totally obliterated. Massive injuries, broken everythings. Morivan would wind up walking around the counter he'd been relaxing against, just long enough to grab James' collar, dragging him off to the side, just setting him more or less out of range. Some things inside of Eredas seemed to be letting off some unsettling crackling noises. "Man..."

He looked over at the colorful looking gentleman cinematically assembling his weapon, making all sorts of noise, talkin' about weaklings and giubg rathin' easy on people. "...Rathin'?" Griff muttered, trying to rub Ebris' ridiculous voice out of his head. And just as he managed to install his own voice back into his brain, ANGR2 got back to talking. Morivan could feel the teeth in his own head clenching up. And luckily, he was the one Colin wanted up.

"Well..." Griff muttered, reaching up to his mask, rubbing his fingers up the cloth for just a second. He was happy to see that Ebris had been so kind to clear some space. So for just a moment, Griff could dodge his greatest weakness. Counter tops. The fabric became constricted as he hand reached the back of his head, and he snarled. Like the Bat, he ripped his cowl away, revealing those mad greens.

"Names Griff, and you're right about the medics.." He stated, the shreds of his mask crumpling on James' battered chest. He walked forward just a bit, rolling his neck, his feet beginning to bounce when the music exploded behind him. Around his hip, the DeuxMascus rested. He would draw, flick his wrist a time or two to just kinda show off before stabbing it into the exposed and weakened ground beneath them. "Cause in about five minutes? I'll have to tell them who you were."

Griff smiled, raising his hands. "Alright folks. Listen up! Here are the rules! Strikers are good to go, but hell, I'd discourage it. Bigguns one and two, feel free to go for it. Frosty? Sparks? Stay outta my way." He said in a sorta threatening tone. "Got any problems with that? Colon?"

[0/17]

-Intro Post-

]=[

Ebris hadn't been paying attention to all that grod. His massive but weakened frame was hunched down while he sat on top of a counter, his harsh gaze looking at the spectacle ahead. As he applied antiseptics, salves, bandages and grod like that, he was silently watching glamorous leader stagger up and lurch forward, like some sorta Throne-damned zombie. Ebris knew this wasn't the case - rather wasn't no damned living dead, he had just got a case of the FIGHTANS. Sumbitch wanted to fight so Throne-damned much that his mind kept forcing his body forward. Of course, like clockwork, the body simply refused to obey the mind and just collapsed in a heap of broken bones and torn meat.

"Heh...hengh...hagh!"

Guttural barks escaped the bounty scum's partially ruined lips, his head shaking slowly before looking down and continuing to slab can after can of salve onto his torched legs. That Throne-damned Jimbo really had some balls to be able to do that grod. Too bad he had to get rathin' destroyed so early in the game.

]=[

It's interesting when you fight someone who has the opposite dominant hands as to the others. He would snatch the sword with his left, grasping the blade backwards and totally improperly to use. "That..." As he did so, Colin's baton would come down. Still in reverse motion, Griff would run his fingers of his right hand up his hips, "...we..." grasping four tiny knives into his fist and full out punching for Colin's shoulder, somewhere between the actual shoulder and the upper arm. It was a sloppy move, but ********.

"DO!"

Time to get serious.

[1/17]

-Snatches sword, steps back about two or three feet and swiping his right arm into a punch for the shoulder-

{Clarifying Edit}

[26/30]

-Knives Remaining-

]=[

]=[

Three.

Two.

One.

Crunch.

Crunch?

Griff smirked for just a minute, going straight into his next movement. He wasn't like James. He wasn't like many of the other fighters out there. Even when things hurt, he kept his wits about him, and he didn't bother with his meta s**t on people it's not likely to help or work on. And no doubt, Colin would be wondering why Griff's shoulder sounded more like breaking ceramic dishes than it did popping bone or some such.

The knives would be torn out, to be sure, but Griff didn't mind losing grip of them. Not really. He moved back in, snarling as he closed the gap. His left arm, holding the sword upside down, blade forward, would bring it back, his hand running across his hip, the index and middle finger spacing long enough to snatch two more of those tiny knives. This one was straight forward and in extreme range.

Griff would take the hit to his forearm, and it'd be at thhat exact time that he would be punch/stabbing Colin in the lower rib, the two knives would of course, bury themselves in his flesh. He would then attempt to drag the sword upwards across the enemy's side/ribs. The knives were still gripped tightly, and if they had connected, they could each be dragged about an inch upwards before the small bits of metal would weaken or snap off in Colin.

[2/17]

-Took shoulder hit, right shoulder on DragonSkin compromised. Second attack pending, as Griff's two-knife punch would be deployed. The follow up is Griff bearing his fist down and dragging the sword upward, hoping to cut Colin's side.-

[24/30]

-Knives Remaining-

]=[

Alphabetic Poetic Wrote:

No matter how many times Griff tried to stop him, Colin was going to pull that wrist as long as he had a hold of it, and he was going to make this prat bow before a new god.

Bloody pisser...

Colin was a tad miffed about getting stabbed TWICE by this little ninja poser, and he was about to show him exactly what he though of it. Taking a step or two to his right, Colin FORCED Griff to keep moving, keep crab-walking to the side, until he reached what he wanted: that counter Ebris has knocked sideways with that powerful HAET TRAIN gait of his.

[3/17] ]=[

Wow. So. Like. Across the other side of the room? Like... Three meters away. Griff's free arm reached up and sheathed his blade and tugged against Colin, who just merrily pulled him across the room until they got to the counter. And giving Griff enough time to think, he would do so to, upon reaching his destination, jump up and tuck himself in, kicking both feet out in a sideways, T shaped kick for Colin's ribs. Now, unless Colin could do some sorta voodoo and dodge this point blank move, he (or they, if he had the strength of will to keep hold of Griff's arm after being kicked in the armpit) would be flung toward the counter, and Griff'd fall back a ways, no more than five or six feet.

[3/17]

-Griff sheaths his blade while feigning to pull against Colin, allows Colin to get close to the HAET TRAIN'd counter before two-foot kicking him in the ribs/armpit-

]=[

Meanwhile...

The sound of faucet water started to echo in the lab as the swordsman turned the sink on near him. There was nothing much to his action while he continued to watch the fight progress, placing his left hand into the sink and doing nothing afterwards.

Perhaps rinsing a bit of sweat off of his hand or whatnot, or just indulging himself from the sensation of the liquid.

Who knows?

Anyways.

"So, Ben." The swordsman chimed a bit, turning to look at his fellow teammate. "Got any idea on how this is going to turn out?"

]=[

AW SHITLOAD OF ******** I DELETED MY POST ON ACCIDENT

Okay.

Griff would let out this outraged shout, his body shuddering hard as the microscope slammed clean into his skull. The ringing was unbearable, and for a moment, the soldier's brain tried to channel it out. His knees buckled, and he fell, almost, his body sorta squatted as he found himself back on the beach. For just a minute, he felt so good. And then, the elbow.

Now, the elbow was awkward, considering his location, dropped down to a crouch in front of Colin. So, he would do all he could think he could do. His left was still good and free, so he'd reach down and around and in a single fluid motion, grab an additional three knives, he would thrust his fist forward into Colin's guts, his right hand twisting around to tightly grip the assailants arm and he would pray. Everything tightened.

Bearing the entirety of his upper body into Colin's lower torso and, forcing himself forward where he would attempt to, quite simply, lift Colin in the air. He'd use his legs, his back, and everything he had in that moment. He breathed in and, if it worked, he would throw himself backwards.

So.

Colin'd land on his neck.

Hard.

With Griff to follow.

Ow.

[4/17]

-Griff got smacked with the microscope, falls to a squat and attempts to lift and slam Colin over his head, onto his neck/shoulders/head/something-

]=[

The wonderful sound of the microscope hitting skull put a small grin on the seven foot man woman's face. The only indication that this man was a female was when James Black over yonder decided to call her by her name, but she had nonchalantly skated around that without giving a straight answer to him.

The fun was short lived, and Colin looked none too happy, but he would just have to get over it. She wanted in more action, but she couldn't, so back over the counter she would go leaping with the microscope still in her hand, bouncing it nicely in the palm of it.

"These things are tough."

Nothing beat a sword though.

< During the brutal massacre. >

themightyjello Wrote:

"Hey, Katie," he shouted over the ruckus...

"These guys didn't have a girl on their team when I checked the roster. So who the hell is that?"

Pocket Gal Wrote:

James always had perfect timing. The man looked up at him as he entered, eyes narrowed as he blatantly yelled out a greeting to the woman in disguise. Lips pursed, turquoise eyes would dart towards Colin.

Eyes back on James.

"Where the hell have you been? Grabassing? This party started a long time ago."

"Wassa' matter, Susan. Jealous?" was his curt reply to the woman's retort. He hadn't been -that- late to join the party, not counting the shindig last night that he had skipped out on to take care of a little business of his own.

It looked like he'd missed a team meeting or something.

"Don't get your panties in a jumble Karen, I was just wondering why I'm seeing Brittany over there playing with her hair like she's waiting for a photoshoot." He took the cigarette out of his mouth and flicked tapped it against the side of a petri dish like it was an ashtray. "I was expecting to walk in here and see something other than covergirl, emo-hair, and Princess over there -"

CRUNCH!

"-making out with a freight train."

With a shrug, James leaned his side up against the edge of a countertop and flicked his cigarette into the chemical foam covering the floor. Thing was a fire hazard with all these vials and beakers around, for sure.

< After the brutal massacre. >

He hadn't been concerned about the first fight, not even a little bit. It was over before it started because of the handicap that Eredas has placed upon himself. Strikers weren't necessary for Ebris to splatter someone across the tile, but it was a stretch of overconfidence for the opponent to throw away any possibility of his team bailing him out. It should have been a lesson to the rest of his team and to everyone else who was watching in just why Strikers are important: it has nothing to do with all the times that you don't need it... it has everything to do with the one time you do.

Now the second fight had begun between Nancy the psychadellic-looking ******** on his team and the only person on God Caliber capable of growing facial hair. From the looks of things, it wasn't going to drag out either. Both of them came out of the gates swinging and now less than a minute in it looked like they might not make it to two.

"Christ," the man muttered as he adjusted his costume spectacles and brushed some chemical foam spatter off the sleeve of his labcoat, "angry little b*****d, isn't he?"

Yadda yadda yadda. Colin got slapped in the side, scowled, hissed, RAEG'd on the inside, then kept going. Sure, he had three inches of metal inside of him, but he'd also been shot multiple times in the back by supersonic rounds and stabbed in the gut by a KATANA in the sewers of Frostchild, and managed to live through that, so Griff was going to have to push out even more damage than this to drop the punker.

Or knock him out.

Griff decided to be a little Jack in the Box and jump up, shooting towards the sky like some ninja rocket. Newton, though, wouldn't allow for this. No, once Griff lifted up, Colin fell back. Why? Well, he didn't really plan for it to happen. It just kinda did, what with Colin pushing up and pulling back. So, when Griff went up, the resistance was removed, and Colin fell backwards.

Well, stumbled was more like it.

So, Griff standing, Colin stumbling, he'd use his UNbalance to his advantage and kick into Griff's legs and twist away to the left, pulling his right in as close as possible to his body. Man, if these two hadn't each ******** their respective chick the night before, all this hand holding could be considered queer.

So, Colin would kick, twist, and try to pull Griff off balance, and when he'd done all that his feet would find themselves again. Colin used this new found footing to his advantage and GOT RID OF IT. He did this fairly easily: he swung back towards Griff. And when he swung, the baton found itself ripping through the air at Griff's torso.

Man, that would hurt if it hit...

[6/17]

Alphabetic Poetic Wrote:

Colin fell backwards.

Well, stumbled was more like it.

So, Griff standing, Colin stumbling, he'd use his UNbalance to his advantage and kick into Griff's legs and twist away to the left, pulling his right in as close as possible to his body.

[6/17]

]=[

Griff would have smiled, had he not been ANGRANMAD! Instead, he decided to absolutely not fight what was happening. He'd keep Colin's arm well gripped, and for just a moment, he wondered who exactly was in charge as he fell on top of Colin, his legs having been kicked out from under him. Another clattering of discs, though the sound was definitely that of breaking discs, so there went defensive points.

But there was something more sinister at point here. As he fell forward on top of Colin, who was pressed to the counter, he would place one leg on either side of Colin's right leg before planting his feet. His left hand snapped across his body and he would grab his sword's handle and, very simply, draw across Colin's middle.

If it made contact as planned, Griff's sword would make a clean cut from Colin's left hip, across his belly and do some major damage all across.

As if that weren't enough, Griff decided to go ahead and headbutt Colin in the nose.

To be a d**k.

[6/17]

-Griff essentially lands on Colin, draws his sword at the awkward angle to cut Colin's left hip and belly since they're that close, and then headbutt Colin's nose-

]=[

Well, this was getting a little tiresome. Colin liked fighting and all, but this was just a tad annoying. Metal sliding around inside of him, bloke's BAD BREATH all up in his nose, spinning back and forth. It was all getting a little nauseating.

A little too nauseating.

As a matter of fact, Colin really couldn't hold himself together anymore. His eyes seemed to glaze, his face went a little green and, without much warning, he hurled.

BLEEEEEEAARGH

All of those starches and shades of beige he'd eaten the night before decided they wanted to see daylight one last time, and they wanted Griff to take part in the lovely experience. Now, he wasn't an expert, but Colin thought it would have to suck to get all those nasty gastric juices all over your face, into your nose and mouth, sticking to your clothes and hair, and not to mention that smell. He'd think it would have t be even worse to have it happen during a fight.

And, here it was. Griff just got a face full of BOOMER bile, and the swarm was about to come.

And by swarm, I mean a palm to the septum.

Colin decided it was probably time to ditch the baton and, as it struck Griff with yet another CRUNCH, Colin would flick his wrist and let go. Damned thing went spinning off, probably to go take a roll in the foamy plains left behind by what could be considered a type of creationism...

On the third minute, EBRIS created the FOAM and the TILE.

And he saw it, and it was GROD.

..if you were high.

So, with a free hand, Colin's open palm would shoot up between the two men as Griff's arm began to cross, if it even did after getting sprayed like that one fat twit in Jurassic Park, and aim to smash into the side of Griff's nose, breaking the septum and causing a nice flow of blood to mix with the vomit Griff now sported like one of those pansy mud face masks.

Once his hand was all nice and comfy all up in Griff's grill, Colin would grind the palm in and hook his fingers, trying to drive the digits into the ninja's closed eyes.

[7/17]

OFFENSIVE STRIKER

• Colin vs. Griff -

-- TIME PARADOX --

HUGE GAIGIRL vs. Swordsman

Having left the water trickling out of the sink when it then filled and overflowed from its sides after the Striker moment in Griff's fight, the swordsman was using his own measures passively to put him in a position that should help himself out a bit, especially in a place that gives him a bit of difficulty in charging up his more....arcane methods.

Using the striker moment in Griff's match to evaluate his own problems, the swordsman had come up with some ideas on how to overcome this obstacle, while at the same time crossing out some moves he wouldn't be able to use well in this fight in his mind.

Since there would be times where he'll have to donate time to charge...

"...."

More primitive methods would have to suffice.

With his back leaned against the wall where his Teammates were, it didn't take long for him to notice that the fight had already ended, and a seven foot tall girlGAI was sneering at him as if he was asking for him in this round.

"....?"

Oh. The guy was asking him to fight.

Ok.

Blowing out from his lips in a sigh, the swordsman took that short moment to evaluate the would-be foe for the third round, unsheathing his left katana in the meantime with his right hand.

Seven foot tall, looks ridiculously heavy...

A noticeable hilt handle portruding behind her back...

Loose shirt and pants that were obviously...well, loose...

What else?

The swordsman thought a bit and, twirling his left katana in his right hand a few times before walking out from the sidelines, he used both hands to hold the blade and have the tip pointed right towards the opponent's face in a typical Kendo-stance; Left leg behind, right leg just one step in front.

He neglected to unsheath his other blade out from his right side. If he's going to face off against a fighter that obviously has more weight than he does, then he'll need to use both hands just to keep his own ground against the foe.

"Soo..." He commented, forgetting her comment since he wasn't paying attention during the time, "I suppose you're the guy I'm going to fight?"

By then, the swordsman would have placed himself at the middle of the isles, giving him some good room for movement if he needs to.

Now...what to do...

(1/17)

Ayup. Really dun gone rathed up.

Bitches and Jimbos got complacent. They only saw two members of Honestly, Nice Guys as current threats, and that'd be Drywall and Goatsick - both of which were duking it out with members of team Grod Caliber already. What about James Black, that smug b***d who was being rathin' lazy? By the looks of it, resigned by himself to commentary on the sidelines. Well, what about that big a scary motherrather Ebris Dhifi - the one sumbitch who had mauled glamorous leader like a bear to a midget slathered in honey? Seemingly incapacitated due to his injuries, mainly applying medical grod all over his body while muttering some guttural, disturbing grod.

So was it safe?

Wrong.

Ebris Dhifi was still a 312lbs ugly gorilla-looking motherrather - and you have to realize, these 312lbs ugly gorilla-looking motherrathers never stop getting pissed off. Ever.

It might have been the start of the match between Goatsick and the other f*****t. It might have been the rathin' meta inching its way up to him to try and heal him with rathin' goofy woowoo grod. It might have been the fact that he had drunk almost all of his supply of amasec last night and just finally remembered.

It didn't matter. What rathin' mattered was a beefy finger furiously slamming into the STRIKER button on his FIGHTER like a Throne-damned jackhammer, his bulk pushing the girly meta f** outta the way with contemptuous ease, the lomg, loping gait that stalked his way to come up behind the pansy and the rathin' CRAZED look in his eyes. All that grod mattered. Coupled with the sink faucet on high and overflowing to the ground - as well as general background noise and yammerin' - to mask the noise he made, and the fact that the pansy was too busy not turning around - despite being warned - and trying to play fight with his sissy sword, it'd prolly mean BAD END for the Jimbo.

In fact, Jimbo'd prolly find out around the time Ebris' left paw came down and slapped him on the shoulder, and gave it a nice, lovable SQUEEZE - gotta keep him nice and still for what happened next, after all. If Jimbo managed to get a glance back at what the rath was about to happen to him, he'd see a giant, hunched hobo, with one big, meaty fist chambered back and down, before exploding upwards, right into his spine.

Oh, and the new noise that filled the entire arena, as well as everything within a few klicks due to how rathin' LOUD it was.

"RATHIN'-"

"-PISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

It was one of those moments that this woman in disguise would have an "I told you so" look on her face. It was a very smug look. She had told Dickballface to look behind him. It wasn't her problem that he didn't heed her advice. Now the guy was probably going to get a spine uppercut and whatever the ******** she decided to do at this point in time.

The katana he was twirling around in his hand looked like a knife. What the ****** was that thing? That was no sword. That pissed her off to see him twirling that piece of st around.

It actually made her REALLY ANGRY. ]:<

"THAT'S WEAK!"

She would quickly step in just after Ebris, knowing that this moment the man would probably be left dazed and confused. Who wouldn't be after getting a spine uppercut, especially, from Ebris? Her left hand would shoot across her frame towards Snow's left elbow that he had sticking out from pointing his butter knife at her, and she would grab hold to lock his elbow by putting pressure on it and pushing it in towards his chest.

And in that instant, in came something from her right. Remember that microscope that 320 pound woman in disguise had been lugging around after her striker? Yeah, the base of that huge object was coming from her right to slam directly into the swordman's face, aiming for his nose, which would probably sound real pretty right about now as it made a sickening sound.

CRUNCH!

Double team...SUPREME.

[2/17]

[Read text on the manga top to bottom, right to left.

(Pictures used and modified from the manga GTO: Great Teacher Onizuka)

Storyline Pics now editted to be in URL form for easier overall viewing]

James's condition had stablized by the time Snow and Katie's fight would begin. The medics had moved him outside of the ruckus going on inside the actual SCIENCE Lab in order to actually work better. The efforts of the hard-working staff, and James's own natural resilience paid off as things returned to normal.

The white mage that was left behind to watch over the sleeping fighter breathed a sigh of relief. Taking care of just this one fighter had taken all of her efforts. Now that he was well on the road to feeling good soon, she reckoned that she could slip away for a moment and grab a drink or power bar or something.

In the meantime, James seemed to be stirring in his sleep as he took a trip down memory lane and met with an old friend...

Guy was his first role-model. Tough-as-nails, one of the first of the Eredas clan to step on his path and wander the world in such of a good fight and adventure... Eikichi "HD" Eredas...

...

"Hey James... do you hear me?"

...

"Wake up and smell the ashes man..."

Page 1

Page 2

Page 3

Page 4

Page 5

The white mage returned with a can of soda...

... only to drop it in silent shock. Imagine the look on her face when she saw this instead of an unconcious fighter lying in the makeshift cot.

Page 6

She hurried her a** to the door to tell somebody, anybody, that the Captain of God Caliber had disappeared from his bed. Instead, she almost ran into him.

Page 7

Wordlessly, he ignored the few ******** looks that he got and picked up a nearby stuffed animal. It was a bird. Apparently, the lab technicians had been doing SCIENCY experiments on the topic of flight and they didn't put this away. For a model, it felt pretty real, feathers and all.

And then, even more suprising, he hit his FIGHTER to indicate for an offensive striker and took off in a dead dash toward the threesome, coming up from behind Ebris.

This guy was either insane, a zombie, or pumped up too full of AWESOME to just lay down and be still. Could've been a little bit of everything.

At any rate, thanks to being hid by Ebris's own massive girth and height, James's approach would be unnoticed, by anybody fighting, even by his own teammate. Tucking the bird under his arm, he dipped low and then vaulted clear over Ebris's head and uppercut attempt.

This would be the moment Katie'll see James. It'd already be too late as the stubborn captain intercepted her attempt to bash his teammate with that microscope with a DEVASTATING FLAMING FLYING KICK. He'd be just LANDING on her face with all of his weight behind that right foot, sending the two of them toppling backgrounds to the ground with the extraordinary force behind the blow, and ramming her head into the floor.

Page 8

With that, he'd leap off her UGLY TRANNY FACE as he was talking, not wanting to give her ANY time to react after all. James lit the stuffed bird in his hands on fire, and jamming it near a smoke detector in the ceiling at the apex of his leap.

Unfortuanately, that also meant that he accidently hit his head again on the ceiling and land on the ground in a crumple. What was meant to be an extremely short four second striker actually took a little over nine seconds as James somehow managed to get up again and stagger to the sidelines.

Guy was just filled with too much of that FIGHTAN spirit.

Oh and then the sprinklers went off.

-- TIME PARADOX --

HUGE GAIGIRL vs. Swordsman

(2/17)

It could've worked both ways, and the swordsman is no different to that paradox. Looking back or not would just either give the behemoth time to hurl the scope right at the back of his head in one possible outcome - or give way to the striker which he did not fully anticipate - and having a rough guess on how things can play out, the swordsman took the chances of ignoring the guy's warning. Didn't mean he wasn't on guard though - hell, with all that beefy-muscles straining at the guy's neck and the smirk on his face, the swordsman can't afford to lower his guard even before the match, regardless of their advantages and whatnot.

As if to confirm his suspicions, the lovely paw squeeze on his left shoulder from behind jolted him with a light burst of adrenaline rush. Even if it is from his own teammate there is no exception to the swordsman's response;

MOVE!

Using his left heel like a swivel, the swordsman used his right foot to give him a burst of speed to turn left immediately after feeling contact on his left shoulder. Lowering both his hands in a downward curve to his respective left, the swordsman forced his own shoulders and upper body to follow his hand's sweeping motion, causing less area on his left shoulder for the assailant's left hand to grab on firmly, and give just enough space for him to free himself out of the lock when he moves. This would also place the swordsman in a body posture that already signals the intent to dash, his body already then shifted to a position where with a kick off of his right foot --

He would be off and away from the assailant's left, just as the upper cut came simultaneously and grazed - just indirectly - the left portion of the swordsman's middle torso.

"...!"

The swordsman could feel the burning sensation that slid behind his left torso in that graze. Even in his attempt of dodging the strike just the sheer force behind that uppercut grazing his back would be more than enough to leave a nice bruise behind the swordsman's left side when he inspects his own injuries, later in the day.

And to imagine getting directly hit with it...

There was currently only one guy that the swordsman saw in the fight today that had so much power behind their fists.

The Captain of whoever the hell they were fighting against, who should be in the sidelines nurturing his injuries!

Tsk. Son of a --

Whatever the situation is right now, it would be a good thing for him that he gave himself plenty of room to maneuver in beforehand. Some experience being based off from his fight back in the Prelims, but that's another story. Continuing to dash using short but quick steps to put distance between him and his opponent - say, a meter or two, roughly - a few traces of light would be bouncing oddly off of the floor in an unorthodox fashion.

Small portions of black ice on the floor, frozen just on the areas where his body moved past like a trail to dissuade.

When enough distance is gained, the swordsman would whirl back in a clockwise turn and skid to a halt on his left foot like a brake - his blade held with both hands, tucked to his left and aimed in an implied stabbing motion as he faced his adversary with a right sided stance -- right leg first, left leg a step behind, obviously.

He might not have the crushing power or overwhelming strength which the opposition may have. But what he lacks, he'll make it up for skills and his mobility.

If the adversary came at a chase after the swordsman, the swordsman should be ready to fend for himself in the event. If not, the swordsman would take that small portion of time to start turning whatever water near him, or around his area of influence into black, slippery ice. It'll take a bit more time than usual, but with --

...

What the -- Is that James?!

Then the sprinklers were set off.

Somewhere, back at home, a man's jaw dropped to the floor after witnessing what was quite possibly the most awesome striker he'd ever seen in his young life. Shortly afterwards his television exploded.

Now he's just pissed-off.

[ Cognitive Genome ] Wrote:

WHUCRU--

Pansiest of the pansy team?

Something wet came in contact with Ebris' uppercut punch. While not particularly able to negate most of the momentum instantly, the swordsman didn't expect Ebris, of all people, to be the one strikering him from behind.

Son of a --

"GAH!"

Before he realized it, the swordsman went flying forward before landing on both feet of his, his back feeling as if it had been shocked with a high voltage of mass inducing pain. And while the pain was definitely there, while Ebris walked back with a chuckle on his face - the idea of the swordsman crumpling to the ground in sheer agony isn't going according to plan.

Just from one simple thing that occured before the start of this match. Hell, even before the first round between James and Ebris.

Nightsnow Wrote:

Meanwhile, the dripping continued from the swordsman's cloth.

Drenched.

Due to the swordsman taking a cold shower along with his cloth.

Back on the first page, if people didn't notice that. It was rather passive, the water he'd let stay in his cloak and cloth soaking up all of it and making the cloth rather heavy for wear, and letting it linger for the past two rounds of fighting. While it provided no ultimatum against swords or sharp weapons if it encountered one...

Against blunt force? The soaked cloth acted pretty damn well as a layer of defense, causing the impact of force to spread - roughly - even throughout his back. Considering that the cloak is an all terrain build, the design of it was meant to resist against tears and natural environment damage, giving it a slight additional bonus in protecting the wearer during his travels.

Yet, had the blunt force been more focused on a smaller spot, then the swordsman was kind of ******** there, even if he allowed his cloak to be soaked in water beforehand.

However, regarding Ebris' size and the area of his HUGE fist...

It's a larger sting, but the swordsman would make it. Probably have a few nasty aches after the match though.

James' sudden interference helped bide the swordsman some extra seconds for recovery, his body already trying to move and ignore the paralyzed sensation rippling through his back and the muscles there.

"Ugh!"

He still had some control over his arms, and his legs seems to be operational. While his grasp on the katana on his right hand has yet to falter and slip, the tip was still pointed at Katie's main chest, with his left hand acting as a support for the right hand. The only main problem is his back that was still rigid from the direct impact.

Come on, move!

The swordsman watched James getting mauled by the guy's stomp during his temporary stun. The adrenaline rush still coursed through the swordsman's body, his own sense of timing appearing - in his viewpoint - slowed down somewhat. Gritting his teeth and focusing his energy...

MOVE!

]=[

Griff just wiped his face clean and cracked his knuckles as Colin fumbled around like a jackass. He was no point to worry at this point, and he would merely regain his composure.

Push the puke out of your mind.

Get it out of your head.

********.

This.

Guy.

Up.

Griff reached to his side. He was covered in alcoholic vomit and his opponent's blood. He hadn't really been cut up, but he'd been battered, and he was hurting. He was also. Completely. Inescapably. Angry.

Griff didn't feel the need to be as cinematic and ******** gay as Colin. He reached over and grabbed DeuxMascus. Now. Don't get me wrong, folks. This sword does have a power. It thirds up the effects of magic that is thrown at him. That is, a third hits him, a third is absorbed as usable mana, and then the last, it's sent off into the yonder.

But Colin isn't magickan. He's not spellan. Just Swordan.

So Griff would match it up, his left hand on dominant point as he peered down the length of the blade just as Colin would spit his little threat. And Griff would spit back.


"******** your mother."

[8/17]

-Griff draws his sword and says "******** your mother."-

]=[

]=[

...Oh...

A reaction, I spy?

Oh.

Ho.

Ho.

And such a slow, dramatic walk.

"What's up, Mama's Boy? Old lady's box used harder than manga expositions in roleplaying tournaments? Biggun's skull?"

Griff thrust his sword out, effectively parrying whilst backstepping from the flaming sword of epic awesomeness. Whilst giving a doublestep back, Griff would smirk, "Or are you just sensitive about the slip and slide they called your Mah's womb?" The DeuxMascus was struck forth, a clean attempt for Colin's chest, a narrow slash across the torso.

"What ho, Sonna-ho."

[9/17]

-Griff parried and went for a shallow torso cut whilst talkin' s**t on Colin's dead Mom.-

]=[

Tit for tat, sonny boy. Tit for tat. Colin's flaming machete was knocked to the side, tip cracking into tile a few inches before Colin's toes. Small shrapnel bounced across the SCIENCE labs, tinkling a small little diddy that was drowned out by the almost ended EPIC ROCK song blaring away in the corner. Topless Colin, trails of blood smeared across his lower torso, would grunt, his eyes twitching even more from the constant gibs at his mum, and in the end it would end badly.

For now, though, Colin would tighten his arm, muscles clenching and tendons pulling tight as he used the rebound from the blade to swing the back edge up towards Griff's own body while stepping in with his right. At this rate, both men would hit the other at the same time, both swords coming it at almost a horizontal angle, though the punker's own blade would be slicing at an upward angle.

Still, Colin wouldn't stop there. Oh no, not when he still had a flaming shirt in his hand. A step with his left, and Colin would toss a punch with the half wet, half burning cloth clenched in his fist, wrapped around it loosely and lazily, and aim the mass towards Griff's exposed throat.

Once Colin's arm was extended, fist landing or not, the three wounds had already started to heal. Clotting had finished, and the skin was already slowly starting to mend on a microscopic level. Sure, this would have been pretty quick for a normal hume, but Colin wasn't normal, not by a longshot. Maybe one day someone would figure that out, someone other than that alter ego the punker had forgotten about long enough to get rid of, and they'd ask. They ask and probe and eventually discover what had caused it. Until then, he'd keep on being just some guy who could shrug off damage a little better than the rest in a row.

Terribly sharp saw teeth coming in from the side, a flaming water cloth fist punch thing coming in from the front, Griff was being given little to run to if he still wanted to try to cut Colin. Boy-o should have learned that it was never polite to talk about someone's mother.

Teach you to gib mum.

[10/17]

]=[

<THE TIME PARADOX HAS SHIFTED AT THE END OF THIS POST>

<THE FLOOR IS ALL WET>

Griff scowled and just thrust himself into this s**t. No need to keep being silly. His left arm rose to a sort of thrust, the flaming cloth immediately wrapping around his arm and slapping to a sickly sort of sclorch.

Now.

Griff was still covered in vomit.

Alcohol Vomit.

And alcohol is very, very flammable.

So while Griff was totally incapable of stopping the flaming machete from slamming into his right side and crushing a section of his ceramic discs as well as cutting the cloth above it, he didn't give a s**t, because his left arm was now on fire.

Hap-hazardously dropping the sword, Griff would curl his digits inward and in an almost ridiculous fashion, would reach forward and punch at Colin's face. And ******** it. For good measure, Griff did so while shouting, "Yermomsucks... COCKS!"

Connect or fail, it would be rehiiiiiiight about now that those silly things called fire alarms would go off, noting the fact that Griff and Colin were on fire. And thus, it would begin to spray cold, cold water everywhere. And it would be this cold water that would cut away the last fifteen seconds of HEAVY METAL in lieu of something infinitely gayer would sound off.

"...Colin..."

[10/17]

-Griff's left arm is lit on fire, his right side is now exposed, he preforms a FALCON PUNCH and then they are both doused with the emergency hoses, which cause the gPod to play Panic! at the Disco-

]=[

The foe needs to pay more attention to details.

Nightsnow Wrote:

pants, Dark blue long sleeves and an all-terrain cloak with hood attached that masked his face and everything else underneath it.

Refer back to page one's entrance. His hair isn't in the way - more like the hood on his cloak worn over him.

Also.

Black ice is very, very slick and not easy to break. Often it has more than enough potential to even make vehicles slide helplessly across its presence, and such vehicles often weigh many times more than 312lbs of sheer weight. Unless her stomps are cracking the floor beneath the two - which was halfway devastated during the first round and second round of fighting - the hard, solid ground beneath isn't something that shatters easily just through stomps itself.

But that was just his own analysis of the situation. The sound of metal against metal didn't completely surprise him when his blade made contact - he'd seen the familiar-looking bulges portruding out of the foe's body when the sprinklers went off after James' maneuver, which gave him a bit of intel about the foe. But how to injure someone that's probably armored to the teeth...No, even more troubling, is how the behemoth can change strides and course on black ice itself, which surprised him a bit when he saw Katie turning about to give chase during his slash from the corner of his eyes.

"Tch."

He still can't do any tight maneuvers completely. Although the pain is starting to fade somewhat, it doesn't give him good control over his sore back. Yet. And needing all the time he can to recover when he saw the Behemoth change course to go after him during the slash, the swordsman took a possible chance to attack as he bent his right leg somewhat right after the slash/pass, anchoring his weight on that leg, lowering his height --

And then performing an almost instantaneous 180 degree turn to his respective left by turning his pelvis and thigh accordingly, building up quite some centrifugal momentum. This would put him in a left side stance with the weight shifted towards his left leg, the katana blade being pulled in a counter-clockwise motion because of the turn. At that split moment, the swordsman would be poised in an immediate stabbing posture right as Katie's left arm came about to grab him at the face --

But because of his unexpectedly lowered stance when he turned, the left arm would trail three feet or so above the swordsman's head, trailing where the swordsman's head was a few seconds ago. An open opportunity then, where the swordsman may have a perfect shot of delivering a maiming stab right into Katie's left bicep/armpit this time from his position.

An unexpectedly good chance for him.

....Which, despite having a possible opening to stab, the swordsman wouldn't stab at all, instead using that critical timing to push off with his left leg during the kneeling posture, sliding away from Katie's left side immediately instead in a retreat; To more open areas where there were no counters and objects behind him - trying to keep himself within the space which Ebris and James fought --

And wrecked.

Where there weren't much counters nearby, and some room for maneuvering instead.

Landing a possible kick at the swordsman isn't going to be easy because of his posture, as it played a defensive role in his retreat. Even with his blade held in an implied stab - tucked close to his right hip with the tip of his blade still aimed at the Behemoth's main body - it can easily switch roles between offensive and defensive, should Katie develop the urge to chase after him again.

He would skid to a halt and stand up eventually when he finds himself in the middle of that open space, keeping his view and himself facing the Behemoth's position at all times in that stabbing posture.

Strangely, during those times, a single small translucent orb started to float near the swordsman's left forearm.

(5/17)

]=[

There were very few things that really, really escaped Griff, as far as those things you just gotta do, man. Among them was truly broadcast the fact that emo music sucks, and they are ******** retarded. So, nodding to Colin, Morivan would just smile. "I'll buy you a new one." He offered as he turned on his heel, putting his back entirely to Colin. Hell. There was a code of honor.

Colin and Griff were men.

Men don't listen to Panic! at the Disco.

The first four, five feet, Griff just leisurely walked across the floor before breaking into a run, pulling his left arm back into a fully chambered punch. And you've got to picture this. A six foot man in full combat armor, body partially on fire and currently being drenched by emergency sprinklers, had pulled his left arm back as hard as physically possible before releasing in a bloody roar, the last of the flames being doused as his knuckles slammed the home station, the gPod being sent flying into the wall, the port being destroyed for all technical purposes.

CRASH!

"What the ******?" Morivan relaxed for just a moment, his back and legs arched in this hyper dramatic fashion. His side was bleeding, his armor was **** all kinds of up. He looked like a Muai Thai fighter or some such, and he was subjected to this st. For a second, he shot a look of disbelief at Colin, as if to plea for assistance before darting up and, while kicking off of the main counter nearest the door, proceeds to do a flying spin kick, his foot crushing the gPod into the wall.

SLAM!

Griff's foot made contact, and he would back flip to a stop before gritting his teeth. "WHAT in the name of all that is GOOD AND METAL!?" This could only be answered with a single move. This had to work. It simply had to work.

"SHORYUKEN!"

Okay, so it didn't really make Griff ignite in the flames of the legendary Gouken's nonlethal combat stylings, but it did cause him to do a corkscrew uppercut to the apparently floating gPod before stepping off to the side. This indominable b*****d went sailing into the sky and landed in the ceiling between the two opponents.

CRUNCH!?

An aghast stammer.

"My powers alone are not great enough to destroy such a terrible evil!"

[11/17]

-Griff disregards Colin for a much more terrible target, one that requires immediate assistance-

-Emo Music-

]=[

Pocket Gal Wrote:

So, as Katie reached out, grabbing the man's hoodie with a huge, meaty hand, which she'd yank --

Which, since the swordsman wouldn't be able to move thanks to Katie grabbing his hood from his right side with her left arm, and with her facing him directly on his respective right, his intended retreat and plan would be interrupted. Which also means that his pace would stop, and his blade would be held in front of him, close, perhaps angled a bit to his right shoulder immediately after his slash attempt at her right side in the previous post.

"Tsk!"

The swordsman would have lowered his wrists to the left by then, pulling his blade back just a bit to the left, the tip end of his blade placed just in front of his right shoulder as he was yanked towards her...

Pocket Gal Wrote:

-- and bring the base of his skull and neck right into the palm of her hand, while hip --

In a simple upward shove using his hands, the swordsman delivered an upward stab that glided up his right shoulder, the tip careening dangerously up towards her left neck side with surprising speed, and placed at a point where a simple flick or a jolt motion of his wrist is enough to cause the lethal edge to...

Dig into her unarmored flesh there.

Notably the vulnerable left side of the neck, or the left side of her face.

Deeply.

Her attempt at piledriving the swordsman to the ground wouldn't follow through because of his interfering action, since she didn't consider the blade's position, nor the position he has during the grab. His footing would still be in balance when she yanks him, using the ice beneath him to maintain his balance.

And in the meantime before she realized what she'd done to herself --

The hood she yanked felt oddly...brittle for some reason. And surprisingly cold, like ice.

It would become apparent soon enough why his cloak was cold like ice, in the next post.

(6/17)

::EDIT::

Colin actually had a little respect for this ninja bloke now, what with them both having a seething hate for emo sissy pansy nancy boy froo froo piss. Now, Colin thought it was a little fruity for this man to be doing spins and flips and all this ninja blow, but the spirit was still in him. Following the man's lead, Colin followed close behind, wet fabric fist and FLAMECHETE ready for some pummeling. After Griff's one-two-three combo, Colin came in right behind it for a little chopping.

CRACK

THE HELL WAS THIS s**t? This wasn't even music. This sounded like some cracked out hussy running around downtown with her arms flailing while some huge black guy pointed and laughed at her with a backup chorus of hyenas rolling around laughing their arses off.

WHUNK

WAIT! This was actually a pretty decent song. Colin could have been satisfied with this song, and happily finished off the fight, but he'd already been committed to the destruction of the gayPod, so his machete was already coming in for a third strike. Too bad. Rush would have to wait for another rainy day.

THRACK

...

Now, Colin had never actually had his entire body shake with RAEG before, but now was the perfect time for it to happen. With teeth grinding together, veins popping out across his neck, his eyes narrowing, pupils tightened into slits, his breathing became a his, the machete slowly cocking back until he looked like some kind of twisted Lady Liberty, his machete his torch, and he roared out a battle cry.

The only way to destroy this was through the combined power of HAET, so Colin would whip his machete around, smacking the gPod and sending it careening towards the only man who could truly crush this damned evil box.

Ebris.

Leaving the gPod to its own fate, Colin turned back to Griff, still seething, and let the small truce go. They had bonded together for those few seconds to get rid of the faggy tunes, and now it was back to cracking skulls. Unfortunately, this was no longer to EPIC rock and was instead to the annoying hiss of the sprinklers. It'd have to do.

The FLAMECHETE was slowly running out of the BURNING DESIRE that was the POWER OF LOVE, and it had a few more seconds before the flames ran out and all that as left was some very warm, possibly hot, metal. Still, Colin whipped the blade end of the blade towards Griff's right arm, aiming to leave him a nice little cut like he had Colin.

Something to remember the evening by.

[12/17]

The feeling of the blade jamming into Griff's shoulder was something he'd been waiting for and he genuinely smiled, albeit malevolently, when it happened. Griff was going to need some doctors to look into that later, considering it was going to be all kinds of tore up.

Colin didn't even care that he just got punched in the jaw. Sure, it hurt, and his lips was cut on the inside from having his flesh forced into the grooves between teeth, but he'd merely spit the blood into Griff's face and do the only thing that would provide him with the best assault.

Colin would step in, putting his weight onto the handle and pushing it, forcing it deeper into the joint as his own free hand came up and tossed a quick punch into Griff's sternum. Sure, Colin expected to feel the armor resisting his wrapped fist, but it was wet cloth, so it'd be a stronger hit. Not by much, but a little extra might go a long way.

Blade being forced deeper into Griff's body, the sharp blade was the least of Griff's worries. Those saw teeth were going to be a b***h either way, whether entering or exiting his shoulder, and he was going to be lucky it he could still move it after this. Cartilage and muscle were going to get cut into, so at the least moving the arm would be a pain in the arse.

Who knew, though. Colin saw that pansy James stand up even after getting tossed around by Ebris, so Griff might easily be able to still have full use of his shoulder after this. Only time would tell.

[13/17]

Sneaky little b*****d, but Colin had grown wise to what he was doing. Seeing Griff's hands drop down to his side like that made Colin think one thing and one thing only: pain. Now, he had no idea of knowing that Griff was going to try some more of those porcupine punches he'd pulled earlier in the fight, but Colin didn't care. Didn't really matter what he though Griff was going to do, Colin was still going to perform the same move either way.

Drop Kick.

Colin gave one final push with his right, extending his arm as far as it would go, machete either getting stopped by bone or sinking in further before meeting the same fate, and he'd jump, twist to the left, and send his feet kicking out as fast as he could towards Griff's torso. Whether he hit sternum, gut, solar plexus or anything else, he really wouldn't care; the kick would hurt like hell, and send Griff flying back.

It would also rip the machete from the man's shoulder. The force of the kick combined with the speed at which Griff was moving back and Colin was falling would be more than enough to yank the black blade from Griff, saw teeth shredding whatever meat it could grab.

Colin would land on his stomach, his fall slowed a tad by his left hand landing itself on the relatively whole tile and pushing up, and he'd roll to the side, scrambling to his feet probably the same time Griff would reorient himself with his surroundings and catch his breath.

And Colin would close the distance, his hand free from the shirt and coming in to chop Griff in the throat with its knife edge, palm facing down.

Man, this was getting fun.

[14/17]

Excellent.

Griff wrapped the cloth around the machete and tried to pull himself up, probably pushing off with his feet as he did so. Not quite a problem. As a matter of fact, Colin would help him up. How? Take a step back, and pull on the machete as hard as possible.

Odds were that Griff would still manage to use the little bit of tension to get that extra oomf in his spring he wanted, but that tension wouldn't last long. Colin pulling back on the machete and Griff pulling back on the cloth, which was already compromised as it was, would just end in armor confetti once those saw teeth got busy. Man, this was one bloody good choice for a sword.

Griff, probably still coming in for the closeline, would be met by one thing that would hurt like hell, but probably save him in the end. Colin leaned back, lifted up his left, and dominant, foot, and kicked it out at Griff's chest.

The man rising up to slam his arm into the punker's throat would find himself meeting the bottom of the man's Converse shoes, and he would be knocked back very painfully. Unfortunately for Colin, this meant that his balance was shot and that he, too, would find himself falling back. A sacrifice that he hoped would be worth it.

Back slapping into toe ground, a few small shards of tile digging into his flesh, Colin hissed and sat up, pushing himself up a little slower than before. It stung, and he was feeling a little ache.

The cuts between his ribs had clotted, and a very small glint of metal poked out, barely noticeable between the sprinklers spraying the two down.

[15/17]

His body felt a somewhat stressed from the environment. Not because of the lingering injuries that were already fading off of his back, it was also because of how long it took for him to establish a good area of influence for him to get things started. But since the swordsman waited long enough for things to get REALLY drenched...

Hell, the sprinklers were still going off.

Ice that he'd spread under his influence coated the areas where he passed and ran.

Everyone soaked to the BONES.

Water EVERYWHERE.

This is going to put more stress on his body.

But it's also going to hurt exponentially more for the people around him, since the things he will be dishing out would be...

Bad.

Real Bad.

His stab missed its mark, with Katie dodging it just barely.

Pocket Gal Wrote:

His blade would hit some flesh, but it would slide just over her left shoulder, grazing across that side of the neck. Immediately a line of blood sprouted from the wound, but it didn't hit anything vital.

Tsk, a shallow wound? Was what ran through the swordsman's mind in a near fleeting thought. Feeling the assured grip on his neck from Katie --

-- And a sudden glimpse of some unknown person coming up from behind him reflected on his katana blade --

-- that is the critical moment.

His chance.

Without warning, a surge of energy bursted right out of his body, and set off a chain reaction that would forever change the look of the science labs as it is now. And how it would change can be summed up by one simple thing;

Spikes.

Razorsharp spikes of ice everywhere.

Even from the swordsman's body, a huge amount of razorsharp spikes erupted everywhere from his cloth, his own cloak, his own hood immediately, even from the ground around him -- But it doesn't just stop there. His area of influence continues to spread like wildfire, turning all the water in contact with it into razorsharp spikes as well that solidified quickly, skewering anything that isn't thoroughly protected. Anything that is under his area of influence.

The ice on the ground suddenly became the catalyst for his influence.

Became his seal that sets off the chain reaction that would impale anyone nearby ruthlessly, without hesitation, without mercy.

And Katie, in the stock middle of it all, as well as James Black, which the swordsman would not expect strikering him from behind until he caught his reflection on his katana blade, is of no exception to the rule.

Small, yet razorsharp spikes would pierce right into Katie's left palm when it bursted out of his hood and cloth, digging deep into her unarmored flesh without remorse. While not stopping anytime soon, the icy spikes would continue to spread outwards, using the water on her drenched cloth, her drenched armor as a traveling agent to spread up her body, and into the unguarded areas of her flesh.

Her face.

Her neck.

Coming up her legs and armored boots due to his area of influence.

Areas where water might flow into her armor, bursting from within the gears to deliver damage everywhere, ripping anything close by to shreds from its sharpness.

James Black, in his sneaky attempt to stab the swordsman's spine with his weapon, would suddenly come across a body that is riddled with spikes coming out of the cloak, and spikes portruding out of the ground. Spikes so sharp that just brushing an unarmored hand across it would guarantee a nasty cut. From that contact, it too would spread from the touch if James touched it, spreading right onto James' hand and using the soaked cloth on him as the carrier.

From where the assailant slid, the now spiky ground would riddle James' legs - even more if unprotected - branching upwards as if going to lock the foe down, spreading everywhere like an uncontrolled outbreak.

Piercing anything it comes into contact with.

Anything that touches the swordsman's influence.

And even if James tried to stab...

The spikes - ironically - acted like an extra sheet of defense layer. Solidified ice that could take the blow easily, its slippery surface - no thanks to the sprinklers still raining water down onto the solidified spikes - would be more than enough to divert the blade because of its surface.

It's like stabbing a slippery ball of ice, even if one manages to hold it down.

The swordsman, while during the release of the chain reaction catalyst, would use that opportune time to immediately shove himself away from the hulking Behemoth right after the spikes impaled her left hand, and the assailant while the chain reaction continued.

Spikes which came under his retreating presence were absorbed into his cloth as he slid backwards, refueling his strength, and his energy while he kept the blade pointed at Katie at all times. Keeping himself faced against the assailant and her, and putting some distance between the two.

As more water fell from the skies - notably the sprinklers - the more the spikes grew as a result; leeching off of the water, increasing the magnitude of pain which the people under the swordsman's influence would feel when the spikes digs deeper into the flesh, into the skin --

As long as water continued to fall from the ceiling.

As long as they were still showered by water.

Touched by water.

In contact with water under his influence.

By the time it ends - which isn't anytime soon until someone shuts off the sprinklers - the fighting arena inside the Science labs would be in utter ruins.

White, glittering spikes everywhere. Some that are large, many in varying sizes...

The sprinklers adding more mayhem to the situation, causing those trapped in the spikes to feel more pain as it grew from the water - pushing deeper into the wounds - like an unrelenting Iron Maiden.

In this type of setting...

The more water there is, the easier it is for the swordsman to use his abilities. And with water everywhere...

This is HIS arena now.

(7/17)

Though the odds were against him this swordsman Snow had seen him coming at the last instant via the reflection in the side of his sword mid-thrust. The hood had obscured his vision and he'd been given no cause to look behind him, but in that flash of an instant he had caught a glimpse of the costumed 'scientist' standing behind him with the kind of smile you only find on psychopaths and used car salesmen.

"Evening, ladies..."

Nightsnow Wrote:

And even if James tried to stab...

The spikes - ironically - acted like an extra sheet of defense layer. Solidified ice that could take the blow easily, its slippery surface - no thanks to the sprinklers still raining water down onto the solidified spikes - would be more than enough to divert the blade because of its surface.

It's like stabbing a slippery ball of ice, even if one manages to hold it down.

Crack!

The thin layer of ice offered little protection against the stab; instead of deflecting the knife like armor it cracked and gave way as the cloak and cloth it was clinging to folded under the pressure and shook off bits of the hardening water to the floor. There was more resistance than just flesh and clothing but in the end the result was the same... a scarlet flower bloomed out of Snow's midsection as the water running off his clothing mixed with the red blood rushing out from the wound. The ice that was blossoming infectiously out of everything it touched would spread to the watered down blood as well so that amidst all of the white ice that was forming there would be one flower that stood out crimson among the others.

It was bothersome though that this guy was starting to resemble a chia pet.

Nightsnow Wrote:

Even from the swordsman's body, a huge amount of razorsharp spikes erupted everywhere from his cloth, his own cloak, his own hood immediately, even from the ground around him -- But it doesn't just stop there. His area of influence continues to spread like wildfire, turning all the water in contact with it into razorsharp spikes as well that solidified quickly, skewering anything that isn't thoroughly protected. Anything that is under his area of influence.

It seemed to be spreading quickly. It seemed to spread to everything it touched. It seemed that was the case anyway, when James pulled his hand away from the knife and saw the crystals beginning to form on and run up his arm. Even going to far as to grow a tint of red from the tiny puncture wounds on his hand that had been the result of those needles growing out of Snow's body so quickly.

"Tch."

James crushed the ice that was beginning to form on his left hand where he had touched Snow's shoulder. Minuscule needles, hairlike thickness, but strength is determined by cross-sectional area. No matter how sharp the needles were they would snap as soon as the slightest pressure was placed upon them; crushing the ice that was forming on his hand in a fist removed the problem with only the small side effect of puncturing his skin with hundreds or thousands of pinpricks. Even as the ice began to spread he simply swatted it off with a brush against his labcoat and reached for the jacket breast.

He hadn't expected this, but it wasn't going to make a difference.

"Hello love, got a present for you."

From the holster on the inside of his coat James produced a small... remote control? Well, it looked as if it were a remote at least. It was black, somewhat rectangular but seemed to have a handle at an odd angle and thickness so that it couldn't be, and to top it all off it had two nasty looking metal barbs protruding from the end.

Nightsnow Wrote:

Hell, the sprinklers were still going off.

Ice that he'd spread under his influence coated the areas where he passed and ran.

Everyone soaked to the BONES.

Water EVERYWHERE.

Water, water everywhere. But not a drop to drink.

There are a lot of properties that water is famous for, not the least of which is conductivity. Becoming ice does not change the structure of water at all, it simply rearranges the molecules into a crystalline, solid structure that does not flow like it does in its liquid form. Unfortunately, Snow appeared to be covered in the stuff. Hell, he was standing in a pool of it and it was raining down from the sky! Oh... and he had a fresh new lightning rod in his gut.

This... was going to hurt.

With his hood held in a vice grip and a knife through his all-important standing muscles Snow would have a b***h of a time getting far as his little Armageddon device took hold and started spreading viraly throughout the area. There would be another crunch of crackling ice a second later as the barbs jammed themselves through the frozen cloak in the center of Snow's back with a backhand slam.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!

Voltage. Shittons of it. Coming out of barbs buried in so deep that they would have drawn blood. The discharge from the stungun would rocket up and down Snow's spine like an explosion; gravitating towards the large metal slab that was lodged in his torso but some also spread across the water to other parts more quickly than it did internally. They were all soaked, though, and in close proximity. James felt a buzz from it as well and so would Katie, but it was nowhere near the earth-shattering mind-wiping type of twitch-inducing current Snow was going to be feeling.

And as the ice formed all around them James stood there.

And he held the button down.

Nightsnow Wrote:

The ice on the ground suddenly became the catalyst for his influence.

Became his seal that sets off the chain reaction that would impale anyone nearby ruthlessly, without hesitation, without mercy.

Nightsnow Wrote:

From where the assailant slid, the now spiky ground would riddle James' legs - even more if unprotected - branching upwards as if going to lock the foe down, spreading everywhere like an uncontrolled outbreak.

Piercing anything it comes into contact with.

Anything that touches the swordsman's influence.

It didn't matter if he got a yellow card for staying in too long, because this guy wasn't getting out of here conscious... Hell, it wasn't like James had anywhere to go anyways. The ice was spreading everywhere, even the sidelines. It was growing around his feet and up his legs. He'd have to break out of the ice before he could uproot his feet from where they were.

Nightsnow Wrote:

As more water fell from the skies - notably the sprinklers - the more the spikes grew as a result; leeching off of the water, increasing the magnitude of pain which the people under the swordsman's influence would feel when the spikes digs deeper into the flesh, into the skin --

As long as water continued to fall from the ceiling.

As long as they were still showered by water.

Touched by water.

In contact with water under his influence.

By the time it ends - which isn't anytime soon until someone shuts off the sprinklers - the fighting arena inside the Science labs would be in utter ruins.

White, glittering spikes everywhere. Some that are large, many in varying sizes...

The sprinklers adding more mayhem to the situation, causing those trapped in the spikes to feel more pain as it grew from the water - pushing deeper into the wounds - like an unrelenting Iron Maiden.

Now the question that Snow would have to as himself at this juncture was simply: 'Was it worth it?'

Not at all about the cost in stamina to himself to unleash a shitstorm like this upon everyone, but whether or not it was worth it to unleash an unstoppable shitstorm that he was the epicenter of. One that he appeared unable to control once it was spread. One that the bounds of logic dictated he would be unable to keep under his total control and observation because it acted as if it had a will of its own, continuing to spread as far as it could.

The floor. The countertops. The fighters. ALL the fighters. The Judges. The ring staff. The spectators.

They were all soaked by the sprinklers. All of them were within the area of influence of this out-of-control attack. This magic that was beyond the confines of logic and belief...

However... this was the realm of SCIENCE. Belief has no place here.

The mere presence of all of this scientific method and rational thought suppressed magic and supernatural abilities. However, despite that Snow was able to unleash this plague upon the area. On the surface, it was an all-encompassing, powerful attack. However disbelief would rot away at it in some way...

Whether it was the power that was compromised; making the spines brittle or dull and unable to injure more than shallow punctures and lacerations on the skin.

Or whether it was the control over it; how close he could allow these spines to get while growing all over himself before he could stop them. This re-absorption he had hoped for may not have worked quite as he intended and, as the epicenter of all this mess the needles growing out of his own clothing and skin would tear him up more than any other person here.

The real question Snow had to ask himself was simply: 'Was it worth it?'

[ Striker post 2/2. ]

The JUDGE was there. His armored form merely standing there in the deluge of water that fell from the sprinklers. It didn't even register that there was any water falling from anywhere due to that JUDGE armor.

Though, when the man that was currently fighting began to go all super powers the JUDGE crossed his arms over his armored chest and stared. When all the spikes erupted from that very same water they shattered against the armored form as he strode forwards to deliver a single card.

"Red card against Snow of God Caliber! Attack that strikes, spectators, JUDGES, tournament officials, and sidelines!" As he said that the card flew at the man he had spoken about to smack him in the face a few times for the stupidity that had happen before landing in the man's pocket. Oh yes! The JUDGE had some magic about him.

With that said and done he waded through the ice spikes, each one shattering under his bulk, and made his way back to the sidelines again to continue watching everything that was going on.

The swordsman should have appropriate control over his influence to initiate the blast. With the spikes, the mayhem which have branched out would only be confined to where the range of his ice is.

Technically speaking, the ice on the ground in the areas which were the actual fighting center of the Science Labs should be affected, leaving the sidelines and the people beyond the sidelines relatively safe, as the mayhem was constrained. Chaotic it may be at the epicenter - where both the swordsman, Katie, and the incoming James would be - the chain reaction would only spread out from the epicenter like a rippling effect, and stop when it reaches the end of his range of influence.

How it made him recieve a red card would be a question which the swordsman would - perhaps - ask later on, after the match.

In this instance Katie still had a relative hold on his neck, despite the spikes portruding out of his cloth, his cloak and his hood. It was a bet, and not feeling any notion of letting go by her grip that would give him a chance to run - in fact, it felt even tighter than it should have - the swordsman did the one thing that popped up in his mind immediately in this instance to turn the tables around.

He shifted his footwork, twisted his pelvis and his upper shoulders to his left quickly while his neck stayed the way it is because of the grip. Both of his hands - at chest level - would follow the motion of his shoulders, increasing the return speed of the blade that had grazed Katie's left neck some posts ago...

Causing the blade to return to a vital location on her left neck in a near instant because of his twist. With the blade never being far away at all after grazing her some posts back with the stab, this will be quite easy to do, especially with the swordsman's skills.

At the same time, James' Stab towards the swordsman's right side hit its mark.

But because of the twist, and some resistance with the ice on his cloth - not to mention its slippery surface, the stab was deflected a bit to the swordsman's side, leaving instead a long bloody cut behind the swordsman's right torso when it missed its mark.

By no means did the swordsman state that the ice and spikes on his cloth were THAT brittle which would yield immediately on impact.

Quote: Bonus Effects - Magic and belief based abilities are hindered in this sceptical environment. This does not mean halted, it doesn't even mean made go haywire, you're just going to have to put in a little extra effort to what is beyond science

The bonus effect in this fight is the increased effort behind using the magic that's going to be burdening his body.

Not an effect that would weaken the power or strength of his magic.

Aside from that --

"AGH!"

Pain ricocheted right behind his right torso as James' stab sliced to the swordsman's right, and despite another successful striker on his body, the swordsman...

The swordsman....!

"FREEZE!" He shouted, already finishing his left twist and having more than a foot of his blade snugged just nice and cuddly in contact with Katie's left neck, immediately after the stab by James, before she can notice the presence of the blade back at her left neck.

Not cutting in, nor budging away from that spot.

Yet.

In such a position, amiss Katie's blind fury and rage, and with the ice still expanding that would hinder much of the opposition's movements and some of their reaction timing...

One wrong reaction from Katie or James, and there WILL be a lot of blood spilling.

Unless James and Katie want to jeapordize the situation...

It isn't just Katie's pommel that recieved a temporary upgrade.

The swordsman's blade also recieved a light upgrade - especially the water on it, which he can show a few tricks or two should the Behemoth want to dance.

Should Katie try to lean away, move or try to attack from the swordsman's action, the swordsman can always just push his hand forward in a quick flick, the lethal edge of the blade cutting, if not slashing into her neck as a result.

Should James try to taser him, help his teammate out or even remotely budge the swordsman once he sees the situation - with spiky ice still branching out around them...

Same consequence, with the swordsman slashing into her neck with his blade.

Of course the slash won't be fatal if he's forced with that option, since the medical staffs are standing at the ready nearby.

If Katie was given treatment quickly after the slash, then she would definitely be fine.

TRUST THE MEDICAL STAFF AND THEIR HEALERS.

...That is, if his foe wants to go THAT far in being treated.

The swordsman can also treat the slash wound quickly if need be with his ice, but...

That would depend on how James and Katie react now, with Katie's vital left neck on the line.

(8/17)

Because the timeframe was still on striker post 2, well, Katie would watch Snow squirm as James stepped in with knife and stun gun, jabbing the man in two places.

She felt the love!

She would take a step in front of Snow as James snuggled the big man from behind and..

HUGE BEAR HUG!

Her arms would go around Snow as he was so tightly snuggled against James, her hands would push against James back and she'd squeeze, making sure to keep the sword pointing down and not hit James in the lovely process of a three way manly looking hug.

Snow would have armored boobs pushing into his face, along with some lovely ice and ice spikes over parts of her shirt, since her armor is beneath the clothing it should still have the ice effect.

It was a beautiful thing!

THE LOVE!

[Edited picture for my Vent friends for eyesore. Lolololol.

And to add post number. ]=<

9/17]

(( Colin vs. Griff ))

Having watched more than enough of the situation, the swordsman sighed underneath his breath. Griff just lost his weapon, and is now in a bitter strife against the opposition's fighter for the duration.

Even his little water bomb some time ago didn't seem to help the situation out much.

Slapping his hands together lightly, the swordsman, near the sidelines, quietly maneuvered himself to an open space where he saw Griff's sword, laying uselessly on the ground.

Such weapon should not be abandoned!

So lowering his posture to a sprinting pose, the swordsman took off in a quick spurt of speed, zipping low past the counters and away from where the action is taking place. In one swoop with his left hand, he picked up Griff's fallen sword on the ground as he passed by, turning about to face Griff and the opposition...

Before throwing the blade right at Griff's right in a light spin.

He then quickly dashed off back to the sidelines, and jogged lightly back to where his teammates were.

]=[

Griff was slammed backwards, his back smashing into the ground full speed, the tile below him shattering as he slid across the floor. The last bits of chemical pouring into his now lacerated shoulders. His body began to rise up, his torso and legs and curling upwards before he rolled back forward, landing on his feet and springing to a standing position.

His eyes were wide as he stepped back slowly, blood trickling out of his sawed open arm. "That feels so..." The blood was something unusual. It was purple. It was glowing. It was... irradiated?! He laughed slowly, his left hand trembling as he merely made it hover above the hole. "...I feel as though..." A kind of snort, rolling into a slow rolling chuckle.

"GhuhuhuhuhuhuuhuuhuuhuuahaahaahaahaahaAHAAHAAHAAGH!"

The purple blood bubbled between his fingers, his body trembling as-

]=[

Nightsnow, abridged and reworked from Griff's perspective. Wrote:

Snow ran across the arena, opposite of the MEN, grabbed the DeuxMascus sword and threw it, all awesome style, at Griff. Spinning and the like, being all epic and dramatic, the handle eventually... ]=[

-A SWORD HANDLE SMASHED INTO THE GAPING HOLE!

Grabbing his sword tightly, his eyes went wide and wild. He almost screamed, but it was drowned out by laughter and madness as he dashed forward, tearing the blade from his arm (and effectively destroying said arm in the process) across on an attempt to up and up cut Colin.

"GYAAHAAHAAHAAHAA!"

[15/17(?)]

-Griff gets slammed, lands on his back, catches the sword through his gaping shoulder hole, cuts the ******** off and attempts to cut Colin in the same move.-

-********-

-********>

]=[

Not every day that you got to see a guy cut off his of damn arm to get to his opponent. Disconcerted by the sight, Colin felt the respect for the man grow more than the Grinch's heart that fateful day. Still, that was one nasty blade, and Colin was in deep piss.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

The blade sliced into Colin's body, even as the man took a leap back to clear most of the blade. The tip of DeuxMascus sliced into Colin's chest, starting from his left pectoral and down diagonally across his sternum before sliding out of his body around the middle of his floating ribs. Blood sprung forth and ran down his body, red diluted from the water still coating his body. Colin's face contorted, this more than a sting but less than a fierce pain. This was worth groaning over, and Colin would stifle the satisfying noise with a large struggle of WILL versus AUGH.

Still, this wasn't over yet. Griff's little swing caused the man's arm to flip through the air, landing on top of a counter, sending a graduated cylinder flipping through the air at Griff's own face. Man, that'd have to blow. Lucky for the guy that it was empty.

Unlucky for the guy, Colin quickly leaned over and grabbed the freed limb by the wrist and swung it at the MAN's sword-wielding hand. Now would be the good time for a joke about hitting yourself, but this was no longer a game. This was a FIGHT. This was EPIC.

Griff was going to have a new chum after this round was over, but until then, Colin was about to press this guy so hard that this arm wasn't the only thing he'd lose.

[16/17]

]=[

Aw hell. I won't be able to use it anymore.

Griff pulled back, the fire in his eyes not reflecting the last sane thought he had before pulling back ever so slightly and diving forward once again. He looked like a demon. He looked like a god forsaken devil. For no reason at all, the gPod came back to life, the odd little plot device it was. Griff hadn't noticed, really. Why would he? He had lost his ******** mind.

So let's step back.

Right after removing his arm in what could be considered an impromptu amputation, Griff slashes Colin across the chest, giving the man a WICKED scar, and then proceeds to draw his sword back and dive forward, stabbing through his own arm (is that auto hitting, at this point?) to attempt a second downward slash at Colin's ribs, this time going straight down.

In other words.

If this lands? Colin will have a fleshy zipper.

[16/17]

-Griff stabs through his own arm and raises his blade for a downward slash across Colin's chest, going directly down the center-

]=[

Actually, it his one-arm hand technique isn't simultaneous from a downward slash from Katie's neck to pinning James' taser down.

It was more along the way - since when he finished the slash his elbow would automatically squeeze as he pulled down, getting the action done in the process.

But.

Well damn.

That went unexpected. Just as the swordsman thought - hoped, even - he could force a stalemate against the behemoth and the damn striker behind him, his left hand was hurled right into the air through some unknown force.

While his arm strength is good enough to at least hold his ground against one arm when he's fending off with blades.

Two arms was just overkill against him.

What?!

The swordsman was just that close in forcing a form of stalemate or such against his opposition. And with his blade lifted right off of the very place he was trying to slash all of a sudden, the swordsman tried in vain to compensate by doing something - ANYTHING! - to take back the advantage.

But he just didn't have enough time.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!

He couldn't scream, feeling an agonizing shock burst from his chin and turning his entire body into a giant conductor. His view warped in and out, his sense of balance distorted by the electrical charge as Katie came in for the crushing bear hug.

How...

Amiss that moment of electrocution, the swordsman wanted to fight against the pain. Move a finger, a body part - SOMETHING!

How can this...

Probably because of his stubborness - no, perhaps something more simple, his consciousness wavered in and out as long as the button was pressed for the duration of the taser.

The only thing he was able to do eventually, as he was bombarded under the unimaginable pain of electrocution...

Was a simple grab onto Katie's neck/collar right in front of him, with his right hand. With his right arm held in position by James' grasp...

The grab was pathetically weak.

Yet.

That was about the only thing he can do.

Ice spread a bit from his stiffened touch, but it did nothing else other than just coat the front part of her neck with its frost.

Looks like Lady Luck never liked him in the first place.

Son... of.. a...

(10/17)

The moment of resistance had its charm.

A man putting up a valiant effort, fighting to hold his ground when the odds were against him through tooth, nail, and whatever means were available to him. The moment of resistance was a testament to the indomitable spirit of the meta-human that was so hard to extinguish.

But it was only for a moment.

He slackened. He stumbled. He reached out for a moment. He fell.

James let go of Snow when he collapsed and left the man to Katie's tender, loving care. The ice that was forming around his arms made an audible crack as it split and broke at his movement, and the aching sting of needles burying themselves in his skin was not something he was going to be rid of any time soon. The only part of him that was spared the burning sensation of the ice was his left arm, which had gone somewhat numb from the runoff electric current.

"Goodnight, princess."

Now it would have been standard policy for him to zap the lil' ******** again, just to make sure he was going to stay down... but James was already late for an appointment with the getting-the-hell-out-of-the-ring and in a shower of cracking ice crystals and searing pain he did just that.

A hop, skip, and a step towards a space heater. With all that water and ice he was feeling a tad hypothermic.

[ STRIKER OVER. ]

]=[

"Awesome." Griff muttered as he wandered to the sidelines, gripping his stump as he just sorta... tripped onto the sidelines, leaned against a wall.

"...medic...?"

]=[

The seven foot woman that was in disguise stood her ground as the man got shocked. She felt the tension in his body slacken, even as he somehow tried to bring his right hand to her neck, and even then if he was to get a grasp on her neck it wouldn't keep her from hugging him because either way a stun gun to the head should have knocked his a** out. At which point, both of his arms would or should fall to his sides.

The moment James stepped away he would leave her with the man that would or should be unconscious, which would mean his sword arm would drop as James released him. Her arms slipped down as she bent slightly at the knees, since the man is six foot something shouldn't be hard to reach, to latch at the point of Snow's elbow/forearm area, so that he couldn't try to grab her anymore or stab her with the other hand, though he should have dropped that when his arms slackened moments before unconsciousness.

Lolol. GRABASSING!

She would stand with his arms now locked in place, squeezing Snow closely to her body and bringing his feet off of the ground.

[11/17]

Oh yes, we have established that there is ice spikes everywhere. Katie was still feeling the pain in her hand from being stabbed, along with parts of her arms and neck, not too much in her legs, since most of it is covered, except thigh area.

Even then, she wouldn't let him go. No matter if he was unconscious or conscious.

She would groan from the pain of the ice spikes, but the adrenaline rush was helping mask most of the pain. The spikes would dig deeper to which she'd grit her teeth harder. She was in that state of going on, even if it was to the point of maiming her.

Someone needed to DIE! Her bear hug mode was losing altitude.

ANGRY FACE.

Arms still tightly wrapped around Snow, not letting him move, and because she had such a nice hold on him she would hop forward bringing Snow down to the ground with her on top of him, onto the ice spikes and all. It might even get parts of her unarmored parts, but she wanted to CRUSH HIM.

[12/17]

themightyjello Wrote:

A hop, skip, and a step towards a space heater. With all that water and ice he was feeling a tad hypothermic.

[ STRIKER OVER. ]

As James exited the fight area, the lone female judge stepped up to bar his path. Hood drawn low to obscure her face and armor crafted well to accentuate her curves, she wordlessly handed him a ceramic mug of hot cocoa and a red flag for staying in the ring too long.

Then she resumed her watch.

Katie hardly ever screamed. She RAGED. So, the pain still there, and adrenaline rush still kicking in wouldn't stop her from what she would do next.

"YOU-"

Her hands would come out from behind Snow's back as she sat up to straddle him while her left hand came down onto his hair, since his hoodie would no longer be there. That's been established.

"WILL-"

Her right hand would come forward to smash against his face while her left hand kept his head steady from moving out of the way.

"PAY!"

It was obvious she was PISSED. She was going to take every ounce of her anger out on the man below her for the pain that was building, and for the pain that she would feel when her adrenaline rush subsided.

[Edit: Again, forgot post number. ]:<

13/17]