Airship de Judge

Airship de Judge

General - The word 'airship' can't really be applied to this rickety contraption other than by the virtue that it contains and/or moves through air. At one end a Judge wearing blue track-shorts over his armor is pedaling a bicycle with a propeller on the back while singing something that may or may not contain words; on the other end a judge wearing a feathered headdress stands at the loosely-termed-bow of the 'ship' doing the breaststroke with a rope tied around his waist as if he was planning to 'get out and pull'. Now, while this arguably takes care of forward propulsion the issue of buoyancy is far more questionable... Two judges appear to be 'keeping it aloft' in the sense that they don't seem to be engaging themselves in activities aimed at making it go in some direction other than up. One seems to be blowing into a hose connected to the giant balloon roped onto the 'ship' part of this airship, and the other is operating a hand-powered air pump to inflate a yellow rubber raft that they both are standing in.

The fighting area is a wooden scaffolding consisting of 3 separate layered platforms roughly twenty feet by twenty feet in size, seemingly made of nothing more than an unnecessary quantity of boards nailed together and... glued in some places. There are several holes in the platform and none of them seem intentional, it wouldn't be surprising if an entire section were to break away if too much weight were to be placed on it.

Though don't worry... there are enough superfluous ropes dangling haphazardly everywhere that something is bound to catch you if you fall. At the very least take comfort in the 'fact' that with this deathtrap flying in circles on the interior of the Noah Dome you'll never be more than one or two hundred feet off the ground.

Natural Element Resource - Air, and lots of it.

Weapons - Wooden planks with nails in them, lengths of rope, discarded paint cans (which had been used to paint a Judge mask onto the balloon and the word Splash-of-Seamen 9000 onto the raft), a few hammers, and a lunch pail containing a half-eaten ham sandwich and two bananas.

Bonus Effects - Perhaps this malformed terror of the skies can skirt the laws of gravity but you cannot - falling from the Airship de Judge counts as a ring out.

"..."

Was this thing real? Ko had been standing here for a good ten minutes since he got here trying to comprehend how this atrocity worked. Let's not mention that getting this type of stage had really bothered him. It looked like the antique version of a circus, as if they were expecting them to, as D' was thinking too, to practically pick up some barbells and start swinging on ropes to appeal to the mass audience sitting here today, who were pretty much chuckling, pointing, and taking pictures to upload to their facebooks/ youtube channels later. What probably bothered him more was how this thing was even working. Two armored judges were performing the most impractical things possible, and yet were able to make this flying circus, well, fly.

Okay, aside from seeing this deathtrap in the sky, Ko took out a bottle of what looked to be liquor and took a drink from it. If he remembered the details, those who weren't fighting were going to be standing on the sidelines while those who were would be up there on this thing trying to survive on poorly constructed wooden boards. And this is while the thing is flying around the interior of this dome, one hundred feet off the ground.

He took another swig, waiting for his teammates to get here to share the experience with him. It was okay. He brought enough drinks for everyone to ease the incoming headaches.

"We're supposed to fight there?"

Antonio wasn't surprised that he had gone unnoticed; he'd only been able to stare absently at the deathtrap above him for the last few minutes, trying desperately to fathom how he could possibly be expected to do anything effectual up there. In the sky. On the equivalent of a rickety old fishing trawler held aloft by a combination of anime physics, pleasant thoughts and divine intervention.

Since the tournament had begun, he'd seen a slew of strange things, running the gamut from police officers clad in pajamas to videos on YouTube of fights taking place in the exact same burning bar as the one where he'd fought in the prelims. Speaking of which, his throat had been parched ever since. The thought of a pub that served pure ethanol made him shudder.

Following aforementioned shudder, he finally found the drive to blink. He could already hear it, the way the ship would creak hesitantly with every step... And then it would probably explode or something equally outrageous, incinerating him and bringing an abrupt end to the Diavolo clan. He fumbled in his pockets for his lighter and lit the cigarette that rested between his lips. After a long, relaxing drag that simultaneously satisfied his nicotine fix and calmed his nerves, he remembered he had a voice, even if it was still lost somewhere in-between his gut and his esophagus.

He tried hard to hide the fact that he was dreading this round. "What's up, Ko? I heard you crushed some gal's legs, man." He spat the cig out. It wasn't helping, and he didn't need to smell any more like smoke than he usually did. What if this time he was supposed to fight some gorgeous babe?

"Could you pass me some booze? I need to find my happy place, and it sure as hell ain't up there."

FWIP FWIP FWIP FWIP FWIP

A gun-metal machine hovered into view over the Noah Dome, which had been opened up to allow the Judge-powered "airship" room to maneuver. This one was unmarked - it wasn't a Foundation vehicle, and it lacked any of the logos of significant news teams. It wouldn't be too hard to guess that the VTOL vehicle was privately owned.

The helicopter came to a hovering rest in the air beside the airship, ten or twelve feet separating the two flying machines. Inside the VTOL, Deitric stood on the far end of the interior deck of the machine.

"We'll be fine - Jonnie, make sure to call the suite and see if Shinji or Marius need a ride."

Without another word, the tribesman took off at a dead-sprint across the interior of his aircraft, bodily leaping across the expanse of open air that separated the VTOL from the airship-turned-fighting-stage. To those on the ground, he was nothing but an outline of a person, jumping through the air. For a moment, the air below yawned beneath him like a chasm, but gravity couldn't pull the leaping fighter down fast enough.

With a series of thuds, Deitric stomped across the top deck of the air ship to halt his forward momentum, looking somewhat off-balance. Having caught himself, he stood up right. A pair of arms were wrapped around his neck, and a pair of legs around his waist.

"I told you it would be fine," he said to the small, white-robed woman who had rode on his back for the mid-air leap. Without any sort of boarding mechanism to act as a bridge between the two aircraft, Deitric had to carry Sey onto the airship, or else make her leap for herself or climb up one of the two-hundred feet long rope ladders. Thankfully, she didn't weigh much - he'd hardly noticed the extra weight.

Spacefrenchy was there in some capacity.

[Just talked to Jello and Cog, they said it was fine - the first post describes the fighting area, but they said there could be "sideline" platforms strapped to the main one for the teammates who aren't fighting.]

"It ought to. Not that we'll all be on it at once," Deitric said, motioning towards one of the smaller platforms that acted as a sidelines of sort for the team. It wasn't as large as the main platform, but it was strapped - and, somewhat suspiciously, glued - to the balloon via rope and cabling. It hovered buoyantly beside the top tier of the tri-layered fighting area, which the tribesman and Sey stood on.

"You can wait over there with "Marius" for Shinji to show up. I'll take the first fight," the warrior said calmly, standing over the edge of the platform to peer down at the ground below where people were steadily gathering, the VTOL helicopter flying away to land nearby and wait for any pick-ups or drop offs for Awaken.

Ko took one last swig from the bottle then threw it down, watching as the other team flew in on their steel chariot. Maybe he should have gotten a helicopter to fly them in all fancy-like, too. No, no need to show off. The fights will do well enough.

"They are waiting for us. Come on."

Grabbing one of the hanging ropes that came from above, Ko began his climb up toward the airborne ship. He was swaying left and right, a movement that would unnerve many people who were climbing what was basically two hundred feet of hanging rope. Getting to the fifty foot mark alone would cause anxiety to grow. But not Ko. His disposition was strong and his calm demeanor not broken in the slightest.

When he arrived at the top, he climbed upon the top platform then rustled his suit's coat. He was currently wearing a white suit with a black dress shirt and a white tie fluttering in front of his chest. It was pretty windy up here considering they were standing on a moving platform. His eyes took a look down over the edge, a height that truly wasn't something to take casually. And then he looked over to the opponents of this round, the first time getting a closer look at the competition.

He stood there not saying a word as the hum of the airship, at least that of the judges' ambient noise, carried through the air, the asian staring across the platform through the clear glasses worn on his face and the open coat of his suit waving in the wind. He knew who the man was that stood before them. Deitric Jocasta, a name that had been going around a lot of the fighting scene for the past two years.

"This is just. . . stupid." A deep, melancholy voice grumbled through clenched teeth, clamped down on a crushed cigarette. Shinji plucked the slender cigarette from his lips, clutching it between index finger and thumb as he released a small puff of wispy white smoke.

"Well, I suppose I should. . . get up there. Somehow. . ." Shinji thought aloud. His voice trailed away hesitantly as the magnitude of such a notion hit him square in the jaw like a hay maker. He stood by for a moment, sucking now and then at what remained of his cigarette until eventually he tossed it to the ground and stomped it out under the heel of his boot. He had managed to get to the Noah Dome, sure, but this. . . this just seemed a bit, ridiculous. Regardless, the one-time monk put on his usual flat, boring/bored expression as his skyward eyes spied the arrival of his teammates. He couldn't help but feel a bit left out, having missed the ride apparently, but just as that thought was welling up within him, he noticed the handy VTOL which had dropped his teammates off was making its way down to him. Therefore, he simply slipped his hands into the pockets of his old, worn jeans and waited patiently, a small grin on his lips.

In time, he would board the lithe helicopter and be suddenly whisked away to the somewhat more dangers flying apparatus. During the short ride up, he lit up a second smoke before taking in the gravity of the situation. The VTOL could only get so close to the nearby platforms, it seemed. With a 'harrumph' and a frowny face, Shinji contemplatively nibbled at his cigarette for a long while. In time, though, he would make up his mind. With one last drag, he flicked the remnants of his cig into the wind as he took a running leap from one airship to the other, landing as gracefully as possible with a definitive thud he descended to one knee momentarily before getting his balance. He was glad that he hadn't missed, and that the platform he had landed upon hadn't shattered instantly.

He looked to his teammates with an almost-whimsical smirk, as wind batted his unruly silver bangs about above his brow.

"Fun." He thought aloud, speaking to no one in particular, as he did his best to get his bearings. He would find himself comfortable enough to resume his usual stance, and hands-in-pockets as he waltzed over to join his comrades. It seemed, as the team captain stepped forward, that Deitric had chosen to take the first fight, and the monk couldn't complain. All that pressure of fighting first, what a way to harsh his presently mellow attitude.

He was content to stand by and be a spectator. For now, at least.

It was then, as he was standing idly by, that he suddenly realized he hadn't actually met any of these other two people who were apparently on his team. He mused at that idea with a small smirk.

"How awkward. . ." He thought to himself.

Deitric nodded to Sey and to the men who stood behind her on the "sideline" platform - Shinji and Marius, the other two members of their team. The tribesman was no longer smiling now. Like a rush of cold water, any personable traits were washed away, replaced with the icy, relaxed calm that stole over the warrior. Like any veteran, Deitric's mentality shifted drastically in times of peace and in times of war or stress.

Discarding his shades, the brave half turned, cocking his head to the side to peer at the members of the other team. His stare leveled onto Ko.

"You're my opponent," he said to the Yakuza nonchalantly, his tone unconcerned. It wasn't a question; it was a statement. It was hard to tell if he were still looking at Ko and his compatriot, but it was a more-than-likely probability. While he spoke, the tribesman undid the straps, buckles, and zippers that kept the tight-fit leather jacket wrapped to the contours of his body, shrugging it off and tying it to a length of rope via a few of the straps. Beneath the jacket lay a black, sleeveless work-shirt, revealing the striated brawn of the fighter's arms, and the long, complex maze of blank ink running down his arm.

"I don't like interference," he continued smoothly without regard for whether or not Ko answered his previous statement, now working on lacing up something onto his arms, which were obscured by the V-shape of his upper body, "I request a special rule for our fight - no Strikers. Our teammates can decide their own rules of engagement. Do you agree to these terms?"

Finally the tribesman turned around, revealing what he had been working with while he spoke. Thick cords of leather were criss-crossed and interlaced tightly together to form gauntlets that went from fist to elbow. The "knit" leather was thickest over the knuckles. Unlike a typical fighting glove, the leather banding was meant to harden the blow - not soften it or spread out the force. Capping off the knuckles were thick, flat studs of steel, designed to concentrate all the horrendous force Deitric could generate into focal points of impact. Metal plates were wove into the "backhand" of the gauntlet all the way up along the forearm to act as partial armor.

The caesti were brutal looking weapons, designed for one thing, and one thing only - to capitalize on Deitric's punching power, and turn his fists from things of flesh and bone into weapons of steel. Every inch of each cestus seemed to be made for causing harm. From the way the end of the glove overlapped his topmost knuckles, they didn't seem to hinder his ability to grasp or grapple, either, although he was conspicuously without his tomahawks - perhaps the warrior felt over-armed had he come with both his trademark weapons and the new caesti.

"Are you ready?"

Bunch of women.

Rakgan conspicuously stomps towards his teammates, heavily straining the floor's questionable durability. Brows furrowed, the Uluuk breathes heavily, barely containing his blazing temper. The lecture he received from the judges prior to this round's matchups had left him wanting to simply walk out the door. The only attribute which kept him going now was his overwhelming desire for victory, which, to his satisfaction, he had earned in his last fight. He would not quit until his goal was achieved, no matter how many skulls he was ordered to break.

Rakgan no use stage. Rakgan no use fist and foot. Ik'ran Ik'ran Ik'ran!

Having to this moment ignored his surroundings, Rakgan finds his left foot completely below the floorboards; in his rage he had managed to punch a hole through the floor while walking. Losing his balance for a moment makes him appear foolish, fueling his burning desire to destroy something. After angrily lifting his foot out of the crevice, he takes a little more care in reaching his teammates, stopping only to ask the general vicinity the question that matters.

"Who fight I?" his voice booms loud enough for all to hear.

"Elex on," Rakgan mused, "Fal'kaq roxijin". Noticing the weakness of the stage, the warrior decides on a target for his power, one which will break easily to his aggression. Looking around, he awaits an answer from somebody.

It matter not what use Rakgan. If win I, win I.

Truthfully, Deitric had chosen Ko because it was a choice between the Yakuza or the woman. It wasn't misogyny that drove his choice but rather a deep imprint from his homeland's culture that left him with a strong distaste for fighting women; it felt fundamentally wrong to him and he avoided doing so when he could. That made Ko the only reasonable choice, although he might have chosen the man anyways. But such possibilities were not for him to say or dwell on.

Satisfied that the two had come to an agreement, the tribesman didn't waste any time; the telltale glow was already beginning to burn out the pale coloring of his eyes. He moved forward to meet Ko's lax approach, but that didn't last long. Instead, after only two steps steps his boot smacked solidly into one of the gallon-sized paint bins as he gave it a hard kick with his right foot, sending the paint can flying through the air towards his opponent to try and beam him squarely in the face while there was still some fifteen feet between them.

The attack had a different effect than intended - he hadn't noticed that the paint can was open and still had a great deal of paint in it. Rather than hurl a heavy paint bin at his opponent, he kicked an open one, sending a wide swath of dark indigo paint splashing through the air like a wayward wave of water while the paint can simply flew off to the side, emptied of its contents and nowhere near hitting its intended target.

Whoops.

Not what he had meant to do, but it was a pleasant surprise - getting a face full of paint was going to hamper anyone's visual acuity, or at the very least, a gallon of paint being slung in the air was bound to get his opponent moving, which was never a bad thing as far as Deitric was ever concerned. His booted foot, set back onto (relatively) solid ground, was covered in a splash of blue paint.

The black-haired brave had intended to move into close combat after hurling the paint can, but now he hesitated and stood his ground, more out of curiosity and bemusement over what he had just done, rather than caution. He had had his fair share of attacks go amiss, but none were quite as surprising as what he'd just accidentally "accomplished."

[1]

Deitric's body language and stance didn't change in the least when Ko charged forward, slinging the paint covered jacket through the air. His brow twitched, the light in his eyes flashing dangerously as he brought his right hand up in front of him, as if he intended to catch the jacket.

There was a loud CRACK as a jagged, burning finger of lightning burst to life from the warrior's upraised hand, cutting through the air to catch the jacket in mid-flight. The bolt of cackling electricity burned a hole right through the jacket and sent it to the deck in a smoking heap, leaving the acrid smells of burnt ozone, cloth, and paint in the air. A few flecks of paint had come off the jacket to splatter across Deitric's front, but the jacket had come nowhere near touching him.

The display of his power was relatively meager in comparison to what he usually did - he'd had barely enough time to gather the appropriate energy, and it left a sting all along his arm - but it was enough to do the job of dealing with the incoming jacket. It was a measured show of contempt; the brave was showing that he could use his powers trivially and still be confident in his chances.

If Ko continued to charge forward, then Deitric would lash pump his right hand forward again in a quick, metal-capped jab to try and check the Asian's movement. If Ko backpedaled in the face of the lightning blast (which, while it wasn't meant to strike the Yakuza, could give him sufficient reason to back up), then the tribesman would rush forward, arms up in a peek-a-boo style guard, aiming himself towards his opponent as if he were going to body-check the smaller man so that he could get as close as possible to Iron Tempest's captain.

[2]

Hearing the snap of a small lightning bolt going off was quite a startle. But that was merely the body responding to a sudden sound that could be something of danger. A natural occurrence. And then there was the fact that Ko continued forward despite it. Predetermined mental actions overloaded his sense of security, justified by knowing what Deitric was capable of. He already knew the man harnessed the power of electricity. Getting struck by a bolt of it was something no one would enjoy.

But he pushed onward. When the coat was struck out of the way by the attack to reveal the vision between the two combatants once again, Ko was at a standstill three feet in front of the Lord of Thunder. His right hand was no longer in his pocket, the arm instead extended forward. Within his hand, he held a silver zippo lighter, the top flipped open with the opening pointed toward Deitric. It did not even take a second for his thumb to move upwards on the little wheel device.

Flick.

A cone of fire rushed against Deitric's body. The flamethrower only had a distance coverage of three feet, but with Ko's arm extended, it decreased the distance enough to where a good sum of the fire would strike against Deitric's body, mainly his torso considering it was not that large to begin with. Ko disappeared yet again as the veil of fire roared, dragging his right arm upwards to further hinder Deitric's sight and to add confusion to the surprise. Skin, shirt, and possibly hair was grounds for being ignited. Since he got some paint splashed onto him, as well, that counted as a flammable chemical that would add more, as they say, fuel to the flame. And then there was the wind...

This flamethrower would only last for five seconds, considering that is how much gas was held in the tiny container, but amongst the attack, Ko would deliver a simultaneous attack along with it. This occurred during the raising of his right arm as the flames went higher. Driving his left fist from his hip, the Triad member twisted his fist to add torque, and punched toward Deitric's right kidney area while slamming his left foot down, causing the platform to take another sway left and right. This would add enough force to not only churn the injun's gut but put a little knockback to the move as well.

Today was a bad day to be on fire.

3

Deitric's charge did not go unnoticed, but Ko was too dedicated to his own actions to do anything about it. He merely tensed up, as he figured the brown-skinned man was going to tank through the flames and try to hit the asian as fast he could. Like a wild animal, he simply charged into danger. Though he had put his own body at risk, it was a price to pay if it meant being able to hurt the other guy. He was simply a wild beast. The fist struck through the flames. He did not know what type of attack Deitric was going to use, but he had at least turned away his face while tensing his body, just in case the man went crashing into him. But instead, he got nailed into the face, causing his glasses to be knocked straight off. The warrior's punch wasn't perfect. Fire and having your sight taken away would lower the accuracy of the attack, but considering it was a move that counted more on using the entire arm rather than a slick strike with the fist, it still struck him like a club. At the same time, his fist drove into Deitric's own body.

The left side of Ko's face warped as the steel knuckles struck against his jaw. Within his mouth, the taste of copper bit at his tastebuds. But if he was expecting the asian to fall to that one attack, he had another thing coming. Two things kept him from hitting the wooden floor. One, his stance was solid. His feet were spaced, a product of the punch he just threw; his rear was lowered and his back was straight. Similar to the horse stance, his foundation was strong. The second reason he did not fall was because he was a lot tougher than that. Deitric took pride in his strength and physical prowess. If he saw a sign of weakness, the injun would run with it for the rest of the fight.

Ko showed no weakness. He stood his ground and did not falter the least bit. As Deitric's attack ended, an aura of his own came into existence around his body. Unless someone was able to see the supernatural, they would not be able to notice the weird energy that spawned around his body for a second before disappearing. He closed up the lighter in his hand for now. With how fast Deitric approached, there was about two seconds and then some left of fuel in the canister. Ko turned his right hand into a fist, used his left arm to push upwards to move away Deitric's arm that pounded into his face, and then sent his right fist on a collision course for Deitric's burning torso, aimed at the gut again. He held a solid base, one good enough to send the injun's velocity into reverse and knock him back.

"Ha!"

(Wood)

4

Deitric was perplexed by the notion that someone who was inherently fifty pounds lower in weight than him was standing up to his attacks. Meanwhile, Ko had no worry. He was hitting the injun and that was all that mattered. He knew the power that the man had behind his attacks, but the asian's moves were no less as damaging as his. He was going to stick to his own devices, and hopefully his martial art senses would keep him standing long enough to start making Deitric wallow. For now, he was considered the one at a disadvantage.

Ko reactively moved his face to the left, along with his upper body swerving, as Deitric threw down upon another punch. This time, with the buff he applied to himself, the attack held a lot more power than the last. Thankfully, by moving in the same direction as the attack, he was able to shave off some of the power like any skilled brawler could do. The asian took a couple of steps back as he was struck, but his right foot struck the pavement, stopping himself quickly. The scars on his face were a sign of his conditioning, though it seemed his opponent felt they were nothing compared to what he could dish out. Maybe so, but Ko was not going to be KO'd after two strikes (excuse the pun).

Both of his fists rose up, letting his left foot settle in front with the foot rose slightly to balance on the heel. Even after two good strikes to the face, Ko's focus had yet to falter. He was not resting or retreating. Instead, he pushed back into the grit of the fight, challenging the hand to hand champion in his own game. Suddenly, both of his fists started to punch swiftly at Deitric's midsection, the same place his previous two attacks had struck. He was not punching in a normal manner of pulling your fist back and forth in a straight line. Instead, they were moving in more of a circular formation while punching and pulling away. This gave Ko a continuous offense while allowing him the ability to deliver a large number of attacks in a short amount of time. It appeared that he was off his guard; and the fury of blows had the look of a little kid trying to fight themselves against a bully.

Of course, this was a man who had the knowledge of Wing Chun backing him up. Each punch held the devastation of a normal blow, each muscle in his body keeping in sync to deliver optimum power. It was not as powerful as his opponent's Mike Tyson punches, but they were still capable of causing his body more harm. If the injun loved pain, then he would give as much as he liked.

5

Deitric wasn't the only one who felt at home in close range. He wasn't backing off anytime soon. After all, men spilled blood on the streets of Hong Kong, too. This time, though, Ko wasn't just going to take anymore direct punches. It would be stupid if he did, as he didn't feel like having to worry about his own injuries before he could cause some to Deitric.

WHACK.

It was like the sound effect you heard from any kung fu flick out there, except more subtle. Whenever Deitric punched, one of Ko's arms would punch outward diagonally in a straight line toward the direction his opponent's punch was coming from and stop the arm short. When he struck with his right fist, Ko answered with his left fist. And vice versa. When he was done parrying the attack, he went back to his punches, breaths of air following to pace his breathing and power output. The defense flowed back into his rapid fist offense easily due to the circular movement. Block, punch, punch, punch. Block, punch, punch--you get the picture. It wasn't exactly perfect because Ko's face was still being struck, but the punches had been reduced to nabs and scrapes. To the asian, he felt like he was in another one of his training sessions, refining his muscle memory in terms of punching and taking a punch.

He knew Deitric's body was resilient. He knew that he wasn't going to take down this beast of a man with normal punches. The audience knew, the people at home knew, and the betters who laid down some big money on this fight knew. Even the injun was curious as to why his opponent was playing in a weighted game like this. Maybe in the end, Ko was just a mindless Triad member who thought his brawler skills would help win an international fighting tournament, already having blood leaking out one side of his lip. Or maybe this hitman in a notorious gang actually had a plan.

6

It was true. Ko's punches were decreasing in power. In fact, the asian was pretty much trading away power for mere speed. There was the philosophy that having just as many punches could equal a certain number of powerful punches. But that was neglectful against Deitric's steel-like body. There was simply no logic behind taking this route. Hitting Deitric this many times to even build up enough damage to make him fall was going to take way too long for the time limit on this fight. And Deitric could just keep on pushing and maybe even outlast Ko in a direct brawl. But the injun was getting bored. It seemed he wanted to change up the pace. So he went for a grab at the asian's neck in a very slick way.

And Ko retaliated. his left arm overhooking Deitric's right arm. His hand grabbed the underside of the man's bicep, then twisted to the left. Not only did this stop the choke hold (it did get contact), but it relieved the arm of most of its strength for the time being, that is until his opponent corrected the situation. It was probably startling how he was able to stop a move like that without showing any telegraphs. The secret was, Deitric actually telegraphed his move. Just not in a way he understood. But Ko did.

It was called Chi Sao. In Wing Chun, this meant sticky hands. It was a training mechanism that two partners did with one another to develop sensitivity upon contact with the arms. While rotating their arms and keeping them in contact in a constant circle, one person would randomly throw out a punch to try to hit the other. The second partner's job was to try to block this punch and redirect it. Over time, this developed muscle memory and allowed the practitioners to defend faster and more effectively without have to stand there and try to figure out what their opponent was doing. When Deitric was throwing his punches, Ko did not have to depend on reflexes or intuition to figure out what Deitric was going to do next. His arms were doing the job subconsciously, betrayed by his own body. When he tried to move his arm closer for the grab, Ko was able to tell due to the prolonged contact with his arm (from the block), and reacted appropriately.

After the countergrab, Ko's right fist struck fast at Deitric's throat. It was time to bring what he was trying to do to Deitric into the light.

7

[Note to judges: Vintrict and I discussed the particulars of Ko's defense, or rather, the timing of it - basically, Ko's breaking of the choke is occurring after, rather than prior to or during the grab, to avoid confusion with timing. Vin may or may not edit his post, we settled the issue OOC and I said I'd put a tag in this post just to explain any potential confusion. We aren't at odds on the timing, we just sorted it out OOC and he's busy so an edit may/may not happen.]

Deitric wasn't too surprised his opponent managed to countermand the choke so quickly - people almost always responded strongly to being choked. It was hard to maintain deliberate action and the train of thought behind it when the brain was being deprived of oxygen.

The tribesman wasn't actually concerned with successfully choking his opponent - only that Ko would respond to it; Deitric hadn't wanted to get caught into a cycle that might make him relax or drop his guard even a little bit, and he wanted to be the one to disrupt the exchange.

Ko managed to break the choke but he was no where near from being out of hot water just yet. The man's right hand knuckled up against Deitric's chin with a dull smack, splitting the tribesman's lip and turning his head slightly aside with the blow. Deitric kept his chin tucked when he fought in close quarters; it was one of the basic tenets taught to stand up fighters and he had never violated it. It was that same fundamental aspect that explained why he never tried to punch Ko in the throat instead of the face in their exchange - it was hard to tell in the flurry of battle, but years of experience told him that other trained warriors usually tucked their chin just like he had been taught to.

Deitric's body seemed to turn slightly to the left with the blow, and with it came the fist of his free hand, rocketing forward to hammer Ko squarely in the ribs. While twisting his body might have helped increased his striking range, he was fortunate in that Ko had never stepped back from when he struck Deitric's torso - his own was still in striking range, even as he gave the tribesman a solid jab square in the mouth.

Abilities Wrote:

Thunderhammer - Aptly named for the sort of power delivered by the strike, this is one of Deitric's recently used techniques, and possibly one of the most self-destructive. Pooling whatever amount of energy he wishes to use into one arm, he releases it all at close range in a quick, straight, hammering motion.

The energy released is extremely concentrated, and the result is usually spectacular for the opponent, to say the least. The more energy, the more potent the blast, but the damage it does on Deitric as "backlash" quickly builds up, and can result in broken knuckles, fingers, or even a broken arm. Used up close almost exclusively.

Deitric had been letting his charge build since his first punch, and now he was pouring it all into his left arm - suddenly, the iron and shod fist was more than metaphorically a hammer. It was like a sledgehammer, set to smash into Ko's ribs with inhuman power. Ko was undoubtedly a tough opponent, but the man had to break sometime, and if there was no other time, then it would be now. There would be no electrical discharge - it was raw physical power, like a train full of steel and steam ready to plow through anything that was put in its way. Accuracy wasn't an issue - even if he were blind, Deitric had weathered enough strikes to know where to strike.

Ko had left himself open by trying to strike the black-haired brave in the throat - not because the tribesman was so fast that he could react to the punch as soon as Ko swung, or because he had perfectly anticipated his erstwhile opponent. He had certainly provoked a reaction from the Yakuza with the intent of using it, but he could never know exactly what the reaction would be. It was because Deitric reacted instinctively to pain as many fighters did. Men and women who were fighting fit often lashed out like animals when attacked, their "fight or flight" instinct replaced solely with "fight."

The "fight" instinct was switched on, and pain set it on edge like a wire pulled taut. It was like blinking in the face of a bright light - Deitric was aware he was doing it, but it was born of no conscious thought. There were esoteric names for it, philosophies built around it, but to the tribesman it was only ever instinct. Natural as nature itself. You fought long enough, you responded to danger or pain by trying to fight whatever hurt you.

Ko was fast - but they were still swinging point blank range, and his only means of blocking was currently mashing Deitric's bottom lip knuckle-deep into the brave's teeth with bloody results, and they had both adopted solid stances with the intent of not giving any ground to each other. The Asian might not have wanted to trade blows tit for tat, but it was Deitric's favorite game. Playing it with the tribesman was a gamble.

Ko had set his money on the table and made the gamble, and now he wanted to leave the table. But he couldn't get leave the game until he paid his dues.

[7]

When the Uluuk gave no immediate response to the question, Isabella stepped forward.

“By my companion’s hesitance, I presume that I will,” she replied, her lips twisting into a smile that mirrored the man’s own.

“If there are any stipulations you wish to implement, I suggest we get that out of the way now. I myself have none,” Isabella’s eyes shifted across the two unoccupied platforms. "You may also choose the location for our fight.”

[Sorry for the delayed response. Figured I would give my other partner a chance to jump at the challenge while I did school work.]

Ko let his arms settle down both of his sides. He rolled his shoulders, mainly his right arm to test the pain and tension generated through his body. His face ached from those constant blows and his right side throbbed. His right hand rose up and pressed against his chin, following with his head moving left and right to cause a few sounds of joints cracking to move through his neck. After performing these brief exercises, Ko cleared his throat, followed by pointing his right finger toward Deitric.

"Are you thirsty," he asked.

Fighting like they did was quite an exhausting moment of punching, and would easily call for a drink of water. Especially for Deitric. With all the adrenaline settling down, this was the time that the injun's body started to notice a few things. His throat was drier, his lips were crusting, the temperature in his body was rising, and he wasn't sweating at all. It was like one giant rush of a fever washing over him. The sensation was probably similar to what Deitric felt when he overloaded himself with his electrical powers. It was also how one felt when they had been exercising for too long in the gym. The injun should know the feeling well.

It was dehydration. Ko had cursed him with this simple ailment. First thing he did was inflict Deitric's body with fire, so that he could damage the skin and cause burns that would prevent the humanoid from sweating, along with a damage over time weakening to his body. It was also to burn away any clothing he had on, so that Ko was free to hit the man at his exposed flesh.

Which comes to the second reason Deitric would feel these abrupt hot flashes: every blow that Ko landed sapped away a portion of moisture from his body. This ability was given to him by his own spiritual ability known as the Way of Wood. That was exactly why he threw away power for mere speed. The more punches he landed, the more moisture he removed, as one punch was not enough to do anything to anyone. Add that to his burns, and you had yourself a way of dehydrating a person's body while destroying their muscles. He aimed for the stomach and kidney areas for a reason: knock out the middle anatomy of a human being and their foundation goes crumpling to the ground. Maybe Deitric would suddenly feel that he couldn't move from his spot as easily as before, due to the sudden lost of energy that his body once had. Aside from that, other symptoms that would be appearing would include nausea, dizziness, and lost of concentration.

He could probably already be feeling weariness overcoming him bit by bit, as the exhaustion climbed itself over the adrenaline Deitric was just feeling a few seconds ago. Oh, but it didn't end there. There was one more reason this was the best strategy to use against a man like his opponent: because his greatest strength was his greatest weakness. Seldom did anyone take advantage of the man hurting himself with his own powers, mainly because he was able to take down his enemies before they could take him down instead. His battle style was fierce, but it had its disadvantages. And using electrical powers were probably just as good at evaporating the water from Deitric's body as fire itself. He had only used a few electrical abilities so far, but what Ko did to him was going to limit him greatly unless he wanted to push himself to unconsciousness. Even a body like that had its boundaries.

That's right: if Deitric tried to even use his best moves, especially his famous Maelstrom Spiral, that was a one way trip to dreamland.

It was the age old philosophy: if you cannot harm a person through external means, attack through internal methods instead. Hurt their organs, cut their muscles, churn their insides. Attack what they cannot ever condition. And he didn't have to do it through those passive martial art styles such as Tai Chi or Ba Gua, either. Even with an iron fist, you could destroy a person from the inside.

9

Isabella smirked, shaking her head slightly in concert with a soft laugh.

“I am afraid not,” she replied calmly. “However, if you are hesitant about fighting me, I will not judge you for conceding yourself.”

There was a hint of amusement in her smooth voice, and the smile displayed across her lips suggested that she was likely joking about the latter part of what she just said.

Without much thought, Isabella reached for the clasp binding her cloak around her and unhooked it. However, instead of allowing the heavy article of clothing to slip off, she held onto the fastening for the time being.

“Before we begin, may I have your name?” Isabella’s voice raised some as she spoke, and in that very instant the wind coursing across the battle area forced the cowl of her cloak back.

Pallid scars marred Isabella’s otherwise lightly tanned flesh and plain feminine features. A head of blonde hair, tightly bound in a bun at the base of her skull, was revealed, and a sliver of what looked like a black marking of some kind peeked out from behind her right ear.

[I suppose so. I thought I read something that all three battles would be going on at the same time. Although my mind could have just made that up after reading that there were three separate platforms in this particular arena. I haven't looked at any of the others, so I don't know if its a common trend throughout all of them or not. ^^]

NAVE AEREA DE JUEZ

AY- AY- AY! ES MUY MALO

C. Fox Wrote:

NAVE AEREA DE JUEZ

AY- AY- AY! ES MUY MALO

Google Translate:

AIR CRAFT OF JUSTICE

AY-AY-AY! VERY BAD

((What))

"Go ahead, take the first move if you'd like." Shinji answered with a shrug. He was entirely unarmored, it seemed, with the possible exception of the studded leather jacket he wore upon his broad shoulders, a fashion statement clearly taken from one Deitric Jocasta. Old, white-washed and torn jeans accompanied his outfit, as well as the similarly old, worn combat boots upon his feet. Shinji was a big kid, also in the likeness of his team captain he was a couple inches over six feet and though his body was clearly well-muscled and physically powerful, his frame was lean and slender. What muscle he did possess was of a wiry, sinuous quality, not limiting his movement with overly-unnecessary bulk. To assume he was a simple, slow-paced brawler would be a grave mistake. He paused, then, for a moment, to crack his wrapped knuckles, creating a resounding pop. Perhaps for dramatic effect, before he spoke up again.

"But, just 'cause 'yer a girl doesn't mean I won't try and break you in two. Just 'cause I haven't fought a girl before doesn't mean you're special."

Shinji was usually rather care-free and nonchalant about combat, but now his hazel-brown eyes leveled into a serious gaze. He wanted to make it clear that there would be absolutely no easy ride for her, on the basis of her gender, or anything else. Perhaps others fought with some sort of gentlemanly code of honor, and perhaps Shinji lacked that, but more likely it was out of respect for her abilities that he uttered the following phrase:

"You're not getting off easy just 'cause 'yer a girl." He announced, crystallizing his aforementioned belief. Just because he hadn't fought a girl before didn't mean he was scared to break her nose or snap her arm. On the contrary, if she was an entrant in this tournament she had better expect it, Shinji thought to himself.

He saw no reason to 'go easy on her'. As it where.

Comparative to his opponent, Shinji was entirely unarmed. Or so it seemed. Though it was unlikely that he had concealed weapons somewhere on his person it wasn't as if the lack of a weapon was slowing him down or putting him at a notable disadvantage. Rather, he slipped into a lazy boxing stance, drawing his left fist up it would rest about jaw-level while his leading right arm remained low, bent at the elbow a little above his waistline. Hopping onto the balls of his feat he shifted his momentum forward, then back, then forward once more, in subtle bounces.

"C'mon then, let's get this over with." He spoke in a more up-beat tone of voice as he made a beckoning motion with his leading right hand before returning it to it's previous position as if his hand were saying, 'come get some'.

His lips curled into his trademark grin for a moment, as his gaze mellowed into a calm, collected almost business-like expression. He was prepared.

"That's a big sword. . ." Shinji pondered, already doing a bit of mental mathematics. The range of this fight would most likely be somewhat different than he was used to, than his previous fights. As far as he could remember, at least during his time on Gaia, he had fought in predominantly close-quarters affairs, but that style would become somewhat more complex now that his opponent had such a reach advantage. These thoughts knocked around in his head for a while longer, before he came to a consensus.

Calm, brown eyes leveled off straight ahead, as Shinji's gaze settled upon his opponent's center body mass, within his peripheral vision he had a good view of her entire body, including the movement of her arms and legs. As she drew her weapon, the former-monk slipped out of his lazy boxing stance into a more orthodox Chinese one. His leading right palm would extend outward while his left hand would remain open, though retracted to waist-level. The right foot would take the lead, as his left shifted back, creating a sturdy base. This was Xingyiquan.

"Deep breath. . ." He thought to himself. His opponent seemed content to wait, regardless of the fact that she had desired the first move. For now, Shinji was content to remain where he was as well. He closed his eyes as he drew one deep breath, exhaling it shortly after. The cool breeze kept his silver bangs dancing about his brow while, just for a moment, he did nothing. Or, at least, so it seemed. However it appeared externally, internally Shinji had begun as well. He maintained his rigid-seeming stance, while an upwelling of sorts occured.

Chakra, a compound metaphysical force, is composed of spiritual energy, or chi, which Shinji was now garnering from within. Chi itself would have been molded and remolded over years of study, practice and meditation, it was strengthened by academic study, something Shinji regularly found time for, perhaps even more-so than his physical training regimen. In regards to physical training, internal physical energies garnered from the strength and stamina of his body would simultaneously ebb forth from within. The compound force of chakra would result instantaneously, though in meager reserve for the moment. Chi, that spiritual energy from within, would be combined with the physical energy of the body to create chakra which now expounded forth from an expansive chakra circulatory system within the former-monk.

Outwardly, without the aid of some sort of magical, mystical eyesight, it would seem Shinji were doing nothing more than a simple breathing exercise. His eyes would open, and the process of gathering or "charging" his chakra had begun. If she wanted the first attack, it was there for her to take. If now, Shinji was content for the moment to gather his strength, it was a welcome moment of peace in what he had presumed would be the hectic start to a hectic fight.

"This is nice. . ." He thought aloud, his voice as serene and calm as one would expect the voice of Buddha to be.

Post Count: 1

Charge: 1

( Yup, fair enough :3 I'm labeling my charges like that, right up there. Also, I concur. Should be fun :3 )

Gale glided through the air uninterrupted, a faint, almost crystalline hum forming in its wake. By now, Isabella had fallen into a steady rhythm, rotating the large weapon at a comfortable speed as not to overexert the muscles in her right arm too early into the fight. Even now, the adolescent warrior could feel the strain the continuous motion was putting on her wrist – although she was more than capable of handling a little discomfort.

Unlike the sword’s previous owner (Isabella’s own father), the former assassin did not yet possess the necessary skills to draw on Gale’s extensive capabilities over the Element of Air on a whim. In her nevertheless trained hands, the Sky Blade required some coaxing.

She could feel the greatsword’s power swelling more now than an instant ago, and Isabella knew that in a short span of time Gale would be ready to deliver exactly what its wielder wanted.

A soundless breath of air slipped out from between the adolescent’s lips. Her eyes remained on her opponent, watching him as he stood there and breathed. The former assassin could make a thousand different guesses (a slight exaggeration, but nonetheless) as to what Shinji was doing.

For now, Isabella focused on the task of bringing her sword’s power to bear. Shinji had offered her the first move. However, in her mind, she had already taken it by beginning Gale’s constant flourish only a scant few seconds ago.

Isabella moved only slightly, and only to reaffirm her balance. Otherwise, nothing about her previously established posture changed…

Post Count: 2

Charges: 2

[[I like your method better, so I am “adopting” it (Coughstealingitcouhg). Anyways, this is nice, finally feeling like I’m starting to knock some of this rust off. ^^!]]

London bridge came falling down.

Deitric moved, causing the platform area around his position to collapse just like intended. But his opponent saw his intentions, and instead decided to take the leap by himself. Interestingly, he not only took the fall himself, but he practically leapt off the side to fall even further to the point that he only had the ropes to grab a hold of. Ko watched as he disappeared beyond the second platform, then pursued, leaping from the top level to the second one. Wood pounded the surface as more of the top level broke apart piece by piece, each board pulling down the next one it was connected to. All Deitric heard above was just more collateral destruction.

Ko could tell that his opponent had grabbed onto the ropes to save himself. It was not only the most common sense thing to do, but he saw the wild jerks the ropes made, as they rose upwards toward the balloon above. So, it looked like his injun friend wanted to take this fight to a different venue. Or rather, he wanted to test the asian's capabilities against a death-defying fight in the sky. There was no trampolines or soft landing waiting for them below. Or at least, he did not see any. No netting, no nothing. So what did the triad think about that?

Well, he unbuttoned his cuffs, rolled up his sleeves, then jumped off, too, like the crazy guy he was. His right hand grabbed a rope on the way down; and like an acrobatic swashbuckler, he swung in a large arc downward, his white tie and fine black hair fluttering in the wind, holding onto the rope with just one hand out of sheer skill. It seemed like all of this was natural for a down-to-earth guy like Ko. Who would expect someone who grew up in the city to use a rope with such bravery and lack of fear. He was on his way toward Deitric from behind, since his back was facing the sky. It looked like he was about to ram right into him at the speed he was going.

Ko extended both of his feet forward, going for an aerial dropkick, while releasing the rope just when he arrived at the platform. He let momentum carry him the rest of the way. He wanted to see just how much he managed to injure his opponent. He wanted to push him even further than before and pursue that weakness, as if a shark smelling spilled blood in the waters. He was a member of Iron Tempest. And their goal was to claim victory by any means possible. Even if it meant destroying peoples' bodies with cars and fire.

11

( Yup, not a problem :3 )

It seemed his opponent didn't want to make the first move after all, something Shinji was on the fence about. However it looked, or rather, however he looked, he wasn't a simple brawler, there was actually a functioning mind behind the facade of lazy, carelessness. And, it was quite a high-functioning one, at that. Here and now, he recognized the advantage a giant sword could create, and he also recognized that charging in headlong would be hazardous. It seemed his opponent was quite adept at quickly utilizing that large sword, and Shinji's eyes shifted their focus from the center of her body toward the sword itself, tracing it's movements as he retained his seemingly-rigid stance, that of Xingyiquan.

It was silent, then, for awhile. Drama building to a climax, it suddenly seemed as if the two were locked in some sort of Clint Eastwood style shootout.

"Well, looks like we got ourselves some sort'a Mexican Standoff. . ." Shinji thought aloud with a slight grin.

"And I don't plan on running into that big sword of yours. . ." He added, though in the form of a mental notation.

So, he would continue the process of gathering his chakra. At least for the moment. He would have enough, soon enough and until then so long as his opponent didn't mind he would continue to accrue it. Energy would fluctuate within, traversing the multitudinous coiled lengths of the chakra circulatory system, creating a cyclical rotation of energy within. For the moment, this rotation was calm, serene like Shinji's outward expression. But, his intent was to harness the energy he was subtly gathering to knock his opponent out of the fight.

And so. He waited.

xP

Post Count: 2

Charge: 2

Deitric didn't look particularly worried about his opponent. In truth, Ko had done very little in comparison to past opponents, and what little he had done was not impressive. Less so because he just kept feeding the tribesman time to recover, acclimate, and build up his power. Whatever stratagems the Triad had used, or planned on using, were being thrown to the wayside because he wasn't keeping enough pressure on the tribesman to bother him.

The warrior's vision shifted back to the visible-light spectrum as he watched Ko approach, his left thumb hooked into one of the belt loops of his pants. Almost casually, he moved his right foot as if he were going to step forward and meet his opponent, who was now running dead on towards Deitric.

CRICK

Deitric's single step came down on one of the planks with surprising force. The eight foot length of wood dislodged itself from where a nail had kept it in place, and the opposite end rose up with surprising speed as the end near the brave went down, rising right in Ko's path. If the Asian man didn't check his speed, move to one side or the other, or otherwise get out of the way, the plank's tip would catch him square in the stomach.

The attack was - at best - a distraction, he didn't expect it to actually hit the other man. But he wasn't looking to harm Ko just yet; it appeared as if he were trying to keep the man at bay, perhaps to loose one of his infamous bolts of lightning. But appearances could be deceiving - what the tribesman had planned, or what he intended to do was still not readily apparent.

[12]

KILLING IN THE NAME OF

Up and over came Ko - if it was a surprise to anyone, it wasn't to his dark-skinned opponent. The plank was an obstacle, meant to make the Triad move. Deitric had, in his mind, given the man four options; to move back, left, right, or over. Ko, being an aggressive fighter, chose the last option; the one that had the most risk and most potential gain attached to it. He didn't blame his opponent for the choice. It was the one he would have made, albeit he would have made it differently.

Ko soared through the air like a human spear, but the warrior wasn't going to give any ground - his hands were up, ready to repel his opponent as the Asian's fist led the way towards his face. He looked almost as if he were going to catch the Asian right out of the air - something not at all out of the realm of possibility for someone of his strength. Deitric bobbed to his left, the fist narrowly missing his face as he moved just outside of it.

For a small, singular moment in time, the two men were within arm's reach--

KRACKA

--a flash of light and a wave of heat warping the air--

BOOM

And then they weren't. The tribesman had waited until Ko was practically on top of him - within punching range - to cast his attack. The lightning bolt hadn't manifested with his hands, as most people generally liked to think it would when they faced Deitric, but instead had seemed to shoot forth from the area directly in front of his face, aiming to catch his opponent across the upper half of his face - the forehead and the eyes, rather than directly in the center. If viewed in slow motion, the lightning would have had a slight arc to as it moved, going right over the shoulder of Ko's outstretched arm on its way to the man's face.

There had been - at best - two or three feet between the two men's faces. Ko was quick, both of wit and body, that much was certain. But Deitric doubted there was a man alive who could block or dodge his lightning bolt at that range; it might not have been as fast as Mother Nature's brand of lightning, but it was still much fast. Faster than a car, and faster than a man, that much was for sure. Not even the supernaturally fast Kindred he fought in the finals of the GTB IV was fast enough to do anything about it, and that was an opponent who had possessed freakishly unnatural speed.

Unfortunately for the Triad, he lacked any sort of grounding, and he was struck in the face; if the charge touched flesh, then there was nothing stopping the severe, debilitating electrocution that was to come. If Ko wore armor - in truth, Deitric didn't know - it wouldn't do much unless it covered his face; like rubber, non-conductive protective material only worked at the site of transference. Even if Ko had a means of dissipating the electricity, it wasn't going to stop the heat or force behind it.

And, in truth, those were worse than the electrical aspects. Deitric's lightning bolt wasn't fatal, meaning that the shock could be exceedingly painful, but it might not cause a great deal of neurological damage. The heat of the energy transference was the real threat; it could blister and char skin far easier than the Asian's clever little lighter, and the force of the transference that could bodily bowl someone over. Ko was going to be lucky to be in any sort of fighting condition - the flash of light had probably temporarily blinded both of them, but the burns and electrocution could have permanently put the Triad's eyes out of commission, not to mention the effects on the brain that came with being electrocuted and essentially smashed into the face with no ground to stand on and absorb the shock. The force wasn't enough to throw Ko away, but it was enough to break a nose or two, which could spell trouble when he had already taken two severe blows to the skull.

Even if Ko could anticipate the attack from watching videos of his opponent's previous fights, he couldn't have guessed when it would come: Deitric's transformation upon rebirth had left him fundamentally different than many Gaians. He had no energy signature to read; no chakra, no chi. An age old monk could turn their esoteric gaze on the brave and see nothing more than a man no matter how much wisdom he possessed.

Both men were most likely momentarily blind, but Deitric was used to the sensation - it didn't stop him from continuing moving to his left, where he knew there were relatively few holes of any real size; the bonus of defensive posturing was knowing your terrain. His arms were upraised out of natural caution, but the chances of Ko retaliating physically immediately after being blinded and struck by lightning were slim to none - for one, neither man knew where the other was, exactly, and wouldn't until they regained their vision.

For the time being, the two men would be forced to wait - fighting without sight wasn't exactly easy, or effective.

[13]

AzirSeroz Wrote:

Bunch of women.

Rakgan conspicuously stomps towards his teammates, heavily straining the floor's questionable durability. Brows furrowed, the Uluuk breathes heavily, barely containing his blazing temper. The lecture he received from the judges prior to this round's matchups had left him wanting to simply walk out the door. The only attribute which kept him going now was his overwhelming desire for victory, which, to his satisfaction, he had earned in his last fight. He would not quit until his goal was achieved, no matter how many skulls he was ordered to break.

Rakgan no use stage. Rakgan no use fist and foot. Ik'ran Ik'ran Ik'ran!

Having to this moment ignored his surroundings, Rakgan finds his left foot completely below the floorboards; in his rage he had managed to punch a hole through the floor while walking. Losing his balance for a moment makes him appear foolish, fueling his burning desire to destroy something. After angrily lifting his foot out of the crevice, he takes a little more care in reaching his teammates, stopping only to ask the general vicinity the question that matters.

"Who fight I?" his voice booms loud enough for all to hear.

"Elex on," Rakgan mused, "Fal'kaq roxijin". Noticing the weakness of the stage, the warrior decides on a target for his power, one which will break easily to his aggression. Looking around, he awaits an answer from somebody.

It matter not what use Rakgan. If win I, win I.

"Me."

Either no one on the team knew, or no one on the team cared; but Marius had actually been substituted well before the tournament began. Not that it made any real difference. Besides skin color, knowledge, and background there wasn't a whole lot of difference between the man who had actually taken up the self-imposed gap. Somewhere on Gaia a Franco Aristocrat was without his armor, weapons, and other belongings. Spooky might return them after this was all over; might. The money this tournament offered was more important than whatever trinkets and baubles Marius possessed. That said, there was easier ways for a paramilitary operator of his caliber to make money but they were not as rare as a tournament. Nor as fun.

The obviously no black man stepped forward across the shambled floorboards. He had seen the stupid display of power and ferocity his new opponent seethed with: this didn't unhinge him in the slightest. It might have actually been a little mean spirited of Spooky to choose this particular foe due to the encumbrance the thing's own body seemed to pose. On this planet there were few more annoying, more enraging, or could take to the edict of Troll-fu better than Spooky. He lived to piss people off with his dry sarcasm and utter lack of compassion. There had been more than a few cases of purposeful friendly fire made upon him in the past year here. Although that had always been an ace up his sleeve; you could kill Spooky but that didn't mean he'd stay dead. Sure, he'd be out of the tournament if he died but resuscitation was a long, boring, painful process and so he wouldn't just spring back to life all of a sudden. Judging by this thing, this Uluuk, Spooky wouldn't be dieing any time soon.

The middle-age looking human reached up and grabbed onto the posh finery that made up the misbegotten garbs, only to tear them apart down the center. Spooky shook off the shreds and flexed, the suit of synthetic muscle that covered his body flexed in unison. He was thicker now, and slightly taller and also far stronger and faster. A mercurial head piece that resembled a fencer's slid into place from his back and protected his already disfigured features. Obviously the pretty boy who owned this suit valued his looks. Spooky...? Not so much. Within the confines, a HUD popped up and an on board array scanned the surroundings; taking in all the new information. It did this passively but still alerted Spooky that this was being done. He didn't understand a ******' word of it because it was all in ****** French, but that didn't stop the computers from doing it.

"Well... come on then."

Spooky was going to make this a fight of fists, feet, and teeth.

[OOC: If you honestly need a good idea of what Spooky looks like right now, just imagine the suits from Crysis but without the faggy goggle mask.]

Spooky slowly turned his head away from the beast that he had been preparing to fight once another man began to speak. What nonsense was this? Oh, so the big guy wasn't going to be fighting him after all? What a waste. It would have been fun riding his gargantuan body down to the earth below in a tumbling duet of death. Phaw. His emotions were a tornado once he quickly began to realize that there in all likelihood wouldn't be a person trying to tear him limb from limb.

Wait...

Now he began to speaking, some inane prattle that Spooky was mute too. There was just buzzing in his ears behind this helmet and the shield of his most bizarre psyche. It was better this way. Euphoria began to envelope and and pour through every layer of muscle in his body. He once again found himself in a state of stabilization. His eyes had honed in on the thing once it reached for a cigarette; suddenly it dawned upon him that he had forgotten his smokes. And then he began to draw from the cancerous habit that many indulged in. Though... there had been no match, or lighter. Spooky smiled.

An interrogation was it? He was no clucking hen but this thing speaking in garbled tongues and mute whines did. Already he was annoyed, and the seed of annoyance had been planted. With proper watering it would grow into a Tree of Rage from which there would be suitable bounty for malicious intent. The right hand of his suit tightened and balled as his patience wained but finally the noise had stopped. His mouth formed a reply that his brain had no part in.

"My name is Matthew 16:28. But I am apparently also..."

His fist rose upward to display the FIGHTER that had been attached to the wrist.

"Marius."

The threat attached to the preceding sentence would not win his opponent any points. Each jab made at an annoyed Spooky only resulted in further punishment. With this suit it would not be a joy to be on the receiving end of the psycho's messianic wrath. He knew there was fire somewhere, or at the very least heat at the disposal of his opponent. Also judging by his cocky speech, rampant ego, and physical features; Spooky knew this man was not human. Good. He didn't have to go easy on him. Though the eyes were a dead ringer for one of two things, hell it might have been both: faggy vampire or faggy demon. Lovely.

Isabella silently mulled over the implications of Shinji’s ‘inactivity’. She could make any number of accusations as to just what her opponent was doing. However, more so than what that might be, the adolescent warrior was greatly intrigued by the fact that he had not made an attempt to attack her. Although given that she saw no obvious weapons secured to Shinji’s person, she could draw the likely conclusion that he simply did not want to step within reach of her weapon. That, or he had yet to settle on the proper course to do so.

In either case, he had given her more than enough time to gather all of the power she could within Gale.

A fraction of a second after Shinji spoke, Isabella took a swift step forward, drawing her right leg to the forefront and sending a slight vibration through the scaffolding the both of them were standing on. The adolescent’s upper body retained its position, causing her muscles to strain and tighten in response. She held this stance for all of a second as she mentally prepared herself for what was about to happen.

Isabella swung Gale, a grunt of effort escaping her and emphasizing the action. The Sky Blade moved through the air with astonishing speed as the former assassin carried it through a precise horizontal swing. Isabella’s threat range was hardly surprising to anyone capable of doing the math. Gale’s blade alone extended just three inches shy of four feet. This, in correspondence with the length of the adolescent’s own arm, created a rough six-and-a-half, to seven feet (depending on the positioning of her upper body) area in front of her, which she alone threatened. For the time being, however, this mattered little in the way of dealing a physical blow to her opponent, and more as to where specifically the release of Gale’s power would begin, and thus were it would end.

In the wake of the Sky Blade’s passing, the overabundance of boards shuddered, graced by the first tendrils of unseen power an instant before the full release of the weapon’s gathered energy occurred. The subtle tremors turned into violent quaking, disrupting the haphazard craftsmanship to such a degree that a number of the wooden beams came loose, a couple of which taking flight as they were caught up in the surging gust of wind that manifested between the two combatants, and began a swift charge towards Shinji’s side of the arena.

No one could say that the emergence of the moving wall of enchanted air came without warning. All the while that Gale was harnessing the necessary power to do so, it had hummed, and the shaking planks of wood gave some forewarning as well – although it was experience fighting against the weapon that often allowed a person to notice these signs. Nevertheless, the release of that built up energy was a rough three to four feet from where Shinji stood. In the process of readying herself, Isabella had taken a shoulders width step forward, followed by a second stride a moment before she had swung the Sky Blade. This put her an approximate ten feet away from the breathing man, as opposed to the previous twelve they had started with.

Arguably, the short distance between where the gust of air began and where Shinji was standing was hardly enough to give any ‘average’ person time to react to something as naturally invisible as wind. However, Isabella had seen it done time and again, and she knew it would be foolish to assume that it could not happen this time as well. This gale moved with enough speed and power to lift a horse off of its feet and send it sprawling. It rapidly expanded ten feet in either direction, consequently covering the entire width of the scaffolding, while also rising ten feet towards the sky. Likewise, the windstorm would not dissipate until it traveled a full twenty feet (vanishing close to twelve feet beyond the edge of the platform), gradually losing some of its strength along the way.

Isabella took a few, carefully placed steps forward in the wake of her sword’s release, making sure to avoid spots where the boards were knocked loose, or where the contents of partially filled paint cans had spilled. The thought to charge in after Gale’s windstorm flickered through the former assassin’s mind before the voice of reason brushed it aside. There were too many variables, too many unpredictable ways which her opponent could respond to the immediate threat – and as certain as Isabella was that she could handle whatever it was he managed to do, she was not foolish enough to think that she was one hundred percent prepared. She had never fought Shinji before. His capabilities were as much a mystery to the adolescent as she was certain hers were to him.

Thus, the former assassin opted to remain just shy of seven feet from Shinji. She situated herself in such a way that her greatsword was held at a diagonal, while being gripped by both hands, with her right placed closer to the cross-guard than her left. Gale’s pommel rested just beneath Isabella’s left hip, its blade extending somewhat behind her, with its tip hovering a scant few inches above the platform. The adolescent’s right shoulder lined up almost perfectly with her leading foot (her left). In turn, her upper body possessed an adequate twist to support the positioning of her arms, as well as a distinct forward lean to help her keep balanced.

Needless to say, Isabella was keen on keeping Shinji within sight, maintaining eye contract (more or less) with the man throughout everything as it happened.

[[Just to clarify, all of my measurements (mostly in the latter part of my post) are based on the presumption that each of our respective characters began this fight four feet away from the arena’s edge. This would put them twelve feet apart from one another (as you mentioned in a post prior to our fight beginning). If this isn’t alright with you, I can go ahead and adjust my measurements according to what you picture for the placement of our characters. Also, I am sorry for the lengthy delay… I had to figure some details out that I apparently overlooked while writing up Gale.]]

Post Count: 3

Charges: Expended

Wherever Deitric went, Ko's right hand followed. His right eye was out of commission, but his left eye still worked. It would be stupid to let Deitric get out of the minor vision range he already had. So there was hardly a surprise when the hammer was hurled at him. He had half a mind to grab the thing out of the air to show how futile that was, but conditions did not make catching it favorable. A sway to left helped, instead.

As the thing went flinging off to who knows where across the platform, Ko's right foot slipped under something itself. As if karma was playing just as much of a role in this fight as themselves, he pushed upwards his foot to kick something at Deitric. It was the plank the man had used prior to force Ko to leap at him. Since it was left on the ground out of place, it served as a nice little weapon to use. The wood swung upwards, going for a one way trip toward the injun's face. Ideally, that is. His opponent was protecting his head enough so it wasn't going to do any more than act as a detriment.

Ko pushed in behind the plank, weaving to the left. His fists were raised, too. His sole left eye bore calm anger toward Deitric as he moved in. And from Deitric's right (still in front of him), he threw forward a right straight aimed for the injun's face. But as it flew, colors of red, orange, and yellow flickered to life as fire rushed over his fist, using one charge of the accumulated heat to enchant his punch with flames.

He wasn't out of the frying pan just yet.

Quote: 1 Post Worth of Heat - Fire Punch or Kick: He can charge one physical attack with a temporary burst of flames. Can be used with weapons, too.

Charges: 1

15

One person gets one time in their life where they are presented a choice. This choice represents the product of all of one's experiences and what feelings lie in their heart. Every thing they have done in their lives have led up to that one point, where their decision defines truthfully who they are. Stories begin or end based on this life-changing decision. You either walk away as a coward...or you rise up as a legend. Champions are not born. Ko did not believe that. They are made. Boasting your words of victory to a crowd meant nothing. It was through effort and action where the real words lied; where truth shone upon your very being and revealed who you really are. Sweat, blood...that was a given. But it was the one who hungered for victory that really had a good chance of grasping it. That day had come for the asian. This moment was going to go down in Heaven or Hell history. At least, he hoped it did.

It all began when Deitric dodged his punch. Following the normal standards, Ko was ready to block against whatever move the guy threw out. He figured with that stunt of striking his eyes, his opponent didn't have enough power to throw out anything significant that he couldn't deal with. Guess the look on his face when he struck Deitric's punch to the side with his left hand as if he was just punching normally, only to see a great surge of power and electricity be thrusted upon his body. His left eye grew in shape as shock came to his face, the notorious Maelstrom Spiral being released at the most dangerous range one could be in. He had thought that the ailment he inflicted Deitric with would have warned him not to push himself this far. But clearly, he did not care for his own body.

Ko felt stupid for what he did in reaction, too. The punch was directed off to his side, but with the way it was launched at the asian's body, the fist was slid across his right breast and moved outside to his right, leaving a good punch to the ribs. And on reaction, Ko actually had his right arm go down and grab onto Deitric's thundering left arm in an overhook before the move could reach its full potential. The spinning array of destructive forces tore at his dress shirt, ripping it to shreds to reveal his layer of protection underneath. The suit could reduce electrical powers by a quarter, but damn did it still pack a punch, burning holes into the material rapidly.

CRSH, KRCK, SLSH!

So many sound effects of tearing, shredding, and discharges ripped through the air as Ko practically hung onto Deitric's arm. But the punch was so great and torrential that he clearly could not hang onto the arm for long, and his body went sailing several feet backwards. Every crooked board that was in the way was ripped asunder, weakening the floor's stability second by second. And for those few moments, Ko felt his body lock up, control taken from him as the voltage ravaged his muscles.

Having slid to a stop near the edge, his body fought against the pulses driving through his muscles as he lied on the ground. Any normal man would have been done in by now. Any normal man would have just quit right then, so they would not have to worry anymore about being blasted with electricity. Any normal man...wait. Ko wasn't a normal man. That's right. He still had some fight left in him. He still had something to do. If he fell now, then he did not even deserve to continue on in this tournament.

And so he rose. His body jerked in various places, but the energy running through his body gave him enough toughness to keep going. He still could do something. Doing nothing was just sickening. He had fought too hard to let himself be done in now. So as he rose to stand once more in a stature of stability and calmness, he felt that today, he had made himself seem more than just this hooligan who runs cars into little girls. That maybe he understood what pride meant, though he had no proof of that thing called honor.

He spit some blood off to his left, then had his right hand slap his chest as he walked toward Deitric in a defiant manner, avoiding the various holes that were created by the devastating attack. Ko looked a mess. Even as he walked, he was doing a lot to keep himself from looking weak to his opponent. But he felt his opponent was just as harmed. Those powers of his were going to be his downfall. That was the asian's aim, after all.

"I am still standing," he said to Deitric in that thick accent. "The fight isn't over yet. You should be able to stand up to one more attack, right?"

He grinned, stalking toward the man, heat slightly present around his reddened skin. Deitric was originally considered the beast in this fight, but Ko's nature called for reconsideration. Or maybe...it just called for a different title. A beast held sweat and blood as their pedestal of pride. But these things were lacking in the asian's beliefs. A man this cold deserved a more fitting description.

Monster?

Charges: 2

16

A knife, huh. A little too late to draw it. He probably could have done some good damage to Ko if he drew it earlier in their exchange, but that put to question if the asian had any knives of his own to draw. A smirk passed over his face as his left hand reached behind him. Grabbing onto something of his own from within a holster, he removed it from its scabbard. Letting fire come into behind around the object he drew, Ko threw his left arm around his body as swiftly as he could muster. A blade of his own was on a spinning trip toward Deitric, engulfed in flames. The knife was seven inches in length, with a white handle as its rest. It was aimed primarily for the center of his body. It should come to know surprise but his skill in throwing the thing was on par with his skill in hand-to-hand combat. A little sloppy, however, considering his condition.

Ko had expired both charges of his heat into it, making it into a rather big fireball. It was thrown from the range of five feet, so Deitric was going to have a tough time evading it in time, especially with the condition to his body. He could block it, too, but that would cause a splash of flames to rain against his body. The asian then placed his foot underneath one of the planks, kicking it upwards into a stand, using it as a shield in case Deitric decided to throw his own knife, his foot keeping it propped up. Whatever the case, that was his last action for the fight. He simply placed his hands into the pockets of his pants and waited for the horn to blow.

17

That man was still as nimble as ever, even with those wounds. Almost as if his body was truly indestructible. That almost humored Ko.

"Hmph."

Well, he wasn't angry anymore, really. He felt like he got something out of this fight. Ko would recover his knife later. On second thought, he'll just go get it now. Walking over to one of the ropes, he removed his tie then wrapped it around his left hand. Grabbing hold of a hempen rope, he kicked off the platform and began a descent toward the ground, sliding along with the tie acting as somewhat of a protection against burning his hands. Clearly, he didn't want to perform any extraneous movements to bring pain to his body any more than it already had. Bad enough that he just experienced the equivalent of a human tesla coil.