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Joe smith was indeed surprised by the gained ground of his opponent. However, the swords were an ever bigger surprise. Joe shifted on his feet, and pushed himself back again as the sword came up. However, he didn't get the chance to move far enough back before the tip cut through coat and vest.

But, there was the sound of metal scraping on metal, and underneath the coat and vest appeared shiny steel metal links. Joe looked down, and raised an eyebrow, while simultaneously reaching behind his back, and drawing out his own sword. It appeared to be hidden behind his backpack.

His sword would look much like sutii's. from a two and a half in base, to a one inch tip, it had a small cross guard on it, enough to be easily consealed yet still able to defend. He was in a defensive stance, the lighter now in a pocket.

That was how, that was what, that was not where.

This battleground was anything its visitors desired. Ruuvan gave no desires, and so it was quite literally....anything.

Chaos.

Ruuvan drew back his string, and the figure stood statuesque, still.

Had he requested wrong? Was Maximos just not available?

Without warning both arrows flew with deadly accuracy and lightning speed. Because if either man could or would kill the other these fights wouldnt have been nearly as enjoyable. These arrows would cut through anything in their path to reach their target, they would not bend, they would not break.

That strength would be their undoing.

Without warning, and with the frightening speed for which Maximos was famed the desk flipped violently upward.



THUD - THUD!

Both arrows impacted the desk even as it broke into a horizontal twist. Just as their heads breached its beautiful mahogany crafted body the very turn of the desk in mid air would turn divert them before they could exit it. With their target so very close both effects ignited, a windstorm boring a corkscrew hole in the furniture ripping it in twain while the second arrow scorched the pieces into a rain of burning embers.

It was quite a thing to see, if you were looking. Maximos was not.

His right hand slipped from the desk just as it met its grizzling end, and his left held his top hat in place atop his head, as he dashed beneath it and straight for the elf in question.

As always Maximos was adorned in black, in clothing that hadnt been seen in years. A black priest like jacket with a single zipper running from its high neck to its bottom. Black dress pants, two fingerless gloves, and a scarf trailing long in his wake, as if dragging the night behind the Shadow Warrior.

Shadow Warrior. Before Shadow. Before Reaper. Old Maximos.

Chaos ruled, and with each step the scenery drastically jumped. Desert. Forest. Cliff. Open Sky. Volcanic Ruin. And many more blinked by in an instant as Maximos feet drove him forward across the distance in what seemed like nothing more than a blink.

With a firm stomp, and a skid his boots sunk into grass yet again skidding against the snow, as he twisted at the hip to deliver a strong right fist straight toward the chest of one New Ruuvan with the wreckage of a fallen desk as his backdrop.

Joe, while his blade was preoccupied, noticed the left hand one coming down very quickly for his shoulder. It was indeed another surpirse, but not one that was totally unextpected.

He moved like lightning. His left hand shot up and would latch onto Stephen's right hand like a vice grip, his thumb jabbing into the tendon on the wrist, his fingers jabbing into the tendon's along the back of the hand. Simultaneously, his sword came across to parry the left hand sword of Stephens, though instead of just catching on the blade, it would ride the length of the blade down to the cross hilt, both hilts locking together.

As for the leg that was supposed to come up, Joe Smith steeled his gut for the kick, and allowed it to push him back. Yet, as he came back, his left hand, which was gripping Stephen's right hand, would slide along the hand, catch on the hand guard, and attempt to pull it with - of course, this had more bad in it than good.

If the pull was unsuccessful, Joe Smith would end up with a fairly gruesome gash in his left arm, or in his side, or anywhere above the rib cage. However, if he was successful, immedaitely on freedom, the sword would be flying up towards the higher reaches of the canyon behind him, hopefully locking itself in the rock.

The man was going on the defensive. Very nice. Stephen was pleased to see that this opponent knew how to take care of himself. But there was one fatal flaw in his plan - the fact that Joe had Sutiiven's right arm controlled and his left blade locked made it so that he was now occupied on both sides - leaving himself wide open to Sutii's kicks and giving his opponent ample time to react.

The preplanned front thrust didn't come, for instead, Stephen lifted his right leg up and struck the back of Joe's left hand with his knee - hard. Unless his vice grip was truly like a vice, the shock alone to the nerves would cause his body to react and open his hands (even if he didn't feel much pain from it.) With his right arm freed, Stephen would swiftly step in and bring his right hand blade across his body and face so that the pommel of the sword were facing Joe's face - followed in an equally rapid movement that sent said pommel straight into the man's face.

If successful, the man would most definitely be stunned for a moment, allowing Sutiiven to raise his right leg up and strike out in a side thrust kick. Hoping to capitalize on the backwards force, he would take his trapped left hand blade and wrench his opponents sword downward, tweaking his opponents wrist nerves and possibly disarming him. Baring that, he'd have the ample opportunity to bring back his left hand blade and release it from the lock, allowing him to regain control of the weapon for whatever purpose it would be needed for as the fight continued.

The knee coming up caught Joe's hand, yes - but not the back. Instead, Joe would release Sutii's right hand, allowing blood to flow back into spots where minor circulation was cut off, and it would slap the knee with the palm. And, Joe would also use the advantage of Stephen being up one one leg for a few heartbeats.

Joe's right leg would snap out, kicking towards the ankle, but more of a Pendulum kick (scythe kick, reverse kick, etc) and strike with the heel of the boot. Thick, hard and sturdy leather. But, he was coming in and around fast and hard, hoping to throw the boy off balance.

However, Joe's left hand had chambered itself subcounciously, and if Stephen had the Sight, he would see energy flowing around the hand, but then see it merge with the air, and then launching itself towards his stomach.

However, it would stop just short of the stomach, about an inch, and Sutii would feel the force of wind there to push him back - Two swords larger than Joe's 'machete' were more than enough reason to disatance himself from Sutii.


-Energy- 90%

Joe felt the blade connect - through coat, vest, newly discovered chainmail that was appearantly useless, and skin. He felt the metal grind on the bone of his chest, and he was forced to fall back. He rolled back, the Wind Punch already leaving his hand, and groaned loudly as he popped up, crouching with his left hand on his chest, blood flowing freely between the fingers and the large gash where he couldn't cover it.


Every breath was like fire - more than one of his rib bones had been slashed and had decided to lodge their claw like tips into his silly putty lungs.

He watched as the energy formed around Stephen, and could even see the trail of energy he had used to move back on. he could also see it be ripped apart by the Air Slash. With as much force as he could handle, he waited untill the glowing ripple of air was close enough, and forced himself upward. His sword fell from his hand, the lightweight blade shattering from the attack. Odd that it shoudl happen, but a well used blade might.

As he landed, his body dropped to it's knees, and his right hand slammed into the ground. Simultaneously, as large hand would appear to rip from the ground a few feet in front of Stephen, energy flowing around it, and spikes judtting out as soon as the first knuckle on the thumb was exposed. Not large, about two inches long and about four thick at the base.

Joe's breaths were coming in ragged, and his mind was whirling from the blood loss. His face was losing it's kind composure, mad rage taking over.

Other's had looked like that, especially with the scar that was still pink of freshly healed skin contorting like a snake.


Energy - 50%

And so rubber met flesh.

A wicked sort of grin spread across Maximos' pale as death features as a sharp elven nose poked out from between his two boots.

Away, away Ruuvan flew as gravity tugged the Shadow Warrior to the ground. He impacted with an all to familiar hollow thud, landing on his upper back. His legs smoothly pulling up into his chest before kicking forward again performing a quick kip, kicking up a weak gust of sand from the arena turf as he landed on his feet.

Ruuvan was already in motion, Maximos was ready. He had no real prepared stance to speak of, you could really only ever tell Maximos was ready by the look in his eyes that quitely said, "Bring it".

And it was broughten.

Thats more like it!

He exclaimed as Light embraced Ruuvan's hands. Was that part of the Elf's strategy? Luring out the old Shadowy incarnation of Maximos in order to give him an edge? Tricky. It was a good start, but he'd need more than an edge to bring Maximos down. Sure, light burned, it ached, but as long as it avoided direct contact with his "skin" he could steel himself through it.

His left arm immediately flew up impacting the outside of Ruuvan's right, shoving it into the path of the left making the two arms cross in a sort of X fashion. Ever careful to use his wrist and forearm not his exposed fingers, Ruuvan wasnt going to just give him time, he had to make it, fast. With a quick flick of the wrist he brought his hand beneath the apex of the X shoving both arms up, clearing on straight path.

He lunged forward, shoving off his left foot, gliding at the hip to send a stern straight for the hopefully now open center of Ruuvan's chest.

All the while a dry sizzle filling the air at the contact point between Ruuvan's arms and Maximos' a vein of black wafting off of his limb as it was scorched by the holy rays.

Crrrruuuunch!

Ruuvan's grip was solid and firm, as any good grip should be. But it was also dripping with light. Whether or not he meant it, he did not as much grip the arm as he did bite it. His fingers sunk like fangs into the hard shallow carapace boring 5 holes clean through the arm poking his fingers into the nothingness inside the shadow shell.

Maximos would have felt great pain if he could infact feel pain. Still out of muscle memory he winced sharply.

Yet his pain was not done. Ruuvan stepped on his foot.

What? Is her serio--

The thought came crashing to a halt as Ruuvan's head came crashing into his own. Cracks splintered out from the impact point across his forehead, like fracture marks on a porcelain figurine.

And again it burned, that damned light searing against his "flesh" letting loose another stream of black smoke.

This again?

He'd seen the light already, Maximos simply did not have much of an attention span for repetition of any kind.

Lets change the beat....

Maximos pulled his arm to the side, twisting at the wrist in order to steal of hold of Ruuvan's arm. His exposed fingers burned, but that didnt stop him one bit. While the halo burned at one singular point, the splintered cracks began to seep a think black ichor, from his arm, from his face came the same inky substance. Liquid shadow. The liquid almost immediately sparked.

Maximos' left arm held Ruuvan securely, while his right immediately reached out to grab the elves jerking him inwards pumping out yet more of the black stuff and trapping Ruuvan in such immediately close range.

The elf had likely forgotten but in his old days, shadowed as he was slightly less human than currently. Something slithered beneath his shirt around his waist...his pointy ended devil's tail. Back in those old days Maximos kept the prehensile tail wrapped around his waist to avoid its conspicuous nature. But now it attacked.

In a blur of black it unraveled, whipping round as layer after layer of its 6ft length was revealed, and with each whip it would strike at Ruuvan's exposed gut, its tip aiming to slash a gash across his midsection...repeatedly, about 6 times, like a sort of make shift buzz-saw.

Ruuvan might know this tactic, it should be very familiar. The tail in truth was little more than a distraction albeit a painful one, it would Ruuvan something else to focus on before the liquid shadow blood, literally exploded. It would be a concussive blast, but a heavy one. For Ruuvan who's hand and head were at ground zero it would be equivalent to taking a metal baseball bat straight to the impact point.

Meanwhile a puff of black soot remnant from the explosion would leave Maximos...having now released the elf, shrouded in black, the extent of his injuries unknown.