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[It's cool. I popped some thermogenics and went to weightlift, so I've got a caffeine high right now. And I destroyed my arms XD.. In fact, I'm not sure I can even make a coherent post right now. This s**t hurts xd ]



Deitric watched the beast's fist plummet through the arena floor in surprise. If he was going to strike, he figured it'd need to be now. He'd been on his way up high, but his change in plans cut it short-- when he saw that his opponent's arm went clear through the floor, it meant that Murdoch wasn't going to follow him up into the air.



At about four meters the warrior torqued himself in the air, half-way to the maximum height he could have achieved, he finally released the burning power that had been fighting at the chains of his control. He cocked his fist back for a fraction of a second. His fists burst to life with a white hot fog-fire that coiled and wreathed about his hands, burning away at his gloves as he loosed his attack.



Straightening his left arm as if he were punching the air, the airborne tribesman suddenly plummeted downward towards the dragonkin. The swirling power that had covered his fists seemed to spread, his whole body alight with the swirling, blinding white energy, a sphere of radiating strength that lit up the arena, leaving a trail in his wake as he plummeted back to earth at a speed even faster than his ascent.



The focal point of his attack was his fist, and the energy enveloped him from that point moving back, but he was hard to see within the glowing pulse of energy. His fist was like the spear-point of the attack, aiming down for his opponent's shoulders/head/neck. He wasn't aiming too much because he didn't have to - the power had been welling up since he'd come into proximity with the inhuman beast, and he'd kept it under control the longest he'd ever done so. It had almost burnt him up from keeping it pent up for so long. It was there in excess - more than enough for him to attack with.



The luminescent fog-fire itself was like an anathema to non-humans - when it was active and near, one would usually feel nauseous, at least. The less human-like or the more supernatural, the worse. Half-breeds felt it just as much as full-breeds. It was Deitric's own weapon against those the inhuman and the impossible. Touching the fog-flames would feel like a frigid, raw burning sensation to any non-humans, and attacks with the force of the Destiny behind it were even more potent than before against such beings. Deitric's punches remained the same, but it'd feel like so much more, now.



And the dragonkin beneath Deitric, right in the path of the attack?



Most definitely not human. Maybe part, maybe not - he didn't know. Using the Source, combined with his signature Maelstrom Spiral could only spell a world of pain for anyone in its way - but for a non-human, it was the closest thing to hell on Gaia; aside from the real thing. Things might not get broken, but someone was going to be in a whole lot of blinding, burning pain.



The change from ascent to descent and the entire attack would only take a second, at most - he had been planning to release Destiny's Maelstrom Spiral no matter what, but now he'd simply cut the uncontrolled ascent short and turned it into a plummeting comet of an attack. If anything, it was going to be a damn impressive sight for the crowd, and for the media.

[I knew before, but I didn't care. It's "almost" indestructible. Close, but no cigar xd ]

Deitric flew straight down the hole with a crash. He didn't have enough time to rein in his attack, but he could at least stop the secondary effect that he normally triggered that was the actual expended almost as much energy as the Maelstrom itself - the overblow that he used to shock and push enemies away, which was the "Spiral".

The ground beneath the canvas shook and rumbled as his fist connected with it - the ice block he'd destroyed the round before had been a play-thing in consideration to what he'd just hit. A few hair-line cracks raced their way out from the bottom of the canvas curtains that hid the bottom of the floor.

Assuming there were some architectural mage types about, they'd probably fix whatever impressive damage the warrior had done beneath them. The hole glowed like some sort of 50s alien movie, where the ship crashed into a crater and attracted the token hill-billy farmer. It died away quickly as the attack subsided just as Deitric hit the concrete(?) beneath the eight sided ring.

His count down had begun, though. The fighter wasn't going to waste any time in moving after his attack hit the ground. He had to get back into the ring, and quick. So, back up through the hole, right? No. Murdoch was a heavy b*****d - so heavy, in fact, that when he walked or stood somewhere, the canvas weighed down slightly to adjust for his weight - especially with the hole they made. Which wasn't all that big, all things considered - Deitric could fit through it vertically, but not if he were laying down.

The Khasmin tribesman knew exactly where the big b*****d was, and he quickly crawled across the floor on his hands and feet, low to the ground. He was still luminescent, but not nearly so - there wouldn't be any change in the lighting while Deitric moved, and he was trying to keep the burning Destiny under at least rudimentary control while he moved.

Where did he move to? Behind Murdoch. Deitric's years as a hunter worked in his favor - he moved without a sound (as if anyone could hear anything over the ape-s**t crowd, where words and phrases became nothing more than waves of assaulting, pounding sound) and when he moved under the curtain, he did so without disrupting it.

Like a phantasmal image, the tribesman rose behind Murdoch with his burning, white-hot fists raging. If Murdoch had felt ill, he'd still be feeling the same - the intensity of the illness didn't increase with an increase in proximity. Not that Deitric was exactly close to him either - he was behind him standing on the floor a good ten feet away.

Somewhere in the crowd, the Beastie Boys were playing. Why? Who knew. They couldn't even be heard over the crowd.



Deitric didn't hesitate as he launched himself forward in a fast, loping sprint. The pads beneath his feet that they used in shows like WWF and s**t managed to cover up the sound of him running (again, if anyone could even hear such a thing with this loud, rude as ******** crowd) as he launched himself into the air like a thing possessed, his left fist cocked back again to deliver a blow right to the back of Murdoch's head.

He managed to channel and condense some of the raging power that had forced itself from his control into his fist, creating one of his other techniques - the Thunder Drum. In essence, it was a precursor to the Maelstrom Spiral. Much less energy dependent, less flashy, but still plenty painful. In essence, Murdoch's head was going to be the drum and Deitric's fist the stick for one astoundingly harsh beat. When/if the fist connected, it'd aim to smash into the back of the dragonkin's head, near the base of the skull since Deitric couldn't aim much higher. When/if it connected, it'd explode in a small burst of the white fog-fire and hopefully knock the big guy onto his face for the remainder of the match.

In the process his target was committing himself to, Murdoch was now standing upon his two feet with an arm hung over the rope, sadly the arena floor had apparently suffered a massive wound near it's center, the tightly pulled fabric of the arena floor was now not only weaker, but looser, and with the crack lines running through it, only weakening it all the more.

His weight of 580lbs straining the damaged area he stood at while his opponent played the ol' splinter cell roll. Murdoch may have had heightened hearing, but with the roar of the mixed crowd, he would fail to hear his fans scream "BEHIND YOU!!" as the axeman began his sprint, at which point Murdoch would unhook his arm from the rope and bring it down to his stomach as he bent forwards in nausea induced discomfort, Murdoch had only let his guard down for a moment due to him thinking his opponent should have KOed upon impact with the ground considering he went fist/face first.

Thats when the weakened fabric he stood upon shifted, his arm had held some of his weight up upon the rope, and now that it wasn't there, he would fall forwards, his free arm angling out to serve as a shield of sorts for his upper body, while his other kept pressure on his mid-section. His opponent would be hitting air as rope would probably cause quite some discomfort for the man's armpit considering he'd have to have shot upwards to deliver a back of the head blow and surely the rope would help repel him backwards towards the crowd.

A few fans would face palm themselves while viewing the silly display.

The angled arm Murdoch had used was angled for another reason besides as a shield, to allow for a quick roll towards his side, away from the hole in the ring, the SIX sided arena's floor was dampened by the dragonkin's weight, so there was a decline the closer Murdoch got to the hole, the weapon flinging enemy behind him would be sent back as Murdoch's lengthy forearm unbent at the elbow to roll his bulk to it's corresponding side, his right.

His right arm outstretched and now recoiling back up at the knee so that it was airborne where Murdoch had been as the club came down upon the empty space of the ring floor where Murdoch had been, Murdoch caught glance of it, not bothering to watch it's end, but more scanning for where it came from, which wouldn't take long. That was behind me!? The weapon would go through the floor, most likely due to it's high energy output rather then it's blunt trauma, if not, it would probably hit the arena floor and cascade down the floor's decline towards the hole.

Regardless, Murdoch would continue his roll to his side, with his claws upon his bare feet doing the grip work, he was aiming to get out of the arena, it certainly was proving to be more of a hassle then a life saver. His stomach pains only getting stronger when the charged weapon went by, obviously this was a growing problem, but with the knowledge his opponent was still kicking, Murdoch would have to try and endure it, he eats cinder blocks for breakfest and chandilers for dinner, he refused to allow this sudden throngs of pain hinder him.

Murdoch eventually slipped away from the ring itself, moving on from his side to the closest side facing his opponent, his pace was slow, cautious, preparing. His muscles were pulsating underneath his scales, a spectrum of ripple expanding out with each step.

"More toys?"

Boomed the dragonkin as he assessed the visible damage upon his opponent, what to target, and what to avoid. The fog how ever would catch his eye as he gritted his teeth, it would seem the closer he got, the more knotted his stomach felt. That is whats hindering me? How the hell did they let that into the tournament!?

Murdoch took in a deep bellow of breath, the abs under the scales tightening in contraction as a means to hinder his stomach pains as he began a jog that would put a human athlete to push themselves to match his trot. Long limbs are great.

His arms hung loose at his sides, slowly arcing upwards, clearly not defensive or offensive yet.

Murdoch's arms bent at their joints, the fists at differentiated angles on their respective hips, his right fist imitating the dominant striking fist, ready to shoot out in offensive.

Murdoch's speed increased into a charge, his enemy was before him, running in stride, the dragonkin knew that his agile opponent would probably pull off some sort of fantastic aerial move that may or may not pummel the charging dragoon, or maybe he'll simply get out of the way, which ever it was, his enemy was nearing Murdoch's strike zone of 4-5 feet.

OOC: Im working with a hangover domokun

His opponent did not react but continued to run towards Murdoch with no preemptive dodges/blocks/attacks.

Weird, with nothing stopping Murdoch, he would unleash all his might through his massive right fist (considering it was ready to go in the prior post), his dominant left foot halting before his right as his body contorted to accommodate the force being driven through his body, closing the short distance between the two combatants fractured indefinitely as the lengthy arm pummeled the blunt terror straight into the torso of his target, it was intended to steal the man's oxygen, damage his skeletal structure, and put him away for the rest of the fight without to much of a mess.

His weight and momentum adding to the moving fist as his frame continued onwards, but first, could his opponent pull something off in such short time with seemingly no preparation for it?