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 Posted: Fri Jul 09, 2010 4:18 pm
Implacable.
If Jace thought he was going to run the Devil down by way of superior height, the Cajun would be sorely mistaken. When committed, Roen did not back down. At risk of personal injury, he maintained his advance, and refused to even consider batting a lash of his leading right hand was knocked aside. Concern for himself was secondary to going for the most devastating punch in his personal arsenal - a left hook.
Left hand already drawn back and setting his jaw to the palm strike, the Devil braced himself -- locked his jaw and tensed his neck -- for the inevitable blow while swinging. Now, while untrained when it came to professional boxing, Roen knew very well how to throw his weight into a punch. Not only did he advance into Jace with the hook, but his entire body twisted into it. From his knees and feet which pivoted, to his hip and torso which twisted to the right, the Darkened Devil exposed himself most dangerously to the Cajun's upward palm strike to take full advantage of his opponent's exposed face.
One-hundred & eight-five pounds of mass coordinated right through a ferocious left hook; a hook that would land, if Roen's aim was true, in the lateral point of Jace's mandible on the right side. Roen's head snapped up, his neck lurched, but it did nothing in the ways of impeding the strongest punch the Devil could possibly muster that should impact within the sparse second of contact between palm and chin. He could knock the Cajun out right then and there, but Roen had faith in this human, and expected nothing more than a stumble. All in all, Roen wanted to show this man that he would not win a fist fight with a devil by throwing himself into the fray.
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Posted: Sat Jul 10, 2010 4:11 pm
That exaggerated path of motion sure helped to illuminate just what the Devil had in mind for retaliation, and is if reacting out of muscle memory alone Jace's body fell into the steps of preparation. He knew what was to come if that hit landed, far more than the Devil could possibly have expected, and cold iron gripped his stomach. He would have but a split second after the impact of Roen's mandible to the heel of his hand to react, using it to draw up his shoulders, lean his head in the direction opposite the blow while turning it so that it would hit the side of his cranium rather than the softer temple, and step aside and slightly backwards with his left foot to remove himself from the path of Roen's fi-
Stars raced across Jace's vision. He'd managed to divert himself from the blow enough to minimize the damage, take only a fraction of the intended power, but the devil's knuckles still found the side of the Cajun's head with a resounding crack. His fair eyes squeezed shut against a streak of white-hot pain that contorted Jace's face into a deep-set, near-screaming grimace; surely more of an effect than that punch should have elicited.
Blood rushed to the wayfarer's face, pooling beneath his skin at a high pressure because of the tension in his expression. Heat radiated from his skin, as if a fire smouldered beneath the surface. A chemical reaction had switched into gear in the man's brain, flooding his bloodstream with three times the normal amount of adrenaline, all of this an apparent reaction to the blow he'd taken.
His head and body had been thrown into the beginnings of a turn, follow-through to Roen's punch, and Jace whipped out of it suddenly to bring himself flush with his opponent. When his eyes came into view again, they looked bloodshot, spidery red vessels crawling forth over the whites. Normally cool and detached as the ocean, a dire rage flickered in them now.
Jace snarled; a ferocious, savage sound, his lip curling back from his teeth in indescribably contempt, and advanced on the Devil in only two long strides. When he had closed the distance between himself and his opponent, the towering Cajun threw his arm forward with all the blind determination of a Panzer tank. Hell or high water be damned. He'd set his sights on a target and wasn't to be stopped. Those rough, traveler's digits would close around Roen's throat or break the fingers of any hand that tried to stand in his way, while his right hand curled into a fist and drew back.
His own retaliation blow would snap forward with a might and speed reminiscent of the cocodrie that terrorized the swamps back home, bellowing and throwing his knuckles so hard at the Devil's face, the audience around them -- silent until this point -- suddenly sucked in a synchronized gasp, holding their breath and cringing as if they expected his hand to plow right through Roen's skull. He'd keep this up, too, if he got away with it. Whatever was driving the Cajun now had long since extinguished all hint of restraint.
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Posted: Sat Jul 10, 2010 6:55 pm
Crack!
The Devil, for some odd reason or another, could never get punching down pat. For several reasons, chief among them being not knowing how to properly punch, Roen had the tendency to break his hands on the skulls and faces of others, the last known case being Vansin and his stupidly thick head. Regardless, the sharp twang of pain that ran through his left fist more or less fit the memory of all prior experiences, and it was with great chagrin that the Devil realized he had done it again.
There would be time to worry about that later, because it looked like he was dealing with the real Ragin' Cajun now. Dropping his chin after his previous venture into being a life-sized Pez dispenser, Roen took the brief interim between their blows pull himself back into a southpaw stance. His legs and torso righted themselves appropriately while his arms drew in, his right hand going for the lead while his left pulled back for obvious reasons. To Roen's everlasting displeasure, Jace did not take the hint and pulled away, but seemed to instead being jarred into some senseless rage, and at that very moment plunged into the Devil's 'personal bubble'.
Roen didn't like that one bit. The way Jace was moving could very well knock the Devil onto his posterior if he didn't back down or step aside, which didn't fit his type of character at all. At the risk of reiteration, he was committed, and would not back down to the mud monkey who took leave of his senses. Still, there was something advantageous to having some silly human rush into the fray in a total rage very much unlike the Devil's own, and it would be sillier still if said Devil didn't take advantage of it. They tried using toys, and Roen excelled in that area. Boxing? Well, Jace was more of a brawler than a boxer, so that wasn't going to work out too well for both sides.
Pausing, Roen wondered if the Cajun had any proficiency when it came to grappling...Let's put it to the test!
Grinning enthusiastically much like a child in a candy shop, the Devil quite literally lunged forward and jump into Jace, shoving his right arm over the junction between Jace's right shoulder and neck, and putting the two -- devil and human -- flush. To be concise, this inadvertently destroyed whatever leverage the Cajun hoped to posses to wring the Devil's filthy neck right hand. The rest was quite simple, really. As soon as his right arm went over that junction, Roen manipulated it to wrap around the back of Jace's neck, groping from a tentative and classic over-headlock while at the same token going to wrap his legs around the man's waist.
The rest was rudimentary. Once the Devil felt secure in his lock around Jace's neck and body, he'd jerk back and use both his weight and Jace's momentum to send the two of them to the wooden ground. All very, very smooth. If everything worked, both devil and human would find themselves on the ground, with the Devil's left hand going for his opposite right to finish and secure the hold.
OOC::
Minor edit.
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Posted: Sat Jul 10, 2010 8:50 pm
Jace had no interest in playing by whatever strategy his opponent had in mind. Roen switched his tactics so whimsically that it came off, at least as far as he could tell, as apprehension; and Jace ate that up.
That lurch forward would only serve to put the Devil into far easier reach, as far as Jace was concerned, he went ahead and took the precaution of tucking his chin when he spied Roen's hand sweeping in for a hold. He would also draw his shoulders up for further protection, to deny his opponent any room with which to secure his arm, while he shifted his weight to his left foot to anchor him in place. Not only would Roen have exposed his torso to the Cajun in doing this, a sacrifice that would reap no benefits with the limited control his arm would have given his own defensive response, but going airbound to account for the height difference between them would mean the Devil hardly had any footing to rely on, if he timed this just right.
Jace's right knee thundered upwards just as Roen was attempting to push off and wrap his legs around the his midsection, aiming directly for the Devil's solar plexus. In all likelihood, this powerhouse blow should throw his opponent back onto the platform and knock the wind from his lungs.
"You want'd t' play dis t'ing out on de ground," A guttural murmur growled from the Cajun's lips as he made his ominously slow approach. If he had succeeded, and Roen looked up at him from the flat of his back, then from the loathsome jeer on his face one might have expected Jace to lift that heavy boot and bring the heel of it crashing down onto the Devil's pretty nose. His steps clunked against the wood like the final beats of a doomsday clock. "You got it."
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Posted: Sat Jul 10, 2010 10:42 pm
From rage induced irrationality to perfectly sound thought, Jace seemingly warbled between the two depending on present circumstances. Fickle, the Devil thought, much like himself. Despite being enemies, Roen was growing fond of this mud-monkey. As far as the current situation went though, he couldn't quite understand how the Cajun went from going through the motions of advancing and lunging for throats to raising his knee, but that was neither here nor there. The only thing that mattered was that it did indeed happen, and Roen had to compensate for it.
Releasing air from his nose, the Devil tightened his abdominal muscles, and took the drive of his opponent's knee with good graces. It hurt and bruised the muscles, but did not have the desired effect of harming the internal workings of his body or 'knocking the wind out of him'. As Roen landed back on his feet after his failed jump into Jace, he removed his right arm from anywhere near Jace's body and pressed it low to cover his stomach, glowering at the human. Well, he was out of ideas. What did the Cajun have in mind?
Flexing his limited control over magic, Roen thought that he should at least get ready.
1/1
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Posted: Sun Jul 11, 2010 12:11 pm
Sound thought was not to be confused with the brawler's instinct, the muscle memory that fueled Jace's defensive reflexes. A rational man would be entertaining a certain level of healthy suspicion at the way Roen stood now. A Devil, in a world like this where the supernatural reigned.. just standing there? Doubled over, waiting for another taste?
He should have distrusted Roen's inaction, but he didn't. Lips curled back into a cocky smirk, the Cajun thoroughly pleased with for having seemingly rendered his opponent speechless.
The bones in Jace's hand cracked as he flexed and rolled his fingers, drawing them up before him in your standard boxer's guard. His chin ducked again, he hardened those gunmetal eyes on the man across from him, and saw in Roen no aggression, no move to take the offense. A grunt broke from his throat, something of a disapproving sound, and Jace suddenly shifted his weight forward onto the balls of his feet and swung. His entire upper body followed through, adding momentum to the heavy right jab aimed for Roen's face -- half protected, at best, with one arm busy coddling the pain the Devil's abs. His left arm remained raised, guarding his face and prepared to lash out with a block while he kept both knees slightly bent and grounded.
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Posted: Sun Jul 11, 2010 1:53 pm
Looking through his peripherals, the Devil made a quick mental note of his immediate surroundings. First, where was his sword? After moving around so much and getting so caught up in the fight, he more-or-less lost tracked of the Daemon Sword. Outside Jace's right flank and several feet behind the man stood the lone weapon, motionless and undisturbed.
Secondly, what were the pigs doing? Behind Jace, and off to the left of the man's flank, was the speed boat that brought Roen into the arena, officers watching the current fight with rapt interest. Then, of course, there was the fight at hand. He didn't need peripherals for what was happening right in front of him.
Looking at Jace with what could only be described as a very neutral expression, Roen continued coddling his injured stomach, even though the adrenaline took a great deal of the pain away. He wanted to keep up appearances, and perhaps lull the human into thinking he did more damage than actuality. Apparently, it worked, because it looked like Jace was gearing up to throw a heavy-handed punch.
Chest rising and falling with a dramatic heave and subsequent release of breath, Roen calmly slipped his left hand up and casually dismissed Jace's punch with a negligent parry from his wrist, sending the Cajun's fist off and to the side. A haughty gesture to be sure, but after getting kneed in the stomach, the Devil felt it was time to reassert his superiority.
Simultaneous with said haughty gesture, the hand that was coddling his abdomen reached out with a quick snap, and went to not grab but simply brush up against Jace's jeans/trousers/what-have-you. It worked on Caelan once upon a time, and Griff suffered in Heaven or Hell from the more-or-less same disposition. All in all, people who were on fire generally didn't have cocky smirks. Channeling his gathered reserves of magic and shaping them with the appropriate intent, the Devil released with no sense of sympathy an enchantment on Jace's pants if and when his hand brushed against the man.
"Dance, monkey."
Roen Jaeger's Spell List Dark Fire -Channeling Abyssal Mana into an object of his choosing with his hands and applying the appropriate mental intent, Roen can conjure a black flame, void of light, to spring forth from the intended object. The effect feels like a regular flame, but it does not give off any visible illumination nor does it consume oxygen. Any cautious fighter that approaches the object enchanted with Dark Fire will be able to feel the heat and possibly avoid the danger. Flammable items that come in contact with Dark Fire will be consumed in visible flames as if lit by a normal flame. The magical fire does not consume the item it is enchanted to during the duration of the spell. If the item enchanted is flammable then at the end of the spell's duration the object will be consumed in visible flames and will burn normally. Attempts to cover up or hide the object with Dark Fire will not quench the flames. Submerged objects will continue to produce heat and will start to boil the liquid (water or some other liquid with a similar boiling point or lower) it is in within reason. This spell is not a light spell and will not counter or dispel darkness. Creatures with darkvision or low-light vision are not affected by this spell. Creatures that rely on heat-vision can see the heat given off the object in a 5-foot radius. The object enchanted is not considered magical and will not hurt creatures that have damage resistance against normal attacks. Roen cannot put his hands on someone's body and ignite it with dark-fire. Roen can put his hands on their shirt, pants, or underwear and enchant them with dark-fire, with the aforementioned effects. The duration of this spell is two posts with one post for casting. Typical burning temperature of Dark Fire is at a relative 500°F.
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Posted: Sun Jul 11, 2010 5:06 pm
As far as Jace could tell, the Devil was losing his game. All he'd had to offer was a weak block and a weaker insult, although Roen would hear no complaints from him. It satisfied him to no end to see that his opponent had been reduced to grasping at straws. Again, the Cajun started to set his loosely formed fist into motion...
Suddenly, heat! And lots of it. Jace jerked back, thinking at first that it was radiating from the Roen himself, but it soon became apparent that the source of the peaking temperatures was on his own person. Blue eyes flickered down to the leg of his trousers, widening at what appeared to be an ink-black flame flickering away just beneath his pocket. "Ah!" the Cajun bellowed suddenly, clapping his gloved hands over his thigh to extinguish the flame. It didn't burn at first, thanks to the hefty amounts of painkillers and adrenaline pumping through his blood, but he started to feel the sear against his skin soon enough. "T'e hell? Auggh! Fils de putain!"
Why wasn't it putting out the flames?
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Posted: Sun Jul 11, 2010 6:28 pm
"It won't go out," said the Devil in a clinical note of detachment. "You have to take your pants off." Advice for his opponent? No, not exactly. Jace ceased being an opponent the moment Roen took into consideration the placements of both his sword and the officer sent to secure his extraction once the fight was over. Right now, Jace was a fighter in the Gaian Tenkaichi Budoukai, and Roen--well, Roen had it in his mind to escape. Stepping around Jace as the human went about the tedium of trying to put the supernatural fire out, Roen took his time going to his sword, his right hand reaching up to rub his broken left hand. It hurt, of course it hurt, but it was nothing he couldn't hand.
Several bones clicked ominously as he squeezed his hand every now and then on his approach to the idly positioned World Splitter. Sighing and reaching over, Roen wrapped his sword-calloused fingers around the wire-wrapped hilt and drew the weapon out of the wood floor with his left hand, flourishing it along his flank with a negligent flick of the wrist. As always, it was so very nice to hold his weapon, an easy smile coming to his face despite the dark thoughts going through his mind. Looking over his shoulder to Jace, the Devil sucked his teeth, regarded the man's fiery pants, then turned to look at the suspicious cops.
"Well," he said conversationally as he crossed the arena behind Jace on his way to the policemen, Roen holding his sword at his side casually. "It looks like Jace Benoit is clearly indisposed. Incidentally--" Stepping down the ramp and into the speed boat, the police made way for Roen. Predictably, the count-out started, but Roen didn't care. Deep-set garnet eyes looked at each of the four police officers, ages ranging from early twenties to mid-thirties, all doing their jobs to the letter. Clean shaven, handsome, possibly family men. "--I'm forfeiting." "We need your weapon.""Certainly."
It was over fairly quickly, if that was any consolation to the families of the dearly departed. Standing amidst twitching limbs and listless faces, Roen did pant, gore smeared and displeased with crime he was forced to commit. Gunshots had startled the crowd, and the helicopter above was most certainly on its way, but that was of no concern. Freedom was far sweeter than going from the arena to his jail cell to back to the arena and repeating ad nauseum. Stabbing the World Splitter into one of the weakly struggling bodies on the floor of the boat, Roen did make his way to the control console of the speed boat to start the engine when retaliation struck him from behind.
A cop, a paragon to the force, squeezed a round off into the Devil's exposed behind before expiring. Right through the bullet went, forcing Roen to double over, yet he would not be dissuaded from leaving. In a body bag or with his life, he was going. Slipping the throttle forward and reaching beneath him for the steering column, Roen did indeed sail off and into the high waters with a helicopter overhead, having no need for a spotlight to track the fiendish killer. To the beach Roen went, taking his sword with him after running aground, spectators fleeing his menacing stagger as he made his way to more densely populated areas. Go, go, go..
Roen Jaeger was gone.
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Posted: Sun Jul 11, 2010 8:10 pm
Roen Jaeger would not make it far before a lone, black, and unmarked outboard drove his way, on an intercept course.
The man in it had a haunted look in his eye. Crazed, even. The doctor had diagnosed him with survivor's guilt, agony, eternal despair over the death of his family in Puerto Diablo.
He had been waiting for this chance. In the crowd, he would have struck bystanders. In the prison, he would've been arrested before he made it to the cell. In the fight, he might've wounded the other fighter. But out here on the sea, the devil was alone and the man's tormented conscience could focus clearly.
Closing in on the Devil's boat, the former husband, and father raised the black market MAC-10 he purchased at the devil, and unleashed a hailstorm of lead. His aim was steady, his purpose, righteous, and his resolve was unshakeable. This man clearly wanted the devil dead. And he was well prepared to bring that end about.
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Posted: Sun Jul 11, 2010 8:40 pm
Faustina's eyes widened in horror as chaos broke out all around, her impulse kicking in to sprint forward towards her father's boat. Her legs and tail fought ruthlessly against the water, no longer aware of its aggressive cold, and her youthful voice cried out in sheer alarm, "Daa--!!!"
The Masked was quick to act, one hand shooting out to grab and subsequently pull the girl down into the waters, interrupting her scream and only very narrowly dodging a few bullets that had veered astray from The Master's assailant. A few moments later, she pulled herself and The Little Master back up from the brief submersion, the latter coughing and hacking up water. The Masked, however, as far too preoccupied with the surrounding events to spare much care, screaming an order at The inexperienced Little Master as her guard rose in protecting of her young ward. "Retreat!!! Make for The Hotel!" Her right hand snapped down to her side and wrenched out The Red, its crimson blade already dripping in wild anticipation and bloodlust, The Masked moving into position between The Little Master and the boats, aiming to protect her from any more stray bullets and any assaults that might come their way. "The Masked will cover The Little Master!!!"
At first, every bone in Faustina's body wanted to protest, to stand her ground and aid her father, but the wild--and alarmed--gleam in Daria's ruby-red eyes were more than enough to convince her that now was not the time. She bit her lip, eying Daria's one of two bizarre katanas, and at last reluctantly turned to flee towards the screaming crowd, struggling through the waters to eventually fight her way back to the hotel. "But what about Dad?!" she cried over her shoulder, the anguish already building inside of her. "He's under attack!!!"
The Masked pressed on behind The Little Master, head turning periodically to check the situation behind them, The Red already melting and contorting into its malleable whip-like form to slash down stray bullets. Her teeth grit, and she hissed in reply to The Little Master, "The Master can handle himself! The Masked must keep The Little Master safe! The Masked and The Bodyguard will find The Master later!!!"
It was as good of an answer as she'd ever get, the best that Daria could make. For now, she'd have to accept it, and do what she could to keep her hide alive.
Distress, and the subsequent tears, would have to wait until later...
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Posted: Sun Jul 11, 2010 9:52 pm
 And then, in the after-life, Roen Jaeger would learn professional boxing.
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Posted: Sun Jul 11, 2010 10:01 pm
Rhoslyn didn't bother doing anything to stop Roen. As little as he liked letting the devil get away, he wasn't in any particular hurry to kill someone with their kids around. It was cruel, and more importantly, he didn't want to have someone gunning for revenge.
Most importantly, he had a chance for good PR. Rising to his feet, the fey teleported himself with a sharp crack and kneeled down next to the worst-looking cop who was still alive. With a sigh, the fey reached out and put his palm flat against the man's chest, thrusting his power into the man's heart to keep it beating. Kind of a shame he couldn't help the rest, but that's what the paramedics were for. He'd remain kneeling and working his magic on the man, fighting to keep him alive.
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Posted: Sun Jul 11, 2010 10:02 pm
[Incidentally, all of you judges:
COMMENT ON THIS FIGHT.
It's not a request, I'm telling you, comment on this fight, or I will talk s**t about you daily and randomly edit your posts for the hell of it.]
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