Welcome to Gaia! ::

Still amazed that he'd made it to the second round, Mooo rolled his shoulder out as he made his way into the now-familiar arena, tilting his head side-to-side, again holding an appreciative fist up for the few people cheering for him. The number had increased slightly since his last match, and it was a good confidence booster after the really shitty weekend he'd had in the valley a few weeks ago--getting tossed by dragons, his hands nearly set on fire by some angry guy, and getting almost no sleep--but now he was back to his usual grind in the tournament, and if he made it through this round, he'd be one step closer to that mountain o' gold.

Stopping just inside the entrance of the arena, he stretched down, bending his knees, grabbing his ankles, and then straightening his legs out to stretch them some. Letting go, he leaned back, tucking his fists into the small of his back, then gyrated his shoulders again, then his hips--he'd need to be pretty comfortable for this fight, since this match might turn into a mudslinger like last time.

Now done stretching, Mooo suppressed a groan as his opponent showed up in--oh, the hell with it, the "stylishly flaming" joke was obvious to begin with. ******** pyrokinetics--Mooo'd been set on fire in his last match and it wasn't a feeling he really enjoyed. He'd also been set on fire back in the valley, so it seemed like that was how God was gonna play "******** with Mooo" for the next couple months--by repeatedly finding new ways to set him on fire.

Hands down, Mooo walked toward the center of the arena, waiting for his opponent to come up in the center--if he was planning to at all. Mooo's skin tingled in annoyance, not toward his opponent, but mainly in the worry that he was gonna get lit up again. He wasn't even taking stance at this point--if flames shot out toward him, he was gonna ******** bolt--at least to wherever was safe and legal within the arena.

Mooo was never one to try and kill his opponent anyways--even though he had a testy atmosphere about him, he offered his opponent a broad grin and gave Blade a firm but friendly handshake. "Same," he said with a nod. "Anything in particular I should watch out for, just to keep things civil?"

Mooo'd had bad experiences with people who suddenly went into murderous rages after taking punches to the stomach, or losing teeth, or seeing their own blood--which usually made things a lot less "jab jab duck weave follow-through upper" and more "AAAGH AAAAAGH GET HIM OFF ME HE'S BITING ME." Since his opponent seemed like a level-enough guy, Mooo figured asking wouldn't hurt.

This time he couldn't help it--Mooo's groan told that he'd heard the exact same phrase from countless people. Whatever thoughts he'd had of keeping it civil were temporarily replaced by a burning desire (no pun intended) to punch the guy square in the mouth, on the charge of daring to use an already overused phrase.

Staying where he was, Mooo's feet moved only slightly shoulder-width apart, his fists tucking up into their usual tight upright stance, his elbows tucked in to his body, his hands hanging just under his jawline, close-in for easier defense. His opponent had bladed weaponry--nothing he hadn't dealt with before, but he figured he'd better play it safe instead of just rushing in.

Well, as safe as Mooo usually played it.

Tucking his head down and lowering his center of gravity, Mooo started forward in a sudden burst, his mass propelled by strong legs, the ground cracking on his initial dash to try and close distance with Blade. He wouldn't let his opponent set the pace--if he could allow it, he wouldn't allow his opponent the space to think between the beats of his attack.

One of the advantages of tight upright stance is that it allowed one to curl up into an effective, yet mobile guard with incredible ease. This was what Mooo did, namely as he saw Blade do his flashy spinny thing. Something that looked like a gout of flame left Blade's leg upon completion of the kick, so Mooo tucked his head down, his eyes still slightly tilted up, his arms, elbows still tucked in, moving forward to shield his face and the top of his head, hands still balled into fists.

The flash was bearable but still distracting through his arms, causing Mooo to stumble for a moment--a moment long enough for the concussive force of the explosion to send him tumbling off his feet backwards. His chin still tucked to his chest, Mooo quickly rolled back up to a stand, mostly unhurt and nonplussed, lunging through the smoke of the explosion while hardly missing a beat.

As Mooo came out of the smoke, his clothes having a few minor singes and scuffs along with stains of ash and dirt, he saw Blade spinning like a top, slinging out more of those vicious Athlete's Foot-style blasts. He only really had one option at this point: keep going forward.

Tucking his arms up tighter against his head, he closed his eyes and barrelled forward, his lowered body dodging the first blast by dumb luck--but not the explosion it made shortly after. Still tucked and curled, the explosion launched Mooo toward Blade, the second and third blasts pushing him slightly off-course until he landed with a hard thud--as he was curled up, once he hit the ground he was able to tumble to a shaky stand, now not two feet in front of Blade, a triumphant grin on his face as if to say "what now?"

His opponent was doing everything he could to keep Mooo from getting in close--something that told Mooo one of two things.

Either 1- his opponent wanted to keep things at a distance because he didn't want to get into a hitting match or 2- his opponent thought that a lightshow would make Mooo go "ooh, ahh" and not expect the old "from behind the curtain" trick.

Mooo's hands were up still, fists covering most of his face, able to see from between his arms, the heat annoying and disorienting to a slight degree but nothing he couldn't handle with a little effort. Sweat ran down his forehead, face, and arms momentarily before being swallowed up by the ******** wasn't even giving him the chance to sweat!

Oh well.

When the going gets tough, the tough decide to give some wannabe distance fighters a taste of their own medicine.

Sucking in as deep a breath as he could manage, Mooo shifted his weight back slightly on his right foot, turning his hip slightly in that direction so he could get better rotation on what he had planned. Lifting his right heel up, he chambered his right fist down at his hip, still keeping his left fist up to cover up as best as he could. If Blade could see through the Old Faithful of flames before him, that would take some skill--so it'd be pretty tough to see this one coming.

Turning sharply on the ball of his right foot, Mooo executed a perfect Jofre Uppercut--transferring strength from his foot, to his heel, up to his knee where the turn stalled a moment, then up to his hip which generated most of the punching power. His upper body turned from that, his shoulder giving a forward jerk as he dipped down, scooping his fist into the ground with a solid impact--this was the same punching power that sent people through cars and made full-grown dragons want him off them ASAP.

His fist tore into the ground, shifting the direction of the flamespout, tilting in Blade's direction--but that wasn't going to be the attack itself. The initial impact came from just the first two inches of his fist burying itself into the ground. As he continued the torque of his hip, driving in up to three inches down his forearm from his wrist, he squared his stance, locking his shoulder and elbow into a tight right angle as he ripped his fist--and several massive chunks of rock--upward from the ground, sending them through and around the fiery tower toward Blade.

As he completed the movement of his upper, Mooo's fist went straight up, then back, rather than moving back down to chamber again, as he started to juke to his left, heading around the now-tilted-toward-Blade tower of flame behind the temporary shield of ground-debris.