Desecrator vs Edward

Firebrand and Grill Wrote:

Everyone knows the Firebrand! After it's most recent resurgence after burning down again (...again), the Firebrand has come back better and stronger than ever. Made using the finest in craftsdrawfship and the hardest stone known the man (rumored to have a rubber core), it's become a popular tourist destination as well as a well-loved home for wayward ronin and adventurers. Recently, the staff has installed a large grill that... wait.

Do you smell gas?

General - Your typical bar, complete with wooden floors and stone walls. There's a bar area off to the side, and the larger part of the first floor is littered with chairs and tables. For some reason, there's a chandelier hanging from the rafters, both of which look incredibly suspicious for a two-story building. Coincidentally the second floor is blocked off for security reasons. Wait. Do you smell gas?

Due to Watts plugging a few too many electric grills and heaters into one socket next to a large pile of oily rags and tanks of gasoline, the Firebrand comes pre-installed with FIRE. Fire everywhere, and it's spreading at an unusually rapid rate, possibly due to that nasty gas and grease spill the other day. Due to the stone walls, you'll have some time to ******** one another up in this instant classic.

Natural Element Resource - ... Fire.... Fire. FIRE

Weapons - Tables, chairs, bottles of alcohol, and the occasional dwarfen worker.

Bonus Effects - Fire, fire everywhere. The Firebrand will only catch on fire after you've actually started fighting though.

Sitting at the bar, the cyberpunk hummed along to a song playing softly on his gPod. He rested his back against the bar and kept his goggle-covered eyes fixated on the Firebrand's main entrance. Edward was excited for the start of the new tournament; excited for not only himself but his team. It was the first day of school. A new adventure. A new chapter in his story. Typically, the punk was never this excited for tournaments. They were functions Ed took in stride in an extremely aloof manner. But, despite the past few weeks, he was actually in a very good mood. Things were looking up. He and Sokoya had hooked up. His download for the full sixth season of Weeds was halfway done. And Spartacus: Gods of the Arena was some riveting television! Nothing could bring him down; not even the fear-inspiring name of his opponent. Desecrator. It was either really bad a or really ****** dorky.

Edward fiddled with the gPod in his right hand as he continued to await his opponent. Except for his hands and parts of his face, the cyberpunk was covered up rather extensively. A pair of dark blue jeans and ratty sneakers covered his lower body, whilst a black Gogol Bordello hoodie was zipped to the top and his hood was on. At first glance it would not be known if he had any layers of clothes or armor underneath the hoodie, but it would have been erroneous to assume that was all he wore. Similarly, Ed was also fully armed but that wasn't apparent either just by looking at him. Thank you baggy clothing. All of his piercings were all gone as well. Safety first after all. No one needs a taper pulled out.

He was sweating balls, making the punk wish he'd worn something entirely different, but it didn't hurt his mood. Edward was as ready as he'd ever be for HoH and then some. Whoever this Desecrator was. It hardly mattered. The tournament officials set him up and the cyborg would knock him down.

Desecrator stops himself before the door to the Firebrand. He looks over to a make-shift armband over his left arm, reading the information on his FIGHTER.

[ Location: FIREBRAND.... Opponent: EDWARD QUEENSBOROUGH ]

Just a preliminary round. He hasn't had trouble passing those before. Fight well, fight clean. The Void Lord marks his third entry into Heaven or Hell unarmed. His previous two were from a different time. Complications of a paradox, and all that.

He opens up the door and steps through. Before him he sees what could only be his opponent, sitting at the bar.

"Edward, I presume? Come, let us get this out of the way, so I can proceed to the main event."

At this point, it's safe to say Ed would turn to face the challenger. And to his... whatever reaction, he would find himself feeling even more over-dressed. Before him stands a masculine figure wearing naught be hand and feet wraps, and a pair of shorts one would expect to see upon an MMA fighter, particularly those of the Vale Tudo discipline; though by no means should this indicate Des' chosen mode of combat. And this is to say, that really, the attire should be of only secondary concern. For he would see that Desecrator does not possess a typical homo sapiens body; yes, in form very similar; but that his skin carries a shade akin to pitch, with brightly contrasting lines of a gold hue following along his veins, and mildly imitating a tribal design. Though it would also have to be said, even more unsettling is his eyes, sitting below shaved head, lacking any indicator of gaze, pure white, and blank.

"Oh, thank you!" The punk would remark to the dwarf who brought him his requested reading material. A hardcover dictionary. A repository of words and s**t. He'd have to thank the tournament staff at some point. It was the least Edward could do. Reading the first few pages, Ed would only pause when the doors of the Firebrand opened up and revealed Desecrator.

It wasn't what Edward had been expecting.

To be honest, the cyberpunk was awaiting a giant, bruiser type with a two-handed sword that was longer than Edward himself. He couldn't have been any more wrong. Desecrator wasn't a giant nor was he handling any kind of sword whatsoever, but Edward's opponent still managed to be intimidating. Well, in a Graz'zt meets Randy Couture sort of way. Ed closed the large dictionary with a loud SMACK, whilst his left hand reached back awkwardly behind the bar to retrieve a long bottle of Bacardi 151.

"Sure," he'd reply with a grin, hopping off the stool and opening the bottle. Taking a swig from the bottle, Edward was dual-wielding the bottle in his left hand and large dictionary in his right. A bit ridiculous to look at, but the cyberpunk's weirdness was just something to get used to. "Let's see what you've got," he began to approach as a steady pace.

-Uno-

Edward continued his advance at a brisk walk, finding no need to run in a relatively small and cluttered environment. Perhaps if he was back at the Dark Tournament or the GTB stadium, then running to reach Desecrator would have been perfectly logical. The firebrand was neither of those places, so Edward walked towards his opponent. His nostrils flared slightly as it picked up a familiar smell, and looked around a bit with a shocked expression as a good portion of the Firebrand was set on fire in what could be construed as a matter of seconds. What the ******** was going on? Naturally, the cyborg suspected the tournament staff was involved somehow. It wasn't very hard to believe either; free Webster's Dictionary or not. Chances were that they'd given it to him as an apology in advance sort of deal. 'Hey, we're putting you in a burning building. Here's a book. Enhance your vocabulary.'

Fortunately, the cyberpunk would only falter for a moment before his walking would begin anew. Desecrator (whose name was starting to sound like an awesome Monster Truck) was also moving forward, scaling a table and bringing a chair along with him. That wasn't right... A thought that only rang truer and truer as the obsidian humanoid went through the motions of a throw. In response, Edward would do the first thing that came to mind. He threw the large dictionary (about five pounds - give or take - worth of knowledge) at the opponent's mass as Des swung. The book wasn't a spear, a javelin, a hatchet, or anything made to be thrown. But it was big. Somewhat heavy. Had lots and lots of pages. Edward's right arm was strong (not cybernetic strong) but strong nonetheless. And it was aimed for Desecrator's wide-open sternum.

The dictionary would cover the eight to nine feet worth of distance between the fighters in almost no time, attempting to impact Des's sternum with a good amount of force just as the chair would be slipping from his grasp. If it struck true, it would not break the sternum as that only typically happened during car crashes when a chest collides with a vehicle's steering column or during a particularly rough tackle in football. Instead, winding Desecrator was more than possible, so was causing him to lose his balance and fall off the table. Botching Des's chair throw was unlikely, though not necessarily impossible either. Not to mention it would hurt a lot.

Ed didn't stop moving forward, not even as he threw the book the tournament had kindly given him before throwing him into a figurative oven. As for the chair throw, it didn't really matter to the cyborg as it wasn't aimed at him. The Firebrand wasn't an arena but it wasn't a utility closet either. The tavern had enough space that you could be inside and not be underneath the chandelier. Ed was fine, so he didn't care. Desecrator, on the other hand, should be getting a little worried.

-Two-

The punk was hopeful. Not unrealistic. So when his dictionary attack was blocked, the failure hadn't even registered on his facial features. He'd been at these types of events, and other situations that involved violence on numerous occasions. His plans of attack or defense weren't going to work every time, especially when they were as simple as throwing a damned book. Edward was starting to sweat, almost profusely, even though he hadn't even gotten started just yet. He thought of possibly removing his hoodie but ultimately ruled against it. Oh, the rambling of a hyperactive cyber-brain. Back to the fight.

Out of nowhere and instantly, adrenaline would start pumping in massive amounts. The artificial heart in his chest began to beat a lot faster, pumping his blood and the hormones and machines inside them to all parts of his body. Immediately, the cyberpunk felt faster, stronger and better than before. But knew the feeling all too well; it wouldn't last very long. He had to make it count.

Adrenaline Rush Wrote:

When Ed's nano-machines stimulate the adrenergic receptors throughout his body, a cocktail mix of endorphins and quick-response steroids are released into his body that increases his speed and strength of his organic body by nearly 50% for a few moments (1 post). This helps Edward give a proper boost to particular moves, like single/double-leg takedowns and Lateral Drops. Giving the cyberpunk not only the capability of throwing an enemy harder but also farther. A 300 pound creature or object can be thrown about 10 feet. It can also be used to throw a combination of hits extremely quickly amongst other maneuvers. However, the ability is rather taxing and is only suggested to be used three times during a battle.

Cybernetic/Implant of Origin: Nano-machines.

Duration: Instant

Cool-down Time: 2 posts

Ed didn't stop moving even as Desecrator took to the air in an impressive display of martial prowess.

Swiftly, the cyberpunk dropped the bottle of liquor, cracking a bit as it hit the floor and spilling quite a bit of Bacardi, but for the most part remained intact. Normally, that would be a waste of money, but the cyborg hadn't paid for it. Plus, it tasted like a**. Instead, noting again that the Firebrand was cluttered with wooden furniture, his cybernetic arm (the same one) reached to the side quickly as he walked and grabbed a nearby chair. Unfortunately for Desecrator, this wasn't the WWE and the furniture was actually made of sturdy materials. Without a moment to spare, Edward twisted his hips and swung the improvised weapon with all his might; aiming to hit Desecrator in the right hip and the extended outer thigh on the same side. The punk used the advantage of his newly found reach against his opponent. His arm alone wasn't longer than Desecrator's leg, but his arm and an entire chair definitely was.

Though the blow carried the potential to break and fracture bones, the attack's purpose was to veer Desecrator off course and away from the cyberpunk. Possibly landing awkwardly or in a heap on the hardwood floor.

-Three-

Edward's chair attack struck spot on, bringing a wolfish grin to his face as he took a few steps back and to his left. That had been a lot easier than it seemed. Then again, he did practically throw himself at the cyberpunk. What would one expect? His opponent had taken quite the hit but based upon how Desecrator looked it was just basing damage. Nothing the obsidian-skinned fighter couldn't walk away from. Ed liked him. So far, this guy was pretty fun to be around. His eyes settled on Des (a few paces away) and the environment all around him, particularly the damaged chair in his hands. He threw it at Des, who was currently expecting Ed to charge him and so was trying to sweep the s**t out of him. The throw wasn't very hard (as it was a distraction) but it was aimed at Desecrator's head. Ouch!

Meanwhile, the punk moved over to the table he'd taken the chair from and kicked off one of it's legs with a cybernetic heel, sending the piece of furniture partially to the ground. Ed picked up the somewhat sturdy piece of wood with his left hand, measuring in at two feet long and having a jagged edge. And if Des wasn't already on him like white on rice; Edward was walking a little bit more to pick up his Bacardi with the right.

It had lost a good portion of its contents, but it was a big bottle. Not to mention it was still leaking quite a bit. "We're nearly half way there, boss." Ed would give him a s**t-eating grin, "Give those judges and those reporters something to rave about."

Adrenaline Rush Cool-down: 1/2

-Quattro-

Desecrator Wrote:

"Enough with the toys, Ed. I came here to fight!"

Toys? Edward turned to face the incoming fighter; giving him a blank look and stopped moving to get his bottle of Bacardi. He stood still allowing Des to move in as close as he wanted to, though his legs remained parted to keep his balance and his arms were half way up his torso in order to be used at a moment's notice. Something changed in the cyberpunk right then and there, smirking from ear to ear in the most s**t-eating of all grins that Desecrator had ever seen. That kind that instilled all sorts of anger.

So be it! The alcohol could wait.

His opponent threw a punch and Edward burst into action. The punk's left arm went up to defend, intercepting the overhead punch with the jagged edge of the table leg with a stab-like motion. The wraps would likely protect Des from receiving a puncture wound. The punk could not be sure. But the sensation of punching a somewhat sharp point would still be there. Well, if of course the deflection even worked. Simultaneously, Ed burst forward aiming to cover the little space that remained between the two fighters and lifted his right knee.

WHAM!

The cyberpunk's cybernetic, metallic knee was poised to collide with the organic knee Des's left leg. It was something Edward took from his Hockey days; something the other teams hated him for. The inorganic parts of his body felt no pain, felt nothing at all. Desecrator, however, had a knee that just begged to be hurt. It was unlikely but that was the goal. Ed wanted to lame this ********!

Adrenaline Rush Cool-down: 2/2 Finished

-Cinque-

While spending the majority of fights using his cyber-brain to tactically get the better of an opponent; that quickly got thrown out the door once close quarters fighting began. At that point, Edward relied on instinct and muscle memory alone, cycling through the same move sets again and again regardless of the opponent. He took the things he learned, picked the ones he liked and stuck to them like glue. The cyberpunk was prepared to respond at a moment's notice.

Desecrator feinted his punch, causing Edward to react accordingly in the only way he knew how at this point. Violence. The pitch-colored man's feint was perfect, and likely would have worked in almost any other situation, but one thing was left out of Des's calculation. There was still a high-tech prosthetic arm and a table leg turned giant splinter moving towards him. In a split second, the punk's arm altered it's trajectory slightly, now not aimed at an attacking fist but somewhere else. Somewhere important. Desecrator's face had been left wide open.

Edward's arm would mechanically extend itself another eight inches in a flash, adding both range and speed to the attack. Probably even confusing the crap out of Desecrator too. He aimed to stab Desecrator under his right eye, near the upper maxilla. The splinter wasn't very sharp, but the attack was strong and fast enough to pierce flesh and even damage the bone underneath. Additionally, the length of his arm and the table leg in conjunction were long enough to function also in a push-like manner. Using it's long length to move Desecrator back, and in doing so forcing him to make his uppercut at a much farther range.

However, this wouldn't save Ed from the uppercut, as it came up in a flash and hit him directly in the chin. Instantly, the punk saw stars, knowing he'd be feeling that for days, or at least until a healer looked at it. Edward was tough but he couldn't take hits like Desecrator. But he'd keep going. He had to.

-6-

Desecrator can't do much of anything to avoid Ed's blow-in-response, due to his focus, and commitment, being on delivering aforementioned uppercut. Though, out of pure instinct, he does try and avoid it. The most he can muster is an inch and a half to the left. Though the most that does is change the location of the injury. Instead of receiving a stab wound that would effectively blind his right eye for the duration of the fight, he instead receives a gash along his cheek; which, by the way, will make one hella cool scar when it heals.

NO TIME.

BLEED LATER.

Des winces for but a moment, knowing that it is his only opportunity to push forward with the fight and gain a real advantage over the oddly-strong opponent.

The Dark Man jumps forward to hit Ed at about the same time 'the punk' should be recovered enough to look back at Des. What kind of jump?

The kind that leaves an opponent without much of a chance of stopping him, that's what!

Des launches himself at Ed's upper body, throwing all his weight into it with the intent of mounting the poor guy to the ground. Thus, Des is sprawled out mid-air to prevent but the most clever of escapes. His hands reaching for Ed's arms, and his legs wide to straddle Ed.

Due to the timing, being upon the heels of the staggering uppercut, Ed's chances of over-powering Des' follow-up, would be next to none. Unless said hooded man could muster up enough strength, surpassing that already exhibited.

6/10

Side note: the gentlemanly raptor would soon find himself aflame, because quite frankly, the pub has been spreading fire for the past six posts.

Damn this tournament frowning upon killing. Desecrator has the very strong urge to do so, for having to fight an opponent who's deathly afraid to actually fight.

Yes. Des does want to call him a coward. Yet, the title is self-evident. A waste of breath to call a pot black, or Ed a puss.

So, instead of playing this game of 'catch the punk', or as more oftened title, 'smeer the queer', Des just stands up after having landed on all fours. He takes his right hand and wipes awayt the blood trickling down his face, staining a good portion of his wraps dark red.

"Heh... You should know, I intended to stain these with my opponent's blood, and not my own. It's a pity... with all your strength and ability... that you keep avoiding this brawl, instead electing to make whatever distance you can, make improvised weapons instead of using what you already have."

Des raises his fists in front of himself, looking between them to emphasize his vagueness, obviously referring to hands and feet. Then lowering them, he continues:

"If you think the gods of Heaven or Hell will look favorably upon you for refusing to fight me, resting on the laurels of what little damage you've inflicted... with wooden implements... Think again."

Des brings up his right hand again, with palm up, and beckons Ed forth Morpheus-style.

"All in good time, Edward. For every action, a consequence."

As Ed takes his sweet time in closing the distance, Desecrator prepares his own 'tool'. Bringing his right arm up in front of his chest, he takes his left hand and begins to unwrap at the forearm. By the time Ed reaches him he has about a foot and a half of length to work with.

Ed reaches in with his 'jab', bearing the torch. Des responds with a block... kind of. His two arms shoot forward to intercept; though oddly, they both miss. One goes high, his left, and the right goes low.

But what's this?

Between his hands is the length of cloth stretched taut and clenched within his fists, further secured in his left hand by a wrap and a half.(the wrap on the outside of Ed's arm)

And just as fast as his arms shoot forward to intercept, the twist in upon Ed's arm. The left arm goes out and down, and the right goes in and up. Consequently, this may singe the wraps on Des' left arm as is pushes against the torch. However, the action of the right pushes the lower portion of the torch the other direction... attempting the twist it right out of Ed's hand. The purpose of the wrap? To trap Ed's arm, both to keep him from pulling back the torch, and to keep it held, preventing more of Ed's nimble escapes.

And to Des, weilding a torch and a bottle of alcoholic substance equates to one thing: flamethrower. So, if nothing else, the table leg would be placed out of the path of the, most likely, fireblast to the face.

NO U

The thing about firebreathing... if ye have not done it adequately,something bad could happen.

One guess to know what Des plans on.

Fake jab? NOT a jab? But close enough to trick Des into believing it to be a jab attempt? Close enough to one-step n' strike.

And the thing about traps? They require misdirection, or to be hidden. Ed has none of that here. So as Des fails to intercept Ed's arm, he follows in right on the 'heel' of Ed's pullback. Left foot forward, right leg up, extended in a front straight kick(high) with the heel aimed for Ed's face.

One more guess.. this time for where the torch is.

That's right - in front of Ed's face.

Should Ed attempt to pull back, he still has that torch in front of his face to deal with... possibly jammed up into his face. And to mention, spewing alcohol too close to the torch will result in one nasty backfire.

Side note: Des' arms pull up in a muay thai block with his step forward, the length of cloth still pulled taut between them.

Despite Des' prowess in unarmed combat, his opponent seems overly-able to dodge every strike, save the feint. Even when attempting to pause to spew fire, Ed still manages react with unnatural speed. Des wants to meet his personal trainer.

One of two outcomes:

Either Ed spews the fire, then tries to move back. Yet, taking time to firebreathe BEFORE moving back results in a kick to the face.

OR

Ed spews the alcy WHILE moving back, reducing the effectiveness of the firebreath, as he would have to make distance to avoid the kick.

(I'm going to assume the latter.)

Des' step n' kick hits air as his opponent simply steps back to avoid the strike. The change in distance further decreases effectiveness of the flamethrower attack. And well, there is one teensy little bit of info his opponent seems to be missing. That which can stay aflame on Des is extremely limited; which is to say, the alcohol-on-fire alights the bottom of his foot - namely the wrap. The other flame portion shoots around his leg and lightly burns his skin to the first degree. With no abundance of flammable material, Desecrator stomps his foot down, killing the flame. A little burn injury, is all.

The FIGHTER goes off, telling him the fight ends.

Des shakes his head in disappointment.

"Truly pitiful. You entered a melee tournament, and tried to do everything but."

Des turns to leave, then pauses, looking over his shoulder.

"Coward."

And then he leaves.

Doesn't he have team-mates to check on?

END