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 Posted: Wed Aug 20, 2008 11:00 am
The trick to it was - often, Barsait held a kind of brooding rage within him. During battle, he could feel himself going flat-out berserk, and would often "shake it off," retaining his calm demeanor. However, amidst such a bout as the two were having, and with all of the pain and the adrenaline swirling within his body.. it was overwhelming in a manner words couldn't right describe.
All the same, Omi wasn't the type to charge in without thinking things through. Ever. Even now, wanting nothing more than to barrel down unto his opponent, he was thinking up a offensive strategy, followed by a theoretical counter to Deitric's own response. However, unlike normal, his thoughts were.. marred. Distorted. The mental process in developing what was to happen centered around a main theme, if you would: tearing apart the opponent.
The enemy fighter's calm words of concern piercing through that guard was appreciated.. but fell on deaf ears. Or rather, purposely dulled ears, as the raging dark-clad fighter's breathing accelerated- the oxygen transported through his bloodstream hyper-accelerating all whilst every muscle in the finalist's body tensed and poised themselves. Omi's next words said it all, in a kind of forced, almost painful form of control mixing with the incoming, brewing storm:
"Appreciated.. but Deitric, for your sake- worry about yourself!!"
Hardly a moment proceeding these words, the attack began. Even losing himself ever worse in that bizarre trance he was in, Omi was well aware of his ruined leg's status. However.. seven, perhaps more thoughts popped into his mind - burning by like hot-flashes, almost as though he were controlling his own hallucinations - on how to keep going. The kneecap was good. The foot itself was good. It was merely what linked them that was ruined; furthermore, the other leg was fine, the arms were fine. How to continue an offensive, much less an effective one, like this?
The answer came in the following, chilling new form of assault. The swordsman let his right foot lay idly on its sole upon the arena ground; not taking any weight upon it but rather using it to lead the entire leg forward, thus shifting his body towards that same destination. All the while, the left leg - fine as could be and now apart of the berserk, smaller fighter - kicked off with tremendous force. Even with a ruined leg leading, the left leg would usher Omi forward towards the guarded Khasmin-tribesman with a menacing force.
However, just before he'd reach extremely close proximity.. what would prove to be a brutal barrage began.
[RIP.]
Like five blades slicing through the air, Barsait's left hand suddenly sliced across the air like a wild beast's claw. It was freakishly swifter than the fighter's previous hand movements, and his fingernails protruded enough - whether Deitric left his guard or no, a reaping-like method of attack was coming for his skin.
Yet as Barsait swiped, upper-left to lower-right.. he used this time to pivot. A boxer's pivot, again using that left leg like an axis on which the entire body would operate, before it suddenly pressed off the ground; right leg swinging with, the entire fighter suddenly spinning clockwise. Left leg rising off the ground rapidly, its knee piked forward in what was a familiar strike: a [Curved Knee Strike.]
Entire body spinning in this absurd motion, the knee strike was aiming for Deitric's right-side mid-kidney to ribs. Yet as if ignoring this all together, the fighter's 360 spin would complete with yet another limb claiming its role: the right hand, arced behind his back, swarming in towards a very specific location, if allowed. A rapid-spinning [Kidney Shot]. All the while, a low-throated growl escaped from Omi's lips; leering out into the air about his opponent.
A feral, animalistic swipe leading to an impaling strike finally leading to a crushing blow; it was a triple-combo from the most bizarre of positions. It looked like, despite the injury, Barsait's heightened senses despite the trance-like conditioning associated with it all was allowing him to crash in with deadly blows at a shockingly rapid rate..
The question was, would his noble opponent make Omi regret not taking the offer of forfeiting? Or would this begin the downward stretch of the bloodiest ending phase in the tournament?
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Posted: Wed Aug 20, 2008 7:40 pm
Same as always, Deitric remained strangely impassive; an enormous amount of patience and calm residing somewhere within his person. What some might take for tranquility was only another aspect of the hunter-predator personality - patience was a virtue. Wait long enough, and the prey would trap themselves.
When his opponent decided to attack, the fighter's persona seemed to take a harder, chill edge of almost animalistic dread - a certain, deathly quiet that permeated the air around him. It wasn't a power - but more akin to the gloom and sharpened sense of fatalism that someone might've felt right before the stalking animal leapt to finish them off. Turquoise eyes hardened like flint and his open, contemplative features took a grim visage.
By choosing to attack, Omi forced the tribesman's inherent instinct to take control - if it was kill or be killed, a dog-eat-dog world where Omi decided to plunge headfirst into the fray, then it left Deitric with only one choice. Unlike some fighters, he wasn't conflicted on the matter - all parts of his psyche were completely honed and focused by the predatory sense to take victory by the throat.
The smaller fighter's flashing, quick strikes shot in, but Deitric's guard and the subtle shift of his body helped him. He kept his feet moving - if only barely - leaning a tiny amount here or there. What could have been worse wounds still struck, but instead of doing some sort of awful damage, they left cuts, gashes, and nicks - fingernails dug into the skin of his upraised forearms, but only in passing cuts, not in stabs. He was using his arms to block his body, but he kept his arms shifting to defuse the blows without taking too much damage with the "middle block", moving his arms from side to side to redirect and blunt the attacks' viciousness.
The red-skinned fighter knew that his opponent was going to try and attack by any means possible - he couldn't exactly over-power Deitric in the sense of strength, but he could attempt to overwhelm him in a barrage of attacks. While he was in the grip of rage, it was more than likely that he would attack by any means necessary - even if it would do more damage to the already crippled leg. And Deitric knew his own weak-point - the left side, under his ribs, though his opponent held the same weakness from the knee he'd taken early on in the fight.
THWAK
The warrior turned his body, his right arm coming down in the typical "low block" of Karate - arm bending at the forearm with surprising force, pointed fist-down to block the attack. The forearm would hopefully strike the oncoming knee from the "top-side" and force Omi's momentum to halt, both in his spin and in the attack. Ontop of the defense, the fighter had also retaliated--
Without missing a beat, he had used the twisting torque of his block to send out a low, swiping kick with his left leg - a split second after the knee and his arm collided, Deitric's own attack would strike the ruined leg in its weakest point - just above the break. He was aiming to force the shattered remnants of the bone to shift and topple the fighter, while possibly even driving the tips deeper into the shifting muscle of the surrounding calf. Beyond dropping Omi back to earth, it also held the possibility of crippling him further, and maybe even forcing him to simply white out from the pain. But a white-knuckle deathgrip of rage might've impeded that possibility already.
The attack was quick, and had a deceptive power - Deitric's unbridled physical strength - no longer used solely for momentum or manhandling - offered a surprising amount of attack to even the most basic of attacks. He made sure not to turn himself to a complete profile to Omi - his body torqued to the side, but he made sure not to do too much with his upper-body; instead opting to rely on the movement of his arm to block, allowing him to keep nearly eye-to-eye with the fighter, albeit from a sort of lopsided view. He could see both of Omi's arms, and his own free arm was still in guard and ready to block.
The tribesman didn't trust Omi to simply take the attack - but his own retaliatory response had taken place at the same time as his block, and hopefully that would either take the man off-guard, or just outright strike take him down before he realized the kick had been loosed.
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