Revolution Evolution

Revolution Evolution

Ever expanding and assisting smaller businesses, The Blazestar Empire has helped to build a rave club in north Du'Rem.

DJ Vertigo was more than happy to have [R]Evolution's grand opening night host a HoH battle.

Terrain

General - Fighters battle atop a 50 x 30 foot wooden rectangular stage that stands ten feet from the ground. The DJ's booth sits another ten feet up behind the fighting platform. Laser lights flash, numerous speakers pound the uunce uunce, and the place is jammed with spectators on the ground level.

Weapons - None

Natural Element Resource - None

Bonus Effects - Ringout starts for leaving the stage. Also, it's incredibly hard to hear over the music.

"Man.... Derick..."

She elected to use the DJ's real name. Despite being his former employer, DJ Vertigo was his friend, and would be spoken to like one.

"Just call me by my last name."

Miranda stood in the back of the dome, by the door in the back leading up into it.

"If it wasn't something like... more than fifty years since the last time I did that, I'd take you off the turntable."

She grinned.

"I'll just sit here and make sure you don't get hurt by your fans... like old times."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

It was so LOUD in here.

Arian stood just at the entrance to the place, jostled off to the side by the flow of still entering people behind her, into the less populated mass of thrashing, dancing, drinking people near the wall-and immediately regretted not coming in with one of her teammates. They were men, after all, and while Snow and Omi were not as big as Vince or overly tall-they were still a hell of a lot bigger than she was, and would have an easier time of clearing a path to the ring.

At five foot two, Arian was just not big enough to make way without violence, and violence simply wasn't allowed on the ravers in question. The uuncing was no doubt going to make her head throb, even WITH the leather flaps from her helm covering her ears. What the hell WAS this place? Jostled around by the crowd, edgy, and feeling half blind in the laser show of lights, Arian grit her teeth and began to make way for what she thinks is the source of the excuse for music-maybe she could threaten the guy into turning the s**t off, maybe not-when she realizes, through a brief glimpse gained by jumping up-that the arena was up THERE. Oh.

Having a direction now amidst the dancing ravers, Arian ducked under elbows, squeezed through couples, shouldered and elbowed her way, steadily, towards the thing. She couldn't see more than the people around and in front of her, and as such-no one was seeing HER, really, save an odd glance or two thrown her way.

To be honest, Arian didn't look all that intimidating right now, trying to work her way through the crowd. A red cloak, it's hood down, concealed most of her body, flashes of dark leather armor seen here and there, leather looking gloves and thick, OVERLY thick forearm guards looking mismatched to the rest of her visible. Her dusky, red undertoned skin looked even darker in the blacklights and lasers, blue eyes, interestingly enough-shining a brilliant, inhuman blue. The hell?! Eh, she was Courtelli, it was a genetic quirk, nothing more. They contrasted sharply with her glossy black hair and leather helm, much more so than usual. The metal studs shone in the lighting in the line they formed to protect against headbutts-or really, to make those headbutts more PAINFUL.

A staff was strapped to her back loosely, the wood and metal looking like a combination made in some kind of messed up lab, the short spikes on either end wince inducing. It was also seven feet tall, give or take a few inches, and stuck up out of the crowd to kind of...'mark' where the outlaw was at the moment. Arian paid it no mind as it brushed against people-it wouldn't go anywhere.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

Opening night.

A rave club's grand opening would make this clash between two Heaven or Hell teams an introductory act. Made enough sense, Omi supposed; new dance joint gets tons of publicity, the tourney gets a unique venue of combat. Prior to getting there, strolling through the night mist of Du'Rem like on the prowl, Crimson Rogues' Omi Barsait was a man without a care. Optimism and hope for a good fight and all that rhetoric.

But at the doors, sweaty right palm touching cool metal..

That damn beat.

The lights, the intense color, the throngs of people drunk and giddy with glances towards him like they were getting themselves a circus sideshow? He had to remain calm; this was the first fight of many to come amidst a new tier of players. The "artist" had himself the chief advantage of a set of comrades he could trust rather than those of convenience, progression regardless of the odds was not an option rather than a destination demanded. Yet..

"I'll ******** kill you." The first words to pour out of his lips in such an eerily low tone before the doors even parted towards a younger man jeering for the oncoming fight. Quiet, thus a message not received. The serpent pauldrons shook in such a subtle manner, those amber brown eyes of his parting the waves if the shaking gauntlets weren't doing it more so. Intoxicated or no, the dark-clad fighter seemed ill the wise to provoke as his composure seemed paper-thin.

His tension had sky-rocketed to astronomical values, blood pumping several octaves higher than they should have. When reaching his assumed side of the arena platform, cementing his place in the fight to come for those that didn't take his odd attire at face value (this was a rave, after all) - Serpentine Manipulation Artist extraordinaire Omi Barsait was grinning ear to ear almost fanatically, right fist pumping the side of the wooden mass like a resilient punching bag. Again and again and again, the music drowning out its noise but little else.

"Vince, Arian Lennex, "Snow" - I can attest their combat prowess. Glorious, I couldn't ask for better circumstances. The FIGHTER earlier mentioned the perimeters, 50' x 30' wooden stage with a throng of civilians. Combat will be intense, close, and quick-paced; ranged combatants and those thinking themselves runners will find this place a living hell. Damn, if I could only speak in this hellhole, I'd tell that b*****d to snap their bones .." Eyes regaining their focus, the flames were no longer rampant and crazed but honed to a point. A man or woman, a beast .. it mattered not.

Laser lights flickered in multiple colors across the enthused man's beaming face, teeth glistening in the unnatural glow.

"Who will it be, that I remove from this ring by force?"

This day would be marked irreversibly within all their minds as one where those impatient fists of his smashed apart a foe. Which? - the question burned through his mind like an inferno on high, fluctuating to the beat of the music blaring abound as the fellow attempted to get used to the rhythm of war.

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

"God damn-" FINALLY emerging from the mass of bodies close behind Omi and Snow, the only woman on the team looked rather annoyed, her leather helm knocked askew, staff held in both hands, the weapon belt hanging just a bit too low on one curved and leather armored hip-she had not had an easy time getting up here, and it showed.

Giving the crowd behind her a glance, she cut those oddly lit, slightly glowing eyes to Omi and Snow before flicking them to the stage where Vince already was. No opponent yet for the giant of a man, but Arian supposed that would not last long.

Fixing her helm and then her weapon belt, Arian again gave the crowd behind her a glance, this time slightly more paranoid. She didn't like so many folks behind her, so close. It made her more edgy than the lighting and music had.

Glancing to Snow again, Arian tapped her ears, then looked to Omi and then back to him. Before, when Abi's opponent had blasted the area with ear drum shattering sound, he had somehow insulated them from it. Could he still do that? Arian didn't know, but it was worth a shot, asking.

Attention returning to the crowd, Arian turned to be facing Omi and Snow, her left hand towards the crowd and her right closest to the stage-staff held in her right, spike lightly resting against the ground. She didn't bother trying to talk. Just watched.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

Curiously, Arian's fingers strayed towards her ears again-but she didn't touch, lowering them with a cutting glance back at the dancing crowd-and then looking to Snow again. "Thanks." The accented word was distracted sounding, Arian looking to the wooden stage before her, no longer far enough away to see Vince atop it.

She looked around for stairs, slightly...worried on how the ******** she was going to get up there. Polevaulting was always an option, but in THIS crowd? No way could she get the space.

"Where the hell's our opponents?" The outlaw wanted to know, her left hand joining her right on the staff, leaning on it slightly. She glanced at the crowd again, scowling slightly-then up at the top of the stage. "You think they might be on the other side of this thing somewhere?" Not much to talk about, really, and Arian half wanted to-she needed the distraction, she was getting tenser by the second standing where all these people were, so damned close it made her hands itch to hit something or somebody.

Arian kept her temper tightly leashed, not about to go psycho before she's even on the stage.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

"You do this!" The Asian man jabbed an indignant finger at the chest of the taller man in front of him, looking up at him with all the defiance of a terrier deprived of it's chew toy.

"But I..." He stared down, still trying to get his say out on the matter at hand, but...

"No arguing! Man go in box now!" The Asian man thumbed to the side once more, like he had been apt to do every two minutes now.

"..Look, I don't think you--!" He placed both hands on his hips now, glowering down fully at the guy, nearing his limit of 'people skills'.

Unfortunately, he didn't get very far, because he suddenly found himself unbalanced and shoved in a direction he wasn't expecting to go. "Yes, yes-- all same to me. We big sponsor, you need to do duty!" The Asian man nodded several times, more so to himself apparently, even as he dusted his hands together. Apparently he was proud of himself.

"--But I'm just here to fight!" Wide-eyed, he grabbed hold of the damn bars, knuckles going white as he found it unyielding to his need. He probably should have known better than to listen to Twitch. 'Go help them set up', she said. 'What could go wrong', she said. 'Still plenty of time before the match starts', she said.

"What this? No good-- hide pretty face too much!" The Asian man reached forward and snagged the eye-patch right off his face with a fierce yank, tut tutting as he did so, as if Vahn had committed some atrocious fashion crime.

"H-Hey! Damn you!" He hadn't had enough time to rear back, surprised as he lost the covering and stupefied even more that this was actually happening. "Your name better not be Sueng!" Dammit...

~~~

So many lights...

The walls seemed to literally throb with noise and excitement, the smell of flesh mingling together with the scent of various narcotics here and there.

Scantily clad women and men, mashing together and moving as one to the rhythm.

It was a bit overwhelming on the senses, even though this really hadn't been the first time he was in such a place. He was pretty sure he had even been responsible for one or two Clubs getting destroyed as the result of a fight back in his heyday.

But that wouldn't do for this place. At least if only because of the dozens of promises he had made to the contrary, over and over again to a firm sounding Twitch. Something about this being a friend's place and all.

Which was fine.

After all, he'd never been responsible for damages in the Firebrand, right? He knew how to behave in a respectable person's establishment without acting a fool.

"....." Although a fool is what he felt like at the moment, hands supporting his chin glumly as he sat in darkness for what seemed like ages. I don't know what even made me agree to this...it's so...so...UGH.

~~~

Suspended high into the ceiling, was a wrought iron cage, covered in spikes and swinging freely upon several lengths of chain. This cage was held with its bottom just barely on the same level as the DJ booth's roof, and it slowly began to descend as unseen mechanisms whirled and clacked the thing downward.

Not noticed until the thing was practically already halfway down to the stage erected for the combatants, it was only then that a flood of multicolored lights would hit it dead center; bringing out a whoosh of flashing bangs from the background.

Illuminated in the bath of rainbows would be a single seated figure, who seemed to be playing with a strobe of light within his palms. His body moved to the beat, skin glistening with a sheen of light sweat even as the different lights playing along his body highlighted different accents of his clothing's colors every now and then; making it seem as if he were half swallowed in blood and shadow.

A pair of eyes stared out as the cage finally made firm ground, his right a rich hue of yellow, and the left darkened and partly obscured by his hair and the shading it provided.

The crowd of teens and people in their thirties still trying to pass as teens seemed to respond positively to this spectacle, giving out a roar of welcome, even as the beat seemed to pick up in pace.

Snapping both palms together, he snugged out the peculiar source of light he had been toying with, and rose up from his seat, even as the cage broke away into four separate sections

"Well damn-- there's a lot more people here than I thought!" He crowed out with a tingly sense of enjoyment, even if he couldn't be heard at all over the intense volume that flooded the Club.

His right eye moved a bit to the side, taking in the one- two...no...three...annnnd huh...no fourth? Oh. Humm...One of them almost looks familiar...

Jeez...that one guy looks like sword dingus' long lost brother. Must not get out too often.

And this guy...well, what's there to say... His left foot tapped along to the beat, even as smiled wide and turned to face the closest of them; eyes the color of amber, which seemed to stand out even more so to Vahn himself...as well as a faint haze in the air around the guy...not to mention the friggin' flames.

"Well now. Don't you look like a fun guy to play with!" He laughed, again, probably not caring that nobody could even hear him. "Well, come on then-! Here boy, here!"

Whistling and calling, the Murmillion waved his hand on over to the funky dressed looking male, patting his right knee for effect. Even if he couldn't be heard, the body language was surely universal.

It was time to get this party really started.

The slight sheen of silvery hair would reflect the assorted club lights with a strange and unsettlingly bright honesty. If Vahn's flames illuminated him all black and blood red in the centre of the hall, then at the edge, approaching him in a straight line, was a man lit only in black and stone grey.

His music wouldn't've started yet. The first few signals would just feel like the shock of someone jumping up and landing down beside a few dancers. They'd be startled, but take it for simple signs of a collective excitement; bursts of the understated sexual energy everybody was just throwing themselves into right now. After that, though, they'd only get bigger. Shocks that rang up the legs, sending uneasy cadences through the knees that didn't match the time of the music. With a particularly significant one, a woman, as she bent down low at the knees, would suddenly stumble and fall over with a slight scream. Soon the whole crowd would realize that something was going wrong. A truly uneasy sound that had nothing to do with the needle scratching awkwardly against the now bouncing vinyl would emit from the earth itself as the shocks became tremors in the truest sense. Vertigo would put the CD in with hands that were steady only out of sheer practice and habit and the song would start in time with the EARTHQUAKE.

I grew up on the crime side, the New York Times side.

Vahn, seated and suspended, probably wouldn't have to worry all that much about his positioning - the quake would be nowhere near strong enough to damage the building's structure or effect the constitution of the tournament's scaffolding - but all around the black and grey-lit man in front and beneath the flame knight would be a crowd scattered about and on their knees, while the former stood laughing.

With an unwavering fluidity, Shouyin would raise his right arm, bringing a stone index finger up to bear directly at the ridiculously large, emerald-eyed man, wherever he was in the club. And the laughter would continue, as an eye that was a blurry mix of bright green, golden yellow and wavy black tendrils, with no sclera to speak of, focused directly on its chosen opponent. Quite the party.

The laughter stopped and Shouyin pushed swiftly forwards off his right leg, taking one more wide step before jumping up and grabbing onto the edge of the wooden platform and easily muscling himself over it. Grinning, he met the emerald-eyed man's gaze while loosening his tie slightly around his neck before adjusting it underneath his vest. He'd break eye contact briefly to give a friendly nod to Vahn as he exited the stage smoothly - the deferral did not go unappreciated.

From there it was all business, he looked over at the big lug of a 'whatever' that'd decided it was somehow worthwhile to try and match itself up to the Stoan King and, scratching at his neck slightly with his left hand, took a couple steps forwards.

"Y'know, you kinda look like someone I know: same sword 'n everything. But mayn if he ain't - like for how ugly he is - damn easier on the eyes than you," he'd stop with his right foot in front, lead arm hanging down loosely.

[1]

The man had officially decided to step up onto the platform and make his challenge final. Due to the loud beating and the buzz of all the excitement down below, the jests that the smaller man had made about the decked out giant went unheard, or if by some off chance the man had heard it somehow, he payed it no mind. Instead, he decided to initiate the fight, but not, however, by rushing madly as one might have expected from the giant of a man. While the smaller one had, thus far, appeared harmless, Vincent knew better; he'd faced men of a five foot tall stature and women of the same who had packed a punch.

The man's emerald green eyes flickered, his pupil shrinking and then expanding downwards, turning into what appeared to be a serpentine slit. A second later, something shifted in the air, and several small splinters from the wooden platform below ripped upwards to float around his knees. Did it do anything aside from that? No, not yet, anyway. For now, the splinters harmlessly floated in orbit around the gigantic man's armored legs as he waited for the other man to make his move.

Or he could stand there and watch; either way, it was fine by Vince.

Charge = 1

[1]

And apparently, there was something of a baiting contest going on here. The man had apparently decided to wander into the swords range, which was roughly seven feet out, and had also decided to spit into the larger man's face, which, had it been anywhere else, would have been means for a complete and total a** whooping. However, as the luke-warm projectile left the other fellow's lips, the giant of a man side stepped to the right, bringing the sword scraping across the wooden platform in the same motion as the man's step.

Then, however, more of the wooden platform broke off; slightly bigger slivers of the platform, a bit larger than the splinters but not by much. The added debris joined the first set of debris in its orbit, and then it rose along the man's body, floating around his waist.

Vince continued to stare the man down, his eyes narrowing, the emerald green becoming lighter, almost lime-colored.

Charge = 2

[2]

"Pfft," that was that then.

The half-golem made a swift dash forwards, rearing his right arm back, hand clenched in a fist above his head as though he was wielding a mace or something with his left elbow tucked in, forearm raised with the left fist held nearby that side of the jaw in a protective boxer's guard.

Halfway through the dash the left sleeve of his black silk shirt would explode in a burst of shreds as out from underneath it a new sleeve of stone encased his left arm from the closed fist to just before the elbow, a long rectangular 'plank' forming which covered and wholly protected the back of his hand and forearm and extended a few inches past the knuckles. Shouyin would meanwhile be finishing his dash with his right foot forwards, within leg distance now but still noticeably outside of punching range, swinging his right arm across with all the weight and circumstance of someone actually holding something, except significantly faster since there was no -weight- in his hand. It wouldn't be until a little more than halfway through his swift swing that a stone mace would form, shooting out from inside the grip of his rock right hand and lining itself up with the left side of the emerald-eyed man's face, the form of the mace actually extending far enough to reach its target just before Shou would in fact finish the swing and make impact.

Conservation of momentum: a light mass swung at a higher speed becomes heavier and therefore slows down to compensate. However, since the half-golem had started his swing off damn quick, the extra mass would just mean it'd be like he'd been holding the mace all along. Except it wasn't like somebody would really see that kinda thing coming, right? An impulse is a change in momentum, force applied through time. A big hunk of fast-moving heavy stone meets somebody's cheek: blood and beautiful physics.

[3]

Silver would eventually muscle his way out of the crowd, and come strolling up next to Vahn, late, and oblivious to the situation at hand as usual. Where the hell had he been?

"Sorry I'm late. I actually got here a little early, but then I had a stomach ache so I went to the bathroom... I guess I was in there a while."

It was true. He had had the pre-fight runs.

"So, which one's their Captain? Im gonna-"

Mid-sentence, Silver would look up upon the stage and find Shou already on it. No club music could ever possibly be turned up loud enough to drown out the sound of his reaction.

"GOD DAMN IT, SHOU."

With a scowl on his face, Silver would raise his left arm to eye level and pull back on his jacket sleeve, revealing the firmly secure FIGHTER upon his wrist, ready to hit the button.

"They can't penalize us if I Striker our own team mate, can they?! No Judge in the world would hold it against me!"

Obviously, any skilled swordsman can feel the pressure of his blade hitting something, and the difference between hitting and scraping are two completely different feelings. As soon as Vince felt the blade hit the earthen armor that protected Shouyin's arm, he knew he was at least getting a face-full of fist. Did he expect a face-full of earthen mace to hit him right in the face like, quite literally, a ton of bricks? No, not quite. However, it got worse. Just before Vince was hit head-on by the speeding bullet which was Shouyin's right arm, he felt something that spelled even more danger for him than the fist.

He felt his blade become almost lighter, and the pressure loosened, just before he felt almost a slight bend. And then it happened. Vince's left cheek was smashed against by the massive earthen mace and it set the behemoth in the spiked plate armor to reeling, causing him to drop the sword in his right hand and stumble back, left and then right foot taking small, stagger-steps. Blood also dripped from the corner of Vince's mouth from where the blow had hit, the man spitting blood to the best of his advantage through the now swollen lip which he'd suffered almost instantly.

However, the act of complete disorientation was just that; an act. While the blow had been great, and had caused some damage and stunned Vince a little, in no way had it done as much damage to the unnatural man as Shouyin would imagine. Vince stood there, his eyes glassed over, almost looking as if he were about to sway the wrong way and fall over, and then something strange happened. All together, at once, the splinters which floated about Vince's waist just disappeared. It was as if the energy had eaten itself and absolutely been destroyed by the force of the golem's attack.

That was not the case, however. Vince's power had finalized itself; after-all, he'd made no action really side from stuttering backwards upon the impact of the golem's hit and dropping the sword, and even though, as before mention, the impact had stunned him, he was able to hold minor concentration while keeping up his ploy. To Shouyin, however, it would look as if all of Vince's energy had disappeared, his concentration 100% broken from the mace-shot. That was where the man stood, a dazed look on his face, stumbling away from the golem, biding his time, waiting.

Charge = 3

[4]

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

Arian didn't say anything to that. She gave Snow a glance that clearly said 'Not about to argue with that-' and then simply looked back into the crowd. She was not itching to fight so much, still a bit calm if edgy-but knowing the fiery outlaw, that would change in a heartbeat once it did indeed finally become her turn.

Honestly, Snow was probably the sanest out of all of them. Poor guy.

"Well..." Arian began in her accented English, seeming to decide, only now, to respond. "Leave some of the arena for me, at least." And that was that.

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

The sound of bloodbath above - or the close approximation of sounds that might infer an occuring bloodbath action - beated faintly against the swordsman's ears. Mixed in with the dull noise of the roaring crowd around them, his gaze wandered to Omi for the time being, already seeing his teammate's attention fixated on Vince, who is currently fighting above them.

"...Er.."

With Omi now in his own wonderland, and Arian looking back at the swordsman with the same face that he's showing, the swordsman simply shrugged back at their attitudes, tilting his shoulder a bit to unload the duffel bag he had carried with him for this round.

"Well."

The bag struck the ground with surprising speed, giving off a vague hint of what was carried inside.

Flexing a bit to loosen up his muscles, the swordsman would then slow his breath down, taking in a slow, lungful of air before he started to concentrate a bit for the time being; hands close together, concentrating...

Whether or not it was simply passing time, none can really tell.

After all, with one teammate currently fighting on the stage, the other becoming insane, and the third showing signs of anxiety - maybe the stare she's getting from the crowd or the guys in it...

Oh yeah. There was plenty enough reason for the swordsman to pass time for himself.

Silver was still poised to attack, be it his own team mate or their opponent, when he looked over at Vahn. Given how ol' Rocks-for-Brains had upstaged the Murmillion, Silver had hoped his comrade would agree with him, if even jokingly, but when all he found was Vahn watching the fight most intently, Silver's expression softened. For a moment he looked surprised, almost... hurt.

He knew that look.

With a huff, he would slouch, dropping his arms back to his sides, before turning his attention back on the fight, and stuffing his hands in his pockets as he stood back up straight with a dejected sigh. He would mutter something under his breath.

A short time later, things became interesting. Shou was in trouble now. Or was he?

Silver just smirked.

"... wat?"

Now see, as the dude's face exploded, that was ******** up. But Shouyin refused to be dissuaded just because he thought something was UNBELIEVABLY GROSS AND LAME. It kinda seemed like he'd fought this 'new' sort of opponent before too. But hey, if he could transform into a dragon, there was hardly anything to keep the half-golem from turning into a dragonslayer.

Rather than be put off by the magical display, Shou would just keep attacking. His own significant muscular density, bolstered by the fact that half-golem physiology fed oxygen to his muscles at a rate up to almost twice that of the average human, meant that the man could swing that sword with -relative- ease and at an impressive speed considering his own size. However far the dragon-man stumbled back to start transforming, it wasn't like the half-golem couldn't just keep identical pace and chase after him so that his next attack would occur in the middle of the emerald-eyed man's show. After all, the man was already 'dazed' and leaning back to begin with, to avoid that first slash one would probably have to throw their head and body along with it about as far back as one's spine might allow, which'd essentially mean that the only direction that serpentine head would have to go - after exploding back or whatever - would be forwards, into the chopping block.

So anyway, following through on the diagonal strike, Shouyin would swing the sword about, bringing it up over his own head - eyes always alert and keeping close watch of his opponent's reactions during his metamorphosis - and then crashing down vertically, aiming to drop that wild blade right on top of the dragon's head. The thing's throat might've -just- started to swell by then, but odds were it was gonna choke on its own mess now.

[6]

Even with the dragon's throat still swelling, it was not impossible to offer up a counter, albeit, a half-assed one. First off, the dragon's sword had been taken and was now being used against it in an attempt to literally split the monstrous skull in two. Second off, even with the newly transformed 400 lbs of muscle that the green dragon-kin held behind him, he wasn't entirely sure that he was worlds beyond his opponents physically, as he'd thought before. It seemed that the golem managed to cope quite well with the weight of the greatsword, and even though the dragon had hoped that his transformation would buy him time, it was to no avail.

Something had to be done, and that something.. Right. Reckless endangerment to himself as he always did. As the sword came down, literally just as the throat had begun to swell, Vince's right hand shot upwards, the claws bent inward towards his hand, and smashed what should have been his palm into the blade's edge. There, the blade would meet with something just as strong as itself, it would meet the dragon's natural weaponry, the five massive claws which had grown to meet the transformation.

Of course, the positioning was awkward, his arm held out slightly at an angle, especially seeing as how the dragon-kin stood to 7' exactly. For the blade to come straight down on his head, as the golem wanted it, the golem would literally have to be the same height or close to it, but it wasn't likely, even though Vince hadn't yet guessed the exact height. What was likely happening was the sword was coming in straight for the front of his jaw, which, if it had connected, would send the sword right through his face and the base of his neck.

As it were, Vince's right arm took the brunt of the force, the massive sword sending pain shooting down the reptilian arm, though the pain was easy to cope with. The damage that Vince had taken from the sword went beyond the wave of force that jarred his bones, and was quite literally shown as blood dripped from his claws and palm. The strike had forced his claws into his palm, and would remain there until they were removed, which Vince hoped was soon.

As soon as the sword had been caught on the claws, the left hand shot upwards, the claws on that hand viciously grabbing at the blade, tightening around it, digging into the metal slightly. With that, the dragonkin gave a vicious tug, hoping to yank the golem off balance, or at least get him to free the sword.

Dragon post: 2

[6]

"Ch'!" Shouyin attempted to resist the dragon's grip and force the strike through, but as the left arm came rearing up too there was nothing doing. Of course he was 'put off' by the recent turn of events, but that didn't mean he had to slow down. This guy was already all about capitalizing on the half-golem's moments of hesitation, from the beginning of the fight to when he took his time grabbing the sword and the transformation started in the first place - there was no way he'd let up now and let some Goddamn freak dragon gobble him up or blow fire all over the arena. Shouyin hated fire.

He'd hold his own against the dragon's forceful push for but a moment longer before letting the sword go entirely. The idea was it'd be like a tug of war where somebody suddenly let's one end of the rope go, with the hope that the dragon would thus be forced to carry its own momentum upwards wth the free blade, arms going up in the air to expose that fresh green lizard-y torso.

Smirking, Shouyin would immediately take a swift shuffle-step inwards, planting his right foot forwards and pulling his left arm back like a piston, before letting it fly out in a rear-handed straight for just beneath where he assumed the dragon-man's floating ribs would be on its left side. And, as his arm shot out, another layer of stone would form over the top of his forearm, extending about half a foot out past his clenched fist and coming to a point as honed as an assassin's blade. That dragon skin might be tough, but there'd be a whole lot of pressure focused into a fairly small point soon enough as Shouyin aimed that thing up towards where he figured the guy's left lung might be.

[7]

Shouyin's left arm shot past the dragon man as it dropped its left foot backwards and his brow furled with evident disappointment. Assuming the half-golem's stance, the right foot leading, now mirrored that of his opponent, he turned at the hips to face his opponent directly; following the progress of the dragon's backhand in his peripheral vision as he did so, the man carefully timed a quick and rather graceful bob and weave underneath it, letting the giant claw fly over his head.

Now, that dragon's big swelled throat hadn't gone unheeded this entire time or nothin'. The half-golem had seen the movies and lived that wretched s**t in one way or another a few times. When that stupid green mouth opened up Shou stopped thinking and just -reacted-.

"BARA BARA NO HOU!" he'd throw his right arm forwards, and - not being close enough to actually reach the guy's mouth at full extension - let that rock hand come away at the wrist, shooting it with its fingers open to grab onto the edges of the dragon's mouth and plug it while he had it wide and started to fire. Obviously bits of the awful green gunk would escape between the half-golem's disconnected fingers, but he'd bat them away with the rock stump of his right forearm while he ran backwards and to the left, scooping the sword up as he went and using it as a shield against any remaining goop.

"Great! now this whole Goddamn shirt is ruined!" Shouyin would groan as green gobs burnt through the right sleeve of his shirt, leaving black scars in the rock as he tried to brush it away against the blade.

[8]

If the hand couldn't actually grab enough to cover the whole of the dragon's mouth, wouldn't it just literally fall inside it? Which is to say, how could the emerald-eyed fellow control the direction of the acid, much less his own actions, while he was choking on a big rock fist that was careening into the back of his throat?

Regardless, Shouyin would do everything he could to prevent any serious physical arm, forming layers of stone over his skin where the acid splashed against his clothing, depending on it to resist the corrosion before he could rightfully splash it away with a rock-covered hand. He would also keep that s**t mad out of the way of his hair as he ran, twisting his torso and ducking his head to let the little projectiles fly by and start working their ways through the wooden platform as he took up the sword and --

OOMPH. "******!" You thought what you were supposed to say! - I got hit really hard! The half-golem would swallow the hip check in his side, falling to the ground hard with the sword in hand as more acid came down (if the dragon had stopped choking on the rock fist and its own burning poisons and thus been able to attack properly, of course). He'd grit his teeth and throw the great sword up, bending the metal of the blade to widen it if it wasn't thick enough already to fully blanket the half-golem from the stream. And then he'd wait that st out.

"****** YOU **** GREEN SPITTING PIECE OF USELESS TRANSFORMING st I'M GONNA TEAR YOUR THROAT OUT," not patiently, mind you.

[9]

Shouyin had got caught, pinned underneath the dragon after that nasty acid attack. There were certainly more than a few semi-serious burns across his body where the flame liquid had torn through clothing and sizzled away stone to mar his flesh painfully, but all he could think of was the giant on top of him and the big block of steel you might call a sword that separated them.

So he'd hold onto that ********, forming a new stone right hand and putting everything he had strength-wise into guaranteeing that the emerald-eyed man would be held in place pushing against that blade with his shoulders or whatever - keeping the weapon directly between the two fighters and thus employing it as a makeshift shield. And he'd be smiling, as he saw that wild red flash out of the corner of his eyes, catching it only as briefly as the other fighter might, but immediately recognizing it for the saving grace it was.

"Pfft," Shou would mutter, getting to his feet if all went according to Vahn's plan, "it wasn't like I didn't have him -right- where I wanted him."

He'd heft up the blade anew in both hands and face his opponent. Let's finish this already!

[10]

So boring, boring.. already losing steam, the lack of combat hadn't truly bored the man known as Barsait as much as made him feel de-energized. The adrenaline wasn't pumping, and with all that abominable music combined with Vince's thus far stalwart but endless combat . . well, it took all that was possible for the previously frenzied fighter to not fall asleep.

"Hum.. I suppose I should eye the surroundings again, no?" Eyelids hardly open, amber brown pupils dilating in contrast as they took in the eerie shades of light. "Alright. The conditions are honestly ideal, but nothing I can really sink my teeth into. The platform is wooden, yes, but on the rare and unlikely chance they haven't fireproofed it, I'd just be making my area of combat smaller and would likely harm those abound. Plus, with all the alcohol.. could lead to quite an incident. Unacceptable."

Hands folded even as his teammates began to get into the match and cheer for their captain, Barsait was peering around the room in such eerie contrast to earlier. Even in fits of berserk fury, ultimately, many would remember him as a "strategist" were they discussing him. An opportunist; it's nothing random, the team's name. "Huh.. no humidity, comfortable temperatures, no chance of outside interference excluding assists. No weapons, no clutter, no odd textures; the only major variables are that it's almost impossible to hear, and that your vision can be overwhelmed by all the external stimuli in your surroundings. Advantages I can exploit, but nothing concrete. What factor could I grasp onto that could give me.."

Deciding now to gaze at the ceiling, lasers flickered around the room. Yellow, orange, green, blue, red.. yes, a red laser coated across those nimble eyes in the most vivid of manners. Items that created something of an ambiance amidst this rave club. By now, anyone here even a brief while had gotten nice and used to them; another piece of the scenery, like the sunlight when strolling through a park. Sure, you may notice it if where you came from contrasted it, but ultimately.. your focus shifted elsewhere. Let alone if you were in these kind of circumstances.

"!!!"

Both of his eyes expanded wide once again in revelation.

"Of COURSE!!" Barsait fumed, radically flicking the switch for none other than..

Hands rotating clockwise and just slamming the edge of the wooden platform Crimson Rogues were present upon, the expression plastered on Omi Barsait's face could at best be described as devilish. Palms pressed directly against the platform standing several feet above his modest height, his teammates would be the only ones who could hear that almost malicious cackle they themselves were treated to in bouts not long past..

Hands whipping backwards, four eerie crimson lights began to flood out behind his back. Red, glowing lights; left index, left mid, right thumb, right ring.

They were snakes. Nothing of the known variety; rather they were crimson masses taking the shapes of thin snakes, winding upwards unnaturally with a little orchestrating by his guiding eyes. Normally, they were rather tell-tale; you scarcely missed a glowing red snake slithering through the air towards you. Yet, the circumstances made this a different way.

Palm-thrusting the air, the [Striker] regulations made it clear assistance was to be minimal in presence and time. Only a few serpents could suffice, and would need to in their assistance.

Backing up nice and calm as those snakes ascended in a more linear fashion than normal, all in formation - the tricky part was that here, they rather resembled the laser lights bounding about during one of their rotations! If you weren't specifically looking for them, missing their cue wasn't very difficult at all - especially when you're facing down a half-dragon.

Rising high.. rising higher, 'til their tips were out of sight and out of mind to one looking dead ahead, no more time to waste as the director prepared to wave his wand mercilessly. Normally, perhaps the crowd would have been an indicator, were not most of them paying even less attention to anything besides Vince and Shouyin, and were they audible. Alas, they were not.

Suddenly, his raised arms lashed downwards diagonally towards the floor each, swift as two blades even with the [pauldrons] coating them. And at that time, the four serpents on high, two from Glacier's Shouyin's left and two from the right, began to spiral downward fiercely as their subtle recon met its end:

[Clingkg!] Teeth clashing. Then parting to outright howl so pronounced that those nearby could likely catch it without unnatural aids;

"EXECUTE!!!!!!"

All four serpents dropped their ruses, showing their true nature as they suddenly lit ablaze in their kamikaze dives. They seemed to be targeting whatever they could smash into; likely two (inner-spirals) would hit up high along the neck to shoulders or dare fates be fortunate the head, whilst the outer-two would crash into where the man's sides currently were once at their destination.

One could liken their current descent to getting a rather nasty sucker punch you weren't expecting. Except take the fist that did it and light it on fire..

Ah, but they were en-route. What would the results be?

Chapter 567: The Passion is ignited! But what comes next...?!

He had been standing around long enough-- and the amount of time given to them to complete this challenge wasn't getting any longer. This was a bit out of character for Glacier (normally at least two fights would be done, with at least 1 KO to stand by), but then again-- this was the first in about...2 years, give or take, since they had all stood together.

Well...technically, they were all together. Sunstrike was here in..a way.

Vahn simply stared ahead with a kind of long look at the man he had wanted to be first against-- having watched him perform his bit as a STRIKER.

His suspicions were confirmed..and you could just about see the wheels turning in his head. Yea...it's about that time, isn't it...

Shouyin had done an admirable job, no doubt they were looking pretty good in the eyes of the Judges for the most part. Which was the key, after all.

Impress them, and you've got it made for better or for worse.

And impress we shall...straight to the top... Where I can reach you...Noah.

~~~

"HEY." He stepped forward now, taking into account that what was going to happen from this point couldn't really be described as anything but what was known as a 'pime taradox' in some foreign language or another.

He was jabbing his index finger straight at the man that was known as 'Omi Barsait'. "You and me need to have WORDS.

If you catch my drift."

He was calling the man out-- attempting to initiate Round 2 of this Match, even as the aftermath of the previous battle left the stage seared from heat, pieces of it missing from being telekinetically grabbed up, and what have you as battle damage.

His right eye narrowed, and his left probably did too-- although it was still pretty much hidden in the shadow of his hair somewhat. He could feel his blood pumping through his veins, even the odd flutter in the pit of his stomach as excitement took hold.

He wanted this.

After having to stand by and watch Shouyin go at it, with him only doing such a boring STRIKER, he needed to have a go at someone. It had been so long...

He was like a wolf (no insult intended to his new teammate of course) that had finally remembered what fresh meat tasted like, and he was frothing at the mouth.

Badly.

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

(Time Paradox THREE! Arian VS...?)

Two fights down. The arena lay battered but empty before her. The bastardized music filled her ears, Snow's enchantment having long wore off. The lasers and party lights made everything pulse eerily, Arian watching those wooden boards shift and change with each flash of a nearby strobe light, those vibrantly colored blue eyes not reflecting anything but the blacklights, glowing slightly in the dimness. An odd genetic quirk, though meaningless.

Arian did not see Snow, nor did she entirely know if he intended to fight in this place. It was loud. It was chaotic. She stood safely on the stairs leading to the DJ booth, away from those damnable thrashing bodies and grinding couples, a perfect vantage point for viewing the stage floor and it's combatants.

The arena lay battered but empty. Two fights down.

The arena lay battered but empty...

Arian pulled her staff from her back, dropping the bindings right then and there. She never took them into battle. Just the staff. And such a wicked appearing staff too-seven feet and two inches long, it bore one inch spikes on either end, strips of metal running from spike to spike, the wood showing through in four places, just as there were four strips of the metal. It looked wicked, but also pretty damned ugly, the two materials side by side. Arian didn't care.

Moving down the stairs one at a time, lights flickering over her dusky skin, the crimson red cloak, the metal studs of the simple leather helm-Arian seemed to be considering something, brooding even. She would make this fight count. First round, first fight for a member of Team Glacier-and she would be an obstacle to their assumed victory, at the very least.

Arian did not intend to go down easy. Hell-she didn't intend to go down at all. "And oh, while I will not revel in bloodshed, nor have a will to please..."

Cloth boots touching down on the wooden planks, moving across them soundlessly to stand not at the middle, not with her back towards the previous location of Team Glacier-but nearish the center, looking across it's surface and thinking over it's dimensions. There was power in the way Arian moved. A sort of confidence, economic movements that of a warrior, a sprinter. At five foot two, Arian was one of the smallest warriors at HoH, if not THE smallest. She was toned but feminine, the cloak concealing her shape-but the leather armor glimpsed beneath it not quite able to hide her Courtelli curves. An islander, was this woman, and a fierce one.

She looked it, with that staff, those black gloves and thick forearm guards. She looked it, with that determined glint to her eyes, the slight set to her delicate jaw. "...at the expense of my energies, my rage shall be appeased."

Such a cheesy a** poem, to pop into her mind NOW. It half annoyed her. Arian's eyes cut to the crowd once more, those full lips still speaking nothing in the din, her stance not yet a fighting one-but her gaze, oh it was clear.

Who would come to fight the branded outlaw? Who would risk their pride?

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

Shouyin Wrote:

"There's only one track," he paused as Vahn began to descend, light show literally in hand. "Play it when I give the signal."

"Do you think I'm like a secret agent? What 'signal'?" Vertigo snatched the disc with an obvious air of contempt, "I know who you are but that s**t gets a guy fired-- I said, what signal!?"

But he was gone.

"Try not to mind Shouyin. He's like that."

Miranda, unlike Twitch, was still there. By the time Shouyin left, she was still in the back of the open-top dome. However, as the fights went on, Miranda took up a familiar spot to Vertigo's left side, her eyes watching the battles.

Shouyin... ah. She remembered the last time the two of them fought. Blew a hole clean through Lu-Bu's new space, just because they could. At the end of that day, the cement 10 feet in either direction of the dojo's front door had to be taken up and repaved, a huge gaping hole in the kitchen and the room under it had to be fixed, all the pipes in the front half of the building had to be fixed, and insurance claims were filed for exploded and shredded cars.

To think that that dragon-guy would be a challenge at all to the Stoan King... not really worth dwelling on at all.

Vahn. What was there to say? Meetings with that man were originally strained for one reason or another, until Guldor happened. Since then, they'd met on the field of battle a couple of other times, the most famous of them in the Gold Mountain Casino's ring.

The wulf had experienced first hand the might of the Scion of Efreet. Omi...

...ahahaha.

"Y'know," Vertigo called over the throbbing beat, "I haven't seen you fight in a long, long time. But if you're anything like that day you left..."

Miranda looked down to her friend, and there was a silence between them that permeated and removed even the ever present sound of music, announcers, and the crowd. A knowing look shared between two people who knew each other just that well, that the limitation of words wouldn't be a factor in the slightest.

"I won't make promises... I'm here to fight."

Miranda started looking upward to the edge of the circular barrier.

"But if you're worried about your club getting trashed.... don't worry. I'm... a bit better than then. And maybe after this, you can tell the Emperor."

Vertigo made a face of disbelief, reflected in the glass.

"Right, well... get out of here. I guess it's all on D's dollar, right?" Vertigo set aside Shouyin's CD, and pulled another one. "You're sure, this the one you want, and not the one we made together?"

However, DJ Vertigo didn't get a verbal answer. What he did get in response was the sight and feeling of someone zooming past him, and with hands on the upper edge of the protective dome, leaving the booth rather spectacularly.

"...Your tits're making you into a showoff..."

Fade in on the track.

-------|-------

Miranda was 6'1", 285lbs, (or more... she always did tend to eat voraciously before matches, so a couple of extra on the scale might exist now), big, dark, and pretty much the exact opposite of Arian, visually. Her hair was black, long, shaggy, and had a huge blue streak... one couldn't miss the discoloration, even in flashing lights. Clad in a pair of black pants, she wore nothing on her chest except bandaging that kept things from moving. Upon those bare feet and hands were claws, ever so sharp. She also had on metallic bracers, half-greaves, and what was best described as tassels to the layman. If she could see the tail 'neath that tassel/tailguard and the pointed ears, then all the better for Arian. Miranda looked positively feral.

Pictured is a man who is also 6'1", 285. The main differences in that man and Miranda were those important cosmetic and biological differences (breasts!) that made a man a man, and a woman a woman. Also, skin color, eye color (a crystal blue that was really hard to see, for how pale it was), and she wasn't THAT ripped. But damn if she wasn't that big.

So there we have it, all concepts and ideas that Miranda was a small lady and this was going to be a GGW giggly teen slap fight were packing up and G'ing TFO.

She was not petite. She was not waxing poetic. And as she landed in a crouch as close to the center of the fighting platform as possible (yet maintaining 15 feet of space between herself and Arian, because getting stabbed or beat in the head upon landing was lame)...

She was not smiling.

As the requested music began to play, Miranda simply turned to face Arian in her crouch, moving to the balls of her feet.

Right leading, body low, arms hanging, eyes steady.

[Track 01]

[♫ Reflekt - Need to Feel Loved ♫]

As Vahn stepped up to heed his boiling blood's call to battle, Silver would flash him that roguish grin and a nod of approval, not that Vahn would need or even see it.

Given what little they had seen of the mysterious newcomers' abilities, Silver knew this was going to be one hell of a bout, and just the explosive start Heaven or Hell needed to begin right. Not that Shou hadn't done an excellent job representing them in their very first match of the year, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that the STOAN KING's mastery of earthen arts were unparalleled. Sure, he was pissed that his opportunity to fight had been stolen, but his comrade's performance had cooled that temper. He could be forgiven... for now.

But this... This was the match he had been waiting to see. There were few things Silver enjoyed more than watching The Master at work. It had been years since Silver had been lucky enough to witness Vahn fight, and even then, he had been on the receiving end of the beating, so there wasn't much time to enjoy it.

Show me, Vahn. Show me you're still the man I have to surpass. SHOW ME THE REASON WE FIGHT.

The platinum haired young man would just devilishly grin at the thought of the battle to come. His own blood was boiling now, calling him to the ring. If things turned out the way he expected, this was going to be exciting indeed.

Still, in the back of his mind, he wondered... where the hell was their elusive 4th member?

Ah, there [s]he was! After a rather satisfying 2nd round, Glacier's new Fourth was finally revealed.

Anyone not privy to privileged information might have been shocked to find that the mysterious final member of the returning Championship team was not in fact Sunstrike this year, but actually Miranda, Lazenca, Blazestar Imperialist and Team Captain Silver's former team mate on their short stint in Frozen Flame. Of course, this probably meant more to the media and HoH's loyal fan community to any other combatants. Glacier was Glacier, regardless of who was on it to most.

Still, Silver looked on with pride as much as he would seeing any member of his team fight, new or old. Glacier's Captain chose his nakama carefully, and, just as he had told the Wulf Man at their last Heaven or Hell together, they were team mates for life now, his services having been called on when they were needed most.

He would just cross his arms and smirk, already certain of this round's outcome, as he recited that old familiar tune in his head...

Lazenca... Save us...

All four of them had their reasons for being there. Separate as though they may be, it was their bond as a team that would drive them straight to the top. No one, newcomer or veteran, rookie or ace, was going to stand in their way.

[ Continuation of fight one, Vincentius vs. Shouyin. ]

The dragon payed close attention to Shouyin as Omi's serpents collided, washing over his sk-- Stone armor? The dragon's brow raised even as he continued bounding forwards with quick, massive strides. He'd been able to swat away the now normal length sword with relative ease, and as Shou was stunned by the flames colliding against the semi-instantly appearing stone armor, the dragon let out a roar and pushed off the ground with his left foot, his right shoulder dipping forward and lowering in the process.

Unless Shou recovered instantly, he would find the dragon, steel armor and enchanted spikes slamming right into his chest. The aim of the dragon's maneuver, now that he was within the sword, was to drive Shouyin to the ground once more, and despite his version of armor, rock and all, the enchanted spikes were aimed to drive right through. The enchantment that was held upon them? They were enchanted not to shatter, not to break, and not to be pulled away from the seemingly normal piece of armor that Vince wore.

Back into the fray, never letting up.

[11]

TyKat12 Wrote:

If the giant woman had not, well-Arian would do the honors of bursting off her left leg, not moving nearly as fast as normal given the length of her staff and the 'wind up' to her swing, but quick enough to close distance to at least ten or nine feet before swinging the staff from her right to her left side, aiming to slam the needled end into Miranda's left side rather violently.

Miranda was very content to sit and watch, and wait. Just as Arian was observing and forming stratagem around her opponent, so was Miranda. That staff was pretty large, and was going to be an interesting obstacle to get around. The lady was on the smaller side, but her size couldn't be used to discount her toughness... she might've had some kind of mystical protection or something about her, or her particular species may be more hardy than the eye would allow one to initially see. Besides, Ray was small and always managed to irk her in a spar... one never knew until things started happening.

Thing was, Miranda's quickly formed plan dictated that they wouldn't be fighting long enough for things to happen, and for Arian to get into any sort of groove.

It would be the opponent who made the first move... and for all intents and purposes, it was about to be her last.

"Körper."

Her stance... it was forgivable that they didn't recognize that she was mimicing a pouncing stance, as they couldn't quickly identify Miranda as a wolf-type. As a wolf-type, she was quite used to getting low and shooting forward (or the infrequent backwards) to close the distance between herself and her prey as quickly as possible before their fight-or-flight instincts kicked in. Such a basic use of life skills was used, when Arian went into her actual swing motion (to be sure she actually WAS swinging and not feinting), to shoot forward at a pace someone her size seriously didn't look like they could be moving at... a single hard push from her coiled muscles that had her literally pouncing her opponent.

The difference between any hunt and this fight was that Miranda would have normally led with her fangs. However, using Korper with a bite to the throat was something she could have been flagged for, what with the instant larynx crushing and suffocation-to-death and all. Instead, Miranda led this charge with a closed right fist, the appendage slamming forward into the bottom half of Arian's face.

The ravers were able to see very clearly a line of blue light marking Miranda's starting point and finish. Arian could see it as well if she had the presence of mind to keep looking at Miranda's left arm. The arm and some of her face was covered in what was best described as a black tattoo... not that it would be visible in the flashing darkness, until the BODY band and all associated lines shone. Mind, the line on her arm glowed when Miranda thought the command, which happened as Arian stepped forward and swung.

Swinging a weapon like that staff tended to build a bit of momentum... Arian wasn't going to stop her swing to respond to Miranda's moving and that was fine. Miranda wasn't going to be absolutely clear... it was likely that she would feel the staff striking her left arm or back as it came around in its arc, but she would be well within the weapon's effective range (spikes as well), rendering it an absolute nonfactor. Using the bat analogy, it would be like getting hit with the area just over the wielder's hands, rather than the business end.

Unless, of course, Arian COULD stop the weapon mid-swing... again, couldn't really put things past people. But that didn't mean that Arian's jaw wasn't going to shatter, and that she wasn't skidding off of the fighting platform, previous rumbles' damage be damned.

Körper Wrote:

(Medium band: "BODY") -- So-named to follow the name of the band on the right. A focused will activates the proper enchanted bracer, increasing power doubly for a very limited time. While physical abilities are increased (stronger, faster, better reactions, etc.), aural abilities suffer.

[Track 2]

It would be a little bit harder for Shouyin than the golem would expect. Of course Vince seen the edge of the platform drawing near, but before he was effectively redirected away from the golem, something would change. Vince's arms were freed in this whole thing; indeed, though the movement of his arms would be some-what limited due to the spikes being driven into the man's arm, and the fact that his right shoulder was dipped, Vince would not be able to use the full extension of his arms, but a limited use was possible.

When Vince had realized that a move was being used against him, his own momentum only helping Shouyin's cause, something flashed in the back of Vince's mind. His movement forward continued, if only at a slower pace, seemingly tired with the driving of the massive golem, except the dragon really wasn't as tired as he seemed. Instead, he allowed the golem to begin his movement, the swinging of his hips and the pressure applied on the spike, and then he dug his own steel-covered heels into the ground, slowing his pace drastically, even as his right arm hooked around the back of the Golem's knees.

Now, it would necessarily stop the golem from going anywhere, but as he began to slide around Vince's backside, it was likely that the golem would be tripped up upon the spiked armored arm behind his left knee trying to trip him up. From there, it was likely that either Shouyin would fall sideways, completely avoid the desperate grab, or fall towards Vince. If it failed however, Vince would probably stumble a step or two forwards before stopping completely; even then, his back would be exposed.

[12]

One of Silver's pockets would suddenly start blaring trumpets and violins, heralding the approach of an epic tune. He would appear confused, and glance around as if in a panic, trying to pinpoint the location of the sound he now seemed to be emitting, barely audible over the ambient noise of the club. After several moments, he would realize it was somewhere in his jacket, and after padding himself down briefly, managed to produce a small burgundy cell phone from said pocket.

"What the-?! How did..."

Silver didn't carry a cell phone! He would then notice that the small, back-lit screen on the device was alerting him that it was none other than his oldest friend and greatest rival, Dashboard calling. The tiny text was accompanied by picture of Dash smiling and posing that he had obviously taken himself using the phone's built in camera, and that Silver was most certainly meant to see. Silver would just sigh and roll his eyes, annoyed. It seemed Dash had planted the phone on him at some point without him knowing, just so he could call him on it later at the most inopportune time possible.

Fiddling with it, he'd manage to slide the device open, thus accepting the call. Putting it to his ear, he would have to yell loudly over the noise of the club to hear himself speak.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?"

Though, honestly, he probably would have said it that way, anyway, regardless of where he was...

Silver Alexander Wrote:

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?"

Lots of heavy breathing came over the phone. Katie was raging pissed. She could tell by the delicate voice on the other end that she was dealing with a beautiful girl, a beautiful girl that was at the club. She could hear the techno beat in the background. It actually was making it difficult to hear the girl. She was probably six foot, hourglass figure, and blonde hair. She HATED her, already.

"Who is this?!"

She snapped over the phone. After she got a name, well, even if she didn't she growled at the girl on the other line.

"Listen here, pretty girl, you should know that Dash is got two women now, so if you think you are going to keep him, best of luck with that."

Then, more importantly, Katie realized something. She wanted to meet this girl.

"When you are finished with...whatever it is you're doing...I want you to come by Dash's room at the Crimson Hawk. His room number is 752."

s**t's about to go down.

Heh, Shouyin would risk a glance over at his opponent's teammates, keeping an eye out lest he get gimped by another unexpected Striker in his moment of triumph. The dragon had stayed its execution by a hair's breadth, but nevertheless foregone the match in doing so. He himself had learnt a long while back that if you couldn't beat a guy with two arms, trying it with one wasn't gonna do much good.

Rather than fight against his opponent's attempt to force the blade away from its intended target, he'd swiftly abandon the endeavour entirely. Following the direction of the other man's 'wave' away from his throat, he would roughly tug the blade free by slashing out from between his foe's middle and index finger. Of course that'd happen right in time with the sudden unexpected burst of strength from said enemy, an effort which would actualize itself in the form of Shou's left leg flying out from underneath him, the right foot keeping up beside it as if not to be outdone and thus leaving its owner suspended briefly midair.

Oh for the love of... His victory grin having been forced almost immediately back into a disappointed frown, Shouyin's eyes would - for a moment - seemingly go blank (though it wasn't like anyone might notice such a gesture in the haze of sound and furious lights), as he directed his concentration inwards. You haven't had to save your skin this much in -years- now, actual years. So!? All the more reason for me to go back to it - I've been out of the game for a bit, you go back to basics so you don't lose your head. When was -cowardice- a return to basics? Whatever, you know what those burns could've been like; I would've been Goddamn -deformed- or something. 'Whatever,' you know this isn't you - you're dodging you're own rhythm. This... efficacy, it's - DON'T - it's Ze'ev.

He'd come out of his daydream haze no real time having passed, his head still swung back, eyes stuck looking at the ceiling for a moment as his back arched and he reached the pinnacle of his inglorious fall, his opponent's hand still gripping at his ankle or wherever. "Ch'," as he came back towards the earth, a few things would happen. First, out of the back of his leg, where the dragon-man held it, a spike - much akin to one of the many adorning his opponent's shoulders but proportionately smaller - would shoot outwards, the point spinning like a drill right through the palm of the hand it encountered. Second, borrowing steel from the armoured sleeve of his left arm, Shouyin's sword would lengthen by about a foot. And finally, as he hit the platform flat on, his right hand would extend fully out to his side, palm slapping the ground in order to dissuade some of the impact as he tucked his chin in towards the maw of his helm to protect the back of his head.

Assumedly his left foot would land down flat on top of the right hand that held it, further pushing the spike through, while his right foot landed so that the heel dug into his opponent's left forearm, aiming to push that arm against the other man's chest and keep it immobile. And Shouyin's left arm would land across his torso, the point of the sword coming to a stop at the ground just in front of his foe's left eye.

"We just about done here?" Sometimes it's better to be the Devouring Wolf.

[14]

Using a little bit more steel from his sleeve, Shouyin would - as his opponent aimed to brush the blade aside - cause the point to shoot backwards in its intended direction. Like a sort of slightly unfolded check mark, this new portion of the blade would move directly past the hand that'd attempted to foible its foothold and nonchalantly poke through the right-most of the emerald-eyed man's adjectival namesakes.

It wouldn't go so deep as to cause damage superficial to the surface of the man's eye, but that just meant we weren't attacking the brain. The optic organ was entirely up for grabs, regardless now of whether the other man scored a hold on Shouyin's left wrist.

"Are you ready - to leave now?"

[15]

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

"WUGH!!"

Arian hissed as the leather flap failed to protect her the sudden impact to her thigh, jerking the outlaw onto her a** as her opponent nearly ate wood. Left hand flies to the strings before her throat, holding her cloak to her form. She pulls, then has her left hand on the ground again. It takes time to recover from a fall-even if Miranda DIDN'T take that second of 'wit gathering', she still had to turn around, still had to manuever her SIX FOOT TALL body about to get a hold of one Arian Lennox-who did not just nearly faceplant, and was more than well aware of just where she sat on the 'predator vs prey' pecking order of things.

Last year HOH, Arian had gone down to avoid a hit-and Duc had made her pay for it dearly. As soon as that "WUGH!!" is heard, Arian shoving forward on her staff, sliding it away from them both before thrusting her right arm behind her, using her left arm to push on the floor, kicking off Miranda's leg to scramble like hell to get outta there-throwing her cloak backwards over Miranda's head and upper body as she rose to stand. At this point, Miranda would be remembering the nasty weapon Arian had. At this point, Miranda would be beginning to turn-CLOAK TO THE FACE!

...not the most lethal of attacks or even DAMAGING, but it was annoying, having this heavy, large piece of cloth thrown over you, briefly blinding and maybe a tad disconcerting. Arian was already on her feet, eyes over her shoulder as she pivots to face Miranda, just outside kicking range, right hand already holding something drawn from the right side of her armor. She was looking to see if Miranda had freed herself from the cloak-or if the wolf woman would be doing something else instead. But...

...the hell?

Something, a vial it looked like, some ugly goopy mixture and what seemed to be plain water separated...and...for some reason, Arian seemed to be prepared to THROW it at her.

What's more...her left hand had just twisted the top of her right gauntlet, then clicked it into place again, for SOME reason. The hey?

(Level 3 on the gloves, post three~)

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

[Time Paradox #2: Barsait v Fah]

The funnest part about a simultaneous rush was the path to and fro. Two opposing entities that were hardly the immovable object and the unstoppable force clashing in a fury; even the most laid back fighters, the most cowardly of fellows, and the most reserved of individuals could not avoid it forever. Inevitability at its finest. To men of Barsait's ilk, it was better, nay, desired that it occur as quickly as possible.

However, likewise were there those who fancied overwhelming force and swift maneuvers could justify blurring their train of thought. Let the brain be drowned in adrenaline; let the heat guide you in something of a divine sense. True enough, such rapture was fun to taste now and again . .

Yet for one [Omi Barsait], it was a glutton's meal. Mind & body, rage & focus, calm thoughts set upon a hot blaze. It took something of a paradox in order to truly excel.

His opponent, this "Vahn" fellow, had showed a wild disposition. Assumed wise where possibly foolish, presumed skilled where possibly dull, Barsait felt the air of massive threat threatening to collapse his lungs. However, every action for grand or minuscule consequence, had a purpose.

"Hmph!" The briefest of audible discontent, as his squared approach's purpose revealed itself. The artist had assumed his opponent would clash against him one way or the next, that much was given; how was irrelevant. Even as the man's coat fabric fluttered in their own gusts of air, the boots stopped resolute. The purpose of those thunderous stomps was to get a feel for how his boot treads felt against the ground below and to get his upper body used to pivoting just slightly to the left and right each time, faster faster faster faster..

Short of his opponent by a few feet, letting the low descent be his cue, Omi crashed his body weight onto that left leg combined with the boot treads scraping across the wooden texture in order to grind him to a halt. Those stocky legs applied powerful pressure on the ground; enough that done too often, he'd likely have some sprained heels, though he hardly cared. All that motion, all that weight.. was so the left leg could act as a sudden and radical pin-point pivot for his entire body, the left fist squared at his left waist whipping out as it was swung about like a flail at murderous speed. The ridiculously balanced approach was simply so he could adjust for a left or right oriented assault; with that chin tucked against Vahn's left shoulder, this left the right side (or left for Omi) vulnerable enough.

It was a left body hook with enough momentum that if it connected to the human skull, only dire news could fill the air.

He was too used to larger opponents swinging him about. A man by the name of "Deitric" came to mind.. but as his right hand swung backwards, palm open whilst the right leg swung about clockwise from his perspective, Omi knew his advantage against such tactics well.

No matter were he facing a man, a beast, or a devil - his punches hurt. They hurt worse when his gauntlets tore into the opponent's flesh, muscles, and bone. They hurt even worse when the unexpected grip of his pauldron's teeth gnashed into their bodies, four fangs ready to grasp what they wished.

Anymore, the world, those in it, and the [Heaven or Hell] didn't concern himself a damn. All Omi craved, already concocting a counter for the opponent's inevitable counter as best and as fast as he could think it up with those right fingertips dancing nimbly in the heated air: was to make this "Vahn" fall, and for Barsait to rise.

Nothing else mattered.

[TP#II - 2]

Quote: SIX FOOT TALL body

Not an obstacle at all, what with her living with the size for quite a while and still being able to do what she wanted to do, as fast as she wanted to do them. This time, she'd actually have help from Arian.

A person kicked or slapped comes to their senses more quickly, the shock hastening the process of becoming aware of what things were, bringing them back to the present at a time quicker than what would be taken had they just been left alone. Arian's kicking against Miranda in her bid to get away had a like effect. It definately wasn't as strong or direct as a cold splash of water or slap to the cheek, but considering this was a fight, any cue was a good cue.

Arian threw the cloak, but by then Miranda was able to note that the staff was out of the female's hand and on the ground just to Miranda's left (going with the "Miranda's laying on Arian's right side" thing), and that Arian was already backing up. Wise decision, that one.

With all this going on, Miranda would have to slightly rethink things. What was observed and noted was taken into consideration as she shot nearly straight up, though with a forward lean and left arm out. Arian's plan worked for the most part; Miranda couldn't see her in her retreat, and there was a cloak to deal with.

However, the cloth screen ruse ended the moment Miranda reached around and dramatically whipped the cloak around her body, wearing it. Didn't tie it or anything, though that would've been pretty awesome, but she did otherwise have it about her shoulders in a manner that stated that she'd worn a cloak before.

Again with the watching and waiting, because Arian looked ready to throw something at her. What she could see of what Arian was doing... looked rather fishy, and elicited an eye narrow.

"..."

Her next exhalation brought with it apparent steam from her nostrils.

For what does the hermit know that makes him change his ways?

[Track 4]

Vince vs. Shou

• STRIKER -

.....

.....

Having taken a few steps back to get a better view of the stage fight, the swordsman had stopped his light moment of meditation - or momentary spite of staying idle - to watch the current fight between his Captain and his adversary. Arms folded across his chest, he remained quiet when Omi gave off the explosive start with his Striker, followed by Vince going at it against the Earth elementalist with renewed vigor.

While he watched, his eyes were more fixated at the two heavily armored figures duking it out. Having some bad experience with people like those - in terms of combat, if he was the one fighting them - he was using this as a means to do some research against methods to combat brutes in the future.

Of course, he can't really say it was a pleasant atmosphere to conduct the research, considering the sweat and effort being put by both sides of the opposition. Add that with the raving noise, the bad lighting, and the occasional dull noise ringing in his ears from the enchantment, it would actually be...

Honestly? A horrible atmosphere to do research.

But as he was ignoring the minor 'setbacks' that made the research worthwhile, even in the dazzling spectacle of lights flashing through the air, the swordsman frowned when he saw his Captain in trouble. Of course, with the opponent covered in...what is it, rock?..over most of the upper portion of the body, and what seems to be fluid ability to manipulate anything of metallic/steel related objects, most of the swordsman's arsenal would be obsolete by best, or, at worst, be used by the opponent's ability at will.

Unless he does something to delay or counteract that ability...

"..."

With a deft tug at his side, the Halberd strung to his back loosened, sliding off from the bindings that kept it in check, and into his right hand which patiently waited for it. Pulling the weapon forward to his front, the swordsman reached over with his left hand, and, reaching inside his right sleeve, clicked on the FIGHTER's bracelet worn underneath his armored bracer to signal only one meaning.

Striker time.

Jamming the axe of the Halberd onto his duffel bag laying close by, the swordsman reached up with his left hand and pulled himself onto the stage in one quick motion. Poised behind Shou's back some distance away, the foe's attention fixated onto Vince in the meantime -

Vince would most certainly see the swordsman beforehand from his viewpoint, and have a fair amount of seconds to be warned about the Striker.

Bursting into a quick sprint, a burst of pale blue light quickly cascaded out of the swordsman's right hand, traveling down the weapon and into the duffel bag, freezing the content inside it onto his axe and turning it into a makeshift Maul. Lifting up the makeshift weapon from the side with his right hand as he sprinted, the end of the weapon held exceptional weight behind it, roughly 40lbs, give or take. Though, with the power that he'd channeled into the weapon, the magic that the swordsman injected inside makes the weight significantly easier to handle...so as long as the magic is in effect.

The swordsman woud then twirl the weapon around himself once in a counter-clockwise motion, moving quickly to then position himself a few steps away above Shou's head on the ground...

Before slamming the Halberd axe towards Shou's chest in a low swinging arc as he passed by the two fighters, aiming a bit higher to avoid hitting Vince in the process. The duffel bag helps mask the shiny reflection which might give away the weapon's position under the lighting. Shou would most likely won't see anything until it's too late, the dull color of the duffel bag coming directly out of his viewpoint above his gaze, and aiming to smash the intended area with full, heavy force.

Should it hit, the force would be plentiful enough to smash Shou directly off of Vince in a barrel roll, damaging him past the armor and steel through blunt force trauma.

! It was due to the fact that his body was in a constant state of motion that he hadn't even been hit up to this point.

His luck had to run out sometime. Figures it would be then.. He would find himself remarking when thinking back to this moment.

Because of the nature of the sweep-- which would apparently connect and bring Barsait crashing down (since it was his kneecap that was aimed at) -- Vahn himself wouldn't be able to get out of this one so easily.

He didn't fancy himself a tactician, or someone who planned two moves ahead every encounter, like a certain godforsaken sibling; so if this had been all part of some elaborate snare to get at him..well it worked.

For the most part.

While it was true, his entire friggin' head was a open spot screaming 'HIT ME', his right arm wasn't just there for show. He'd managed to sort of get his forearm right by his head, when his opponent came toppling down.

He was struck, and although he was attempting to lessen the impact- it was still a hard hit, and there more than just a bruise that would appear. A gash along the side of his head, and blood even as he grunted through gritted teeth, doing his best not to cry out from the pain. "..Guh...!"

First blood to Barsait, even some of it was seen coming away with his elbow as proof now.

Of course, this was just now a mess of tangled limbs and bodies now, and Vahn was doing his best to shove the damn guy off of him so he could possibly roll out to the side and get back up on his feet.

Or at least not continue being seen like he had a new man in his life.

TIMER 15:00

To be honest-- he wasn't intent on sneaking any blows in, let alone capitalizing on any openings there may have been on his opponent.

He wanted to get away at the moment-- because of the pounding headache that had suddenly invaded his cranium (getting dropped on like that probably did not help), as the gash on the side of his head continued to pulse with freely running blood.

It ran down the left side of his face, smearing along the floor as he rolled away after shoving off of his opponent-- with an accompanying swear word as something literally went off in his face.

"Fu-!!" OH ******** THE --!!

Apparently, his opponent had thought it amusing to give him a parting gift-- even as he clamped a hand to the left side of his face, and came rolling up to one knee.

His breath was caught in his throat, even as he felt the distinct throb of his heart, and an odd twitch in his left eye.

The right, a harsh yellowed hue, widened with realization as he stared at the ground. This is...

TIMER 14:00

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

(Little confused about your described positioning of the staff. Arian landed on her a**, putting Miranda BEHIND her, about, since Arian had tripped Miranda with her right thigh, having thrown her weight to her left-sorta like she's stretching. Miranda WOULD be on Arian's right, but Arian is facing forward still, and so slides her staff away from them both with her right hand, but it'll still be closer to her on the stage than to Miranda, because Arian's upper body was leaning to her left to avoid her.

So, currently, Arian's back is to her staff while Miranda can see it a bit behind Arian, the two women facing one another from maybe five, six feet. Just noting this~))

Cloakless, Arian stood in her black leather armor, that infamous double v brand on her right shoulder blade plain for all to see, the inky black tattoo around it shining in the light slightly, as if literal ink upon her skin rather than in it. Her barish shoulders were slight, feminine, arms and legs toned but not manly, her curves concealed to a point-but not entirely, her weapon belt hanging off one of those curved, leather armored hips.

She was human. Completely and utterly human, no powers, no hugeness, no real hidden quirks to aid her in this fight.

And yet...she seemed so fierce, so PROUD somehow, burning with that inner fire that fueled her will to fight, to PROVE something to herself, test her worth.

This felt like her fight with Vince. Miranda was big and tough and all that, but nothing was HAPPENING. There was no blood spilling, no real hits made, and now, now that Arian stood facing her, Miranda had risen to her feet and stood LOOKING at her.

For ******** sake, why did the big people stand around and WAIT? "You're boring me." Arian spoke the words in a low, nearly growling tone that would linger behind the loud music, yet carry to her opponent nevertheless, if Miranda was paying attention. Those vibrantly colored eyes glinted with fire, Arian mildly put off by the progression thus far. Did Miranda not think to take her seriously? The thought instantly sent a bolt of rage through her blood.

She would MAKE this giant of a woman fight her, God dammit-

With a snap of her right arm, Arian threw the vial violently at Miranda's torso, aiming just beneath the larger woman's breasts, a nasty move, really-but one that's sure to get a reaction just as well as Arian bursting backwards, dancing on those small, cloth booted feet, right hand twisting the top of her left gauntlet to level three. Like hell she would charge again, given Miranda's super powered leaping-she would not make an attack only to be interrupted with a fist to the face or some other such thing. Moving backwards was not as fast as running forward-but Arian was pretty damned quick, light on her feet, moving back to reclaim her staff again-or pretending that was her intention-hands loose fists before her, little sparkles here and there of arcing electricity.

As for that vial-if Miranda let the thin glass strike and SHATTER on her person-goopy, icky, sticky 'fire making' s**t would be splattered upon her, along with the water also contained in the upper half of the vial. No big deal, right, just icky? WRONG.

That there crap would burst into flames on Miranda's form, feeding off the mixture as fuel, and no doubt beginning to burn whatever else as well. Holy st, Arian wasn't ****** around here!!!

If Miranda took the hit of the vial, she was in for some pain-if she ducked or dodged someway-well...Arian wanted the vial to do one of two things, and the second use of it was just as good to the outlaw as the first.

(She doesn't lift her arm any further before beginning the snap to throw it, by the way.)

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

Blended various sections of profile Wrote:

“Fire Making s**t”(Actual quote from the outlaw)

The lower half of the vial contains a rather medieval mixture-oil, sulfur, and quicklime, mixed with tow. This mixture bursts into flames in the presence of moisture-any contact with water (sweat, spit, etc) brings this fiery effect. Trying to put it out only makes it worse. The lower half is sealed off by glass-and the top half contains water. Arian pretty much draws one and CHUCKS one at an opponent, which proves to be unfortunate. Should be noted--the mixture does not explode with any concussive force. It just combusts, catching aflame. There is no violent explosion, just fire making.

"Burn."

The single word dropped from his lips, even as his head was lifted and he made eye contact with his opponent. What was chilling, wasn't the emptiness in his right eye-- but the intensity that came from his left.

His left eye bore the appearance of a lizard's, complete with second lid and all. It was an eerie sight, seeing something like that on what could probably pass for a normal face-- but this was the eye of a Salamander..and not just any Salamander...

His voice was lost in the noise of the club, but he was pretty sure the point would come across-- as a peculiar sensation would start upon the man's elbow, and anywhere else on his body that had been stained with Vahn's blood.

It would start as a prickle-- but grow in heat and intensity of pain, as blackness seemed to literally expand outwards from where that blood was.

Blackened flames would be given birth to, sprouting wildly and reaching outwards as if to grow even more, by consuming whatever it could. His opponent was going to have a serious problem in another moment or so-- as the flames continued to grow in size and shape, crawling and expanding along where they originated on his opponent like tar on wood.

While this went on, Vahn picked himself up off the ground, that left eye dripping spatters of blood, even as he felt his heart beat fast; faster than it had been since the start of the match.

His blood was pumping...and he was rarin' to go now.

He would push himself forward into a run now, eyes wide with focus even as his right hand lowered out to the side-- the bandages all along that arm burning away as something began forming and shaping itself into existence along that flesh.

His opponent was going to learn what true fire was now.

TIMER 13:00

"PRETTY? DASHBOARD? IS THAT YOU? WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOUR VOICE? I CAN'T HEAR A DAMN THING RIGHT NOW. I'M AT THE CLUB. WE'RE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FIRST ROUND, a*****e."

He obviously wasn't getting any of this.

"WHAT? CRIMSON WHAT? SEVEN FIFTY TWO? WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? HELLO?"

Silence. Silver would pull the phone away from his ear to look at it. The screen would indicate the call had ended. He, not having pressed anything, must have annoyed Dash into hanging up first. Victory!

He would then turn and toss the small device into a near-by trash receptacle without even bothering to close it. He no longer had any use for the thing. Hell, he hadn't had any use for it to begin with. Knowing Dash, it was probably designed to self-destruct and burn off his eyebrows, anyway.

"Tch. Whatta Supreme Jerk."

Silver turned his attention back to the fight(s), where things were quickly heating up.

"Woah'damn!"

Aha, she knew absolutely nothing of Miranda if she didn't think the wulf woman wasn't insane. But granted that she knew absolutely nothing of Miranda, that was forgivable.

In fact, this whole match started off on the wrong foot in that respect. Underestimation and expectations that were dashed to the wind like so many feathers from a dying bird. Arian expected that she'd be able to get a rise out of Miranda, who had yet to do little more than look stoically forward (except when her head hit the ground on the trip, of course), but as could be plainly seen, Miranda was fine chillin' like she was. And Miranda was planning on ending the match immediately, Korper-boosted fist to the face supposed to be that one sudden, surprise attack, but she hadn't expected her opponent to have the ability to check her swing and positioning after already swinging some crazy, spiked, long staff... and tap the Source to dodge.

But there they were, still fighting, each lady trying to see what the score was.

Arian casted her lot to rushing Miranda, forcing a move... and Miranda placed her bets on sitting inside this nice, if not slightly small, cloak.

"..."

Wow, good thing Miranda caught that vial and threw it back.

"..."

Was she REALLY going to come forward like that? If the image of the bright, flaming body rushing at her was any indication...

"..."

Miranda would wait until the last conceivable second, the distance noted between opponents during the escape and volley of the vial, before leaning slightly back for support... then suddenly lifting her right leg and thrusting it forward at Arian's head. Not one for dodging people when there was no reason to-- since dodging prolonged things and she'd come into this match looking for a way to kinda finish her opponent quickly-- she would simply hold her position and upright stance until Arian was nearly upon her...

...or more precisely, within kicking range, which happened to be farther out than punching range.

The body goes where the head goes... and as Arian ran into a BOOT TO THE FACE, the head would naturally snap back from the sheer force of sudden momentum stop, a ricochet that would yank the whole body back and have it dropping immediately to the ground in what could only be described as an extremely comedic (or at least extreme) pratfall.

That was a Perfect World Scenario™, of course. But hey... if Arian was fast enough to dodge out of Miranda's super pounce and punch, then Miranda was able to make Arian pay for throwing fire-in-a-jar at her by introducing her most violently to the bottom of her foot. The motion was seriously as simple as leaning slightly back on the left, so the issue of balance was removed... and the moment range was breached, doing the quick one-two of lifting the bent leg and snapping it outward while applying a forward lean to counter the force suddenly meeting the vertically-oriented foot.

It was meant to be basic, fast, and all the same flat out stop the attack.

Not that Arian would be able to notice it, what with her eyes looking at the creases in Miranda's big, clawed foot while she was starting to really burn up with her armor and all the other stuff that was catching fire, but it was really, really cold around Miranda.

[Track 6]

The man's vision was at stake.. well.. the dragon would have to choose partial blindness over defeat this time, and so, when he had managed to snag Shouyin's wrist, and the sword still darted for his eye, the dragon didn't even do as much as -blink-. The sword would take the vision in one eye, leaving the dragon as pissed as he had ever been; part of the reason he still continued to struggle through the pain and the lack of concentration that he was now faced with. However, despite the fact that he'd been stabbed through the eye, he well seen the sight of the Swordsman come rushing at them with what looked like a makeshift club made out of...

The dragon burst into laughter as the swordsman began his swing, ignoring the pain that lanced through his face from the sword-tip being driven through his eye. He well knew that if Snow's hit connected with Shouyin, the sword hit would likely worsen, but at this point, he didn't care. What he was worried about, however, was the aftermath.

If all went well, Vince would then find his way to his feet, blood dripping from his mauled left hand, and his partially ******** up right hand from earlier when the claws of his own hand had driven into his palm. If it didn't hit, well.. there wasn't much that could be done aside from Vince pushing harshly away from himself against Shouyin's wrist, trying to get the sword free.

[15]

[Time Paradox #2: Barsait v Fah]

Left and right fists practically pulsating with that dim, dark glow within the mouths of snakes true - Barsait was a man in the midst of where he excelled at best. The lands of chaos; anarchy. Against opponents grand would he find this world near eternal, and though the bloodshed it bred was detestable, he could not dismiss the fact the steps to engagement were enjoyable. Almost to a maddening degree, were he a weaker mind.

However, he was no unobservant fool. It was a p***k at his left elbow that caught his attention almost instantly; you didn't ignore those sensations in combat. No telling when someone hadn't pricked you with a venomous needle or attached a leech, or by the divines what else. Yet, lo and behold the artist's surprise when he spotted the phenomenon occurring - dark flames! He had seen several unnatural variants, including a translucent white ilk as well as one that held a blue hue, both worse than a mere candle's flame. Yet here, as he paused only momentarily in curiosity-struck awe at the dark red goo he placed not as blood quite yet seemingly spawning this flame, which proceeded to eat up his shirt cloth and spread. Already, it was searing flesh, and would no doubt spread to the rest of his body most quickly - yet he couldn't gauge the heat level fully because of its unnatural hue which followed no ordinary rhyme nor reason to the fire cycle. Interesting.

..and his interest quickly waned.

"NAIVE." He bellowed just as that left arm suddenly outstretched towards one Vahn Fah, the right rearing back like an over-telephoned punch. He twisted the left arm to its right, getting the elbow blade facing the ceiling. The right hand suddenly struck.. his own upper-left arm? Grinding along, something bellowed out from that pauldron's mouth.

Ten serpents in a close arrangement, the "glow" from earlier's source. They ignited with but a single click of his teeth, and were given permission to scold his own flesh - literally scraping the majority of his opponent's blood and flames attached right off the left arm along with the outer-layer of his skin, the shirt obviously destroyed upon that side. Meanwhile, the mesh, designed for retained use even in high-heat situations (as one would expect of a man who utilized fire primarily) - glowed a lovely shade of fierce orange, grinding into his left limb fiercely.

The largest pool of blood and its aftermath were shot ahead to the wooden floor; presuming Crimson Rogues were at the southern end of the platform and Glacier the north, then we could say Omi was to the west whilst this Fah fellow, the east. Between them now, was the remnants of their unnatural flames intertwining in the wooden floor texture, making even the drugged-up fools abound perk their eyes on over if their noses didn't do the job for them. Burning wood had this.. distinct odor you don't soon forget.

There were still small drops of blood abound on Omi's clothing, yet as his right fingertips flicked the flames away from his person that he had spawned (though holding no sway over the dark variant) so as to keep his clothing from burning away even faster.. their spread would be minimal, for the moment. Dots of flame at best. They took low priority.

And thus, Fah's charge made Omi play his hand for the moment; eyes wide in a diligent fury. For that left hand formed its fist once again, his mind finishing the concoction of a second plan. The mixture of two unnatural flames danced amidst each-other in the floor ahead, but they seemed lonely! Fah would be dancing with him in seconds' time, he needed a proper greeting now that Omi was made aware of his fiery nature.

"HAH!" Over-handed left smash. The next gush of serpents and flame erupted from the snake mouths, using those pauldrons made specifically to resist flames' delicious sting to form his flames into a nice burst. But rather than attacking Vahn at a mid-short range distance, he was.. attacking the wooden floor ahead?

The crowd, no doubt made uneasy already, would now be treated to a real panic as flames simply gushed across the floor, escalating the flames something fierce. They were on a giant slab of wood, ultimately. And this meant their flames would spread, raise, spread, raise! Heat and smoke, some of which had came from his previously-existent left arm sleeve, were flying into the air like nymphs of hell.

Why?

It was a newly created rave club, with untold amounts of people in it - high tech, plenty of alcohol being drank and sold, and had in the center a large slab of wood. One would be outright suicidal not to have a sprinkler system, some smoke alarms..

A HOLY DOWNPOUR!!

[TP#II - 6]

Let us speak now, on the matter of important oversights. Considering how brief the minor exchange of words between Shouyin and his opponent after the former hit the ground had been, his teammate must've been preparing while the half-golem was still on his feet, and, as recounted during that moment:

Shouyin Wrote:

Heh, Shouyin would risk a glance over at his opponent's teammates, keeping an eye out lest he get gimped by another unexpected Striker in his moment of triumph.

As such, at that moment he would notice the strange man fusing a duffel bag to his nasty-looking halberd before withdrawing his sword from his present foe's hand and getting tripped up.

Speaking of getting tripped up, at some point during his flight Shouyin surely must've been parallel to the ground while still in midair - that too had been recounted:

Shouyin Wrote:

He'd come out of his daydream haze no real time having passed, his head still swung back, eyes stuck looking at the ceiling for a moment as his back arched and he reached the pinnacle of his inglorious fall...

And to say one couldn't see a large weapon bearing down on them simply because they were in the air or lying on the ground with their head up or whatever was kind of ridiculous. Also, the man with the soon to be single emerald eye's sudden laughter would hardly help his teammate's "secret" approach.

The fact was Shouyin knew this guy was coming and there was little reason why he shouldn't have.

Rather than slap his right arm out to the side to dissuade the impact of his fall, the half-golem would essentially do the opposite, bending his elbow and tucking his arm in towards his chest so that the club struck the stone forearm. And certainly said arm would crack and perhaps 'fracture' under the weight of the swinging blow, but the rock prosthetic would do much to absorb the impact, banging off the armour across his chest in a way that did indeed hurt and would certainly leave a bruise the next morning, but did little overall to phase or even much bother its victim as he went sliding across the platform to his left (ie. further away from the edge where he'd formerly been pushed to). Of course, the sword would still extend as planned, except now it would have to push further into the man's head, the tip exiting out his right temple before Shouyin slid away and the whole bent end of the blade -tore- itself free.

Following the blow and skid - eyes still wide open and alert in case any follow up came from his opponent's teammate - Shouyin would get to his feet, his stone arm repairing itself and the broadsword returning to its former length as he stood and took a very loose fighting stance with his right foot forwards. Whether or not the dragon man got to his feet would be another question entire, as we were now dealing with the sort of pain that even the grossest amount of adrenaline wouldn't allow one to ignore.

Regardless, the half-golem wouldn't let up. All other things being accounted for, he'd toss the sword into his right hand and charge forwards, stopping within reasonable range and swinging the blade across horizontally from right to left (if the other man indeed did stand - otherwise it'd be more like a golf swing). He'd take up the hilt of the broadsword in both hands as he swung, aiming for the left side of his opponent's head about an inch above the ear. Only at the last moment would he twist the blade so that the edge turned away, making it such that the flat would smack off the man's skull roughly.

It wasn't like he was actually allowed to kill the dragon - he was just more than capable of it.

[16]

Quote: That fisted, sparking right hand would slam into Miranda's gut--

Except it didn't. Assuming Miranda's hands were at her side (as they were, since she was just standing there and watching), the arms would only tighten with the effort of the fast movement, which lo and behold, just wasn't fast enough. But the Perfect World Scenario™ failed once as it is wont to do, so Miranda would just go ahead and do the Next Best Thing™.

Of course, the NBT was to let Arian completely close the distance and try to hit her with that punch that was very visible as it was supposed to be coming from a sparking hand... and just stop the punch. Having Arian slip under her leg was better because Miranda could immediately (like, the moment Arian moved to hold onto Miranda's leg) bend her knee and more or less hold Arian right where she was.

The hold was further fortified at the hands... for when Arian held the leg, Miranda's right hand came up and fell on her wrist. As long her hand was touching leather armor or skin, rather than metal.

And of course, the sparking fist thing. It was treated exactly the same, stopped at Arian's wrist or the next best thing further up, since she wasn't going to be touching electrified hands. In fact, so far away was this wrist grab that even extended fingers would fail to touch Miranda's body. Were Arian to think of twisting her wrist[s], she would find the motions protested. The point of grabbing the back of the wrists was so that Miranda couldn't be touched by bending fingers. It was also incredibly easy to control someone else's wrist this way, which made for excellent yanking.

Such control would be displayed while Arian's body pushed against Miranda's.. in fact, she'd find it rather easy to knock the big woman over.

But one thing at a time.

So Arian grabs Miranda's leg and pushes and punches. Miranda grabs Arian's wrists, loses footing easily, and pushes Arian's sparking fist into her own head... one rather smooth motion, helped by knowing exactly where Arian was and that she wasn't going anywhere. Of course, Miranda was counting on electricity's propensity for shocking people into stopping what they were doing... and getting a fist to the temple just might make Arian stall in her thoughts and motions.

So Arian grabs Miranda's leg and pushes and punches. Miranda grabs Arian's wrists and makes her punch herself in the face the first hit, and helps Arian push her over by simply lifting her foot from the ground and bending the leg between them, so that her knee was on the outside of Miranda's left side, but the foot was nestled snugly and diagonally in the middle of Arian's chest, her big toe (clawed, as they all were) about an inch beneath the collar. Arian would feel the foot taking its place simultaneous with the lightning fist landing.

A full second and a half from the moment Miranda responded to Arian's slip-straight, she jumped with her left leg and yanked with her arms. The double wrist hold and foot on her chest assured Miranda that no, Arian wouldn't be going anywhere without Miranda's knowledge.

The hard, sharp, quick opposing motions would do well in popping Arian's shoulders out of her sockets (or doing a lot more) as Miranda sought full extension of her entire body in such a tight space. Normally, she would've gone into Raptor Run, but the motions introduced variables that Miranda was going out of her way to eliminate. Still, she could put her foot up between them and make this happen.

Two and a half seconds from the moment Miranda responded to Arian's slip-straight, her own back hit the ground.

[Track 7]

"Hhhghh!"

There was no stopping this beast, even as the ground underneath the soles of his greaves became uneven and rough-- since he wasn't actually stepping along the floor-- but sliding atop it, due to the frictionless ability of the boots being activated.

His right eye was widened in both anger and surprise, even as the detonation that followed enveloped his body completely. All that explosive momentum he had collected was forced to vent outwards harmlessly. Blood ran freely down the side of his face now, as his coat became burnt and torn by the effect of the explosion.

He huffed and puffed, chest rising and falling as he simply stood there, catching his breath. This wasn't 4 years ago.

He was 32 now, and not the young man he had been when he first entered Heaven or Hell. "...Ahah....ahaha...hahaha.." He couldn't help himself, even as he raised a hand to his forehead.

Hilarious.

To think...that I'm getting too old for this sort of thing now. A little late...about 200 years or so.

He ripped off the remnants of his jacket, and let it flutter off the side, and down into the crowd-- the music in the club no longer playing as loudly (or probably not at all) after those flames had gone up and the alarm had been set off.

Water ran down and off his shoulders, fingers curling and uncurling as he stared down towards where his opponent was.

"Come on damn you. Don't let it end...this way."

TIMER 11:00

"....."

He was there waiting for him at the top. There may have been a time, when Vahn would have relentlessly pursued the man, or even prevented him from coming back at all-- but no.

He wasn't that sort of man anymore.

The stage was set, literally-- for the finale of this bout, and he wasn't going to disappoint. Walking forward at first-- while Barsait was busy dashing his way back up-- by the time his opponent was there and on level ground with the Murmillion once more-- he would be pushing forward into a run himself. He could feel the strain in his left eye again, even as the talons on his right gauntlet-ed hand spread, droplets of blood dripping off their ends. Come then...

TIMER 10:00

The Next Best Thing was a pretty damned GOOD thing, it seemed. Certainly more interesting than the BOOT THE FACE in the Perfect World scenario. Miranda's hand lashed out to grab hold of Arian's wrist, her leg bending to basically 'pin' the outlaw's other arm and shoulder-causing Arian to growl, but also smile, just a little bit, because NOW things were interesting.

Quote: **Forearm guards-

(...)

HOWEVER! While the inner layer is tight to her skin, it’s actually three layers. Mercury, liquid at room temperature, keeps the outer layer loose-not so loose as to turn on it’s own accord, but enough that gripping the outlaw’s wrists or forearms tightly is difficult-and leaves Arian twisting room, as the outer most layer can turn nearly entirely around.

Miranda would try to grab onto Arian's wrists, the thick forearm guards hard to grip, really, like gel or something in them...and then, surprise!-Arian's hands turned anyway, palms up-GRABBING onto Miranda's wrists to shock both the poor wolf woman's arms up to the elbows.

Oh, that crafty little b***h and her armor! The shocking grip didn't stop the foot coming between them suddenly, nor would the pain really drive Miranda into ceasing her next action-so as Miranda's foot came up to press into Arian's burning chest (she was still on fire, after all, the mixture spread on her leather armored chest and the top of her flat stomach) the same time Arian turned her hands to shock Miranda's arms up to the wrists. Arian didn't let GO of Miranda's arms either, but if the wolf still managed to press the sparking gloves into her temple-well, nothing happened. Arian was wearing a leather helm with flaps over her ears, and leather didn't conduct. Doubtful there'd be any force to it also, Miranda being shocked and all.

But...well, that doesn't stop Miranda from full extending her body-six foot ONE frame straightening out, Arian instantly releasing Miranda's arms as she realized she's being kicked away. Miranda's grip surely would not be tight on her forearm guards, given the shock her lower arms had recieved, the muscles to the hand mostly in the arm, directly influenced by her gloves. Not only that-but the thick gauntlets made it hard to get much grip at all on them.

All the same, Arian was shoved back away from Miranda, the bent right leg not allowing a straight back movement-but rather, Arian would have her face slammed into the wolf's knee BEFORE shoved that distance.

Her cheekbone throbbed with pain as Miranda finally struck the ground, Arian pushing herself up with a hiss, barely out of kicking range since Miranda had pushed fully out. Arian glanced at the stairs to see if Joseph had seen her 'escape'-only to find he wasn't there. Wha...where had he gone?

"Son of a-" Glancing back up to Miranda, Arian's eyes flared with fire, suddenly angry. God DAMMIT, the b*****d had left? Why had he shown UP then, only to ditch when things got important? Arian...Arian's heart sunk in disappointment, a little. And then beat in rage.

Arian pulled a spike dagger, teeth drawing back from her lips as she burst back to her feet, ready to STOMP on the wolf woman. Indeed, if Miranda didn't move quick enough-Arian's right foot would come crashing down on her ankle, looking to break it.

That wasn't very nice.

(Eight~)

TyKat12 Wrote:

Miranda would try to grab onto Arian's wrists, the thick forearm guards hard to grip, really, like gel or something in them...

But not impossible. Everything about this would most definitely come back to haunt one of them in about two seconds.

TyKat12 Wrote:

Arian didn't let GO of Miranda's arms either, but if the wolf still managed to press the sparking gloves into her temple-

She didn't. This part of the plan was terribly inconsequential, serving as a something to give Arian to worry about. The femme's going out of her way to turn her wrist after realization of being grabbed saved pretty much the same purpose. Miranda may have enjoyed getting through this part of the night without mild electrocution, but them's the breaks. She instantly fought this the way that came quickest to an addling mind that was trying to focus on one thing... by focusing the cold she was emitting through an Extroverted aura (which, by the way, was quite actively dampening the effects of the fire Arian had on her though it didn't completely knock it out or anything, just made it so Miranda wasn't cursing at getting burned), into her opponent.

If Miranda had to deal with fighting through a constant shooting stimulus to her system, then Arian would have to deal with her entire body beginning to go numb from cold.

Of course, since there was only a half second of this going on, it was all instinctual. But numbness tended to make people lose control of their extremities, so maybe it would loosen the grip just a bit to let Miranda think more as her body continued, because...

TyKat12 Wrote:

The shocking grip didn't stop the foot coming between them suddenly, nor would the pain really drive Miranda into ceasing her next action-

But...well, that doesn't stop Miranda from full extending her body-

...it was already accepted that Miranda was going to keep it up in all of the two, three seconds (getting shocked here, can't think to care) this was happening.

The big mishap in Arian's plan was thinking that Miranda was kicking off and planning to let go. Arian's hands would loosen anyway, with or without assistance of numbing cold, and Miranda's hands would just hold her there. It was this that mattered, holding the opponent in place, and straightening. The right leg's straightening was simply to illustrate how much she wanted this extension, that the leg around Arian's shoulder was not going to be a hindrance, what with it getting out of the way. The combined actions of apparently attempting to jump and having a grip strong enough to keep Miranda in place (assuming Arian wasn't wearing mercury-lined gloves and only had her skin which was pretty good at sliding away from hands in sudden force)...

POP CCHHHRRRR

The sounds of joints coming out of sockets and muscles straining to rip from useless arms were drowned out by the crowd's and four-on-the-floor thobs from subwoofers. Unlikely would Miranda's single word, for the proximity. By the Daraku, may Arian's ears register the word, half snarled in delivery.

"Yield!"

If Arian didn't by voice, her arms most certainly would by absence.

[Track 8]

"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"

Somehow, Miranda kept her hold. Which meant Arian DIDN'T escape. Oh damn-she had thought the shock woulda worked, God dammit, and WHY was it so ******** COLD?! Arian, as a native, had a higher body temp than usual, and really, couldn't stand the cold. It sucked the anger out of her, replaced it with a shivering misery that made Arian want to get away from Miranda more than attack her.

Stupid cold. Stupid giant woman. Stupid grip-

POP! CHHHRRR

Arian's eyes were so wide they seemed to bulge slightly, full lips parting to issue a gasping, breatheless scream that had no sound. JESUS! The sheer PAIN blasting the warrior was enough to practically blind her, the numbing cold knocked out of perception in the face of sheer agony, a soft curse as her eyes tightly closed, biting so hard into her own lip to stop pained sounds that it bled. Jesus, Jesus-she felt like she was going to pass out!

Arian Lennox did NOT pass out because of pain, God dammit-but st it hurt. She couldn't...use her arms...this b*h was going to rip them off! In the swirling chaos of pain, anger, the cheering of the crowd-God, how they loved to see her getting the s**t beaten out of her, being bested. Arian hated crowds. She was the bad guy no matter what, the weakling, the human in their eyes-she never had crowd approval or even CHEERING unless they were really sick bastards and she was doing something terrible to somebody, like in the DT fight with Wil, in the fight against Vince-but even then they liked the dragon better.

Her one supporter had ditched, and her teammates were long gone.

And here she was, useless without her hands, in so much pain she couldn't see through blurred, watered eyes-and Miranda asked her to yield. Snarled.

Arian released her lip, drawing in a ragged, gasping breath, no whimper, no whine-though it was obvious she was in pain, face having lost it's color to leave darkened circles about Arian's eyes, dusky skin looking pale-barely looking up to meet Miranda's wild, angry eyes. Yield? What, because of some ABOUT TO BE RIPPED OFF ARMS?

Arian nearly laughed, would have laughed-had she not realized this was a very real possibility, perhaps about to HAPPEN. Had she not been in so much PAIN. Throbbing, stabbing, BURNING agony at her shoulders, in her arms. She should give up. Make it stop, all the lights and people and staring. Getting beaten anymore would do no good to her pride.

But she was Arian Lennox. And Arian Lennox was a defiant, raging outlaw who refused to bow to anyone or anything-including pain. Including giant women about to rip off her arms. Yield? Never.

"******** you." Arian said vehemently-spitting in Miranda's face.

No one could hear the words, but they sure as hell all saw Arian spit-and a collective facepalm slash staring took place-because surely, Arian was going to lose both arms now, having done that, the MORON!

"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."

She did not relent.

Arian did not relent.

Of all the...

Is she mad? In the face of everything....

It would be mean to rip off the girl's arms.... Miranda could even see the clock ticking, imagine the Judge's hand about to raise to signal the end.

Was she getting shocked? Holy hell, she hoped not... because if she was, if Arian was still sending electricity through Miranda, the wulfwoman would have to just let go.

But if Miranda's gambit worked... and Arian wasn't shocking her anymore...

"..."

Miranda still held on. Oh, she didn't just get shocked to let go. But she curled her legs.... and stopped pulling.

Was it mercy, or respect?

"..."

[Track 9 TO THE END]