Noah Dome

The Fal'Lain Royal Helicopter

Tres stood up within the helicopter that floated around the thunder dome illuminated gloriously beneath the night sky. With his left gloved hand holding on to the safety bar to keep himself stable within the helicopter he turned to look at the pilot and say, "Take us down." The pilot then maneuvered the vehicle to approach the top of the Thunderdome, causing the wind to rush past Tres's hair tussling it wildly. Through the flutters of his dreads he gazed hopefully at the top of the dome. He had not been disappointed when he learned that he would not actually be fighting within the Dome. Somehow fighting beneath the night sky in the middle of the city seemed much more meaningful, even romantic.

A smile came to the psion's face in anticipation as the helicopter began to hover near the top of the Dome. Tres scanned the roof carefully committing its various and relevant features to memory before letting go of the safety bar and preparing to disembark. 'thump' went the steel panels that made up the roof as Tres leaped from the helicopter, The martial artist landed in a stylish and necessary roll. Tres rolled to a standing position and lifted his left fist into the air in triumph. The crowd that had gathered around the Dome on the ark to watch the fight both cheered and booed. Tres had his fans and he had just as many critics. His eyes flared with an emerald green light that sparkled as if his soul was not unlike a brilliant gemstone.

Tres began pacing forward, looking around for the opposing Team. The young fighter was anxious to begin. He would not have a repeat of what happened last match. He knew who he wanted to fight and he wanted to fight them right now. With his right hand he reached around towards the back of his left shoulder and clinched the material of his heavy armored coat before pulling it off of his large muscular body and holding it in his powerful grip. After he aggressively pulled of his coat he shouted, "Dietric Jocasta" The name of the enemy Team's leader was a name that was well known within the fighting community. Dietric Jocasta was not an old fighter, but in the short time he had been known he has been taking the fighting world by storm...Literally.

Lightning Storm

The music from inside the Thunderdome began to play. Tres's rolled his shoulders and his neck out as he continued to pace looking around anxiously for his opponent. "Dietric Jocasta!", the young man shouted again. His muscles flexed and pumped subtly as they glistened beneath the moisturizing touch of the misty air. He looked around with a gaze that could only be described as hungry. It was the look of a wolf. He needed to show the world who he was. He needed to prove to everyone, that he wasn't the failure that people had been calling him his entire life. He wanted to prove that he was worthy of his own name.

"Dietric Jocasta!!", he shouted a third time as he suddenly stopped pacing. He shouted with such a ferocity and desire that the crowd that surrounded the thunderdome went quiet. The music suddenly quieted for a moment and everything took on a deathly stillness.

It was the calm before the coming storm...

One of the two hatches opened hesitantly. For a short moment, no one emerged from it, rather, a small puff of wispy white smoke billowed forth in modest amount, to swill about and mix with the light atmospheric fog before dissipating. Shinji took his time, as he stood at the cusp of the hatch, prepared to make his exit but not yet exited, he simply stood by and smoked. Eventually, though, curiosity got the better of him. The sound of loud voices and egos clashing piqued his attention enough and as his head pocked up, out of the hatch, silver locks of unruly hair would be immediately visible, bangs dancing about a set of calm eyes which peered unimpeded in the direction of the two men who had situated themselves at the forefront of the upcoming conflict.

With an ever-so-slight grimace, Shinji's cool, calculating gaze swept over the arena proper, taking note of weather, surface and varied weapons strewn about in the distance. It seemed as though Deitric had found his opponent. "Good." Shinji thought to himself. "Didn't want to fight first, anyway. . ."

Keeping these thoughts in mind, he placed a palm upon either side of the hatch and pulled himself up and out in a single, fluid motion. He would perch himself beside the hatch, so he would be there should anyone else arrive through it. He sat cross-legged, seemingly rather comfortable, as the subtle breeze batted at his unruly mess of hair. His simple garb was simple as ever. A heavy leather jacket kept him warm and relatively dry, while old, worn jeans and a similarly worn t-shirt adorned his well-built frame. Upon his feet, a comfortable old pair of black combat boots. Hopefully they'd provide enough traction upon the seemingly-slick surface of the Noah Dome.

Nibbling at the remainder of his cigarette, Shinji returned his gaze to the two fighters center-stage. He'd watch, and act as his own mental commentator. He was too far removed from the nearest television, he'd have to preform his own fight-analysis. It wasn't a bother, though. Shinji did enjoy a good thinking. And that's what he'd do, for now. Sit and think, while he watched and waited.

As the helicopter that dropped Tress pulled away, a figure leaped out of it, seeming to be free basing. Dark shaped opened up from the sides of it, catching the decent wind and air.

Of course it was Alan, having told the helicopter pilot to pull up to allow Alan to jump off and make use of his wings to glide himself down rather than simply jump. Sure, the Avion Halfbreed couldn't fly without use from magic, but he could glide quite like a mother-

He landed on the somewhat slick surface, his body crouched down with his wings touching down against the roofing. The ladies of team, who opted NOT to take the helicopter route to the top when informed of where exactly they were fighting would likely emerge from the hatch adjacent to him when they arrived.

Alan's eyes focused in on the other entrance, the tall man he identified as Shinji on the other side. So far, the fighter was the only other opponent on the team to show up. However, Alan had his eyes on a different opponent. He'd wait for Gloria and Lovi to show up before they would decide as to who was taking on who. Alan would fight anyone if he had to, but he had caught wind that there was a swordsman on the other team, a fencer no less. Having no other reason to fight any of the opponents in particular, swordsmanship was a matter of interest. Alan would put his father's training, as well as his own modified techniques, to the test if allowed.

Otherwise, one foe was as good as another.

SAVAGE

Deitric's features didn't change, but inwardly he felt a p***k of annoyance. Tres was doing the same thing that Ko had done in the previous match - throwing his jacket in order to cover his advance. Same tactics, different faces. It wasn't going to make him underestimate Tres, though. Any opponent was dangerous, in the right circumstances - and even in the wrong ones, at times.

The brave backpedaled smoothly, the tinny click of his boots on the platform muffled by puddles of water. The armored battle-jack's weight dragged it down to the ground just a foot or two in front of him - it had done enough to cover most of his opponent's advance, but had fallen short of actually obscuring the man's attack.

CLANG

Tres's incoming kick was checked by a flash of steel and sparks as the tomahawk in the tribesman's right hand bit into the durasteel greave that Tres wore, redistributing the force of the attack through his straightened right arm. He had drawn it as the jacket fell away, using it to block rather than to attack. Deitric's retaliation was immediate, even moreso because he was in a situation that he had been in before.

The black-haired fighter's left foot came forward like a jack-hammer, aiming to smash the hard heel of his boot into Tres's right kneecap. It wasn't a big movement, but it didn't need to be - Tres was putting all his weight onto the right leg, and that left the knee more vulnerable to attack than ever. Armor could keep flesh and bone safe from harm, but joints were meant to move. Sometimes, that meant moving in the wrong direction, which the dreadlocked fighter's knee might do under the force of the flashing stomp-kick.

It was similar to the situation that the Khasmin man had found himself in in his first GTB appearance in the finals while fighting Omi Barsait. The other man - smaller, more precise, faster - had attempted to throw a body knee at Deitric, who had managed to check the attack. The brave's response had been severe, he'd blown out his opponent's knee with a hard stomp.

Deitric was not well-known as a kicker; most long-time fighting fans could only recall one instance where he had ever thrown a kick, and that had been to the groin of an opponent who had tried to skewer him on twinned swords. He never kicked above the waist, and never from the typical angles as other fighters. He felt like they left him too open, standing on only one leg made him feel like he was cemented in place. All his experiences in combat had told him that kicking was only to be used when it was sure to do the maximum amount of damage - meaning he rarely found a use for such an attack.

That reluctance to kick didn't mean he couldn't. He preferred his stomp-kicks to the more stylized, risky attacks of other fighters. The movement put to use all his leg strength, and the man could kick like a mule, and it was done mostly at close range without much build-up; it minimized risk and maximized reward. Being on the receiving end of having Deitric's heel smashes was not a position that any fighter would have envied. The attack was brutal, but it was also effective - quick, and right to the point.

If Tres were a lucky man, he could get out of the exchange with his leg's joint intact - but he was going to have to reconsider his strategy lest Deitric leave him without a leg to stand on.

[1]

2

PP: 30

Dietrics retaliation was sudden and fierce. Such responsiveness was the sign of a seasoned warrior. There was no thought in that man's movements and subsequently no hesitation, he reacted automatically systematically for the purpose of absolute destruction. Tres however was a similar kind of beast. Emerald Optics flashed with green light as his mind took into account the subtlest hints of movements made by the brave and Dietric may as well have been calling out the names of his attacks as he performed them. Tres was a fighting computer and while he wasn't perfect, he was an entity that was the framework of a fighting god.

Because Tres had been side stepping during the throw of the jacket but before his forward assault, upon engaging Deitric the jacket would be to his right.

The left foot came forward like a jackhammer. With Tres's left arm already low it was primed to defend against the opponents attack. Utilizing the clockwise twist that accompanied the left low round kick and a bend at his right knee to lower his position, he parried against the opponents thrusting kick to his knee. The parry would be made with the lower end of his dura steel bracer near the wrist.

The parry would direct the kick to his right, and the lowering of his position due to the bend of the knee would cause it to simply hit the side of the thigh. Simultaneously Tres's left leg would attempt to return to the ground after being blocked by the Khasmin's tomahawk. The thing about low kicks was that they never brought the foot far from the ground and simply by shifting his weight forward to a balanced distribution, he would likely be able to return his leg to the ground. He had not seen the warrior draw his weapon but it was in front of him and he needed to do something fast.

The side of Deitric's foot would still collide with tres's thigh, likely causing a bruise due to the lack of resistance to the attack. Tres clinched his teeth, barely showing any notice to the fact that his right thigh muscle to the brunt of the attack. Just after parrying the kick before his left arm removed contact from the striking limb, Tres let the crystal blade he pulled from his imagination slip into grasp between his left index finger and thumb. Simultaneously Tres would use his bent knees to make a large step back exiting striking range.

In the same motion that let the crystal blade slip into his grasp, Tres tossed the small blade towards the Khasmins Chest with a vicious throw.

"I've heard a few things about Dietric," Gloria responded with a nod, almost wincing as she watched Tres. She hadn't heard much, if any about him really, but the name was very familiar to her.

"So either they're all wash outs and hope that he can sweep for them, or no other teams have really forced their hands."

Glory didn't back down from Alan's stare. "You know how much I dislike fighting people I can't read beforehand." It's what had led to her horrible defeat to Alan in the first place. "But, what the heck. Life on the line? I can dish it out."

She tapped her heel against the slick surface before away from the hatch towards Shinji. "Hey bud. You got a cig to spare?" It wasn't anywhere near as neutral as it sounded, as her knife was already drawn in her left hand.

3

PP: 20 (forgot to subtract for the crystal shard)

Tres's desire to disengage was only because he was surprised by the sudden emergence of the opponents weapon during his engagement. He had wanted to arm himself, but he was going to have to make that opportunity to do so...Nothing in this life was free. However, the opponent deluded himself in thinking that Tres would be bullied. Respect would only get the brave so far and Tres was out with something to prove to everyone that watched.

Without a single conscious thought Tres noted that the opponent assaulted him rather than being put on the defensive due to the throw as he intended. The situation changed and so did Tres. The tenets of the Ecstuffuan family fist held the power of being in a constant state of flux and there was no one that exemplified that state better than the Ecstuffuan's favorite son.

After throwing his blade and taking that single large step back, Tres twisted his body in a clockwise turn. The purpose of the turn seemed to be to cause the blade of the tomahawk to hit the brim of Tres's durasteel bracers just above the wrist. Clank, the hawk slammed into the thinnest part of the bracer where it offered the least amount of protection.

The thin section of armor prevented the small axe from cutting into Tres's hand but Tres could feel the bones along the top of his hands crack and his carpels shake to the point of damage from the sheer concussive power of the attack. Tres and pain were old friends and he was so familiar with it that based on his lack of facial expression he was not surprised. Tres however was sure that his left hand had been broken and that punching with it was going to cause a tremendous amount of pain.He returned the broken fist begrudgingly up to guard after it was knocked down by the axe.

...He needed to find a weapon fast...

but first he had to get this ****** to back off...and that meant putting him on his a one way or another.

The two fighters were nearly within arm's range but with the opponent just out of striking range Tres needed to close the distance quickly. Tres eyes exploded with an even larger flair of emerald green light. Wisp of psionic energy cascaded and danced around his body seemingly in a sudden instance. The nature of this energy was that Tres's body despite its perfection was not enough to contain the sheer power of his desire.

Everything was there within and around the dread headed warrior. All of his desire, all of his pain, each and every moment he spent being looked on as a disappointment and a stain on his family name prepared itself to be driven against his enemy. The sheer belief that he would one day be the best and the will to make it so, channeled a great power that would all gather finally at his fist the moment of the attack.

"WAH!-TAH!"

The true purpose of his clockwise twist of the waist would soon be realized. The twist of the waist prepared him for a large counter clockwise twist to power his following move. Suddenly Tres unleashed a huge right cross after his hand was knocked down by the tomahawk. With his body shining due to the massive torrents of mental energy the blow carried with it a strength and speed that could only be described as supernatural.

The momentum of the punch caused Tres to slide forward against the moist metal ground towards his opponent suddenly putting him within range to deliver the right cross to the area between the Brave's collarbones just beneath the throat. The steel bracers would cruise towards Dietric and if they hit, then they would deliver a psychic payload of concussive force with enough intensity to lift even him off of his feet and to the ground. A massive wave of water lifted up from behind Tres. (-8 [Hammer])

108 Technique of the Zuoken Style - KESSHO - KEN

If Tres was able to knock Dietric away he would begin manifesting another psychic power...

edit: Added why the twist of the waist was special.

Wrote: Hammer

[Standard - 6 points]

This power imbues Tres's knock out blows (straight, cross, hook, roundhouse, etc) with additional force and spreads the force of the blow over a wider area. Tres's attack power increases by about 50% (turning a jarring blow into a knock out blow for instance) and the blow can potentially push an off balanced opponent off of his feet into a prone position. Due to it being the most used technique of the Fist of Zuoken library it efficiently uses psychic energy. The weakness of this technique is that it can set Tres off balance due to the tremendous force of the blow. The great thing about it is that it can be used to literally knock an individual into the air to set them up for an air combo.

Alan would lean on his left side and draw his wings in close over his arms

It was cold, especially for someone used to their body being warmed chemically. The dampness did not help with his discomfort either. With the lack of any bodily movement.

To occupy his thoughts as he waited for Marius to appear, Alan grazed the edge of his boot along the surface of the moist dome. It was slick, and getting worse. Inwardly, Alan was glad he had asked Charisma to sit in the ViP spectators booth in the Arena proper below. Had she slipped and fell, he would have undoubtedly ring out himself in an attempt to save her. He simply did not want that on his thoughts. He would need to focus for his fight, provided it ever came.

He would watch the situation between Shinji and Gloria unfold quietly. He had to wonder idly how long the pretense of politeness would remain between them before the actual fighting started. Alan was most interested in seeing how Gloria preformed this time around, having missed her opportunity for combat earlier. It would be interesting to see how much of her own style she adapted into Tres's teachings.

Late.

Lovi ascended the stairwell to the roof of the dome, white lights washed out and glaring down from the ceiling in a sickening manner all the way from the first flight of steps through near enough to the last until she reached the hatch, already open and letting seep in the exterior chill. She felt ill, her more recent experiences having eaten away at both her pride and confidence in ways she had never before thought possible. And now, being forced (rather, asked) to continue on a path that would surely break her, she was less than enthused to find herself climbing to such literal heights under the effort and advancement of others. In truth, she hadn't exactly sped to the arena with such anticipation as was abundantly present in her companions.

The light click-click-click of her boot heels resonated outward from the otherwise hollow space, just as the sounds of battle echoed back. She could tell that she was the last one, at least from her team, even before she stepped into the open. Aside from her lax pace, they were all too talkative, if not loud-mouthed, not to have been heard halfway down the stairwell.

She could scarcely feel the breeze through the leather of her suit, but it washed over her face with a cool touch that almost reminded her of home. Strange that a simple change in elevation could clear the air some and negate the stench of the city that festered closer to the streets themselves.

The event seemed well under way, and the main attraction appeared as though it would escalate quickly. And with no knowledge of the preceding aerial entrance, she really hadn't witnessed enough to say when the fight had actually started. She really was late.

Finally Spooky appeared. At some point between the last two nonstarters Spooky had finally ransacked a local Cod Amateur Store and stolen a pair of military fatigues. They were grossly outdated, but camo was camo. He always did prefer a uniform to no uniform, but it did tend to make him look like a redneck every now and again. Still, his lumbering manner and extremely 'weathered' (read as: ****** up) features counted amongst his visible tattoos always seemed to keep him from making friends in the first place. C'est la vie. Although that wasn't the only thing he had brought with him, Spooky had gone back too poor Marius' corpse and pilfered the watch off his body. He had seen what that thing could do, it was quite the little **** to deal with. In fact, if Marius hadn't ****** himself over during their fight, there was the distinct possibility that Spooky's still smoking corpse would have been there instead. Currently the device sat in the front right pocket of his pants, he'd reach for it once the opportunity arose.

A couple people on top of the worrying structure were already paired off, it was like a fisting orgy. Once more it seemed Spooky would be left with the slim pickings, his ck grew soft at the prospect of a boring fight. He did feel a little better though once he spied the obvious weapons cache at the center of the dome. This gaggle of idiots had ignored them though and foregone the free hacky, breaky, slashy, throwy devices in favor of their own stupid toys. What was the point of that? What if they broke them? How silly. Spooky just stole st and broke other people's stuff in place of his own. It had worked pretty well so far. First he'd need to figure out what the ****** exactly was in them though before he picked one to use. So he did. As he walked across the panels, his boots squeaked loudly from the condensation that was building. Whoever had picked this place during this weather was a ct, someone was bound to slide right the ******** off the fighting area eventually. That suddenly gave him an idea, he wondered what it would look like if he used someone as a sled and flew off the side of the Superdome Noah Dome. It'd be interesting to say the least.

After pulling open his third panel, Spooky had found something he'd use: a rusty cleaver. He hefted the blade up in his left hand, the tetanus practically oozed off the weapon. Around the wooden haft was some yellowed tape in order to maintain a better grip. Spooky wasn't overly concerned with losing the weapon though. Odds were good that he'd get rid of it himself when the mood struck. Spinning on his right heel, the man turned away and simultaneously kicked the panel shut with his other foot. He slid his right hand into the pocket and gripped onto the freshly stolen watch.

"Which one of you faggots is supposed to fight me?"

Deitric felt the crunch of flesh, bone, and metal through the hilt of his tomahawk's haft as the weapons truck true. He wouldn't have expected the warrior to retaliate immediately after a relatively strong first blood on his part, but to his credit Tres was stubborner than he looked. His retaliation mirrored the brave's on method of attack in previous fights, even his fight with Ko - withdraw one hand, strike with the other.

Thankfully, Tres had a glaringly obvious form of telegraph - namely, a flaring emissions of bright emerald from the Ecstuffuan fighter's body. There was no time to move out of the way since he had been pursuing, but that didn't mean Deitric was wholly defenseless. He was still a fighter, and he hadn't thrown caution to the wind just yet.

Deitric's left arm came from its semi-raised position, aiming to smash his forearm into Tres's sloppily to try and mitigate some of the blow's force and redirect it as best as he could. The punch's aim shifted from the center of the collarbone to the left, smashing neatly into the meat of his chest where the shoulder and pectoral muscles met. There was a meaty whud as the blow struck.

The emanation of psychic power sent Deitric hurtling back - his body had gone limp to try and absorb as much of the blow as possible, sending him flying back nearly five feet. The blow had lacked an upward angle - he didn't fly up, so much as he flew backwards. He splashed onto his back, but whipped his legs up and used his sudden momentum to pop up onto his feet in a half-kneeling crouch, his right side forward. The tomahawk hung in his hand in front of him, any hint of blood already washed away. He was down, but he wasn't out in the least, and the axe could swing at any hint of an attack.

The tribesman had to hand it to Tres, if he weren't in the middle of personal combat with the man - he certainly hadn't been expecting that in response to smashing the man's hand with his tomahawk. The whole left side of Deitric's chest and the front deltoid head of his shoulder throbbed painfully. There was a lot of brawny mass to soak up the blow, but muscles were just as susceptible to damage as anything else; they just had some give to them.

Deitric was no doctor, but he knew what it felt like to get the deeper muscle tissues of his body heavily bruised. And he knew what it meant - weakness, pain, stiffness, among other things. While he didn't need his chest to throw heavy punches, it certainly didn't help any, and it would serious limit his overall upper body strength, making grappling and lifting much more of a chore than it might have been for someone of his strength. Lifting something or someone over his head might have been possible, but it would more than likely complicate the injury considerably.

That being said, Deitric would have much rather taken that punch, than a tomahawk to the hand. He liked his hands and furthermore, he found them to be more than a little useful when it came to fighting. Unsurprising, but truthful nonetheless.

A low, savage growl escaped the fighter's lips as he kept his glowering eyes pinned on his opponent - he had only lost sight of him for a fraction of a second as he hit his back and rolled, the world momentarily whirling around in front of his eyes. Most men might have wanted to step back and recuperate before stepping into combat again after losing the function of one hand, but Tres had already proven insistent. The man might have even tried to push the advantage after seeing the tribesman knocked back.

Assuming he wasn't being assaulted, Deitric would pick himself up, his face stoically masking the deep, dull pain emanating through the left side of his torso. His arms hung at his waist, the tomahawk raised slightly at the ready, his other hand wavering near his waistline, like a gunslinger on the draw. If Tres was still planning on fighting with a ruined hand, then the brave wouldn't have any problems fighting with his injury. Suspiciously, he had yet to use his own abilities, whereas Tres had already utilized two of his own - perhaps he was weathering the storm and seeing what Sieg's son could do.

Or maybe he was just waiting, letting his reservoir of power build up as the fight went on. By now, his eyes had since lost any hint of humanity; there was just bright, blue-white light. Even when he blinked, the light visibly illumined the underside of his eyelids and glowed outward. Tres had managed something few men did - he had forced the tribesman off his feet. But he hadn't forced the fight out of Deitric - Tres was a long way from managing that feat. If he made the same mistake of getting cocky like Ko did, then the tribesman would make him pay in spades.

[3]

4

PP: 15

Deitric was an aggressive fighter and the fact that Tres was able to push him away for even a moment was a blessing. Tres needed to capitalize on it now but his mind was tired after losing the fist of zuoken upon his enemy and to push it further could spell disaster. Deitric fell into a roll back to his feet. For all of the beauty and splendor of his last attack it had truthfully done little and the opponent had already broken his left hand.

Tres brought that left hand forward while bringing his right fist back to guard. He did not pursue Deitric even as the opponent unexpectedly did not chase after him. Instead Tres continued to manifest his next power, stumbling onto the brink of psionic uncertainty. As he began to focus his mind on manifesting this next ability he stared into the eyes of the Brave and spoke out loud.

"Those eyes. They aren't the eyes of a man who allowed fate to determine who he was. Neither am I. I'll climb Noah's Tower and meet the god of fighting...and I will best him to show that they were all wrong!", as Tres spoke psionic energy flared out in a spiral formation around his skull. The emerald jewel implanted in his forehead began to gleam with a brilliant and bright light. These whisp of emerald green and lightning silver cascaded in a spiral formation that trailed down Tres's shoulder onto his left arm before gathering in the form of a geometric mesh around his left hand. Tres began to exhale crystal vapors that burst into a brilliant show of sparkles that glistened in the hazy cloud of his own breath.

His eyes thundered and roared with emerald rays and his very voice seemed to boom farther out than any possible sound would carry it. His dreads tossed and turned as if they had been caught in a hurricane force wind. Blood gushed from his nostrils as he pushed his mind and his body farther than it was ever meant to go. The veins stood out clearly amongst his cream hued skin, pumping with blood that was not blue or red but green and grey.

The emerald green geometric mesh around his left hand throbbed violently, ripping off the armored glove that helped in saving Tres's hand from being cut asunder. Tres's hand had already begun to swell with a nasty purple bruise that represented Tres's body attempting to tend to the broken bones beneath. This purple bruise began to pop and hemorrhage under the raging onslaught of psionic energy that gathered around his hand and forearm. The geometric mesh snapped into the shape of a katar protruding about the length of Tres's lanky forearm from his fist. The katar mesh filled its empty volume with an otherworldly haze that could only be described as an astral material that seemed as heavy as oil and yet as violent and chaotic as fire. This was not a weapon of this world but something that was pulled from Tres's very imagination, his very personality.

Tres brandished the blade onto guard a single time and it keened against the air with a shrill battle cry that was both the throes of its sudden birth and the battle cry that promised a tale for martial legend. The psionic blade was not merely a weapon but his very personality brought to bear against his opponent. It was his childhood, it was his arrogance, it was his pain, it was everything that he was, that he thought, given material shape.

Tres mind throbbed in pain as soon as the blade snapped into reality and the dread headed warrior took a single step back with his right foot while leaning forward. He clasped his forehead with an expression of absolute pain but then something within him called out immediately, far louder than the throbs of agony that wracked his mind.

'I must win!'

"HAH!", Tres loosed a booming battle cry as he assaulted his opponent, moving towards Dietric in a arching path towards his front left side. Tres moved with shuffling steps, perfect boxing footwork before entering just on the outside striking range with consideration of the psionic blade. Tres would then immediately attack with a left hand jab with the mind blade katar at Dietrics Chest. His right hand stayed up on guard in front of his chin. If the psionic blade met its target it would be jammed into the muscles of Dietrics left pectoral making it harder to throw those legendary punches of his.

[edit: Was more specific on the target and intended effect]

5

PP: 15

Lesson Learned.

Kr-Szap

It was less that Tres had been talking, and more so that he wasn't expecting that to have happened. Even though the dread headed psion spoke out loud he was still ready to defend himself...well...at least kind of considering that it felt like he had gotten slammed in the head with a brick after manifesting that psi-blade almost immediately after unleashing the Fist of Zuoken but regardless he had only seen the Khasmin channel his lightning based powers through his fist or his weapon but never by taking control in such a mage like way.

Tres took two steps backwards before shaking his head as if to discard the dual numbness created by the blows contact with his skin. His face felt numb and it was as if he got a brief case of cotton mouth. The blow hit hard and because he hadn't been expecting it he wasn't able to roll with it...and there was only such much you could roll with a bolt of electricity. His eyes twitched and his body felt somewhat numb but that inner voice that cried out over the pain that wracked his own body from its own psionic powers shouted over the additional pain brought by his enemies attack.

'I must win!, His head came down after being knocked up by the bolt of lightning. His face full of resolve and determination despite his still twitching right eye. The young warrior obviously had nothing more to say. From now on the only sound would be the echo of there attacks on the skies of Gaia Prime.

Tres came forward. Slowly at first but eventually reaching full speed as his body needed some time to take back hold over his form. He attempted the same attack as the last time. He took a step out to the right, outside of the khasmins forward line of attack so that he could continue coming forward and engage Deitric at his front left side. His intention was to keep somewhat extra distance between him and the tomahawk before he engaged him on the outside striking range. Tres's zoning had been modified with consideration to the increased reach granted by his left hand mind blade.

Upon engaging him at striking range. Tres would attempt a jab for Deitrics left shoulder. He attempted to jam the mind blade into the muscle. If the blade met its mark, even with a grazing blow Deitric would receive a shock of his own. The mind blades attack seemed not only to affect the body but also stagger the nervous system...overcharging nerves with a burst of psychic energy that made it difficult to ignore the pain. As he threw the jab his right hand guard would be up with his chin down.

Edit: The secondary effect of the psi-blade damage.

The tribesman wasn't surprised that his opponent had weathered through the attack. It hadn't been as strong as he would have liked; too much of the energy he'd put into it had been used just to direct the attack. His vision began to focus, but was still hazy around the edges. Tres was easy to make out, though - he was like a walking, neon-emerald sign. He was hoping, perhaps unconsciously, that he could disrupt or dissipate his opponent's apparent technique with an attack, but that was not the case.

Keeping his eyes on his opponent, Deitric began to move to his right slowly, towards the center of the Dome, constantly facing the other man. His eyes had begun to focus faster than his mind had; his brain was still processing the dual-sight he had experienced. The brave's training kept him moving, and he had enough presence of mind to know that Tres still had his new weapon, and that he had to be alert. He couldn't relax for a moment, lest he let his guard down.

Tres was moving to the outside, but that presented a risk for him as much as it did for Deitric - Tres was using his left hand to strike for his opponent's left, and that meant he was presenting the "outside" of his left flank to the warrior, just as he sought to attack Deitric's outside left. It provided the dark-skinned foreigner with an opportunity - one that Tres hopefully hadn't recognized, seeing as how his left hand was empty handed, unlike the right.

There was only time to act - thoughts and ruminations were pushed aside as the cackling blade of psi-energy stabbed towards his shoulder. Deitric swooped in, suddenly dropping a level as he came in low to the ground, his powerful legs sending him lunging forward. It was somewhere between a wrestling shoot and a tackle, but he wasn't aiming directly for Tres's leading left leg - rather, he was going just past it.

Indeed, it might have seemed strange - Deitric was coming in hard and fast in with no method of attack, except for the tomahawk. But that was in his right hand, not his left. However, as he moved toward past his opponent, there was a glint of steel in his left hand. The notorious knife he kept hidden, nearly seven or eight inches of steel, was in his hand. He was angling it in as he passed, trying to stab the first few inches in so that he could slice the steel through the outside of his opponent's thigh just above the knee where the muscles were thinnest. The Khasmin man was hoping that the length of Tres's blade would make it hard for him to retract it and respond to his sudden offensive. They were roughly the same size, meaning he was relying on surprise, rather than on a difference in physical ability.

It was a common fighting technique of his people when fighting an opponent who outreached them - swoop in and feint grappling, but slash the knife through the leg, aiming to sever whatever muscles and tendons they could and limit their opponent's mobility. Tres wore greaves, making an Achilles' tendon sever impossible, but there was plenty of leg to work with elsewhere. Thankfully, Deitric didn't need much strength to accomplish the task - his knife was kept in good condition, and could part through muscle and cloth easily at close range, especially with his body's weight behind it. It was his quick-draw, just as a gunslinger had one, but rather than a six-shooter, his was a knife.

Assuming he came through (relatively) unscathed, the warrior would tuck his right shoulder and roll, trying to spin about and face his opponent - hopefully with his knife bloodied from ripping through the outside of Tres's thigh. When Deitric had shot in, the thrumming green blade had brushed his ear and just along the hinge of his jaw as he moved under it. He was almost entirely sure the burning pain meant he was now missing an ear, but in the whirling storm of combat he didn't exactly have time to check. If he had, he would have noticed that he wasn't bleeding all over the place and that the ear was still in place.

The black-haired brave was relying less on improvisation and more on his training now. He didn't know what sort of weapon Tres had in his hand beyond what it looked like, and he was determined to try and stay out of its way for as long as he could. But avoidance didn't win battles - he still had to try and take his opponent out of the fight. He knew that Sieg's son was dangerous, and by extension his weapon was no different. The only way to mitigate Tres's new reach advantage was to rely on what he had learned on the battlefield.

With weapons in hand, Deitric's fighting looked less and less "civilized"; less like that of a trained boxer or hand to hand artist, and more like that of a warrior. Someone who was trained to cripple and kill, rather than simply defeat. His weapons offered no other choice; the only method of victory afforded to him with the tomahawk and knife involved crippling your opponent until they could no longer fight. It was impressive, athletically, but there was nothing elegant or refined about it. It was the sort of brutal, viciously fast combat that only war could teach.

[5]

6

PP: 15

The bipedal form spoke a language that the Ecstuffuan's were masters at reading. Perhaps it was genetic or maybe it came from training, but Tres like his father was very talented when it came to the examination of bipedal physical motion especially that of a human creature. This was even more prominent when these movements fell under the subject of combat. It was the secret to the psion's quickness, he could read subtle cues on a person's body to guess what movement they were about to perform. While everyone had this ability, especially martial artist, Tres was especially talented at it.

Deitric gave a way a few clues. Tres knew nothing in a fight was done for show when two fighters knew that they were in danger of being hurt seriously. Tres knew that for some reason Tres had positioned his left hand near his hip and though he could not see it at the time (nor could he focus on it due to the tremendous pain he was in, he kept it in mind) he knew that left hand was hiding something dangerous. Tres also knew that Deitric wasn't going to perform a takedown and expect it to work without properly setting it up...and even if he did he didn't have to worry about being taken down by it due to being armed and grappling being especially dangerous due to the fact.

As his psychic blade thrust above the crouching and shooting Brave, the jab left the warrior on balance and prepared to move as he snapped the jabbing strike of the left hand back on guard. The blade made of energy may have appeared to be heavy due to its splendor yet to Tres it did not possess any more weight than was needed to tell it was there. As an extension of his very personality it was actually more a part of him than his own body was.

Tres took a bouncing step backwards to his right (away from Dietric to his left) away from Deitric just as the flash of steel cast itself out of its hiding spot. As he finished the step he bent his knees in a slight crouch. Psionic energy began to flare around the dread headed warrior as it had before. He performed a small hop during the step on the balls of his feet, causing the blade that was aimed at the area just above the knee to strike the leather edge of Tres's greave resulting in a much lighter wound across the area just above his knee as the blade into that leather edge. Still there was no getting used to a knife cutting into your skin, yet somehow the fact that his left hand was in a tremendous amount of pain made it easier to ignore. He stepped first with his lead left foot then with his right and during the step he twisted his body just enough to line up his next shot.

By stepping backwards it allowed his opponent to pass in front of him to his left and attempt the dodge roll however, Tres would attempt act in the large window of time left by Dietric's attempted roll.

Tres would arrive to deliver his attack just as Dietric made contact against the wet steel of the ground with his back and began to rise to his feet. As Dietric attempted to rise and face Tres he engaged him within range of his mind blade and struck with a left back hand chop to Dietric's left side collar bone, attempting to snap the bone in half.

[2]

A chainsaw was never a good weapon, not unless it had been heavily modified. And as far as Spooky could tell, this weapon was not something like the one's 63 wielded. This was a tool, not a weapon but it could still be a dangerous tool at that. The blade in his left hand was not much a weapon either, but it was still a blade. Having killed many people in this world with either instrument, Spooky wasn't perturbed with having the device swung at him. When chain met flesh, there was almost always problems but saws were easily jammed by thick material of different compositions. For instance; chainsaws were specifically designed to cut down trees. Different chains for different trees of different thicknesses at different RPM's for different situations. This was just one of the problems such a device presented when it was offered on the battlefield: the sheer multitude of situations that it was designed for.

The second was that chainsaws actually are mostly dull weapons.The cutting stigma behind them is just an illusion. What they actually did was use the various kinds of teeth each chain was designed for and spun them rapidly. Quite vicious, but normally impractical against anything denser than ice and wood. To cut through anything tougher than that, you needed a different type of saw and different type of teeth spinning much faster rate. Something like a circular saw AKA the buzz saw. Spooky then mentally turned his attention to the third problem, if not the biggest problem of them all: the stupid huge area that wasn't dangerous. He figured that it probably wasn't going to be too long before his opponent started to hate his decision. First though, a little toying with his prey.

Spooky let his opponent with his silly wings approach him tentatively. In fact he almost smirked at the level of caution that was being made. Caution with Spooky? Silly. Oh well, he didn't really care how his new target was going to fight back. He wasn't in control of their body, at least not yet. Then he swung the chainsaw, which Spooky casually batted out and away with the dull side of his blade up against the dull side of the chainsaw. Spooky's weapon was much smaller, but the reach of the tool in his dance partner's hands was mostly for show. In addition to this, the level of pressure and control he could assert with the much smaller weapon was one of the main advantages it owed. If Spooky's ability to even just knock the attack aside was doubted, one just needed to examine the man himself. Even through the fatigues, Spooky was a very physically intimidating man. Not HUEG GAI like Athan or Ebris, but still a very large man. The other unseen increase to his strength was the weird armor that Marius had worn, that Spooky currently wore under his clothes. It looked like a man's body that had been flayed, but afforded the wearer a multitude of new physical capabilities. Marius had not been easy to kill, not by any means, the man in this suit had been an incredible threat. Spooky in this suit? He was at least on the same level. Besides knocking the axe aside, Spooky did nothing else, he simply waited.

The low kick would stop not much later than his backpedal, her right leg planting on the dome's surface. Almost as if she had planned for the backstep.

Glory had learned the dangers of keeping your face close when did a low attack and her right hand was already up to grab the ankle of the incoming boot. Her improved strength would allow her to stop the kick from reaching her face if only by a small margin. And her boots would likewise give her the traction to keep her position stable But Gloria had done worse in prior uses of said tactic. Like almost having her face caved in around her opponent's knee.

Not wanting to give him much time to respond, Gloria's left hand would stab forward with the Ka-Bar towards his trapped right leg the instant her right would grip his ankle. But instead of just aiming to impale his leg randomly, her knife homed in for his knee. She was going to limit the boxer's footwork before anything else.

Even if Shinji did manage to avoid the knife stab, Gloria's grip on his ankle would prove harder to break.

Boost 2/3

PP: 23/29

Post Count: 2

Deitric didn't need to feel the blade cut through the flesh to know he hadn't carved through as much as he would have liked - he could see it with his own eyes. The warrior passed and turned, using his tucked right shoulder to half-roll himself around in time to see his opponent raising his left arm, psi-blade swooping down towards him.

!!!

Adrenaline surged through his veins as he threw himself backwards away from the attack, lunging backwards so hard that he was nearly running as he lurched away from the heavy blow; the psi-blade smashed into the ground where he had been half-crouched. His saving grace were his legs - he'd gotten his feet under him and simply got the hell out of the way; finesse be damned. He had thrown his arms out wide for balance, his weapons flinging out in the process to different ends of the Dome - he was by no means prepared to block or deal with the attack, and was doing all he could to keep away from being hit by it. Thankfully, it the strike looked heavy - it would take a split second for both men to recover; for Tres to resume his usual stance, and for Deitric to stop backpedaling.

Suffice to say, Deitric was surprised, perturbed, and more than a little angry - he didn't know that the blade was dull, or that it wouldn't cut him. As far as he could tell from the split second of time he had seen the blow coming, it looked as if his opponent had tried to split him down the middle from crown to crotch. It looked like a blade - he assumed it functioned That didn't sit well with him; Deitric had no qualms about doling out serious damage, but he would never actually try to kill an opponent in a sanctioned tournament.

Tres had managed to put Deitric wholly on the defense - for a second. That was saying something - it was rare for the dark-skinned warrior to retreat or defend without responding in some fashion. As he retreated towards the lightning rod, something brushed his outstretched hand, and he immediately brought it to bear without looking. Whatever it was, it had been half sticking out of one of the panels, which closed as soon as he pulled the weapon free. He needed a weapon - Sieg's son had one, whereas the brave only had his second tomahawk left.

Quote:** Wrote:

8: Aluminum Bat

The weapon he brought to bear was a professional, heavy-duty aluminum bat. Strong and lightweight, the bat was made to withstand heavy blows and provide maximum force for hitting those record-worthy home-runs and grand slams. It was easily as long as a sword, and was certainly long enough to use in two hands. The tribesman came to a stop as soon as he had the weapon in his hands, hefting it at the ready with his left hand gripping above the right on the handle

The batter was up to the plate and ready to swing - now he just had to wait for the right pitch.

[6]

[OOC:] Don't get shitty at me for the small post, I tried to find the least baaaawwww way for someone to get at me. It took awhile, I deleted two others posts before deciding to just do this.]

[3]

Spooky grinned at the attempt to grab him, if you're going to try and grab someone across your body, at least have the sense not to do it like that. He simply hopped back a stride or two away from Alan and resumed the same stance. This time though his right had was visible. No more than a few moments prior, Spooky had pressed a button on the pocket watch he had taken from Marius. He had seen first hand just what this bit of kit could do. Alan though hadn't, and had no idea that it had just been a pocket watch at one point. Now though, his right hand resembled some strange effigy that was jumbled together. It seemed as if under the right conditions, or how Spooky held his hand the gauntlet would form something. For now though, it was just an exceptionally gaudy piece of armor that Spooky had stolen from a dead guy. This prompted the ever begging question; could you steal from a dead guy? Spooky's actions so far made it seem like he was still waiting, that he wasn't going to play the games that Alan wanted him to play. Even Spooky wondered if he knew what he was doing, or if this was just a intermediary phase before he got to the part in the movie he liked.

Gloria was new to the whole world of hard-core fighting as it revolved around her and her current team. Though she was known for her adaptability, which made learning that much easier. As she watched Shinji's left leg come up after his right, she was glad she was atleast somewhat ambidextrous.

[*] Crystal Shard [Immediate - 1 point]

Her empty right hand flashed suddenly and a translucent pink shard was suddenly there. The 7.5 inch shard was just as sharp as her knife essentially and was powered by her own psionic powers.

As her left hand was already up on its way to stab at his right, it was already in the way of her face to stop the second kick. All it took was a twist of her wrist and instead of meeting the blade's edge, like most people would, Gloria had the tip of her Ka-Bar knife aimed at the sole of his boot. Depending on how thick the boot was, it might go straight through to his foot if he was unlucky. The impact, if he would follow through on it, would jar Gloria and maybe make her lose an inch or two, but wouldn't do much to change her position.

Her right hand would take the path the left hand had abandoned, only on Shinji's opposite leg. The shimmering shard would waste no time in trying to pierce and slice his left calf and ankle.

Boost 3/3

PP: 22/29

Post Count: 3

8

PP: 8

Tres knew that there was some reason why the lightning warrior was bringing the battle close to the lightning rod. Tres did not make any illusions that he had an inkling of what it was though. However, more importantly one had to wonder if it mattered at all. The martial arts were all about deception and conversely that meant that they were all about truth. Tres knew victory would come to those who could protect themselves with truth while spreading deception to others. Tres sought the truth in Deitrics ploy yet, he wondered would giving himself more time to examine the situation... slowing down...betray some inner truth that gave him his power.

Tres had run into a metaphorical mental crossroad in that instance. To win in this situation. Tres would need to slow down, to be hesitant. It was synonymous to admitting fear, to admitting that in one way or another that he may not be the supreme being. Tres had always seemed to be the most damaged when his pride was hurt when there came a little bit more truth to the fact that he may not be all that he saw himself as. Tres found solace against these many trespasses against his psyche in the concept of potential. He was not now, but at some point he would be. It was this understanding that allowed Tres to sleep at hight and unbeknown to him it was this belief that gave him power.

So...Tres would carry on without fear, if only to answer the question...

"Must the ultimate warrior have fear to persevere."

Tres engaged just inside of the swords range with Dietric while simultaneously sliding his emerald blade the glistened as though it were a milky way galaxy taken into the form of a weapon off of his massive powerful shoulders and stepping forward with his right foot into southpaw side stance. At the same time Tres would exhale while puckering his lips. An invisible super concentrated puff of air fortified with psionic energy would cruise towards Deitrics left eye in an instant. The bolt of air was meant to poke Deitric in his eye harshly and distract him from his next attack. The surprise from the invisible attack could also disrupt concentration.

At the same time He held the blade in his right hand at his abdominal level he would thrust his sword forward in a snapping jab aimed towards Dietrics left side chest at an angle that attempted to take advantage of the puff of air Tres had used to eliminate vision for a moment in dietric's left eye. Tres briefly grasped the bottom section of the blade to half sword, shortening his grip to produce a more stable thrust.

The tribesman continued to move, waiting as he began to pull off excess energy, pouring into his body.

Abilities Wrote:

CNS Enhancement - This is a specific technique revolving around Deitric's central nervous system, specifically the motor nerves that deal with muscle control . Using his ability to manipulate electricity, Deitric "jumpstarts" his central nervous system's muscle fiber recruitment, allowing him to recruit every muscle fiber possible for a short amount of time [1 post]. This gives Deitric a tremendous physical boost in all attributes [2x his stats], but heavily taxes the body over time if done more than once or twice during a fight.

Abruptly, there was a puff in the air - the heavy mist standing in the air billowed forward, catching his left eye. The heavy humidity in the air spread some of the force behind the sneak attack so that it caught the entire socket rather than the eye itself, but Deitric's eye still flinched closed instinctively and Tres swooped in to try and take advantage of it.

Fortunately, the gods had saw fit to grace the brave with two functioning eyes, and his opponent's weapon was a large, luminescent sword made of emerald energy - standing within weapon's reach of one another, it'd be almost impossible to notice its movement.

Deitric's response didn't need both eyes, and even with the surprise "poke" to the eye, he could still do what he needed to do; finesse and concentration weren't issues. All he had to do was swing for the fences.

The black-haired warrior took a step back from the oncoming sword, suddenly hammering as hard as he could with his weapon, aiming to sweep it inward from his left side. He wasn't even aiming for his dreadlocked opponent--

--he was aiming for the psychic's weapon. Deitric's already immense physical capabilities were suddenly twofold - twice the strength, twice the speed. He could have probably taken Tres's head clean off his shoulders with the attack, but he was more interested in robbing the Ecstuffuan fighter of his most immediate and most useful weapon.

He was going to break that psi-blade, hitting the thinnest part - the "edge." Of course, the bat wasn't going to survive the assault either. The aluminum bat would bend at the middle and more than likely shear right across where he'd struck the weapon, leaving Deitric with half of a bat in his hands - but hopefully, he would manage to shatter the psi-blade. Even if the blade was made of a stronger material, it was more about the sheer amount of force being put into the blow, not about the relative strengths of the two materials. Would could break steel - if there was enough force behind it.

And Deitric had plenty of force and then some behind his attack.

[8]

So he wanted room to breathe did he?

As it so happened, so did Gloria really. Wisps of pink-ish smoke left her skin as her power boost bled from her. The vaccuum left her a bit heady, but as she straightened herself, a pivot in her right hand had the crystal shard held by the tip. She couldn't know exactly what Shinji was trying to do. but letting anyone reset themselves was a bad idea.

So forward the right hand went, the shard cutting through the air as if thrown by a pro. Or atleast semi-pro. Okay, so she was mostly a novice at it. It was aimed at Shinji's upper left torso. It probably didn't help for her image that she almost stumbled when the throw was released. If left alone it would readily pierce his chest unless he had some kind body armor if she was lucky. But in actuality, a miss wouldn't have deterred her too much.

After it was thrown, Glory ran behind the crystal shard in a measured stride. Her Ka-Bar was ready on the attack like always.

If the shard missed or was deflected past Shinji, Gloria would continue to close the distance, pulling back her right hand, balled into a fist. But why would she punch if she had a knife in her other hand?

[*] [i] Control Object [standard - 1 point (for small object [12 pounds])

Unless Shinji had eyes in the back of his head, he wouldn't notice the shard slowly turning about in it's spin. Nor would he notice it coming directly back at him from behind. Gloria didn't have much control over this ability just yet, but Shinji's center mass wasn't a small target.

Boost Cooldown: 1/4

PP: 21/29

Post Count: 4

[[edited for clarification]]

"Well, this is gonna be unpleasant. . ."

Shinji's monotone, inner-monologue mused momentarily.

He would have settled on a course of action that would most-likely be particularly painful. It'd be a challenge to endure, but he'd find a way. His plan now was actually rather simple, as cool, calm eyes followed his opponent's movement as she pressed the attack, he figured she would. There was no reason not to, after all. Regardless, Shinji would hold his ground now, as his gaze shifted ever-so-slightly to trace the trajectory of the incoming psi-knife. He would take a deep breath, doing what he could to dodge it while moving forward on his own. However, there was no real dodge, just the manner of his forward movement. He would preform a low, lunge forward, doing his best to suppress a grimace as he ignored the pain radiating upward from his leading left foot.

His plan would hinge on timing. As it would turn out, the psi-knife couldn't be completely and entirely dodged, as Shinji's wounded foot didn't allow him the same fleetness that he usually enjoyed. He still moved with surprising speed for his size, though, and he would meet her head on as her psionic knife impacted flesh above her initially intended target, only barely grazing his upper chest before coming to a stop embedded in his left shoulder. For now, the pain or damage was negligible. Shinji had other plans.

He moved head on. The distance between them would close rapidly as she ran behind the crystal shard she had tossed moments ago. Shinji would take one long, meaningful stride, placing his left foot forward he would steady himself. Both hands drew up, hovering a short distance in front of his face. Though his attention kept track of her center-body-mass, his peripheral vision allowed him to follow the movements of her knife and free hand. With his forward-lunging step, Shinji would once again place himself in harm's way. If she continued her forward run they would clash in a matter of split-seconds.

What happened then? Well, that'd be up to Glory. Viewers at home would watch breathlessly as Shinji literally threw himself into harms way. And for what?

"A gamble. . ."

Beyond his simple, forward lunging movement, Shinji had preformed no action other than the continued upwelling of internal energetics. His fists were ready, and there was no way to know he wasn't preparing to crack her skull with an uppercut, or something, but for now, the attack simply didn't come. Instead, chakra continued to expound from within, cycling through an expansive circulatory system as it built up both volume and raw, kinetic energy. Something was afoot, though his opponent couldn't know what, beyond the slightest hint that Shinji had changed. Like an unseen wind dancing around him, his bangs and clothing danced as barely-visible wisps of chakra created a modest aura about him.

"This is gonna hurt. . ." He thought to himself, once more. To land his strike, he had one step yet to take:

Get hit.

Shinji liked to think. And, here and now, from what little he had learned of his opponent, there was no reason, no way for her to back off now. She had pressed the attack, landed yet another successful blow and was closer-than-ever to finishing the fight. As thoughts raced through the ex-monk's head, he was confident in his gamble: She would go for the kill. Figuratively, of course. That's when he would make his attack.

It was a gamble, but, ending a fight against a dangerous opponent, and doing it quickly, was of paramount importance.

"Is that all?!" He called, as he dashed forward to meet her. The dull pain radiating from the wound in his shoulder could be suppressed momentarily.

"It'll take more than that, miss."

A wry smirk drew across his lips. He stood his ground, and waited a split-second or two.

Post Count: 4

Charge: 2

[4]

Finally. Spooky had been waiting for his opponent to open his wings like that, without hesitation the man put into motion the first real opening move of this fight. So Spooky was inclined to react appropriately and with very little restraint. The concealed armor beneath the fatigues became far less concealed as the wearer activated the only retractable piece to the whole kit; the helmet. His grey suit spread like a mutation as it cascaded up his neck, throat, and stopped at the underside of his chin. Just as quickly the back bore a mercurial head plate that whipped over his scarred skull and brutalized face before meeting at the seam. Spooky was now fully concealed. This wasn't a defensive measure, but rather an offensive one. He had no idea exactly what Alan was planning on doing, but he needed the helmet in order to work the gauntlet on his right hand correctly. A HUD flicked onto the interior of the helmet and indicated a red line of outgoing energy, there was none he could use to power the gauntlet. At least not yet.

Then the wings flung forward and a blast of fire and wind struck Spooky, he felt warmth course over his body as the clothes he wore started to burn. The rubber of his untied boots began to slowly melt. Spooky slipped his feet out as he stepped forward. The gauntlet on his right hand sent courses of electrical impulses up into the HUD. The red became a light yellow. His blade trap had absorbed some of the passing energy and was going to be ready to react very soon. Spooky though was already prepared to act, he turned to face Alan and bent his knees slightly (right foot first now) noticing him pull the gas tank out.

"Clever."

His warbled voice spoke through the helmet and then he sprung into action. Wreathed in unfelt fire as his trappings caught in the wind, Spooky lunged towards his opponent with the right hand of his gauntlet leading the attack, left arm up and ready to swing down. Spooky was hoping to knock the thing down onto its back, gain leverage with the right hand, use it, and then attack brutally with the left. That was the plan anyway.

Striker: Alan vs. Spooky

Lovi had witnessed the active procession of battles as they occurred on the roof of the dome with a drifting sensation enveloping her mind and subsequent thought process. It was a relief to step back and observe the event as it occurred to those with experience, and the perspective granted to the average spectator through distance was somewhat enlightening for one who had too often stepped blindly into the fray itself. 'Enlightening' might not have been an accurate word. 'Alarming' seemed more appropriate, considering all that she had experienced in failure thus far. It was 'alarming' to watch her teammates as they each engaged in combat so naturally that they might have been born to do just that. (They were, of course, but her general pessimism wouldn't allow her to believe in any form of 'destiny', no matter how simplistic).

Having a somewhat more intimate and profitable (quite literally) history with Alan, his actions concerned her a little more than she would have liked to admit. She knew exactly where the all too often bitter and emotional bird-brain was physically vulnerable, and though she knew better than to underestimate the avion prince, she didn't trust that his confidence in battle wouldn't give way to those weaknesses. She saw the brief shift in his opponent's expression just before it was engulfed in a protective mask that grew from an unknown origin like a thing of magic. Worse than some unknown magic; it was probably another piece of technology beyond Lovi's mental grasp or liking. It hardly seemed fair that this man should have the advantage of a living exoskeleton while Alan remained comparatively exposed and vulnerable.

At least, that's what she rationalized in her head as she ran her fingers over the throat of her axe in a contemplative and almost affectionate manner. Had I neglected to mention that she had an axe? Lovi rarely made use of it, as wielding it was against her usual preference. However, her recent frustrations gave the thing a kind of appeal that she hadn't quite considered before.

For a moment, it seemed as though Spooky might easily gain the upper hand given the seemingly impenetrable assistance of his armor and his own natural speed. Alan was a quick thinker too, though. Should his attempt to trip his opponent prove successful, Lovi would waste no time in taking the opportunity to charge in and strike while he was down. That pretty set of remarkably advanced armor was just begging to be tested, if not broken, and she was more than happy to oblige.

Readying her weapon as she charged, Spooky might have had a moment to sit up take notice of her obvious approach (perhaps more than that). Whether he had time to react or not, her destination wasn't so terribly specific that it would matter to her. She would bring her axe down upon whatever joint or limb was closest. Though, in this case, her initial goal would probably have been his right shoulder. Whatever she managed to accomplish, if anything, she would withdraw about as quickly as she had charged in. Best not to linger in these situations, nor make things overly complicated for herself.

Lovi had literally ripped the engine from a vehicle with her bare hands in the preliminary bout. One could imagine the damage she might manage with a weapon.

((Sorry about that, Tale. I keep getting interrupted while typing.

Also, I can't find Lovi's equipment list in the documents on my computer. I know the axe was in there when the profile was submitted, though. I hope that's ok.))

11

PP: 3

Blood Vomited forth into tres's mouth as his body pushed through the pain of having what must have been his stomach caving in. Had Tres been a normal man he would have buckled over like a broken petrified tree that had gone for a few decades without nourishment. However, Tres was more than a mere man and within him, despite all of his airs, despite all of his annoying arrogance the heart of a lion beat within his chest. Adrenaline was all that kept him conscious as the force of the blow quaked through his body like nearly nothing he had ever felt save for in his training bouts with his parents.

Electricity pumped through Tres's body, though some of the energies transference was mitigated by his leather vest. Tres's ribs were saved by the fact that he continued to twist his waist in a counter clockwise turn with his previous attack, turning his rock hard abdominals into the knee rather than his rigid and breakable ribs. Yet the force of the blow created a shockwave in his torso that caused his ribs to begin to crack...

Flashbacks of similar knee strikes delivered into the same area by his mother and his father flashed through Tres's mind and with that experience despite the pain, despite the numb burn in his chest from the electric shock, he knew he was going to live he knew he could fight on. Deitric meant to continue his assault as Tres lurched forward violently to give to the force of the attack. Perhaps the dark skinned warrior listened for the sound of a man giving into pain...yet all he would hear was the roar of a beast.

In the Brave's face he would suddenly no longer see the hansom face of the dread headed fighter that had lurched over his right shoulder but it was the mane of some beast that looked like the unholy mating between a lion, bear and crocodile. The sudden and frightening change was created by the inner workings of psionic energy within Tres's body. Deitric had been faced with a strange and otherworldly art this day...even more so than anything most gaian's had to offer.

A row of ugly sharp massive teeth designed only for the crushing of bone and the rending of flesh dripped with a viscous hungry ichor that smelled of war and destruction suddenly snapped shut as Tres attempted to bite into the Brave's right side area between his shoulder and his neck (or collar bone if he was impeded in his reach). He would attempt to chew through the muscle and sinew hear, making sure that for every nasty and devastating attack he took he gave it back 3 fold.

Simultaneously Tres attempted to gain an overhook with his left arm around Deitric's right knee and pull it to the side closer into his grasp while his right arm began to channel a psi-knife that would not appear immediately (next post) but poised itself to strike. At the same Time Tres pushed forward with his left leg while stepping behind the opponents left leg with his right leg, in an attempt to take him down to the ground.

Tres wondered if the lightning warrior had ever wrestled a 200+ pound monster.

Wrote: Bite

[Standard - 6 points]

This ability shows how psychometabolism can be used to temporarily morph the body. In a single post time length, Tres develops the snout of a canine animal and in the following four post Tres can bite down with jaws lined with shark like razor sharp teeth with about the same biting force as a large canine. These jaws can snap close in a single instance, breaking small bones and easily rending skin and muscle. This biting force has a similar weakness to a crocodiles in that the muscles developed to open the jaws aren't nearly as strong as the ones that close it. That means it is very possible to hold his jaws shut easily. Tres can bite off portions of the enemies flesh and digest the food normally through the use of this ability allowing him to recharge a single power point.

Deitric's face remained unchanged throughout the exchange - his jaw was set stubbornly with determination, the muscles in his neck standing out like cords of iron. His opponent wasn't ready to go down just yet, but the brave planned on changing that. Tres was stubborn, but that was his shatterpoint - he was too stubborn to disengage, and an opponent could make him pay for it.

The tribesman intended to.

When Tres lunged in, his malformed features twisted into an animal snarl of aggression, Deitric didn't hesitate in launching his second attack.

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, mirroring the hammering motion of its namesake.

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.

While the two men were metaphorically up close and personal, Deitric's left arm - cocked and waiting, unaccounted for in their exchange - suddenly shot forward as if his fist were shot from a cannon, aiming to smash Sieg's son square in the solar plexus with enough force to blow the man's feet out from under him and knock him back. There would be no electrocution - it was all raw, physical power. The punch was nearly twice as strong as the knee; whatever bones were unbroken were likely to be smashed beneath the attack now. A one-two combo to the same location - intended to maximize and magnify the potential effects of both attacks.

The two fighters were close enough that Deitric couldn't fully extend his arm, but the supernatural power behind his attack meant he didn't need to - his attack, if it struck, would literally shove Tres violently backwards as the arm extended. The tribesman was banking on the closeness - the closer they were, the harder it was to block or dodge their traded blows, especially in the almost clench-style situation they were in, with Deitric's right hand grasping Tres's vest - which he released when he threw the punch.

Tres would manage get his teeth just into his opponent, but he wouldn't get much for his attack - a mouthful of leather and crushed ablative plates that were sutured into the underside of the jacket to act as armor. Deitric's shoulder would come out with a series of gashes of various lengths and depths. Painful, but not fight ending. His Thunderhammer also dislocated his pinky and ring finger, and fractured his wrist, but he had steeled himself for the backlash; it was the price he paid for power. Depending on the timing of his attempt to underhook Deitric's leg, it might be successful, but it would unlikely have any effect as the two men were forcibly blasted apart.

The tribesman had shown his ace - he was going to use it to knock his opponent over like a house of cards.

SHOOT TO THRILL

[11]

Deitric lurched forward as he blasted Tres away, his boots clicking across the steel paneling beneath his feet as he caught his balance. The air in his lungs felt heavy, and the fatigue in his muscles burned like battery acid. The left side of his body ached, and each breath he drew in caused a sharp pain where Tres's attacks had manages to fracture a rib or two. The warrior cast a glance at his left hand - two of his fingers sat out of place and refused to bend.

Gritting his teeth with an audible grunt of pain, the warrior grabbed the fingers and violently yanked one way before shoving in the other direction, forcing the fingers back into their proper place. He curled his left hand into a fist; it was all he could do with it now; the two fingers were popped back into place but the injury had overstretched the tendons and muscles in his hand; his grip strength was gone.

The warrior shook himself off like a wet dog, trying to shake away the pain and fatigue. It worried and whittled away at his discipline, the self-control that kept him from abusing his abilities to the point where his self-injury became too severe. His ears still rang dully, and it felt like someone was kicking a bass-drum just behind his eyes, not to mention essentially ruining his left hand for the rest of the fight. At best, he could just use it to bludgeon Tres, but not much else.

Watching his opponent pick himself up off the ground, Deitric knew Tres wasn't going to quit, not of his own accord. He could tell the man was considerably weaker now that he had been battered, but the tribesman had long since learned that even a wounded wolf could still bite. He had no choice - he was going to put his opponent down, come Hell or high water.

The warrior came forward relatively quickly in comparison to his previous approach - his long stride was reminiscent of a predator's loping run; controlled and focused on the purpose at hand. He was only taking a jogging pace, keeping his movements under control so that his momentum wouldn't get away from him.

Deitric was heading right for Tres, putting the two men on a collision course. His guard was up, but that didn't telegraph much - the only thing for certain was that he intended on bringing them into hand to hand range again, daring his opponent to attack him. As the pair drew closer, the brave's right fist twitched forward, feinting a punch towards the other man's face, as if he were going to punch Tres squarely in the mouth.

[12]

Deitric's feint worked well enough - a bit too well, as it had prompted Tres to both defend and lash out.

Immediately after his feint, the warrior changed levels, dropping low as he pushed off the ground, aiming to smash his right shoulder into Tres's solar plexus. His opponent's punch clipped the side of his skull painfully on the way in, causing an explosion of pain in his head and rattling his vision. Thankfully, precision wasn't an issue - Tres was a big man, just as big as the tribesman, and they were within arm's reach; there was no room to veer off course. With the injuries Tres had already taken, getting shoulder-checked by a two hundred and twenty pound man was probably going to do more than just knock the air from his lungs - it was going to hurt

Assuming he made his tackle, the brave's arms would instantly wrap up tightly around Tres's torso, similar to a double underhook, but not with the intent of tripping him backwards - the intent was to apply an enormous amount of pressure to his already battered and broken torso, gripping his left wrist with his right hand behind Tres's body and squeezing like a human vice. The impact of his shoulder against his opponent's torso sent burning, sharp pain through the shallow teeth marks across his shoulder, but he knew it had to hurt worse for Tres than it did for him.

If his shoulder check was successful, Deitric would use his modified double underhook and the force of their bodily collision to lift Tres off the ground in the same manner as a high-crotch takedown, kicking his right leg out behind him as he directed his momentum downwards.

WHUD

With the intent of slamming Tres down on the hard, metal floor of the Noah Dome on his shoulder blades. The blow to Deitric's head had left him dizzy and wincing, but he didn't need balance; he only needed to maintain a steady application of pressure. Thankfully, his head would be tucked to Tres's left side, safe from any overly powerful attacks. The last thing the tribesman wanted was to get punched in the head again.

From there, it would only be a matter of time - and willpower on his opponent's part - before lack of oxygen and pain did Tres in. Deitric could only hope his opponent didn't manifest another sword of some sort, and that he could apply enough force to crush the will to fight out of his opponent, or otherwise make him black out.

[13]

The ground shuddered audibly was more than four hundred pounds fell onto the metal paneling. Deitric's hold tightened further; like a python, the constriction only grew worse the longer it lasted. Tres might have been able to work his hand into the gap left by an elbow or shoulder, but with the majority of the tribesman's weight settling onto the shoulder that helped form Deitric's vice grip, it would be extremely hard to counter the hold now that it was firmly set.

There was a dull, painful crunch as the crystal shard came down. The ablative plates beneath the leather of his jacket shattered on impact, absorbing some of the force of the attack and keeping the piece of psi-crystal from going too deep into Deitric's back. The downside to keeping the psi-crystal from going too deep was that the small shards of the ablative plates also bit into his flesh, causing a localized group of small, bloody perforations around where the psi-crystal hit. Blood dribbled down his neck and shoulders from the wound, turning Deitric's back into a bloody mess.

The tribesman growled through the pain, blood dripping from between his gritted teeth as he responded by violently thrashing and grinding his opponent into the ground beneath them. His muscles ached and burned as he exerted every ounce of crushing force that he could, every breath splattered a fine mist of blood on the metal paneling just beneath his face. Bones in his already-weakened left wrist crackled as he squeezed his left forearm in a white-knuckle death-grip, intent on pouring every ounce of effort into his submission hold.

Deitric was like a rabid dog when it came to grappling - once he had someone by the throat, he didn't willingly let go, and he'd do his best to tear their throat out before they escaped. In this case, he was going to do his best to keep applying pressure before Tres could dig the shard into his flesh and cut him up any further. It was all he could do now - other than shocking Tres, his only avenue of attack was to continue squeezing until the man blacked out.

[14]

PP: 1

Post: 15

With each passing moment it became harder and harder to breath. Literally the life was being squeezed out of him and whats more, the internal bleeding made him light headed.

Before he brought down his crystal blade a second time into Deitric's back the lack of blood flow circulating through his body caused him to drop the blade. The crystal shard, though as hard as steel would shatter against the metal ground once it left the psion's invigorating touch.

's**t!', the psychic thought as he then brought his hand down to dig into the open wound made by his previous attack with his right finger. He gripped into the ripped leather and the open cut and held on as tight as he could, doing all he could simply to stay awake.

[5]

Spooky merely lunged over Alan as he (Alan) lunged away. There was no such luxury of time for his attacks to occur given the ridiculous nature of their attempt. He came to roll deftly on the roof of the complex and slide a few further inches across the wet terrain their battle was taking place on before finishing the roll to face Alan from his knelt position. The gap between the two was now considerably larger. A mixture of splashing water and hurried steps alerted Spooky to an incoming attack. Spooky quickly stood from his knelt position, and glanced to his right just in time to notice a woman aggressively wielding an axe. The blade catch that formed the gauntlet on his right hand came up to block the strike, Spooky followed this up with a blast of electricity down the dull edge of his attacker's weapon. And then he finished it off with a forceful side kick of his right leg to the knee in order to throw her down. Meanwhile, he held onto the axe.

Problem solved.

Spooky dropped the cleaver in his right hand and juggled the axe over to it. Once more he turned his full attention back to Alan. Nothing had happened so far in this miserable excuse for a fight besides that ineffective blast of fire and several attempts from other side to avoid actual combat. The man flipped the axe in his grip once before asking Alan:

"Are you going to get serious now?"

Deitric could tell that both the fight and consciousness had fled his opponent. When someone blacked out, the unconscious effort that kept their body ready to mode disappeared and they slumped. The tribesman extricated himself from the dreadlocked psychic and shifted his weight backwards so that he fell onto his rump.

"Tougher than you look," he muttered under his breath. For all his preening and arrogance, Tres had proven to be a legitimately tough opponent to bring down, both for his capacity to take pain and his sheer stubbornness. An angry, purple-black bruise was beginning to develop along the left side of Deitric's forehead where Tres's punch had clipped him.

Carefully, the tribesman picked himself up off the ground, feeling his body ache and burn in protest. Thankfully, he didn't get his legs mangled in this fight, which made getting up off of the ground a lot easier. Deitric wiped away the blood from the corner of his lip as he turned away from his opponent, searching over the Dome until he found his knife and tomahawk.

Returning them to their rightful places, the tribesman wandered off towards his team's side of the stage, looking back to see if any medical personnel had gotten on the scene to resuscitate his opponent.

[16 - end.]

Shinji would draw out all the chakra he had conserved, all for this one attack. It would be a big one.

"Pièce de résistance."

From the very core of his being, chakra radiated at a rapidly-increasing pace, cycling through an expansive circulatory network it would be momentarily visible to the naked eye, such was the density and potency of the energy. The garnered energy would then, at Shinji's mental command, surge forth in great quantity from his center body-mass, through his right arm into the palm of his hand. With willpower and practiced chakra-control, Shinji would compress the energy into a spherical shape. Powerful forces of rotational, kinetic energy condensed literally at his fingertips, and, in an instant, his attack would be executed.

As his right hand balled into a fist, Shinji would execute a simple-seeming maneuver. A single punch, fist aligned vertically rather than horizontally, would surge forth like a piston. The "One-Inch Punch" was little more than a quick, short-ranged jabbing motion, which garnered much of its strength from the user's solid stance, with forward-moving momentum contributing most of the blow's considerable force. In this instance, such forces combined with the ball of chakra condensed into Shinji's fist. As he enacted the punching motion, he would literally 'punch' the energy outward, utilizing all his forward momentum he would apply a straight trajectory to the Kamehameha-style energy blast.

This was Tashinkō, the "Forged Iron Needle".

The massed energy would, then, be sent barreling directly ahead, covering the relatively short distance between Shinji and his opponent in little time. All the rotational forced attributed to the expertly shaped sphere of energy would cause it to take on a drilling, spear-like quality as it narrowed in mid-flight as a result of its trajectory. The resulting spear of energy would blast forth from Shinji's extended fist unexpectedly, to say the least, as there would be no real visual cue that his fist carried anything more than a punch directed at his opponent's sternum. The explosion of energy would appear visually as a great gust of wind, the same ethereal breeze which danced about Shinji's hair and clothing seconds before which would have since dissipated, only to re-surge through his outstretched fist.

Considering the location of the two fighters: running head-on at each other, Shinji's opponent would need some serious finesse and finagling to avoid the potent, close-range energy blast as it radiated out from Shinji's fist to strike at a distance. The exact range of the attack was considerable, extending well-beyond the reach of Shinji's long arms, the Forged Iron Needle had a ten to fifteen foot range, though it needn't travel half that to reach its target. Shinji wouldn't miss, not even as distraction bayed in the distance, a whistle which he could only barely discern. He ignored it, to say the least, going on ahead with his domineering energy blast that would threaten to literally blow his opponent away.

His opponent, or the officials for that matter, need not worry, however. Being "blown away" did not necessarily imply being transformed into dust on the breeze, or anything so dire. Although a sufficiently-charged and empowered Forged Iron Needle could threaten to pierce a man through-and-through, Shinji was well aware of the rules of the competition. His opponent would not be "pierced", literally, but the momentous, bludgeoning force of the blast would be not-unlike being hit by a truck with the surface area of a man's fist. It would carry the weight of a one-hit K.O., certainly and unquestioningly. Tough to block due to the great weight of the blow, and tough to avoid due to the relative range, Shinji could only hope to damage his opponent sufficiently.

The blast would sound something like this:

KA-BOOM!

And look something like this.

And then, it would be followed shortly by this:

KA-THUNK!

An axe of unknown proportion would wedge itself in Shinji's shoulder.

It would be impossible for Shinji to react so soon after releasing his attack. Whether he knew the axe was coming or not, the point would be moot. He simply didn't have the time to avoid it. He had sacrificed advantage in the fight to charge this attack, and he would not be swayed from letting it loose. Resulting, he would take an axe to the shoulder. A rather painful quandary, his sturdy, rooted stance would keep him stable long enough for his energy blast to be properly loosed but seconds-after the axe would contact his shoulder and he would loose his grip on the Noah Dome's exterior surface. He didn't go sliding all the way off the damn thing, but he would be almost-literally knocked off his feet as the axe was lodged just above his clavicle. A single pillar of blood would shoot in an upward trajectory from the wound, and then, the crimson liquid would seep slowly through his t-shirt and jacket.

Shinji would land hard on his back with a resounding thud, in the wake of the explosive "boom" of his concussive energy blast. The axe wouldn't remain lodged in him for long, as it would clang free as he crashed down onto the Noah Dome's surface, wrenching free from the wound while further exacerbating it.

All he could really hope for now was that his plan for a one-hit K.O. would result in a double K.O., for it seemed he was in no condition to carry onward. It seemed, at least. It wasn't as if he had passed out on the ground where he landed, no, Shinji would prop himself up as soon as he could manage, teeth still clenching the long burnt-out remainder of a crushed cigarette.

His deep, solemn voice seemed to echo.

Placing his right hand over his wounded left shoulder, he compressed it as best he could. The bleeding had slowed, but his outlook, and the fight outlook, didn't appear good. He could only hang on to a sliver of hope that he had done enough damage to his opponent. Cool, calm eyes peered ahead, therefore, in the wake of his momentous energy blast, to attempt to discern his opponent. Those same cool, calm eyes were weighed down, it seemed, with a bit of worry, and a lot of pain.

Post Count: 5

Charge: 0

Gloria didn't stop in her run at all, but simply smirked as she Lovi's axe flying in for his shoulder. Her teammate was just amazing at times.

But just like in her fight in the prelims, her opponent just did not know how to take a ******** distraction!

Just as described, Gloria watched in a sort of tragic, detached, slow-motion sort of view as Shinji's attack shot at her. But just like with Alan's 'training' match before the tournament, Gloria had stopped trying to be surprised by people using point-blank ranged attacks.

Let's just hope this outcome is better than with Alan!

[*] Probability Field [Immediate - 6 points]

The air around her instantaneously crackled with pink energy. It didn't emanate from her body, it just appeared around her. The blast seemed to barrel into the field of pink! straight into Gloria--

-- but seemed to blow past her at an off angle, as if something had redirected the straight blast. Which something had, in fact, done.

Before Gloria could sigh in relief, she felt a twinge of pain as she felt the blast practically bounce off of her side as it passed. The force against her caused her to truly stumble, taking a clumsy dive to the side. Landing on her side, she watched the tail end of the blast drill through the surface of the dome.

"Daaaaaaamn..." she said, a bit breathless as she touched the forming bruise on her side.

Boost Cooldown: 2/4

P. Field Cooldown: 1/4

PP: 15/29

Post Count: 5

[6]

His HUD flickered to the left of his turned head, Alan was back. While the HUD was highly advanced, it wasn't equipped with a motion sensor, what it was equipped with was targeting for the blade catch. Spooky finished the front kick and stepped back with his left foot as the tank came hurtling his way. Alan cut it in half, the fuel inside spilled out and flew where Spooky had been. It might have been a good idea to use some of that wind power he seemed to possess to guide the fuel. Spooky released the axe in his trap and let it fall to the ground to his right, Alan's blade wasn't far from his left. A counter-swing could present a problem depending on how strong his opponent was. Marius had been a fencer who fought opponents with impeccably smithed swords and this synthetic suit had been designed to repel their edges. While it certainly wouldn't provide any sort of full on negation, the level of strength involved and appropriate was in which the swing was used would really decide on how much an opponent could cut through the armor. Also - Spooky was bereft of any clothes save for the armor, it had been burned off from Alan's fire blast and Spooky had stepped out of his boots. It should be carefully noted here that the armor did indeed cover every single inch of Spooky. The blade had swung up from the crotch where he had been, this suddenly made him wonder if whether or not the armor could have stopped a crotch shot like that. Spooky dragged his left foot around the back and placed it behind the right, once more leading with his right with the trap extended out at the front. He anticipated that he'd be facing Alan's left side, but he also anticipated that there'd probably be a counter-attack of some sort. Spooky really hoped there would be.

Shinji would not immediately notice his teammate dashing into the fray, as his gaze remained leveled straight ahead, at his opponent. She had fallen to the floor as well, but there was no inkling as to what damage she had taken. Shinji would have been unable to discern that she had used a shielding technique to avoid a serious injury, as he was at the time being struck with a flying axe.

Now, though, she seemed out of the picture, momentarily. Shinji tried to prop himself enough to shamble to his feet but placing too much stress on his left arm and shoulder caused his effort to be ultimately fruitless. He fell languidly onto his back, brown eyes gazing upward toward the heavens. For a moment, at least, before he heard:

Sey Wrote:

"Shinji!"

With regards to assisting Alan, Lovi wasn't terribly surprised to find her brief action intercepted in the process of attacking Alan's opponent. The shock, however, came quite literally in the form of an electrical attack that trailed from the shoulder of the axe to the grip where both of her hands were grasped quite tightly; a grasp that couldn't be maintained in a momentary fit of convulsions in response to his course of action. While Lovi could generally have managed against such a simple show of force in the following side kick, she was hardly in a position to maintain her balance (and being kicked in the knee dead on was hardly a pleasant experience for anyone). She fell to her good knee, gritting her teeth and lamenting the brief surge of pain as Alan continued the fight and left open the opportunity to retrieve her weapon and withdraw.

Her eventual (or prior, as I'm not totally sure what if any order we're working in) motion in assisting Gloria proved about as lacking after the opposing striker went about the task of healing the injured Shinji from what should have been a substantial blow. He was thereafter in a position to take advantage of a weapon she might as well have offered to him on a silver platter.

Hell and damnation..

Tresondros Ecstuffuan Wrote:

As soon as he was able to breath without hacking up blood he attempted to stand. His legs wobbled beneath him during his ascension causing him to stumble forward a few steps before returning to his knees. He looked up and he heard the crowd roar in excitement and appreciation for the fight. It didn't matter to Tres though, this was for him and once again he failed. Through haze of semi-consciousness and roar of pain all he could think of was getting back to training and running the weakness from his body once and for all. First however, he needed to keep himself alive because the pain was steadily just getting worse and he felt consciousness begin to slip again.

Tres' bout, which played out as the lead attraction (whether one chose to argue with that point or not) had finished far sooner, or at least differently than Lovi might have guessed, though it lost nothing in scale and entertainment value by the outcome. Of the three active teammates this time around, Tres might actually have needed her assistance in those last moments before what must have been a pride-crippling conclusion. She wouldn't have made such an effort on his behalf, however. Not when he seemed so determined to prove his worth on his own terms.

And now he was forced by his own physical pain, a result of undeniable defeat, to almost literally crawl from the arena to whatever sanctuary he hoped to make or find. The crowd cheered wildly, but they might as well have been a thousand miles away by the bitter expression upon his face. This must feel like some small piece of hell for him. Needless to say, that thought was just a little satisfying to her.

But, in the end, she couldn't leave him to his own momentarily feeble devices. It wasn't in her to be quite that uncaring.

"Come on then," she approached the dread headed warrior, extending her hand in a gesture meant to convey some sense of respect as she offered assistance. For all that she despised in him, none of it mattered for the moment, given the current circumstances.

[7]

As Sey (whom he had tried to kill many times in the past, and even considered it now), touched Spooky he felt an incredible rush of monstrous power run through his right arm. The capacitors within the gauntlet risked burning themselves out from the sudden surge of the White Mage's ridiculous power. Electrical synapses fired up and down the synthetic muscle of his arm and fed data into his HUD. The energy available to him was close to red lining once more after he had dealt with the woman, but now it was pushing to the limit of green. He wondered exactly how strong an unrestricted strike was, Marius had been careful and metered the power he had thrown at Spooky. They were not of a similar mindset though, Spooky wanted to end this fight and end it immediately so that he could get onto why he had picked the cleaver in the first place. He was not going to strike just yet though, Alan's actions with that sword of his would decide precisely how Spooky used the converted power.

"Are you ready?"

The voice broke through the helmet once again. Spooky knew that Alan was now on the defensive and the little he knew about what Sey had just done, let alone what he himself had just done made the creature wary. His clever raised at his side, waiting to strike a lethal counter-blow once the opening move between the two had been played. Spooky's gauntlet reached out tentatively, unsure of exactly where he should go with it as he inched his way forward without changing his stance.

Gloria was bruised, but in no way out of the fight. Truth be told, she was only taking her time in getting back up since she was sure Shinji would need more than a moment or two to get up himself. Then there was the whole situation about the axe in his shoulder.

Gloria was sitting up in time to hear some woman shouting to her opponent. She more or less blinked in awe as the woman, who had to be the fourth on their team run over, and tend to him.

"Eh, what's she gonna do this late in the--" She was more or less cut off as she saw how easily Shinji stood up on his own. "Well, double damn. She's a ******** healer?!" She easily got her feet under her in the span it took him to rid himself of the smoke, staying in a low crouch as he readied himself.

And then the axe was thrown.

"********!"

[*] Burst [Immediate - 1 points]

Pushing off enough to let her feet leave the ground, her body was propelled back and to the left of her previous location, watching sparks as the axe gouged into the roofing. She was all too aware that Shinji himself was advancing, and simply let him come to her, as her retreat had bought her more space for him to cross.

Boost Cooldown: 3/4

P. Field Cooldown: 1/4 (incorrectly stated as 1/4 last post)

PP: 14/29

Post Count: 6

[8]

And then Spooky attempted to punch him right in the ******' mouth. You're going to go low and not attempt a toss or a throw on a guy like Spooky in this armor with that much power in his gauntlet? Full retard. And yes, by right, he meant with the right. A monstrous right straight would unleash from the combined might of his regular strength, the strength of the armor and then he would finish off the follow through with all of the energy inside of the gauntlet. Yes, all of it. Avian's were part bird, all of those feathers were conducive to being highly flammable. Spooky was dumping unknown quantities of electricity into the man he was counter-punching. Odds were good that when Alan came to realize just what the **** had happened, his wings would be catching fire. As for saving himself from his own electricity, that wasn't a problem. Alan might have grabbed onto him, but that didn't matter. He'd never get the chance to actually apply enough pressure and find out. Again - this st Spooky was wearing was designed to take stab wounds from guys who wore similar armor and were armed with similar blades as Marius. Dudes whose only real means of attack were stabs. And that's not all. Nooo. If Alan was suitably (read as: stunned) impaired, the monster that was Spooky would really pounce towards his opponent and start attacking those overgrown appendages he called wings with that cleaver of his.