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Dark, angry stormclouds grew over the arena, choking the sunlight to shreds of vague luminescence on the far horizon. The wind began to dance through the crowd, howling through the hallowed halls of the coliseum as rain began to fall in a steadily rising in intensity. The sky rumbled with the beginning growls of the thunderous storm that was to come. But it seemed as though nothing was going to be done to save the crowd or the fighters from the storm's outpouring - they would fight in the rain, in the shade, and beneath the lightning and thunder.

Just inside the north entrance stood Deitric, staring stoically out at the sky that had quickly become gray and overcast and was spilling itself onto the arena floor. Behind him, the door of his locker room stood open, words filtering out, reverberating beneath the hum of the crowd in the stone hallway. He tried his best to ignore it as he dug through the pockets of his supply belt.

"..Flawless victory for returning champion, Deitric Jocasta.."

"..Currently holding heavy favor with fight commentators, many anticipate successful defense of his title.."

"..Set to fight Vincentius Alphare.. Standby for Live Coverage.."

The warrior took out a small length of simple twine, and tied his thick, black hair back into a pony tail before settling his bandanna on his head like a skull-cap. He rarely wore either as such, but heavy rain called for a bit of a change in style; getting sopping wet hair in his face wasn't going to help him win a fight. And from the looks of outside, the rain wasn't about to halt.

Deitric's face didn't show any telltale lines or creases of worry; revealing nothing in the ways of thoughts or emotions. Omi was, undoubtedly, the most notable opponent he would possibly have to face in the whole of the tournament, the former finalist and one man who had been expected to give the tribesman a serious run for his money. The upset of Barsait's clean, deft defeat would have emboldened any fighter; Omi was one of the most skilled opponents in the Gaian Tenkaichi Budokai, to beat him as Deitric had would have been a big vote of confidence.

Not for the brave, it seemed. He wasn't so unwise as to become overconfident after just one round - there was nothing to say that he couldn't find himself in a losing position before he'd barely gotten into a proper winning streak. He certainly felt good about winning, but he wasn't prepared to consider himself as successful just yet.

After cinching his bandanna tightly, the warrior stepped out into the rain. Droplets of water pitter-pattered over the leather of his jacket as he walked, raising his left hand to the crowd in the form of a single, clenched fist. As if in response to his appearance, the lightning above lit up the sky in a flash, shortly followed by a

KRAKATHOOM

of rumbling thunder that momentarily blotted out the frenzied crowd. But only for a moment as their cheers returned full force at the appearance of the reigning champion, who looked as ready as ever to fight. The cried, shouted, and stomped their feet; not because he was the champion, and not just because he was a fighter.

But because they knew all too well what he could do with his particular brand of shocking abilites, and the blackened sky only foretold of a use no one had ever seen before on the tribesman's. The man before them was very well a conduit for the fury of the storm above, and they wanted to see that raging power personified in the warrior.

If his opponent showed, Deitric intended to deliver. Already, his eyes began to glow, their particular shade of turquoise lightening steadily to an electric white-blue, cackling power dancing behind his irises. His hand fell back down to his side with a surge of cheers, and for now he was set to wait amidst the rain and wind for his opponent.

Unbothered by the rain pattering over his form, Deitric inclined his head as his opponent approached as if to get a better view of the man. His face was a mask carved from stone, full of hard angles, half obscured with stark shadows cast by the overhead lights of the arena, making his exact expression uncertain to anyone more than two or three feet away from him. The man had some considerable height and reach on the tribesman, weapon not included. But he wasn't the biggest fighter to stand before the Khasmin man.

He was very likely the third or fourth tallest opponent Deitric had faced, ranking around the around the same height as the bounty hunter Ebris Dhifi. But both Vincent and Ebris were dwarfed by the massive Aesir John Tomorrow, and the gargantuan dragonkin Murdoc. Both stood in at over 7' with ease, and in Murdoc's case, must have weighed in at at least five hundred pounds of solid, draconian muscle.

Suffice to say, the novelty of fighting men bigger than he had worn off, and the tribesman was no longer troubled by the obstacles such an opponent offered, though he was respectfully wary of them to say the least. He understood how to deal with them, and in this case, he at least had one even advantage - he and Vince weighed around the same, but he was considerably more compact at only 6'3''. His appearance (looking to be only 220 or so) belied his strength; not unlike a hunting cat like the cougar, he could pack on pound after pound of muscle and barely show it until the time came.

When his opponent approached, Deitric respectfully stepped back to further the distance between them, his booted feet rustling in the low grass. It wasn't a retreat, or the beginning of an attack - they were at the center of the arena floor, and the brave wasn't the sort to stand nose-to-nose with an opponent like some sort of boxer. He always offered a sizable amount of distance between himself and his opponent at the start of a bout, allowing both fighters open ground to maneuver. Ten feet became twenty, until the warrior stopped to hear his opponent speak.

"As you say - let's begin," Deitric responded coolly, beyond calm and collected for someone facing down a much taller, better armed opponent.

It was nearly impossible to tell what the Khasmin tribesman could have been planning; he didn't reach for one of his tomahawks, nor did he appear to be armored beyond a pair of bracers and greaves. Instead, the exotically dark-skinned human only stood with his hands at his sides, staring his opponent down with his electric-blue eyes, which continued to glow fiercely in the half-light of the stormy arena. Beneath the layers of clothing, flesh, and bone, something unseen had sparked to life earlier and was growing ever more powerful, lighting electric fires along the endless highway of nerves through his body.

The only question the crowd could pose was, what was he waiting for?

They'd soon find out.