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((3/4))
Rivven didn't kick him.

But he considered it.

Not particularly kind, in most cases simply returning what adress he received, but he certainly wasn't cruel.

"Nasty thing. Sorry 'bout it, but it kinda seemed like the option at the moment. Hope you will understand if I'm not exactly in position to help patch it up for you at the moment either." they were still in a match, and while if it ripped off in some stunt there wasn't much Rivven could do, the guy would pass out before he bled dry. Or, at least, if he was mostly human he would.

Seemed like they were taking a break.
He didn't care how the crowd reacted. Normally, it would have seemed kinda silly... but the other guy wanted his space a minute even with his leg all messed up like that. And Rivven... well, he was shaken, so he didn't mind. Yeah, he could go for a minute break.


Walking a short distance away, he stopped, sitting down on his haunches, facing with his side to Tacitus so he could see the guy move but wasn't sitting there staring him down. He closed his eyes slowly for a long moment before he opened them again. And rubbed his temple.

Something was tingling. Pins and needles, not quite there.

It was like the limb had fallen asleep. He could feel it there now, faintly, not enough to even really make use in locating, and when he flexed it it did nothing, but it was there. He could feel the water again.

Rivven let out a sigh, and rubbed his temples.

This was different.

((Fin.))

Rivven's return was not to pain.

His muscles eased up, and he let the tension go, and sat almost entranced as the feeling returned to his 'fifth limb'. He had been connected to the water like this almost since birth. It had very literally been like he'd suddenly looked up and one of his limbs was missing.

"Huuuh...."

He lifted his hands slowly, and rubbed over his face, taking a deep breath and standing.

Experimentally, he played with some of it. Slowly, several trickles of water started coming over to him, building together.

He'd pretty much forgotten about the match. Rivven was just releaved that he was back in one peice again.

While Tacitus was regenerating crunched bone, ripped ligaments, and minced muscles, in those few moments, Rivven was playing with water.

Yeah.

Not so much amusing himself as fiddling, flexing and relaxing so to speak, watching as a large cupful of the stuff danced up and around his arms. It would take him a moment before he noticed that the other fellow was back on his feet.

"Hmm?" Rivven eyed the formerly injured leg a bit speculatively, but dismissed that. Apparantly, this fellow was quite alright again. Whatever had hit Rivven must have effected both of them, judging by the time of recovery for each. "So, I suppose this means you've decided to continue?" His arms dropped to his sides, the water retreating up his sleeve.

"-you dodge"!

Rivven finished mentally even as the words came from Tacitus' mouth.

He didn't watch the bullets or wait for them to appear even, but dived forward and to his right, landing shoulder first and rolling in saumersault, head tucked in, back up onto his feet. Within a moment, he was out of the trajectory of the original shots and closing on Tacitus in a run with short darting steps to either side thrown in sporiadically to throw off an attempted of some sort of another ranged assault.

Unless Rivven was going to prepare himself to suffer through dredging up what he had left for a specialized assault, he was going to have to win this up close.

Rivven dug in his heels, slowing in front of the shield, starting to turn one way, leaning in, and-

-he leaned way low instead of just half-over into the run, palm smacking the ground as he tossed himself backward, stumbling to his feet behind the glowing shield.
He wasn't dodging bullets. There was a certain advantage to being able to see the projectiles appear frozen in-air before they went zipping off.

And so he stood tensed to do something just far enough behind the shield that he could feel safe that it wouldn't catch him unprepared if it started advancing. He was waiting for the shot to go off, planning to run around one side or the other after the bullets went off, but he was keeping an eye open for more projectiles or a change of approach from Tacitus.



And, hopefully, what Tacitus wouldn't be looking for was not an opponent making defensive action and how to come after it, but rather, a coil of chain laying abandoned somewhere along the battlefield, out of sight and out of mind. Until a small trail of water threaded itself through the chain, and set it wriggling in silence in to approach the time-mage from behind while he focused on preventing Rivven advancing on him once more.

((Return, The))



-s**t.

The water stored under his coat filtered out rapidly, collecting and smacking against the assault he luckily had a few feet distance from to reduce the impact of.

But it wasn't going to get there quick enough to form any solid defense.

The fragments were going to, for the most part, rip through Rivven's rapid defense, piercing through and ripping bits off his body or sinking into flesh. He was lucky enough that his tiny frame and the thick muscle covering it would mean almost nothing hit the vitals or other important insides, thick muscle overtop it all coupled with the watery defense.

But his muscles didn't have any outer layer of spare-density over them to absorb the pieces for them.

"-urk!"

Still, he was luck nothing had struck the throat, directly hit the eyes or forhead, or caught right on bone.

He was bleeding out of a lot of places as he lurched to his feet, moving inward toward the man in a circling way- running a spiral, if he'd started out further back and at a slighter angle, inward toward him. He was able to stand, blood trailing down his limbs and from thick scrapes on his cheeks that streamed blood down and off his chin, but the running was tearing the muscles up a little where bits of shrapnel were lodged. At least he wouldn't be tearing himself up when the water retreating into those wounds forced the bits out. It'd already have happened by then.

No snappy quirks, and no screaming in pain- he was busy clamping his teeth so hard through it that edge of lip he'd caught when he bit down right off was torn off and bleeding heavy down along his chin.

He was an open target, except for one thing.

That chain, behind Tacitus, was going to get up and about as soon as Rivven was concentrated enough to start running, leaping in onto Tacitus' back. Wrapping tight around his arms and neck, trying to twist up his offensive bits in a big knot.

Hard to fire those grenades the right way with your arms tied up pointing skyward, and all.

The chains? They were made of metal.

They weren't going to be 'cut' by anything remotely normal. Hacked apart or forced to break, certainly, and that's probably what was going to happen to the chain as those ornaments came to life. The water wrapped through the chains wasn't supplied with enough magical force to become strong enough to act like chains once the real metal links broke apart. No, rather, the water was going to flow back along those outstretched pieces to their base, seeking to see if the base of them was weakened anywhere. Since the metal was expanding, it stood to reason it was getting thinner somewhere.

Putting your mind to two different fights at once was tough, but that was one of the skills Rivven was gifted with, natural ability coupled with experience fighting with fist, the second body that was his water, and trying to plan out the flow of a battlefield all at once.

The aim, most precisely, was to wedge itself into those weakpoints, and try to find a way into skin, the water that once controlled the chain seeking in now that the links were bound tightly all by themselves. So, as the armor was expanding, water would slide down the outstretched ornaments, to their bases. If they could, they'd press right through the armor and try to get into the softer body within and wreak havoc on the soft bits. Since that probably wasn't going to happen, it was more likely they'd end up wedged under bits of armor sticking up, and then- freeze.

Expanding in key points underneath to wrench large chunks of the armor off and leave a block of something heavy and cold on Tac's torso as water bunched up at one or two vulnerable points to remove as much metal as possible.

Rivven, meanwhile, was making his sharp, rounded advance- looking to come in on Tacitus' right flank, where the lead was going to be fairly simple- a punch to the head without stopping the run at all. Rivven wasn't built heavy enough to throw the best punches, even with his plentiful muscling. A frame that slender didn't hold up to smash & bash rough combat,so he made full use of his body with kicks, skill, and- what else?

Magic.

Which was to say, some of that water he had along his body was coming up over the fist to envelope it. When the fist connected, instead of relying on follow through and letting Rivven's arm take the brunt, the water would provide the real kick, blasting out much like how he'd driven the spike before, only this time with a blunted end, just aiming to addle the other fellow's brains royally.

He didn't seem like the type of guy who could fight much at all when the world was spinning and stars were obscuring his vision. Some guys were just scary like that, but all they really got out was your sort of wild brawl type flailing and simple defenses. The sort of things that just weren't in your nature if you were a disciplined mage or martial artist.

This really wasn't Rivven's day so far.

The burst came, building, and the quick reaction was to defend his face, arms coming up, as he pulled his torso back. It would have, normally, meant ducking back and weaving in for another hit. But a blazing explosion was a different matter.

All he could do was close his eyes and clamp his jaw as it started to spill over, letting the forearms over his head take most of the wave, heating up the plates in his armguards until the started liquidating in the cloth, and cloth turned to embering material, immediately cutting deep scars along his forarms and hands, waving over the coat itself with enough power to brown it all and heat it uncomfortably, painfully for the inner layers against skin, but causing no such wounds.

Whether there was force, or just him falling off balance and flailing with his legs, he'd fall back, going over onto his back and bounching a few inches further from.

His wounds from the shrapnel, not deep thanks to the coat, and the heat to them reduced, were glowing, burning inside the flesh. Arms came away from his head, reddened eyes opening up, hair singed to black and shortened by the wave, skin on his face aggitated, the little marks of shrapnel skimming it cauterized.

The water was all gone. His sweat was gone. His knives, everything else, was ruined, though not completely liquidated or gone. His eyes, blurry for a moment, turned on the man across from him. Dry, cracked lips parted slowly, with a small gasp, as all reality hit him in a wave again. And immediately, he made a two fold reaction.

The first, was to do something he hadn't done in the longest time. He controlled water. That was all gone, as was his sweat, but he still had one thing. The water within the blood throwing through his veins. Blood forced itself out, hemorraging through the skin and cauterized wounds, rapidly forcing the heated bits out of his flesh, letting them fall out onto his chest within the coat, or onto the ground, as red liquid collecting atop his flesh.

The second thing he did, was open that mouth louder; and scream in pain.