Not Jak Okay Wrote:
[4]
It didn't really matter what the orc had found so ludicrous as to begin chortling to himself and discard his weapon. Arrogance or impatience, the recipe for his death was now at a medium-high temperature and ready to serve up fresh and hot.
Omi had been contemplating a means to "pierce" heavily armored and weightier foes when an absurd idea came to him some rounds ago. Whom was it again? Ah yes, Team Mountains or something; golems, a troublesome sort he'd need to penetrate the skin thereof. Then there were the odd sword arts of Rance in the first round he got to witness in retrospective; throwing his greatsword of all things...
This was a combination technique, of not one, two, but four of his abilities. Each offsetting another's weaknesses to create a final product he was fairly confident would reduce your average man's skeletal structure bone fragments and flesh spaghetti even through magical arcane-asbsurdum plate mail.
What a shame! The golem never made their appearance that round and, any victim he's fought since would be too fragile to survive. A disqualification in the making.
However, this assassin seemed meaty enough to handle a far weaker variant, and wasn't a part of the competition proper! Both problems solved!
As Loppa pushed himself off the ground, the last normal image his eyes would've been greeted by was the smaller man's face twisting into a distorted sort of open toothy smile. There it was. The signal.
First ingredient: The Crimson Snakeblade. His club of snakes, of course, it was already processed and at the ready.
Second ingredient: Flames. The real kind, not Moonblade's irrelevant acidic imitation. He could cause them to spew from his club at will, and will he did, igniting into air blurring temperatures in but an instant.
Third Ingredient: Snakespeed Dash?
Just enough time had passed for his legs to be ready for another 80 MPH burst. However, this time... wasn't a use of it to run away.
Fourth Ingredient: The green snake projectile from earlier?
Mix it all up in the kitchen and you got:
Omi Barsait would lurch forward then almost instantly halt himself, as there was no implicit restriction to how far along the 5' increment he could go -- all the while swinging his "sword" horizontally far outside of the reach of the green orc, halting himself just as the tip would line up with his foe. A green charge flooded through the snake bouquet before his hands let loose at the height of his body lurching ahead.
Moonblade's infantile burning sensation on his arm did not compare to the pain Omi was now in-- muscle and tissue in his legs tearing apart with the sudden boost in momentum then unnatural breaks kicked on, blood seeping through his burst flesh into his pant legs. Yet, launched at roughly 80 MPH was the 53” long [Crimson Snakeblade], itself 10 lbs-- flowing ahead like an unnaturally fast javelin. Its payload: the green bowling ball of death from before, [Metallica], once a mere 50 MPH but now being impaled along. All aflame. Gunning right for that obese beast's ajar jaw midst-tackle dive.
He called this [Snakeway of the Crimson King]. Even if you were padded by lots of muscle and thick flesh and wrapped up tight in high-quality armor, the force alone would make you wish you were never born. It didn't matter how "tough" you were or if you grit your teeth, taking that much mass at that velocity with 3rd-degree burn imparting temps was a surefire recipe for a cooked victim.
And that'd been against a stationary target on the defensive, this moron actually dove towards him facefirst!