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It had been a gamble to wait, one she lost as a painful kick connected with one of her thin ankles, but she had thought perhaps that he was finished. In the state he was currently in, she didn't feel it was that bold an assumption. Alas, another lesson learned.

"Not quite finished then," she observed allowed, the concern draining away from delicate features. If he chose to continue, than her conscious was clear on this.

Moving quickly, the ballerina aimed a swift jab at the tall lieutenant's chin.

HP: 11
DMG: 2

Her arm lifted to deliver a second punch, it left her side exposed, and he took advantage. What he didn't know, was that in her previous match she'd taken two rather serious blows to the stomach, and her entire midsection still ached from it, bruised, though not as much as it should have been. The energy orb Schrol had given her had certainly taken the edge off.

But it still hurt, and she folded around the pain, biting back a pain noise, and instead giving him only the sound of a sharp wince in return for her trouble.

HP: 7
DMG: -

Oh, likely she had more than just one more in her. That last punch might have hurt, but she'd endured worse than that, and for longer. She'd been a captive at the hands of their enemy for over a week; battered, beaten, and starved. If she could survive that, than a little abdominal pain was not going to stop her. If anything, that tone, half patronizing to her hear, was going to make certain she was the one standing at the end of this.

Eyes cooling as she looked down at him, the dancer straightened, lowering her hands from her stomach to let them hand in loose fists at her side. She considered her choices, considered briefly a kick to the chest, but...there was a small part of her that wanted to do worse than that. To make sure he wasn't just down, but out

Petty, but true.

So it wasn't his chest she was aiming for when she turned on her toe, one slender leg swinging up in a hard kick. It was the side of his head.

HP: 7
DMG: 5

Spectator

Ceraskia had won her first round in the tournament and had invited Keyite to come and observe her next bout whilst she was helping to dress his wounds. Hearing that the lovely and delicate-looking corrupted senshi had survived to progress in the event pleased the curly haired blond in some odd, abstract manner; he was only now growing familiar with her person and could not be said to know Ceraskia intimately in any way, but he found the idea of such a physically petite woman finding triumph fascinating.

It helped that he found her cultured and attractive; Ceraskia of Scorn appealed to the classist snob in Keyite. So he'd accepted her invitation and made certain to place himself in an opportune location for viewing the tournament battle unobstructed.

Her opponent was a dark-haired officer under the appellation Domeykite; whatever the captain's actual name, Keyite had no wont to find out, nor did he plan to raise his voice for the aforementioned. Ceraskia was, he knew, a bit battered from her first battle, but seemed well cared for by her General, Schörl, so he felt that her odds were rather favorable. I wonder if any have decided to place money on this tournament...it might be quite the means of making a tidy sum. Then again, perhaps gambling is frowned upon by the rank and file. He could ask Aurostibite, or another, and potentially find himself on the wrong end of someone's ire...or he could simply assume and remain a mostly blank-slate in the eyes of his superiors.

The opponents faced off, the corrupt calmly expressing that her size should not restrain Domeykite, who responded in a positive - if crude - manner. 'I promise I'll hit you just as hard as the last guy.' Well, someone thinks very highly of themselves. Is it false bravado or is this man truly so confident? Interesting. Keyite settled in to watch the pair, eyes narrowed at he casual saunter Domeykite took moving close for his first attack; it was almost as though the officer did not respect the senshi's potential power, though he certainly could have been misreading the man's actions. Americans were so...different, filled with a sort of swaggering confidence that they were perfect and unbeatable that seemed unconscious at least in part. Ingrained, perhaps.

In a moment, the lazy approach was gone, Domeykite kicking into a higher gear and joining the senshi in a series of absolutely vicious attacks that went back and forth between the two rapid-fire and without mercy. She's brilliant, so much more power to her than you'd imagine. Things to keep in mind, apparently: senshi may not have a physical advantage or may appear frail...but with proper training (as Ceraskia seemed to have gotten from General Schörl) they could do quite a bit of damage. Even without their magic. Fascinating...

Domeykite was no slouch either; he gave as good as he got and Keyite found himself admiring both combatants; each had a wildly dissimilar style, but their means of approaching the battle was quite similar. They fought to win, by any means necessary, within the loose rules and strictures of the tournament.

And at the end, it was dainty Ceraskia of Scorn standing over Domeykite. Ceraskia of Scorn that launched a vicious kick to his head as he knelt, dazed and battered from their battle, and it was she who came out victorious as the officer collapsed from her blow, unconscious and prone before the conquering senshi.

Keyite stood, clapping his approval of both fighters. What an amazing fight, incredible. Far more interesting than mine, I'd wager.

WC: 598