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 Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 1:09 am
Anson's preference for defending himself meant that Yasuo was sure to be the one to throw the first punch, and that was exactly how it went down once the two were finally close enough. The ninja's right arm slung towards the boy's head and connected with his raised arm instead; rattling the rosary chain that was wrapped around his wrist slightly on impact but the boy tried to keep from stopping his feet because of the strike.
He kept moving, taking another step to Yasuo's right while pushing away at the arm that had struck out - his right hand lowering slightly and pulling back but still maintaining a defensive posture in front of him with the fingers on his hand open but loose.
The first few seconds of this fight belonged to Yasuo, if Anson tried to do anything now he would be leaving himself open.
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Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 6:11 am
Robyn sighed, looking around once more. "You're probably right, Ry." She was likely just paranoid. All the chaos going on, one more brawl wasn't a surprise. And her extra sense only worked on active magic use, so she couldn't spot anything out of the ordinary. Aside from just that weird feeling that had her tail twitching. She looked at said limb as if it was the cause of the feeling, before looking back at Rylen. "Yeah, let's just get-"
It was then that the vampire decided to come and claim the spilled blood. She stared, wide-eyed, her tail looking like it'd been zapped with how bushy it got. She growled a bit at being called a bloodhound, but it was half-hearted. All her instincts were screaming "predator", even more so than around Terir. How could such a normal-looking guy creep her out so much?
And he'd hit a sore spot in emphasizing "people", as though she and Rylen were excluded from that particular description. When the curse first took affect, she'd thought she was a freak, inhuman, a monster and all that jazz. She knew better now, but of course, there were still those lingering doubts every so often.
Her green eyes were hard as she looked at KB, but she whispered under her breath to Rylen. "Maybe we should just go...I don't like this."
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Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 7:27 am
Shadow smiled as Drejak spun at her voice. She was just grateful that he couldn't see her blushing under her fur as he examined her. Stifling a giggle when his tail started to wag, it was then that she really saw him.
What's wrong with his fur? Shadow's eyes widened as she realized nothing was wrong with him. Her eyes roamed over his whole body, taking in the sight of her mate in a suit. She let out a low purr and smiled as she saw how well it fit to his strong body. The contrast of his black suit from his garnet fur gave him an air of mystery, she thought.
"Drejak...you look-"
A loud noise interrupted her as her eyes darted to the doorway of the structure. So many new scents, so much going on. She hoped they weren't making a mistake coming here. Instinctively she closed the distance between them, pressed up against her mate as her hand reached for her weapon that wasn't there. She looked up at Drejak for guidance, as he had dealt with "people" more so than she.
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Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 8:30 am
The wolf was broken from his near trance-like state as the sound that had startled his mate registered in his mind. The noise was abruptly followed by Shadow's body pressing against his, and his arms wrapped protectively around her. Drejak's head swiveled toward the door and his ears stood attentively atop his head.
They stood in the defensive embrace for a moment before he looked down to meet her eyes, fairly certain that they weren't in danger. He shook his head as he looked down at the just shorter feline in his arms.
"Well, we've come this far and dealt with worse," he reassured her in a firm and confident voice. It was the same voice he always used when they were planning one of their devious plots, which usually ended in someone dying by their hands.
Even though he had confidently assured her they had both dealt with worse, Drejak was having his doubts. Mostly about this suit he was trapped inside. It itched like mad, and squeezed him too tightly in some places, but she liked it. He could tell by how she had been inspecting him. He was sure she wasn't very confident or content in her attire, either, regardless of how stunning she looked while wearing it. She wasn't letting her discomfort show, though. He loved that about her. She was strong and stubborn, much like he, but in her own ways.
He stepped back from her slightly, and took her hands in his. With a soft sigh and their arms slightly extended between them, he looked into her eyes once more.
"Shall we?" His question was followed by a gentle squeeze of her hand, which repeated itself twice more before he let go of her right hand and turned towards the door. His right hand still clutched her left, but he bent his elbow outwards, as he had seen human men do, in an offer for her to hook her arm through his so they might properly walk into this disaster-in-the-making.
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Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 9:02 am
Acropilis 
Aparently, James either plowed through or magically faded through Faustina like a ghost since she held her position holding James's arm in place long enough for Cyrus to throw his punch.
Unfortuanately for Cyrus, James moved. He pivoted, turning around on his back foot just in time to see his victim curl up to launch himself feet first at the martial artist. A simple swayback as his form loosened up allowed James to easily convert his turning to face Cyrus into a sidestep, and doom for the poor man who probably only wanted to get devilish a** tonight.
Too bad. He shouldn't have gotten in James's way, or claimed to be Roen's minion.
While his victim was still in mid-air, James brought the weight of his upper body down on his victim, using his left elbow as the point, aimed dead center on his body, sending him plummeting back onto the ground . That was stage one. Stage two was finishing the kid off with a bone-cracking right straight, thrown down at the boy's sternum, charged with flame. Upon impact, the daemon-slayer's fist erupted with his most prized technique, and the one that he was known most for. The strike that bore the unofficial name of the Grenade Fist.
A single, focused blast of fire burst from his hand. Although cyrus would feel like he was struck once in that area, he was in reality, struck twice, each blow magnifying the other, a combination of flesh and flame shockwave to inflict horrific damage.
Mode: Path of Dou
Passive: Hellish Shock Fist
5/10
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Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 10:16 am
Saphen "1...2...3...4," and so on with each passing measure of a song that never seemed to end...Once again.... He was lost in music. When he'd suddenly gone limp in her arms, the irrational fear shot through her mind that she'd killed him - that for some reason his heart may have been higher in his chest, residing in the gap between his first rib and collarbone where she'd just sank the shard of light. But his mumbled counting and pulse of frantic life in her hands assuaged her fears and she took hold of the shard in her right hand and pulled it out of him with a surge of blood. Dispelling the shard and splaying her fingers over his shoulder, Sey siphoned a portion of the energy surging through her left hand into her right, infusing her divine aura through his shoulder and struggling to purify the blood of his limb; her magic slowly creeping down from her hand and inching closer to his fingertips. All the while her left hand still had a death grip on his left thigh, her fingers clamping down with a strength that her lithe forearms hid in their dainty elbow-length gloves. His shoulder had already been dislocated and his heart was racing with fear - there had been absolutely no chance that she could have outran the poison in his veins before it did more damage to his body and so she was forced to drive it out herself, coaxing his marrow to produce fresh blood while she caused a wound that would expel enough of the taint that she could purify safely. A blessed warmth would begin to creep through his body starting from the hold she had on his thigh accompanied by a sweet numbness, chasing away the stabs of pain that wracked his brain. She was sparing none of the divine energy that Falis bestowed upon her, gritting her teeth at the strain of being the conduit of her deity's life giving energy while manipulating it into the catalyst for the surge of new blood flooding his system out of his marrow. Her focus was intense, her mind consumed by the act - lest she loose control over the divine wellspring from which she drew and gave the suffering bard another leg in her carelessness. "Saphen," She chimed, her voice sounding far away to her as her body trembled with the effort of controlling the stream of holy energy. "Stay awake. Stay with me."
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Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 10:21 am
"Ha!"
The cheers of a tipsy fool were also the cheers of an honest man - at least for the moment. His thoughts and impulses came out a bit more than normal, and with a voice to boot so the other guy knew it was coming half the time. Seeing the shinobi in half a tuxedo though... with a headband... and well... yeah, it couldn't have been any more obvious that he had overdone it on the drink.
But who cares?! It was a party, after all, and he was just livening things up a bit with good ol' Anson right now. Speaking of Anson...
...after having made contact with Ansons left forearm, Yasuo back pedaled with a drag in his feet to his right side in order to create a short initial distance between the two. When he noticed Anson move forward, he smirked and leaned back into his opponents direction - hopefully catching off guard.
"YEAH!" he yelled aloud - uh-oh, it was that time again.
The shinobi's clenched left arm flung out in an uppercut-like fashion, a mid blow just waiting to explode into Ansons stomach. And man would it ever! After making contact, if such as made, Anson would also find himself flung in the opposite direction of the punch - as the shinobi would take a moment to bring his right hand behind and push the kid away in a dazzling display of a drunken fight.
All the while, he smirked and laughed like a child...
2/10
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Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 10:22 am
Sometimes, wit and intellect did not manifest into simple tricks. A quick thinking mind backing a body was wondrous, but even among the upper echelon of those with minds quick on their feet and in motion, there were differences. Profound ones, which separated one man from another. This was such a case.
Seeing double was a misnomer; given Omi had gratefully reared his head back and killed a bit of the momentum of that left hook mid-execution, even though Deitric managed to overcome an otherwise shot-killing strike, it was still a shadow of its former self as it slammed plush into the serpent's right cheek. Enough to hurt like hell, fill his skull with pain, inflame the area, and probably leave a bruise there which suggested internal bleeding. But to double his vision and send him to the floor would require something else now..
..however, the [serpent] was no stranger to the 1-2.
Luckily for Omi, today was a rare day. His hair was in quite a tied-back ponytail, meaning simply grasping at the forehead~scalp would yield very little hair to grip onto. Farther back was a different story, but if this was an opportunity for Jocasta to control his attacker's head, he lost it for the time being.
One final interruption perhaps the brave would not expect: recall again Omi's left arm was in a similar pose albeit angled slightly to his right, and that grasping the enemy's shoulder hardly meant the arm was outstretched given their distance. Yes, this meant his left elbow tip was angled towards.. his stomach..
An impromptu and rapid crash! A left vertical elbow strike as fierce as his position would allow, the goal: to redirect that right shot of Deitric's just a little. Just enough to where it'd strike his dress belt, black and seated comfortably below his gut, rather than the stomach, kidney, solar plexus or anywhere therein - it was a unique spot, between the pelvic plexus and the hypo-gastric plexus, which would be cushioned by small belt tips. Not to the greatest amount mind you, but it was ten worlds superior to what that fist would've originally done!
However. While Omi did take two pretty decent shots, neither quite hitting the vitals which he excelled at avoiding - this also meant Barsait wasn't bowled over save slightly to the left for the elbow strike's sake. And at this point, that screaming right fist soaring like a meteorite, with nothing to avert it any longer and his left body even shifting back so the right could home in like a missile - was going to have an interesting time given it was nary an inch away from Deitric's at this point.
You see, the fist was coming in a little higher given Omi was obviously shorter than Deitric by a bit, for it to sing in mid-face. Ah, but what did "mid-face" entail here? The nose? That would certainly hurt, a full-force hook into that could break it, cause the enemy to cry half the fight involuntarily, and other fun things. However, Barsait was a headhunter to the point it was a fault, and was again a tenacious b*****d when it came to avoiding vitals. That also meant he was pretty damn learned in striking vitals he liked..
Very durable bone to their sides, none the less they are extremely vulnerable to shots from below. Simply closing your eyelids doesn't do the trick, direct contact from their lower-half will still harm them to a horrid degree for two reasons. A direct blow not only deals damage dead-on, but also sends shock waves into fluid contents. Damage caused could from any old decent punch include injury to the retina, retinal detachment, retinal hemorrhages, and needless to say temporary to permanent blindness if things truly grew sour. That's why so many fighters failed to capitalize on it proper, they bashed in the eye sockets when the precious eyes were so much better to gun for!
And thanks to his height "disadvantage" combined with his acknowledgment Deitric loved getting close proximity and staying there, Omi had the perfect opportunity for his knuckle tips to crash dead on into the lower-halves of the brave's eyes, far right protruding bone to far left. Frankly, it was too late to stop it or mitigate it, given the hand wasn't even an inch from Deitric's face. And given how dexterous Barsait was, "folding" his fist forward a tad on impact to make sure his thumb tip and pinky knuckle dug into the eyes was such a simplistic task. To top it, the initial impact would likely still shatter the vulnerable bridge of the nose!
Barsait traded a battered face and a bruised, even likely externally bleeding waist thanks to the belt cutting into his flesh and grounded movement for a period of time, for Jocasta's eyes. Sure, it was a mixture of a powerful boxer's punch and a bit of impromptu eye-gouging, but hand-to-hand was a vague term after all! Yes, his right thumb-tip upon impact would grind into its eye even further, compounding already likely dire damage - not to mention smear ample sweat into the injured eye tissue and likely scratch at it with the thumbnail.
A worth-while trade in anyone's book, he would've gladly taken far more if it meant that outcome.
[3/10]
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Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 11:26 am
Getting a grab in hair when a man - or woman - wore a pony-tail wasn't terribly hard; when long hair was put into a pony-tail, it was given the illusion of being "thickened" because all of the hair was pulled back over itself to be drawn to a central point in layers from front to back. When Deitric's fingers extended, they pushed into the layers of hair and clenched, forcing a handful of hair on the side of his head to come half-loose from the pony-tail in his grasp.
By stepping in with his right, Deitric had also put unknowingly mitigated the aim of Omi's punch. The punch, instead of catching him around the left eye, became more like a real hook, his knuckles cracking against the tribesman's face, an explosion of pain burning white-hot through his nerves. Deitric's head turned aside with some of the force, but he wouldn't give his opponent another chance to strike.
All too suddenly, Omi would find himself in the air a split second after his hook struck, Deitric's rapidly bruising face suddenly out of reach, and not just because the head had been knocked slightly askew.
While he had been busy trying to poke out the brave's eyes, the warrior's own attempt at an upper-cut after the gut-punch became something else entirely - a grasping hold for the smaller man's throat at the last second before impact, to physically lift him into the air. Omi had been able to strike at Deitric's limbs to try and mitigate some of their force earlier, but at such close range, the tribesman's strength was neigh-overpowering, and even if Omi grabbed the arm while it sped upwards from waist to neck like a rocket or tried to knock it off course, he wouldn't do anything more than slow it down momentarily; Deitric would simply muscle through any resistance.
Assuming he had caught Omi in the grasp of his right hand, Deitric's left would shift from hair to neck and join it, each hand applying pressure like a vice, cutting off bloodflow to the brain. Their difference in size even made it so that his fingers could lace together on the back of Omi's neck. Held up at arm's length at nearly a 70 degree angle and nearly three feet off the ground or so, the bigger man's greater reach would make it impossible for Omi to grasp at Deitric's own face or throat - his opponent's hands would come up a bit short.
Deitric's raw, brute strength enabled him to hold Omi in the air for quite a while, not that he had to, though. It took somewhere between 6~12 seconds for a man to become unconscious in a similar submission hold, and with the former champion's prodigal strength, it'd probably closer to the former than the latter.
Holding Omi Barsait in the air like a rag-doll, feet dangling away from the ground, Deitric was going to "choke" the fight out of him.
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Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 12:44 pm
Strike!! That right hook did not hit where Omi intended, but it did strike roughly where he intended. And that was good enough, the brave would soon discover, as the [Serpentine Manipulation Artist's] ambition would always find faults in an opponent's otherwise impregnable defense, and cripple otherwise king-worthy offenses.
The very instant that fist struck Deitric's face, not his eye - Barsait knew he has a precious instant to capitalize with that spry thumb. And capitalize he did, the thumb tip splitting into Jocasta's left eye full-force. Jagged thumbnail first, this would likely put a bit of a damper on Deitric's next planned move. Post-impact was a natural time for an eyelid to open to gauge damage, it was human nature. And anyone knew a good eye gouge was born from surprise.
In this case, his thumb dug into Deitric's left eye with a fury, sweat and heat mingling into the thumb simply trying to bash the brave's eye in every second Omi rose from the ground, 'til finally distance was forced. Now, Barsait was in a different world as that right grasped his throat, intending to choke the life out of it. Three feet off the ground, Omi knew the other hand was coming.. however. As always, he was no type to quit.
Nimbly, his own hands came upward not to stop Deitric's, for that was impossible at this point.. but to instead wrap around their wrists. Four fingers each, running along Deitric's wrists. Meanwhile, his thumbs, the right freshly given exercise, were coming around with ease, to dig furiously into the other side of the wrists.
The verdict: a fun method of cutting blood flow off to a hand almost immediately. Deitric's grand strength would soon become nothing special if he kept it up, as Barsait fervently craned his neck back & forth whilst his hands attempted to wrench Deitric's grip loose.
Of course, this was a timing game; which would weaken first, Deitric's grip to the point of humorous proportions, or Omi's consciousness? To assist in this process, immediately Omi began bending at his waist as the pain of that searing gut shot earlier rang through the serpent's body, proceeding to take advantage of his fun height change to start landing repeated left & right tip-first kicks into where he presumed was Deitric's pelvis.
Toying with blood vessels and pressure points, reducing titans to below normalcy was fun! Of course, being choked and held in a mid-air submission hold that in precious seconds could end him was not. He was sure Deitric would in hindsight, understand why Barsait's furious feet were using each kick to gain more of an arc on the next. Fortunate he had learned this little trick on breaking grips after Deitric's many past chokes & holds, as already he could feel some air and blood pass through to a diminished degree.
If Deitric let either hand go loose, it was game over for the submission hold - but if Deitric allowed Omi to continue shutting their strength down as such.. worse could occur until the blood-flow resumed proper. And Barsait wasn't simply just gunning for a grip breaker, he was flat out dugging his thumbnails into Deitric's veins like an animal while continuing his constant barrage below, feeling the world grow darker by small octaves each second.
Kick, kick, kick, kick!
[4/10]
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Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 12:45 pm
Rylen watched in mild interest as the man in question spun about to come clean up the mess he had made like a good little boy. And don't forget to put your blocks away! Rylen raised a single, lazy eyebrow at the sight of the feat--a feat which did not come as much of a surprise at all. Sure, Rylen had to give credit; the guy must make a pretty good serial killer with a power like that! It would be only natural that he would be competing in the tournament. With one jerk attending who apparently wiped out a city, the tournament officials were clearly not concerned with conducting background checks. If anything, this guy was probably just small fries in the grand scheme of things.
He took a good whiff to the vampire's distinct musk as he approached the two of them. As with most undead it did not smell very good. Try as one might to mask the scent of death, Rylen's nose could just distinguish it pretty clearly as the man came closer.
Then the foul-smelling man with a crocodile smile spoke to them, and it was clear by his assertive tone and dominant posture that he wanted to rouse their tempers and pick a fight. Rylen matched the vampire's dominant posture with one of his own as he focused an uncompromising glare on the monster in a man's form. Otherwise, Rylen appeared aloof to the vampire's attempts to provoke a stronger reaction. Better to be a considered an animal than masquerade around with human camouflage, Rylen thought. Being thought of as a person was as much an insult to the half-wolf. People were stupid, and his form did not come from a curse like Robyn's so he had a different perspective on humanity entirely.
Rylen was too busy giving KB the silent treatment, so Robyn spoke first. He kept his cold gaze on the equally cold creature before him, but nodded his understanding.
"So then turn back around, worry less about us and more about enjoying the god damn show." Rylen spat back at the vampire. He turned to the side, his right arm angled to direct Robyn back in the direction they came. The venture had been fruitless save to gain the notice of some unsavory specimen. Rylen made sure to keep his crimson eyes locked on the vampire while he waited for Robyn to make her exit first as she wished. He felt more annoyed than ever in his impatience to know the brackets, and with any luck he might be facing the vampire first. Or, hell, someone more worth his time and energy.
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Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 1:25 pm
The vampire chuckled arrogantly. It seemed that he and the animal had an understanding - a shared sense of disregard for one another. There was however the rising tensions of the evening, and the feeling of power pumping through him freshly. It mounted to the point of a dizzying high that could only be put to rest through decisive conflict.
Leaning forwards, the vampire peered down at the little doggy and waved a gloved finger condescendingly. "Now now, none of that. Heh, you're a feisty one aren't you? It's kinda cute, actually."
The smile spread wider as he taunted the animal, like some tourist at the zoo sticking his arm into a lion's cage, begging to be bit. Though this particular observer would not simply be dragged away hollering, instead, he'd use the excuse to step into the cage and fight the animal man-to-man monster-to-beast.
If Rylen was dead-set ( I'm killing myself here ) on abandoning the opportunity KB would let him lead his b***h away. Though, only to the point of his attention turning away from the vampire in full. Having caught the monster's attention, at this point it was a question of facing him directly or testing his honor.
For the latter, KB was simply trying to decide whether he'd try and backstab the boy, or his girlfriend.
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Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 1:46 pm
Like any animal, Deitric's first instinct when anything got near his eye was to get it away, or get himself away. To that end, he'd abruptly thrash his head to the side, aided by the fact that the force of the blow knocked his head somewhat askew from its original position.
Omi wouldn't get to drive his thumb into the eye-socket, but he didn't have to in order to get results. Even applying some sort of nominal pressure could damage the eye, or hinder it. Sensitive to pressure or discomfort, the body did whatever was necessary to protect the eye by instinct, which in most cases meant making it useless by closing the eye.
In this case, Omi had been successful enough to cause some sort of damage to the eye and the surrounding soft flesh - Deitric's left eye remained closed after the initial impact, and there was blood, albeit exactly where from was hard to say.
Given that Deitric wasn't roaring in pain or bleeding too bad, it may have been superficial, which was a deceptive understatement. Even "superficial" - non-crippling - damage to the eye rendered it useless in a fight by human instinct of preservation, which was exactly what made Deitric keep his eye closed for what would amount to the rest of the fight.
However, he had succeeded in getting Omi off the ground and in his grasp, and that spelled trouble for the smaller warrior whether or not he had just irritated or actually damaged the eye. Fingers lacing together and thumbs overlapping, the power of the tribesman's submission hold came not strictly from his grip, but from the muscles that powered the arms at their point of origin. With his arms together in front of him, Deitric's "squeezing" power was coming from the flex and tension of his chest and shoulders, the muscles of his upper-body contracting tightly to exert whatever force he could muster.
Omi's digging into the corded forearms and wrists might have weakened the hand's grip, but the hands were just the end of the vice. He could weaken it all he liked, the brawny tribesman's upper body would continue supplying all the pressure required to hold him in the air and choke him out, especially with his fingers laced tightly together to ensure that even if his hand grip grew weak, he wouldn't let go. That power, provided elsewhere than just his hands, was what mattered.
thud - thud - thud
Omi's kicks were landing here and there, but he wasn't landing any serious blows directly to the crotch. When his feet did strike a blow, they were mostly hitting thigh level, since Deitric had been smart enough not to elevate him to the point that his feet could easily reach the bigger man's crotch. The brave wasn't stupid, after all. It didn't help that the dark-haired warrior holding Omi by his throat wasn't allowing him a chance to properly aim or time his kicks.
He knew that was why the smaller man was trying to swing his body about. Swinging to and fro would let give him more room to attack, and let him generate more force. But Omi's weight was at his opponent's mercy, and when the man tried to swing his body, Deitric would just thrash him to the left or right like a rag-doll, purposefully throwing off the aim and timing of any kick he threw. Occasionally a kick might miss entirely, but their proximity meant most of them hit a little wide of their target, hammering the muscles in Deitric's thighs.
All things considered, that hurt quite a bit, but the thighs were the largest, strongest muscles of the human body - hammering away at them in the hopes of metaphorically chopping down a tree was like attacking an aged oak with a hatchet instead of a woodsman's ax or saw.
All that was needed now was a steady application of pressure, and that was something Deitric could provide in spades. He didn't need sight in both eyes to choke someone out, thankfully. Depth perception wasn't a big deal in their current situation. The longer the choke went on for, the weaker Omi would become - but chances were, there wasn't much time left anyways.
[5/10]
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Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 1:59 pm
"Damn you Jocasta.. I can't foresee any way out of this." If he had access to his [art], to an item, to an odd angle, something, yet all of it was for naught in this bout! Such distraught, that he knew there was no escaping this by force. Deitric had won this bout up to the wire, this much was evident. Then, a single twitch in his left fingertips and eye could be seen, all at once.
With all this force being excreted on his throat, Omi knew his time was short. His legs began to slow their thundering tirade, his arms began to lessen their tension applied, and his vision was truly taking a swan dive. Everything seemed poor to do by your average standards, let alone in this ring. Yes, one would expect him to fall unconscious any time now. So, he did the only thing fate would allow him to.
His arms drooped. His entire body lost tension. Barsait's head sank, eyes shut and mouth sucking in air like one near dreadful sleep- and all at once, the serpent's body seemed to go dead weight. All fight in it faded, all signs of normalcy fell into the abyss, and what little color to his skin to begin with was fading away with the tides.
The end of Omi Barsait's struggle? It certainly seemed so.
[5/10]
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Posted: Wed Jun 02, 2010 2:17 pm
Deitric lurched a step or two when his opponent became dead weight - a struggling, active body and a body with no resistance were two entirely different kinds of weight to carry, and that sort of dead weight was hard to fake. However, once it became apparent that his opponent was no longer conscious - passing the twelve or thirteen second mark - he would be quick to relieve the pressure and let the man down.
The downside to a blood-choke, such as what he had applied to Omi, was that if you kept doing it, it lead to brain damage, then death. Continuing to apply pressure under the pretense of "making sure" someone wasn't faking it was exceedingly dangerous. The upside was that it was exceptionally effective and worked with an astounding quickness when applied properly.
Carefully, Deitric lowered Omi and sat him on the ground in a sort of heap, since there was no way to position the man's body or limbs. He just wanted to make sure he didn't wantonly drop his unconscious opponent and inadvertently let the poor man crack his skull open on the dance floor, which was certainly a present and potential danger for someone who was out cold.
Leaving him on the ground for the medics to wake up, the former champion stepped away from Omi's unconscious form, reaching up to wipe some of the excess blood away from his eye socket with one of his gloves. He ignored the constant flash of camera bulbs that came from all directions, and any mic shoved towards his face was shoved back as he walked, making his way towards the bar with the same calm he had exhibited when he stepped into the ring.
[6/10/--end]
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