The Intersection

The Intersection

Presenting: Slim Ruffian's newest hit video:

“Are You Heaven? Or Are You Hell?”

“Toe-to-toe, face-to-face we preparin’ ta grace millions of eyes watchin’ this place. From lands near, far, doesn’t matter where you are! Even fools listenin’ on the radio have to pull ova their cars! It’s about to begin, so who ‘gon win? This kat flyin’ with angels or the brotha swimmin’ in sin? Gotta tune in. Face-to-face we stand with no way to tell what’s going to transpire at the sound of the bell. Hearts beatin’like a snare drum and fists ready to sail. Will you rise to achieve what so many fail? Are you Heaven? Or are you Hell?”

Looking to revitalize his career, Slim Ruffian has decided to cash in on the Heaven or Hell craze sweeping the globe. What better way to do this than by making a rap video with an actual fight taking place in the background? While spectators will be able to see this unravel in real time, it’s safe to assume that final product will undergo some…editing.

Terrain

General - The fight venue appears to be at an intersection in a small neighborhood (quite possibly the one Slim grew up in). The roads are blocked off by flamboyantly colored SUVs and women shaking what their momma gave them. At the center of the intersection rests a fully restored ’87 Cadillac Brougham complete with 3 22s (for some reason, one is missing) and hydraulics. It bounces up, down and side-to-side to the bass playing from both its own system and the massive speakers in the background. For reasons unknown, the interior of the car is filled with a random assortment of over-sized and overpriced jewelry, bandannas, fake grills, and other assorted rap attire. Also, there are 4 wireless microphones that transmit through the car's stereo system.

Natural Element Resource - There’s a fire hydrant, some nearby grass, plenty of asphalt, and dirt.

Weapons - Assorted “Bling”, Car stereo equipment, mics, parts of the Caddie and its contents… Oh, there’s also a stop sign.

Bonus Effects - Beware of the spectators and dancers that border the fight area (about a 25’ radius around the car in the center). Being knocked past the SUVs blocking the roads and/or into the crowd will be considered a ring out if the fighter fails to return to the fight area in 10 seconds. Also, this is a rap video, so there will be rather LOUD MUSIC playing at all times. If you have overly sensitive hearing, prepare to be… uncomfortable. The speakers playing from the car’s trunk can be destroyed, but those outside of the fight area cannot. Attempting to do so would not be in your best interests. Most importantly of all: the Excessive Taunting rule is waived for this match as long as you're spittin' on the mic when you do it.

Loud, loud noise, the rap in the background, the roar and buzz of the crowd. A double attraction. All the gaudy cheap glitz and easy-bought thrills of the ready-to-be-rich thrown out like cheap gifts to buy and draw a jaded crowds eye for a moment. But it was never enough. Nothing was ever enough. Impatient, hungry, demanding. One man could only consume so much food, so much sight, sound, so much sex or booze, so much emotion or horror before one was satisfied. Overwhelmed. Reduced to a dirty smudge on the hypocritical humanity they'd once been permitted to be part of.

But the masses, no. More and more and more. Pile on enough people and it wasn't just a thousand people. The mob was a creature of its own and it was never satisfied.

Shouting.

Demanding.

Absorbing.

Reveling.

Giving and taking everything with wreckless abandon. The best of the "civilized" world's thrills thrown to stand side by side with the bloodsport. Absolute consumerism in the most feral state it could achieve.

Nikolai loved it.

The crowd didn't so much part as crack, people two people sent stumbling off their feet, stepped on and shoved before they could get back up, for every one that moved aside and raised their voice to scream again. The real show was arriving. Arriving in well over two hundred pounds of conspicuous tattooed bald head sitting an inch or two above the masses, approaching the clearing where combat would start in a wave of people shoved forcefully aside, and belted through. It wasn't really harming anyone, but it was probably as close as one came legally. He didn't care. The pallid man split his broad face in two with a devil's grin as he forced his way to the front.

"CLEAR A PATH, ********>

The voice cut through all the noise of the crowd as if he'd been shouting into a microphone already, warbling and vibrating in tones that his throat shouldn't have been able to hit all at once. There was nothing resembling subtlety or grace in the arrival of the first member of the relatively little-known team of fighters. Nikolai West had been late and unattentive in his teams planning, in their coordination and arrival at the hotel, in the ceremony, and in any last-minute planning their captain might have tried to attempt he hadn't even showed.

But given this the brute hit the field before even the most diligent of his crew.

The last few people of the crowd stumbled aside into those beside them and Nikolai stepped into sight, sunken eyes wide as he cast about his face at the crowd and threw his arms up into the air as he stepped into the clearing. Half crazed, he looked. The spirit was infectious. Or maybe there was just something wrong with him.

But it wasn't hard to tell he wasn't there by accident, even if the crowd or fighters on the other side hadn't so much as looked up his team's name.

Glamour.

And grit.

Nikolai's appearance was a bizarre clash of misfit worlds. His shirt was buttoned silk, long loose sleeves in an obnoxious bright orange. It suited the bright orange and muddy brown pin-striped pants and vest he wore, for all their eye-paining color cut in exacting style. But it wasn't the colors, or even his brutish, pale self that clashed with the suit. Hell, not even the suit itself.

Of all things, a mantle was thrown over top of the suit he was wearing, made of thick brown hide, a patchwork of miss-matching bits of other skins sewn in atop the first layer. His shoes, gloves- he wasn't wearing fashion statements on his hands or feet. Heavy boots clunked across the worn cement, heavy hide that had to boil them in this sun, and similar thick hide showed over his hands up to the knuckles, sticking out from the ends of his unbuttoned sleeves.

But most of all, he was carrying a small armory belted around his waist, heavy, deadly looking weapons, and a large round shield decorated with a ring of overlapped teeth one could only guess at the source of, laid flat across its surface, the whole barbaric instrument held slung across his back on a thick hide belt.

In one fell swoop, Nikolai West had stepped into the spotlight and surely offended the eyes and ears of anyone with any sense of style, decency, or simply good senses. The man was a howling, reveling eyesore.

...and as if his presence weren't offense enough the man shot a look directly across the opened space- his nostrils flared, as if a hound sniffing out its prey, while his eyes fixed with instant accuracy on the woman, fixated directly on her for a short moment. In just that second, the sound of his deep-bellied chuckling suddenly struck over it all- not in sheer volume, whispering sharply past the crowd as if he had been standing directly behind her. The breath leaving his nostrils frosted in mid air, and the spectators nearest him suddenly grew uneasy, growing silently confused.

-and then the moment ended.

Nikolai howled again, running and leaping onto the hood of the car in the center of the ring, planting a foot on the hood and vaulting onto the roof, producing a horrible squeal through all the speakers inside as it jostled the microphones against everything else. He raised one fist high into the air, pumping it up while he suddenly returned to ignoring his competition, and cast his eyes all around the crowd. He bent just long enough to retrieve a microphone, practically stuffing the device between his lips to bellow-

"SCREAM FOR YOUR BLOOD. SCREAM FOR ME PIGGIES."

"THE SHOW HAS ARRIVED!"

And they cheered.

“Dos kyorl dosst draeval ulu inbau ghil,” Vlos spat, the agitation in her tone fading rapidly with each word as she pulled them off to the side, planting herself against the wall and crossing her arms. “Nevertheless, you haven’t missed much. It seems there is something going on beneath the surface of this tournament that we aren’t necessarily aware of. Unless you know something that I don’t, Dalninuk.”

Ikor had turned away from his sister slightly, his back sifting backwards to lean itself against the hard surface of the wall, much as she ‘rested’, if it could be called such. Her very nature sparked against reality, almost daring the random molecules of nature to come against her. His light blue eyes cut to her for a moment and then away, sweeping over the area she had brought him to, taking in the noise, the crowds, and the multitudes of annoyances.

“Four Seekers sought to end me not three days passed, as I made my way hear. They were to find honor in breaking half of the crown, knowing the other would be weakened,” he said, knowing the full import of those words. Something had sought to keep him from this place, and in so doing, take her away as well. Whatever that thing was, it had reached their home world of Shorn, and infiltrated even the hierarchy of their Clan, or another High Clan. “They failed, and did not live to ask questions. For now we must focus on this; whatever tried before would surely try again.”

Ikor wove his way through the crowds like a razor parting silk, his lean body dissecting the space between the edge of the crowd and the center of the arena with ease. Music was screeching, someone was screaming, and people were boiling. They were here for blood and little else. He pressed through the inner rings of bodies near the SUV that Vlos had chosen to make as her observation point. His dark head lifted slightly as he rounded the vehicle, watching his sibling, noting the set of her jaw and the poise of her shoulders. If either had been off he would have called the fight then and there, but both were as they should be. Without a doubt she was her to destroy.

“Remember, dalninil,” he said softly. “We are not allowed to destroy. For once in your life you must follow my path, that of the Silence. Rilu'oh, Usstan orn'la l'amith l' elge d' nindel vehicle.”

It was true; his first instinct had been to simply destroy the vehicle which rested flamboyantly within the center of their destined arena. Ikor was a Silencer, something of an assassin among his people, though he never killed without honor. To him, a death in the dead of night dealt by a single strike far outweighed the benefits of an outright battle. That was not to say that he had not been greatly involved in them though over the vast years of his life. He was of course one of the chief enforcers of the VRS, the Vampire Registration Sanctum, and by such had been known to take on up to eight opponents at a time and leave virtually unscathed.

“Dalnini, it seems you are prepared to fight already. Remember, you must not kill your opponent.”

Slipping between the cracks betwixt bodies the Occult Master silently came upon his team mate. Words flowed from unseen lips as the concealed figure glanced about from the shadows of his garments. There was a quality of smoke and subtle tonal dissonance that gave the voice a hard edge, it was distinctly feminine.

"The Golden Path does not shine here. This land stands in ignorance to the gaze of the World. Blood shall consecrate."

With a flourish an Amazonian myth stood before all to see, cloaking clothes removed and discarded with little consideration.

The music that had vibrated and caused to motion so many bodies gave a warble cry and an ear splitting screech of back feed. For the moment all sound came out subdued by a great distance. Those of weak constitution fought to retain themselves as something truly alien forced itself into their world.

Janus was no monster, save in stature, to cause such a reaction; but he had a branding aura that just screamed out ones ear drums that everything was wrong with this scene.

Which was a shame as the subject of this feeling was of an exotic and queer look that was enticing to the eye as it was repulsive to the mind.

Imagine such, an individual standing at six and a half feet and built of wiry muscle that has been conditioned for stamina. Sure scars marred exposed flesh; but they added a quality of realism. To those that saw Janus' nude back though, they were filled with even greater dread as mind slacking pattern of imprinted ink swirled and contorted with other worldly energies and declaration of ownership by Maddening Gods.

Still though he concealed his face beneath a helm of darkened metal that provided full protection from all directions. There were no slits for a visor, no noticeably moveable parts, just a series of small dimples along the bottom curve of the face plate that allowed for the intake and exhale of air; but the whole of it was covered in a series of concentric circles and flowing lines of power that informed anyone possessing a modicum of eldritch knowledge that the wearer saw as clear as anyone.

This was probably a shame as underneath Janus probably had a nice face to go with the rest of his shapely and athletic build.

To continue with a description of this surrealist vision would be to draw attention to the clothes he wore. Wrapped firmly around his waist was a leather under bust corset decorated with hooks patterned to look like small skulls. Against his flesh the boning of the article stood out as periodic bulges. Janus approached a waspish figure.

Bolts of cloth dyed in indigo, embroidered with sorceress symbols in a dark Byzantine purple that made them unreadable were set in stark contrast to separating bold lines of white bordering done in repeating geometrical shapes and Grecian Fret draped themselves to Janus' body.

They were cut in such a manner in that his upper torso was only covered half way, revealing no cleavage from above but leaving no support for his not so modest bosom. From the shoulders flared out sleeves that hung down to the wrist, they were slashed to the elbow. Around his hips he wears a sarong that flows down to his ankles. All edges that hang down are decorated with small tassels

This would be the extent to which Janus conceals his body with fashion; but from the left sleeve is the same darkened metal encasing his arm. From the tips of his shoulder to the shoulder blade the does the armour extend. The other arm is decorated with scars, tattoos and the required Fighter.

Sandals adorn his feet, his weapons would not draw any attention for the time being.

Shifting his view from Vlos to Nikolai Janus voiced a question that was both business orientated in practise but animalistic in origin. Janus would force his voice so as to be heard by those within earshot, even if Nikolai was screaming.

"Do you suppose the body beneath that coat would be suitable for a pleasure slave, because her eyes scream sex."

Before any fight though Janus had to see if his foe was willing to gamble.

Nikolai had been working on getting the crowd excited. He didn't particularly care if they were, but it was fun. Noise. Chaos. Air thrumming with sensation. Hell, why hadn't he done something to get famous before? It was all good s**t so far. He told people to make noise, and they made noise. He told them to bring him food, they brought him food. He shoved them out of his way, and nobody stopped him. It even came with plenty of money, which had all sort of possibilities of its own. A world of gratification, and so much energy he could taste it.

With a sour look, Nikolai turned around on the disturbance as groups of the crowd started to quiet. Slate gray eyes stopped on the large figure approaching him, and watched impatiently as Janus came to the center with him and revealed the body that had earned him the title of-

"Tits,"

Whether Nikolai had meant to say "Toots" or not, the audience would have to discern for themselves. Because, of course, the thug hadn't even bothered to lower the microphone to speak to his teammate, like he'd completely forgotten it was there.

Flipping loony, maybe, and a bit of a buzzkill at the moment, but despite that Janus was fun. He was interesting at least, and more agreeable to Nikolai than his other two teammates. And good to look at. If only Janus had been a woman, Nikolai would have hit that. But he was a he. Nikolai's nose told him that much. Shame, because the other woman on their team was such a prude, and their dear captain had been so clear that there were a number of rules Nikolai was going to have to follow, or else he'd wind up ejected from this whole shindig. Nikolai had forgotten most of those rules, but he figured pushing the woman too hard would probably break one somewhere.

Nikolai's eyes followed Janus' indication back across the field, onto the woman again. But this time Nikolai didn't just look at her and pass back to distraction. Two brutish brows hunkered down, shading his eyes.

She was covered in sparks.

Nikolai's nostrils flared again, taking a good whiff of the air, and focusing on the electrically surrounded woman. Over the crowd, he couldn't hear anything they were saying from this far away, trading glares, but Nikolai's nose was different. It wasn't just any nose. It knew. He could smell the musk off Janus, the wafting scents of the bodies and foods and sting of the metals around them. And he could smell the buzz of power surrounding the helm concealing Janus' head.

Active preternatural energy.

Made one hungry.

If the electricity around the woman was put off from some device, some natural phenomenon, there would be an unfortunate lack of the "magic" scent from her direction. But if there was power to be had... magic, divine, psychic, warp, all nigh the same to the beast scenting them out... Nikolai would smell it clear as day.

And his mouth would water.

Wait, no. Why wasn't he sinking his teeth into that already? Right. The tournament. ******** rules. He was waiting on...

The thug made a disgusted grunt of a noise, still broadcasting into the microphone so the other team could hear everything he said, and half the crowd, even if they couldn't catch Janus' half of the conversation over the din most likely.

"If it has a hole, you can ******** it, right?" he spat distractedly, looking around the crowd.

"Where are ******** and barf-bag dicking around at?"

As his voice raised on the last syllable in irritation the speakers screeched with feedback again, but this time it was simply noise. At least it seemed to do some good shaking some of the people stunned by the d**k-girl's presence back to their senses, gaping around like they'd smacked their heads and forgotten where they were. West chortled into the microphone, watching one, producing more static.

His good spirits returned quickly.

Janus gave off the body language that he was amused and a soft chuckle vibrated through the helm as he considered his team mates words.

But then his fun was intruded upon as the first of the foe took a step forward and into the ring proper. Her movements were sure; but Janus felt that she was unprepared for this type of fight. Someone more used to killing then living the target alive.

Pathetic, corpses were never as much money as a living body.

Stepping forward at the question with the calm reassurance of an individual confident in their ability to take upon any challenge; though there was still a bit of that animal energy hanging in the air as certain parts of his body became flushed with anticipation.

"I will be the one to fight you; but first I must engage you in a question. Would you be willing to become my slave in the event of your future failure?"

To emphasise his point his primary weapon came up in his right hand and was directed at Vlos. Said weapon was a mancatcher, a weapon designed for the capturing and subduing of others. A perfect weapon for a Slaver.

Janus had other weapons; but they were hanging low on his hips tucked safely into their holsters. Save one which wasn't so obvious a weapon.

Two of Al Azif's fighters stood in the middle of the fighting ring, making their presence known to the world. Damnatus was sure to be here, or at least getting here and Lacey was standing in the crowd. She'd been the second to arrive for their team, just in time to hear the end of Nikolai's "pep talk" to the crowd.

Keeping her distance and using the crowd as camouflage, Lacey watched as the other team arrived and Janus made an appearance. Her staff held in her right hand, hung parallel to the ground, helping it to hide behind cars and not give away her position. Her red a puffy eyes (she'd been crying again, but in this crowd they probably thought she was a druggy going through a self detox) narrowed as she read the lips of the rival team. She was quite talented with reading lips, but too bad for her, she didn't know Drow. There had been no reason for her to learn the language, she knew enough Elvish to get by, but Drows were far and few in her world.

The blonde frowned at the agreement the two combatants were making, she didn't think Janus would actually go through with it, but it seemed that's what s/he planned. Lacey didn't want know what happened to the 'slaves' after they were under Janus' command, but she hoped this girl had the skills she thought she did. This was going to end badly, but Lacey hoped her team didn't win this first fight, and possibly not even the second.

Maybe she needed to ask Damnatus why she was there because Lacey had no clue.

Let it be known, Janus was all woman and a little more.

He stared down Vlos, though no eye contact was locked, as he considered the terms offered to him. They were insulting and on the whole a rather pathetic means to force him into a weaker position.

Nikolai left the field, said something about having a ball and Janus gave his response.

"Your body shall be mine by divine right of conquest!"

Ten feet, that's the distance Vlos had closed to. More then close enough for a quick lunge of the mancatcher.

Leading with his left Janus attacked Vlos thrusting the weapon at his opponents neck in an attempt to entangle her within the tempered steel circle ringed with barbs and made so as to entangle clothes and prevent escape.

The fight was on, Janus would have himself some fun.

-1-

That was one way to void the attack.

"Cacacom hoxmarch. Cocacom hoxmarch."

With a shuffling step Janus still led with his left for another thrust, this time though he went for which ever leg was closest to him. Variation was the spice of life, or pepper.

To get his opponent to stop moving around would be most helpful.

"Cacacom hoxmarch gru teloch."

And there went Janus chanting to an off kilter rhythm, for now Janus just wanted Vlos to focus on them.

-2-

Janus had no intention of recovering from this lunge, he had caused her to give a dead stop. The chant continued to roll from his tongue.

"Cacacom hoxmarch. Cocacom hoxmarch."

The effects of the chant were slow and sinister. They clawed at ones mind and demanded attention. They searched for weakness, for any flaw to exploit. It would start small; but if the target was not strong enough of mind or will they would feel their world crumble around them.

But that was over time, for now it was small and almost impossible to notice; especially in the heat of combat.

Continuing forward with his linear momentum Janus threw his shoulder into the standing Vlos as she went to take a forward step. The mancatcher was brought in close to his body, the hem of the sarong swirled around his feet and sandals scrapped asphalt.

Janus would drive the butt of the weapon downward into the general area of Vlos' thighs. He didn't expect to land a blow; but he wanted to keep the pace of the fight his.

"Cacacom hoxmarch. Cocacom hoxmarch."

-3-

Janus continued his chant, watched as Vlos crumpled and tumbled backwards to avoid him and stepped forward. That was alright though, to properly subdue a slave one must wear them down. Fatigue was easier to heal then disfigured features.

As Vlos came to her feet and was rising from the ground Janus was bringing the head of the mancatcher down in a slashing arc designed to catch her upon the left temple. The purpose was to daze and concuss.

Were Janus successful he would follow up with a rapid and shallow strike to entrap her neck in the jaws of his weapon.

All the while he kept up his chant, Vlos had done nothing to cause it to stop which would have caused all its effects to vanish; but then strong minded individuals never thought there defences had any cracks to breach.

"Cacacom hoxmarch. Cocacom hoxmarch."

A strong mind was a fortress; but all fortresses fall with time.

-4-

His strike was blocked and diverted away. Quickly his mind thought of attempting to entrap the arm that had cause him to miss; but just as quickly as it came he dismissed it for something a little more forceful.

Keeping up the chant Janus began to increase the pitch and fervour to a maddening and deafening degree. Janus could quite possibly keep up a shouting match with Nikolai if this was any indication.

"Cacacom hoxmarch! Cocacom hoxmarch!"

Releasing his hold upon the mancatcher with the armoured fist he opened himself up for her touch attack. Except at six and a half feet the Amazonian had a greater reach on the shorter woman.

Which is why Janus let loose with a left straight aimed for the bridge of Vlos' nose.

It was time to actually do some damage.

-5-

"Cacacom hoxmarch. Cocacom hox..."

There was a gurgle and a shifting of weight as the energy travelled into the metal limb, transferred through the padding and into Janus' body. His arm locked up as a series of spasms travelled through it.

Over all it was quite a rush that left a bitter taste of iron in his mouth from his bleeding cheek having bitten it during the attack; and a noticeable bulge in his groin area.

The baton struck Janus' gorget and would bounce off the armour, energy was transferred but not so deadly as one would hope. That was the wrong way to attack Janus.

Stunned for a moment with his chant broke he let loose a howl and drove forward his mancatcher to strike the shorter and ducking woman in the chest, hoping to create distance.

Pain coursed through his arm; but it only excited him at the prospect of a challenge.

-6-

Vlos struck again, only to strike once more at the armoured protection of the gorget, it did cause his bosom to jiggle to the pleasure of some viewers. With the futile strike Janus was allowed time to recover his senses, and he discarded the mancatcher.

Things had moved in too close for a polearm.

It was time for something a little less tangible, a little more effective and most certainly destructive.

A miasma formed around Janus' hands as he drew upon eldritch energies; a cloying musk of blood and sex hung in the air. Now Janus had little in the way of abilities that had direct effects. He was an individual that desired the subtle overthrow of others; but sometimes an assault was needed.

Lances of energy stabbed at Vlos from his hands, burning away at her coat where they met. Most likely leaving scorch marks upon her armour and creating a light show to blind.

Which was when Janus went with a very simple attack as a follow up. He sent the metal shrouded head of his careening at hers in a vicious downwards strike meant to drive her to her knees and leave her with a concussion requiring at least twenty four hour medical supervision.

Janus really enjoyed putting on a show.

-7-

Being in an open air local the musk that was being produced by Janus' manipulation of ethereal energies would spread and diffuse itself quickly; but that didn't matter.

Janus found himself in a crouched position with no enemy directly in front of him; but unlike Vlos he could see just fine and had no issue with the light of his attack.

Reaching down to his right side he pulled out his roundel dagger, a general use combat knife of the middle ages.

He rushed Vlos, knife coached low and close to his body while his armoured left arm was held forward in a guard. Janus was quite the accomplished knife fighter.

-8-

The car felt solid and real against his back, something that told him he was still tethered to the here and now, though he could scarcely believe it. Watching Vlos fight, dancing around her opponent with fluid grace where he utilized something akin to brute force, he knew how hard it was for her to hold herself back. His sister was something known as a Destroyer, the direct opposite to her twin. Where Ikor would kill swiftly and silently, Vlos would leave nothing but rubble and broken memories in her path. This time though, she was acting differently, acting under the rules set forth from this tournament.

His head turned to his left slightly, watching his companion for a moment, studying the way his body rested and the cut of his eyes as he watched his teammate in battle. Ikor felt no sensations of hesitation, fear, or nervousness radiating from the fighter, so nodded and turned back to the fight, watching as his sibling closed in on the car resting within the center of the intersection. He hoped she would at least destroy the radio within the vehicle and lessen some of the music, blasting from the speakers.

With his arms in a crossed position, he could feel the six throwing knives impressed against his abdomen. Instints to him to draw them and finish off the creature that opposed the Destroyer, and before he knew it two were within his hand.

‘Calm.’

Before he could do anything…untoward, he brought his arms forward and then slammed them backwards, the blades slipping into the SUV which anchored his body to the real world. He forced his hands to release their hilts and return to the folded position across his chest, entire body vibrating with the beginnings of Lust of Blood, the scent of battle causing his nostrils to flare.

“She wants to push her hands into his armor, rip his head from his spine, and bathe the battlefield in his blood,” the Silencer whispered to Maeste, then turned his head once more to glance at the man. “Just so you know.”

Gary watched the fight so far with great interest. Against a reach weapon, what one normally tried to do was get inside the reach and lay into the foe with closer-ranged weapons. Vlos's style seemed to be to keep dancing in and out, not wishing to get caught in the jaws of that powerful weapon.

Call in a Striker already, woman, he thought, tapping on his FIGHTER with a metallic clang of armor against the metal of the bracelet. I can jump in and sunder that weapon, leaving him unarmed and letting you rip him apart. It was rather frustrating, seeing the battle play out without him being invited to participate. But would his time come to assist?

He then turned to Ikor, his team's captain, for the answer, if for no other reason than to lighten the mood on the sidelines. "Have we worked out who's going to go next after this little show ends?" It was hard to make himself heard over the pounding rhythm of the speakers, so he was ready to repeat the question.

[Fighters (Impact and Glass) should see the Debug Mode.]

Considering the difference in height, weight and overall equipment, it had been questionable just how Janus had managed to make such a quick change in direction as he had when Vlos had initially rolled away from him. With that in mind, it wasn’t hard to realize that someone lighter and less weighed down by armor and an assortment of other goods, was capable of rising, while turning, fast enough to meet his attack head on.

Rather than taking the full force of the heel-kick, she twisted her hips to take only a grazing blow as she reached her left baton out to catch him under the kicking leg and prop said leg upward. Simultaneously, Vlos snapped open her right baton to make a quick strike for his other knee. All the while, she continued to push up on Janus’s other leg.

-10-

The beast was tired of waiting.

It was hungry. For all his noise and pacing, it could almost smell the blood. It knew what it hunted. And it had to be kept at bay. For all the violent, monstrous abandon Nikolai represented, so few of them could understand the power of his restraint. He wasn't one for patience. He wasn't one for practice, or planning. And yet he had his rules. And the reward would be so worth them... but the waiting... the waiting was so hard... so...

He could see his meal. And it could too.

It could smell it.

Like a starving lion pacing in a flimsy cage. Watching. Violence and hunger. He shouted. Distracted the beast. But he knew. Bit by bit the violence, for as much as it could be called that, stirred its excitement, wore away the posts one by one. A collapsing cage. He hungered. And when it saw an opportunity, finally, the dam burst.

The microphone gently rolled to a stop against a windshield wiper of the car he'd been standing on. A hand dug into the edge of the car, bending over at the edge of the ring where he'd been standing. He was halfway into air by the time he hit the signal on his wrist.

[Striker 1]

Nikolai hit the ground with a hand and both feet and flung himself forward into full sprint, tearing off like something half animal. He slung the shield off his back and it slid down around a forearm, gripping the straps within.

There were a lot of misconceptions about larger people being slow. All the weight made turning or getting started a little harder, without the proper traction. Long legs and bushels of muscle negated the problem. The track-runner-like start only made it too easy to take off like a train. There was walls of sound all around, an enemy in front, and no expectation. Heavy bass to put vibration into the ground. Twenty five feet was nothing.

The striker's ticking timer wouldn't have even made two seconds yet when two-hundred-and-forty pounds of bone and muscle slammed into Vlos back, starting with Drakrand's hardened rim straight into her ribs, like a miniature freight train.

The initial impact focused into the striking area of the edge of the shield would likely have broken one of Janus' ribs taken straight on, much less the smaller woman's. The armor, or a last possible-moment alert reaction might have saved her the fracture, but that wasn't the point of the assault. Nikolai bowled into her sooner than one could say "ow" to the shield to the ribs, tackling Vlos forward as she focused into pushing and striking Janus' legs, taking the woman to the ground under him, and likely sending the large hermaphrodite to his back in front of them. He only had a few seconds in the ring with her. He grabbed on with his other hand, to hold the woman from wriggling away or rising while he pushed down, wasting not a moment in putting his overwide lips and rank breath in to her shoulder, until he practically could have whispered into her ear. Or licked it.

But Nikolai had held his tongue long enough to gain the surprise. He didn't intend to whisper.

"NOW-"

He roared at what should have been the top of his lungs into her ear. But the volume kept rising. The pitch warped, changed, striking several notes and sounds at once in a way that should have been impossible for any creature's vocal chords. A chorus of hellish voices as unearthly as human rose in laughter and howling at once. And with the next word it hit its climax.

"SCREEEEEEEEEEAM!"

It would come as much like a physical blow straight into the delicate bits of the ear's inner workings as a harsh sound. All the worse if they were sensitive. Janus should have been far enough away not to become collateral- as far as Nikolai was concerned if the freak had somehow managed to get his head near enough to suffer a similar fate, it was his own damn fault.

Predator's Visage Wrote:

Just a few seconds more. Just a few seconds more with his meat he had...

And all he wanted was a piece of it.

He had all the advantages. And his throat was too tight from the initial blast to taunt her any further. Assuming the resistance one could mount after such a one-two was not too fierce he'd snap his head around to her other ear, nursing a hoarse ghost of a chuckle that would probably be drowned out to anyone but himself between all the deafening noise about them anyway. Then bare his teeth. Place them around the ear, and bite. Most predators relied on sharp teeth to pierce and then rip or tear flesh. But the sheer force behind Nikolai's inhuman jaw would drive his teeth right through the flesh if he got them around it, severing most of the ear in one quick snap. He jerked to tear what little bit of skin or cartilage might still be holding on has he rose, and quickly retreated to the sidelines, diving between two somewhat horrified looking dancers as the blood dripped down his lips.

Chewing as he went.

The Judge momentarily stopped bobbing his head to the PHAT BEATZ and broke the 4th wall by pointing at the Debug Mode thread.

Nikolai looked pleased after his striker.

Not half so pleased as he should have been if he'd gotten himself a snack, but he had other things for that, if he had to. The thug never went anywhere without some kind of backup food. Something. The big man chuckled to himself and crammed a mouthful of colecut into his mouth. But despite it all he seemed uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the match, as he nursed his throat and watched to see what Janus made of it all.

Not that he paid especial attention. After all, the ring was surrounded by booty-girls.

Nikolai had been making noise and focusing on food for a bit, but as he battered his hunger down bitterly again, he pursued a different appetite for a bit of distraction. After all, not every woman dragged along to be a showpiece for a rap video or watch people bloody each other took to especially fine tastes in which of the participants of the tournament they were so excited for they wished to associate with. A few rather did not like the creeping hands.

But soon enough he was his disgusting self again, dry, crackling low laughter steadily growing into fits fighting with the music for the ears of the surrounding people, eventually arresting three women from their booty shaking to lean into the big man.

Who probably had stories about various exploits in various areas that were better left unmentioned, judging by the vapidly entranced look on one, and a sudden bout of near sickness that eventually made another retreat.

Didn't matter.

Soft flesh.

Noise.

Excitement.

Entertainment, even if he was disappointed by his inability to taunt.

Damnatus was missing. ****** had probably gotten himself and his shiny-new face lost and wandered into traffic like the eyeless ct he looked like. Nikolai glanced back impatiently every so often, waited for a whiff of that curdling bitter power. b*****d had too much plan this, and plan that, and a temper like a squaling brat when they didn't go his way, even though he tried to act all prim and proper. Nikolai saw him tearing apart. Oh, oho, he saw the whole world tearing itself apart. Like one big hilarious sideshow.

And all of it was swell, because he could almost taste the fight.

Soon...

He massaged the head of the morning star at his side with one hand, and someone's a** with the other, and took a look for where he'd put that microphone as the timer lowered on their fight.

So soon.

...rules. Goddamned rules and electric fagging locks all over this fancy st hole. What were those a-washed rules again? Something he wasn't allowed to do. Killing, right? That sounded right. It was stupid. Maybe not.

Where the ****** was Damnatus when you needed the haughty taughty p*k? He cared about that s**t.

Offensive Striker

The steady thrumming in her ear began to subside, and with it the dizzying effects that accompanied it. However, the pain remained. It was just as Vlos began to recover her senses that she witnessed the first step forward taken by her brother.

Upon noticing her brother, Vlos took an uncertain step forward. Knowing what she did about vertigo, at first she mistrusted her own footsteps. But as the realization set in that her balance was less affected than she had anticipated, her paced quickened.

With Ikor’s burst in speed, he was already striking Janus just as Vlos came within five feet of her opponent. As Vlos cleared those final five feet, Ikor’s attack came to a close and he took the first step away from Janus.

She wasted no time in performing a strike of her own, carrying her forward momentum into a swift attack that would serve to amplify the punishment Janus had received thus far.

Vlos pivoted on the toe of her right foot as she lifted her left leg into the air. Her body rotated accordingly in order to deliver her attack as much force as possible. Bringing her left leg up the hardened toe of her left boot struck at Janus’s midsection. Depending on how Janus happened to be situated immediately after Ikor’s attack would determine just where Vlos’s kick would land.

Should Janus be facing the car the attack would collide with the small of his back, roughly within the same area that Ikor’s knees had rammed into. If by chance Janus managed to turn then whichever side was pointedly not against the car would be the target of the strike. Likewise would go for Janus’s stomach if his back faced the car, striking just above the waistline.

Regardless of where it hit, the force would be enough to drive Janus back into the car.

With this attack, Vlos’s body was such that her right side was further back, her right hand still grasping at the collar of her damage coat, prepared to use it as necessary should Janus find some means of avoiding Ikor’s, and her own attack.

Now, being back beside the car as they were, Vlos stood roughly only a few inches from where she had been just before Nikolai’s attack. With her mind having cleared, it was easy to tell that she was indeed facing west.

-12-

He watched, and waited.

Throughout Janus' duel with the female member of the opposing team, Damnatus remained still in spot. It was as though he had become a statue, never moving beyond the scraps of loose clothing that whorled in the midday wind that blew through the arena. He made no move to striker, nor any indication or reaction to the culmination of their little duel. The outcome of such a bout was inconsequential - just as the overall fate of this match, and just as the entirety of the tournament was. The event merely served a twofold function for Damnatus and his followers; one, it served as a gate - a gate which ultimately led to two, a catalyst of far greater events that had already transpired and had yet to come. The prize pot - millions upon millions of gold currency - was as important to the psyker as the millions upon millions of asphalt and rock grains that littered the street. Even if the judges deemed that his team were not suited to move forward, it would not be a setback in the slightest, for they were already in position to move forward.

However, it was still prudent to keep the masquerade up.

Thus, upon the climax of the fight between Janus and Vlos, the gaunt sorcerer decided it was time to dirty his hands - and reveal the nature of the Warp to the masses.

As soon as both fighters had cleared the field, Damnatus' rigidity was shattered and slowly, but surely, he began to act. The psyker's right hand rose steadily into the air and in front of him, before pointing out at a single figure twenty five feet ahead - a figure whose name was Gary Mandolera.

"You."

The words flowed past his thin lips, their pitch and tone unable to be heard over the brutal roar of the crowd around them. However, vocalization was not the only component to his challenge. The man would feel a pulse of unnatural energy suddenly wash over him lightly, potentially drawing his attention to the cloaked figure just ahead, pointing at him dead on. If this was not enough to draw his attention, then Damnatus would attempt something else - for now, he took it upon himself to put his right foot after his left and enter the arena.

And, as he did so, he drew the unreality to him and around him.

It was subtle at first. In contrast to the bright sunlight that seared down on them, it would be rather difficult to discern that something was amiss with the headlights and tail lights of not just the Caddy in the center of the ring, but of all of them. One by one, the shut-off lights began to flicker on, then off, then on, and off again. This occurrence was erratic, with each car and each continuation being radically different from the last - some blinked off and on methodically, whereas others flared and spazzed, entirely out of control. Still, because of the burning sun overheard, such oddities would only be noticed by a scant few, who would merely blink in confusion at the devices before returning to their sexual-but-dry gyrations to their neighbors.

It was not until the noise that more began to take pause.

Without warning, a good number of the cars - including the middle one - began to blare off their alarms loudly. Beeps, honks, whistles, cries - they all began to filter into the air, threatening to drown out even the heavy booms and phat beats of the rap music video. Like the lights, they went insane in a completely desynchronized manner, causing the masses to now look around in growing confusion. Some even went ahead and started smacking the automobiles, throwing more slurs and insults at the things than should have been possible. However, their efforts were to of no avail, as they all continued to malfunction badly.

At this point, Damnatus was barely within the arena, his approach coming from the front end of the central vehicle on its passenger side. Both of his arms were now partially stiff, pointing down by his sides at a small angle. Beneath his left hand, whose fingers were now poised as if to grab a spherical object, globules of a silverish, thick liquid were gradually forming in the air and slowly blobbing together beneath the hand in mid-air. The right was similarly-positioned, but instead of blobs of mercury, swirls of unnatural light were flickering in and out of existence, but steadily intensifying with each resurgence. The somber-clothed man did not seem perturbed in the slightest of the goings-on around him - indeed, the only thing he seemed to do in reaction to all of it was give a tiny smirk beneath the folds of his cowl and continue to tread slowly forward.

The anomalies did not end there, though. The most significant - and most disturbing - had yet to come.

It was then the speakers began to change. Instead of rhythmical lyrics being pumped out, the devices began to screech loudly and discordantly, as if though some a*****e had the bright idea to constantly induce feedback through all of them. The extremely loud and keening noises only lasted for a few moments, though, and were quickly replaced by voices again. Except, instead of something human or even humanoid, they began to produce utterances that were wholly not from this world. Scratchy whispers began at first, loud enough to be heard over the constant honking of the alarms, but still soft enough to be entirely indecipherable. They seemed to filter through the air in ways that shouldn't be possible, as though they were crawling out of them and throughout the entire intersection. The whispers were suddenly replaced by horrific gibbers and chatters, which somehow came together in a way to sound something akin to lyrics, though entirely daemonic. These maddening noises continued to build, just as impossible reflections of things began to leer through the windows of the vehicles, distorting and grinning and seemingly bringing about their own whispers.

And then, as suddenly as it had all came about, it ended.

Damnatus was once again still, minus the movement coming from his clothing and beneath his clawed hands. The horrific noises had died out into a fraction of a second of feedback, before being replaced by the rap lyrics and bass beats once again. The car alarms had been silenced utterly, as well. The only thing that remained were the blinking and fizzling lights, which only did so periodically now. The sorcerer had positioned himself 3 1/2ft away from the edge of his side of the arena, which put him just in front of the Caddy and a few feet off to the side. It was clear that he would wait for his foe at this point.

It was time to reveal unto Team Fate the true nature of their namesake, and why it was a foolish thing to take on the title of such a fickle and entirely capricious concept.

[1/1.5]

[1/(3)]

And thus his opponent approached, and the sorcerer welcomed him with arms wide open.

"Ahhh, you came. Most excellent."

Damnatus' voice rang out above the music, just allowing the fighter to hear his words with sufficient clarity. Yet, despite the pitch, the overall thinness of his tone could be deciphered as well, suggesting a throat that had been addled by some malady of sorts over a period of time. Smoking, maybe? Certainly possible, though the psyker's demeanor and attire suggested that he did not partake in such things, mainly in part of the archaicness of it all. His arms were splayed more apart now, oddly-positioned hands facing outward, obviously in a beckoning gesture. Interestingly, the shifting and blurring colors in his right followed his movement, whereas the globules beneath his left still hung in the same position as before, still gathering in size and mass. Once again, the sorcerer began to move slowly forward, left after right, and took his gaunt frame past the bumper of the huckin' and jivin' Caddy.

"I would have been sorely disappointed if you hadn't. I knew that you would be pleasing to duel."

The hard touch to his seemingly jovial statements suggested there was true conviction in his words. The warp sorcerer's movements continued, nearly reaching the mid point of the Cadillac's frame; however, they had begun to shift now, carrying the grim man more to his left, putting more distance between him and the blinged-out automobile. It was at this point the blobs of the mercury-like substance had stilled entirely, for instead of a coagulated mess hovering just next to him, there was a sphere. It appeared to be the size of a large softball, and as well as possessing seemingly perfect mathematical dimensions. The prismatic globe seemed to shine with every possible colour in the heated sun above, as well as affording glimpses of some unknown to the sane mind. To the perceptive, the cold winds that blew through the arena seemed to be picking up to more significant levels, causing the shredded tail ends of Damnatus' coat to flap heavily. The generating flurry almost seemed to be in tandem with the colored energy that grew in his right, which was becoming more and more chaotic by the second.

"Yet..." the man breathed with chagrin, possibly unheard over the din of nigh-unbearable music around them all, while observing the fighter as he drew a rather-ornate short sword and a long cloak, "I find some of your choices disappointing. I pray that this was not a mistake."

Damnatus' thin lips were now set into something with more distaste now, as though he actually cared about the novelty of the coming storm. Yet, he continued to play the game all the competitors played, his part involving his continued side-stepping to the left and forward. At this point, he'd be a hair less than 5ft away from the side of the vehicle and about 6/10 down along its length. It would not be long before they were close enough to touch one another, and the fighting would surely begin before then.

It would be then that the madman would give the victim a taste of his insanity, and why he had thus dubbed himself Damnatus.

[1.5/1.5]

[2/(3)]

"I see that you are doubting yourself once again."

Lacey didn't bother to look behind herself, she knew the voice well enough to realize it was Damnatus standing there talking to her. Of course he'd be able to tell, he knew everything about everyone. At least that's how it seemed to her.

The corners of her mouth turned down as she looked towards the ground in shame. These feelings weren't normal for her, she used to be confident and happy, but ever since arriving here she doubted herself. In this place there was nothing she could do right and Lacey hated herself for it.

"But you...you continue to tremble and balk at the world around you, still as hapless as the day I found your wretched form on my doorstep, cavorting to the whims and desires of the thing," his right rose up, pointing directly at the center of her body and beyond, "that lies beneath."

Her small, chapped lips parted to defend herself. To tell Damnatus he was wrong and cruel. Except she knew he was right. Lacey was a child in this new world, everything was different, new, exciting, but she was sitting around wailing like an infant. What else could she do? In a way Lacey felt if she gave into this world, allowed herself to be content being here, she'd be cheating, forgetting her family and home back in her world.

Damnatus continued to talk though and the demonologist just listened. At the mention of her family, Lacey's head turned up and she finally looked at her team captain.

"you need to accept what has been given to you. What would you do if I were not here, hm? Indeed, what would you have done if I hadn't been able to shackle the entity? You would have overcome those challenges."

He was wrong, Lacey knew this. She could barely keep things together with the demon when he was bound. There was no way she would have been able to stay in control. The lies continues, but she did nothing to stop them, mostly because they were helping. Just as Damnatus planned. Lacey may not be wondering if she could've stayed in charge, but she wasn't feeling as worried as before. Maybe there was some way she could help.

Her brown eyes were removed from the captains hidden visage as she looked back over towards the fight. The scene wasn't enjoyable to Lacey, in fact, she disliked most of the fight. If it had been up to her she would've strikered right after Nikolai, but merely to hit him, not Janus' opponent.

"There are other, better ways to undermine their strength and unity with your particularities."

Yeah. Her 'particularities' would help them. Her eyes shifted downward as they began to water again. She held them back as best she could and finally spoke, "I know." It was merely a whisper and drowned out by the loud music playing all around them, but it covered everything she was thinking at that moment and didn't matter to her if it was heard or not.

Before their fight could even actualize, another one was breaking out right before Damnatus' peculiar sights, causing him to narrow his brows in some measure of scrutiny.

A fight that was not external, but internal.

Everything sapient and sentient was laid bare before the gaze of the sorcerer's Witch Sight. The sight could see the raw emotions and essences that churned within every being that possessed them - such things coalesced in the Warp, creating a unique signature for their souls. While more horrifically potent warp sorcerers could actually utilize this "gift" to target and attack the hapless things, warping, corrupting and even destroying them, Damnatus was not nearly as proficient to do such a thing. Still, he could perceive the whorling within just as keenly as they could, and had grown entirely used to deciphering the sights he picked up. All souls and emotions came with their own unique signature and flavor, possessing patterns and flows and colors different than any other individual one in existence (naturally, anyway). Still, for the experienced psyker, it was possible to deduct similarities in certain patterns and colors with others, thus making them privy as to what moods and emotions were surging through a person at the time. It wasn't nearly anything like mind reading, but more akin to a grim empathy, as most warp sorcerers cared little for anything but themselves and their ambitions.

In the case study before him, Damnatus immediately recognized it for what it was - those purplish, brown strands that churned slowly, almost as if they were coagulating together sickeningly.

Doubt.

It brought an inner smirk to the sorcerer. It wasn't quite despair - no, that would have been more likely if he had utilized the sorceries of Nurgle over his actual repertoire. Indeed, as if to confirm it was not so far down and utterly negative, the man had quickly summoned up more positive feelings and quashed the feelings of uncertainty - for now.

Damnatus decided that he would have to rectify that and give this Gary some more potent reasons to doubt the fate of this duel.

Almost as soon as he had quelled his fears, the Paladin had shot off at Damnatus, ready to bring his prowess to bear. That suited the gaunt occultist just fine, for he had been granted ample enough time to prepare for the oncoming assault. His position was an ample 5ft away from the passenger side of the Caddy and now 3/4 the way down its length, his last side-step forward being with his right and just about to begin with his left. It was at this point that Gary reached the proper distance to perform a quick but sure thrust to the middle of his right shoulder. It was definitely a solid maneuver, one that did not overextend the Paladin while extending his range, and a successful piercing would have likely severed the nerve cluster buried deep beneath the layers of flesh and muscle, thus making the accompanying arm useless.

Unfortunately, the Paladin would not be able to score such an immediate success.

With his left leading, Damnatus swiftly reacted to the act. His step to the side and front was swift, wide and powerful, thanks to his long legs. The movement occurred just as the man had begun to thrust in; as soon as the boot tapped down, the sorcerer pivoted on the ball, allowing his right side to carry itself backward in a clockwise motion. As this occurred, the psyker's right arm began to rise with haste.

Unfortunately for Damnatus, though, his maneuver wasn't perfect, either.

Sshhnk!

A loud but probably unheard hiss escaped past clenched teeth as the tip of the sword dug a narrow, painful trench along the front of his right armpit and shoulder - a result of side-stepping forward just a hair too late. The blade easily cut through aged leather, old tunic and then flesh, causing an immediate trickle of blood to flow from the wound. While it easily fell under the realm of a flesh wound, it was a moral victory for Damnatus' foe, who had scored first blood.

That didn't bother the man at all, for he was entirely willing to let his enemies achieve a first and false victory, only to fall right into a devastating and horrific trap.

And that was what would happen in this instance. Damnatus' right had been rising all the while, and around the time the Paladin could have begun to pull the thrust sword back, the sorcerer arched his elbow a little upward and turned his wrist slightly, allowing his claw-poised palm to face the cuirass of his foe at near point-blank range. The colors that had been swirling and fading in and out of existence were still present, only they had stopped flickering and were now simply churning voraciously, like a miniature maelstrom. It was now obvious that these colors were energy - magical energy.

And, with a single mental command, Damnatus let it all explode outward.

VVVRRRRRRRROOOOOOORRRRRSSSSSSSHHHHHHHH

The Warp Torrent rushed outward like a massive, multi-colored wave, almost assuredly to slam into the armored form of Gary, roaring with a noise that would almost sound as if it were horrifically alive. It projected out from Damnatus' hand in a 90-degree cone, so while it might have been easier to dodge at close range, there was too much exposed to not be hit by the attack. Negating it would also be hampered by the Paladin's current move commitment, and while his free hand might have been able to divert the hand, it would not likely be able to get there on time due to its previous position of being partially behind him to keep his cloak at the ready.

If the spell were to hit, it would be fairly brutal for the armored man. Despite the addition of around 40lbs to his own weight via his plate mail armor, Damnatus had been given sufficient time to gather energy from the Warp to summon a blast that would send several men of average weight flying backward. The pushing force was generated through psychokinetic energy, which would have a slamming force equivalent to a heavy tackle, in addition to the throwback. Due to Damnatus' side step forward, and the way he had angled the blast, the Paladin would likely be sent backwards on a short but jarring trip into the side of the bouncing Caddy. While the man's armor would likely save his body from any significant damage from impacting against the door of the vehicle (as blunt force trauma had to be concentrated in a small area to be truly effective against plate), it would still likely be a very unpleasant and jarring experience. His head, however, might be a different story. Due to the proximity of the Warp Torrent and the car, the buffeting forces would cause the windows on that side to shatter utterly and even cause the thing to rock heavily.

It was indeed a painful attack, but the psychokinetic portion was the least of it all; for there was another component that possessed more far-reaching consequences than painful blunt force trauma.

For he was being granted gifts of the Changer of Ways - Mutations.

Despite favor from a holy god, none were able to escape the grasp of change. Both the Paladin and Damnatus would undergo these horrific changes to some extent, of a moderate but painful kind. The sorcerer felt the skin on his back beginning to rip painfully open, warping and twisting all the while, creating spots of things that squirmed and chattered beneath the folds of his clothing. Similarly, more objects began to bulge from under his right sleeve, twisting and squirming and trying to break out of their fabric bondage. The pain was terrible, causing Damnatus to grit his false teeth together in severe tightness. At the same time, blood began to trickle down the side of his right nostril, and the dull pain of the sound-induced headache he possessed began to swell in magnitude from the feedback that always came from summoning the Warp. It was only pain, though, and not even crippling pain - he was also entirely and utterly used to the fact that his chosen practices inflicted him with mutations as well. They did nothing to quell his own resolve.

Indeed, if his opponent had been hit by the consuming wave and had been sent flying back, the sorcerer's next move would be to further pivot on his left, face the direction of where Gary had been sent flying, and would take a momentous right step forward to quickly pursue his quarry. As he thrust forward, his left arm began to move as well, quickly reaching down to the still-hovering orb at his side.

There would be no letting up in this game.

[1.5/1.5]

[2.5/(3)] - Warp Torrent cast

Gary grinned to himself as his short sword grazed the right shoulder of Damnatus. However, he saw the magically charged palm of his foe rise to meet his cuirass a moment too late. In desperation, the paladin twisted his torso towards the car, hoping to fling his cape into the man's face, disrupt his concentration on the spell and hopefully reduce the impact.

Then the cone of psychokinetic force rushed outward, and Gary was slammed into the passenger's side of the vehicle--which had all of its glass windows shattered by the blast--in the center of the ring, shaken up but taking little damage, or so it seemed at first. Suddenly, the weight of years started to come crashing down on the paladin due to the effect of the Warp, making him feel as if he was 60 or 70. He was still possessed of above-average strength, but suffice it to say that he couldn't fight quite as well as he was able to before the match started.

With this oncoming rush of ages, however, came increased mental agility, and Gary seemed to know exactly what Damnatus had in store. He dropped the folds of his cloak from his left hand, then concentrated his will to increase his strength for the next 30 seconds or so...more than enough time to do some real damage.

Quote:

His focus and concentration are at the point where he can:

...

-Enhance his strength for five rounds to the point that his already impressive carrying capacity is roughly tripled (from ~350 to ~1050). This ability is most often used for bashing through thick hides, escaping from physical restraint, and other occasions where his own strength just isn't enough. (Active, usable once per day)

After this brief mental exercise, the next move was a simple one: Using his free left hand, he threw the front passenger's door of the Caddy open, then attempted to break the opened door off of its hinges by putting his entire body weight behind one final push from the interior side of the door (for a pull on the handle from the other side would see the handle break off before the hinges even started to give way). And if the break maneuver was unsuccessful, he could always jump into the car and limit the directions from which Damnatus could attack, or simply use the door as cover from another area attack like the one that was just used.

To top it all off, it was at the small cost of making the already blaring speakers of the Cadillac even more obnoxiously loud, which the newly wizened Gary thought would be a hindrance to further spellcasting attempts.

All in all, a win-win scenario.

[A note, remember: Until the Striker problem is solved, Ikor v Nikolai cannot technically begin. Hopefully, it can be resolved ASAP for you guys to begin your fight.]

[Striker response]

Ikor frowned slightly as Janus turned at the last moment, taking away the slight element of surprise the Silencer had tried to take advantage of. Rather than slam into his back as planned, he crashed into his stomach, knees leading the way. As they collided his original plan would still follow through, for his arms were raised and poised to deliver their striking blows. With the time it took the other to wrap his arms around his legs, Ikor would bring his hands down with as much force as possible, the blades seeking to slice through the muscle and tissue protecting the fragile functions of Janus’ shoulders. The turning of the man’s body would cause his hands to twist, and thus his daggers, as they were pulled free of their improvised sheaths.

Blood would spatter the air as the two bodies were ripped apart by force and momentum, and without needing to look, he could feel his twin getting closer, but could also feel her power surging. He knew what she would do, and that was most likely use his oncoming body as a shield to block her own motions. Such was the way of their world. She wouldn’t attempt to catch him, to check on him, or even waste a thought in passing as to whether or not he was alright. This was battle, and in the midst of it nothing mattered save the utter destruction of your enemy, no matter if it was an entire army or a single man.

So it was that as he was thrown his body lengthened, back bending and arching until he was slightly parallel with the ground, giving his sister room to maneuver below or around his body without the need of much change in direction. When he landed it would be upon his hands, as his form would continue its arching until he had made a half circle. When his hands pressed into the ground, palms down with the hilts pressing against the concrete, his legs would continue over as his elbows bent and then exploded open, sending Ikor almost to the other side of the ring as his feet finally touch solid surface once again.

CRR-RACK!

As the door loosened from its hinges, he could hear the keening of the Warp energies of Damnatus...behind him?

Oh s**t. Keep moving forward, keep moving...

Suddenly, his left leg gave out from under him as the tip of the wicked b*****d sword Vicissitude bit through the back of his knee. His leg having given out, not only could he not carry on with ripping the door from its hinges, but he also was in a perfect storm of agony as the warp-tainted blade severed one of the hamstring's tendons to the lower half of the appendage. The scream of the warp energies and Gary's shout of pain mixed into a mighty sound that would probably make everyone stop and think about the wisdom of allowing a fight to happen in the background of a music video shoot.

Groaning in pain and out of breath, Gary had no choice but to perform a Striker Assist. Blotches of color swam in his field of vision as he reached for the FIGHTER bracelet on his left wrist, and flipped the switch. A signal would be sent to Maeste's FIGHTER, requesting assistance for the next 10 seconds. Hopefully Gary would be able to keep fighting for that long. Out of options for now, he simply fell backwards, hopefully altering the angle at which Damnatus would have to hold the sword to such an extent as to force a disarm, or at least trapping Vicissitude under his 240 pounds or so of body mass and equipment.

Maeste had stood on the sidelines, watching the fight between his friend Gary and a creature who seemed to warp in from nothing. His eyes roamed the creatures body for only a moment, before turning back to Gary. And in that flash of a second Damantus had moved, quite quickly. He had impaled Gary's leg with a massive weapon, and so what was left of things was up to Maeste. He jumped from the side-lines, and triggered the button his FIGHTER the second it lit up. His Striker Assist was activated, and he ran forward with a speed belied by his human body.

On the surface he appeared to be nothing more than your average MMA combatant, but beneath he was much more than that. You know that old saying, don't judge a book by it's cover? That explained Maeste completely. Running at roughly thirty miles per hour, he reached his hand behind his body. Gathering an great amount of the atomic level electricities that hang in the air, his finger-tips began to crackle and sizzle with the energy. Singed hair could be smelled as his arms began to flake and tear with the energy crackling through his flesh. Pain over-ran him, but he held it back, held in the screams of agony that he wished to release.

His hand shot forward, and launched the energy from his hand. And he fell to his knees, but only for a moment. For that single moment he was on the ground, he began to move again. Turning his head up to watch the ball travel through the air, and directly at the back of his comrade's opponent. From his point of view, there was little chance of it not striking the warrior's figure. Mostly due to acceleration, the ball traveling at over 300 feet per second to begin with, and it's rate only growing as it cut through the air like a searing blade through butter.

If and when the sphere of electrical energy touched Damantus, it's power would stop there. The energy was different than most electrical currents, whereas most would travel through the man, into his blade, and then into the very person Maeste was trying to save, this energy would only touch the person it struck, and nothing more. This relatively ensured that the energy itself could not harm anyone other than it's target, as if it were to touch something or someone other than it's target, it would disperse instantly.

He smirked as he stood back up, noticeably having to force his body to move so that he could return the to fringes of the arena, he had only spent about a minute to a minute and a half in the ring, and he knew he had another seven - eight to spare, but he highly doubted he would need more time than that. Besides, he was already hurt. He'd hurt himself by holding onto the sphere for a second too long, and he knew soon he would have to fight someone himself.

SSSHHHHHHHK

The visceral noise, just barely heard over the raucousness music and screams thumping and bellowing all around the arena, was indicative of the brutal success of Damnatus' thrust. The dark sorcerer grinned harshly, immediately torquing his left wrist counter-clockwise a small bit, which would result in Vicissitude ripping an even more messy wound in the joint as it rotated. The daemon weapon chattered and hissed, both reveling in its current position and furious that it was not tasting the blood of a being with significant amounts of change within it. Still, it was not furious enough to revolt against its binder - just yet, anyway. Damnatus knew that the move was utterly decisive - the perforation he had inflicted upon Gary was large, deep and infected the area with mutations. Even with healing or surgery, it would take some time before any use from that appendage could be summoned up.

In response to this victory, the psyker began to yank his arm back, ripping Vicissitude out of the wound in the process, and immediately began to attempt a finishing blow. Before the coup de grace could even attempt to be performed, the Paladin decided to fall backward at this point, right on top of his freed blade.

s**t!

Damnatus cursed loudly within his mind, attempting to pull further back with his left side, his leg leaving the ground, when a design aspect of his blade turned against him. The half diamond-shaped tip caught along one of the many angles on the Paladin's suit of armor, preventing him from being able to yank it out in time. As the holy warrior fell, his body trapped a bit less than half of Vicissitude's length beneath the left side of his mass, forcing the sorcerer to lower his stance to allow his grip to remain. Muttering a curse and grinding his molars together, Damnatus quickly shot forward again, arcing his leg up to deliver a quick and nasty soccer kick to the back of the Paladin's skull in an attempt to further daze him and possibly use it as a brace point to further yank the blade out. As he lashed out, though, the warp sorcerer did not notice the danger coming up behind him until it was too late.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZKT

"HNNNNNNNGH!"

The electric sphere slammed into his back, just as planned, full flush. There would have been no time to dodge, even if he had sensed it coming, due to the sheer velocity of the thing. Damnatus felt as though someone had waltzed right up to him and shoved a taser right into his spine, with all the care and love in the world. Needless to say, the grim man found his muscles spasming and tightening, losing temporary control and causing him to fall to his weakest area of balance: to the left, against the car, due to him being in the process of kicking the damned Paladin in the head. It felt as though thousands of pins and needles were striking everywhere in his body, weakening his body for the moment. After the initial contraction in his left hand, he felt his grip on Vicissitude loosen, though not completely falter - it would take more than that to completely shatter his grim resolve. Damnatus thumped against the side of the Caddy, just a hair before the door opening, and slid down onto his rear in a pained daze. Already, though, he was beginning to attempt to shrug off the taser-like effects of the sphere, which was revealed with him beginning to slowly right himself back up. Beneath his cowl, the sorcerer's brows were knotted together furiously, his thin lips pulled back into a scowl.

They would pay for that.

[3/4]

Gary grinned, but only barely, under his helmet. His Striker had been expertly timed, and his teammate had chosen just the right move to use for the situation. Both of the parties were now slumped on the ground, and it was time to finish the job before the Warp in Vicissitude did its job.

With tears streaming down his cheeks at the torment he was going through to not have the knee totally unusable for the rest of his natural life, Gary realized something. They were both on the ground.

Grimacing, and being fueled by adrenaline and the midpoint of his strength boost, Gary realized fully exactly how difficult it would be to even punch the guy now that he was on his back and Damnatus was slumped against the van. Thinking quickly--for such thinking was both necessary and all that he was capable of at the time--Gary would activate the Paladin's signature ability, that of smiting those of a more wicked persuasion with a melee blow. However, any weapon would do for the job--even his body could be a weapon.

Quote:

His divine blessing allows him to:

-Strike more powerfully and accurately against evil foes (active, usable twice per day)

Yelling above the roar of the crowd and the driving rhythm of the speakers all over the place, Gary summoned the strength to push his torso off the ground with his right hand, then attempt a strong backhand punch across the face of the still-stunned Damnatus with his left gauntlet while twisting his torso to that side for added "oomph", the force of his already-bolstered muscles backed by the knowledge that the deeper the darkness, the more brightly a light must shine.

((OOC: Post...5, I think, and post 3 of 5 for Power Surge?))

STRIKER

Damnatus vs Gary

It was time. Lacey had noticed the door buckling as Gary had attempted to pull it from the frame, that was not normal. Unless the guy was running off of loladrenaline, which the demonologist highly doubted. It was her turn to help, just as Damnatus had said.

"There are other, better ways to undermine their strength and unity with your particularities."

She wondered now if he had known what was coming, or if the wording was just coincidental. Watching as Damnatus slumped his way to the ground, she began to move in quickly for her striker. Gary had turned his back to where Lacey had been standing in an attempt to injure her captain once more. She couldn't let that happen, so as she approached she began chanting.

From watching the fight she realized that getting the two inches of skin-to-skin contact that was needed for this would be quite difficult, but Damnatus had helped with that. It was a disgusting thought, but as Lacey moved around the car door, knelt down taking her index and middle finger and dug them into the hole that D's weapon had made. It was enough and would alert Gary to her arrival. As her fingers dug in, the Throwback/Immobility spell should cause Gary to slam back down on the ground, stopping his grab/attack on her team captain and slowing him down. The only reason this spell would not immobilize him because of the super strength Gary had given himself. That would change, soon.

Without wasting anymore time, Lacey would stand and close her eyes. The bass from the car next to her pounding in her ears. She concentrated and seconds later a 6ft circle would appear on the ground around her. Gary was close enough that there was no doubt in her mind this would work, causing him to lose his strength and for the next couple of seconds make him immobile (since she has removed the strength and the immobilize spell would still be in effect). And if it didn't, well c'est la vie.

Quote: Throwback/Immobilize - 6 Points - 1 Post Duration

Strength - 3 Points - 2 Post Duration

• This spell removes any strength beyond what the creature's muscles naturally produce (or in the case of a creature without muscles, such as an animated skeleton, the strength that their muscles would produce if they possessed a body of average build for their size).

• A creature that is also unnaturally dense and normally uses their superstrength to compensate for such a condition may collapse outright under their own weight.

Once it was done, the circle would fade, and a very dizzy Lacey would begin to back up towards the outside of the ring.

1/10

[Note: I didn't put the whole first spell in my post because it's long, but I can if it's really needed or I can PM it to you.]

[I had to edit, I got the immobilize/slow down thing messed up]

He felt the spheres rebound off the shield as it was flung from the man’s back and into position faster than he would have thought possible. The vibrations of course traveled from the thin wires still maintained between Ikor and the balls, now lying lifeless on the ground. As the beast moved to Ikor’s right, like a shirake circling its prey before descending, the man merely followed with his eyes, hands still maintaining their position of pointing outward, pulling back slightly as the wires began to retract, bringing with them the crafted orbs. Before such an act could be completed though, the monster had rounded on his position, closing the distance with something akin to a sprint, his body low to the ground and slightly extended.

As the morning star came forward, led by too-large spikes and an intent to possible skewer him, Ikor used his prepared stance to spring a single half-step forward, pivoting on his right foot, bringing his body around slightly to the left of the oncoming creature, just as the weapon would have decimated his shoulder. Using most of his strength, he lashed out with his right forearm against the haft of the morning star, intent on pressing it down against the shield as his body continued its motions of turning, his arm moving until his hand replaced his forearm, pushing down further and using the point of leverage to lift his twisting body into the air, now to the side and almost behind Nikolai. With his body rising he struck out at the man’s head with his left knee, seeking to crack the warrior’s skull, or at least render his brain more useless than it had proved to be thus far. As the knee would move in he would follow with his left hand, palm first, seeking the back of his head. Before it could close completely though, six strands of wire would explode from the hand, separating to encompass the beast’s face and neck.

[2]

• Striker Reponse -

Succes! The unnerving electrical attack had landed, indicating a powerful array of electrical tingles down the body of Damantus, and it had done it's job. Now Maeste was out of time, and his energy needed more time to compensate for it's loss, and so he took his leave from the ring. He stepped back into the crowd, and allowed his body to lean casually against one of the many public transportation poles. Housing the street-lights, he watched the fight from just outside the ring. His lips pulled back into a smile, as he began to tilt his head back and forth with the music, watching as Damantus was forced to lean his body against the Cadillac for support, and then how Gary suddenly leaped up to attack the man.

Laughing, he pulled a cigarette from his pack, lit it, and prepared to enjoy the rest of the match.

He felt his knee connect solidly, and thought about ending the fight at that particular moment, but he knew doing so would mean death for his opponent, and as he had spoken to the man face to face, it would dishonor the Silencer. Instead, he continued the follow through with his hand, though before the necessary distance could be closed the man moved, bringing his shield to bear rather than his head. The wires that had been loosed to wrap around his head hit the surface of the construction, splicing in two directions, but continuing on the circular trek Ikor had hoped for in the first place. His palm slammed against the thing, his elbow nearly locking, his right knee planting itself on the lower edge. The creature continued his turn, pouring force into the push, causing his arm to bend further than he would have wished. Teeth sparked up from its front as it met his body, driving the spike-like objects against his torso and abdomen, the latter being protected by the four throwing knives still housed there. He felt two against his chest pressing harder and harder against the material of his Nano Suit, the continued pressure causing rips to appear in the material. For the first time in years his skin was pierced, two puncture marks appearing over each pectoral muscle, trickles of blood forming and falling down the inside of the suit.

The force continued, stronger now as it propelled Ikor’s body from the shield. He flew backwards, his body turning over until his hands were vertical to the ground. Dark talons sprouted from the tips of his fingers, grazing the ground and leaving faint furrows in the concrete. His legs came toward the earth, landing first on his knees, then toes. Shaking his head once to clear it, he began to stand, witnessing at once the things that were happening almost in tandem. The wires that had spread around the surface of the shield would be making another turn around the body of Nikolai and tightening their hold, propelled by the weight of the claws on each strand. As soon as they would encounter another wire, those same claws would close, forming a single strand, in this case six. At the same time, the spheres were bouncing along the ground, having been robbed of their first path by the sudden change in direction Ikor had taken. The first, the one attached to his right hand, flew into his open palm as the beast began to run. The sphere began to break apart as the wires unraveled as quickly as they had formed, being drawn back into his wrist and falling generally into disarray, loops of wire hanging from his hand, lasso like in appearance.

As the man charged, the ball coming around, the wires seeking to tighten around his body, Ikor poised his body, waiting until the man was only five or so feet away. The wires, connected to those around his body, became taut and Ikor wrapped his hand around them once, securing a hold. Before he could complete his charge pulled with all his strength the strength to lift two-hundred and fifty-nine pounds, and leapt to his right. Given the momentum of his opponent, and hopefully the added value of entrapment and being pulled roughly and suddenly, Ikor counted on the off-balance issue and brought his left arm up and down suddenly, using the unraveled wire from the sphere as a type of rope, aiming to fall around the man’s head, then face, and finally his throat. At the same time he would be bringing his right knee up once more, this time the blade housed there emerging, black and deadly, to show the beasts’ blood to the world.

[3]