The Club

A roaring crowd, more for the concert than for the fighters. Heaven or Hell 2k11 was officially on it's way, and Terran was standing in the middle of it. While he looked at the disconcertingly faceless crowd around him, then up to the much more alive crowd, he couldn't help but get excited. Tossing his coat onto the head of some paperfaced knob with a Slenderman aesthetic, the beast strode into the center pit.

And the crowd got louder.

Bitches love Heaven or Hell. And the Infernal was eating it up. Grinning broadly, he would crack his knuckles, cross his arms and stand tall. In the darkness of the pit, he almost disappeared among the backdrop, were it not for the reflective glow of the plates on his shoulders and hips. And in the dark, his eyes jutted out like brake lights on a dark country road. He would merely stand in waiting.

As the plan stood, Terran would act as the fourth man for this round, with he relished in. Aside from the narcissist in him, wanting to show off against the bigger fish, he wanted to show his team off. Sabrina and Fayble had only gotten better since their run one year prior with Griff, and Brendyn was a well known and highly capable fighter in his own right.

As a change of song began, Terran stiffened the grin into a more stern look, scanning the crowd again. While he wanted to get swept up in the sport, he couldn't get his mind off their broader objectives. Scarlet Sun. And the oddity of this year's Heaven Or Hell in general, with the delays and the nature of The Ark, appearing from the mist. He doubted any interconnection, but one never knows.

Once the music hit it's stride, he thought to the proposed pairing of the matches to come. By special request, Fayble would be taking on Rosalyn, while Brendyn was to be paired against Robyn, and Sabrina would match wits with Celas. It was to be an interesting night, each of the three bouts with a good variety of skills. His stern face did falter for a moment, looking around briefly. He'd not spoken to Brendyn or Sabrina in some time, and a momentary doubt crossed his mind before he shook it off, looking back across the field. As Jormungandr before, Asgard would not back down.

"Alright, Griff. Wish us luck, bro."

Heaven or Hell 2k11 was beginning. And Terran Maxwell had come to perform.

Micro Edit

ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED

FIRST POST OF HEAVEN OR HELL 2k11

Always. Always. Always.

Why did it always feel like she got stuck with “loud” stages? Robyn casually walked through the sea of paper-mache, knocking over the “people” like they weren’t even there. When she’d heard about the stage, she’d abandoned her hat, since flattening her ears against it didn’t have the same muffling effect as burrowing them into her hair. Rylen was going to have a field day with this as well.

This was it. They had made it. Heaven and Hell, they were in it to win it, and it was theirs for the taking. Now, she wasn’t really in it for the fame, or the money, heck, the only reason she cared about winning was to make the tournament last as long as possible. Winning meant more fights, more fights meant happier Selene. When this thing was over, she’d have to go back to stalking the Leviathan Stadium until the GTB rolled around. So, the vixen had to milk this for all it was worth, for the sake of her sanity.

The fox girl waved to the cheering crowd above, taking a moment to execute a sudden reverse roundhouse kick, shattering one of the mannequins even as it went flying amidst cheers. She shouted up to the spectators, voice roaring over the noise.

We’ve been told we stand no chance against Asgard! Inner Demons is here to prove all those people wrong! We have the grit, the fire, to fight tooth and claw against any who stand in our way! So tell me, who’s going to win?!” The fox girl cupped her hand against her ear like she was listening for an answer. And an answer came, the audience getting swept up in the hype, just like at a concert.

“INNER DEMONS!!”

”I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!”

The crowd roared louder.

"INNER DEMONS!!!!!!!!!!"

The fox demon smirked amidst the cheers above. She wanted to prove that everyone’s predictions were wrong. She had confidence in her team, and the vixen knew that they could cause one of the biggest upsets of the tournament. Sorry to all the people who were going to be losing their bets on Asgard! Although the few taking the seriously “long-shot” bets on the Demons would be rolling in dough after the fight.

At least these paper-mache things weren’t that heavy, otherwise they would be a major nuisance to get through. As it was, they were still damned annoying, like walking through a room with balloons. The fox girl had tied her long purple hair back into a braid, not wanting to get a repeat of her prelim fight. By now, she’d trimmed the edges so they were even again. Haircut a la yoyo would not be getting a good review from her, seriously.

Robyn didn’t venture out “too” far into the crowd, staying behind to catch one or two of her teammates before the match. She figured Rosalyn would just go ahead and start her match without any warning, so the vixen wasn’t expecting her to wait around. She’d already notified everyone of their matchups, and believed that they’d all been paired up well, strategy-wise.

Robyn....well, she wanted the so-called “assassin.” Such people were usually very agile, and that was a good challenge for her. Not to mention, he wasn’t a walking tank like her prelim opponent. The fox only waited to basically say “Good luck, and kick their a**!” to her teammates, but if Brendyn found her before then, she wouldn’t make him stand around and wait, either.

Turning to look, Fayble leaned forward a bit to look past a dummy or two. Unlike Terran, she was normal sized, not a giant. Scratching her head a bit before crossing her arms, she shrugged and looked up to him.

"Met her earlier."

She didn't have much else to say. They were allowed to have fans too, though their confidence was indeed 'cute'. The fighter's smirked remained as she looked down to her FIGHTER bracelet, noting the little notes it gave about the stage and the whatnot.

"Brendan'll be sure to put her in the cone of shame."

A club. They were fighting in a club. Where was the grand stage, the coliseum, the open ground that allowed nothing but the skill of the two combatants entering the arena to decide victory? What honor, what glory, could be found in such a dank pit as this? What—

Celas shook his head as he made his way through the papier-mâché crowd, his movement suddenly shifting from the smooth gait of a stalking predator to the graceful glide of a martial artist. It was a subtle change, one unlikely to be caught by any save those familiar with the primal instincts that guided one to fight for fighting’s sake. It was an easily dismissed trick of the eye, as there was hardly anything primal or overtly violent about the pale-skinned, white-haired man. Even the long nodachi held in one hand seemed at odds when compared to the quarterstaff held in the other.

Those kinds of thoughts came more frequently now, particularly since his preliminary match. An unsettling mixture of scorn, pride and arrogance that even Celas knew was uncharacteristic of him. Perhaps they were remnants lingering from his forgotten past. A clue to who he was before he showed up in Gaia. He wanted the answer to that mystery, but after what he had been noticing about himself recently, he might not be happy about what he found.

Robyn riled the crowd and Celas gravitated toward her, looking out through the crowd of faux-people to where their opponents were gathering. There was a darkness there, a shadow on a shadow, that could only be the one called Terran. Beside him was a woman, though she did not look like his opponent – Sabrina. Unlike the succubus, he had paid attention to the briefing and was excited – eager – to meet her in combat.

This time he wasn’t trapped in a box of a room filled with furniture and recording equipment. His staff would be more effective here. The nodachi would be left with Robyn – she was the only one he trusted with it, and even then he would not be comfortable until he had it in his hands once more.

Moving up to his captain, Celas planted the butt of his weapons against the ground, watching team Asgard. His blood felt like ice in his veins, a sensation that provoked a shiver of anticipation. The cold felt good. Felt right.

It wasn't difficult finding the other team once the monster stood erect. Rosalyn looked over her shoulder and saw him towering over the mannequins. He was a short, but still notable distance away from where she stood. The succubus waited patiently as he spoke but she appeared disinterested in what he had to say. Maybe it was a bit of a disappointment for the spectators watching world wide that the succubus wasn't as nearly excited, or at least didn't make the effort to pretend to be, as everybody else. Especially when the spotlight was now on her! But as he spoke Rosalyn did come to a conclusion that produced a smirk across her lips and a slight chuckle.

A pre-requisite for being a team captain was to be a brash fool.

Not to say that Rosalyn didn't like getting into somebody's head, but Robyn and this moron were both acting like clowns. Once his sickly voiced stopped echoing and the roar of the crowd died Rosalyn waited a briefly before letting out a dramatic sigh. She shrugged her shoulders and replied in a conversational tone,

"Not that it will be much of a challenge, but if she wishes to be left dead to this world then so be it."

The succubus crossed her arms over her chest, her tail wrapped around her thigh. She spoke quickly after finishing her previous statement as to not give the monstrosity a chance to reply,

"However..."

And finally she took a pause. While not one to try and please the fans like Robyn, Rosalyn was a natural drama queen,

"If she has something to prove then let there be no interference from strikers while I sap the life from her. Is that agreeable, sugar?"

Oh, Brendyn had found Robyn before her own teammates had, alright. When Robyn delivered a vicious kick that shattered one of the "spectators", Brendyn had narrowly avoided flinching. Unless the fox girl was being particularly observant, she wouldn't notice that although each of the the spectators had a unique face, there were two mannequins on either side of her that were identical. The flashing lights, fog, and periods of darkness would make it virtually impossible to notice that the one closest to the dummy that Robyn had just destroyed didn't have the same texture as the other paper-maché replicas.

As Robyn turned back around to address the crowd, her FIGHTER would begin buzzing and the display would change to indicate that her fight had started. If she didn't notice or chose to ignore it, she would be in for a nasty surprise. The crowd's shout of "INNER DEMONS!" would fade into a wordless cheer, and it wasn't for the killer electric sword solo Kage was delivering on-stage. Robyn's kick had dislodged a baseball bat from the innards of the mannequin, and the "spectator" next to it had silently reached down and picked it up. As Robyn was addressing the crowd, that "spectator" warped and shifted, revealing the previously disguised form of Brendyn, now armed with a bat. The strobe lights gleamed off of the iron mask he wore over his lower face, but the rest of him seemed to be an inky dark hole in the scenery, his body hidden inside of his black cloak save for the hands holding the bat. Robyn had wanted to fight "the assassin", and that came with an inherent danger of sneak attacks.

Brendyn wound up and swung at her back, aiming to connect low on her spine. The pain from such a strike would be overwhelming, and Brendyn would be more than capable of capitalizing on her moment of weakness. If Robyn was quick enough to react to her FIGHTER or the sudden change in the crowd's attitude and either avoid the strike or turn to fight him directly before he got the swing off in the first place, Brendyn was prepared to relinquish the bat and take up one of his signature weapons instead.

Prelims were over. THIS was the tournament, and nothing that had come before mattered.

[Post 1]

How rude, to interrupt her grandstanding. Granted, Robyn didn’t really care that much about it, it was just kinda fun to get people riled up.

Buzzing would occur, and buzzing would indeed call her attention, but it wasn’t the FIGHTER that had her hesitate in her movements for the slightest of seconds. No, this buzzing was all across her skin, occurring right before the audience began cheering...but not for her. She dropped her cheering pose as Brendyn picked up the bat, gloved hands settling to rest on her hips in a cocky stance, grinning at the cheering crowd. She seemed unaware of what was going on, not even twisting the slightest bit to look around.

Her ears were cocked, listening for the slightest sound, a hard task among the cheering, but not impossible. A slight rustling as Brendyn drew the bat back wafted faintly across her ears. Now, she didn’t know that it was a bat that the assassin held, but any movement she wasn’t sure of wasn’t a good thing. So it was by pure coincidence that the fox got the timing just right, knees bending a slight amount before Robyn launched herself forward and about 10 feet up into the air , just as Brendyn would be swinging.

Now, she’d moved her hands to her hips for a reason. Her left hand quickly dug into the pouch barely an inch from her side, pulling out 2 standard four-point shuriken between her fingers as she twisted around in the air to look behind her. She saw her target, likely at the end of his swing, unless he’d caught her movements early enough to stop. A flick of her hand, and the two stars were sent flying, roughly at his upper chest, although his arms might be in the way, depending on their position.

Robyn came down quickly, since she hadn’t jumped “up” enough to fight gravity for long. Her tail waved wildly, fighting to keep her balance as she skidded backwards from her landing. Her right hand, while her left had been trying to turn her surprise attacker into a pincushion, had been picking up her other weapon. She hated unhooking her staff one handed, and it was awkward, but with the right twist, she was left holding a foot long metal rod. A quick press of the button on it, and the cylinder rapidly expanded to its full 5 ½ foot length, adding another variable to her landing/balancing act. The leather of her gloves squeaked against the metal as she twisted it into position, right end low and forward as she settled into her stance.

If Brendyn gave her any time at all, she’d call out with a cheerfully predatory grin on her face, fangs flashing. ”Was that your best shot? c**’on, give me a challenge!”

Robyn knew that Rosalyn and Fayble were supposed to fight first, but Brendyn seemed to have switched things up a little. The fox girl didn’t mind fighting at the same time, in fact, it made it interesting. Knowing Celas was just as mobile as she, though, meant she didn’t think all three matches should be on the floor at the same time.

Looks like this had just turned into a two-then-one round.

[Post -1]

[Active Abilities: None]

As the music started, Fayble wasted no time stamping her feet into the ground, coursing the energy through the floor and up into her bones and body.

Cracking her neck as Rosalyn started forward, Fayble chuckled at the wasted initiative. Well now, she'd just have to pick it right back up. Snatching up the closest mannequin, Fayble hefted it up and grabbed it's ankles. And boy this b*****d was heavy. Not really paying attention as to why, Fayble crow hopped forward towards Rosalyn and gave the person pinata a hefty swing with a wide birth to help prevent a dodge, aiming to wail into the woman's center mass.

And if and when it hit, both fighters would be excited to see that when the paper craft broke open, a dozen or so bricks added to the fun! And the pain!

Charge bar

[- + / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /]

-19 remain-

Grounding:

By stamping her feet to the ground , Fayble directs her energy into the Earth, then back up into her body. Enabling her to use electrical moves without being shocked back. In the case of defending herself from an electrical attack from another person or source, she must go through the same paces, however, she will only be able to deflect half the damage, and take the rest.

[Cost: 2]

Active recharge: + 1 bar

}1/17{

Sometime during the intervals of yelling into the megaphone, that dirty hobo Tzenidaar was applying a generous coat of baby powder onto his left hand. Then he jumped through the ceiling, reached out of the computer screen, and pimpslapped ragingtofu with it. 'Cause something was just off with that previous picture, but that didnt matter now, 'cause it was fixed with a great fresh smell. And when he came back down, he was somehow attached to the ceiling.

Somewhere, someone smelled suspiciously of fresh baby powder and pain.

As Brendyn launched himself upwards, Robyn’s expression seemed torn between surprise and a grin. Well, she’d wanted agile, she’d gotten it. The fox loved nothing more than a challenge, and here was an awesome one. If she hadn’t already been trying to keep her balance from the landing, the fox girl would have just jumped backwards, and out of his way. But she could feel that if she tried that, her jump would not only be awkward, but possibly dangerous for her landing. And she needed all the control she could get, because her opponent would just keep chasing after her.

So she would take the knee drop, although it wouldn’t be quite at her chest. Seeing what he was planning, Robyn brought her left arm in front of her, taking the attack full force. The knee would impact, but there would be no sickening crunch, and although she was knocked backwards, the purple-haired vixen was still able to breathe. Even as she fell, her right arm was already in action. Still holding the metal staff, she hooked her arm around Brendyn’s leg before he was able to spring off of her, dragging him down with her. Her grip was incredibly strong, and only the fact that she wanted to keep a hold of her staff prevented her from being able to dig her claws into his limb.

Assuming he wasn’t able to free himself somehow, the demon-tied girl would twist her body to her left as she fell, aiming to reverse their positions and smack her attacker to the ground before her, unfortunately (or fortunately for him) right between two “people”. She would then quickly scramble backwards, releasing the hopefully (but not likely) stunned assassin, bumping over more of the fake crowd easily, wanting just enough space to settle into her stance. The fox faced Brendyn, holding her staff and grinning. Now that all the airborne momentum and hijinks were done with, Robyn felt more confident in her stance, gloved hands gripping the metal rod securely. The fox could hear the faint sound from further off as Rosalyn and Fayble began squaring off. Hopefully they wouldn’t get in each other’s way.

She didn’t need to “borrow” any weapons from the paper-mache people, unless she found herself in a jam. She worked best with her own weapons; they had been crafted specifically for her, and she didn’t want to give them up.

However, she could use them to her advantage. A faint smoky smell began drifting through the air....maybe it was the fog the band was using?

[Post – 2]

[Active Abilities – Flame Claws (Preheating)]

I've got you now- herk!

Brendyn knew that there was a problem when he felt his leg impact the solid bone of her arm instead of her more well-padded rib-cage. That was the only warning he received that his plan wasn't a complete success before he was wrenched out of the air. His surprise even prevented him from invoking his Slow Fall spell quickly enough to avoid a hard impact with the ground. He landed on his back, and there was a muffled thud as that back of his head slammed violently against the floor. He began pushing himself up immediately, fearing a follow-up attack from the fox-girl. Once he saw that she was scrambling away from him instead, he took the time to rise more slowly, if a little shakily, to a knee. He looked noticeably more steady as he got to his feet, the ringing in his head diminishing below the volume of the ambient noise the concert and spectators were producing.

"Hmph. Enjoy it while you can, because that's the last time I underestimate you."

His opponent was, barring his occasional bursts of magical augmentation, both faster AND stronger than the assassin. Still, he didn't feel overmatched. He would simply have to push the fight toward becoming a contest of pure skill, which he was certain he could win. Her natural gifts were formidable, but he had no doubt that his own training and experience outstripped hers.

If she maintained her ready stance once Brendyn regained his feet, he would reveal his punching dagger now wielded in his left hand, drawn from within the folds of his cloak, and charge at her. Just before getting into range of her staff, he would flick his right hand and pop the throwing knife from the spring-loaded sheath concealed within his sleeve. Another flick sent the dagger flying toward Robyn's right shoulder, easily avoidable but a serious distraction even as he entered her optimal striking range. His left arm was cocked back, and her reaction would determine how he would strike.

[Post 3]

[AP: 2]

Terran's FIGHTER vibrated briefly, piquing his attention. Glancing down, he sunk into the paper mache crowd and back toward the ASGARD entrance. As he turned to the door, he swallowed the demonic voice and poked his head around the exit where two members of the Heaven or Hell Medical Staff stood. "Yeah, guys, what's up. You know we're fighting in here, right?"

The first one, an older gentlemen with a swarthy Barthavosan disposition with salt and pepper hair pulled back from his temples, nodded briefly. "Ch'es, Meester Maxwell. However I am afraid I must inform you that we've admitted Miss Miles at our impromptu clinic in the Crimson Hawk." the man produced a clipboard, and before Terran could ask, he began again. "It would appear as though Miss Miles may have ingested a bad mixture of herbal tea from one of the herbologists in town, and is exhibiting with discomfort, nausea and vomiting, as well as a lack of apatite and restlessness."

"That sounds like food poisoning."

"Ch'es."

"She... She got food poisoning from bad herbal tea?"

"Ch'es."

Terran stood quietly, jaw slacked slightly, eyes blankly staring at the veteran physician. After a moment, he nodded, reaching for the clipboard so as to sign the Captain's Confirmation of Admittance Form, essentially the same form a guardian has to sign, with the added note that says that the captain is fully aware of their responsibility to present a full roster of fighters for the competition and so forth. Scribbling out a weak signature using the normal pen and his colossal hand. "Alright, well, uh, let her know we're pulling for her, and we'll see her as soon as the round is over."

As the two men walked away, Terran turned back in, walking as normal into the concert hall. Returning to the projecting, demonic voice, he spoke into the crowd. "Inner Demons. Send your next soldier." He wasn't sure if his opponent would take the initiative to come after him or not, but Sabrina wasn't gonna be able to show, so it was up to him. Lowering his body further, the mass of blue black muscle sank into the darkness, stalking toward whoever might step forward.

[0/17]

[Terran requests that the next member of Inner Demons step forward, and lowers his body into a stalking mode.]

-ooc-

Considering I don't have a confirmed target, I am not marking that as 1/17. Cody will not be coming any time soon, so Terran will replace Sabrina for this round. Thank you.

Would he still want to attack her now? Oh, he would. Just not in the way that she was expecting. He began a thrust with his left hand only to abort the motion and pull back, feinting with the blade. What was the feint trying to draw her attention away from?

"Got you!" he shouted, a hint of triumph in his voice as he unleashed a bit of magic. Without warning, Robyn would register a blade arcing at the right side of her head from behind her, steel gleaming in her outermost peripheral vision. Had he used magic to make the thrown knife boomerang back around?

No. It was the dreaded double-feint! If Robyn turned to look directly at the blade, or if it made contact with her or her weapon if she tried to block it without focusing on it, the blade would simply vanish. It was an illusion. But what was this feint concealing?

Brendyn had, even as he was casting the spell that invoked the illusion, executed a precise twist of his right foot, springing a small but vicious looking blade from the tip of the shoe. He unleashed a quick low kick that would drive the tip of the blade into the side of Robyn's left calf while her attention was diverted high and to her right by the illusory blade, the entirely opposite direction that the true attack was coming from... but could it possibly be a double-reverse feint!?

No. He just really wanted to shank her in the leg.

[Post 4]

[AP: 3]

At the Infernal's call, a hooded figure clothed entirely in black stepped out of the shadows a few feet next to Celas, hands slung in the front pockets of his jacket. The hood of his dark sweater was pulled tightly over his head, but those spectators on the balcony with particularly astute vision would be able to spot the bushy tail curled up behind the figure's back, confirming his identity as Rylen of Team Inner Demons. Despite the frustration of a rather elusive opponent in the preliminaries, Rylen had done well enough to gain his own small following of crazed fans who appreciated the kind of relentless brutality he showed his opponents.

At the strategy meeting Robyn had called before the fight, Rylen had been given his orders; sit on the sidelines as Team Inner Demon's designated striker. The thought of it had infuriated him after a preliminary match that had not even come close to satiating his desire for bloodshed and pain. The meeting itself mostly consisted of Robyn barking out orders, but even despite his indignation Rylen kept his fanged mouth shut and went along with the plan. After all, Robyn was not stupid, and she proved herself as an effective Captain with some solid reasoning. Out of all those on Team Inner Demons, she reasoned that Rylen would make the best match for Asgard's formidable captain, Terran. Terran was supposed to be sitting out as well, so Rylen had thought the best he could hope for was to glare the man to death from across the noisy, crowded room.

But it looked like his luck hard turned around, and without hesitation he made a beeline for his opponent at the man's beckoning. As he passed Celas he did not even bother to offer a word of explanation. Celas knew the plan as well, and beyond that Rylen did not feel much for talking. The screeching wail of the electric sword-tar, the thunderous boom of the bass axe, and the pounding crash of the wardrums was an excruciating annoyance to the Warg thanks to his heightened auditory senses. It was part of the reason why he pulled the hood so tightly over his head, helping to flatten his ears against his skull. Yep, he was having a field day with this. God damn youngsters and their god damn deafening music.

Making his way past Celas, Rylen locked his crimson red eyes on the source of the shot, though he found it nigh impossible to make out the bleak form of his opponent. He stopped in his tracks, a scowl forming on his face.

Why bother to call me out if you just want to cower in the shadows? He thought, irritated. He hoped beyond hope for an opponent that would actually make the mistake of standing toe-to-toe with him so that he could subsequently rip the fool to shreds, instead of a repeat of the tiresome evasive tactics of his last opponent. But after having watched a portion of his teammates' fights, Rylen had a feeling the captain of Team Asgard would be content skulking around to initiate a sneak attack or rely heavily on the environment instead of his own skill. That's when a grin crept to the half-wolf's lips as he cocked his head to the side, staring at the shadowy mass in the general direction of where his opponent had called out to him.

It didn't matter.

His right hand whipped out of his pocket, his razor-sharp claws plunging into the shoulder of a paper maché spectator to his right. He brought his left hand to his side, his fingers splayed out. The scent of wild fire drifted through the air on hazy smoke as both Robyn and Rosalyn had managed to set parts of the stage on fire, which could prove troublesome for everyone in the long run.

But why stop there?

Suddenly, both of Rylen's hands ignited in a flash of flames. As an obvious result, the mannequin he had by the shoulder combusted, the flames crackling and snapping as they quickly started to engulf the figure, mostly from the chest up at first. It would take a little while, but left unhindered the flames would spread to the other lifeless spectators around them in a chain reaction, and that would eventually leave Terran little place to hide. If anything it would turn out the fires would only serve to separate each pair of combatants from each other.

We can set the whole place on fire, and watch Team Asgard burn.

The fire Rylen started would act as a beacon to Terran, and a warning. For now, Rylen was content to allow the towering Infernal to come to him.

So come, and burn.

» Ignition Lvl. 1

[01/17]

Unimportant R Guy No. 3 caught the faint sight of two paper maché spectators' chests imploding before something burst out of each, presumably some alien life form. Movie references aside, this allowed Rylen to draw a bead on his opponent, and another one of his heightened senses came into play. Rylen possessed better low-light vision than the average human, though it was not as if Terran was suddenly brightly illuminated. He still blended in with his surroundings rather well, but now that he had given Rylen his position it would be a little more difficult for the half-wolf to lose it again. Which was good for Rylen, because the agonizing beat of the music and the smell of thick smoke starting to choke the air made his other enhanced senses largely useless in this case.

No time to dwell on it at any rate, as in the very next second the two sorry faux-spectators were hurled in his direction effortlessly. His right hand shot upward, taking the head of the mannequin next to him with it as he clutched it at the base of the would-be skull--an adequate approximation, because it so happened that the severed head had a bit of heft to it. Rylen had already noticed from the other fights that these abominations tended to have cool little surprises in them for good boys and girls, and Rylen got exactly what he wanted for Christmas--a brick.

The half-wolf spun around on his feet, swerving his body out of the way of the improvised projectiles in something of a basketball player's juke. But he followed through with another spin, moving to his right behind the mannequin he had ignited so that it provided him both cover and concealment temporarily. Terran's projectiles would collide with his fake human shield right as the half-wolf slipped gingerly out of the way, carrying the flaming head with him. All three spectators crashed to the ground in what could only be described as an orgy of fire--the sexiest kind of orgy--and Rylen would be on his way.

But not before returning the favor.

Coming out of his spin and taking advantage of the centrifugal force, Rylen subsequently hurled the flaming head encasing a hard brick in a low arc over any obstructions in Terran's general direction. Needless to say, if it hit the brick would hurt--despite his compact size, Rylen was no slouch when it came to strength, and the spin only added to that. Oh, and the fire would sting, too. But if it missed, it would light the spectators behind Terran on fire, basically starting to box the two fighters in.

Hit or miss, it would also provide a distraction. See, in such a low-light setting, having a bright, burning ball of fire coming straight toward your face tended to grab all of your focus, washing out the rest of your vision and providing a convenient screen for whatever was occurring in the background. In this case, it was Rylen weaving through the crowd, making his way towards Terran but a few feet to Terran's left. He sprinted as fast as he could given the obstacles, which turned out to be pretty damn fast because he could easily navigate between the obstacles like a wolf dashing through the forest.

By the time the fireball would be right in Terran's face, Rylen would have covered most of the distance, leaving him at an angle about 10 feet away from Terran with about 3 spectators still more or less in between the two. Eager to shred Terran to pieces, Rylen still paused when he closed that much distance between them to realize Terran was splashed with some kind of vibrant, seemingly radioactive blue liquid st. Rylen didn't see the guy bust open a third dummy, so it only left him to guess that the man just so happened to sweat liquid blue st.

Liquid blue s**t with a very strong, particular scent.

» Ignition Lvl. 2

[02/17]

Summary: Rylen spins out of the way of the dummy projectiles, takes the flaming head of a dummy that also contains a brick and hurls it at Terran, and then dashes through the crowd under cover of other dummies to come closer to Terran.

Weeeelllll crap.

Brendyn's opponent never took her eyes off of the assassin, which was outside of his range of anticipated responses. The Decoy spell presented a perceived lethal threat specifically to maximize the opponent's reaction to it, but she had taken a more measured response, dodging one attack and countering another at at the same time. The only saving grace was that the attack was coming from the same direction as his kick, so that his foot was already raised and in motion, and it only took a small twist and a shift of momentum to stop the kick, catch the staff on the sole of his shoe, and slam it downward, pinning the end of her weapon to the ground. The sole of his shoe was rapidly beginning to melt, and he could feel his foot blistering from the heat, but he only needed to prevent her from using the weapon for a second.

The problem with his defense was that his weapon was in his left hand, but he needed to keep his full body weight on his right foot to avoid her toppling him with the staff, making it virtually impossible to throw a strike from the left. Without hesitating after stopping the staff with his foot, he shifted forward and thrust with his right hand, planting his palm in the center of Robyn's chest. He made a mental note to explore the possibility of having a more intimate encounter with said chest (and the rest of her) after the fight, but for now he was going to have to play rough.

As soon as he felt his hand make direct contact, he unleashed his Burst spell. The spell caused a blast of pure kinetic force to emanate from his palm, which would lift Robyn bodily and send her tumbling away. With his weight on the staff, Brendyn was counting on the weapon staying where it was even as the vixen was removed from it. It was a shame to use so much of his spell energy so early in the fight, but disarming her of the flaming staff would be worth it.

If she was launched away, Brendyn would quickly resheath the shoe blade with another twist of his foot and then charge after her, shifting his blade to his right hand. While he was more-or-less ambidextrous, he felt more comfortable with his left hand free since he had other weapons easily reached from that side. Brendyn wasn't as honorable as Robyn had been, and if he caught her still recovering her feet, he would be on her with fist and blade.

[Post 5]

[AP: 5]

Her squirming like a cat not wanting to take a bath was interesting but it only made Fayble hold onto her hair tighter, her gloved fingers gripping close to her scalp. But the moment that both of the woman's hands lowered to block her knee, Fayble's mind had already long moved to her next course of action.

Rosalyn was damned quick to block her knee, but Fayble's hand was already instinctively grabbing for her hammer. With both of Rosalyn's hands down, Fayble held her hammer flush to the head and used it as a battering ram of sorts, the grip on the hair stayed strong. With a swift punching motion to the succubus' mouth, her opponent started to breath in.

"BLOW THIS!"

Thrusting the hammer into Rosalyn's mouth, her lips would mangle to her potentially busted teeth. And if she decided to blow out her flames, the metal would act as a pretty effective cork.

Charge Bar:

[+ + / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /]

-20 remain-

Passive recharge: +2

}3/17{

"Urgh . . . that is the only time I drink tea from a vending machine."

Looking a little haggard, though that was only to be expected after getting hit wit a bout of food poisoning and then, at the girl's fervent request, receiving the clinic's 'Express' medical treatment options, Sabrina finally made her appearance on the floor. . . not that anybody would probably notice, what with all the commotion that was taking place.

The crowd of mannequins was beginning to resemble the surface of a grandparent's birthday cake . . . if the candlemaker was a deeply disturbed individual. The actual spectators were becoming less concerned with watching Asgard and Inner Demons beat one another's faces in than they were with the possibility that this place could become the next Firebrand at any minute. Enthusiastic cheers had morphed into worried murmurs and anxious shouts. The band didn't seem too bothered, though.

"Holy crap," Sabrina whispered as she brushed at the air in front of her face, futilely trying to dismiss the stench. Her face was screwed into the scowl of a foul mood. "No time wasted, huh?"

Moments later, half of a badly-drawn cartoonish grin on a piece of paper -- what remained of one of the fight's first victims -- went dancing idly through the air right by her head, held aloft by the heat of its own slowly smoldering teeth. Sabrina couldn't say why, but she was both slightly amused and unsettled by the sight. She quickly pulled her attention back to the fighting, though. One of her teammates could need her to step in at any moment, and since she'd lost out on her chance to have a proper fight of her own thanks to a bottle of Green Herbal s**t ("We're almost as good! Promise!"), she was itching for the opportunity to hurt someone.

"Arrghh!"

One claw had simply dug into and scraped down the spring-loaded sheath that had housed his throwing dagger, but the other had dug into flesh. As she flew back, the claws tore up skin. The silver lining was that her heated claws actually acted to cauterize the furrows immediately, meaning that there was only a little blood as he began to chase after her. As she slammed through mannequins, bursting them like piñatas, Brendyn saw something that he could use. He switched his dagger back to his left hand and bent down, slowing his charge a little, in order to grab a red, textured rectangle that had fallen from a dummy. Hefting the brick brought back memories...

[brief flashback]

Brendyn, then a mere assassin trainee, remembered running through the twisting alleyways of Alzhar alongside fellow trainee Derrick with the city watch chasing close behind. The soldiers weren't a threat on their own, but a Guild Mage had been shadowing the assassins' progress from the rooftops, flinging force bolts that were getting dangerously close. One such blast had struck the wall over Derrick's head, and he had snatched a dislodged brick out of the air before lobbing it to Brendyn (who, even as a trainee, had already broken Order records for thrown weapon range and accuracy). Derrick then pointed at the mage and shouted "HIT 'IM WITH A BRICK!"

[/brief flashback]

It was good advice then, and it was good advice now. He had already cocked back his right arm when there was a flash of red light projecting from the direction that he had thrown his opponent in. He leaned right, feeling the fireball singe his hair at the near miss, and then tossed the brick with a hard sidearm, sending it arcing through the air at Robyn's gut. He chased after the projectile as quickly as possible, wanting to give her little time to recover from either defending against the brick or being struck by it before he was on her with his blade.

If she wasn't able to lash out before he got close enough, he would lower his right shoulder and slam into her without slowing to throw her off-balance (he had little hope of actually sending her sprawling given how strong she was) before twisting his body and making a wide swing with the tip of his dagger at the side of her right thigh. Of course, that was only one of many possible scenarios, the one that would play out if the brick kept her from reacting.

[Post 6]

[AP: 5]

How Rosalyn forgot that one of Fayble's hands were occupied buy her own skull was slightly baffling, and so was the fact that she managed to block her hammer by crossing over her body with her right hand. No. That was infuriating.

"Wha--!?"

Her blood started to boil. Now Fayble often was able to keep it cool. Unless there was a sex-crazed, fire blowing, Hell-chick trying to cook her face.

Rosalyn used Fire Blast!

Wrinkling her nose, gripping tight at Rosalyn's scalp, Fayble yanked her opponents head back, making the fire spout up into the air and while doing so.

Fayble used Thunder Wave!

To the woman's head with as much as she could muster.

400,000 volts of electricity is the standard juice of a general commercial taser. But Fayble didn't need to worry about killing her opponent. Amperage killed people, not voltage. Especially with such a low charge. Instead, this was enough power to effectively disrupt the neurological signals in her opponent's brain to, for lack of better terms, make her muscles seize and collapse for at least 20 seconds.

And it was a strong possibility it would knock out the succubus cold.

But Fayble didn't want to take any chances at becoming a fleshy torch again. While shocking Rosalyn, Fayble tucked in her right shoulder before ramming it into the woman's chest.

If all went well, they would both thud to the ground in a flurry of flame and electricity.

Charge Bar:

[- + / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /]

-19 remain-

Voltage:

Fayble has the ability to control generate and control small amounts of electricity. Without the aid of her hammer (see weapons), she is able to administer enough electricity to equal that of 200k-400k volts in a punch etc. This would cause a brief paralysis in area damaged.

[Cost: 2]

[Cool down: 1]

Active recharge: +1

}4/17{

Damn, she’d missed him. Robyn glared as the fireball only singed his hair, tail lashing to keep her balance as she finished landing from her flip. Starting to feel slightly drained, the fox flicked her hands off, the corona of fire around them snapping off like the closing of a lighter. Smoke was curling through the air, rising up and likely cutting visibility for the audience above them. The fox could vaguely see more areas of fire out of the corner of her eye, one of them presumably Rosalyn’s fight...but Celas didn’t use fire....

Argh, this was not the time to be thinking about that! She had a brick heading right for her stomach!

The vixen twisted her hips, bringing her left knee up just as the brick which would have hit her gut hit her knee instead, sending a crack through it with a dull “thud” before it dropped to the ground. Thank the gods for her supernatural bones, otherwise that might have really caused some damage. As it was, the impact caused Robyn to wince, fangs bared and eyes tearing slightly. Man, that had stung. She’d have a hell of a bruise there later. But, her sole intention hadn’t been to block the brick. No, just like how her sweep had had the added benefit of her ducking, so her kick helped save her gut. Yup, it was a kick, a roundhouse kick to be precise, body shifting the rest of the way to extend her left leg hard and straight at Brendyn’s torso as he came barreling in. If he did, as the case may be, since it’s been said he might not have done that considering the circumstances.

[Post - 6]

[Active Abilities - None]

Rylen's lips cracked open and he bared his fangs as Terran taunted him, but not for the reason one might expect. He did not even really make out what the Infernal said. So he was not irritated, but excited. The hooded half-wolf sank into his stance, his knees slightly bent and springy as he prepared himself for the Infernal's charge. He did not have to worry about his projectile being deflected back at him, and so he did not flinch as Terran executed his maneuver. The momentum and loose consistency of the fireball would see it exploding into two fiery sprays on either side of Terran. This happened to light even more dummies on fire, accomplishing Rylen's goal of enclosing the two fighters.

Thus with nowhere to go but forward, the two fighters charged straight for each other. Rylen felt a surge of blissful adrenaline as he anticipated the clash, the electric swordtar screeching as the wardrums pounded ominously in the background. Rylen still didn't enjoy the cacophony, but it did allow him to focus all of that aggression and hostility towards the band and the tournament coordinators so that he could plow his clawed fist right into Terran's face. Now, it was only a matter of reaching said face...

As Terran's daunting form swept in, his right hand low and his left clearly in a defensive posture, Rylen acted a fool. That is, he did what few fighters of his size would do against such a behemoth, and continued to move in. He launched off his trailing left foot and his right foot snapped to his right, part of it an effort to sidestep Terran's swipe at the last minute. With such a wide swing, however, avoiding the blow entirely would mean sacrificing the chance for an immediate counter.

Rylen was not the type to just retreat.

So Terran's claws grazed up across Rylen's side, missing the half-wolf's thigh thanks to the twist of his body as he moved. The Infernal's arm threatened to complete the arc up to Rylen's jaw, but Rylen's right arm acted as an obstacle to that, the metallic bracer of his forearm proving much more durable than his skin. The clawed hand would get caught on that bracer as Rylen pulled it in close to protect his chest and head, but the damage had already been done to his side. The claws slashed into his flesh easily, dark blood seeping onto equally dark clothing. If not for his swift footwork, the gashes to his side would have been much deeper and much more debilitating. As it was, Rylen hissed in pain but was undeterred from his simultaneous attack.

Yes, it was more of a premeditated attack than a counter, and it would seem as if the two had launched their attacks at precisely the same time. With Rylen's step and the twist of his body, he brought the crowbar around. The hooked edge was aimed low to stab hard into the side of Terran's left knee. The angle of the blow along with the fact that Rylen mostly used the movement of his entire body, rather than his arm, made it that much more difficult to simply block. The fact that Terran was right in the middle of launching his own attack that required some degree of stabilization made it nearly impossible to dodge.

Hit or miss, as a seasoned fighter Rylen would immediately retract the weapon, his left arm returning to his side with the crowbar in full view. Not much use hiding a card that had already been shown. Hopefully it had a bit of blood to show for it.

» Ignition Lvl. 3

[04/17]

Summary: Rylen sidesteps to his right and forward, taking a slash to the side while defending his upper body with the metal bracer on his right forearm. He simultaneously snaps the hooked end of the crowbar at Terran's left knee.

Boom! Chest...shot...

Nah. Doesn’t have the same ring to it.

Robyn’s leg was jarred with the force of suddenly kicking metal. One eyebrow raised as she recoiled her leg, setting it back behind her. Man, this guy disguised everything, huh? She actually thought it was a neat trick, one that gave her an idea for later. What caught her attention now was Brendyn resetting his stance and speaking. The fox smirked, green eyes almost glowing with the fire around the fighters.

”Maybe...” She drawled, her light southern accent drifting between them. Then, if Brendyn didn’t rush right back in, she did something quite curious. Never taking her eyes off the assassin, the fox pulled her left leg even with her right so she was standing straight. Bringing her hands in front of her, the fox bowed smoothly towards her opponent, barely holding the pose for a second, eyes staring up at Brendyn from her lowered position. It was obvious she was still ready to move at a moment’s notice, her claws out and legs lightly tensed. She immediately rose and settled back into her right forward stance, her smirk back on her face and ears perked up.

Due to his sneak start to the fight, the fox hadn’t gotten to commit her usual actions. Not only having trained at a martial arts school for years, the fox also relied quite a bit on her honor. It was something Selene didn’t have, and it was something that kept Robyn tied to herself. It pushed back the violence and bloodshed (although there hadn’t been much this fight yet) and gave it meaning, lifted it up to more than just a brawl. It was two challengers of equal skill squaring off, seeing who had the strength, agility and cunning to best the other. From what had been seen so far, either one had a shot at winning, and there would be no shame for the loser.

She wished she could grab her staff again, but it was way behind both of the fighters now, considering how far they’d moved. She couldn’t risk using her flame more, considering the “warmup” period. So that left her daggers and her claws for weapons. For once though, she kinda wanted to face off bare-handed. The fire caused flickering reflections of light off the smooth leather of her gloves, hands curled loosely in front of her upper body. Her bushy tail waved behind her, helping her adjust and prepare for any movement.

But who would move first?

[Post – 7]

[Active Abilities – None]

It was always cute when people thought that Terran was a stick'em-and-run kind of fighter. What is a guy to do, though? Most HoH-ers are. But Terran was a bit different. Hopefully, Rylen wouldn't be too bothered by this fact. As his claws wrapped themselves into the bracer, Terran would continue his march forward, practically up and through his opponent, his left leg shooting upward, his grieve clattering noisily with the crowbar.

It wasn't just a block, however, as the foot reached upward, talons on the feet hastily digging toward Rylen's hip, or, failing that, slap into the ground, shin to shin with the Warg. His right hand would straighten out, and as his palm pushed forward to wrap around the bracer that had been so lovingly put in his way, his claws would sink back into their nooks in his fingertips.

Now, it was time to plow forward. Fire wreathed around the opponents, and the roar of a new series of songs brought the crowd to a roaring salute as Terran vaulted himself upward. Hand around the bracer, foot planting itself into Rylen's hip, Terran would draw his right leg and left hand back. Now, the hand would go for a hard blow to the collar bone of his opponent, hoping to either shatter the collar or dislocate the shoulder.

The right knee? Well, Terran figured now was as good a time as any for his own powers to come into play. But in sharp contrast to his opponent's and, indeed yay his opponent's entire team's powers of wide spread destruction and chaotic hellfire, Terran's were concise, simplistic, and surgically precise.

From his knee, and within the beating of a humming bird's wing, a red black vortex would wrap from Terran's knee into the air before him. In this time, an ethereal and wholly unholy wail would sound as a blade, forged of the bone and steel of hell, would manifest from the point of his knee, a brief flash of that same reddish black light.

As soon as the blade came into fruition, about the time his fist had reeled all the way back, both the blade and the fist would come screaming in, a pincer attack to the collar bone and the hip.

{Manifest}

{Channeling the Dark Mana to a point, Terran is capable of focusing it into a physical manifestation, creating a weapon.}

(Manifest Blade, -20%)

[4/17]

Terran wraps his hand around the bracer that caught his claws, his grieves blocking the stab of the crowbar. Pushing forward, he'd reach with his foot talons for Rylen's hip, or the ground next to his leg. Manifesting a sword from his knee and swinging his hefty fist downward, he poised to his the collar bone and hip.

((A judge has been requested in the match between Fayble (Antique Queen) of Team Asgard and Rosalyn (Sucking Your Love) of Inner Demons. All other fights are free to continue. Please hold while we determine a verdict. Your call is important to us. Please hold while we determine a verdict. Your call is important to us...

Also, to n** this in the bud, since it's been a problem in the past, please do not post anything else related to this in the Judge Thread unless it is requested by a judge. Keep things civil. Thanks.

UPDATE; Judgement has been rendered. Please read it.))

Rylen anticipated that the Infernal would grab his bracer in an attempt to keep that arm pinned, and it actually worked out fine for Rylen. Along with that, Rylen's fancy footwork had not been for mere show, as it had purposefully put him out of the direct line of Terran's charge. If we factor in the fact that Rylen made his own sidestep-and-strike combo concurrent to Terran's rushing swipe, it would mean Terran would still have a good deal of inertia in his forward momentum.

The crowbar clattered against greave, and Rylen cursed inwardly for failing to notice the protection Terran's armor provided. But that did not need to happen again now that he had a better idea of the kind of defenses this Infernal had.

Terran would find his beautifully intricate plans of carnage a bit fudged when Rylen did a little more than freeze like the paper maché dummies around them. Such was life. As he was about a step to Terran's left when he swung his crowbar, Rylen produced an AMAZING feat of strength as Terran went for his pinning left kick.

He tossed Terran to the ground effortlessly.

Which probably reeks of bullshit until we break down the simple mechanics of it. As Terran was moving forward, looking to plow through a target that was not directly in front of him, Rylen used all of the massive, intimidating force of momentum against the Infernal. Using the Infernal's own grip on his lovingly-placed bracer, Rylen simply continued the twist of his body as he allowed himself to fall on his left side. Not ideal given the wound there, but better than becoming a half-wolf pincushion, no?

He could have remained standing and actually executed a textbook Judo throw, but Terran would no doubt choose to vindictively bring him to the ground as well thanks to his iron vice grip on the bracer. So Rylen allowed himself to fall with the knowledge that the heavier body with much more velocity behind it (read: Terran) would suffer the most in this exchange.

This would throw off Terran's first kick, naturally invalidating the rest of the combo for the time being. But even that was not as clean as Rylen hoped. He had to react in the moment, moving his body in a split second even though he had pretty much set them up for such a maneuver before. This meant the talons of Terran's foot would graze his hip left hip, trails of blood splashing out onto the ground as the half-wolf grimaced in agony.

Well, Rylen was never known for making it out of his fights unscathed, so the best he could do in this situation was grit his teeth and bear it--and get a bit of retribution as well. His right hand flung back around, gripping the crowbar tightly so that as the two would hit the floor, he would aim to impale Terran's side, above any protective armor, with the spiked end of the crowbar, which would also happen to be a bit hot thanks to the proximity of his flaming hand in his grip. One could make a case for it cauterizing the wound, but then Rylen was not hoping for Terran to bleed out or die of an infection weeks after the fight.

The kind of pain Terran would feel? Now that was an entirely different matter.

» Ignition Lvl. 3

[05/17]

Summary: Rylen executes a takedown/Judo throw by using Terran's momentum against him, simultaneously attempting to stab the hot, spiked end of the crowbar into the Infernal's side as they both hit the ground.

Oh. s**t.

Terran had a moment of clarity as he and his circle strafing opponent sailed to the ground entangled. Talons found some pay dirt, and he was still in a good position overall, but he knew full well he just lost a notch off the domination to his opponent who simply outmaneuvered him in that go. His punch was lost as his arm curled in, trying to stabilize the fall.

The knee, however, would continue to plow straight on through, and as Terran's left side smacked into the ground, his right knee shoved forward, the blade pushing through the hip at such an angle that it would protrude out the back roughly three inches above it's point of entry, just above the hip, It wasn't pointed for any vitals, aside from the intestine, but ho-boy was that gonna sting.

As for the crowbar, there wasn't much Terran could do but to take the hit, though the tough, almost reptilian hide did cushion the blow some. Searing heat, and another unearthly wail as his body was pierced by the crowbar.

Last turn over, next turn now.

Scowling hard, He would push himself in closer, now aiming for some real carnage amidst the fire and flames. He would carry on.* Shifting closer, another vortex, a loud pop. A spire, quite a bit more jagged and ugly than the sword from his knee, would issue from his shoulder, this one poised to stab downward into Rylen's upper arm.**

Otherwise? His right leg would bend outward, his knee now directly perpendicular with the ground, and unless Rylen tries to roll on top of Terran, that sword is comes out, the hard way.

[5/17]

Terran is tossed by Rylen, and takes the burning crowbar to the ribs. His knee-manifested blade find's it's mark above Rylen's hip, and an additional rougher, jagged spire appears to stab for Rylen's shoulder as the knee blade rips upwards.

*Please don't hit me for the pun

** Spire's specific aesthetic reflects dice roll in previous post, and as such, is the standard jagged spire with no mutations.

Suddenly, the Band broke out in a massive Dragonforce Cover Song...

So far away we wait for the day

For the light source so wasted and gone

We feel the pain of a lifetime lost in a thousand days

Through the fire and the flames we carry on!!!

....followed by Guitar Solo's that have cramped countless fingers in Guitar Hero.

Brendyn's eyes widened as her form shifted and grew. He'd been holding his own, if just barely, against Robyn in her natural form. This monstrosity would tear him to pieces!

Everything has a weakness.

It was one of the core tenets of his training, and the thought calmed him enough to push his thought processes back into normalcy. The biggest problem was that finding a weakness meant observing the target in action, which was much easier when the actions they were taking weren't directed at the assassin. A plan formed in his mind.

As the demonic illusion charged, Robyn would once again feel the now familiar tingle of magic being used, but Brendyn appeared to still be shocked into inaction, doing nothing more than raising his arms to protect his face as the monstrosity bore down on him.

Illusion!

In truth, Brendyn was no longer where he appeared to be. Robyn was charging at an illusion created by Brendyn. His most powerful illusion, the Decoy spell, created a pre-programmed image of Brendyn even as the real assassin was cloaked in a field of invisibility. He was aware of Robyn's superior hearing, so he stepped with extraordinary caution, counting on the loud background noise and the sounds of her own charge to mask his already gentle footsteps. As her altered form slammed into and then through Brendyn's image, the demon's illusory nature became apparent to the assassin. Anything solid that impacted with his spell would shatter the illusion and break his invisibility. Instead, he remained cloaked and his false image appeared to be trying to back away until Robyn's very real knives tried to carve up Brendyn's arms.

At that point, the illusion shattered into thousands of tiny motes of light. In the meantime, Brendyn had moved to the side, putting a mannequin between himself and the fox-girl. Knowing that the "demon" was not the true threat, he body checked the mannequin, sending it launching toward Robyn to shatter against her like the paper-maché that it was. A blade plunged through the paper debris, the assassin having followed along behind the dummy. He had drawn his last two concealed weapons (save for the resheathed shoe blade): his emei piercers. Two weapons that looked like sewing needles with a sharp stabbing tip attached to a ring that allowed them to spin independently, they were the newest additions to Brendyn's arsenal. He had plunged the tip of his right piercer across his body to aim at her right shoulder in a leaping lunge. His left piercer was left loose, the ring keeping it in place while his hand was open in case he had to make a quick grab or block should his attack miss.

His martial skill would have to be enough to last him through the rest of the fight: the Decoy had taken all of the energy he'd had left.

[post 10]

[AP 8]

There was no reprieve in their fight, and Rylen would not have wanted it any other way. Not that he wanted a demonic spike impaling his intestines. He was not that much of a masochist. Or maybe?

At any rate, he did not have time to celebrate his strike as the spike plunged into his flesh. The half-wolf roared in pain and fury, eager to sink his fangs into the Infernal's exposed flesh then and there--wow, this is sounding really sexual. But it was not for Rylen. He still wanted nothing more than to tear his opponent to pieces. The willpower that kept his murderous instincts in check began to wane the moment Terran stabbed straight through him. One guy shanking another tended to be the point where s**t got real.

Real tense for Rylen, that is. Even as he tried to lash out, another crooked spike slashed across his shoulder. It would have been perfectly on target if Rylen had not been writhing and tossing about from the extreme pain of the unholy knee-sword. He could not even try to fight his body's natural response to get the hell away despite all his training. So the second spike scraped a sharp red gash across his shoulder, and by Rylen's count he was a lot more messed up than he might have liked at this point with not enough to show for it. But this was it, Heaven or Hell, the world's stage. It wasn't supposed to be easy.

The crowbar still gripped tightly in his hand, Rylen drove it forward again. The stab was weaker than before, but by no means incapable of breaking the skin and searing the flesh a second time. This time Rylen did not retract his hand, instead driving the point of the crowbar as deep as he could into the Infernal's side to act as a very painful distraction, a veritable thorn in his side. With that he would release his grip on the crowbar as he engineered his escape.

Powered by Rage™, Rylen bucked his right knee up as he twisted his left wrist around so that his palm could point roughly in Terran's direction. Thanks to Terran's grip on Rylen's arm and their proximity, the half-wolf did not need to take the time to carefully aim his attack. As a martial artist he was more than capable of feeling out the position of Terran's right arm, his intended target, as he launched another fireball right into the Infernal's upper right arm near point-black range.

The fireball could cause an instant second-degree burn at the point of impact on exposed flesh, and the kind of sharp pain it inflicted would hopefully be enough to cause Terran to release Rylen's arm out of reflex. Because Rylen bucked his right knee up prior to launching the fireball, he then kicked his right foot to push against Terran's left thigh in a concentrated effort to drive the two apart as Terran withdrew his knee, the pointed implement creating a sickening, squelching pop as it dislodged itself from the half-wolf's gut. If successful, Rylen would roll away over a pile of dummies beginning to take flame, his quick movement and thick clothing adequate to prevent himself from sustaining anything more than superficial burns. A trail of blood would smear the floor.

From there he would gauge if his attacks had done anything to give his colossal opponent pause, his crimson eyes locked onto the Infernal in a spiteful glare. He would have sprung back into action himself if he had not suffered so much damage in such a short period of time. He wanted a small chance to recuperate, but nothing more. The fight was far from over as far as he was concerned.

» Ignition Lvl. 3

[06/17]

Summary: After reeling from the pain, Rylen lodges the pointed, heated end of the crowbar into Terran's side. He then launches another fireball from his left hand nearly point-blank at Terran's right arm to get Terran to let go. He simultaneously props up his right leg and kicks off Terran's left thigh to drive them apart so he can roll away to relative safety.

♦ Fire Starter

Rylen hurls a fist-sized ball of fire that hits with the force of a light punch or jab. The fire ball burns on contact with a solid surface or object, spraying out burning flames randomly in a 6-inch radius from the point of impact. One fire ball can cause a small, 1-inch wide second degree burn on exposed skin at the point of impact. The flames can light clothing on fire, but are put out easily enough with a few pats or the good ol' stop, drop and roll method. Rylen can launch 1 fire ball at Ignition Lv. 1, 2 fire balls at Ignition Lv. 2, and 3 fire balls at Ignition Lv. 3. However, if he throws any amount of fire balls over 1, his charge level is reduced by 1. If he throws only 1 fire ball, his charge level will remain the same and will not increment within that same turn (post).

HAAAAKCHOO!

One of the Judges standing amidst the myriad proxy spectators on the lower level sneezed - sending every individual who did not belong posting in this thread flying out the doors with a sudden gust of anti-bullshit. With a loud slam the doors locked shut immediately afterward, sealing the room.

"Excuse me."

The Judge rubbed his mask with the back of one finger, right about where his nose would have been.

And everyone was thankful for Proxy Paper Mache Hyperjudge.

As for the fight between the semiferal half wolf brawler and the infernal hellbeast with the heart of a MAYN, Terran found himself point blank with a fireball aimed directly in his face. Well, figuratively his face. Actually, his upper arm. But all the same, this fireball would crash into his leathery hide, scorching the skin, but given it's thickness and general lack of flamability, the burn would leave very little in the way of lasting marks or blisters, aside from just burning and the concussive effect.

This, the kick to send the two apart, and an extra stab to his side all hit as planned, though given the lack of force this time, it only barely made it through the Infernal's hide before they were pried apart. Terran, recalling the blade and the spire, rolled across the ground for a ways before palm striking the floor to pop upward, landing on a his left knee and the ball of his right foot. As this roll to safety began, the crowbar clattered to the ground where he'd been.

The Infernal got to his feet, taking account of his wounds to this point. Two stabs in basically the same spot, both cauterized, a hefty scorch across his chest. Fortunately, there were no heavy through and throughs, all though the deeper of the two stabs radiated painfully. A dark scowl as he placed his palm over the holes, his eyes watching the Warg. And he began to walk forward.

His hand fell to his side, and he walked straight forward toward the Warg, hands splayed open, claws extended at their fullest, his elbow talons still exposed. With the fire as a backdrop, the Infernal image took hold, and the burning, red glow of his eyes against the black backdrop of his face sealed the deal.

At this point, he broke into a full out run, crossing the field until where he laid a moment later. Midstep, his foot talons would land on the crowbar, and he'd shift his weight to kick the crowbar up, pointed side forward, shooting it like a missile toward the Warg. Using the momentum of the kick, he would round himself and pick the run back up and deliver a running swing with his his now closed left fist. He aimed to shatter Rylen's nose, with any luck.

[6/17]

Terran takes the second stab, but his thick hide saves him some pain, and lessens the severity of the burn. Rolling from his opponent when Rylen tries to get some distance, Terran regroups and charges, kicking the crowbar like a missile before attempting to punch Rylen clean across the nose with a full force swing.

(Recall Blade, +20% over 4 turns <5% a turn>)

(Recall Spire, +15% over 3 turns <5% a turn>)

The burning heat from the flames radiated into their micro ring, like Rylen's little cauterization trick, keeping his guts from spilling out either end. The heat brought the fighters to life, it one was to wax poetical about it. Terran often contemplated things like this when he was fighting.

Oddly enough, now was not one of those times, but his author is at a lost for ideas. Terran, however, was wholly focused, his mind locked into the fight at hand. His fist swung, sliding cleanly through the air with narry a solid hit larger than a fleck of ash or a particle of dust. His right swung hard, and met nothing.

But Terran did not mind so much, using his missed swing to flow into the next move, the momentum carry. His left foot remained planted as his right swung hard, doing a full revolution before swingin upward. His leg remained bent, his toes pointed upward t0 keep the talons away from his opponent's temple. If the attack connected precisely as angled, prior to any dipping or dodging on the part of Rylen, the ball of his giant foot would swing to connect into the jaw and cheek, and the talons would slash across the face on a mostly-superficial level, although the loss of the closest eye would be possible, albeit unlikely.

That is, if it connects.

Hit or miss, Terran would then go to immediately straight out his foot, the arch pressing toward the mouth and nose and shoving back with all of his might. It would not be abrupt enough to break the neck, but it was intended to be a concise hit to unbalance the Warg as that Terran might be able to make a final push to seal the match.

Even now, he kept mindful. The Warg was good. And from what Terran could tell, damn shine a higher caliber than the scrubs he was fraternizing with.

[7/17]

Terran missed with the punch, but let the momentum of the swing carry a right legged kick around, the ball of his foot poised to smack into Rylen's jaw, the talons to scrape across the face. Hit or miss, he'd put his foot in line with Rylen's face and shove outward in an attempt to throw him far off balance.

OOc

Entirely out of it, atm. Wife wants our laptop, atm.

But dude.

I used to pull high risk moves like that all the time, and didn't think too many people had the balls to do a move like that.

You are Elvis.

Seriously.

Hyper kudos.

But now you understand.

Only one of us will leave this ring alive.

...

And then the other will leave alive, but with a much smaller cup.

Kuh-

Terran's mind instantly clicked back six years in the Leviathan Stadium, back when he was in his original body. He and a large truck of a man were fighting, and the truck had landed a grievous blast to his chest, shattering multiple ribs. Terran, on the run, kneeled in the clay, his hand holding his chest as he coughed up blood. Behind him, heat built in his arm as the Truck slowly approached him to deal the finishing blow, raising both arms high about his head the bring the hammer down and end him. At which point Terran would thrust his arm forward, casting an explosive spell in the giant's sternum, sending the beast flying and cinching the fight for a younger, pyromantic Terran.

THOOOM!

Off balance. Sloppy. Get up, old man. You've got work to do.

His head spun, and for the first time since they'd entered, the music was killing him, but that would pass. So, too, would the fresh blast hole in his stomach. He had that same thick hide of his to thank for his guts not being the arena's carpeting, but this wasn't like the burn on his shoulder and pectoral. This was deep and wide, his skin was charred and torn, a reeking, acrid purple blood streaming from some popped capillaries across his chest, though the heat instantly cauterized much of the wound.

Both hands were planted on the floor, down on one knee over a bunch of debris and chunks of various mache dummies, smoke billowed off of Terran's belly, rolling over his hips and shoulders. He tried to find his head, his fingers curling into a fist. A short clattering and he looked up, grinning. Not some bullshit sadistic hurr hurr ay am ebil grin, but a legitimately pleased smile. "I'll be damned, dude. That was a hell of a hit." And he chuckled, entirely sincerely. "That was really cool, man." His voice was a bit strained at first, but that wore away.

He didn't move to attack just yet, but he made no sort of motion to summon Rylen to keep going. In all honesty, Terran hoped that he'd either wait, or approach slowly. Terran wanted to get his wind back in. More than wanting to win? Terran wanted the fight to keep going!

[8/17]

Terran takes the blast head on, his stomach significantly burned. He remains on his knee and hands, catching his breath, but praising his opponent.

The course of Fayble's left hand stayed true, still choking her even as Rosalyn was sitting up. Her grip holding fast and blocking her windpipe. With such a close proximity, her hammer was useless, so she flung it out of both of their reaches. It was time to buckle the ******** down.

"HHAAA--"

Fayble reached with her other hand to choke her further just as Rosalyn reached up and slammed her's into Fay's face. The femme's first reaction was to bite down hard- taking a healthy, bloody chunk out of her opponents palm as it started to get painfully hot. Very hot. Very very painfully hot.

And she couldn't get away completely. Tightening both of her hands into a death grip on the woman's throat, Fayble gnashed her teeth into the wound further as she jerked her face from side to side and back in natural instinct to get her face away from the pain.

Charge Bar:

[/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /]

-20 remain-

No charge needed

}6/17{

As Fayble and her opponent were duking it out on the club floor, here came Sabrina, striding out from a cloud of smoke behind where Rosalyn had propped herself up. In her arms she brandished a mannequin she had yanked off the floor like some ridiculous rifle, with her right hand stuffed up into the shadowy, papery recesses of its crotch and the other gripping its flimsily constructed bicep. Most of it was on fire, and the parts that weren't were soggy where Blue Crystal st was leaking out of it. Her eyes were, red, puffy, and moist from all the smoke choking the room. Bits of ash had caught in her heat-frazzled hair. Some of the aforementioned Blue Crystal st looked to have gotten on her shirt, where it was fizzing menacingly. All in all, she would have looked kinda silly . . . if not for the murder lurking in her eyes as she stalked towards the bloody struggle.

Without sound or ceremony, she came up behind Rosalyn, and swung the torso of the burning effigy down at the succubus, aiming to smash the whole thing open across her back. Granted, the things had to be more sturdy than they appeared to be able to stand like real people and hold heavy hidden weapons inside some of them, and Sabrina was swinging it as though she were trying to knock Rosalyn's ribcage out. And it was on fire. And it appeared to be filled with the most delicious cool amazing ******** weird soda ever known to man. Still, why would she choose such a weapon for this, when there were a number of other objects lying around that could be much more effective at it?

Because, sometimes,you have a bad day. Sometimes you get food poisoning from a vending machine item. Sometimes, you lose your opportunity to have a proper fight and are relegated to sitting on the sidelines instead. Sometimes, you have to watch someone sear your biggest crush's beautiful face like a piece of toast. And sometimes, you feel like picking up the worst weapon in the room, and using it to clean someone's clock in the most humiliating manner possible. It can't always be explained. Sometimes, it's better to just stop asking questions, sit back, and enjoy the beatdown.

A good, pulpy smacking wasn't all that Sabrina had to give, as it turned out. There was one extra trick hidden up the girl's sleeve . . . or, mannequin, more accurately.

There was a nasty surprise in store for Rosalyn: paper mache and and cheap wood gave way to cold, hard steel, secreted away in the mannequin's body. The Midgard Fang, once the prized possession of Griff Morivan, was revealed as the shoddy construction exploded across the succubus' back. The hand that had seemingly gripped a fistful of mannequin junk instead grasped the gleaming hilt of the blade, where she had shoved the sword into the fake spectator to hide it.

As the paper mache person disintegrated over Rosalyn and showered each of the three girls with Blue Crystal s**t, the shoddy materials yielded to the Fang's slashing edge, allowing Sabrina to slice it across the width of Rosalyn's upper back and even the tricep of the arm propping her up. Assuming succubus flesh wasn't made out of rock, the razor-like edge would open up all of that meat like Christmas turkey, cutting her to the bone. Such a wound would probably be extremely debilitating, if not an outright fight-ender.

Oh, and the Fang was a Holy weapon, so a succubus like Ros would surely have lots of fun with that fact.

Sabrina, on the spot, came up with a name for it all: The Morivan ****** You Dummy Surprise Special. Not terribly creative, but she was proud of it nonetheless. That was all she had to offer for this fight in the time allotted, so with a double middle finger to Rosalyn, Sabrina would retreat back into the smoke, dripping Blue Crystal st the whole way and leaving Fayble to finish this c**t off herself.

Sometimes, you felt like humiliating an enemy. Other times, though, you just felt like hurting them. A lot.

[Striker: Complete]

[EDIT: Little bit of extrra flavor text.]

As she retreated back the sidelines, clutching Midgard Fang in one hand, for a moment, Sabrina felt the faintest thing: a warm and fuzzy feeling welling up inside her, a sense of fatherly approval, filling her, completing her . . . then she panicked as she realized that, no, the feeling was just Blue Crystal s**t causing minor chemical burns to her skin.

She hurried away to find a towel.

Master Nemesis Wrote:

A good, pulpy smacking wasn't all that Sabrina had to give, as it turned out. There was one extra trick hidden up the girl's sleeve . . . or, mannequin, more accurately.

There was a nasty surprise in store for Rosalyn: paper mache and and cheap wood gave way to cold, hard steel, secreted away in the mannequin's body. The Midgard Fang, once the prized possession of Griff Morivan, was revealed as the shoddy construction exploded across the succubus' back. The hand that had seemingly gripped a fistful of mannequin junk instead grasped the gleaming hilt of the blade, where she had shoved the sword into the fake spectator to hide it.

And much to her surprise, when she pulled back the blade from the cloud of debris and blue crystal s**t she would find a Green Card stuck to the side of the sword with double-sided tape.

What exactly was a green card, one might ask? It's a Yellow Card covered in blue crystal s**t.

Master Nemesis Wrote:

[Striker: Complete]

"Minor infraction: Sabrina Miles," said a mannequin nearby, possibly out of some hidden speaker that had been placed there.

It seemed that rule 5.1.06 hadn't been followed. All Striker actions are to be performed in a single post to prevent derailing the fight for longer than intended by needing two posts of cleanup afterward.

Robyn didn’t know he could have bypassed her gloves (which she would have been pissed about, had he done that. Not to mention in intense pain from having a needle go through her hand), and was thus grinning as she saw him stumble, parrying the needle with her glove. Finally, this fight was turning in her favor! She moved forward with the kick, eyes widening as she caught his arm moving. She tried to recoil, but her kick was almost complete. She helped complete his task of stabbing a needle through her boots, which, unlike her gloves, weren’t enchanted. The fox let out a yip/yelp of pain, the sound a little odd for what human vocal chords usually made. More like a “warf!” sound.

The vixen’s foot was already retracting, though, denying Brendyn the satisfaction of damaging her even more. She’d already been recoiling it, just not with enough time to avoid the needle completely. This also means she barely tapped his knee. Bringing the leg back, she started to set her weight on it before her body painfully reminded her why that was not such a good idea. She half-skipped her left leg back, because keeping weight on your front leg is hard, and the purple-haired girl wasn’t comfortable with it.

And therein the demon host was met with a certain problem. Her left was the only hand that held a weapon now, unless you counted her claws, which, with her considerable reach, was still an option. Her right leg was balanced mostly on her heel, slightly on the instep, since it had been the top front of her foot that had received the most damage through the footwear.

She’d actually moved herself out of arm’s reach with that step back, especially with him going down on one knee. The red in her eyes grew a little as the fresh smell of blood wafted across her sensitive nose, even through the smoke hovering around them. She gave a small shudder, both hating and loving the smell.

Back to her options.

Fire?

Too long to summon.

Illusion? Perhaps, but what could she do with it? If only she had another...that was it!

Smirking, the fox panted as her eyes glittered, almost backlit by the swirls of red in them now. ”Still....maybe...” She half-gasped the words, fangs flashing in a cocky grin. Her right hand reached behind her before pulling back in front, clutching more shuriken. ”Still got...one more...for ya.”

With a flick, she threw her stars at his collarbone, the dagger went for his left leg. Obviously, from a metaplay standpoint, the throwing stars were illusions, meant to make him more concerned about such a vital spot. Why didn’t she just use real shuriken? She still had a few tucked in her back pouch, after all. For one, she actually kinda liked the guy's spunk, and didn't want to maim him. And, well, because, oddly enough, it was easier to create whole illusions for her, rather than just layering them on top of real things, which took timing and positioning. So it would be easier for her to suddenly make the ninja stars “catch” on fire if they were fake. And how would one handle flaming death stars flying just below their throat? Well, looks like we’re about to find out, folks.

[Post – 11]

[Active Abilities – Illusion Confusion]

((And with that, I head off to bed. I thank my opponent for a great fight ^^ ))

While Robyn regained her footing after the failed kick, Brendyn spent that time physically and mentally preparing to attack despite the pain in his leg. He had his palms against the ground with his body coiled, and as she whipped her arm around in a throwing motion, Brendyn sprang at her, pushing up off the ground with his hands and extending his one fully-functional leg as hard as possible. The shuriken that were aimed at his collarbone hit his chain shirt instead, or would have had they been real. It was rather unfortunate that they were the illusion and not the thrown knife, because that blade scored a hit. While it had been aimed at his leg, the sudden upward motion meant that he took the blade to the shin bone. There was no muscle or tendon to damage, which meant that it wouldn't affect his ability to continue his attack; it was just flesh, bone, and pain. The pain prompted a snarl from the assassin, but didn't deter him for the moment.

Brendyn extended his arms, his piercers aimed at her midsection. His knowledge of anatomy was extensive, and he could easily avoid organs that would result in immediate lethal danger. A successful strike by one or both blades would result in a lot of pain and the need for immediate medical attention. She was still recovering from her throw, so he doubted she could block both of them-

-Bzzt- -Bzzt- -Bzzt-

His fighter notified him that the fight was over. He would never know if his strike was going to hit home, because he had to pull his hands back in and stumble out of his charge, wrapping his arms around her instead to support himself until he could get all of his weight on his good leg.

"Let me find my katar and we'll get those drinks?"

He was going to ignore the fact that they were both beat up and bleeding. It was nothing that a little alcohol and the healing salves in his bag couldn't cure.

[Post 12]

((Thank you, Kyt. This was certainly one of the most enjoyable fights I've had.))

So there was one thing Tzenidaar had to yell into the speakers;

"CHEST-"

Sucking Your Love Wrote:

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH"

'Cause I edited for awesome.