Welcome to Gaia! ::

Enrique was bleeding because of the mask, not because of the punch. As a ‘consequence’ of his father’s unholy pact with the Emperor of Scorpions, ‘Rique’s skin was thick, as mentioned before it wasn’t quite leather but it still provided some defense. But the equivalent of a big porcelain pot shattering in the face was still painful, and that showed as it opened up several minor lacerations across his handsome features. Edward’s fists though, however manly-tough they may be, still counted as blunt objects. He was more likely to make the Prince of Scorpions die of internal bleeding with those things before he got the gushing blood flow he was hoping for.

Three punches to the head was about three times as shitty as one punch to the head, that was three one’s and that was terrible. That said they had pretty much the same effect, the rattled his concentration, gave him a nasty headache, and pissed him right the ******** off. Edward was in the business of serving up pain, and business was apparently good.

But at least he had a leg, Edward may not have been a chicken, but the hockey player probably had a big beefy body type with nice meaty thighs…

Anyways Edward fell on his a**, ‘Rique never did bother to lift his leg. Around the time the cyber punk fell the foot was already hanging around his stomach level, probably even higher in order to maximize the effect of the shove. It was just high enough to give Enrique’s foot an easy path straight for Edward’s undercrotch(that being his testicles). He didn’t mind if the knee was still slightly bent, or if Eddy was sitting up, he was just fine with that. Maybe a little more fine than he should have been.

The kick struck flush on his thigh, and Edward winced for the first time in the match. The kind of wince that sent another flash of fury through the youngsters bloodstream, some might call landing a hit a success. But considering he was trying to leave him immobilized and incapable of making children, it was a failure. But his flow of moves were happening in tandem with one another. While the kick would land first, his arm was already in motion by the time Ed would hit the ground. Fire leaping up across the forearm and giving the man no time to react…

Wait what?

Edward was stretching up for him, floundering in his doom perhaps? Helpless and begging for mercy? Only if the traditional Gaian sign of surrender was sparks of electricity running up the forearm. He had enough time to acknowledge the attacks presence and blink once before the flash of light blinded his unmasked eye and a bolt of scalding hot lightning struck his chest.

Like an old school cowboy aiming a gun at his opponent, ‘Rique may have been surprised but he was still coherent enough to pull the trigger. The fire leapt out from his hand and this time it was concentrated. The flamethrower effect had been consciously spread out to prolong Edward’s exposure to the flames, guarantee as much of his body as possible caught on fire, and of course get as much of it on him as possible. Clearly he did not have time for that. What happened instead was a fireball, made up of instinct as much as it was Enrique’s desire to cause harm. Like a little yellow sun, no larger than a small basketball, but it was aflame with burning courage and youthful explosions and streaking right for Eddy’s chest. The flames that couldn’t form fast enough trailed behind it hopelessly, looking as the pretty tails of a comet streaking through the night sky but ultimately adding nothing to the attack itself. If, when, the fire did strike it would hit with a kick, doubtlessly throwing Ed’s body down against the marble floor. The flames would spread out in the explosion, splashing over his body and trying to set the man and his clothes on fire before dying out with the wind.

Now for ‘Rique? He was flung, having found exactly where the cyber punk was hiding inside of his hipster opponent. The impact of the electricity caused him to leave his feet, carrying him two yards or so before…

*WHAM*

That’s right; Enrique had been pandering to the crowd earlier hadn’t he? Well now they’d get an up close and personal look at the Prince of Scorpions as he landed right in their laps. Five year old children and fat guys were better to land on then cold hard marble.

The prince lay spread out among the seats, his arms draping over those on either side of him, his feet mounted on the heads of fans, and of course an angry unshaven fanboy in a red suit with an a** in his face.

His chest was smoldering, wisps of smoke still rising up from the impact zone, of course his shirt had been lit up as well. As far as the heat went, Enrique was alright with that. It ain’t no thing to him. His shirt was kind of on fire, but that would stop sooner or later, thanks to the retardant material and all. He was resistant to his own element, but lighting wasn’t quite fire was it, and the point of impact showed. Where the lighting and skin had made contact there was not a big patch of blackened flesh.

But neither of those were that bad. He could live with the constant throbbing pain of fire in his chest, it felt good. It was his element, even if it was painful, and even if it was a little masochistic he enjoyed its gentle touch and the memories that came with it. What he couldn’t handle was the electricity, they had been dire foes since a young Princeling had shoved his fork into a light socket and that hadn’t changed since, the muscle spasms and the sluggish feeling running through his body was terrible.

He gave a bit of a twitch as the ten count started, acknowledging it with a pained groan. He hadn’t gone unconscious, he refused too, but he didn’t want to get up just yet. So he laid there, skin flush and drained of flames…

The crowd watched eagerly as the count worked its way up to three. All voices silent. One man twitching from electricity, the other probably on fire.

Which one would stand first?

Enrique paid it no mind, because beneath them all his shadow was starting to spread its way through the stands.

Fire was a straight up miracle, no doubt, but there was nothing magical about it. Just the magic of nature. It may have come from a magical source, that being Enrique, but everything about it was as normal as a Sunday picnic. From its color to its effects (burning) it was so normal one might swear it was a parlor trick if Rique didn’t start spraying it from his mouth.

“You’re a lot tougher than the movies make you seem, Edward...”

Enrique’s return to the ring was a lot less dramatic than his exit. It involved him prying his a** out of the red-suited mans face, a bit of leaping as he sprang from the ten foot wall, and finally a skilled landing that ended with one knee to the floor.

“But I’ve always been a Jacob fan.”

It was impossible to tell whether the Prince of Scorpions was truly unphased or whether he was simply putting on a show for his opponent, the head of Anubis refused to show any emotion besides silent contempt. It was obvious the old girl had seen her last days from the cracks running to and fro along her form, aswell the gaping hole where the right side of her head had been, but as a testament to its make... she did not shatter. She would see her prince through to the very end, it was her duty after all.

Enrique’s duty was to claim victory. By any means necessary. Without looking he knew that his shadow was following him, seeping out from the cracks in the marble floor and spreading across the arena. Left unchecked the magical darkness would cover everything it could reach underneath a thin coat of smooth black. But for now it could provide Enrique with the weapons he needed…

A handle emerged to his left, sliding right into his palm and waiting for his fingers to tighten around it, then seamlessly forming a weapon as the prince of gold and shadows rose to his feet. It was a bat, the kind used to break kneecaps, though jagged and crude. Like a childs’ rough approximation of what a bat might be, drawn in three dimensions with used crayons, jagged edges and all. But it was big, heavy, and surprisingly solid.

What the darkness formed had a simple beauty to it, smooth and black, not unlike the marble beneath their feet. There wasn't a lot of finesse in its creation or its application but therein lied the beauty. Both men could appreciate that there didn't need to be, not for this situation. Slowly but surely Enrique approached Eddy, the bat swinging low at his sisde, unassuming in its gait and unlying in its intentions.

Things were about to get nasty.

All the while flames continued to grow inside of him. Returning the color to his brown flesh as it fought off the draining effects of the lightning, filling him instead with aggression and adrenaline once more.

"The ******** is this s**t?"

Sokoya would comment to a rather bewildered spectator to her side. Bewildered because the woman happened to be snacking on what appeared to the ring hand of a human. Waiting for a long stretch of silence, the platinum haired fighter would sigh in disgust and return her gaze upon the fight down in the tournament.

Edward Queensborough was the object of attention for today, as the pair had something a history. If you call trying to beat the s**t of each other history. It's cool though, the devilish woman certainly didn't hold any grudges. But she WAS fed up with the display below. The two's fight didn't have nearly enough bloodshed.

No screams of pain. No broken bones. Nothing.

"Pussies!" She would cry out, waving the bloodied hand around for extra reach.