The Field

Following the path set by the judges as he entered the area, it would appear Terran was the first to make his entrance to this dark field. The sounds of stray wildlife was present, but little else aside from an ominous glow off to one side of the area. He had heard the odd Pylons were going to be added to arenas, but he didn't expect to be 'blessed' so soon. Though, all things considered, he was thankful even to be there, considering the scores sent to his FIGHTER. He'd nearly blown it for his team, and he was not pleased with his own performance.

He'd make no such mistakes twice.

Kehr's Sign, this time around. Ed had faced off against Griff's team last year, fighting Sabrina, even. It'd be something to look forward to, although he was curious how it would play out in the end. He had faith in his team, but there was no denying this group's skill.

Crossing his arms and folding his legs, he'd sit down where Asgard was permitted, and simply wait in the dark for his team and opponents to arrive.

As with the club before, Terran's eyes glowed in the darkness as he looked up to her. "I wouldn't worry too much, darling." He muttered as he began to stand, joining her more closely. "I'm here. And with any luck, our opponents won't be as tough as we are. Maybe the Pylon'll send them straight running." He glanced again to the off glow across the field, the burning prismatic color scheme against the corn. He didn't care for this development.

"...I'd prefer you stayed away from that thing." He spoke in a whisper, still looking to the glow. "I know you might not be able to avoid it, but... I don't know. I don't really get feelings in this body, but even I'm getting weirded out by that thing." He wasn't sure how to put it into words, but his tone was grimly serious for a change. All the same, he relaxed his muscles, blades sliding free of his elbows, claws extending from his fingers.

"...You don't know if Sabrina drank any more bad tea, do you?"

A similar thought crossed Terran's mind as he began to hum to comfort the both of them, though without thinking on it, his humming soon turned somewhat somber.

Fay had recognized him from last year alright. Sabrina's opponent, and opponent to be this year. A faint smile crossed her lips when he spoke. The femme didn't know how to react really, so instead, she gave a nod.

"Thank you." The knowledge of Griff's death was slowly seeping through the ranks. Latent, Barton, Sigil, Durem. Asgard's plan was now in full force. Moreover. "Heh. She's probably on her way. Always a little late."

And with that, Fay's voice tuckered out. Not out of disrespect, but out of negligence as to what to say. Her eyes strained to see the Pylon, a long sigh escaping her.

"Always a little late..."

Sokoya had taken upon herself the role of Scooby-Do in the warped version of the the gang that Team Kehr's Sign had turned itself into. The girl contented herself with the very back of the van over the course of the trip. While she'd wanted to sit up near the front with Wigi and Edward, her boyfriend had assured her it was for her own good. The Hedge was a dangerous place, and he dared not have her peeking around or getting lost while they traveled through it towards their match. So the girl sat in back and pouted. Not to say that she was safe from the temptations.

The whole trip, she was assaulted by curious scents. The Hedge had thousands of unfamiliar smells to it, with dozens at a time seeping into the van as the passed through. A whole nother world of curious things that drew her attention, and her ravenous hunger. All the better, Sokoya supposed, as they finally edged The Hedge into a vast field. It's nice to work up an appetite before you ate. And she planned on doing just that. When the van finally stopped she was one of the last to get out, beating only Wigi. And by the rules they'd laid down along the way, that meant he was left with Striker Duty.

The smug smile that she had on her face upon achieving a chance to fight this round was quickly wiped away by the scene that she had arrived upon. A clearing, at least, but one that was surrounded by crops. Eerily silent. The opening they were supposed to fight in heavily fogged over, so much so that the opponents that had arrived were little more than shaded outlines to her eyes. But there, in the distance, an inhuman glow. A humming that was just outside of hearing range. Pulsing. Calling out.

With a jerk, the platinum haired fighter would force herself to look away. Hurrying to catch up to her other teammates, she would regard the opposing crew quietly. Eyes the color of fresh blood slowly washing over their forms. Gauging them. Trying to pick out her target.

Her prey.

[Omi Barsait versus Fayble - The Field]

"Sure. You know I can't keep a lady waiting~" Grinning wide, Omi began to walk after his apparent opponent, not even stopping as he quickly chimed in: "Oi Eddy, Soaky~ .. good luck." Inspiring, though something was stirring in the artist even within his voice that unnerved him..

One of the clearings in this hellish den of lost sight and stirred emotions. Along the way, his opponent gave a warning. No doubt in regards to this foreign entity that ever beckoned, ever stole your gaze and forced your mind to comply. However, in a somber voice, the strategist merely responded: "Don't worry." Spreading slowly across his face was a smile, one so entirely sincere that it in itself was likely more disheartening than the ever fading vision of the distance.

At last, they reached their summit: one of this field's clearings, enough distance that the two could have healthy time to prepare. However, now Barsait was ever closer to the [Pylon], and with it, the effects had grown.. stronger. It seemed this force, something so archaic and disgusting that it turned his mind inside out. It took so little analysis to figure out this much: it took something you were already feeling, for example fear, and amplified it. It intensified one's stance towards what they see and hear. What then, was the feeling that [Pylon] played catalyst for? What view stirred amidst the flames?

Hair standing on end, Barsait's lips were parted in a wild, happy grin. Rather than his normal lethargic stance, the man was standing entirely upright, life to his every muscle suggesting he would spring to kill in a moment's notice. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, his shoulder blades bulged at the skin, the man's fingers danced with no patience. And both of his eyes shook ever so slightly, like they were blasted by an unseen wind mightier than the strongest gale.

Lust for battle. It always shone to a small extent in Omi, treating his tricks and trade like a strategist's game to be won, only truly seeming alive when crunching bone and being struck. But this..

.. arguably, Fayble was about to meet one of two truer shades of Omi Barsait, brought to a boil by the eerie glow in the distance.

"FAYBLE of Asgard!!" Howled the mercenary, sounding so pleased as his eyelids expanded wide at the sight of glowing lights in the distance.

Thanks to her simple statement in the hotel regarding a shock-cloth, Omi knew the woman dealt with electricity in some form. However, projectiles incoming that he could not make the details out of, Barsait wildly lurched to his right - the logical course of action if said projectiles are linear and moving in this direction would minimize the chances of them striking him. Had they not shone so well, though.. oh how unfortunate that would be.

His left arm dangling in the air with his red [Ignus Pata] blade laid out horizontally, Barsait realized not by her footsteps but simply by shades and motion as Fayble approached: it was a daring feint. She had launched a double-point projectile to dictate his motion this direction for a follow-up attack, with a high speed dash and a melee weapon. "Clever.." Barsait mused in their last moments before delicious contact- such a simple yet devastating combination could end the fight for individuals his lesser right from the start. Though.. that was all the praise he could warrant.

Omi's left gauntlet and its odd weapon had several strengths compared to simply holding your common short sword in one's hand. For example, it didn't actually occupy the hand at all. As such, it freed said hand to do interesting things, such as forming a fist- Barsait even as he slid along the tilled soil rotating into it for a full body left hook aimed at Fayble's right cheek. Reason being, by gunning for his gut with her right hand outstretched, it left such an opening.

Of course, Barsait's right hand nimbly retracted to the very spot she intended to butcher as it had no constraints at all - and did all that was logical. Grab the dagger blade. It had enough length to it that a grip was plausible, and his gauntlet while terrible if punctured from the underside, had no issue simply grasping a blade edge, much less two - and tightly his hand clenched, stilling the dagger with an audible grunt even as his three of his right fingertips [excluding the small finger and thumb] were unceremoniously cut open by this action. Red blood draped the blade, though .. not from his gut as planned.

This tripled as a defensive, and a means of stopping her from quickly escaping his left hook; either hold the blade tight and be struck hard, or be unarmed and risk the [Ignus Pata] hitting the fist's mark instead. The third bonus was that if she had a supernatural means of turning the tides, he would get a first hand glance that the fog couldn't blur.

Already, Omi Barsait could hardly hold back ever pleased laughter.

The mark of glorious two-person combat, was that at the very first instant, one could fall.

[I]

Fayble hissed out as she ducked down to avoid being speared in the face.

Strands of royal purple hair slipping down as the blade had cut through her pony tail some.

Though, there was a sweet feeling she had normally ignored, the blade running through her foe's flesh-- It was almost intoxicating. Upon ducking, Fay tightened her grip on the dagger and pulsed her energy through it. The metal of the blade acting as and excellent conduit against the wounds of his fingers.

But Fayble didn't waist time. She didn't have time. No time. No time. No time at all she had to act fast. Quickly now. Steady.

Her eyes flickered with the same unknown light emitting from the pylon before a grin racked her face. Omi would be all sorts of twisted now, his right at hers, left across his body. Popping up, Fayble reached up with her left hand to grab at the collar of his coat while smashing her body up to his as she pulled him forward, hoping to pin his left arm horizontal to their chests -- if the electric shock had rang true to his right hand, Fay would shove the blade into it's original target.

With a twist of the handle into his gut, she pushed herself away before staggering back a few steps.

Giggling in a low, sultry tone.

"I didn't ask for a hair cut~"

-14 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

}2/17{

[Omi Barsait versus Fayble - The Field]

Fast~ She had maneuvered out of the way of his counter-assault in an effective manner, instead merely receiving a flattering cut of that luscious lavender hair. However, though it was by pure luck, fate dealt Omi a second and most deadly hand. The man's right hand would indeed feel quite a shock, as electricity in the hundreds of thousands of volts range tends to inflict- and paralysis of that right hand would indeed briefly ensue.. except it would actually have quote the opposite effect of what you would do were you able to: letting go of the dagger. On the contrary, with how tightened his grip was prior to the shock being administered, he quite literally couldn't let go - the dagger staying entirely rigid as she would quickly find. After all, his bare fingertips had been administered a little electric retribution, and such was the nature of electric shock: what you were touching to administer it if potent enough, would cause you to become rigid.

Of course, this bought Omi an extra moment since Fayble would naturally attempt to either draw the weapon away, push it forward towards its intended target, or continue channeling its now blatantly obvious stun-prod like mechanic. And an additional moment was all he needed. His left hand thanks to her ducking maneuver, was directly above her head - and only needed minimal rotation so its open grasp would be above that glorious hair of hers, shortened as it were.

He couldn't reposition that left hand in time to bash her over the head, let alone throw a punch with any decent force to it. Grabbing her remaining hair however, was both an extremely fast and remarkably easy task in their current circumstances, which the battle crazed fighter gladly did. It was extremely easy if you had a grasp on one's hair roots to guide their skull, pain and pressure playing equal parts in why; so, as she began to grab his luscious red coat, she would find the need to pull him towards her .. relatively low.

Because his upper body lurching toward took care of it for her, Barsait's skull whipping forward in a frenzy.

Minimal rotation towards his destination, and a whipping headbutt meant his hairline where the bone is tremendously thick would come outright smashing against Fayble - even worse if she went through with trying to smash their bodies together, since that would even if slightly shift her head towards his. Ah, but any fool could toss a punch~ Destination was important, wasn't it?

[CRACK!!] along Fayble's left side.

Pterion. Simplified location, upper right of your right eye or upper left of your left eye; exact location, between the parietal, sphenoid, temporal, and frontal bones. "God's Little Joke" is the most commonly known nickname for this section of the skull, and its calling: the very weakest portion of the human skull. Holding a vital artery and tremendously thin bone structure, it's not uncommon for a hard blow to other sections of the skull to indirectly fracture this point. A direct blow however, is tremendous overkill; easily shattering the bone and likely rupturing the artery beneath. This causes a type of injury called epidural haematoma, a buildup of blood between part of the central nervous system and the skull. Bleeding from such an injury is extremely rapid, since an artery is quite high pressure. Not just a few individuals die from this condition after an extended period of time, and upfront, if her strength was too grand so as Omi would gauge it, unconsciousness did not occur - abnormal posturing and mild balance issues would likely ensue.

Not to mention he just crashed his skull against hers, was rather experienced in the act, and was rather fond of doing it to people.

Her attempt to bring their bodies so close that the dagger could puncture his gut, given the situation, was likely put on at least momentary hiatus, however briefly. Omi's right hand got all the pain of having feeling to it, and none of the proper functionality; but.. his left hand, gripping this woman's hair tight, didn't mind so much.

[II]

"That wasn't very nice," Ed started in reply as his opponent from the year before arrived on the scene, "Okay then."

FIGHT.

The cyberpunk took a step forward with his left foot, and lifted his fists in an orthodox boxing stance. He was mostly mimicking his opponent for the sole purpose of being annoying, impulsively seeking to anger the girl in someway. However, it was the start of the fight and she was unlikely to take it badly. It was just a stance after all.

Edward's left foot lifted off the ground a few inches (about half a foot) in the beginnings of a push kick; his kick of choice and first move he'd done the year previous against Sabrina. Chances were she wouldn't be fooled twice by the same move, and the punk seriously hoped she had a contingency plan for that very thing.

The cyborg's feint counted on it.

As easily as the foot lifted to get a reaction out of Sabrina, it would abruptly come straight back down in a stomp. If the ruse was successful, it would leave the girl open for Edward's actual attack. Swiftly, the punk threw a heavy jab (if only for the cybernetic nature of his fist) at Sabrina's face. A pretty simple attack but that wasn't the case as half way through the jab the cybernetic arm would mechanically extend itself an additional six inches.With the range of the arm being augmented in a matter of a second, it left Sabrina with even less time to react.

Then again, it shouldn't matter much. Extendo-arm or not, it was still just a jab.

-One-

[Omi Barsait versus Fayble - The Field]

Last second diversion! Omi managed to land a good solid headbutt all the same, yet it lacked the results intended; though it wouldn't rack him any, it was still detrimental in that it didn't rupture that artery. Disappointing, but by no means frustrating, as the artist had a thousand more tricks up his sleeve. However, the thumb to his eye, his eyelid shutting 3/4ths of the way before the thumb made contact and therefore minimizing but still being exposed to direct contact of flesh..

It burned. The feel of sweat and poor contaminants, the pressure.. immediately, Barsait whipped her head backwards with his left hand and released, throwing himself backwards since their legs had no locked elements and his right hand was regrouping its ability to grip or in this case, release- arms outstretched wide before his left swung horizontally to aim the [Ignus Pata] directly at her, tip first, horizontally laid out at his chest's height. His right eye was winced shut, irritated but not given the time to injure it; however, it was a blatant distance making move. She wanted the two separated..

Wonderful!

Now that the two were just outside of arm's reach, the strategist grinned coyly. Time for just a few words.

"Hey~ Strong.. I'm happy, know that? This means I get to let loose after all.. holding back is so. So boring, too easy." Dominant voice that heated the cool air, Omi's left eye widened with excitement even as the right kept nice and calmly shut; most people would instinctively try to rub it, but he knew better. Long as he left it alone momentarily, luck permitting her nail didn't quite nick it, he'd have a perfectly fine right eye in due time. However, patience wasn't his strong suit this day.

Licking his teeth, she would rather easily notice how the flesh of his right eyelid began to glow an abnormal hue of red. Perhaps she would or wouldn't notice the shallow bleeding of those three right fingertips following suit, glowing a lovely shade of red far brighter than dark blood's; perhaps not. Still, his legs spaced out shoulder width and squared, the fighter gave a mischievous, yet bizarrely happy smile - before his lips parted wide with a wild laugh: "Hey, wanna fight at 'at?"

His head tilted towards the [Pylon]'s direction. Something about it.. it told him he would get even wilder the closer they neared it, yet somewhere within his mind, another Barsait a lifetime away told him he could exploit it if he knew when. But that sounded so boring, even as his blood pumped and drops exited fingertip flesh lightly. An entertaining spectacle with this woman, he craved it with the hunger of an animal. Whether she cooperated or not..

Here it came!

[III]

Stumbling back a two or three steps. Fayble found her feet and planted them in the ground. Her stance, oddly playful. Her body was brimming with a chaotic energy, sparks rippled across her teeth as she smiled.

"So glad I don't disappoint."

Oh she noticed the glowing alright, prompting her to start a charge of her of her own. Fayble wiggled her fingers like cowboy in a gun fight- a dull muddy aura gathering about her left hand. Though, his next words threw her emotions to glee. Hopping up a little, Fayble smacked her hands to her cheeks, pulling at her skin. His blood leaving crimson streaks.

"YYYES!"

She barked in a raspy tone. It looked like the woman was winding herself up to bolt, and in a blink of an eye, she was off. Her mind pulled her in the correct direction, the Pylon drawing Fayble to it like a moth to a flame. Yes it's true, she just subjugated herself in a frenzied game of cat and mouse.

But tonight was a night she threw most of her caution to the wind.

Sight was her best guise as she weaved about the corn stalks, she jutted herself into a different row from time to time, just as an extra precaution. There was no doubt he was nipping at her heels.

-18 remain-

Charging: 1 of 2

Passive recharge: +2

}4/17{

There was just something about the scent of the hedge that left a pleasant vibe ringing in the changeling's core, like a vibrant echo of a tuning fork to the ear of a choir student with a hard on for lasting, high-pitched tones. It was where he, and many other glamourized denizens, felt most at home and where they took their most natural form. Wigi, for example, cast aside the giant albino look for a much more fitting form, revealing a dull, dirtied grayish tone of skin along with black misty tendrils for hair instead of dreads and sporting a set of eternity knot tats for eyes. The rope burns around his wrists and neck also became much easier to notice, a signature of his not so pleasant past. There were a dozen other small details one could pick and choose, such as pointy teeth or how his clothes' changed color and shape between the two realities, but such would be irrelevant as they pounded their way out into the clearing of the overcast field.

The ogre would let out a low, long whistle of relief as they breached into the field from beneath an ark of low-hanging trees. Wigi's body relaxed a bit, his nerves adjusting from their recent trek through the wilderness of another realm. Despite what some people might think, one can't just rip holes between two different realms at the flip of a switch, swishing back and forth at a beckoned call. No! It took some sort of prep work from someone in the know about how these sort of portals work, that and enough glamour to fuel the gateway. Fortunate for the group a hedge gate was nearby, likely a creation of one of the local fae or perhaps a group of fae spectators who happened on by, eager to see the group in action.

Which, truth be told, was a little unsettling for the ogre who didn't much care for fae lords.

Sooner or later the van would come screeching to a halt and soon after the changeling would cut the power with a snap. His body went lax for a moment, snagging up against the steering column from pounding out so much glamour at once. A couple of people wasn't much of a big deal, but a whole vehicle was a different story all together. By the time the changeling came to the rest of the team was already up and out and making nice with the other team.

Nothing like making friends with a four-course meal.

Weej hopped out of the jacked up mystery machine and took a head count of the others around, not really paying much mind to formalities or other s**t like that. He did notice, however, that the bunch of people looking to match up were all short folk, at least by comparison. The ogre would only chuckle and raise his hand up to his chest, roughly about however high it was that Ed came to him in comparison.

"Must be this tall to fight." He joked as he grabbed himself a ringside seat in the field, getting nice and cozy as he watched the first fight get underway.

One moment the cyberpunk was lifting his leg to trick Sabrina, and the next he found himself on his back. It was evidence of sloppiness on Ed's side of things, and made him relive some of his more troubling moments at the hands of his opponent the year before. The punk would forgive himself, however, after all it was magic (obviously) and it was his ultimate weakness. There was nothing he could have logically done, except perhaps not lifting his leg which would have left him off balance instead which was just as bad if not worse in some cases. Luckily, Edward hadn't hit his head during the fall and was quick to sit up as Sabrina came in for her follow-up.

The girl's tonfa struck true on the side of Ed's right leg, near the ankle as any higher (considering his height and length of leg) would have easily put her in kicking range. Though, the result would likely surprise Sabrina, though it only baffled Edward. She struck his cybernetic implant hard; the sound of metal being hit rung in the air. And if the cyborg seemed at all in pain, he definitely wasn't showing it. Perhaps a few years back, but those days were long gone. Without pausing, Edward's cybernetic arm (his left) reached out swiftly, extending itself completely to eight extra inches on top of an already abnormally long arm, and attempted to grab hold of Sabrina's tonfa before the girl had a chance to pull back the weapon. If such was the case, the cyberpunk would pull on the weapon and the girl behind it with all his mechanical strength.

Considering the punk could curl his body weight and then some with that arm, pulling the girl off balance and towards him shouldn't be too hard even with his disadvantage. Though, he'd been surprised before.

Simultaneously, Ed's right arm drew a hatchet from one of the holsters on his waist, and immediately tried to lash out at his opponent. The axehead would be swung at Sabrina's forearm as her tonfa would be pulled in along with her arm. Due to his position, Edward's swing wasn't meant to be very strong, so chances were he wasn't going to lop the arm off. But the hatchet was still a tool meant for cutting and had seen its fair share of thick logs split under the weight of its blows. A deep cut to the outside of her forearm along with a nasty fracture of the Ulna were very possible.

Hopefully, Sabrina was as surprised by all this as Edward believed she should be, and that the hatchet chop would cause enough damage and pain that she'd relinquish one of her weapons.

-Two-

"s**t," Sabrina hissed as her weapon, fully capable of fracturing human bone like matchstick wood, clanged uselessly against metal. She'd forgotten which side that stupid cybernetic leg of his belonged to. She started to withdraw it and wind up her opposite arm for another strike, but then Ed went all Mr. Fantastic on her, and Sabrina, caught by surprise, was yanked down on to her right knee, almost directly between Ed's legs. She tried to steady herself to react, attempting to yank her tonfa free of Ed's robotic grip, but was denied that opportunity when he drew and swung his own weapon of choice at her arm.

In a knee-jerk reaction, she released the tonfa, and twisted the top of her forearm outwards the catch the blow. The blade sunk into the fleshy part of the limb, nearly smacking into the bone, causing her to yelp. Now distinctly aware that the tables had been turned and she was now at a disadvantage here, what with getting yanked into striking range, losing her weapon to her opponent, and experiencing the novel sensation of having a hatchet buried in her, she jumped immediately to the conclusion that it was time to get some space and regroup.

With her young face twisted in pain, Sabrina shoved off the ground with left foot, trying to push herself back to her feet but, in wake of the shock of receiving the wound and her instinctive haste to get away from the weapon that had inflicted it, ended up losing her balance on the soft dirt and falling on to her ample rear instead, only a few feet away from her enemy. Given the opportunity, she would scramble to a standing position a little more carefully this time, as the pain started to transfer directly into anger, fueling it.

Barely a few seconds into this fight, and already Edward was making her look like a fool. That sense of humiliation she had experienced last year, when this man had actually succeeded in making her cry in front of both their teams and who-knows-how-many millions of spectators, resurfaced. The grip on her remaining tonfa would tighten to the point of white knuckles as she raised it and her shaking injured arm into defensive positions near her head, and she shifted into a lowered stance that put her left foot forward and her right cocked up on its ball behind.

No matter her condition by the end of this fight, Sabrina swore to herself that she was gonna make him suffer before it was over.

[3/17]

His st-eating grin couldn't have been wider. The punk felt like a real b*d, more so than usual. Typically, he would have pulled her close and kicked her, but producing that hatchet and hacking at her outstretched arm was far too appealing (for some odd reason) of an opportunity to let go to waste. That didn't stop him from feeling like st about it in the back of his mind, only reserving his weapons for opponents whose schtick revolved around ultra-violence and trying to kill people, but something seemed to be coaxing him into feeling like this and the punk wasn't exactly sure why. Edward didn't like it, yet his grin was still there.

Cunning of a devil and conscience of a virgin.

Edward curled both of his legs inward, bringing his knees to his chest, and skillfully jumped to his feet as Sabrina scrambled to her feet. He put the hatchet back in it's holster; still stained with the girl's blood as a reminder. Cybernetic arm returning to it's normal length, the cyberpunk switched his new tonfa to his right hand and held it just like Sabrina. He approached and considering the short distance between the two.. It wouldn't be long before the punk was in attack range.

He took a step forward on his right leg, and swung the tonfa at the left side of his opponent's head. While Ed's left hand remained up to defend.

-Three-

[Omi Barsait versus Fayble - The Field]

Barsait indeed dove into the corn field after his prey, for even with the poor sight conditions, the [Pylon] called to any who wished to heed it.. reaching it was simpler than staying away, in fact. It culled the souls abound, drawing them in to devour so it felt. An astounding, vile power that would sicken one to their stomach were it not like a siren's call with a resonating strength.

As Omi's boots rapidly tore across the field floor, breath escalating with the dashing, his wild grin turned to a distraught frown whilst nearing their fabled point of true battle. His head throbbed.. then again. Something resonated inside of his skull, creating a pressure that took the mercenary by surprise, and though it never stilled his feet- it filled him with a kind of dread. Some type of realization that infuriated him.

The sound of his feet rustling the floor and the corn husks scattering aside at his touch faded. The sound ahead of his opponent charging faded. The air flowing.. faded.

Instead, voices began to spring out from every direction. Vivid, and though they sounded so very different - they.. unarguably, were his own. Shades of Barsait began to fill the air in a chorus.

"Your mind is better suited to this relic than your opponent's, if you can exploit it-" Rang a civil and wry tone.

"That woman's so pathetic. Rape and kill her and be done with it all!!" Spat a vile voice tinged with malice.

"Vile! You must uphold tournament regulations and civil discord! Be valiant in the face of this contemptible menace, your mind is pure and your spirit unbending!!" Chanted a voice sounding quite self-justified.

"That thing's going to break you, you'll kill everyone for miles~ You know you will too, how foolish to for the sake of a game. Your greed is so great that you would throw their lives away for it, truly?" Chastised a resentful voice.

"Shut up.." Omi breathed in an uncertain voice, eyes shaking whilst his teeth ground against each-other so hard that he felt they might break. His ears began to ring, his heartbeat escalating.

"Whichever of you holds their mind better will be victorious. This is exactly the challenge in mind, she's strong and yet-" That civil & wry tone tried to advise him.

"You'd get so much more out of killing and looting the whole damn city than this tournament could ever pay out, take her. If she resists, kill her. By the time they find her body-" Giggled a malice filled voice, pleased with itself.

"You'd like a taste of her, no? Take it, forget this troublesome competition~ She'd be-" Began a hedonistic voice, merry with a lazy drawl.

"Waste of time. Preoccupied and content with this when you should be taking firm hold of the land around you. Start-" Barked a deep, booming voice that commanded authority.

"You shall be champion amongst men, you must set a higher standard no matter the odds. This temptation you face shall never-" Reassured the voice mildly pompous with status.

"It's too late.. you're already in its grasp and you willingly put yourself there. So arrogant that you think you can resist its charms more than another man? Looks like the first six massacres weren't enough for you-" The voice chastising him remarked with a mixture of pity and detest.

"SHUT THE HELL UP!!!" Omi's head whipped up, livid with fury that went well beyond rage - feet suddenly carrying him through the field towards Fayble and his destination with no restraint. Like a beast unleashed, the man whipped out his right hand, three snake-like appendages rushing out of the middle cut fingertips in a sudden rush - a fourth flying off his right eye, jaw unhinging as something manifested within it not unlike an eye itself.

They would, at different points, near the [Pylon] at the center of this maze from hell. And as his face blasted ahead of the corn stalks, reaching the large centered clearing - something about the air felt corrupted whilst his eye and "eye" feasted upon the object at last.

Here it was. Corruption made manifest.

Serpentine Condition Wrote:

[Right Hand]

[+]Ring Finger Serpent has extended 3" from his fingertip, and has taken no course of action yet. (Active)

[+]Middle Finger Serpent has extended 3" from his fingertip, and has taken no course of action yet. (Active)

[+]Index Finger Serpent has extended 3" from his fingertip, and has taken no course of action yet. (Active)

[Right Eye]

[+]Eyelid Serpent has just barely sprouted its head from the eyelid flesh, and has manifested Omi's Knavish Eye mechanic to allow his eye time to see without further irritation. (Knavish Eye/Active)

[Emphasis]: Aside from his surrogate eye, Barsait's remaining three snakes are "at the ready" so to speak.

[IV]

s**t!

s**t!

SHIIIIIIT!

The voices were back, but for once they were all in agreement. He had only just placed his trap on the ground when she fell on him. He had exactly one second to leave the area before they would both be caught in its effect. He'd had the spell used on him before, since he needed to be able to predict its effects on others. It wasn't an experience he'd been looking to repeat though.

Think! Think! You can get out of this. You can-

KILL HER!

Well... so much for a well thought out plan. She had pinned him down, he had less than a second to act, and he used it to drive the tip of his katar into her upper arm. Normally Brendyn prided himself on precise, disabling strikes. Normally he would've severed a critical tendon or ligament and render her arm useless regardless of how much pain she could handle. The fury that drove the stab didn't allow him the luxury of precision, though. He simply stabbed at her bicep just before his world blossomed into one of nothing but pain.

Red energy arced up at both fighters, washing over them from the symbol on the ground. Brendyn's mouth opened, but he didn't even have the ability to scream. His entire existence became pain, and the single second stretched on into infinity.

And then it was over. The pain went away, and Brendyn took heaving breaths, trying desperately to get his mind under control.

It huuuurts!

It wasn't real! Focus!

The rage that would've served him so well at that moment had been blasted into submission. He was certain it would be back, but not now, not when it could've helped him. It would wait until it could interrupt a plan or override his better judgement. That was what rage did, and it was why he controlled his so tightly under normal circumstances.

Focus! Pain can wait!

With a growing sense of alarm, the assassin realized that his opponent was still armed. If he allowed her to have her way with that kukri, she could likely disable him and effectively end the fight where they lay. Rather than allow her to hit him undefended, he tried to hook her right arm with the sickle again, possibly interrupting a stab if she was already attempting it. This time he wouldn't avoid cutting deeply, either. If he caught her with the blade, it would bite into her flesh, likely slicing down to the bone if her arm was moving in the opposite direction.

Next on the agenda: getting out from under the crazy woman.

[Post: 4]

[AP: 2]

The mad dash to the Pylon continued, Fayble letting out the occasional gasp of air or giggle. They weren't far, it was almost as if she could feel the ambiance on her skin. But the closer she got, the radiant bliss tainted, her previous bliss withered with each step.

Something was happening to her. Fayble was powerless to stop it.

Clearing the cornstalks before Omi, Fay squinted through the fog as a supposed figure appeared--materialized-- and a second figure, suspended in the first's hand. A realization smacked her, the world slowed to a snails pace and her with it mid stride.

It was Jack. His fists strong and determined as he held up her deceased friend by the hair. Griff hung there. Limp but breathing. Unconscious. Jack began to turn his head her way.

Her eyes stung, she blinked. Fay gritted her teeth upon their opening.

It was Omi now who held Griff up. He grinned at her, his blade poised at Griff's throat. He struck. She could feel the blood paint her face as her eyesight blazed red.

He did it.

Omi killed Griff.

He did it.

HIM.

"SHUT THE HELL UP!!!"

Snapping out of her vision, Fayble dug her feet into the ground, spinning around to face the killer. Her eyes were blind with fury, her teeth almost gnashing together. Whipping forward her left arm towards Omi, she grabbed the air in front of her before wrenching it to her side. The red clad warrior would feel very...

Heavy.

Snorting out, Fayble rushed forward, uncaring of any pain that may come. She produced her hammer from her hip, and with a twist of her wrist the gavel grew into that of a sledgehammer. Affixing her grip with both hands the femme skirted to the his side. A distraught war cry erupting from her very core--

"RRRAAAAAHHHHHG!"

She swung to the middle of his spine, a trail of sparks illuminating the hammer's path.

ZZZTT-CRACK

-11 remain-

Stay Put:

Flexing her hand open, she gathers the dark, muddy aura/energy needed. Once charged, she holds out her hand at her desired target then pulls back her hand and clenches her fist. The radius of this technique stems five feet in all directions of the foe as to efficiently capture them, and only them with the technique. When this ability is implemented, the person's weight increases the gravity by 3.5 times. This significantly hampers the targets movement. This way, Fayble can efficiently pummel her foe with her hammer or fists. (Ex/ Jupiter is 2.5 that of Earth.) One use per fight limit.

[Charge: 2]

[Duration: 1]

[Cost: 6]

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

}5/17{

STTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTRIKER!!!!

Sokoya vs Brendyn

Things were looking rough for the broad, at least as far as the changeling could tell. Seeing as he couldn't sense magic sigils or any of that s**t the most he could understand was all the girl couldn't do more than trip the damn guy up. He was a little disappointed, truth be told, and had expected Ed's ball n' chain to put up more of a fight. It was a hassle, but it looked like the ogre was bound to save the day for the dame sooner or later, less he leave his best friend's baggage open to getting ripped apart by this blade wielding hack.

So in Wigi would go, gripping his bat and flipping the switch on his FIGHTER which signified his entrance to the scuffle as a striker along the way. The ogre rushed into the clearing shortly after the trap went off, the assassin's first stab being the catalyst to set him off. It wasn't a far run, maybe about 15 feet or so which was awesome because Weej wasn't exactly built for speed, all that extra 'muscle' and whatnot.

It was during Stabby's second swipe at Sokoya that Wigi would be upon him, coming in from the side of the brawl to even the odds for the bone manipulator. The changeling would come in, his forward (right) foot planting down about a foot away from the intended target before sending his bat crashing down into Brendyn's right (knife wielding arm's) shoulder blade, compensating the destination for any movement as he saw fit. It probably wouldn't be hard to make the blow connect, what with him being focused on the girl and all. So just in case his attack did connect he threw in a little extra oomph to the blow.

Equipment Ability Wrote:

-Lil Slugger- Durable metal bat made of glamour-infused titanium.

Ability against metal: The changeling is capable of redirecting the vibrations from his bat into the surface in which he strikes. These vibrations do not die down naturally, and take a round to die down fully. When struck by the vibrations the surface of the object vibrates uncontrollably and becomes more difficult to grasp as a result.

Against everything else: 2x damage

Cooldown: 4 turns after use

The surface of the bat glistened and shifted for a moment as it absorbed the changeling's glamour, the power shivering within his grasp like a tuning fork. It wouldn't even take a split second for the colossal beast to have that bat crashing down with a downward strike directly into the assassin's right shoulder with enough force to dislocate, if not outright shatter, the massive bone linking the arm to the body. After all, Wigi is 7'3", 324 lbs and already supernaturally strong for a guy his size before that boost. Throw in twice the strength to that blow and Brendyn would be lucky to have an arm left after Wigi was done with him.

Either way, blow connecting or not, he'd likely bought his team mate enough time to recover, as was the plan. Weej would promptly make his exit back into the brush, flicking his fighter back off along the way.

-edited due to disputes-

Sabrina wasn't sure how he'd managed to react that fast - it was almost as though he'd been expecting her to burst, but regardless of how he had managed it, he'd knocked her punch away to the side, without so much as brushing the dangerous tip, and Sabrina was left wide open. Or so he thought. Really, having a wounded arm hardly made it useless, after all.

As has been mentioned, Krav Maga, like most other martial arts, relied on specific responses to specific situation. Ed had anticipated her initial response, but could he predict the second? Standard procedure in this situation, after one came in and blocked a strike coming from the outside with one arm and executed the initial attack with the other, was to bring that blocking arm in for a follow-up. After that point, well, standard procedure was to unleash Hell on the poor b*****d that happened to be on the receiving end. They hadn't gotten that far yet, but there was still that critical second step to take into account.

And so, as Sabrina's right arm was pushed out, her upper torso would rotate to follow it, left arm coming directly back in, fresh from the block, to blindside him with a world-rocking palm strike straight across the jaw. Such a blow could stun victims long enough for experienced Krav Maga users to turn them into bloody paste, if not KO them outright.

Alas, Sabrina would not be granted the opportunity to work out her rage on Ed (at least, not yet), because it came too late to stop the jump before it was initiated. Her attack would arrive just a split-second too late, and instead of hitting him across the tip of his jaw, it would catch him at the base of it. It'd still be a painful and brain-rattling blow, but one less capable of putting his lights out.

That knee would still crash into Sabrina unhindered, and throw her backwards quite a few feet, to an unceremonious landing in earthen embrace. Her grip went limp as she soared, and the tonfa was sent sailing away, twirling through the air to plop into the dirt at the clearing's edge. It wasn't pretty, but at least she'd left him with a parting gift.

It was a couple seconds before she finally moved, curling her arms over her belly and trying cry out, but finding that she had no air in her lungs to do so.

Sabrina really wanted to know just what kind of problem people seemed to have with her stomach, she wondered as she tried to pull herself back to her feet. Was it because she was fat? Did that extra layer of fleshy padding on her belly just make it that much of an appealing target? Or did most guys just have something against hitting girls in the face? First there was that poison douche guy from her first fight last year, who'd blasted her in the belly with some sort of energy ball. Then there was Ed himself who, right off the bat in their first rumble, had kicked her in the stomach. Then that humongonormous dude on the mountain had turned pretty much everything inside of her abdomen into chunky slurry.

Had she been able to draw her focus away from the pain, it might have occurred to her that she'd had almost exactly the same mental rant last year.

Weakly, Sabrina rolled on to her hands and knees, trying to get up quickly before Ed could get the opportunity to press his offensive. She was a stronger, tougher girl than she'd been last year, but the inability to draw a proper breath and the sharp pain that signified that she'd probably cracked a rib, maybe more than one, kept her from moving with too much speed. She could be grateful at least, that the chainmail under her shirt had taken the worst edge off of the blow, but that was a shallow comfort. It would be quite a few seconds before she managed to stumble to feet and turn to face her opponent once again, covered in crop soil, oozing blood from the wound on her arm, drawing ragged, painful breath. None of it was very dignified, but hey, at least she wasn't cr- oh, wait, no, there, there it was: the warm, familiar stinging of wet eyes.

She would let her arms hang limply at her sides while energy gathered in her body once more, as the indignant rage started to boil over. Her brow would furrow, and her lips curl back from her teeth in an unmistakable snarl. "Come on," she'd hiss between her panting. She'd had enough.

[5/17]

Success! However, these successes came with a price, albeit a price Edward was willing to pay. CRACK! Sabrina's fist connected with Ed's jaw harshly, rocking his head in that direction with a violent SNAP. It reawakened pain and attacks from previous rounds, both the preliminaries and the first round. The cyberpunk saw stars and plenty of them as he came back to the ground (a few feet from where he took off from), but quickly lost his balance and hit the soil. Ouch. Though the attack wasn't as solid as Sabrina would have liked, it was still stacked onto injuries sustained before, and though minor healing spells and goblin fruit had taken off the edge... His jaw had still felt stiff.

And now it was broken. The cyborg slowly came to his feet, a little earlier than his opponent, but not early enough that he'd have some sort of advantage. Quickly, his jaw had swollen up in the area he'd been struck in, and a nasty bruise was already forming. It didn't look pretty. Edward spat blood out, mostly because of the wound Sabrina had caused inside with her punch, but partially because Ed bit his tongue by accident when she did. Despite his pain, the punk still managed a grin, though it hurt really bad.

He tossed Sabrina's tonfa into the corn field, considering she'd lost her other one and was now unarmed. Well, unless she decided on taking that sword out. Either way, Edward started walking over looking to start the fight anew.

High Jump Cool-Down: 1/3

-Five-

[Omi Barsait versus Fayble - The Field]

Had fortune truly smiled on him? Barsait's eager actions even as weight flew off his bones had actually worked. No less, creating a very unusual looking, albeit crumbled, weapon. But that hardly mattered, for even in his demented state, he could appreciate the positives. Both he and his opponent were disarmed. Omi hadn't been pummeled into bone dust, or shocked into oblivion just yet. That otherworldly force from on high that pushed him towards the dirt below had left him, what else could he possibly ask for?

Blood. Now that circumstances had cleared, it was time to take control.

Where as Fayble felt revenge and murder course through her, Omi felt the second wind of chance flowing behind him, and he was going to hurl himself unto it whatever the cost. As she began to grasp his twitching left arm, Barsait already knew the game at hand; however, frankly, he tired of playing the receiving role. The rapture of combat was fresh. If that bizarre object in the near distance would drive him mad, let it so Omi thought even as Fayble secured his forearm and upper. What would..?

At once, Omi's left eye widened far as it could. His brain burned so searing hot, it would melt lesser men into a mental oblivion. Ironically, Barsait's mental faculties against supernatural and otherwise influences of the mind had been itself tainted by exposure to the majestic [Pylon], so his brain which always worked through such bizarre situations that saved him time after another by the hair of his skin had became.. corrupted yet no less mighty.

All sound faded once more. Now, the field faded; in its place, a world filled with white, crystals taking place of the farm land that looked like some pervasive yet beautiful collection of gods of old. His blood, it was fire; his breath, it was bright, visible red that seemed to burn hotter than the sun itself. All around him, reflected in the crystals, were imagery and sounds, voices..

"So, you delve into your own mind.. and what, pretell, do you find?" A familiar, older voice rang out to Omi from all sides. It held a mystical tone if the word fit, something the mercenary knew so well yet had not heard in so many years. A voice from beyond the grave of an individual most well gone. "Yourself? Or.. does the deepest corners of your world consist of what seeds others have planted, dear boy? Are you content knowing this, the concept you're your forefathers' creations in body AND mind, or.." Though Barsait saw nothing, still he felt as though something gestured at Fayble, like a lofty shake of one's finger. Nearby, the [Pylon], now glowing dark black, festered in Barsait's view.

"Are you capable of transcending human limitations as you've boasted? Hm..? Are.." The voice grew deeper, stronger yet fading away at the same time. "..you capable of programming yourself, dear boy?"

All at once, the world around him changed as it may have been in his eyes, Fayble herself stood out almost unnaturally. Something told him not to resent or dislike her, yet she was an obstacle that needed removed. Silently but with a new found passion that transcended zeal, Omi began a flurry of actions that would quite possibly decide their day.

Her knee would hit his left arm plush, but not as quickly as his newly restored arm would achieve a simple task that may have took the girl by surprise: quite simply, his left hand violently and with quite a bit of strength, seized Fayble's right breast. It was fairly ample, she wasn't exactly flat-chested after all - so grasping it tight unto the point his fingers dug deep into the flesh like humanoid claws was no real challenge at all.

Even as her knee rang into his elbow to snap it, and damn near it did by first blow's merits alone - Barsait steadfast grasped it, the look on his face one no longer of joy, but of righteous duty, brows furrowed and teeth barred in a snarl. His chainmesh armor and mild luck stayed his left arm from outright snapping the first time, though it groaned and screamed with pain that flooded his nerve receptors body wide. Using it to throw a punch would be problematic for a few, guarding was out of the question - and if she managed another knee like that..

Sucking in air however, Fayble had issues of her own to concern with. Omi's tongue darted forth in his mouth, and the crimson snake at his eye suddenly darted out right into the woman's exposed face. There was so little distance to travel that it hardly bore mentioning, the man's wet tongue seated comfortably in his mouth as it guided the snake right into where Fayble's wounded left eye from earlier would be, his own "eye" along with it!

If that wasn't enough, Omi had completely forsaken his left arm's fate save the rather powerful breast squeeze, to promptly swing his right arm in a powerful right hook that slanted upward from chest height. It was a sudden, sudden blow, and would catch Fayble by the back of her skull if hit true; a "rabbit punch," and unlike a purely horizontal hook, this uppercut-hook mixture was a little harder to just duck under.

Ah! But if that was all. Recall the three snakes floored to the ground just moments ago? Not anymore. They followed the right fist's path, slanting right towards Fayble's body from the ground to their upper-left; namely, they would all three be streaking in slightly curved paths towards her left kidney, gut, and right kidney respectively in full frenzy.

And as his teeth grinded to make their signal: the [Serpentine Manipulation Art] caught ablaze, no less. All four snakes aflame.

Of course, even in his wild new state, Omi Barsait couldn't help but briefly notice out of the corner of his eye, a dragon in the distance plummeting towards Fayble.. but that beast would simply HAVE to wait!! This was his SACRED RESPONSIBILITY.

Serpentine Condition Wrote:

[Right Hand] - All three snakes have done counterclockwise rings, then traveled towards their upper-left. In this case, hitting different sections of Fayble's body, detailed below.

[+]Ring Finger Serpent has shot towards the woman's right kidney. (STRIKING!!/AFLAME)

[+]Middle Finger Serpent has shot towards the woman's gut. (STRIKING!!/AFLAME)

[+]Index Finger Serpent has shot towards the woman's left kidney. (STRIKING!!/AFLAME)

[Right Eye] - Serpent attached is currently being controlled by his tongue.

[+]Eyelid Serpent has manifested Omi's Knavish Eye mechanic to allow his eye time to see without further irritation, but is now ironically slamming itself fangs-first into Fayble's left eye with reckless abandon. (Knavish Eye/STRIKING!!/AFLAME)

[Emphasis]: A four-snake frenzy, one aimed at her left eye, three more striking in formation from below to mimic the relative path of his right fist's upper-hook.

[VI]

.ASGARD. -v- Kehr's Sign

Sabrina -v- Edward

OFFENSIVE STRIKER

Insanity : Unafflicted

Mutation : Unafflicted

The corn worked as a great cover, and between all the fights, the midnight winds, the ever present looming crystalline monolith that poured psychosis and skin flushing mutations into the air, all in all, a stealthy strike would be much easier than usual. Having kept track of the fight, Terran lowered himself to a hulking, animalistic position, darting into the underbrush to snatch the first tonfa, before skirting back to scoop up the one Ed had discared in his opposite hand.

The move was quick. He'd break into the clearing like a massive shadow behind Edward, his wrists snapping forward. With a loud "HO!" he thrust his arms forward with the full force of his upper body, the Tonfa extended forward and down, poised to strike into the kidney's with the points of each Tonfa. He thrust fast enough and close enough, it could puncture the skin, though wouldn't rock through the organs themselves.

Knowing he had no time to d**k around, he'd retract his arms, and before kicking off to retreat into the corn, he'd throw the Tonfa overhand, arcing over Edward's head, poised to rattle to the ground at Sabrina's feet. Having completed his duties, he threw himself back into the corn to return to the sidelines.

((Rolling for pylon effects, ignore this post.))

Brought to you by: Gambino's Secret

...Saving tits since HoH 2011~...

Her kneeing foot landed an enraged grimace gripped her face. Fayble didn't exactly like that he grabbed at her breast. But at least there was a saving grace. A Gambino's Secret bra, the padding and material stopping his fingers from digging in. It felt like a mammogram gone horribly wrong. Her head jolted down to look as she tugged him ruthlessly to the her side, towards her.

The next strand of events went rather quickly.

"HHHAAAHHTTT!"

Four points on her body began to burn. Miserably. The snake aimed for her eye landed towards the top of her forehead, the rest had found their marks easily when--

"OUUUUUUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIJJJJJJJJJAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!"

The hallucinating, flying ogre thing dove into Fayble and Omi. The bewildered femme crumpled to the earth, the snake at her stomach, forehead, and right side were pinned or worse under the weight of the creature and their target. And as soon as he got up to stumble away, she gasped in precious air. A cold rush filled her lungs by she only couched out, her body aching from the combined injuries. Fayble opened her eyes.

At least she was sure she opened her eyes. But there was only black.

Her eyelids moved, she felt the slip as her eyeballs darted from side to side. To anyone else it'd look like she was tripping hard on some kind of something. Mainly, it's because she was.

The heat of the snakes at her left triggered her imagination, forcing it rampage. The femme writhed as she struggled to reach the snake at her side, her fireproof gloves enabling her to grab and pluck it free. Scrambling up difficulty, she huffed out as she felt for Omi's face and at the first distinction, she'd shove the blazing serpent into it with an unruly punch.

-15 remain-

Passive recharge: + 2

}7/17{

[Omi Barsait versus Fayble - The Field]

Surely, victory was his. Barsait's left arm was weak and just moments shy of injury that would make it far worse, his right fingertips were bleeding, his beloved [Ignus Pata] was shattered, and the entirety of the man's body still reeled from that bizarre increase in his every little bit's weight. Fayble was not only strong but capable of doing battle amidst the gates of insanity, and in a brief moment of clarity, Omi could only regard her as a true enemy. The type where their causes clashed would be no mere waste.

But logically, the battle was his! There flew the red dragon, wings cast into the air and scales emanating a heat capable of melting flesh, flying straight towards the two with reckless abandon. He had bested her traps, braved the gambit, and here was his reward: reality unmade, flying into her with the merciless wings of combat's end. Annihilation awaited..

"HNNGgggggckkk?!!" Madness consumed, madness concealed.

It seemed amidst their new crystal world, the dragon had betrayed him and struck the both of them, sending both warriors reeling to the ground. Omi, though not directly affected by Wigi's blinding strike not that he was aware the Changeling could even perform such a maneuver let alone likely think of it in his current mental state, had been knocked violently to the soil below, back first.

Three of his snakes, namely the one from his right eye, middle finger, and index fingers were history. Impact smashed the heads after all was said and done, and did them away with; the mercenary's right eye twitched wildly, eyelids fluttering open to show the perfectly functional white had been tinted red from raw irritation. The eye worked.. it just hurt, badly, and was rather unpleasant to receive further insult on top of injury.

However, tilting his head up, Barsait did not know his opponent was blind. He merely saw Fayble, so very close.. grasping at air dangerously closer, his ring finger's serpent in tow. The mercenary knew a golden opportunity when he saw one, even though it would likely only distract her since she would no doubt see it coming; Omi's right ring finger quite simply extended outwards right at her, the snake doing an about-face and traveling into the one spot it could conceivably reach: Fayble's other, left breast. Perhaps those bras were flame-proof.. his voice tauntingly chastising her with:

"Didn't they ever teach you not to take hold of a SNAKE?!"

Wildly sliding backwards to get on his feet like a fish flopping, the mercenary frantically scrambled up onto his boots - left arm falling limp as it throbbed in agony from mid section to his fingertips. Getting kneed hard and given electro-shock therapy tends to do that to you, and though the arm could function, its pain was nothing pleasant in the least. His fingertips were twitching a mile a minute, like the shock was still playing with them; nerve damage..?

Barsait was far too hyped, breath heavy and hot, to let pain dictate his movements now. He lurched forward, then broke into a brisk jog past his opponent - rapid.. the world around him changed once again, crystals transforming into buildings. A quaint looking village, the surreal landscape for a hellish scene: a little boy with hair to his waist, moving in unnatural manners like he had lost all balance. Lurching to the left and right, he would suddenly reach a woman pregnant with child .. and sink a short gray blade into her heart with such precision and speed that it would make a master swordsman blush, much less done by a child seeming to barely be seven years of age.

Screams and outraged yelling filled the air by townsfolk, and a large individual began to walk towards the boy to restrain him. At once, the man was felled, neck sliced open, lungs collapsing, blood splattering the floor as the soon to be deceased gurgled and clutched at air. The youth's face was gaunt, pale and estranged, a crucifix around his neck catching a glint of the hellish sun above.

"Hahahaha..!!!" Omi laughed out-loud as he ran ever closer to the [Pylon], teeth on display with a feral grin, feet carrying him through the town road. "IS THAT IT..? IS THAT YOUR LIMITATIONS?! Pathetic trickery, PATHETIC!!"

The environment changed again. This time, the setting was different; an elderly couple's granddaughter, quite young, sprawled out on a dirt road with a nearby campfire illuminating her corpse as the night sky above shaded the remainder. Blood spilled from multiple gashes, deep cuts, a left arm draped over the right cut off at the shoulder, mouth agape eternal. Corpses of the very elderly couple in question were ablaze on the bonfire, the young man's work already done on them. They looked like a blade had been taken through their bodies for hours, completely needless bloodshed as their flesh burned dark.

Slash~! Slash~! Onward the youth hacked at this little girl's lifeless body, face displaying no anger nor enjoyment nor sorrow. It was in itself, lifeless, and the only thing that seemed to respond to each of that short sword's strikes was the very same crucifix which beat like one's heart in a manner most unnatural.

Red glowed the [Pylon] ahead, as Omi outright snarled. "patheticpatheticpatheticPATHETIC, I'll demonstrate why I am your superior!!!-" The crimson swordsman howled, entering the vicinity of the stone, right arm arching backwards as his five left fingertips, right pinky and thumb-tip all began to glow furiously. He himself walked calmly behind him, smiling and commenting in a jokingly chiding tone: "Hey~ Careful doing that, you'll run dry! Make too many of our art at once, you might not like the results. Don't worry about those silly images, you know they're just illusions meant to goad you~ Not your fault! Remember? Now relax. Take a breather-"

"I WILL WIN," Now roared Omi in a manner that would unnerve the most stalwart, seemingly aimed at Fayble, the [Pylon], and even himself, "I WILL BURN HOTTER THAN THE SUN, I WILL NE'ER BE EXTINGUISHED, I WILL SHATTER REALITY, NOW TASTE WHAT CREATES MY- DOMINANCE!!!!!"

The end of his sentence rang out so loudly, it would echo for many a mile, and at its very instant, Omi's right fist smashed into the [Pylon] exterior and resonated loudly. A sign he was at last.. directly.. upon it. A sign he was willingly throwing himself into hell, that he would rise above it even as his art brewed menacingly within his body, even as his left arm dangled with every synapse in his brain screaming it was in pain.

A sign of ill-tidings to come.

Serpentine Condition Wrote:

[Right Hand] - All but one have been crushed by Fayble, as a result of her fall from Wigi's Striker assault.

[+]Ring Finger Serpent has struck at Fayble's left breast whilst in her grasp. (STRIKING!!/AFLAME)

[+]Middle Finger Serpent has been crushed by Fayble's fall. (Terminated.)

[+]Index Finger Serpent has been crushed by Fayble's fall. (Terminated.)

[+]Small Finger Serpent is forming within his flesh. (Charging)

[+]Thumb Finger Serpent is forming within his flesh. (Charging)

[Left Hand] - Forming its snakes in proper.

[+]Ring Finger Serpent is forming within his flesh. (Charging)

[+]Middle Finger Serpent is forming within his flesh. (Charging)

[+]Index Finger Serpent is forming within his flesh. (Charging)

[+]Small Finger Serpent is forming within his flesh. (Charging)

[+]Thumb Finger Serpent is forming within his flesh. (Charging)

[Right Eye] - Serpent attached was being controlled by his tongue. It has now been destroyed.

[+]Eyelid Serpent has been crushed by Fayble's fall. (Terminated.)

[Emphasis]: Three snakes fallen, the Knavish Eye is no more, and one snake launches a wily counterattack on Fayble's chest. However, quite a few more snakes, more than his usual at one time, are brooding..

[VII]

Sabrina, to her surprise, found herself letting Ed rise to his feet. Repaying the same courtesy that he'd shown her, earlier? No, she realized. She just wanted to look him in the eyes while she demolished him, to witness that moment when she broke him, to see defeat in his eyes when she made him

KNEEL

********>

"Where did that come from?" wondered the voice of nice, young girl in the back of her brain, but it was drowned out by a chorus of more honking from the cornstalks. Man, it was loud. Didn't anybody else hear it?

honk HONK honk HONK

HONK honk HONK honk

A choking sound emerged from her throat that might have been a stifled giggle, as a grin split her face open. Didn't anybody else think it was just hilarious? The idea of a narrow-limbed clown strolling through those rows of brown stalks as they stretched off into infinity, the mist curling sluggishly around his huge feet with every ponderous step, those big yellow eyes boring straight through their skull as he flashed rows upon perfect rows of pearly, monstrous teeth, alabaster paint dripping off his face while he squeezed fistfuls of rubber horns with the staccato beat of a throbbing heart? No, no they didn't, it seemed. Ah, well, not everybody appreciated a good joke.

Enough jokes, though, It was time to turn Ed into a ruined man.

The tonfa in her right hand, the one she gripped by the handle proper, was the same one that Ed had managed to steal from her earlier. The hidden cover was flipped up, and she nudged the switch forward, activating the stun gun. A little bit of magic sealed it in the forward position, using all of the dirt that her soil-caked hand was smearing all over the handle.

Abilities Wrote:

-- Bond: Bonding is a technique wherein a Geomancer sticks earth to a solid surface (with the exception of other living, animate beings) in a magnet-like manner.

What she did next was a little unexpected: she tossed the weapon, still crackling with electricity, point first towards the center of his body just as he moved close enough to strike, and took another couple of steps back, letting the cornstalks enshroud her.

[Midgard Fang Charge Level: 0]

[7/17]

• Insanity & Mutation - Post 8 -

Insanity: Completely overboard. Griff is present in the 'flesh'.

Mutation: Warp and Growth. Full fledged mutations.

[Omi Barsait versus Fayble - The Field]

Throughout the fight, Omi had managed to mitigate or luckily avoid the brunt of this woman's offensive fury, but this time.. he was caught in plush. A powerful shock filled his back, yet no time was given for the mercenary to even respond for a strong fist erupted in tandem, causing his chest to crash against the [Pylon] proper and spit to fly from his lips. A one-two if he knew of any, and a damned powerful once. Even with his chain-mesh not letting the electric charge flow at full capacity, the pain was massive and would stop the mercenary from moving for a moment easily.

However, the woman became Barsait's smallest concern, if that was believable.

His brain felt like it was melting. Lightning stronger than Fayble's surged through his every inch, and every drop of his blood burned to a broil. Even the artist, a man whom's mind was capable of breaking but the strongest enthrallment, was suddenly seized by a force well beyond the world of man. His mind expanded, yet faded into the void all at the same time - and like a dream, Barsait spectated several individuals speaking. All of them were himself, dressed the same each yet feeling so distinct, gathered around an oval wooden table within an infinite white space.

They were the bodies to which those voices belonged to earlier.. this much was apparent. And yet, the one that spoke of reason, the one which held a tone of voice similar to his own on average, had his hands folded behind his lower back and a slightly perplexed expression.

"I think we can easily agree this location is the territorial prize. This rune is a catalyst for change, both negative.. and I'm hoping, positive. Fayble and Omi are both bound to it now, if not physically than by sheer madness. To that end, shall we see which can adapt to the agony of evolution better?"

Another one of himself shouted in protest, but the voice faded along with the scene's sight. Something had hold of Fayble's fist. How did Barsait know, even with his face pressed against the [Pylon]? Simple: he felt it. Quite blatantly, he had control of her fist, and was gripping her so tightly. But with what? His arms were in front of him, his serpents had not yet been called to the field.

A blood-curling scream flowed into the air from the artist, as a mixture of physical and mental hell struck him all at once. Fayble would soon open her eyes and truly see just what she had wrought: out of Omi's mid-back, something had grown and pierced right through his coat. It was best likened to a flower bud, albeit made of dark flesh which twitched and throbbed each instant, hair and juices coating it as three barbed tentacles around 4" long each seemed quite content on seizing the woman's fist right where it made contact. His own ring mesh was enveloped in this monstrosity, and Fayble seemed quite.. vulnerable. Ah, but how did Barsait know this?

The center of the bud. Within it, was a dark green eye, veins coating it in every spot. This alone drove Omi to the brink of pure insanity; his internal structure had been rewritten to accept this abomination, and trying to accept the distorted view this organ was transmitting was in itself harrowing. Her punch became outright useless, because it had been trumped in the agony inflicted by his own flesh boiling and popping around the unsightly mutation, Barsait's teeth exposed as they ground together to the point of nearly breaking.

However, within the [Pylon], Omi could see.. another scene separate of his own. To even focus on it was difficult, yet Barsait's view seemed to close in towards the emphasis of this bizarre vision: it seemed to be a young girl with fine brown hair, stroking a pond's edge with her left pointer finger without a care in the world. Barsait despite himself, felt his jaw drop, eyes pop open wider than they ever had, and an animalistic sound like that of a beast infuriated beyond the breaking point emanated from deep down his throat. It practically shook the ground beneath them, it was so filled with outrage- that his forehead burned. His eyes burned. His entire mind seethed with the hottest brand of fury imaginable, at this simple display.

"Holding her head underwater was truly brazen. Inspiring, for such a young child." An airy voice praised him, sending his entire being into the epitome of pure rage.

At once, Barsait's arms flung backwards, groaning and growling nigh high in such an unbearable manner. His hands were waving backwards at Fayble, palms outstretched; so useless, an act of desperation some would surmise.. though as her vision returned, Fayble even in her state of mind would likely see otherwise.

Seven glowing lights, purple and festering, gushed outward.

"AHHHHHHHHHH

HHHHHHHHH

HHHHHHH

HHHHHhhHHHHHHHHH

HHHHHHH

HHHnmmmm

HHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

.ASGARD. -v- Kehr's Sign

Fayble -v- Omi

OFFENSIVE STRIKER

Insanity : AFFLICTED

Terran moved in flush through the under brush of the corn field, snatching tools. He pondered on the fact that to the common man, this shovel and that sickle were really mere tools, optimum for downing stalks of corn and wheat, and designed to break up soil. But to the Gaian Athlete, a world where Competitive Combat is considered equivelent to football and bloodsport was the World Cup, these were made for straight up ultraviolence.

Terran turn, keeping low. He'd prepared in advance, slowly approaching the fight between Fayble and Omi. He would end the fight in one fierce swing. It might be ugly, bu-THOOM.

Terran stood now in a large hall of age old design. A tomb of a lord of dynasties forgotten by time itself. Here, in this sacred place, he heard a voice that had not crossed his ears in well on thirty five years. "Terry boooy. Long time no see, nice of you to stop by." In the throne of the dynast-king sat a figure. Six foot, couldn't weigh a buck fifty if he tried, black as night, and with eyes sharper than the finest blade. Besvarande Vidunder. The Oppressive Monster.

"Y-...you..." Terran muttered, dropping the shovel and sickle to his sides, eyes wide. He hadn't seen Vidunder since he was nineteen. The night that he descended into his father's home, devoured the Maxwell family, save for Terran, his father, and his fiancee, Selene. Just as that night, Terran stood in awe at the sight of the beast, though this time, he was nothing if not composed, standing and striding toward him.

"It's been too long, Terry-boy. Kill any fine young ladies of late? And hey, hows Pops been?" Terran gripped his head, whimpering. Blood coated his arms to the elbow, and he released a panicked cry as he stumbled, falling to his a** on the tomb floor. His fingers, he realized, were normal. He was human again, and his human mind could not take the vision of his father, chest torn open by his fledgling vampiric self of days past, next to him, his lover gasped desperately, looking at him with terrified eyes. "C'mon, Terry-boy. You're stressed. You've been through a lot since the last time we met. Why don'cha... take a bite?"

He shook his head, staggering to his feet, the taste of blood rising in his throat as Selene stopped moving, stopped convulsing for the second time in Terran's life. Now, opposite him, Vidunder stood, grinning, holding in his hands what appeared to be a pair of Marionette crossbar. Terran's eyes followed the strings down, watching Griff and Jack fighting on the cliffs of the waterfall in the Black Sand resort. The two crossed blades for a moment before Jack struck, sundering Griff's left wrist and kicking him to the ground. DeuxMascus was raised by the leader of the Scarlet Sun, driven deep into Griff's chest. With a pained cry, Terran watched as Jack picked Griff up by the hair, raising his own broad sword to lob Griff's throat, his body falling to the ground in a trembling mess as the nerves slowly died.

Vidunder laughed as he tossed the toys aside, looking at Terran. "For all your strength, and everything you've done, to atone for the slaying of your father and your lover, you've done very little in this world. Your greatest apprentice is dead. You are living in a toy I created for my returning day. And even now, you are powerless to stop me. Go and cry, churl. You are not worthy of my torture." And he turned his back on Terran with a dismissive laugh.

Terran scrambled now, reaching down. On the floor, DeuxMascus and the Midgard Fang lay where Griff fell. Snatching them from the floor, Terran drew both overhead with a roar.

Of course, none of this actually occurred. In a moment of madness brought on by the Pylon, and the warp behind it, Terran had imagined all of it. Grabbing the sickle and shovel tightly, both were raised overhead, and as he burst out from the left of Omi, he came swinging downward. The sickle was in his left, blade downward, his right, a shovel with the convex side coming down. He wasn't there anymore. Omi was Vidunder, and all he could see was white hot light, a festering rage.

The sickle was coming down in such a fashion that the point would, on contact, break through the skin and pierce the shoulder and, given the force, skewer the acromion. The blade would then pass into the joint system of the shoulder, and could cause dislocation of severance, without actually being broad enough to cut the whole thing off. As for the shovel? Well... It was coming down on Omi's crown at full swing.

[1 of 2]

-Striker Clarification-

Given the Insanity status, Terran is experiencing a blood lust, and is unaware of his actual surroundings, though his mind has replaced Omi's physical appearance with that of Vidunder. This, of course, bares no difference on the attack in question, sickle shoulder shove skullcap stabby whacky wah-hey.

-Edit Clarification-

Between my brothers calling me nightly, my dog being sick, my wife being overworked, and my own insomnia and stress, I have slept, probably a grand total, ten hours since monday. The post is not changed from it's original state, aside from just clarifications and things that I should have put in the original draft. Sorry for all that.

Her menacing grimace cracked a grin for a moment as her fist met his back. Her left hand about to launch forward until--

Ba~Bum

A pulse radiated from her body, paralyzing her in place. Fayble's eyes grew wide as her vision began to return, the blinding effects seemingly dripping from her bloodshot eyeballs. But what a lousy time to begin to see again. The world around her flashed to that of a vast empty white space with only her and Griff's figure.

'Kill this b*****d! Cut him open and EnD HiM! dO It! PuT aN EnD To It!'

The ghost blasted as it clapped a hand on her frozen shoulder. A sputtering whimper escaped her, his hand had a real weight to it and it brought so much more. As his fingers gripped, a violent heave rocked her stomach, causing Fayble to burble up a viscous ichor.

'...cAn'T yOu Do It?!'

Warp Griff slammed his hand to her back with a sickening squelch. The gift of change had arrived. Fayble's skin rippled and quaked, warping itself until it could decide it's new form.

'CaN YoU!?'

Jutting open her mouth, Fayble screamed louder than a banshee - but nothing came out. Silenced, enraged and frightened, the femme continued to cry out as her skin finally gave way to the Pylon's will. Sturdy green scales erupted at random intervals about her exposed flesh up to her chin, holding no real rhyme or reason. The plates fluttered in the way hair would stand on end before resting in an overlapping pattern.

A strong hands clasped over her mouth as she trembled with an eerie pain. Griff snaked his way about to her front unnaturally, leaning in close to her. The same fluid that oozed from her mouth slicked from his every orifice. Gripping tighter the way Rosalyn had before, he snarled, shaking her head.

'STEEL YOUR MIND WOMAN. AVENGE ME.'

Fayble could only look on in paralytic rage. Her face contorting so much so that even Terran might not have recognized her. Amongst the fray of raging turmoil, Griff leaned even closer to Fayble, his neck slitting open-- slime and blood spraying before his head slumped to the ground.

'GO-'

It took a moment for Fayble to realize her situation, though, she couldn't take in much. Omi had transformed as she did, lending his body to the Elder Gods to sculpt to their pleasure. Breaking from her paralysis, Fayble lashed out her hand, continuing to plant the spell as she had wanted to. Her painfully entangled hand to his back gripped to ******** she could. Fayble was so entranced, vying to obey Griff's commands that she almost didn't notice her corrupted lover charge in to help her. Terran aimed to tame the flaming beasts, leaving the fate up to chance, hoping the strike would at least detour the serpents. Fayble pushed on. He struck hard--

PAKPAK

"UUAHHG"

And so did the violated snakes from Omi's right hand. The newly formed scaled sluffed off as Fay spat out the putrid concoction gathering in her mouth, leaving bloody patches. Her mutation had literally saved her neck as the plates of bio-matter absorbed some of the blow. But that didn't mean it did nothing. Gasping in Fayble desperately grasped at Omi's collar, the final ball of electricity dispersing. She didn't even care if it effected him.

Grunting out, Fayble tucked herself in, her back turning towards the killer as she hefted the magically light warrior up and over her back as quick as she could. The barbed restraints dug deeply into her wrists causing her to roar as she smashed Omi head first into the ground, and because they were still in the radius of the spell, he might have even bounced.

-5 remain-

Float:

Flexing her hand open, she gathers a white, wispy aura/energy needed. Once charged, she holds out her hand at her desired target then pulls back her hand and clenches her fist. The radius of this technique stems five feet in all directions of the foe as to ensure capturing them, and only them with the technique. When this ability is implemented, the person's body is less effected by gravity therefore making it harder for them to move fluidly, and easier for Fayble to knock'em sky high! Gravity is depleted to that of on the moon, which is 83.3 % less than Earth. If the target were to somehow move out of the spell's zone, they will fall to the ground.

[Charge: 2]

[Duration: 1]

[Cost: 8]

Active recharge: +1

}9/17{

Edward viewed the world in a cascade of really warm colors or really cool colors. It had been a pain getting used to the thermal mode of vision, causing the punk to wonder how sub-terrainian species did so on a daily basis. Thankfully, a long number of nights of practice only using thermal-vision had persevered, and Edward could honestly say he was pretty good at functioning under the differing conditions. Plenty of detail was lost in the process, however shapes were still very present in the world of heat and cold. Cold individuals (like undead) were very noticeable in hot or cold environments, especially since there were varying degrees of cold and they were moving. Similarly, the large blue phallic symbol that was Midgard Fang extending from Sabrina's red/orange hands were noticeable.

Instinctively, the cyborg's right arm came to the rescue, sweeping his hatchet around and striking the sword out wide with the hammer end of the axehead. The girl just had the weapon sticking with relatively no power in the hold. It didn't surprise Edward or make him think that she was planning something; he simply figured that Sabrina thought Ed couldn't see her through all the corn (at least until he'd cut a good bit of it down) and would run into the blade. Either way, it seemed a waste considering the punk was still attacking with his sickle (as aforementioned) and was now barreling into the girl with his body.

Previous Post Wrote:

Well, at least until he was up in her grill, throwing another swing with his new sickle which aimed to deliver a nasty gash to her right arm.

The sharp bit of the sickle was on the inside of the tool, basically requiring the user to hook whatever they wanted to attack. The weapon would hook around the back of Sabrina's right arm, around the tricep area, and though it would easily cut off crops and other stuff. Human flesh and bone were much more difficult to cut. The sickle if unavoided would bite deeply into the back of her arm, possibly reaching the humerus bone as Ed yanked on the weapon with his cybernetic arm.

ZAP!

The stun gun connected with the small of Ed's back, sending electricity to all parts of his body. Every muscle, the ones that remained, went into violent spasms and caused the cyberpunk to lose control of his body. The cyberpunk lost his balance, nevertheless his forward momentum had him crashing into his opponent, likely sending the pair straight to the ground.

-Eight-

[Omi Barsait versus Fayble - The Field]

A Striker. Had Omi been in his right state of mind, he would have complimented such a timely use of the assist, and this was well reflected by one of his own selves clapping merrily and laughing nearby at the sight of it. Ideally, that sickle would shred through his arm, causing its remaining strength to ebb away and lower the left-hand bound snakes as a result. Then, Fayble could perform a follow-up assault on the wounded and battered mercenary, and the fight would be all but ensured a victory for Asgard.

However, "Omi" nearby could only muse once composing himself: "Ahhhhh~ How unfortunate..! They were close there, weren't they? Targeted wrong, though. Mm. Good show.." Upper row of teeth displayed with a happy little titter and smile, the vision seemed quite undaunted by his "true" self's plight. Why?

Omi's [Holocaust Braces], the snake-headed shoulder pauldrons that were signature to his unique appearance, betrayed his equipment's arrangement just a bit. You see, beneath those, and beneath the vibrant red coat that he wore, farther down still under the black cotton shirt he loved the comfort of so, was something that undid the best laid plans of man this day.

His chain-mesh armor, ring-mail in two pieces that covered both the man's upper and lower body, also made of tungsten alloyed with steel. It covered many a location, not least of all one's shoulder, and while thin puncturing weapons had no issue penetrating the rings and inflicting agony, one had to recall what was being used here. A farming sickle, a curved blade that broadened in blade width as it went along however so slightly. A decent depth cut the sickle would inflict, tip lodging into that shoulder nicely after tearing through his pauldron and clothing.. but, effort to go farther was met with a disheartening sound of:

[CLINK!!]

..and that was how the ball fell.

No dislocation. Decent bleeding for sure, the sickle tip and surrounding blade mass would be soaked in the dark red fluid - but.. as far as Barsait's arm structure, joints, and general arm integrity went, the sickle had been stopped quite short of its goals. Namely, removing functionality of the arm. Crippling the arm. Moving.. the arm. Stopping the major group of corrupted snakes from reaching their target.

That spelled trouble for Fayble, since this meant the monsters had absolutely nothing at all to prevent them from colliding with their originally destined locations, what very little distance there was to cover to start. It was all but ensured they reached the woman's face in plush, now, and assuming she did begin to turn for her following assault, they would instead strike her temple, inner-ear, and one eye, or if faster still, the back of her skull would be battered furiously on top of that lovely cut lavender hair set ablaze. Not that either of these scenarios were likely, they were quite literally right on their prey; the mission to mar their path.. a failure.

Not.. that everything was perfect for Omi. In fact, not at all.

Mostly because he was seeing stars at the moment, blood gushing down his forehead and along his ears in tendrils. You see, while the sickle's efforts to shine had been dulled, the shovel fared considerably better, striking the crown of his skull. The crown was that soft spot on the crest of your head, that area you just didn't want struck at, and while not as bad as being struck directly at the base of one's skull or at the neck, was still quite disastrous. While Omi would honestly prefer a shovel whack to a pinpoint punch for a variety of reasons, he did have the advantage of the man not being grounded when doing this, and only doing it one-handed in an impromptu descending-slash type maneuver. So the force wasn't crippling enough to send him to the ground in a slump. However..

I. Blood. He was just struck across the skull by a shovel.

II. Vision is tied to this area, and fittingly, a good blow will distort one's sight significantly. He was indeed "seeing stars," the world abound blurred in both eyes.

III. Frankly, his skull was throbbing. Hard to imagine as it may be, getting hit by a shovel didn't feel good.

Drooling slightly against the [Pylon], he also wasn't in perfect condition to stop her follow-up attack as a line of blood fell past his left eye. If Fayble could still manage to do it, well, Omi was going to get launched over her head and into the ground most painfully - although not striking the ground away from the [Pylon] dead on the head, his upper back would hit in plush with his head craned, causing the mercenary to indeed bounce lightly whilst his legs fell forward - finally, slapping the dirt on his back proper.

I. A sickle wound to the left shoulder, even if shallow.

II. That dragon from earlier bellowing them both down.

III. Those electric blasts of hers, which still caused the man's left hand to shake visibly.

IV. A knot on the back of his head, politely letting blood stain the tainted grass below, from that striker.

V. A back in pain, both from her powerful punch & shock combo earlier, and now from the sensitive flesh bulb being pressed hard into the soil.

VI. An irritated to hell right eye, both from Fayble's lovely gouging attempt, and from the [Knavish Eye] earlier.

VII. Fingers charred damned near black down to the knuckles on both hands, the only ones not affected being the three middle ones on his right hand, that screamed in pain each instant air flow reached them.

VIII. A sore body in general.

IX. A left arm damn near snapped in two were it not for his most stalwart of efforts otherwise, screaming in pain.

X. Was it mentioned that the three fingertips clear of that snake-bound fiasco earlier were a bloody mess from being gashed open earlier still by Fayble's dagger?

Omi was torn up badly, his hair a complete wild mess, clothing dirt covered and ragged. His blade was scattered in fragments amidst the field. His left pauldron was torn asunder. Even his trademark art had been.. corrupted, by a force unnatural. Yet, by the graces of some god not associated with that [Pylon], Barsait in the brief wind-down from the psychotic effects induced by it could grasp a simple fact:

He was conscious. His right and left fists were tight, compact, and full of life as they were outstretched at his shoulders' level like wings. And his eyes, however distorted the vision may be, had brows furrowed in a fierce manner to compliment them.

Omi Barsait hadn't been broken. However narrowly, he was in the fight at a capacity that could continue onward, even as his shoulder blades screamed from the unforgiving earth below, his new eye spotting worms below himself. Despite the impulse to scream from all the collective pain, despite that soft voice at the back of his mind begging for him to sleep, despite the inability to feel the call of his [Art], something..

Something told him the time for action had not ended. That whether his snakes had done their duty or not, he did not need they nor his blade nor a Striker nor any of the other resources exhausted to make this battle his.

And Omi, however without trust, quite agreed. Fayble's utter defeat was not so distant yet.

Victory was not so distant yet.

Corrupted Serpentine Condition Wrote:

[Pylon] - While not mechanically any different, these snakes are performing a different type of sortie than their normal, red brethren. They are kamikaze diving into Fayble with absolutely no restraint at all, not even the slightest hint of preservation in mind.

[Right Hand]

[+]Small Finger Serpent was destroyed, smashing into Fayble's throat mutation. (Terminated.)

[+]Thumb Finger Serpent was also destroyed, smashing into Fayble's throat mutation. (Terminated.)

[Left Hand] - For better or worse, these creatures have hit their marks. How exactly this played out, remains to be observed.

[+]Ring Finger Serpent has crashed against where Fayble's chin likely was. (STRIKING!!/Aflame/Tainted)

[+]Middle Finger Serpent has crashed against where the woman's left cheekbone likely was. (STRIKING!!/Aflame/Tainted)

[+]Index Finger Serpent has crashed against where the right cheekbone likely was. (STRIKING!!/Aflame/Tainted)

[+]Small Finger Serpent has crashed against the nose of its target, most probably. (STRIKING!!/Aflame/Tainted)

[+]Thumb Finger Serpent, flicking upward, had smashed itself into Fayble's left temple in all likelihood. (STRIKING!!/Aflame/Tainted)

[Emphasis]: The [Striker] a failed mission to prevent their discord, while the [Right] group of snakes were crushed by Fayble's mutation, the [Left] group seem to have struck in spades. However, the impressive salvo was so grand when especially coupled with the corruption of the [Pylon], that it would be some time before Omi could call to the art again.

[SERPENTINE MANIPULATION ART:NULL.]

[IX] - Insanity Roll: Psychotic episode.

Sabrina's Fang went out wide to the right as sickle-swinging Ed came rushing in to try and slice open her sword arm. Sabrina could do nothing about the sickle hooking behind her upper arm and sinking in, but she didn't need to -- the short sleeve of her Mythril chainmail shirt under her white button-up offered more than enough protection against the blade of a simple farm tool, down to the elbow. She would count herself lucky, later, that he hadn't gone for her forearm or even her neck instead.

Meanwhile, Sabrina was anticipating what the stun gun would do to him when it struck, having used it to disable more than her fair share of blindly charging idiots. She dug her right foot into the soil behind her as a support, bent her left knee, and lowered her shoulder. Sure enough, he crashed into her, and her left shoulder would catch him right in the sternum. The impact traveled down into her ribs, and her vision blurred as pain overcame her. She felt bile rising in her throat and retched, as if her body were trying to expel the pain by making her vomit it out. Her knees buckled, threatening to give out, to let Ed crush her beneath his body and ensure her defeat.

However, the mere thought of defeat caused that flame of anger that had been growing, swelling inside her since the the fight had started to explode into a firestorm. No. NO. She would see him broken into a thousand pieces before she fell. She would rip the mountains open and tear down the sky and whatever else it took to ensure that he did not leave here triumphant. The clown in her head grinned, its enormous mouth now full of fangs, and laughed in triumph.

Back in the clearing, her MP3 stereo was still pumping at max volume, when its audio abruptly distorted and it jumped, for no clear reason, into another track.

kneel, ********>

Sabrina's right arm bent at the elbow, guiding the Midgard Fang to press against the calf of Ed's left leg at an oblique angle. The blade rested firmly against the vulnerable flesh through his pants. Sabrina's left arm, still clutching her one remaining tonfa by the long end, moved as well, stabbing the head up into his right floating rib with all the force that the weakened limb could muster, trying to gift him with an injury similar to hers. Finally, she thrust forward with her shoulder, shoving into him, releasing a raw and ear-splitting cry while tying it all together as part of synchronized flurry of motion. The shoulder thrust would incite a new stab of pain in her torso, but now it would be lost in the roiling hatred that had consumed her. The sum effect she was going for was to send him toppling backwards, sliding against the sword blade so that it would slice into the rear-left part of his leg to damage his Achilles tendon, and dump his twitching body into the soil yet again.

I SAID KNEEL

[Midgard Fang Charge Level: 2]

[9/17]

[Minor edit, to clarify for my opponent.]

Sabrina wanted to keep screaming, despite the ache it continued to bring her, so enraged she was to find that both of his legs were cybernetic. But she had no air left in her lungs to do so. It was immediately eclipsed, though by the desire to bellow until her lungs bled when Ed's arm lashed out and successfully gripped hers. She did her best to resist it, by digging her feet in and trying to pull the opposite way, but Edward outclassed her in weight by over 40 pounds, plus he had the beastly strength of that mechanical arm to assist him. Rather than falling on top of him, though, the moist dirt beneath her left boot slipped, causing it to slide forward several inches. The end result was that she had been forced down on to her right knee, and her waist was about even with his shins, while her left foot was located snugly up near Ed's groin, hunched forward to accommodate for the ironclad hold he still had on her outstretched arm. In this position, he wouldn't be able to wrap his legs all around her, but he was fully capable of kicking or digging his shin into her sides.

Well, now who was making who kneel?

Sabrina had managed to keep hold of her sword, but only just barely -- she could feel the bones in her arm creaking and grinding together inside that monstrous grip, and she knew instinctively that they weren't far from breaking. As a direct result, her grip on its handle was tenuous at best. There wasn't much she could do with it except hold on to it for now and hope that Ed might let go and give her the opportunity to use it later.

But she wasn't thinking about that. The only thoughts running through her head were red, screaming sentences all about how best to hurt him, to destroy him, to make him beg for sanctuary from the bloody, vengeful spirit that had occupied her mind and body and soul in the guise of a raving, giggling clown. And these thoughts managed to come up with a solution remarkably quickly.

First, the sole of Sabrina's left foot came off the ground, and she pushed it into Ed's groin, using him as leverage to keep him from pulling her closer to him. Meanwhile, her left arm cocked back over her shoulder, and she hurled her last tonfa, end over end, at his face, aiming to crack him in that swollen, bruised jaw. At this distance, it was hard to miss, and there would be little time for him to block or deflect. She didn't expect it to work, though, since he'd been able to knock aside everything she thrown at him thus far. Instead, it was meant to serve as a distraction while her hand, still coming down in one smooth motion from the throw, went straight to her boot and yanked a four-inch dagger snuggled in tightly against her ankle, in a reverse grip where the blade jutted out from the bottom of her fist. Assuming all went well, there would be little he could do to stop her from slashing him deeply first across the top of his right thigh, where she could feel warm flesh instead of hard steel, then stabbing into the top of his left, then shanking it up into his belly at an angle, all in quick, flashing succession.

Meanwhile, she kept screaming her bloody rage at him, too furious to even form words.

[Midgard Fang Charge Level: 3]

[10/17]

STRIKER ASSIST

Edward vs Sabrina

This guy was just crawling in bitches. First Sokoya shows up and Ed starts getting all girly emotional on this s**t and now some other chick was getting all crazy on the guy which, due to his memory of how relationships worked, meant she was trying to sack Ed. It wasn't uncommon, after all, for Wigi's prior master to wrestle him down to exert her dominance upon him like some lowly animal. She'd slash him up, beat him down, and... well... let 'nature' run its course. Not that he had anything against the chick really. Surely she was a fine candidate for mating and all, making it this far in the tourney. She also screamed and degraded him well enough, another fine trait of a healthy mate. But there was still this lingering concept in the back of the ogre's mind that seemed to bother him, something that he recalled whenever he was passed in front of the rest of the fae in Arcadia.

Someone already laid dibs on Ed.

That meant he was off limits and Weej had to set this s**t straight now before it got too out of hand. He'd dust himself off take this time to snatch up a pair of panties he had tucked away in his pants pocket which he'd earned from a deal he made with Soak sometime shortly after the first round. He'd stretch those babies out, wring them over the top of his head, and grant himself one jolly little grin before he made his way towards the scene of the battle.

It wouldn't take long for him to slip into the opposing side of the brush as the two started their scuffle within the tall haze of foliage lining the area. As soon as he could make the two out he'd flip the switch on his FIGHTER and throw his hand into the ring.

He came into view behind the screaming psychic, or whatever she was, sneaking himself into range before unleashing a flurry of straights and jabs aimed directly into the back of Sabrina's skull. He'd work the woman below for as long as he could, provided Ed kept her restrained/distracted, until the last few seconds of his striker drew near. It was here he'd remind Ed just who he belong to, in case he forgot, and the ogre would proceed to tear the panties from his head before tossing them to the side near the punk in an effort to establish Sokoya's dominance in her absence.

And like that the ogre was gone, switching his FIGHTER off with a sense of satisfaction as he took the back seat to the fight once more.

-6-

Sokoya paused in her laid out position. Eyes focused upwards to the still dark sky. Peeking into her field of vision was the pylon. Ever present with it's faint aura of unease. It's sickly glow. The icon was inside her head yet, urging on her madness. The woman's twisted desires for pain and violence. And so long accustomed to such things, she was in no position to say no. With a small grunt of exertion, she too would rise. Mirroring Brent as she shambled to her feet. Less damaged for the moment, but her mind had not yet cleared itself of it's murky haze.

Rising onto her feet, the self proclaimed Bone Mistress turned to regard her opponent, who was at the moment a few paces away. Blooded and cut, he was a partially finished job. She silently thanked him for his commitment and readied herself to go at him again even as Brendyn made like a zombie and shambled. And just like he hoped, the girl would laugh. But it was not the exact laugh he was looking for. No..it was a cackling giggle that bubbled up from somewhere deep within Sokoya.

She looked truely demented. Porcelain like skin lit up in the unearthly light shed by Zeta. A small waterfall of blood cascaded lazily down from the girl's nostrils, dripping from her upper lip steadily. And still she laughed, her face split by a twisted smile. Mouth full of sharp and jagged teeth. Her eyes beckoning him onward. To take her knife, a gift, and use it upon her flesh. She would produce a new paintbrush, a new instrument. Sokoya's right arm would spasm with this notion in mind. The muscles convulsing, looking like insects crawling beneath her flesh.

OG Profile Wrote:

Bone Spike- Sokoya's bread and butter, she is only able to produce them from long portions of her body. Out her elbow or palm, bottom of her foot or knee for example. The spike produced from these points, after a round of charging, is roughly a foot in length. Costs 2 MP

Easily her most simple and common usage of supernatural ability, Sokoya would cause a spike to erupt from her palm. The pointed weapon literally tearing it's way out with a sickening squelch. She must look a monster now. One arm deformed by staunch bone armor, the other with a spike protruding from the palm...a dagger stuck into the thick upper portion. But that was of little importance. No...she'd been inactive for far too long.

Attack!

The woman would surge forward, towards her limping opponent. She cared little for tactics, at this point. Hoping only to land some lasting blows. Her arms would be brought up as she moved forward, falling into something that looked like a boxing stance. Only...Sokoya hadn't even boxed before. Still, it allowed for good positioning to strike out. And strike is what she would do. Her right, weakened as it may be by the dagger still sticking out of it, would be thrust towards Brendyn as she finally drew into range.Not a flamboyant attack, her aim appeared to be his upper guts.

MP: 5

[Omi Barsait versus Fayble - The Field]

Omi was in rather bad shape, as circumstances played out. Felled by Fayble's slam to the ground, he laid on his back amidst the dark soil below with a bizarre sensation like rain was falling upon him. Perhaps, some type of brain damage or mental distortion.. it was so hard to tell anymore what was real, what wasn't. Illusions, dreams, nightmares all gripped him, threatening to send the man into slumber that quite possibly would be eternal. His tenacity was all that kept the mercenary garbed in red from succumbing.

Briefly, his vision of the world abound was clear and quite real. The struggling Fayble was in sight, his wounded right and weary left eye tracing her as she attempted to even sit up. Had he truly been so lost to the carnage of battle that both of them were upon the brink of destruction? Still, Barsait surmised his body could still function relatively well save a left limb's relentless injury, if he find the will to muster a last charge. Why wasn't it there? Why wasn't the zeal & energy there..

Omi's right eye shot unnaturally open. All at once, his brain lit ablaze; heat pouring into every inch from the frontal lobe on back, consuming him. The [Pylon] and his own mind set fire to his soul, demanding more combat. The world around he and Fayble, their bodies ruined and so close by, began to swirl and twist into a vortex of sound and colors; the rate of the mercenary's breath increased rapidly. Deep inhaling, deep exhaling.

"I.." Omi groaned towards his nearby opponent, a drop of blood reaching his lips. "am so.. sorry Fayble.. have so much. I have so much I cannot allow to be delayed." Exhaling with a raspy cough, the fighter continued weakly: "That I simply .. must, I simply must win. I must.. my team relies on it, but.. I.." Branded into his sight, oh glorious sight which conveyed one image after the next of individuals, memories, and factors was a familiar individual that puzzled him for why he appeared.

Deitric Jocasta.

Suddenly, Omi's mind itself practically bled, heat nearly blinding him with its intensity. Roaring despite his weakened body, Barsait's right arm suddenly snatched out and grasped the only thing it could with all of its might: the woman's right foot, hand snagging it soundly as his head leaned back to catch sight of her. His eyes were .. so livid, they would unnerve any who dared defy.

"I.. cannot BE DEFEATED, I WILL -NOT- be DEFEATED!" Right arm displaying its decent level of strength, Barsait began to pull strongly.. both nudging the woman propped upon her forearms towards him, and sliding himself through the grass. Quite ironic, how he slithered through the tainted greenery like a snake - though the look of those fangs suggested the fight was back in him.

"Faybleee.. get..." Another powerful pull, to which the woman might have spotted his fingertips which were roasted to the point the skin and nails shared the same dark color of burned flesh, would see them even closer if only by minor inches. His head, upside-down with that lengthy hair matted into the ground, helped highlight the flow of blood upon his ears and brow. Yet.. his teeth, growling audibly, were worrisome to say the least.

Lungs even aching, his words rang out like a dragon's breath to his comrade in this den of madness:

"GET OVER HERE!!"

Hmm...

Sokoya's attack surprised him. She had found out about his illusory armor, and was still choosing to attack a protected area. Either she was more brain-addled than he had realized by either the effects of the pylon or the damage inflicted by his Burst, or there was more to the attack than there seemed. Since he'd already been caught off-guard once by her willingness to recklessly approach a situation and turn it to her advantage, he chose not to risk underestimating her again.

Carrying Sokoya's knife as he had approached had been a feint in itself. Brendyn couldn't afford to have his one remaining arm committed to wielding a weapon. As Sokoya made her stab, Brendyn allowed the kukri to drop to the ground even as he twisted his body, pulling his right leg back. The muscle that Sokoya had damaged in his hip was important for walking, but twisting and rotating used an entirely separate set of muscles, so that the only difficulty in the maneuver was the weight that he put onto the leg. It was aggravating the damaged cartilage, causing the his hip bone to rub directly against the bone of the socket. A sickening wave of pain passed over him, but he fought through it. He used his now unencumbered left hand to give her wrist a shove, pushing her thrust past his right side as he dodged.

He had never intended to use Sokoya's blade to strike because he had another weapon available to him that didn't cost him a hand. He shifted even more, putting all of his weight onto his left leg even as the joint sent out waves of agony in protest. His eyes teared up and he felt like he would be sick, but he pushed through the pain to snap off a quick kick with his right foot that was aimed at Sokoya's left ankle. The kick was augmented by the fact that, where before there had simply been the toe of his designer shoe, there was now a thin knife-like blade sticking out of the front. It had taken a simple, precise twist of his foot to release the spring-loaded blade before administering the kick that, he hoped, would cripple her mobility as badly as she had done to him.

Of course, if he didn't score a hit (or even if he did and she was still able to react), he was incredibly vulnerable to a counterattack. He had been weighing what he considered to be her best options in his mind, and had the beginnings of a plan for dealing with what would come next.

[Post: 7]

[AP: 4]

Omi's punch would land, but not as it was intended.

Fayble's legs were not spread out to the sides, instead, her leg was raised, her thighs pushing together and tensed. It was your basic palate's move, and sadly to say, the femme wasn't jamming out with her clam out.

Instead the red clad warrior's fist would slam against the meat of her bottom, just barely where he wanted. A more pained grimace formed on her beaten face, there would definitely be bruises to show for it. Pain aside, it was also rather insulting.

But her leg was still in the air. Now she'd bring it down to Omi's skull even harder than before, fully intending to try and end this fiasco. Grunting out, she'd strike before kicking off his face, sliding herself and him away before rolling to the side. Fayble would try her best to push herself up once more, her body wobbling until she sat back on her legs, her shins level with the ground.

-11 remain-

Passive recharge: +2

}12/17{

[Edited]

[Omi Barsait versus Fayble - The Field]

A groin shot was largely considered dirty fighting. Unprotected, male or female, a decent strike to it could prove momentarily overwhelming, and if specific bones were crushed, outright devastating. However, his right fist collided with soft flesh, no doubt inflicting pain.. but not quite setting up for how he would have liked it. Many would surmise this was a low blow that went awry, and perhaps it was.. however, several elements of war were engrained in the artist's mind, especially pertaining to this fight, that would not go forgotten.

I. If an opponent blocks high, strike low. If an opponent blocks low, strike high.

II. Never lose sight of an advantage once offered, even if to obtain it, one must destroy themselves. Momentary injury for decisive victory is a trade that should not even be questioned.

III. Never approach a situation with the concept of defeat in mind. Understand victory is yours, and then constantly seek the path to it until proven otherwise.

To that end, Barsait had full sight of the woman's raised left leg, knowing all too well what was about to be done with it. He had to make a decision: was victory worth trading his body..? Already in rough shape but without any debilitating injuries, proceeding as planned was going nowhere. They would continue to thrash against each other until one's stamina fell, and although entertaining, the soldier of the road knew it to be a path of folly. Was the trade of his body for victory worth it?

"Yes."

Even as her leg came crashing down, Barsait was in action. The snake took to their floor-bound position quite nicely, spinning on his new growth in a 180 - literally grinding his newly developed eye across the ground so rough and fast that it bled. It took all of his willpower not to scream in torment, every last little drop. Still, Fayble had been too interested in striking at him with her dominant legs to attempt to still him; likely, she intended to even get to her feet if able.

Now, Barsait's clothing completely mud caked and his hair an outright mess if the bloody stains across the dirt from his mutilated new appendage wasn't enough to churn your stomach, the man had reversed his position in record time as the first strike smashed against his skull - rattling the brain. However, nothing was stopping his ambitious drive now.. the words formed in his head without even needing vocalization: he would sooner die than let up what came next.

Fayble's left leg, she would find, would be relatively difficult to pull away - much less slide off his face. Why? His stocky legs, left over and right under, were pincer-snatching it between them, her flesh likely feeling the metal beneath his pants. Using it to pull himself partially off the ground, Barsait's now blood soaked face growled nonstop with his eyes ablaze in passionate discord. A certain wounded limb made its timely return, having been laid off of quite intentionally the entire fight since she nearly snapped it: the left, his left hand furiously redirecting her foot into its armpit and gripping tighter than a vice thanks to ring mail biting flesh biting ring mail.

His left hand gripped the underside of Fayble's calf, just above the Achilles's Tendon to be precise, and the right hand grasped the top of her lower leg with such a fury that the boiled fingertips bled even worse than before - all five, nails secreting the rich juices of life onto Fayble's being. Her ample hips would great and painful pressure, furthermore, by Omi's left boot, grinding deep into Fayble's same-sided hip with the boot treads digging in. His legs had suffered very little damage at all this fight, and as a result were in rather fine condition and as the woman would find, were in fact quite strong themselves. Strong enough to dig deep, deep into her body with absolutely no intent of ever letting go.

This was your textbook [Straight Ankle Lock.] By pulling her leg one way while tensed, and digging his foot deep in the other way with the bone of his forearm backed by metal against the Achilles's Tendon to create agonizing pressure while stretching the ankle so forcefully causes great pain; however, emphasis here was on the foot. Leverage was the monster here, and done as aggressively as it was..

.. he would either force the woman to submit in his carnal final hour, or break her foot off from her leg if not take a tendon.

Brutality at last.

Serpentine Condition Wrote:

[SERPENTINE MANIPULATION ART:NULL.]

[XII] - Insanity Roll: Major psychotic episode.

Sabrina's red, rage-obsessed thoughts kept her from receiving any warning of Wigi's approach. Had she been more alert, more in tune with her surroundings, she might have heard the rustling of corn stalks or felt the plodding of his feet. Alas, this was not the case.

As her hand came down to close around the dagger's handle, Sabrina was caught completely off guard by a blow to the back of her head that made her ears rings and her eyes go dark, as the vision center of her brain was rattled. Almost simultaneously, Ed's powerful feet drove directly into her gut, causing the telltale crack of a rib breaking. Fire erupted in her belly while repeated blasts of blunt pain smashed into the rear of her skull.

Her rage, the fiery haze that had obscured her thought and carried her wounded body, vanished like smoke in the wind, replaced by the numbness that could only be brought about by a sheer sensory overload of pain and trauma. Her face adopted a combination of shock and overwhelming pain, and her mouth fell open, as if to cry out, but instead only hung slack.

The Midgard Fang fell from her grip and hit the soil with a dull thump . Her left hand loosened around the hilt of her dagger. Without a sound, she toppled aside limply into the dirt. There she laid, unmoving -- it was unclear if she had been simply stunned, or KO'd outright.

[Midgard Fang Charge Level: 3]

[11/17]

[Omi Barsait versus Fayble - The Field]

Truth be told, most men faced with the prospect of a woman tightly squeezing their genitals and then delivering several hundred thousand volts of electricity would faint from the very notion let alone put into practice. It wasn't something you often ran into, perhaps the only likely scenario being an authority with an electric tazer missing and striking one's tender reproductive organ dead on. Still, it was a horrifying notion for most, and no doubt agonizingly painful.. indeed, an average man may have been reduced to a blubbering mess on the ground, tears staining the earth.

[The Pylon]'s insanity effect coupled with the none-the-ordinary Omi Barsait the [Serpentine Manipulation Artist] proved a combination formidable to say the very least.

In fact, tears exiting his eyes as Omi screamed out loud, the familiar fire consuming his mind in pure - the mercenary was even mildly aroused by the shock treatment. Perhaps it was the not so gentle touch or the agonizing and searing pain accompanied by it, but likely not the reaction Fayble expected.

Instead, Barsait's voice grew hoarse with his howl, grip not lessening an inch. Her newly formed spurs were interesting.. yet the memory of a woman he nearly killed quite some time ago, seeming almost another life time, replayed vividly in his head as the sound of Fayble's leg coming undone began to grow audible. A woman adorned in spikes, barbs, burrs, and every type of sharp implement you could imagine bear-hugging Omi's unarmored form and piercing him in virtually every point on the frontal body, nearly skewering his organs and killing him outright.

Compared to that..

Compared to that, Omi's teeth grated as they ground home to help reinforce his will, this was paltry as his ring-mail gladly ground against the newly formed spins hard. All he could hear, pain overwhelming his every point, was the sound of his own mind frantically reassuring him:

"BREAK IT!!"

"BREAK IT!!"

"BREAK IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

..how could he disappoint?

[CRACK]

There were no tap-outs. Not here. Her foot would dislodge most forcefully, bone structure undone; her Achilles's Tendon outright snapping in a deadly show of resolve Omi would shower upon his gracious.. genital holder. She had nearly took his left arm, it was only fitting he obliterate the same leg best he could.

Still, his own mutation smashed into crimson paste, blood oozing along his form, and feeling the bizarre sensations of electric hellish current in his waist - the mercenary was at physical and mental edge, words no longer created but merely communicating by vicious grunts and growls. His lips were even dehydrated, saliva not coming to his mouth.

Destruction.. the artist now painted in destruction. Asgard's, and his own.

Serpentine Condition Wrote:

[SERPENTINE MANIPULATION ART:Surging to Life..]

[XIII]

Antique Queen Wrote:

The heel at to have landed somewhere on his body. Not even with the ridiculously fast spin with this new ocular appendage could have stopped it from hitting him. When her foot came down, Fayble sat up and snaked her right hand between both of their legs with clearance as Omi attempted the grapple. Some of his leverage would be taken from the hold, a crooked grin cracked her face.

She'd prove his earlier punch was a mistake. With gusto.

Grabbing a hold of his man parts - family jewels - dangly bits- whatever was the appropriate term for this dude's junk, Fayble snorted out as she twisted her hand, the chain-male shattering to nothing before administering an unhealthy shock. If he wanted to break her foot, mother of god it would hurt like no other, but what else was there for her to do? Besides, she always had another one.

However, using her abilities wouldn't come without another gift of change. Hunching forward, Fayble let out a hoarse scream as three razor sharp, webbed spines jut out of her back arms and legs. It debilitated her mentally, sending her into a flailing tantrum in attempt to even stop the pain in the slightest. The spines thrashes about, no doubt making the hold on her leg, if he could keep it after the shock, more than just difficult.

---

-10 remain-

Fragmentize:

Because she is only half Troika, Fayble is unable to control ability to shatter. So when her gloves are off she can shatter or destroy any object that does not have magic, life energy flowing through it, or that has personal value to the opponent. So no shattering swords etc. Also, this ability is in no way like a grenade, it shatters glass, splinters wood, breaks down cloth. It breaks objects, not explode them. Fayble, will not be a douche nozzle.

[Cool down: 4]

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

Mutation: She be turning into a fish yo.

}13/17{

Here we go again!

With a big THOOM/other assorted time traveling onomatopoeia, the 4th dimensional Judge burst into existence as Fayble went to grope poor Omi's man junk. The armored figure shook his head in disapproval - not because of the ball shock, but because she dun goof'd with her ability usage.

Fragmentize Wrote:

Because she is only half Troika, Fayble is unable to control ability to shatter. So when her gloves are off she can shatter or destroy any object that does not have magic, life energy flowing through it, or that has personal value to the opponent. So no shattering swords etc. Also, this ability is in no way like a grenade, it shatters glass, splinters wood, breaks down cloth. It breaks objects, not explode them. Fayble, will not be a douche nozzle.

Because, sadly for Fayble, armor very much hard personal value to an individual. Especially when they either bought/forged/stole it, and it was used to protect their family lineage dispenser.

Yellow card!" The Judge doth spoke. Out of one of the many mutations that riddled the electric girl, the piece of penalty paper burst out, covered in all sorts of lovely pus and goop. "Use of an unapproved function of an ability!

Once the justice had been dealt, the Judge proceeded to step through the angles of time/space/reality, thanks to all that crazy woowoo the Pylon caused.