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"Hrgk.."

The warrior grunted at the sudden mental assault. He felt the ground fall away beneath him and everything went black.

~

Dust. Grass. Clay, soil, the smell of Khasmin. Beneath him, Deitric could feel the crushed grass he was laying on and the loamy soil, cool to the touch in the crimson evening sun. His eyes refused to open, though. He couldn't of been where it seemed he was though, despite the fact all notions seemed to be pointing to one thought.

The sound of bare feet crunching grass and soil down beneath them reached his ears. He turns his head slowly before pushing himself up, rising onto his hands and knees before opening his eyes. He fell back onto his rump, turning his turquoise eyes upward to see what had approached him. It wasn't Akechi - the man's leg was snapped.

White buffalo fur, and the head-dress of the ever familiar buffalo-shaman. Deitric grunted in annoyance. The buffalo man merely looked down, the upper half of his face unseen beneath the head-dress, but the bottom half remained in the perpetual scowl he always wore. He was actually shorter than Deitric, but no matter what, he always seemed larger in a sense that transcended simple physical measures. Creases of age and disappointment were notable around his mouth as he frowned.

"What sort of trickery is this, shaman? I can't be here right now. Outside of my exile, I'm thousands of leagues away. But of course, your hand is in this," the warrior fumed as he rose to a standing position. No blood covered his face, and he could no longer feel his wounds. That didn't mean he was happy - this wasn't where he was supposed to be.

My child, you are perceptive as always, the shaman retorted casually, bringing his staff 'round in front of him.

Clever, but not smart. You fight with your mind, not just your wits. You have learned little. But you will, in time. Now, go away. Go back to your tournament.

"Stop speaking in ridd--," Deitric growled in response, but the white buffalo shaman responded by slamming the head of his staff into the fighter's forehead.

~

Deitric flinched and closed his eyes. He opened them and immediately felt a sense of vertigo and illness - he was still in a slumping position that might still be considered kneeling, if only barely. The gentle wind was replaced by the roaring crowd and its cheers, and his head felt like it had been split open. The soft soil of his grassland home was again the hard platform upon which he and Akechi had been fighting.

Blood dribbled from a split lip that he didn't remember having, but his eyes were focused, and he at least knew where he was, and what he should be doing. He was back in the arena. It had felt like hours had passed, but he knew it had only been a few seconds - two or three, at most.

Damn shaman.

"Not over yet..," he reasoned calmly as he rose to a standing position, drawing forth the gunstock club that had been slinged over his back. He could feel a buzzing in his mind from the lash of the psychic attack, but couldn't identify it - he had no training with the psionic, and his own latent potential was so slight and unnoticeable that it aided very little in resisting the attack. However, simple stubbornness did help.

Taking the weapon in both hands, he began to approach the crippled psion. It was time to finish their fight, he supposed. Warm blood covered one side of his face, painting him in murderous hues as it slicked down the front of his already drenched jacket and in his hair. His walking gait lengthened and his stride quickened as he fell into a run, bringing the weapon to bear as he charged the psion. Beneath the calm exterior, he was seething - not with rage, but with battle lust, and with the same cold, stony determination that always overtook the warrior during battle.

LET'S ROCK!

The warrior tightened his grip when Akechi drew the gun out. He knew firing them was prohibited within the tournament, but he still had a strong dislike for the things - though, the more modern ones not quite as much.

He had a major advantage, at the moment. A larger weapon with more reach, and being both larger physically and having longer arms, that made the difference in weapon reach even more noticeable. Combined with Deitric's mobility, he had it a lot easier than Akechi did, thus far.

Deitric closed the distance between them, using the three feet club to its full advantage - making sure that he could strike the psion, but that Akechi couldn't necessarily strike back immediately. He swept his weapon in from his right, aiming to strike at the side that Akechi had his weapon, aiming to strike his weapon, or perhaps the weapon holding it with the inward curve of his club so that it was all blunt force trauma, and the spikes wouldn't come into play.

At the last second, Deitric twisted his wrists, sending his attack up. It was a tiny feint, but a feint nonetheless - instead of striking the arm, he was aiming a little higher, most notably, the jawline. His footwork was still light, so that if Akechi moved, he could react - he was using the length of his weapon to its fullest advantage, making sure not to get caught too close to the warrior and his improvised club.

?!

Deitric felt the claw dig into the bag of his leg, leaving shallow puncture marks in his jeans. It hurt, but it wasn't serious - but the sudden flare of pain did catch him by surprise and force him to stumble; but only a bit. Some bleeding and an ache, but nothing crippling.

Damn!

Akechi closed the distance between them with a push of his good leg, aiming to try and block Deitric's blow and strike the warrior down where he stood. It was a good idea, but the red-skinned fighter had other plans. His weight shifted forward to try and compensate with the sudden wounding of his leg, and when Akechi moved to try and body-check the fighter, he intended to return the favor - only correctly. And unlike Akechi, he had much more control over his movements, as he could stand on both legs.

Letting his still-functioning knees bend he shifted himself down low, hunching forward as he hurtled his already barely-under-control bodyweight forward. The gun slammed home onto his back with a clang - something didn't seem right there - while his own shoulder aimed to smash into Akechi's gut. He'd originally been swinging for the kneeling man's head, but now that he was standing, it looked more like a swing for the waist - and now that he was hunched over, it was more like a swing for the bad leg. However, the rapid, impromptu shifting of his stance meant the attack would have no power to it.

The warrior grunted - assuming all went to plan, Akechi's strike would have hit against Deitric's back, but Deitric would have forced his opponent to stumble back and use his injured leg to back-pedal and inevitably fall. Careful of his opponent's capabilities, he would stay out of their respective reaches now, holding his club down low. He stamped his knee down on the man's claw hammer, keeping it in place. He knew his own tomahawks weren't able to be manipulated, and he knew not where the flashlight was, but now he had some idea of what the man's own powers were.

"Give up. You're already crippled, you don't need to continue or else you may never fight again," Deitric warned, offering to let his opponent stand down. He had ruined the man's leg - for all intents and purposes, he was going to be a cripple unless medical aid came soon.

The warrior grunted as he felt the hand curl around his neck, but his hands had gone instinctively around the back of Akechi's legs while he was driving him back - he still had the club, but he could pressed his forearms to the backs of the man's thighs during the 'drive' of his body-check. When Akechi tried to force him up, Deitric let out a wheezing choke of air, but twisted his head, keeping it at the psion's hip as best as possible.

He stumbled a bit more when Akechi tried to bring him down, but all Deitric did was bend over, looking akin to an ostrich hiding its head in the dirt. He still had his arms placed well enough, and he could use that. He dug his chin hard into the man's side to keep them from breaking apart, not exactly wanting to get smashed in the face by a pistol, and began to heave upwards, pulling Akechi clear from the ground. On the way up, he dropped his weapon to tighten his grip on the man's legs, holding him up in the air for what seemed like a frozen moment in time, the man half-slung over his shoulder almost.


UP--

THEN DOWN!

Bright arcs of blue power burst to life around the warrior like seraphic wings, sending them both flying upwards, Akechi most likely taking a massive shock from being so close to the source of static energy, and the most obvious display around Deitric's back and shoulders. Without ceremony, he simply let go of the man's legs mid power-leap, letting the cripple plummet back down to earth while he soared up higher, reaching his apex before falling back to earth several meters away from Akechi.

[Shitty post 'cause I can't have time to do anything decent at this damn class >.<]

Deitric grunted as he felt his opponent resist, tilting his head down to let Akechi's own skull smash hair-line first with his own. Neither of them had the ground for stability, so even with all their strength behind the blow, it wouldn't of hurt the other beyond the norm - though, that wasn't to say it didn't hurt.

It did.

A lot.

Now, the red-skinned thunderhorse could feel himself plummeting down - but he was going down headfirst. That didn't seem exactly right. Deitric clenched his eyes show as they began their descent, cocking both arms back before slamming them forward; right into Akechi's body, which was laid flat like a target for him as they fell. Neither punch had any real power behind it outside of pushing - no ground, no stability, and no thunder or lightning to spare.

Deitric's double-punch fully extended his arms between the two, forcing his head out of the impromptu-headlock and sending him falling away from Akechi. Having no way to regain control of his free-fall now, the warrior smashed to earth with a crash, a pop issuing from his right shoulder as it popped out of socket. The stage bucked beneath them, threatening to capsize like a rocked boat before calming.

Around them the crowd went quiet while both fighters laid on the ground. Blood covered the warrior's face from a gash on his forehead from the most recent headbutt - better than a broken nose, if only by a little - and one on the right side of his face. For a moment, he didn't seem to do much than breathe before stirring.

"Nnngh.."

The tribesman sat up slowly on his rump, turquoise eyes squinted and staring around as he rolled over and fumbled about uneasily to draw himself into a kneeling sit, his right forearm hanging over his raised leg limply. His right eye kept closed, a bruise forming above it from one of the kicks he took to the face early in the match, not to mention all the blood.

He raised his left hand to the crowd as he tried his best to keep his good eye focused on the form of his downed opponent.

[Stupid college thing -.-]

Deitric growled, managing to get the toe of his boot under him as he forced himself to stand unsteadily, keeping his left fist raised up to the crowd. His right arm hung at the side - it was only dislocated, which was slight in comparison to what could have been done. He turned slowly, taking in the full view of the crowd that had erupted at his victory.

"Time to go.."