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Certain aspects of the cheerful man's motions seem rather slow and steadied by precision of a field of slowed time, a field in which gravity seemed to loosen its grip, though it was merely the fact that such forces acted slower. As it had not been explained previously for the sake of brevity, the grid as a whole seemed to fit in the arena, the gridwork making up a square, which left regions at each of the ardinal directions open for a rather long drop. Tacitus himself was standing at a crossroads, the grid spaced out with ten feet between each row or column, each line being about a foot across. Tac never was big on accrobatics, but its not like he intended to fall even so much as the ten feet to be DQed.

Back to matters at hand, however, Tac was rather glad Roland hadn't fell to such a disappointing end for this particular bout. Any chance for training was welcome, and this he intended to do. As Roland charged Tac seemed to take a half step back and shift one leg over to the side along the crossroads. His armor continued to shift, the guns melding back into his wrists as the entire structure of his hand seemed to alter and change.

Tac shifted to steel himself against a punch as the metal flowed over his cheek into a spiked surface. The slowed field would only help Tac slightly as Roland slipped into it, almost as if he had slipped into a vat full of molasses. Tac's form would rocket upwards with a hasted thrust from the grid, clipped and sent into a spiral, but the field again helped to alter his velocity in the air. He literally seemed to pull a 'Matrix' as he revolved and swung his right arm towards where he had been, a long pole of emerald tinted steel launching out to strike at the grid. Roland was not the target, but it was merely a thrust to readjust Tac's flightpath and land him on the column after next, off to the west from where he had been, and just a touch south so as to no longer be at the crossroads.

(Edit) The armor seemed to have grown only slightly, passing up his cheeks and down his legs slightly, but remaining almost fluid as if a second skin. His wrists and forearms seemed to have been totally reconfigured, as if he had weapon ports built into the back of his wrists and arms. The pole would turn to dust after its purpose was acheived.

Tacitus was merely having fun, tossing around some of his flashier powers and altering the battlefield to his will in the most unique ways possible, well, almost. Instead of focusing on prayer to his Lord on High or making an assault against Roland, Tac's attention seemed to flow inward. Had he known it was so irksome to Roland he would have enjoyed it that much more. He was still aware of his surroundings, but he was stimulating the growth of the armor. In moments it would seal over his head and envelope his feet entirely, creating an androgynous form of vague humanoid shape, the rest of his clothing and equipment simply melding with the alloys.

Two points of light would become evident among the patterns that began to flow over the armor, the left half depicting demonic etchings while the other seemed to be composed of leaves formed of green tinted steel. A single horn began to press upwards on the left side of his skull while a second seemed to grow from the right, but at a drastically reduced rate.

The gridwork itself seemed to be completely solid and, more importantly, was going to stay that way. The gridwork was formed of the same medium as the walls that had composed Roland's temporary prison, air molecules stopped in time, the field merely given a visible component due to the strength. For fairness, the gridwork was devised so that Tacitus could not simply dispell it around a subject. He could speed up the molecules slightly, creating unstable ground, but he couldn't break it. Hell, at least he's honorable about it.

Tacitus let out a sigh as his opponent faded from view, nay, faded out entirely. It was rather disappointing, for he had hoped the fun he was having could continue on for at least another few minutes. Everyone was always ruining his fun. He gave a shrug, contemplating tracking the man down at another time so as to finish up their fun. For now though, he decided he'd head off to Orion and see if he can't find someone to play with. In a flurry of orange rosepetals the arena began to shift and change, the alterations he had enacted upon it reversing before his body winked out in a pinpoint of orange light, and instant transmission across space and time.