Tresondros vs Fasumbra

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Carnival Blowout

Come one, come all and step right up to the very first Heaven or Hell Carnival extravaganza! It's mostly safe for oldbies and children alike from all over Gaia! But please be careful as there is still minor construction and wet paint about the premises!

Here we show case the champions from years past! With rides and monoliths such as: The Sword-Go-Round!™, THE NECK BREAKER™ for the past crowned and newly reformed Bloody Pandas, GLACIER Pops!™, and life like Ryugi Kazamaru statues at the entrance of each ride -- ensuring youngin's must be 'This tall to ride', and so much more!

Be sure to visit each of our stands to buy candy, refreshments and souvenirs!

And remember folks...!

Don't ******** with the paint.

General - A soon-to-be wonderland celebrating the hard-hitters and champs of the past tournaments.

Weapons - Statues, stands, goods and paint cans.

Natural Element Resource - Vomit. Wood, metal, cotton candy.

Bonus Effects - Vertigo from rides and a wholesome, jolly-swell time!

So then. The stage had been set, the judgments handed down, the commands given. This tournament, glorious Heaven or Hell, had begun in earnest. The man who had finally reached this point, the man striding forth with a regal saunter, could not have been happier.

Fasumbra Langardo couldn’t restrain himself, his face divided by a bright smile that made it almost possible to overlook the handful of wrinkles that were present. When he smiled like this, he didn’t look as rundown as usual. The expression pulled at his scars a bit, particularly the vertical one that stretched from just below his bottom lip down the left side of his chin, but he ignored that small discomfort. Fas was pleased with how things were going.

A short time ago, the rather intricate device wrapped around his wrist called a FIGHTER had beeped, presenting him with a summons to this location for a preliminary bout. That had irritated him slightly, but it was apparently necessary to cut down the field of participants a bit before the true bouts began, so he bore it with no complaints. Especially once he saw the name of his opponent, the one who would threaten his participation. Tresondros Ecstuffuan. A name that rang through Heaven or Hell lore, and indeed all of Gaia, with the sound of steel and fists. Seeing that name, Fasumbra couldn’t help but feel exhilarated. Already he faced a strong opponent, one who would challenge him in battle, all before the true conflict had even begun! Surely if this is what he faced at the very beginning, there would be greater battles ahead!

Fasumbra was not personally acquainted with the man, but he knew him quite well from viewing records of past Heaven or Hell bouts. Beyond being a skilled fighter, Tres was bombastic and proud to the point of arrogance, and also not one to shrink from the brutalities combat forced on its participants even in a regulated setting such as this. Skill, pride, and cunning; qualities he could come to terms with and perhaps even admire. Qualities that, Fas hoped, he would be able to display in turn to his opponents. Fasumbra was feeling uncomfortable about his position, seeing as he was an unknown to the long-time fight fans that flocked to see the tournament at every opportunity. But this…

This was his chance. His chance to show this world the might of Fasumbra Langardo, the eternally uncrowned King. His chance to display the prowess of his body, the valor of his technique, the glory of his victories.

As well, it was his chance to be in true combat for the first time in far, far too long.

With a flourish Fasumbra brought his arm before him, the one bearing the FIGHTER, making his Warcloak flick dramatically forward. It was actually more habit than intention; the dramatic had become second nature to him, so on occasion he tended to slip into what one could call theatrics without even realizing it. Regardless, he focused on the bright display before him, its map displaying the coordinates of this match in relation to his current location. According to the FIGHTER, he had arrived.

At a carnival.

Fasumbra’s smile faded to a terse frown. He was a fan of this tournament, so he was aware that often fights took place in somewhat less than logical locations. Still, he was mildly disappointed with the hand fate had dealt him. Fasumbra wasn’t an overly serious person, but the idea of what was likely to be a fierce and bloody fight taking place at a fair of all places… It rubbed him the wrong way. He abruptly shook it off though, lowering his arm back to his side with what was now intentional theatrics, his cloak billowing out behind him with the gesture.

“No matter, no matter! It won’t be all that distracting.” He said it aloud, as if speaking to a friend beside him. With that he walked forward, into the depths of the festivities before him. A short walk led him to a small clearing, one that was apparently the designated fighting area. When he reached it, Fasumbra took a look around, searching for Tres. Unfortunately…

“My anticipated opponent has not yet shown himself. Was I perhaps too eager to be here? Well, in any case, I seem to have a bit of extra time, so…” Fasumbra mumbled to himself, then rolled his shoulders and neck, a handful of quiet pops like applause consequentially filling the air.

Fasumbra Langardo had not come unprepared to this tournament, let alone to this battle, so of course he was well equipped. Like his body, all of his attire was either a weapon or a defensive tool. The most flashy part of his garb was the deep red cloak draped across his shoulders, with golden trim about the edges in a runic pattern, which swayed with each movement. The bottom hem, hovering a few inches above the ground, was apparently weighted down, as the occasional breeze did little more than make it sway. That was helpful when it came to intentional movements, since the weight on the edge forced the cloak to follow the path he imposed on it, overcoming the resistance of the air that would foil a typical cloak. This beautiful garment was secured about Fasumbra’s well-developed neck and shoulders with a golden chain, designed with a special clasp which would come loose should a proper amount of force be applied. If one were to touch the flowing Warcloak, one would be surprised at how hardy it felt. Indeed, the cloak was itself almost armor, the tight weave of sturdy fibers providing a bit of extra protection to its bearer.

Beyond the showier piece of his gear, we now come to the main piece. Covering his entire body, the bodysuit known as a Shigtoh was his true armor for these bouts. Composed of dense fibers similar to the Warcloak and designed to absorb impacts, the armor was colored a bloody red in agreement with the Warcloak about his shoulders, and as stated covered the majority of his body. The suit ended just above his collarbone, at the wrists, and at the ankles. Unlike a typical bodysuit, however, it was loose-fitting, which allowed Fasumbra to move quite easily in spite of the sturdiness of it. Though the Shigtoh ended at the ankles, an outside observer would only see the black boots securely laced on his feet, their steel toecaps ready to inflict misery on their target. Quite unlike his cloak, the Shigtoh was not an aesthetic article of clothing but rather a functional one. Unless of course one was an observant fan, focusing on the way his muscular body was still hinted at beneath the dense fabric.

In any case, the final item that Fas wore was fastened form-fitting to his large hands; a pair of gauntlets, ones that were both works of art and functional equipment. Across the backs of each hand, and indeed on the backs of his fingers, were small metal plates. Each was small enough and positioned properly to allow his fingers complete range of motion, sacrificing a bit of protection to that end. These plates wouldn’t block a direct blow of course, but it was better than nothing. Besides these minor plates, one would also observe a large number of rivets covering whatever space could be spared between them without hindering range of motion, particularly across the knuckles. Mildly pointed, these rivets had one purpose alone: inflicting maximum punishment. The base layer of each gauntlet was a quilted fabric similar to the weave that made up the Shigtoh, but obviously a bit thinner to keep from bogging down whatever finger work needed done.

Equipment aside, Fasumbra readied his body. He bounced in place a few times, back and forth, springing from foot to foot with an easy rhythm. Blood began to flow through his body, his quiet composure giving way to fluid posturing, his muscles relaxing more and yet becoming more ready, tendons warming and stretching. Long arms flicked fists into the air before him with practiced grace as he hopped from foot to foot, constantly repositioning. Southpaw, orthodox, southpaw, flat footed, grappling, orthodox, again, again!

For so long repressed, his instincts began to awaken as his heart pumped faster, his soldier’s mind recognizing what was coming. Battle, war, conflict, aggression. Forgetting himself, remembering himself, fulfilling his purpose and denying his existence. All in these quiet moments. The tempest raged inside him, threatening to overcome all that stood before him, threatening to unleash that part of him he forsook all that time ago!

“…No.” Fasumbra stopped suddenly, a murmured but absolute command stolen away by the wind. His fist was extended but frozen in the air, lean legs stock still beneath him. His hair, like molten gold, swayed about him as his motion ceased, cascading silkily down to his lower back. Fasumbra would not give in to that urge, however strong it became. He was a fighter now, not… that thing. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head, casting out the visions of the past, his eyes emanating their jade hue noticeably brighter. Now it was time to move into a shining future, a glorious one, without stoppage.

It was time to succeed where he had failed before, and Fasumbra Langardo stood ready in all aspects. But what of his opponents? Would they survive the coming storm, or be lost to the cyclone of warfare that was their opposition?

Fasumbra could hear the stirring a bit behind him, the sounds of a crowd informing him that, in all likelihood, his opponent had arrived. With an easy grace he turned to face the noise, cloak swishing about him with the motion. He relaxed, that intense edge to his mood fading a bit as he observed the arrival of Tresondros. It was quite the appearance, with the suave-looking man entering in an equally smooth… aircraft of some sort. Tres even had bodyguards, and scores of fans shouting his name in adoration.

Unlike Tres, Fasumbra had none of these things. His only supporters were either in the Crimson Hawk or in one of the many Destructive Forces Operating Company’s headquarters. But fame mattered very little to him at the moment. There would be time for adoration, for screaming fangirls and product endorsements, at a later time. A time far removed from this one.

Things were quite simple at the moment: Fasumbra must defeat his opponent. No other course of events would accomplish his goals.

Finally, Tres finished greeting his fans and walked to meet Fasumbra. As he approached, Fasumbra took note of him. Tresondros moved with easy, fluid steps, exude an aura of superiority and confidence. Fas met it with his own body language, emanating stoic calm with an effortless stance that conveyed nothing but a belief that he was entirely in control.

Of note was Tres’ left arm, which was obviously not entirely normal. Fasumbra’s trained mind examined Tres, his Mana Sense feeling the pressure of Tres’ internal energies. He was not weak, to say the least. Fas could feel the strength of his spirit and was impressed… but not intimidated. Tres’ silvery shining eyes would be met with Fasumbra’s glittering green ones, which smoldered like coals as he maintained eye contact the entire time Tres walked to him. Well, as well as he could, since Tres was wearing shades for most of the walk.

Now Tres stopped, looking perplexed before asking a rather uncouth question.

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"Who...

Who in the blue hell...are you?"

“…” Fasumbra was quiet for a moment, giving no response. Though if Tres were observant he might note a fluctuation in the way Fas’ eyes glowed, a sudden pulse of green lighting them up in response to the question. An instant of irritation died, as Fasumbra reminded himself of who he was facing. Tresondros was known for this sort of behavior. It was only natural he would continue to behave the same.

So, after that instant, Fasumbra’s face split into a grin that was somewhat predatory. He chuckled quietly to himself before giving a response.

“I doubt it matters to you, but I am your opponent for this preliminary bout. My name is Fasumbra Langardo, but you may call me Fas. Or ‘sir’, if that would make you feel more comfortable.” The grin remained, an added hint of happiness gained from the thinly-veiled barb.

“I know you somewhat, Tresondros, so I’ll offer you an option you may want to consider. It would be rather a shame to make you look bad in front of your dedicated fan base, so perhaps you would like to…” He paused a moment, as if searching for a word, gauntleted hand raised to his chin, a long finger tapping at the scar there. A theatrical ‘beat’ passed, before he held the same hand out to Tres as if literally presenting the term.

“…Concede. Otherwise, things might get a bit uncomfortable. Mainly for you.” Fasumbra turned himself now, his right foot leading. There was no fighting stance, no aggression, just a simple quarter-turn. If Tres had a sixth sense, used to detect the supernatural, he would be able to sense something pouring out from Fasumbra. Mana, the source of his power, seeped from him like rays of light from the sun.

“The choice is yours, of course. I await your decision.”

Abilities Used Wrote:

Name: Mana Sense

Type/Target Buff/Self

Cost: Passive = Mild Perception

Description: Fas’ genetics have “gifted” him with Yggdrasil Syndrome, which comes with this ability inherently. Due to the restrictions in place during Heaven or Hell, Fasumbra has sealed this ability, using only its more basic principles passively; namely the abilities to sense supernatural events occurring, and to sense the ebb and flow of Ambient Mana in the air. [*] While he cannot sense anything other than something “happening”, it is still more warning than most people get. It is similar to the way some sea predators use pressure changes in water to detect prey; Fas senses the changes in “magical pressure” in the surrounding area, using that input to detect living beings as well as the use of magic.

Mana Aura

Fas, due to the Yggdrasil Syndrome, constantly exudes an aura of Mana. While not noticeable to non-sensitive entities (i.e. non-metahumans), those who can sense the aura will find it shockingly noticeable. The effect is different, however, depending on the method used to sense it. Entities that use sight to detect the supernatural will see Fas’ aura as a bright, emerald-hued shimmer around him. Those that use scent will find that he smells remarkably like their favorite meal, whatever that may be. Touch makes him seem velveteen and flawless, and hearing like an odd, clear ringing. Taste is, again, like the receiver’s favorite meal.

Outside of aesthetics, this ability is not particularly relevant to a battle. However, in the case of less mentally stable opponents, it may function as psychological warfare… or a goad. Perhaps a learned opponent would be intimidated by the shimmering light of his Aura, or a person who feeds on magic may become hyper-aggressive, smelling/tasting an exquisite meal in Fas.

Crude, as expected.

Fasumbra’s introduction was cut short by Tres’ declaration. He kept smiling though, the initial irritation fading away, giving way to satisfaction and a bit of excitement. This was plainly Tres’ modus operandi: attempting to get under the skin of his opponents long before any actual fighting began. Trying to force a mistake from anger, demoralizing his opposition. His expression didn’t even change when he was interrupted. Psychological warfare against Fasumbra Langardo?

Interesting concept, but one that will never work on me.

Experience from his actions on the battlefield gave him insight into the concept of morale. In fact, Fasumbra probably had more experience with it than anyone in this tournament. It has been stated that the armor he wore, the bodysuit protecting his body beneath the Warcloak, was called a Shigtoh. This was simply the common name for it, in order to avoid the slightly long winded name that it bore in truth.

The Seraphim Honor Guard: Terror Operations uniform. Or S.H.G.T.O. for those troubled by the formation of acronyms.

Tres’ declaration was followed by an advance, with Tres slipping into an orthodox if somewhat loose boxing stance. The thirty feet between them gave Fas more than enough time to observe Tres, Mana Sense pinging off him as he advanced and returning vague information about Tres’ aura. In this state, Fasumbra was quite limited in how much he could ‘feel’ from his special sense thanks to the regulations of Heaven or Hell. He could discern the strength of a person’s supernatural capabilities, and detect the use of them, but he was blind to specifics. It bothered Fas slightly; it was like having perfect vision all your life and then waking up to find your eyes have gone blurry and you had to go to an eye doctor with a penchant for swords.

Tres’ lack of any ******** to give apparently applied to their size difference, though it was underwhelming considering Tres was quite tall himself. Fasumbra stood at six Feet, seven Inches tall, with perhaps another inch added thanks to his boots. This was a mere three-to-four inch difference compared to Tres, but an advantage is an advantage. Furthermore, Fasumbra weighed in at around two-hundred and sixty pounds, excluding however much his armor might weigh. A forty pound weight difference was much more significant than a three inch height difference, especially considering Fas was a former soldier and had absurdly low body fat.

Beyond this, Fasumbra had a longer than typical reach. Ideally a person’s wingspan reach (fingertip to fingertip across the back) was within an inch or two of their height, but Fasumbra had an eighty-five inch wingspan, which meant an extra 6 inches of reach. So, these details aside, what would Fas actually do about Tres’ advancing?

As Tres reached the 15 foot mark, Fasumbra slid into his own stance smoothly. Right foot slid to the front, presenting Tres with his right side. Southpaw stance, long legs spread slightly but firmly set. He crouched slightly, raising gauntleted hands to shoulder-height with the palms facing the ground, fingers flexing a little to check their mobility. They moved smoothly as always, the intricately designed Godhand keeping his hands as free to move as possible. Fas stood with his weight distributed between the heel of his left foot and the ball of his right foot, ready to adjust this if he had to be mobile or stationary depending on Tres’ actions.Tres came within his own range now, which was well within Fas’ reach. Being aggressive against him would have been foolhardy, as Fas was suspecting Tres’ loose stance was intended to be highly mobile while he felt out Fas’ techniques. Instead, Fasumbra watched.

Body language, body language…

Tres threw a lightning jab, at the same time trying to slip his leading leg between Fas’. If Fas hadn’t been watching him so closely he would probably have eaten the jab, but instead his body reacted with trained precision. Fasumbra’s trained right hand moved easily, his palm meeting Tres’ forearm with a pushing force that would redirect it diagonally, sending it past the target of his throat and downward, to Tres’ right. Rather than a striking block this was a shove, Fas’ palm and fingers maintaining contact with the forearm somewhat loosely, searching for intent.

It was a simple concept; when in contact with an appendage, one could discern its owner’s intentions based on how they tried to move it. Pushing against, pulling back; any number of reactions felt unique and distinct. It was especially obvious when one had such contact via their hands, as they were designed by nature to be sensitive while also giving little away.

Fasumbra was confident, though. Instincts informed him that, even with such a minor cross-up, Tres was at a disadvantage. Though a jab carried little force and therefore didn’t unbalance the one who threw it as much as a heavier punch, there was now a small opening to exploit in Tres’ position. One that was immediately capitalized upon.

Following the deflection, and regardless of the reaction Tres’ left arm gave to being pushed, Fasumbra counter-struck. Tres’ attempt to unbalance him by keeping his leg between Fas’ was ineffective thanks to his stance. Tres’ left was trying to be in the way, but in reality it wasn’t going to accomplish much thanks to Fas’ long legs and the southpaw stance he had adopted, which meant his leg was only preventing Fas from moving to his left.

Fasumbra didn’t move to his left. Instead he advanced diagonally to his right (Tres’ left), stepping to the outside of Tres’ body. At the same time his right hand relinquished contact with Tres’ forearm and snapped forward, unfolding his elbow into a somewhat straight-trajectory strike into the right side of Tres’ face. It couldn’t truly be called a backhand, because that implied a slapping gesture that this lacked. Rather, Fas’ arm simply unfolded and extended his arm forcefully into its target.

It wasn’t a haymaker, and in fact took very little momentum to accomplish. The damage it would deal was typically minor, comparable to a stiff jab, but the addition of the Godhand gauntlets added an extra layer of pain to it. The steel rivets across his knuckles would add an extra bite to the attack, perhaps even drawing blood if Fasumbra was lucky and the hit skidded somewhat on Tres’ face.

Immediately afterwards, Fas would draw back his right hand and then throw an easy hook with it into Tres’ ribs, aiming for the upper ones closest to the heart. Adding to the motion was the turning of his body as he adjusted his position again, facing Tres once again with his right foot leading. If all went as planned Fas would take a couple of steps backwards, away from Tres, with footwork that almost glided his feet across the ground.

Where was Fasumbra’s left hand through all this? It was simply biding its time in a defensive position at shoulder height, ready to protect his left side from a responding attack.

I assure you, when this is over, who I am will matter to you.

One would note, Fasumbra was still smiling.

Indeed, the concept of 'Sticky Hands' was an idea used by Fasumbra's trainer, although considering his origins it was not ever considered a Wing Chun technique. In reality his style borrowed concepts from a wide array of martial arts, which at times clashed but overall were greater than the sum of their parts.

Seraph Style: Retribution Variant. A style focused largely on defense, relying on deflection of attacks followed by swift counter-strikes.

The unorthodox 'jab' he had thrown with his right hand didn't strike home into his opponent's face, but rather scraped on his arm as he blocked it. But still Fasumbra saw a hint of bright red when it hit, and as he drew the arm back for the hook he had been intending to follow up with, he was able to confirm it. They were dots of blood coloring the shiny surface of the rivets covering his knuckles.

First blood!

Fasumbra had landed the first blow, though it was not particularly significant. It was only damaging because he was wearing the Godhand, and even then the cuts were only superficial. It would bleed and sting some, but Fas doubted it would debilitate Tres.

That was confirmed when Tres faced him and threw a stiff straight punch, simultaneous to the hook Fas had thrown to his body. Instinct told him what would happen now, as it was something he himself was trained to do. The straight punch was a line of repellent force as well as an attack, and would easily ward off the worst of his hook simply because it was in the way. Furthermore, he hadn't thrown the hook with a great deal of force so it likely wouldn't even move Tres' arm away from its intended target.

Fasumbra was taking the hit, nothing could be done about it. With some satisfaction, and as though in slow motion, he saw the psion's crystalized arm be struck and scatter shards from the impact of the Godhand. Fas hoped it hurt like hell. Spitefully, Fasumbra 'stuck' the blow when it landed, leaving his knuckles pressed into Tres' arm.

"Tch!"

That was the sound of Fas being hit. The blow caught Fasumbra where Tres had intended, but out of instinct Fas' body contracted away from the force as he pulled away, legs already reversing course and backing away. A bit late to try to fall back, but rolling with the punch had at least taken some of the edge off of it.

Tres would find the successful hit somewhat less satisfying than he expected. The armor Fasumbra wore offered very little protection from bladed weapons, but physical impacts, even mace-like ones such as the one Tres landed, would be significantly cushioned. Oh, by all means, it hurt. Body shots always hurt, armor or not, but the Shigtoh kept it from being debilitating.

Fas backed away from Tres with fluid footwork, and apparently Tres had the same idea. The Godhand had still been pressed to Tres' striking arm however, so if Tres kept it extended as he fell back Fas intended to try and tear more shards from its surface. He fell back until there was about 10 feet between them, intending to keep his distance for the moment.

Quote:** Wrote:

"I don't say this about a lot of people. Your..."

His eyes narrowed.

"Pretty Good."

"It would appear I'm underestimating you, Ecstuffuan. I should stop doing that." Fas said, and grinned at Tres. Now the expression was a bit more friendly. Someone who could trade blows with him, a skilled fighter willing to be harmed to harm his opponent... Fas was pleased. His right hand dropped for a moment, rubbing his torso where he had taken a hit. It ached deep in his muscles the way all solid body shots did, and Fas felt certain it would have been excruciatingly painful if he had taken it on bare flesh.

"I don't think I should let you hit me like that anymore, friend. It's rather unpleasant." Fas's right hand reached down further and gripped the side-hem of the Warcloak, pulling it a bit so it draped more forward. Held this way, with Fas' right side leading, it concealed the majority of his body from Tres' viewpoint except for his still-ready left arm.

I didn't want to resort to my tricks this early, but this one isn't going to fall simply.

Fas summoned up some Mana, readying it for use. He was considering what would be best to do, so he intended to see what course of action Tres took. Fasumbra had already underestimated him once, and taken a stiff shot for his folly. He wasn't about to do it again.

((I just realized I've been forgetting to put the post number on each post. I'll add one to this and edit in the others. My bad.))

"...Rebellion?... I see, you're one of those types, eh?" Fasumbra said it half to himself, a mumble that barely cleared the distance between the two of them. The idea of a rebellion stirred something in him, something he was trying very hard to suppress. Rebellion he had already been through, and it had cost him dearly. The rebellious, you see, often forget that there are good people among those they rebel against, but in the end even they suffer for deeds others committed. Fasumbra had never been the target of a rebellion, not directly anyway, but he had once been a bystander among the ‘ruling class’ when a rebellion, spurred by propaganda, took something he valued above all else from him.

“Well, in that case-“ Fas stopped suddenly as Tres’ hand stayed behind his head and Fasumbra felt a tiny shudder in his Mana Sense. Tres had just done something supernatural, but Fas had no idea what. But logic dictated that, with ten feet between them, it would be a projectile weapon if he was readying to attack. At the moment he thought that, Tres’ hand whipped forward and a glint of light flew through the air. It was too small and fast to actually see, but Tres’ body language vaguely conveyed that it was going somewhere below Fas’ waist. The dagger was impossible to intercept exactly, but Fas was doing more than just concealing himself with the cloak.

Mana surged to Fas’ right hand, still gripping the cloak, and he swept his arm outward with such force that the cloak almost snapped like a whip. The gesture of the cloak was well timed, the dense fabric s whipping around with enough force to hopefully deflect the makeshift dagger away. If not, Fas would end up with the dagger stuck either in the cloak itself or into the steel-toe of his boot. Either way it would probably amount to little. What mattered now was what Fas was doing with the mana he had in that right hand.

In the same gesture as Fas snapped the cloak to the side, Fas cast a spell from his right hand. It was hard to see because it was dim, but Fas’ hand glowed gold for a moment as it swept through the air. Then, like a flung drop of water the dim golden light slid off his hand and flew in a lazy arc through the air between them. It wasn’t targeted spot-on at Tres because it didn’t need to be, but the caster hoped its enticing glint would make Tres look directly at it. Fas brought his left hand forward, forming a shield in front of his eyes.

The grin was feral once again.

“Heheheh…” A quiet chuckle from Fas.

FWASH

Though it wasn’t directly aimed at Tres, the orb went off with a torrent of light magic intending to blind Fas’ stalwart opponent. There was no sound except a small hum when the Flash went off. The light would be much brighter by proximity, so it was doubtful any spectators would be effected beyond making them close their eyes in discomfort briefly. At Tres’ distance, though, it would be completely blinding. He could shield his own eyes if he managed to think that fast, but Fas was hoping he would be preoccupied with his movements and Fas’ reaction to do so.

Regardless, Fasumbra was done letting him control the pace of the fight.

“Now you’re mine!”

Fasumbra felt it creeping back into him. That self he had left behind so long ago, the self that was the leader of Terror Operations for so long. The sight of Tres’ blood, the dull pain in his side, the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Just like old times, Langardo.

He surged forward, his footwork mostly abandoned in his rush to close distance. Fasumbra’s steps would have sounded like oncoming thunder in an enclosed space, but on the soil here they thumped like warhorses in the distance, charging to battle. Fasumbra’s eyes were glowing a bit brighter, the smoldering emeralds now lit up from the inside by the Mana he held within him.

The gap was closing rapidly. How fared Tresondros in the face of such an onslaught?

Abilities Used Wrote:

Mana Remaining

14/15

Name: Flash

Type/Target Light-Based Diversion/AoE

Cost: 1 mp

Description: Focusing Light magic, Fas compacts it and then releases it all in one burst, causing an incredibly bright flash of light designed to blind any who see it. Beyond focusing the energy into handy grenade-sized orbs, he can also focus in into a part of his body and release it, perfect in melee to blind the opponent while he strikes. For an additional MP, Fas can add an explosive noise to a Flash Orb ONLY, typically causing disorientation and mild/moderate pain to the ears. Fas is also affected, and must protect his eyes and/or ears when using Flash, although merely tightly closing one’s eyes is enough to guard against the light. [*] If a normal human, lacking any sort of defense, sees the Flash go off, he will be completely blinded for a full turn, with his eyes remaining watery and blurred for the second turn. By the third, he will be generally recovered, although his eyes may still sting some.

{Post Three of 10}

Well, that was a nice bonus. Fas’ Flash technique was quite cost-efficient because it was so simple, so even if it wasn’t successful it succeeded in letting Fasumbra take the lead if only for a moment. But lo and behold, Tres had used some more magic, something Fas doubted was limitless for him. The dreadlocked fighter had probably expected an explosion of some sort, rather than what was essentially a flashbang without the bang. Fas felt it was a good trade, even though Tres wasn’t clawing at his eyes in agony.

I haven’t won yet. I must bring him to heel.

Tres was underestimating his opponent again. Ten feet was some distance, but it wasn’t as far as all that. Fas cleared it swiftly, his long legs sending him forward with great haste to his target. Tres was quick, sure enough, but it was doubtful he moved backwards quickly enough to completely escape from Fas. So, with a voracious smile splitting his face, Fas reached Tres just a breath after he hopped onto the Sword-Go-Round.

Something in Fas balked at how tacky the ride seemed, but he had more important things to deal with now. Like Tres slipping away. Tres was moving clockwise while facing Fas, which meant he would be rotating to Fasumbra’s left. So when Fas reached Tres and the circular contraption, Tres was just to his left. Now, obviously the ride was raised off the ground, and for safety protocol reasons one must assume it was around 2 feet up, give or take a few inches. That placed Tres somewhat above Fas, with Fas’ head likely level with Tres’ abs.

“No, no, stay with your friend Tres! I want to give you a HUG!”

Fas practically leapt on Tres’ right leg, his arms snaking just above the elevated man’s knee. In one smooth gesture he would lift Tres by his leg (and by extension, his hips) off of the damned sword spinner and turn around before forcefully slamming him to the dirt below. It was even easier than usual to grab and lift his opponent, since he was already lifted somewhat and Fas hadn’t needed to duck so low. Still, he crouched somewhat as he grabbed Tres in order to keep his head out of range. If he was going to try to pick up Tres there was no reason to leave himself too exposed. If Tres wanted to punch his head he probably still could, but he’d had to bend down some to do so and that meant he would be unbalanced.

It wasn’t clean or pretty, but it would do for now. Fas was starting to care less about not getting hit and more about hitting Tres. Once he threw Tres down he would stand ready over him, trying to decide if it would be worth it to dive on him and hit him some more.

{Post Four of Ten}

Fasumbra’s blood was pounding in his ears at the moment. He was getting too worked up, too aggressive. He felt that… thing within him beginning to growl, that darkest side of him that he relied on in that time he was a soldier. The side of him that was terror incarnate, a monstrous persona that tore men apart and laughed as he did it. It was taking all his willpower to restrain himself, to keep himself from reverting back.

Mana Sense warned Fas of the use of magic coming from his opponent, so for a moment he paid closer attention to Tres. He didn’t see anything, and Tres wasn’t moving out of his guard-

“HNNGH?!”

Fas was shocked to see the long blade suddenly spurt forth from Tres’ arm, and he knew that he likely couldn’t stop himself from moving forward because of his momentum. But, he was already bending over some, right? So he hunched over even further hurriedly, the sudden change in positioning making the impromptu edge hit him almost straight down on his shoulder instead of running him through in the sensitive spot Tres had aimed for. The Shigtoh armor wasn’t designed to protect him from blades, and this was a piercing strike. The tough fabric and its slightly loose fit made the blade skip barely more than an inch upwards as it connected before it went through as though nothing were there.

That inch was enough to keep the blade from going directly down inside him, instead forcing the point to go through the muscle of his shoulder and then cut down his back. Fasumbra growled in pain as the point sank into his body and then down his back along the shoulderblade. The grab he went for was much less precise now, as he instead grabbed Tres around his upper calf, a grip that would be much more difficult to throw him from. But that matter very little at the moment. Fas wasn’t in the mood for hugs anymore.

The pain shot through Fasumbra like lightning, and his grin turned into a gnashing of teeth. It hurt like hell, but Fasumbra was used to it. Tres would probably feel an unusual amount of resistance in Fas’ flesh, and in fact it was because of the scar tissue covering Fasumbra’s body in a patchwork pattern. Of course it didn’t help him at all defensively, but it was an interesting detail. But, the pain… the pain made something inside him break free. Fasumbra decided that he was quite tired of playing games and being hurt, all the while trying to maintain control of himself. So… he stopped trying to.

“VERMIN!”

Fasumbra’s voice suddenly changed, a gruff roar of hatred filling the air. He still had Tres’ leg, and the man had apparently hoped the protruding blade would stop Fasumbra. It absolutely didn’t, especially not now. But his shoulder was injured, perhaps with the katar stuck through the upper-most muscles if he was unlucky, and he didn’t have the right grip anymore to throw Tres. Further, as stated, he was rather past wanting to give Tres a friendly bodyslam to the ground. Fasumbra, this vicious side of him, wanted to make Tres hurt very badly at the moment.

As he shouted, a light flashed in his right hand. Suddenly, a shining dagger was in it, curved cruelly like a scimitar and without a handguard to speak of. Without a moment’s hesitation his right hand plunged the unreal blade into the back of Tres’ left kneecap and pulled downward as hard as he could. Assuming Tres wasn’t all crystal, the damage would be catastrophic for the leg as it tore into the tendons in the back of the knee before ripping downward and neatly splitting his calve into two pieces. In the back of his mind, Fasumbra thought that the gesture was something Sokoya might enjoy, as he was carving Tres’ leg into even servings.

Madly, Fasumbra Langardo began to laugh as he tore at Tres’ leg. After the downward rip he would immediately pull back from Tres, but maintained his grip on the dagger as he did so. Fasumbra pulled hard again, this time to the side with a twist of his wrist, hoping to destroy the muscles there even more. But it was no real loss if he couldn’t get the blade loose. Perhaps Tres would appreciate the gift. The sensation of the Katar pulling free from his shoulder, tearing at muscles or not, meant little to Fasumbra now. Even if Tres had cut his entire arm off, with only one leg left Tres wasn’t going to be able to overcome him.

“You aren’t bleeding enough yet, mongrel filth. I’ll enjoy using your ******** entrails to decorate this place. What do you say?” Fasumbra was not himself anymore. The Darkness was in control now, and Tres was entering the world of nightmares.

Abilities Used Wrote:

Mana Remaining

12 out of 15

Name: Blade of Light

Type/Target Light-based Weapon Spawn/Self

Cost: Small = 2 mp; Medium = 3 mp; Large = 4 mp; Anime Large = 5 mp

Description: Fas generates a shining representation of any weapon, made of light-magic. The weapon functions much the same as a normal weapon, except that it is fragile and can be broken completely by a heavy blow. However, the weapon deals greater damage against darkness/shadow/”evil” opponents.

Death of Gods, Doom of Men [*]

Fasumbra spent decades being trained as more than a mere soldier, and the effects of that training show both mentally and physically. His mind is sharpened to a razor edge, capable of quickly and calmly discerning the flow of battle and instinctively forming a plan of action. His body has been forged into an instrument of death and destruction, combining strength, durability, and swiftness.

Mentally, Fasumbra is highly intelligent, observant, and trained to react in an instant to a threat. His knowledge of fighting techniques and strategies is extensive, so he will very rarely be surprised by an opponent’s course of action. Of course this knowledge only extends as far as “vanilla” techniques, so unique fighting styles/strategies (or lack thereof) can still take him off guard. This includes knowledge of metaphysical abilities; unless his opponent is already known to him he obviously cannot discern their supernatural capabilities, so he must always be wary of the potential for a surprise.

In the area of strength he excels overall (as stated in the Physical Build section), but in particular his arms and hands are extremely strong. Summary: Fasumbra’s arms are where his greatest strength lies, although certainly not his only strength.

When it comes to durability Fasumbra is far from invincible, as his scarred body will attest. Thanks to those years of warfare and intensive training, Fas is capable of dealing with pain much more easily than most. This higher pain threshold comes along with general toughness and resistance to damage, such as the strengthened bone structure martial artists typically develop. Summary: Fasumbra has a high pain tolerance, and a body which has adapted to better withstand punishment.

While not a fighter based entirely on speed, Fasumbra is still very quick. Reaction speed gained through training; mercurial body positioning and footwork; and running speed that one would expect from a special operations solider. Summary: Fas is quicker than one would expect, and can at least keep up with all but the fastest opponents.

{Post Five of Ten}