Glacier vs Make Waves [Page 4]

Gustave Aodhart: Tragedy! 1pm, The Ruined Studio.

It felt something was off when his parry of the Mace did not force him to brace in the slightest. It was as if the swing was empty, hollow, and without heart, as though Gustave should have been able to see that it was swung without strength but simply couldn't. So it came to be that he was tossing his own mace off to the side, finding his sweep completely halted by some unseen magical force.

At this point Max's hooking was pointless, Gustave's shield would have dropped limp around his elbow, but it didn't matter. He couldn't move his right fist up in front of his face in time. He could only lean himself slightly to ensure the blow did not land flush, but it would land. A wave of force that could shove a parked car up to five feet was more than enough to absolutely launch an average sized man like Gustave. He'd be lucky if his neck weren't broken from this, especially so since the entire thing was focused directly into his face with almost no other part of his body being targeted.

What does that mean? Gustave should be dead, is what, but one hopes to be a bit more durable in a competition of superhuman monsters. So rather than a loud, sickening pop, Gustave is simply flung back and away from Maximos a goodly distance. We'll call it twenty feet. Since the fighters had been fighting in about the middle of the ring, this puts Gustave landing somewhere five feet beyond the boundary. When he landed, he did so on his stomach while his shield was sent careening somewhere far away and hopelessly out of reach.

He was disoriented and his nose was bleeding. His eyes were bloodshot and while he tried to stagger up to his feet immediately his just fell flat again. He tried to say something rather rude, but he wasn't able to get it out of his mouth just yet. Maybe in a few seconds, he'd be able to scramble back into the ring.

Mechanical Stuff Wrote:

> Arcane Power: 1 > > Gain: 1 > > Loss: 1 > > > > Spell Cast: Magic Damage Sustained, -1 AP then +1 AP next round. > > show spoilerhide spoiler

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Maximos Wrote:

**The Wheel of Moderately Priced Goods | Ruined Studio - Some time after 1pm || - Decrescendo**

Maximos was not a human being. He had never been a human being. That wasnt a turn of phrase about his feelings on the value of life, it was a simple fact. Humanoid perhaps, but that form seemed to be a multiverse staple. What Maximos knew, and what his race was created to do, was hunt and kill. Shadowcraft came hand in hand with learning how to walk. Combat came shortly after. One of his first and only hobbies. In this moment he was riding a battle high. His heart beat in his chest like a war drum, he could taste the phantom tang of blood on his lips. He hadnt processed yet that Gustave had let his shield go, only that there was no resistance on his left arm and was ready to move in for another swing.

His opponent was sprawled out twenty or so feet away. He had done some sort of twist, turn, flip, or roll mid flight to land him on his stomach. Max could smell the blood dripping from the other mans' face. Normally that would have been enough to send him into a frenzy, but Gustave wasnt rolling and performing a kip up. His hands werent up on a block, he was sprawled out. Instincts told Maximos to run over, leap, pounce, finish it.

He didnt.

Where there was a rictus grin, there was now a set of flat lips with no real expression. The fire in his gut faded. Maximos considered himself a man greater than his base instincts. A monster maybe, but not rude. *You can do anything in the world that you like, burn it down even, but you must never be rude.* In his heart, Max felt betrayed. Perhaps by his own impulses. He had expected he was fighting a dragon. He'd found creatures of the sort before and even won, albeit with help, he thought...well, it didnt matter what he thought. Actions mattered more. The soft blue glow in his right eye faded to a pale white, blue wisps fading away leaving what looked a thin trail of smoking coming from his eye. Soul Sight. It let him see Gustave was still alive.

Max took a step forward, or rather he jerked awkwardly in place but didnt move at all because the shadows had tied his feet to the ground. The black pool beneath him dispelled and he advanced taking casual steps toward Gustave. He had a slight limp on his left side, he could feel the thrum of pain above his knee and now on his knee from the most recent sweep kick. The two pains swirled together as one now. His stance was nothing, not guarded or special just a walk. He couldnt help but looked disappointed but he tried his best not to. He shook out his wrists as if he was trying to air dry his hands after using a public sink, Dementia Pugilistica dissolved like dry leaves crunched in large hands and its tiny flicks faded into so much black mist before they hit the ground. He kept Mjolnir in his left, its head hung from his fingers.

He walked directly out of the ring, as if he'd forgotten or never really noticed there was supposed to be a cordoned off area in the first place. He just stepped right through the construction tape, and then paused for a moment as one of the cones supporting it fell over and he had to slip his foot free. The Might of the Shadowfather, that had surged in his left arm faded leaving the arm feeling very sore and numb.

"I apologize Mr. Aodhart.", he said once he was close enough to be heard without raising his voice. His voice was kind though his face hadnt yet pulled together that charming smile. "Those weapons werent meant to be used on humans, I had assumed with your eyes and scales -" Excuses were a horrible poison. Max closed his mouth mid speech and then shook his had. " - It doesnt matter what I thought. That was wrong of me. Not very sporting, no not very sporting at all." If Gustave was on his feet, Maximos would just approach and give him a look over. If he hadnt yet scrambled together then he would lean down and offer him a hand up, and then give him a look over. You could tell a few things just by looking at a man. If they're head seems fuzzy and unfocused the brain damage is severe. If there is a visible crack in the skull - well that one is obvious. If his eyes dont dilate on exposure to the studio lights then they likely have a concussion but maybe not as immediately serious. Yes, bleeding from the nose and bloodshot eyes could also be an indicator of a hemorrhage but it was more likely indicator of the sheer force of impact. Granted it was difficult to tell because Gustave had red eyes and then they were bloodshot and depending on how badly the blood vessels had burst - Maximos' eye shifted from white to red. Bloodsight would let him see if blood was flowing to and from the brain or if there was a major hemorrhage and the man in front of him was about to be dead on his feet inside the hour without medical support.

He'd check as much as he could without touching, and important detail would be if any of the man's hair was matted by blood from a contusion or a small rupture perhaps from skidding across wreckage, or if just maybe he hit his head when he flipped/rolled/tumbled or otherwise landed on his stomach. What Maximos didnt do was attack. When this fight began they had introduced themselves and Maximos had taken a moment to arm himself. Gustave could have attacked then, and he didnt. And in turn Maximos wouldnt. Granted there were no time outs in matches, the clock was still running. Max just didnt care. Being proper came before winning some contest.

"I realize we've just met, but I've come to respect you Mr. Aodhart..." What was Max's grand stratagem? Well - it was nothing. He held up his open hand in front of Gustave's face. "Can you see this? How many fingers do you see?" He asked, as almost an aside. If Gustave decided to surprise attack, it was very likely going to hit cleanly and uninterrupted. Maximos would move his hands away from the Dragon Knight if he was told too, but he wouldnt stop the investigation until he was sure this man was not about to drop dead or he was forced back into a fight by an offensive action. "...for whatever that's worth. I'm honored to have fought you thus far. Your a tribute to your kind, and I wont take that from you or them. We can continue, if and when your actually able to continue."

If by some off chance he went through all of that without being attacked, or otherwise stopped Maximos would take a few steps back and then live up to his word exactly. He would stand, and wait for that moment. Or perhaps play tricks loop Mjolnir around his fingers, flipping it up in the air, catching it and then repeating it again with the hand he caught it with. The head of the axe crackled each time his fingers touched it. All this time Maximos had a sword at his back, he made no motions to draw or interact with it.

- 5/20 -

show spoilerhide spoilerNameless Armory - | 3/5 Sword Summons Available

Mjölnir –| Two Swords

Thunderstruck: Available

Spooky Mittens Wrote:

*TIMEBREAK STRIKER!*

Marcus vs Vahn

Just as Vahn began his charge, a challenger dropped onto the wheel from the light fixtures above. It was Gustave, Dragon Sorcerer, and infamous a**-grabber! He saw a golden opportunity that he simply couldn't pass up. To both save Marcus from a grizzly fate and also catch a hand full of those supple cheeks. Gustave was an expert at timing and spatial awareness, he was confident in his ability to drop in just behind Marcus on the spinning wheel.

"Marcus! Tuck in!"

He shouted at the top of his lungs as dropped around Marcus from the back, his right arm sneaking in front of his team-mate with his shield strapped across it. His shield sprang to life with a crimson red glow that projected the appearance of a giant dragon scale. WIth both Gustave's body and Marcus' bracing against the impact, and the arcane spell Dragon Scale allowing the shield to mitigate the supernatural power behind the blow, Gustave was confident that he and Marcus could counter this spin together, allowing the enormous blade to deflect off the surface of the shield while only denting the face and cracking the wooden back. After all, it was still a huge ********' sword.

The plan following this was for Gustave to open his shield arm and let Marcus sneak in behind the path of the strike, while shooting his left hand down to take a nice handful of Marcus' buttocks.

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Vahn Fah Wrote:

Better Than Gore Wrote:

**The Wheel of Moderately Priced Goods | Ruined Studio - Some time after 1pm || - Prelude to Second Movement**

Max saw the glint of steel in the broken studio's lights and it became a single crystal clear focus. The sound of steel leaving a scabbard was like the haunting voice of a long lost lover on the wind and Maximos was taken by it.

In a single moment, everything changed.

Gustave had been skilled before, Maximos respected the man because of the way he fought with a purity of purpose and intelligence. The glow of the red scales was gone but sure as any magic Gustave Aodhart underwent a transformation. It was like watching a master painter pick up a brush, dab it in paint, and then kiss the canvas. A simple act, but something of such weight and power. There was a comfort in the way he moved, even injured. A familiarity that was captivating. Max felt a pressure in chest. He was so enraptured in the moment that he hadnt even realized he wasnt breathing.

"Five fingers, Maximos." Gustave finally answered, several moments delayed from when the question was asked. He was ready to begin again. "One courtesy deserves another. Come."

Maximos' breath came out measured and even. He nodded in acquiescence. Somewhere in the interim the smile had faded from his lips. Not because he wasnt happy but because he was, for once in such a long time, about to take this seriously. Every fighter should hope for a chance like this. They should pray for the day they look up at a tower of unbeatable foes and the opportunity to grow. If a does not test the soul and push the spirit and body to it's limits or past - what value does it have? In terms of power, perhaps Maximos could have overwhelmed Gustave but that was absolutely and entirely meaningless. His last blow haunted him like a terrible blot.

Max knew of many weapons, but he considered himself a swordsman. He would fight as swordsman.

He flipped Mjolnir so the handle rest in his palm and then flipped it into the air. A bolt of white zapped it in mid and it vanished as if carried away by it. Max reached up to his face, and calmly removed his glasses slipping them inside his jacket pocket and then he rolled up his right sleeve. About his wrist was a bracer decorated with black dragon scale. He had summoned it and matching shin guards at the start of the fight. Just above the bracer was his FIGHTER - the bracelet accessory given during HoH to competitors to keep track of match locations and activate STRIKER assists. It also kept a track of Maximos' vitals in case of death and subsequent white card. Max keyed a few buttons, the bracelet blinked on and then off again. Maximos had served as an HoH Judge, and an eliminator in past rounds. Mr. Noah had granted him and the others who had similar titles special permissions. Max accessed those, entering into Judge Functions, and he disabled the Life Signs Monitor. The act sent a note to the judges. Max was killable, without any repercussions for the duration of this match. In a few seconds, a similar indicator would appear on Gustave's.

Then he slipped his thumb under the FIGHTER, pulled it off and threw it outside of the ring. Without the bracelet on his person, he would be unable to call or receive STRIKER assists. In the same motion as his right hand extended, he snapped his fingers. Gustave would hear a sharp hiss as if a sword had just be viciously pulled from its scabbard and he would see as 5 jet black long swords shot from Maximos' shadow like arrows and sang as they cut the air and then hung between Maximos and Gustave as if on an invisible sword rack. Max held out his index, middle and ring finger on his left hand and quickly swiped to his left like a conductor detailing a movement, at the same time he drew his right hand back slowly, index and middle finger extended, as if tracing it along a flat surface. Three swords shot left dissolved into nothing, the remaining two blades spun in mid air until they were parallel with each other with their flats facing each other and their points facing Maximos' left. He made his right hand flat, extending out all five fingers and the two blades touched in mid air and then melded together into one solid weapon that hovered just over his right hand.

Despite it's magical construction this blade, known as a Nameless in recognition of Maximos' first sword - the Nameless - was a long sword just slightly over four feet long from tip to tip. It's blade was just shy of three and a half feet long and two inches wide leading into a cross-guard the ends of which were detailed like fans and razor sharp. The grip of the weapon was barely shy of ten inches and it's pommel ended in a scent stopper. The blade looked like it was carved from a single sheet of obsidian as opposed to forged and assembled but this was magical cosmetics at best. As a whole the dimensions of the sword hovering in the air in front of Maximos were very similar to the apparent dimensions of the sword sheathed and worn at his back - but he created this and did not move to draw that one. Nameless blades could be controlled at a distance or launched as a projectiles - none of that would be happening here. By combining two Maximos had summoned a sword with the cutting edge capable of piercing light armor and the durability of an average piece of Gaian steel. And that is all it would serve as.

Next, he brought his right hand up as if he were about to grip the sword but stopped. His arm began to twitch, then shiver, and finally spasm as if possessed. Fat wet lines of dug from the flesh of his hand and seeped through his clothing, writhing like worms and snapping at the open air in a frenzy. This lurid infection raced up from his hand, to his wrist all the way up to his shoulder and collar bone. The wet digits slapped against his face and tasted his clothes, before Maximos gritted his teeth and strained to fight for some semblance of control and lock his arm in place. The fat wormlike protrusions laid down and melded together, solidifying into bands. Maximos was left with a jet black gauntlet, vambrace, rerebrace and pauldron that ran up his right arm ending in an sharp black fin beside the right side of his face. The metal was burnished and faded, it did not reflect the light very well. Seemingly every inch of the metal was covered in splashes and etchings of arcane script. Randomly placed across the gauntlet and vambrace were small lumps one could only barely see when the light hit them. The largest of these was visible at the back of the hand almost like the back of the gauntlet itself were domed in some way. The piece of armor had no fasteners or straps of any kind but seemed to be either attached magically or perhaps even surgically.

This was the Hand of Serenity. One of the greatest tools any servant of the Shadowfather could wield. It was a weapon of great an terrible power. A horrific thing and nightmarish against practitioners of heavy offensive magic. But they had already gone down that road and Max held no desire for where that lead. Today the Hand of Serenity was armor, unless it became necessary for it be more. It was strong enough to withstand heavy blows without breaking and it made his arm much the same, while being light enough not to get in the way.

Nothing was going to get in the way.

Max's fingers wrapped around the floating Nameless and carried it down, moving his left hand in behind his right as he slipped into position. His right foot slid forward as he positioned the hilt at his left hip, with sword pointing down and forward at an angle almost matching the angle of his upper leg. The sword was double edged, and the back/false edge pointed upwards. He kept he majority of his weight on his front foot with back foot ready to spring forward if necessary. He looked ready to begin, but he hesitated.

"You are right of course, Mr. Aodhart. One good turn does deserve another, but while I am in deficit, I ask you permit me one more good turn in good faith." Max would look Gustave directly in the eyes, over his floating sword and arm. His tone was cordial but his eyes were serious, alive and attentive. "You've drawn steel. I ask you use it to the fullest. Spare me nothing, show me everything your years have taught you. I've made sure you'll suffer no consequences in this tournament should I fall. Please do me this honor." And he would bow his head in respect.

Maximos would wait for an answer. But he had a feeling he already knew what it would be. And once he heard it he would nod one time. And then, as requested, he would come. There was no complex strategy at play in his opening move. Gustave had speed, Maximos had reach. His only plan was to probe that defense. Simply put, he would thrust. He would bring the Nameless up and forward, pushing with his left foot and aiming a quick strike at Gustave's abdomen. Maximos did not foolishly over extend himself, pretending for a moment that Gustave did not have armor, this strike would penetrate a few inches at worst. This left him room to maneuver. And at the sound of steel kissing steel, it had begun.

- 6/20 -

show spoilerhide spoilerNameless Armory - | 0/5 Sword Summons Available

Nameless –| Two Swords

Hand of Serenity –| Three Swords (Dormant)

Spooky Mittens Wrote:

**Location: The Wheel of Moderately Priced Goods Time: *12:55 PM*** [Behold, O Bearer Mine, the lie that makes itself true.](https://youtu.be/DqdyyxdZ4cQ)

There was something to be said for foresight. It was oft thought of as this nigh on, mystical level of awareness that was only attainable to only the most dedicated. Or perhaps it was something only wished for by the most foolish. Regardless, it was not something Vahn had ever sought after in all dozens of decades on Gaia. It was not something he ever thought of as being useful for someone who lived in the heat of the moment, so to speak.

Victor had taught him the error of his thinking quite dearly of course, and that lesson had come at great personal cost.

However. Foresight was lacking in the here and now, as Marcus was joined presumably by an ally at the last possible moment that one could even pop up in. "!!!" There were not exactly introductions made between both teams at the start after all; this wasn't exactly a traditional iteration of Heaven or Hell, Noah had made that much clear to him back in the Hawk.

Even lacking the novelty of FIGHTERS, it was clear to Vahn that a STRIKER was being performed. He remembered all too fondly how Silver had fared in his attempt, after all, it had not been that long ago! Yet, for all the remarkable reactive speed Marcus had showcased, there was none of that here for the Murmillion.

The course had been set and the completion of the journey would be had. Which is why it was so unfortunate that he had not the foresight to think another would join in, perhaps, an unfortunate bystander of causality itself. His right eye narrowed *even* as the swing of the monstrous sword continued, *even* as the newcomer raised his shield before Marcus. He watched all this slowly playing out *even* as his course of action never wavered.

Why should it have?

Zirandubar. A massive hunk of mithril, nothing more than a giant sharpened piece of metal that had no business being called a sword. It was once the dreaded weapon of a genetic experiment by the name of Tzenidaar. A beast that lived only to feed and steal from others...yet in the end, it served him no better. He had laid claim to Zirandubar and with it the power it contained. Tzen had often spoken of the blade as if it were alive, and for the briefest of moments, that sentience would flash through Vahn's mindscape. *This--!!!!*

As crimson light came to be upon the shield before him, so too did a dull sheen of moonlight seem to come over the edge of the blade just as it crashed into the defending men. The sound of splintering wood would not be the only sound to fill the void; if Marcus could even hear anything at this point.

An echo of immovable meeting unstoppable burst outward, causing the studio audience to catch their breath in unison; the announcer shielding what passed for eyes at the exchange.

The projection and protection of the Dragon Scale would have been sundered in two, horizontally as Zirandubar tore through the arcane ability, slamming into that shield with all the force of its wreckless weight behind it but nothing else. Both the properties of whatever the shield had and Zirandubar's own effects had seemingly canceled one another other out.

Regardless, this was not a chef's knife made for delicate cuts- it was a blacksmith's hammer for all intents and purposes and both men were simply in the way. A hammer that to the wielder weighed no more than eight pounds, but to them- it might as well have been the weight of the world.

As Zirandubar made contact, for the briefest of moments, the flare out also caused the true weight of the sword to be known to its wielder, catching him off guard and causing him to release the thing completely from his grasp. Teeth gritted, he caught the briefest glimpse of Marcus, slipping out somehow despite everything, in his peripheral vision. Tch! Compensating for the rotations of the stage and keeping his opponent in view- it was all continuously taxing and no easy feat, yet there was Marcus, having perfectly accounted for it all with nary a worry in the world. It was almost damned admirable, if not also immensely annoying.

Marcus came dashing in, covering the distance rapidly even as the stage continued to spin, studio cameras having difficulty in keeping the action in the frame at this point as well. As Vahn had swung Zirandubar one-handed, from right-to-left, once it had made the impact, his lead arm would have been somewhat across his body after having let go of the hilt. His guarding arm (the left, wearing the Hand) would have still been up and close to his side, talons flexed.

Marcus' blow would strike true for all that, and it was a combination of Vahn's equipment and his inhuman toughness that stopped the strike from completely crippling the fighter. "Hrrkkk--!" the ends of his jacket flapped back and outward violently even as his right eye widened. Whatever impact the vest could not absorb, Vahn's own hardwon durability would address, with the increase of impact from Marcus' arm growth actually leaving enough of a mark to bruise underneath it all.

All the while, the surface of ANEWWHEEL continued to spin rapidly, only just beginning to finally slow down.

show spoilerhide spoiler10/20 Marcus vs Vahn

*In summary: Spin coming to a halt (delay in this post due to STRIKER interruption) Heat x1 build up via Blood of Efreet (build up delayed due to STRIKER interrupt). Balance maintained via Art of the Kyonuske during movement. Dwarven Enchantment - Cleaving Might and Elven Enchantment - Featherweight: combined with Dwarven Enchantment - Torn Magicka used to smash Zirandubar through Dragon Scale and into both Marcus and Gustave (resulting in Dragon Scale and Torn Magicka negating one another, and Cleaving Might having no effect as per Judge Ruling). Abnormal Toughness used as reasoning for limiting blunt force damage. Limiter on Hand of Efreet; 3 posts remain (delay in decay due to STRIKER interruption).*

Better than Gore Wrote:

Gustave Aodhart: A Grim Task 1pm, The Ruined Studio.

He took in a deep breath as he listened to Max's words. Sucked the air in as much as he could, and held it for a few brief moments. Silence fell over the pair, and Gustave finally broke it with a sharp sigh. Long and slow, he breathed out with a heavy heart. How long had it been since he was made to kill someone? How long since he'd made that vow to never do so again? Now here he stood with a creature several orders of magnitude more powerful than himself, asking the sorcerer to kill him.

What an absurd thing to ask. Gustave thought to himself as he took in a breath to speak. "I can appreciate what you're trying to do. Where you're coming from." Thoughts of the past crept to the front of his mind. "But that path doesn't lead anywhere. I'll oblige, but only to show you what I mean." Gustave knew that a death in this fight wasn't necessarily a permanent state. It was still not something he ever did lightly.

Then they began. Maximos came in with a longsword, Gustave's most favored and beloved weapon, and aimed to give point with his weapon low. This isn't an opening strike that Gustave would have used, as a thrust was not nearly as safe as one might imagine it to be. Not with a sword anyway, where your reach is significantly reduced as compared to something more traditionally associated with thrusting like a spear. The difference in the length of Gustave's sword compared to Maximos' wasn't all that much in the grand scheme of things. The counter to this move was simple.

Gustave had to wait for Maximos to be within ten feet before he could really start to see what was happening in front of him. His vision was blurry, but with his Keen Senses, Gustave was able to compensate for this loss of clear sight to an acceptable extent. He could gauge the distance between himself and Max as well as if his vision was perfect, and seeing the sword from this range was no tall order. This is where things get complicated.

Measure. This is a term thrown around in martial arts where weapons are the focus. The measure of a man, the measure of his stroke. Essentially, measure was a distance that a fighter memorized as the span in feet where he knew he could reach his opponent with an attack. Gustave's reach with this Falchion was, roughly-speaking, eight feet from his back foot to the tip of his blade. This gave him a measure somewhere close to seven feet if he measures from his right foot to his opponent, at full extension.

Maximos was a few inches taller, and his weapon afforded him about nine extra inches of reach when gripped near the guard as one might normally do. His reach, measuring from the back foot, would be a few inches further than Gustave's in every measurable capacity, and so his overall measure would probably be closer to eight feet. Even at full extension, he could threaten Gustave without fear of reprisal; so why, then, did he give up his main advantage? Maximos approached into Gustave's reach with a half-lunge, keeping his body mostly loaded and ready to do something else. It was a tactic Gustave used often, baiting an opponent into acting and then capitalizing on that.

If Gustave did nothing, Max would simply be able to strike again and rush him down. If Gustave reacted to the sword, Max was still mostly loaded and ready to alter course. So what is a swordsman to do?

He didn't even think. Just as swiftly as Maximos himself, Gustave acted to intercept the thrust, planting his right heel into the floor and allowing his weight to start rocking backward. He turned his left wrist and began to lower his arm, pointing the tip of his sword at a slight bias towards the ground. This movement created an imaginary half-circle as drawn by the tip of the Falchion, putting the concaved clip at the tip of the weapon into the path of the longsword thrust. The weight from above coming into contact with Maximos' foible would afford Gustave leverage, even though his sword was being wielded one handed the short length and heft in the tip gave him very good superior leverage. When we say superior here, we don't mean "better" or "greater than", we mean "from above".

"Open with a cut." Gustave quipped, his baritone voice rolling flat and emotionless out of his mouth. A bit of advice for his foe in the future, that a cut was less easy to trap and gather than a thrust.

The shape of the Falchion's tip acted as a blade trap, though not a tremendously secure one. It ensured that Maximos would have to move his sword tip to the left or the right at a slightly downward angle, or to move his sword straight down, in order to escape this gathering technique, and if this came to pass, Gustave would be able to feel the sudden loss in pressure. This was the main function of a bind, to feed information to the swordsman through haptic sensation. Gustave would feel his opponent through his sword as he diverted the thrust and leaned his hips back slightly.

Mechanical Stuff Wrote:

> Arcane Power: 3 > > Gain: 1 > > Loss: 0 > > > > Spell Cast: Nattin!

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Maximos Wrote:

*TIMEBREAK STRIKER 2: The Exit*

Marcus vs Vahn

While there was a slight disruption in the swing Vahn had given, the sword was still continually in motion. A force to be reckoned with. Marcus managed to slip under Gustave's guard and out to the side while the stage was still rotating, leaving Gustave to take the blow like a champ.

*Cheeky ********] Gustave thought to himself in the split second after impact, when the world still seemed unreal and slow somehow. Then it all came crashing down. Seventy-five pounds. That is what this sword weighed, and up until the very moment of impact it was being wielded as though it were only 11% of that weight. Vahn big-man swung it, one-handed, in a wide arch, with the rotational force of the stage. While that rotation wouldn't add any power to the stroke, it would cause a problem for Gustave in just a moment.

As the blade crushed its way into the rim of Gustave's shield, it started to push his arm back with it first. This caused Gustave's arm to fold into his chest, rotating the shield around in the process to the brunt of the blade stroke swept the rest of the way across the metal face. Wooden splinters flew at first, but then as the inside of the shield cracked and shattered the rawhide backing caught most of those splinters.

Shield against the chest, now, and sword against shield, the tool carried it's momentum through, unfinished with the sorcerer as it forced his body to tilt. Two axes of force now worked opposite, one across the axis drawn from the edge to the spine of the club-sword, and the other following the angle of deflection caused by Gustave's ever-growing tilt. The period of contact was longer than one might have hoped, causing the shield-face to ripple and flex both from friction heat and from sheer force, and at the end of things the metal sheet buckled near the apex of the blow and formed a V-shaped nook for the edge to catch.

At this point, Vahn had already let go of the sword, but it carried Gustave off as it flung from his grasp. The rotational force of the stage had imparted a certain level of energy to Gustave which was previously being mitigated by the friction from his feet, but now that he had lost his footing and balance, he was experiencing the effects of this rotational force as he was flung from the stage, leaving the sword within only a step or two of where it has struck.

Gustave tumbled from the stage most ungraciously, now cradling his right arm which throbbed as if every bone inside had been vaporized. His forearm had been protected by several layers, and being thrown by the blow meant that it lost some of its potential energy elsewhere, but there was a very good chance that Gustave's right arm was at best fractured, and at worst shattered.*

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Vahn Fah Wrote:

Better Than Gore Wrote: