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 Posted: Sat Jan 06, 2007 1:33 am
Rapid movement. It seemed Barsait would not be able to just crush on in and force down Lazenca; so, some ways before the mercenary would have kept charging onward, he grounded his steps - realizing all too shortly, Miranda would be at his forefront. For the dodging of his own attacks were all too apparent by his body's contrast against their fierce, crimson lights..
.. And Omi was grinning. As though he had just been given a particularly pleasant gift. For it was true - this was no video game. For in those lovely things, balance could be sought amongst the players, and rounds would be given to allow said players rest between assaults, amongst other things. The mercenary, now feeling so alive, would give Miranda no such luxuries- as his left hand suddenly wheeled up from it's side, and started a number of motions whilst the rest of his body moved independent of it. A wave towards himself. Parting his fingers into two groups. Splitting apart this & that, gesturing here and there..
Then, the all too unpleasant was made realized. For behind the rapid moving opponent of Barsait, was no longer two grand dragons. Rather: one had parted into two halves, still quite relatively large - and another, three thirds. With that quick set of motions, Miranda now had two charging right at his back- to his sides, rather - and the other three, one above Miranda, and two northeast and northwest of his shoulders, in indirection. To say the least: retreating backwards, as they gathered up more and more ambers in the passing air, was the most ill-advised strategy that could possibly be given. However, these fairly more impressive manipulations of his 'serpentines' were only a piece of the oncoming action.
Barsait had Lazenca, charging headfirst, right in his path. And intended not, for said fighter to leave it.
Left foot backwards. Right forward. Body hunched just a tad, shoulders squared forward, both hands gripping the handle of respective blade, right eye coming to a close whilst the left remained wildly open. Then, the true extent of his 'increase' became clear - as Omi thrusted the resonating blade forward. No less, in imitation of a thrust technique he witnesses in an earlier round of another branch of this very tournament.. and just as that immensely light blade reached it's apex in how far out it would stretch, the most horrifying occurred. For to it's repetition, serpents flooded down his body rapidly; even in that state, his entire body shook as though some current were streaming through his frame. Except, this time, all of those serpents - the many hundreds just forming out from his body, then even more, were all converging at one central point. Along his shoulder blades, his arms, his wrists & his hands.. Until his blade, quite quickly, was no longer a lovely, calming white hue - but swarmed & engulfed in an untamed mass of brilliant red. Thousands of these so-called 'serpent' heads were streaming about it, like true wild beasts; yet they did not stop at it's tip. For in one torrent, they all lit ablaze- then began traveling very rapidly forward. A low howl splitting from Barsait's lips, as the swordsman seemed to back the coils with all the pressure possible, to increase their traveling speed immensely - prior to them binding together, and binding hencewidth even more. And rather than just ignite, this mass was now exploding to life - like an enraged, miniature mass attempting to imitate the Sun..
One quick thought flashed through his psyche whilst he, with an expression that showed no weakness, pressed into his assault by turning the Caladbolg just a tad. "Show me your endurance, Lazenca..!"The 'Gale' Crest Rarely did Barsait ever give his abilities, or adaptations of such, any kind of names. Namely because, so often trying to adapt to a single given battle scenario, repeating a "trademark technique" would prove folly to he. However, there was one signature strike, if pushed to limits higher than his norm, that the mercenary did enjoy using.
By having some several masses travel past his opponent, the idea would be for either he to come at said enemy - or they to he. It did not matter which. However, the masses behind said combatant would then separate into even more masses, covering a wild spectrum of angles - and prepared to move about, if an enemy decided to just lurch on out, in order to shut such an opponent in without true means of escape. In front, Barsait would channel his own serpents, no longer just projecting them about & deadening their speed in favor of twisting them at different angles- all at one point, before bellowing them forward in a stream. A very rapid, deadly stream; if one wanted to think if it in an image, they could say, this frontward assault would seal the opponent's chances of moving directly to the sides, or their front, without being assaulted by that mass.
In brevity, the basic premise of this series of actions was created to cut off opponents much more agile than Barsait, of which to great extents he has came in contact with before, so they would have no simple means of escape without being engulfed by his trademark flame. Furthermore, once the masses & the coils' points met, he would then to whatever level of stress on himself, converge all of said masses into one entity; and strike down his opponent whilst flooding the inner premise with wave after wave of roaring embers, which ripped into their flesh at a frenzy. His 'heightened state' allowed for his body to endure, and reinforce, this assault.
You could say: It would literally drown an opponent in flame.
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Posted: Sat Jan 06, 2007 11:49 pm
You still underestimate me, sir.
Right foot.
I'm not only stronger than I look.
Left foot.
I'm not only smarter than I look.
Right foot, right foot.
I'm faster than I look.
Left foot, left foot.
I'm faster than your fire.
Right foot, left foot.
I'm faster than my own shadow.
Left foot, right foot.
The fire surrounded and it became obvious in very short time that Lazenca was being herded forward. He couldn't move to the sides too far, lest he endanger himself more than he was by running to the volcano, the source of the heat. Sweat did not break for he, who was absolutely forced to maintain an extroverted aura to keep about a foot between he and the heat. But how long could this exertion last? Would Lazenca be able to last in it all?
He was betting on a big yes. The path was true, and everything seemed like it would go well. Run up before the flames circles aroundLazenca had outrun the flames once, he'd beat the serpents. But this... this new charge made Lazenca's eyes open wider and his ears pin to the back of his head.
"He means to ruin me... to send me out in a blaze of glory...! Well if he wants to meet me head on, then I'll bring the noise."
But the attack planned for him was much more than Lazenca anticipated. Lazenca wasn't skilled enough in aural reading to be able to tell different people apart by energy signature... no, he let his nose and ears do that. But in rapidly approaching Omi, he felt the heat and the raw power increase. Yes, this was going to be hellish for Lazenca, but Omi was welcome to share. Tens of feet dropped to the single digits.
And now with Körper...
Nothing lands, left foot. Special: Körper (Medium band: [i]BODY[/i] wink So-named to follow the name of the band on the right. A focused will activates the proper enchanted bracer, increasing his power doubly for a very limited time. While physical abilies are increased (stronger, faster, better reactions, etc.), aural abilities suffer.
Rewind the tape, zoom in.
It took but a thought to initiate the properties of either band, and the mere rememberance for Korper, the knowledge of need was all it took. Lazenca was going to rush into Omi, that was sure. Omi was poised to draw his weapon down and initiate the forward wave when Lazenca was at a certain spot. Aim, timing, everything would have been good if not for Lazenca's increasing his speed doubly. Such an act, the quick change in velocity of the target with little adjusting time- indeed, Laz'd done his best to wait until the last possible moment so that he could gain a bit of suprise on his opponent. Get in just before the big assault came, to ensure the hit. It was going to be a 'simple' c**k back and swinging hook with the left hand that hit three times as strong as Laz's regular strength would allow, rocking Omi's skull like a hurricane filled with brick houses.Special: Doppelganger The first ability learned by Tenma ne Garo style users, the fighter is able to make a semi-sentient shadow clone. If the fighter is an elemental, the Doppelganger takes on his/her elemental properties. If it's defeated, the "Doppler" will become a maelstrom of whatever element the Tech's user is. It's based on the prime principal of TnGaro: teamwork. The higher the skill of the user, the more times Doppelganger can be used, and the deadlier the combatant becomes. Like this, another set of Negative abilities can be unlocked.
When the Dopper is activated, its physical prowess is added to the user's attacks if it attacks 'within' the user- it becomes two people punching at the same time, and feels as such. When the Doppler is fully detatched from the body, it cannot be reattatched without restarting the Tech. TnGaro dicipline.
When the back attack hit, the Doppelganger erupted into a shower of ice, which did nothing but protect Laz's back for a few seconds, and hopefully the rush of fiery serpents from all directions behind him would be over before all of that temporary protection melted.
But the frontal assault... the turn of the blade that was going to be matched or beaten by Lazenca's single pushthrough? He'd have to take it all. And with the ability to use aura to protect his body supressed, he felt pain like he hadn't felt in a long while. And yet.
I'll be faster than my own nerve endings, throwing shooting pain into my skin, into my spine, into my mind.
Snarling, almost stumbling as he went to regain control of his body from the massive WAVE that washed over him, and having shifted between this and the next second that he was in the Negative [werewolf] state, it was now he that seemed the monster. Standing (when actually standing still and not leaned over to run) no less than ten feet tall, covered in blackblue fur that swayed violently in the burning heat he still ran from, ran through with no more assistance from Korper, with crystalline eyes taking the odd purple hue with the red surrounding him...
A sound. An echoing of his voice before it even left his throat, all four screaming something different. One, laughing. One, thanking Omi for this bout for it was truly one that shattered limits. One, releasing a guttoral sound that sounded between a howl and roar. And the final, repeating "switch" constantly.
They all may as well have been saying "We're coming for you."
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Posted: Sun Jan 07, 2007 2:34 am
Sweat dripped. Another droplet flew down to futility, into obscurity; literally evaporating the moment it came in general proximity of the flames surrounding this mercenary's body.
Barsait merely reinforced his assault, still managing to eye Miranda as their distances were cut short in quick succession. Though, he did have to say in the back of his mind: My was this man fast. Rapid wasn't even the word for it, this fighter was absurd at how quick he could move in. And it seemed, Lazenca would charge right on into the eye of the storm; perhaps, as a final assault? Serpents were started to, in an unruly manner, jut off his body like entities from Hell begging to stray free, though bound by one will. Some of the serpents behind Lazenca were traveling into the sands now - burrowing about with the flames in a wild array to grapple at the position the fighter lied. "So, you'll take damage to inflict it? Noble sentiment. But.."
Even those words voiced in thought, were cut short. Like a fickle rain.
An aura..? A howl, rush of white & red whilst his own flames dabbled everywhere - it was a chaotic scene that made keeping focused, if not for Barsait's current state of mind, a chore. Unaware of how much Lazenca's strength had multiplied, it was undoubted that the swordsman would find himself surprised by that element of the following progression.. However, in that flaming haze, Miranda would have took well to remember a number of important details. For one: The Caladbolg was, as specified, at the mercenary's limit in distance stretched out. However, this did not inhibit him from swinging it to the left or right - which, in his current state backing the majestic blade which held an edge so awe-inspiring, would likely reap stone like paper. It was a very simple slash - middle position to left, likely crashing into Lazenca's body as the man came in to c**k back that swinging hook. No doubt, Barsait would be wounded by the crashing blow - but Lazenca would, also underestimating the mercenary's reaction time, probably not think of the blade coming in. Thus, the chance of it catching Miranda's unguarded body and reaping on in through whatever it could, would be quite likely. A sword slash & a knuckle's blow; both at heightened power which far surpassed either fighter's norm. A simultaneous assault, prior to the wave of flames engulfing Miranda?
Barsait was bashed out of his central point of origin, the assaults still rushing to their designation in suit; though the doppleganger ruined the main concept of the attack. And the sharp pain his head felt rack through him dully ached his bone - the mercenary delved his eyes at the rush of shattered ice. It appeared as though, Barsait would plummet into the sands..
.. Until his palms caught the shifting soil, wrung his legs backwards in the air - similar to that of a somersault, although not quite so graceful. It seemed rather, that his own strength was enough, lifting his body was too little a chore for minor imbalance to ruin it - before the swordsman flipped off this position, and crashed back down on his feet. Bowing. Blade still calmly at his side, bloodless - for whether it had reached Lazenca's flesh in that foray or no, the rush of the flames would have took away such a substance with ease. A tickle of blood was flowing from the right corner of his lips.. yet, that was all.
And despite the four voices giving their own comments, or sounds, or laughter or thanks - light laughter emitted from Barsait's lips. His body ached a little bit, this was true.. but rather than pausing to exchange banter before another assault, the mercenary began to maneuver his eyes. His free hand. It was not a dishonorable strike; their exchange was not over, it seemed.
One warning. That's all Barsait would allow. His words swiftly came, giving Lazenca no idle amount of time to decipher such words or react with forecoming: "You.. underestimated me as much as I have you. Pity."
Lazenca had assumed far too much. Yes, the flames were dead. But who was to say, the lights that guided them had died away? The slight trickle of blood seemed to roar into a blaze, before surging down his front side; as quickly.. horrifyingly fast, both of the fighters were once again basked in a flame's red glow. For those 'serpents', 'dragons' - all had now been given all the time they needed to catch up to Miranda. And they were already spiraling in onto a central target, roaring to life with grand flames. Except now, these masses could take more leisure, though they rushed at Miranda in a gauntlet; they came at several points, some ushering towards what would be the fighter's left or right sides, some at his upper-skull, some at his legs.. separating, binding, but being ushered at Lazenca like a freight train.
And bounding upward with zeal, knees straightening out - the mercenary basked in fire swung Caladbolg forward at a point in one swift motion - as though, perhaps daring Lazenca to try and move towards he in an effort to escape the onslaught. Teeth gritted together in a wild, though well-spirited grin. Oddly, his forearms were beginning to show a fierce & zealous light. Ripping out from his pores, looking horribly condensed & causing his arms to shake. And now, the true show began!
Two serpents bounded up from the sands, already igniting in a small flame - nothing dangerous to Lazenca, though quickly bounding past the fighter en' route to Barsait. And as they dabbed against his flames - the fires seemed to converge, interlocking if one would.. then, Barsait held that blade at it's point edge, and dropped his mouth wide open in a roar. No spite in it. But an overwhelming, perhaps.. nauseating confidence, words were exchanged - though most of it may have became too loud in the sense dulling roar to be audible: "Let's both burn away in Hell and see whom crumbles to ashes FIRST!"
No. He wasn't running. He was moving far too fast for even his accelerated state - this speed was blinding, searing like a flash of Haelstorm lightning.
Haelstorm Impaler Time & time again, Barsait has used his 'serpents' flames to repel one another, in an effort to keep himself afloat or something of that nature. However, earlier in this fight even - it has been shown that, the 'coils' can guide his body along themselves at an alarmingly fast pace. In other words, this was the second of two methods Barsait had developed in order to overwhelm those whom outstripped him in speed. In this particular case, on a variation of the 'Gale' Crest, a large wave of the embers & serpents would coast at the opponent's sides & back, and would tear into them eagerly if given but the slightest contact. This forced the opponent to move right on forward, which thus, would then be met with an overwhelming display of force from the front. What made this variation different, would be the fact that basically, Barsait's body & the masses behind the opponent were now, by some number of coils, connected. And putting it in the simplest way made possible: The two sides were, with a breath robbing speed, attempting to become one again. Barsait's body would act as the main force catalyst, the blade at the forefront; grand explosions of flame roaring off his limbs & gliding forward towards the opponent, just like Barsait's rather fiercesome - though failed - attempts at finishing blows earlier in this very match. The back end, the ever-expanding sides - these would keep the enemy in a relative position, whilst the mercenary's body would scream into the opponent with a force that twould be unrivaled by prior attacks of the mercenary's nature. Tearing force at the back. At the sides. At the top. A grand force intending to literally impale the enemy at the frontside. This, was easily one of the grandest levels of the Serpent Manipulation Barsait had ever displayed in his life, and would prove to be a horrifying display of raw power & speed. Furthermore, the high levels of exertion put on manifesting all of this would cause, now at quite noticeable exertion upon Barsait's body, tremendously hot flames. One would feel the heat prior to the flames ever reaching it's intended targets, and truthfully.. most metals exposed to this would melt away. This, in Barsait's berserk & heightened charge, was going to be - whether it succeeded in crushing it's target or no, one of the match's staple feats. That was assured.
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Posted: Sun Jan 07, 2007 4:47 pm
Lazenca was sure that he couldn't stop the sword from moving. And as such, along with the burning sensation and the charred fur (thank goodness he didn't wear clothes, else they'd be taking a beating that'd definately set them to burning and disappearing), he'd have a bleeding gash across the chest, sliding to the side. The blood there was warm, but the fire was more so. Because of it and an adrenaline rush, with the fighting going on, the feeling of that cut would be supressed for now and the fur would start being matted with the blood that flowed from it. If he slowed or stopped, the sting would reveal itself to him in spades. But other than the sting, the feeling of what could only be described as wetness sliding against him, the wound would be ignored.
How far away did Omi go? A solid hit to a normal person would knock them back a step, so with the enhancement perhaps three feet, with another three because of the somersault? The distance between them wasn't great at all. A second, maybe two to breathe, before they were nose to nose once more.
The crowd had been roaring ever since Lazenca's attack, because they knew that everything before was an intro, them testing each other. When the ante was increased, the crowd knew big things were happening. And now, it seemed like Omi's grand attack would be a grand finale. Insanity continued on for every moment each person moved, and wouldn't stop until both men were finished. It was a moment staring them in the face like a giant WALL of defiance.
Embrace it.
Both men had suffered changes in this bout, and the calm that prevailed in the beginning was all but dead this late in the game. Calm was gone from the arena, calm was gone from the mind. The fur would reflect this change. Alpha Shift Black... such a dangerous condition. It was the proof of his legal insanity, his true killer intent that recognized no law or reason. The mind was singular on the objective, and the body was forced to comply while ignoring its own problems, like the blade piercing the back, and the flames and energy that would follow.
Oh, there would be blood. But not all of it would be Lazenca's. No motion was wasted, no lack of motion was wasted. If Omi didn't know it by now, the current sequene of actions this would be a good lesson for the next time they fought, if there was a next time.
If a person stumbled forward enough, he was going to fall. He was unable to regain balance and continue running on two legs, so he dropped to fours. This is when the sword would be pointed forward, and all heat would converge. Going to fours there and dropping in front of and ever so slightly to the left of Omi in such a way that he no longer moved his legs, the force came.. it was simply the hunkering down and his huge size that stopped the initial large force from ripping him away from his opponent, actual pain of the attack notwithstanding. And then his large body pushed upwards, back first. The small, miniscule movement to the side made it so that when his back flipped over the head, it was going to be to the side of the blade.
Feet took Omi's neck, and the two were airborne with the entire attack trailing them in a whirling pattern.
The force of it all was supremely great, and Lazenca seemed to shoulder-check a steel structure. But other than the force telling his body to stop moving, he didn't feel it. The blade may turn between the time Lazenca went from running to sliding an inch, to subjecting Omi to a full Locomotive Frankensteiner, but he didn't feel it. This was, without a doubt, the most and longest flame series that Lazenca has EVER been a part of. But he didn't feel it.Auto: Negative Gain Allows the user to absorb the energy from any one element for a limited time. Infinite auto-ability for elementals, but those with enough skill can temporarily change their elemental alignment. Revert happens in a matter of minutes, or when the threshold exceeds the limit. h X c And the final, repeating "switch" constantly.
For the first few seconds, it was as if a wind was blowing through. A strong wind, a wind that kept his fur moving along with that being generated by the constant revolutions in the air, but just air. The heat would increase as the threshold was steadily met. Halfway through the altitude climb at 1.5k rpm, the threshold was met and surpassed, and the smell of burned fur reached his own nostrils. But even as their bodies passed the fifteen foot mark, even as the Omi's fire and Lazenca's blood trailed their track like a rolling flare, that didn't mean he felt it.
State: Alpha Shift (Medium Band: [i]FORCE[/i] wink The mental illness is more disadvantageous than anything, but Alpha Shift: Black forces a bloodlust that works much in the way of a bezerker's rage- pain won't be felt at all. On the other side of this, Alpha Shift: White will make Lazenca apathetic, even depressed- very dangerous, for he's not likely to defend himself if he falls into this condition during battle. I do thank you, Omi. Truly, you're a great fighter, and I'll respect you for the rest of my days. But this is truly the final...
When the feet parted an inch from his Omi's neck, a meteor fell from the sky at twenty feet, tearing the air and trailing Hell's flame on its way to the wall nearest Omi, which happened to be behind him.
...goodbye.
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Posted: Sun Jan 07, 2007 7:23 pm
 A sure-kill. That's what Barsait had viewed his Impaler attack as; in no way did he undermine the potential of his opponent, but it just seemed lucrative at the time, for that specific assault to not end Miranda.. well, that was plain inconceivable. In truth: the somersault carried him roughly a foot back from his prior position, so somewhere in the 4' range would be a wise estimate on the mercenary's location.
Yet, in the midst of the Hells prevailing over the two fighters - the weakened Barsait would begin to catch sight of his opponent stumbling into a four-legged stance, dashing on in.. the waves of fire roaring about; the control over it seeming to wain, as even small bits of Barsait's clothing began to erupt into flame. But, it seemed that, Miranda would manage to grab hold of Omi - by the neck, taking them both into the arena air to the gawking of the entire arena's spectators. Twirling, whirling, spinning like a cyclone; it was an impressive sight to behold, what with the screaming flames entailing them. And then, both fighters - senses betraying them - were swarmed into the ensuing chaos.
[Auto: Negative Gain]
As the mercenary watched on helplessly, already feeling his sight flicker in & out like he were in the borders of reality and a dream world. No longer was he able to keep wits about him; no longer could the swordsman perceive whether his opponent was to fail or no.. it was all too dreary. He too felt no more pain, but less due to a berserk rage - and more due to an ever fading conscious, which the ever faster ascent threatened to rob him of. Those words, however, were picked up quite clearly . . . and to he, to Barsait: They spoke a thousand more meanings than what the words themselves denoted. The most prevalent of which, being that - it was all over.
Omi Barsait, swordsman of the failed Viril, had failed himself. Quote: I do thank you, Omi. Truly, you're a great fighter, and I'll respect you for the rest of my days. But this is truly the final...
In a crash that literally shook even the stable grounds of this tournament, dust & crushed flames seemed to just flow like an inferno from the crash's location; rock and amber coating the mercenary, quite deeply encrusted inside the wall, from any one man's vision. Arms. Shoulders. Legs, kneecaps, head.. all were in pain beyond description. And the swordsman's jaw was dropped open in a silent, yet dangerously weakened state of agony. It seemed, the impact was grand enough that dust, flame and smoke would not clear away for a whiles; and now, the crowd somberly eyed the wall like that of a grave. Perhaps, they were not far off from the truth.
"So.." His mind trailed again, as Barsait attempted to move his right arm. Despite his mind sending the signal to shift forward again and again, it did nothing. His body was immobile, currently. "This is all I was capable of..?" Managing to chuckle, so quietly that not a soul other than he could make it audible - his thoughts wailing continued, "This . . is truly all I am.. I actually.. can't move on any farther. There's a wall impeding my progress, this body cannot surpass.." Eyelids flicking halfway shut, a question arose as his normally lively, amber brown eyes looked ghastly pale: "Is this what death is?"
Behind his body, was a single wall of serpents. Apparently created at nearly the last waking moment, they in a final roar of fury, provided the cushioning that saved the swordsman from being crushed entirely. Yet, his body was still in such a horrid state, battling was.. out of the question.
Then, another chuckle arose. His head lurched out of the stone; though, that was all of his body that did. This time, the laughter was more self-defeating; more pained, as though the very thought of giving a comedic after-tone was pure sarcasm. "I'm sorry, everyone. I really ******** up.. it seems in the end, I'm not so great after all, am I? Your murderer, Vincent.. your brother, Eu.." His last thought was interrupted by a cough of blood. Oozing down from his bottom lip, as though signaling his body to fail. Perhaps he was not at a state of fatality, but.. his condition was poor..
"How the Hell could I ever expect to stop the great if I fall down so low before them? Explain to me that.." Shakily raising his head, fangs displayed now in a fury his body could not afford - his monologue raged on, "Weakness.. strength.. power and lack there of, that's all, isn't it?! I can have all the ambitions and dreams in the world, and all the well meanings - all the good intentions - and if it turns out my strength is a hair low, I'll still be damned in God's eye!?" It seemed, issues far extending from this tournament were now plaguing the wounded combatant.
After a long pause, the smoke started to become thinner. More minuscule. Then, his head reared up; his senses suddenly roaring to life, a roar emitting from him despite a sharp pain at the chest immediately afterwards - and his thoughts in that distorted state his vision and mind twere in began to flood to life again. "Than I'll be strong, and I'll continue to do so infinitely until I have nothing left, and I'll make things fair if for you people and those I encounter only, and our goodbyes will become meaningless words, and more sunrises will come, more moons will fade away-" Then, his words became audible: "THAT WILL BE ENOUGH!"
State II: Advanced Release The last state Barsait can, currently, engage by will. If the first state was a reinforcement of his abilities with a slight number of physical boosts, than this state would be that to a level unprecedented. While thanks to his current health, the amount of time he can stay in this state is rather short - it is designed not to need great lengths of time to accomplish it's intents. Body engulfed in fire, one could say he looked like a humanoid Dragon in this state; for seeing the man beneath the inferno would be a task in itself. With blows of radiantly higher levels of strength than his norm, and with a piercing edge of heat that can reave through armor - not to mention, the ability to conjure entire seas of his 'Serpentine', this is a feat of physical manipulation with nearly no rival. However, it is difficult to keep his emotions - his own opinions on matters - in check during this, especially his morality and dislike of needlessly taking one's life. Furthermore, even during the state, the damage done to his body is rapid & tolling. This state has only been utilized once in his lifetime. And while Barsait became entirely unconcious shortly there after, and was somewhat left at the mercy of an enemy wielding a knife with access to his unprotected body - the opponent this was utilized on did return in a faux body of sorts. However, his original form was not just defeated. That particular man had his body burned to ashes, and wiped from existence.
"This is.." Exploding out from the wall with flames screaming out from his flesh in a means that made much of the audience cover their ears, shield their eyes, or in general - do whatever they could to avert themselves, Barsait landed on the sands in that state. Right hand swinging back and fourth at his side, a little more each pass as though ready to rip through something nearby - the mercenary was now wildly, rapidly searching for where Lazenca could have gone. Even though his mind was ensnared by these heightened senses, by this sense of rage ripping through him - Omi held no quarrel against Miranda, and would not kill him even at unpleasant consequences. In fact: regardless of the outcome, Barsait would probably look back at his times here fondly.
Caladbolg was somewhere in the arena grounds. Who truly knew where. However, this was the swordsman's last charge. Even if he could not progress any farther in this tournament.. his entire mind was wrapped around one goal: Become this day's victor.
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Posted: Sun Jan 07, 2007 9:22 pm
He floated and burned, and turned and tumbled and fell. And then he landed upon the spreading sand, paws finding purchase on the ground. The opponent was far away, and the stone fell... no movement. Was he alive? Oh, let him still be alive. He had to see the result of it. A long time ago, Lazenca was a fighter pilot, and learned to ensure the "kill." He had to check... it was the habit, it was the rule.
The body tingled, a thousand pins sticking into every part of his body as his own aura slowly started to build back up, the cold trying to return and flush out the flames that hung onto his fur. When the condition wore off, he would feel the damage of burns and scalds. His aura was currently concentrated on maintaining some semblance of cold in the oven; none could be currently sent to those facilities needed to heal wounds quickly. No... as he walked to Omi's position, he would bleed and take the chance to spit out blood. The vitae was on his chest, and it was only that which would have any effect on him at all. The fire was forgotton. He'd taken no solid physical damage, until that sword slice... there was no lingering damage to slow him down. So he could move. Bleeding though he would, he would move. The blood flowed at not too fast a pace, but it was a steady one. Too much, and he'd have to actually stop moving.
When silence reigned, Lazenca started to run. His mind was torn between wanting Omi to feel pain, and wanting him to stand. "Get up, you aren't dead. Your serpents suggest your living status, so I'm glad for it. Stay down, or face me again. You're doing your best, but you can't win them all. You can't win this. Get up. Stay down. Get up."He didn't need to look for Lazenca. Through the thinning smoke, Omi could probably see Lazenca's large fist crossing the gray to meet his skull in a haymaker-type punch, aimed to land before Omi's new aura had a chance to pick up. And if he had to punch again to make the knockout happen, then Lazenca would use the free hand to block as needed, and go with another hit aimed at making Omi losing conciousness.
"STAY DOWN!"
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Posted: Tue Jan 09, 2007 3:51 pm
Unfortunately, that punch would not silence the new-found transformation; though, there was fortune for the mercenary. Lazenca had just made himself readily evident, as a swarm of the now pseudo-demonic serpentry engulfed Miranda's fist right at impact. Flames cushioning the knuckle from digging into the dragonoid of a man, before Barsait shifted his legs back in a rapid reversed motion. His body was going right back to that wall, with a speed that would make even Miranda's current state have a horrible time keeping pace.
Whether it was for better or worse, however . . that would not last for long.
Six feet. A mere six feet from the raw indentation the swordsman had forcibly bombarded with his own body. An outright stop, an explosion of flames which grounded the mercenary to the point, where the sands beneath him were rapidly becoming smoldering, glowing & insignificant ash. Omi was displaying force like that of a true fiend. Yet, if one thought he was attempting a last escape to plot another series of attacks - they would be wrong. It was too late for that. For either Omi or Lazenca. Right leg once again shifting forward simultaneously with the same side's arm - it seemed like this berserker abomination of a form the mercenary had assumed would just charge in, meet Miranda's command, and eventually, it would end. Yet, those flames, that heat.. scolding the air itself, was screaming for an alternative. What was the true extent of this [Advanced Release] . . . ?
"I can only do this once, I'm afraid. I . . apologize . . Lazenca . ." It would be swift. Even if Miranda had just continued right on charging - the following actions would beset him. Flashing of fangs beneath that monstrous red light. Gums bleeding, the crimson fluid oozing right down the enamel of his teeth in double helixes. Amber brown eyes looking to be burned away, for they were now a pulsating, pale, sickening green; His muscles were pulsating with a strength his body could have only dreamed of prior, his bones - one and all - were tensed with one motion. For the front side of his body festered out an apparition, initially appearing to be another serpent.
Oh, but it wasn't. A replica of his own body composed entirely of thousands of screaming, gnawing coils rushed forward, the "eyes" composed of fire which the rest of the fake duplicate roared to life with. And it was charging right in Lazenca's direction, as the aura surrounding Barsait's body seemed to rip off his body . . .Flashback "Pathetic as usual!"
A short figure, cloaked save the slightest silhouette of white fur & a fanged, feral grin along with two rather fierce claws, was swooping on in towards a slightly younger Omi Barsait. Wielding a Chilamace Tempest, which was a weapon seeming to be a double-headed staff of inproportional weight & golden exterior - the short, cat-like and obviously inhuman figure was holding the most wild of grins on his face. For the swordsman, sixteen just recently, was on grassy grounds some six feet away and decreasing, one knee dropped and his entire body looking rather bruised. One eye shut, the other watching the oncoming assault with a futile grimace.
"Is this.." Stopping but two feet away, Vincent Lyzest began repeatedly darting the powerful weapon forward, causing the tip to roar into Barsait's body prior to retracting it with such an ease thought impossible for a smaller being like this, before repeating in new locations. The skull. The right shoulder. The gut, the chest, the mid-abdomen, the left wrist and the very edge of his neck. It was a brutal onslaught, to which, Barsait could not even speak but his body would be nearly impaled again. "REALLY all you have!? No wonder you fair so poorly! I suppose without that Cross at your beck & call, you're outright useless ~ What should I do now? Tell me!"
While speaking in that bizarre glee, the bizarre comrade of Omi was rapidly, to a point where the motions would blur before the average eye, slamming that weapon into the swordsman again. And again. Wounding he, bones cracking and aching with stress threatening to break them all over, left arm already limp and useless - which with that same glee, Vincent targeted with no resistance, breaking bones lining it to the agony of the near-mute swordsman.
"Unless you can break your limits at any cost, I assure you right now: There are a million things in this world that will tear that body of your's APART! Relish your useless nature, boy-" That last sentence was cut off, for a naked palm managed to plant itself against the edge of the Tempest. This tore some of the skin open, causing Barsait to scream in silent agony when added onto the damage his body had already accumulated - but, in this situation, one could consider it a small victory. The weakened swordsman, with a blade of scrap iron on his back, had managed to stop an assault by an opponent with far superior power.
The assault stopped. The staff retracted calmly. And then, a coy grin spread across the demon's lips. "Good. But, now I'll impart you with true wisdom: When you're willing to risk your life for what you desire.. but have absolutely no drive or strength TO BACK YOUR DESIRE, YOU'LL ROT IN OBSCURITY AND BE TORE FROM THIS EARTH!" These words were followed by another lunge of the tempest..
Except this time, it seemed the demon of incredible strength did not hold back. Ten. Twenty. Seventy? So many times in only a precious number of seconds, did that Tempest roar forward - targeting exposed body parts, or spots hard to guard, or even the limbs and hands which with futility, tried their best to neglect the blows. It was an outright swarm, each blow packing great force but only setting up the next, to the misfortune of the bloody swordsman. Finally, at the very last strike - the swordsman was bellowed to the dirt. Unconscious, and in more than critical condition.
The beast swung the staff into the dirt by his side - and gave a stout exhale. Shaking his head as though either in disapproval, or in discontent with the situation itself. Then, Vincent mused beneath a low breath: "I truly wonder. If I make you suffer Hell, rather than sprout wings . . . will you break?"
His eyes bore ahead. In response to the situation, spoken as his next action performed - his now deformed, monstrous voice that split through the arena grounds roared with a tenacity that had it's all displayed would meet Lazenca's last words with his own. Just three, to meet Lazenca's desire for Barsait to keep down - coursing after his manifestations, while his "dragon" jaw began to drop open with those glistening, bloody fangs: "I'D RATHER BURN!"
One serpent.
One gigantic, massive, bloated and monstrous serpent, which already coming to life upon escaping from seemingly Barsait's throat, roared right through his own dragonoid 'dopplegangers', cut through the air right at Miranda. The flames glowed so hot, they were literally white - and the front of this entity was not unlike that of a majestic, though bloodthirsty & rageful dragon. Just the sound of this horrible creation made more than likely, the entire crowd's knees buckle away, arms began numb with shear weakness; much less the eye searing intensity of it's bright light. The sands beneath it's path were literally melted away, and the air deformed something horrid, as though the elements of the Earth itself were being tore apart. In his state of mind, Omi was not afraid of going his farthest. He did not believe, at his truest core, Miranda would die from this - nor did he desire that, in the slightest. But the heat of battle and his berserk, now ensnaring emotions were too strong for him to relent. And with that, that day - Omi Barsait had ushered fourth the highest level manifestation of the Serpentine Manipulation technique.
This was his all.
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Posted: Tue Jan 09, 2007 6:42 pm
And yet there was one spectator who was not afraid, not blined, not phased by the massive dragon-like flame coil.
Fas still sat, watching his freind battle, his bright green eyes flickering in the light of the dragon fire.
"Don't lose, Omi." Fas said, before vanishing suddenly, unsure if his words of pure hope and encouragement would reach the ears of his good freind. Maybe they would help him just a little to bear the pain a bit longer...
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Posted: Tue Jan 09, 2007 6:48 pm
As promised, Lazenca pushed through the heat and swung, only to find Omi nearly teleporting backwards. Eyes narrowed as he pulled the hand back, quickly throwing his hands in the direction of the ground, as if putting out a flame on his hand. The motion was immediately reversed and he approached Omi with his right hand up, palm facing the opponent. There would be no maddening charge... the end was nigh, unstoppable. Rushing to it would leave him feeling unsatisfied... a premature ejaculation in this fight that filled him with a feral, primal joy comparable with that of the roughest sex he could offer. No, a charging was unwise, for he wouldn't be able to enjoy it.
But ah!, the rush came. He could barely feel it, the fire, the rush, but he had half a mind to defend his body. This was the half that kept Lazenca from outright killing his opponent. The Trigger hadn't been called and so no matter how into the battle Lazenca got, he could think. The waiting for Omi to rise and watching him circle with the sword... time enough to start building aura, unused since Korper was used. The slow walking in that period of time Omi used to regather his thoughts and contemplate this final charge... more slow building. It was all released here, as that attack of a thousand rushed at him. Everything was put forth in an aura that refused to become introverted, so for what it was worth, the air around Lazenca was cold, before it became hot.
However, it became hot and he was losing his footing. Sliding back in the sand, half of which was melting or already melted into glass. He pushed against it with everything, as if a defensive football player trying to get through the pass block, this incredible wave of flame, to get to the quarterback.
The crackback came... that second attack that's hardly ever seen, but always felt, and is sure to make the patrons cry out a single syllable in unison, as if they sympathized with the pain recieved...
"Ooooooh."
For as much as Lazenca was able to hold his footing, something... something happened. The world went white as a dragon roared, and he was uprooted. It was only by leaning heavily forward that he wasn't upended and tossed away immediately, and could press through the "Why are you still alive?" and "I'm seriously going to knock you the hell out" thoughts to think another one, one quite important in that it'd keep him alive. It would activate the bracer opposite the previously used one and instead of shooting up his physical power, his aural ability would double. It was debatable wether or not the arctic spirewas being tapped into, but this power was coming from somewhere. It was coating Lazenca in a thin layer of blue, even as he was thrown to the other side of the arena. His physical body would be sacrificed... he could live with not having the strength to stand for a few seconds. As long as he withstood this attack.
Verstand.
The area between them sparkled with hot sand and glass, a groove cut into the arena from it. It passed directly over the hole Omi made with his first massive attack, the one that nearly broke and burned Lazenca's back. The evidence of Lazenca's journey on the ground was told by sprays of blood from the wound that was given no time to close and would only be getting bigger as the fighting intensified, as well as the pits in the sand where Lazenca had landed. A large sand formation at the other end existed where he came to a halt.
And after five seconds, a clawed paw reached out from it. The sand so white and brown on his fur, the mound directly below him stained with red... it exited his mouth now, and he went into a coughing fit upon emergence.
But by the powers that be, Lazenca survived. The blood loss was becoming too great, and something felt wrong inside... was something broken? Ruptured? He couldn't hold on to the state for long. Words almost gurgled past his lips as he stood and bled. Two piercing wounds and enough fire to make the sun jealous, and this was the result.
"How much more pain... can you withstand, you son-of-a-b***h?"
It was undetectable by the average eye, and even by many trained ones, but the blue sheen was already returning. His hunger was creeping up on him, because his body wanted to heal, and his mind wanted to keep fighting... his energy reserves were trying to decide which was more important. After Verstand, he'd used about every staple move he had, and it was only to survive.
"ANSWER ME! OMI! HOW MUCH MORE ARE YOU WILLING TO GIVE?"
But he was going to survive, by any means necessary.
"SO I KNOW WHAT I HAVE TO MEET, AND BEAT!"
May the Daraku act as a frame for his body, that he may claim a victory this day.
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Posted: Wed Jan 10, 2007 3:42 pm
Barsait had delivered a Hellish assault, surely fitting to be one of the pinnacles of this very match's highlights . . but unfortunately, the name 'L A S T B R E A T H' was very fitting. For right back at the indentation to the wall which Barsait had moved forward from in an effort to deliver his impaling attack, did he lie again.. no longer in that accelerated state. One could finally appreciate the torture maintaining those states despite his body's conditions had brought - for one could spot his haggard breathing, limp left arm, blood oozing from places unseen beneath his mesh and right through the clothing he wore - which did not go unscathed, a number of holes lining his attire despite his own protection - and his pupils, an amber brown hue once more. Shaking badly.
Though, the quickest thing one would notice, would be the raw steam emitting off his flesh. Legs, arms, shoulders and back all had steam which, in itself was deadly hot flowing off them; much to the discomfort of the swordsman's weary torso. However, his body was also in a unique position. On his back, dug into the sands with a strained, painful drawing of breath that seemed to wound him with every pass. Left eye shut tightly, unlikely to open again this day.
"D-did . . I defeat him?" He asked in that miasma of a mental status once more, haggardly raising himself up by the left wrist- before his arm gave way, body falling right back to the sand with a light cough of blood flowing from his mouth. This stained the sands near him, though did not impart failure in the mercenary; for he attempted it again with his right hand giving more aid. Slowly, but surely, his body managed to come into a sitting position - right knee digging into the sand, nearly dead left hand falling to the sands.
And gripping cloth.
Caladbolg. Where he had left it, somewhat; it had been moved from the indentation to the sands near it by the vibrations of his own attack's howls but moments prior. Yet, that glowing blade did not seem to have been, to the contrary of it's owner, so much as scratched..
"Ku.. ro.." He muttered dizzily, recalling just whom fashioned that blade, as though thanking the swordsmith in a daze that threatened to crush what consciousness the swordsman had left. Sliding the handle across the sands limply with his left hand despite it now being little more than dead weight, his right fingertips finally felt the handle's grasp - and rose it outward. Point forward. That glow, perhaps more than anything, keeping his weary head from diving downward into the sands. It was impossible for him to stand properly. Yet, with legs that shook like they would break at any moment, Barsait tried to do just that; frame carrying him forward one or two steps, before he fell right on his knees with a muffled scream of pain. A stabbing sort, striking him right at the sides and chest in no doubt, warning of grand injury. Yet, this would only give way to him trying it again; closing the distance between the two opponents at a monstrously slow pace, body caving in to the sands again & again whilst his right hand would dig the blade into said saids, forcing himself upward with an almost desperate, though hallucinatory kind of focus.
Sound. Sight. It was hard to keep either going for long. Occasionally, the crowd's cheers or cries, or comments of pity or discontent would ring in his ears. Then, all sound around him would fade away like a forlorn wind, only to repeat this pattern whilst his blurred right pupil's vision tried desperately to keep his opponent, so far away, in sight. Right hand collapsed to the dirt, handle in tow. Left body veered upward in an imbalanced kind of lunge that only plunged him to the sands again, before what sounded like a bone cracked. Somewhere, most likely, along that limp arm. But anymore, pain was a second nature. Pain was the wrath that swallowed his being whole, that threatened to rob his prescience from him at any time.
He didn't care much for it.
Ten feet away? Eighty feet away? His vision spun and blurred; Barsait was, only by sheer stubbornness, grating along parallel to the scars in the arena grounds he himself had created. Sweat formed at every point of his body, and most assuredly, his muscles did creak. Sword, arm shaking, still extended as though ready to descend once more; though in his current state, nothing seemed certain. Nothing at all.
Speaking was even going to be a chore, if Omi Barsait had the chance to do so again this day. So forsaking such an action, he merely trudged on along those Hellish sands; the heat in the arena, even moving so far after the [HAELSTROM], unpleasantly high. No longer could he run. Throwing a punch would be absurd, for the tendons in his hand would scream with agony before the knuckle even met resistance. Projecting another coil was, in that drained condition, impossible; and despite the grand boosts they had given, achieving another 'state' was also, sadly, not enforcible.
All the swordsman had now, was just that. A sword, an arm going through Hell to wield it, and a body defying his mind's every scream to fall to the ground and rest lest he die; right eye fervently glaring ahead at Miranda, despite the horrible distortions that met him. Perhaps he did hear those words from Fasumbra. Perhaps, he caught a glimpse of the other spectator in tow.. perhaps even, he was just fixated on not falling. As though to remain on the ground would be the greatest sin he could commit. His bangs were down over his currently dead eye, his skin was lax.. and the expression on his face was nothing short of frightening. As if he were being tossed into Hell, and resisted without falter. But through ache and through that Hell: Barsait was going to continue his side of the battle. Even if he were to be overwhelmed until no more were he awake.
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Posted: Thu Jan 11, 2007 12:07 am
Breathe. Something primal in the air. Something on his skin, 'neath the fur. Something in his breath, the tsylence carried with him and premonitions of days to come where the madness within would go unchecked, and bouts in this fashion would result in eyes seeing in monochrome shades, one accent standing out among the rest.
But to get there, he had to get past this point. A moment to breathe, allow the left hand to cover the slick wound on his stomach. Between the pads, there was sweat. The state was too much to keep up... shift out. Stand there and observe the self. See the discoloration in the skin over the entire body, note that the backs of the hands were suffering from scalds that had yet to be felt. The hair would have to be recut, tidied to remove the burning. The clothes... his pants suffered, and now he would be wearing shorts that themselves showed more readiness to come apart at the seams.
The sensation of pain, previously forgotton and forsaken, crept up on him as a spectre, tugging on his senses. As Alpha Shift began to melt away, the blanket of senses gently fell. Slow... he could tell where the injury was. A bit longer, he could stand it. The liquid had yet to fill the wounds, his body was still elastic.
Step forward and finish it.
The bare feet weren't happy about the sand's temperature. So he was going to stand there. Head up, mouth open, left arm across the belly, right arm hanging, feet pointed at the approaching opponent, back taut as a rightfully tired athlete should be- he should have his hands over his head to open his lungs, but hey. Gather enough aura to stand the ambient heat. Omi seemed in no condition to rush him, so there was time.
Time to breathe.
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Posted: Sat Jan 13, 2007 5:43 pm
Finally, still in the rough midsts of where he had been before - the mercenary fell right upon his kneecaps. Jaw lowering and rising just a bit with each haggard inhale, whilst his one comfortable eye began to regain just a bit of it's composure. Enough, Barsait could clearly spot his opponent out in the distance. The distance too far for his feet to carry the wounded swordsman. That horrid series of sands which would drag on and on, though only so many feet, seemingly forever to his vision . . .
"Than.." Raising the Caladbolg just a bit - the tip sunk into the sands. Not too far, but enough his body could shift onto the handle, and use it as ballast. His breathing kept up that quick pace; his body prospiring onward.. all he appeared to be doing, was eye out his distant opponent from afar. Not even bothering to rest his left limb, knowing how useless that would be; right calmly pressing against the light blade's swordguard, to keep the wrist raised just so. Hand loosely slung over it.
What was he doing?
Catching his breath. Nothing more. Both fighters were wounded; but, the way Barsait saw it, if his opponent would take the time to regain his composure . . so would he. If Miranda began to resume approaching he, than well, Omi would gladly meet the feral wolf man with the last of his own relative strength. Why, after all in expanding futility, charge onward when he could instead, give his body at least some small taste of rest? Granted, no amount would sustain his wounds; at least, no amount he could seek in these arena walls. But if it were enough, a more elastic spring in his wounded feet could be called upon, or a stronger thrust from his right arm be called forward.. well, than it was in all manners and forms, worth the pursuit.
The crowd, however, was growing impatient. This had been an extravagant match, but the two were so close to collapsing, any average eye could perceive it so. And they craved one of the two to be felled.
That soft glow Caladbolg's metal gave off, however, reassured the horridly strained eyes prior. Omi could only smirk, though a bit of his olden, undried blood oozed from canines in response to this. "My.. a waiting game against eachother or ourselves, Miranda?"
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Posted: Sun Jan 14, 2007 1:05 pm
The right side of his face twitched, and Lazenca hacked, as if trying to bring up phlegm that seemed content to sit uninvited in his throat. Stomach clutched, doubled over... the hand not nursing his stomach, nursed his head as if suffering from an Akira-esque migrane of epic proportions.
And then, he started off. He was no longer doubled over, no longer leading a trail of red or anything like that, but the movements were measured and seemed almost strained. It did indeed seem like they were both on the verge of collapse, as this meeting with the opponent seemed a chore. Hands switched on the body so it was the back of the left now covering that side of his face, and the stomach was being nursed by the right hand. Halfway there, the arm dropped as if the muscles could no longer hold... little strength, little ability to hold the arm in place.
Some five feet from Omi, following him if he chose to move to the side to keep the opponent in front of him, both feet came together and the right was pushed forward, so it seemed to be some sort of lunging in... classic pendulum step, which usually led to kicks. The way his foot was hovering, it seemed as if Laz was about to stomp-kick Omi's shin. However, due to apparent injuries, the move could have been telegraphed too much, and any miss would have Laz land with authority with a foot between Omi's own, two feet away and rooted so that most counter-kicks or sweeps would fail to topple him... though they'd probably just hurt as much as any kick would.
It'd be great if the thing landed, though.
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Posted: Mon Jan 15, 2007 2:24 pm
So, it seemed the inevitable closing rush commenced once more. Miranda would, much to his own growing agonies, come charging in at Barsait; to which, the swordsman responded long prior before his opponent could come to that five foot distance, by raising the blade from the warm sands below once again. Scattered specs of the loose soil cascading over the warm, glowing blade Caladbolg, as it rose up once more in calm wait for Lazenca.
True, Omi couldn't stand perfectly, but he could manage a bit of a risen-squat; enough, that he merely 'stood' and waited patiently for the onslaught to come. Many would perceive this as his last, mostly futile stand; and quickly, an image of stubborn foolishness was painted upon the mercenary by most all of the arena's spectators. Perhaps, more in a commendable light, but still - it was a common, unspoken consensus that he should have just fell to the ground and called it a well-fought day. What purpose was there in trying to grasp victory, if the chance of he never being able to battle again grew more and more?
The mercenary, bangs now overshadowing his temporarily dead eye, couldn't have given any less of a damn. As soon as Miranda had came into that five foot distance, one would have expected him to, at least, try and move away. Yet . . . Exhibition Match: Omi Barsait versus Raine "She's strong. And even then, I feel as though she's holding back. People like this.. here, everyone is at such a high tier. And everyone is amazing - even divine. Could it be my place to compete-"
Gritting his jaw, the mercenary's amber eyes followed her movements - as his hands tried to assume a proper stance again, fists in front of his face and elbows bent upwards. But, he didn't expect her to launch an assault from that position; then again, he had done the same thing himself before. Still, his gut was unguarded. And, her bizarre kick wasn't just unexpected. It was admirably quick; and judging from her initial strike, would pack an incredible 'punch', so to speak.
Then, his eyes seemed to gain a focus. "No. I am just as great as they; whether they tote their bloodlines around and say mine is weak filth, whether they have experience over my head.. I have my own experiences, that they can never have themselves. One's strength, and the impact their blow can deliver are -not- the same thing. Even a giant could have his massive fist lose it's grandeur, if dealt with correctly. This girl fights like me, to an extent; loose movements, quick reactions, but in her case, with a tremendous amount of power. Then.. I'll cut through her attacks like they were nothing!" His formed-fists tensed, as did his left leg - which slid in front of the right.
Immediately, his left elbow forced itself downward, like he was getting ready to throw a punch - but at what? It was lower than her feet, even..
Though, it was low enough to come up at her lower legs. Raine had just put herself in a vulnerable position, by making such an attack at Omi's front. Had it been launched from the side, the back, or anywhere inbetween - it would have been much harder to deal with. But, straight from the front.. her advantage of the moment disappeared, replaced by a confident grin that came over his lips. His left hand roared back up with a fierce, fast movement - plenty of spring in the low uppercut, yet, with a grand amount of force. The air's swish over his hand only confirmed it's strength; his blow, basically, raising Raine's out-stretched legs above their original destination and at a diagonal direction towards himself. Both feet just above his forehead, or in that area. The kick, was ruined. Lazenca Miranda "ANSWER ME! OMI! HOW MUCH MORE ARE YOU WILLING TO GIVE?" But he was going to survive, by any means necessary. "SO I KNOW WHAT I HAVE TO MEET, AND BEAT!"
Too many points of escape had been closed off by Miranda. No, to think Omi could escape harm would be a fool's grand folly; But, agility to move away was not what Barsait had nor desired. Light, in-place foot shuffling to keep the two fighters nice and aligned, before the lovely pendulum step. Unfortunately for Miranda: Barsait would not, at all, try to escape this kick. No, mimicking his first blow of his first bout in this entire tournament, in fact, Barsait suddenly sprung off his feet - at a diagonal charge forward, right into the foot with a howl, giving Miranda no chance to catch his barrings or trap the mercenary in some awkward position.
Omi & Lazenca were no longer in a position where they could trade blows, count their losses, try to fool the other into taking a hit here and there; and the mercenary, it seemed in the end, had realized that quicker than Miranda, for whilst his body lurched into the foot happily- overlapping it, even, as the tip struck his gut - something shone over it. His left arm, his legs, his torso and his gut especially were all rooted by Lazenca's foot..
But those were irrelevant: The right arm had extended happily over Miranda's leg, and gashed in straight towards Lazenca's chest, the mightily Caladbolg. No fancy motions. No round-about strikes that could be warded away by a free hand. A very straight forward, rapid thrust, which had no intention of meeting resistance, save piercing whatever foolish limb tries to merely block it's keen edge. Barsait's eye, what was visible of the good one, was feral as could be; and his body pressed into that lunge like its' existence depended upon it, for which, that very well may have been the case. The crowd had, once again, something to eye with voice-robbing uncertainty.
Lazenca received his reply, amidst that chilling thrust of the ethereal blade. In finality, dull rage ascending into the mortal coil:
"More than YOU CAN EVER GIVE!"
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