Welcome to Gaia! ::

Description: To debut the opening of the new Beach Selena, which sits on the western coast of the GTB plot of land, Midus has decided to host the second round of the tournament in this lovely place. The sun is shining brightly as the warm breeze blows gentle waves along the clear crystal waters. Boats, surfers, and ski boats trail the waters as a large crowd of spectators gather around a single large wooden platform situated out in the middle of the water. This platform will serve as the fighting ground for both fighters as they are transported out here, either via boat or by their own creative method. The platform itself is made of wood, but contains a solid slab of stone underneath it that is four feet tall meant to keep the platform from being destroyed. Though you may think you can destroy rock with your attacks, this stone is extra tough, meaning knocking chunks out of it will be your only capability, so don't expect to punch any holes through it.

Field Measurements: The platform is a square shape, with the distance measured from one side to the other merely 15 yards, which equates to 45 feet. You won't be able to run around this thing as freely as the last arena. The platform is raised a foot above water, so if you fall off, you can still simply climb back on. The platform is rooted underneath with a four pillars of the same stone at each corner, so it will always remain stationary. The pillars are ten feet long each (and quite wide), touching the sandy floor underneath.

Ten Count Boundary: Falling into the water begins the ten count. If the other fighter goes into the water, too, or makes contact with the fighter in count-out in any way, the count resets. This does not apply if both fighters are in the water. Only when a fighter has both feet on the platform does the count stop for them.

The flying rule remains in effect.

Other Penalties: Do not attack spectators or attempt to destroy the platform's rooting underwater. Doing so will result in a DQ.

Fight Ends: On July 9th, at 9 PM Central.

“Woo! Go Ry!!” A pause, then laughter as he flung his shirt in the boat. “Yeah, take it all off!”

Robyn was yelling and cheering from a nearby-ish boat, paying no mind to the other people seated near her that were beginning to glare at her for disturbing their peace. If only she could have gotten a little boat, just for her. She might have tipped that one though, with how much she was hollering and waving. The fox girl was leaned against the rails, holding the boundary with her left, and waving her right enthusiastically in the air, trying to catch Rylen’s attention.

She was glad she’d be able to catch her friend’s match this time. Last round, hers had taken place before his, and she’d been too busy getting patched up to see his fight. She’d been ecstatic when she’d found out they’d both passed to the next round, something the half-fox was ashamed to admit she’d been surprised about. But that was neither here nor there, they were both in the second round, in this much less favorable arena. Of course, watching Rylen’s fight had its benefits as well. She’d be able to see how he fought, if he’d gotten better. But what she was most interested in, was the fact that their builds and physical aspects were very similar. This would be a great chance to see how the arena affected him, and thus, her.

She could focus on that later, though. For now, she was content to whoop and holler, yelling “Go Ry!” “You can do it!” “Kick his a**!” and other such types of encouragement.

Rylen's ear twitched as he caught the sound of a familiar voice even over the hum of commotion filling the air. Above all the noise, all the engines sputtering and the waves crashing and the crowds cheering, he heard Robyn calling out his name and cheering him on.

And he winced. He turned his head sharply to look in her direction, his triangular ears acting like radar dishes for him to pinpoint the sound of her voice. Thankfully, the wide open aspect of this particular arena meant Rylen was not so bothered by the din as he had been in the semi-enclosed space of the previous arena. That had given him one hell of a migraine that was almost worse than the extensive cuts and burns he had suffered while barely managing to eke out his victory. It all still came as quite a surprise to him that he won, as well, and the numb sensation in his right arm and shoulder served as a constant reminder of how close he had come to his defeat.

But he had his mind on Robyn now, or rather on giving her a piece of that mind. His ears and tail went rigid, and he rolled his eyes at her comments. He turned away with a look of disgust, but Robyn and the other spectators might have caught a flash of his fangs as his lips cracked in a brief grin.

What the hell is she thinking... He wondered, but by then his opponent had arrived and set foot on the platform himself. That was all the motivation the half-wolf needed to focus on his fight at hand--though it certainly helped that he knew he had two people watching him and rooting for him, two people he could absolutely not fail after his "just good enough" performance in the first round. If he had anymore fans than that, he was totally oblivious to it. The only other person that mattered now was the man who stepped into the ring with him, so Rylen squinted his eyes and took a moment to analyze the warrior before him.

Most noticeable of all, the man appeared to carry no weapons, and Rylen felt relieved. Of course he knew better than to take a crucial observation like that at face value. His opponent definitely had little room to conceal any weapons he might have been carrying. Even so, for some warriors in Gaia, their bodies were weapons enough. And then there were those who could produce wicked and dangerous weapons out of the ether. It was both a magnificent and terrible world, after all.

But the greatest weapon of all was the mind, and Rylen took a moment to clear his own mind and mentally prepare himself for the inevitable tooth-and-nail battle to come. In that aspect the two could not have been more similar. The half-wolf took a few more steps forward to meet his opponent more or less at the center of the arena. He lifted his own hands in a similar guard, his elbows tucked in and his hands at about chest level, before extending his left hand out to respectfully tap against his opponent's.

He had actually never really done that before the start of a fight, but the way his opponent deliberately extended his hand did not make it seem like any sort of attack, and it only felt natural to Rylen to return the favor. It was a curious formality, but much better than an offer to shake the guy's hand. After all, that was like begging to be put in some sort of wrist lock, or worse. With a curt nod, Rylen retracted his hand back to his guard. It seemed no introductory words would be exchanged, and that suited Rylen just fine.

Rylen then assumed his stance again, his left hand and left foot forward as he formed both of his hands into loose fists. His hardened black nails, much like a canine's, extended about a quarter of an inch from his fingertips and prevented him from making a full fist comfortably. It did not seem like that presented too much of a problem to Rylen as a fighter, however, as the durable claw-like nails certainly had their advantages. As the muscles in his right arm tensed for the fist, Rylen winced slightly. Corourke might have caught it only if he had been studying Rylen's face intently at that exact moment. Regardless, it was still obvious from the way his entire arm was bandaged up that Rylen was not sporting athletic tape for looks. He could already tell his arm would not be functioning 100% in this fight, and that was no minor detail to the half-wolf.

Oh, well. He would just have to make up for it, right?

More than that, he planned to make up for his performance in the first round completely.

His left arm whipped out in a blur of motion, going for a chopping strike to the side of Corourke's outlying (forward) arm near the wrist. The sheer velocity of the strike and the way Rylen torqued his hips forward and back with it would give it a snapping power that alone could cause significant, crippling damage to the wrist on a solid hit. Of course, turning the edge of his bracer into the strike was part of what could make it really sting.

It all came with little more than a precisely timed and executed flick of the forearm and wrist, which left Rylen's left arm still more or less in between him and Corourke, as well as the half-wolf's body and head almost a full arm's length out of Corourke's reach. It was a brutal, furious start to the fight that hinted at the kind of tempo Rylen expected to carry through the rest of the match.

Rylen felt a little surprised that Corourke took the hit on the back of his forearm, and that seemingly insignificant action gave the half-wolf a great deal of information to process and store in his mind for the rest of the fight. He noticed the impact felt a lot harder than it should, and yet it did not seem to bother Corourke or budge his arm in the slightest. It was as if the man had a metallic bracer himself, but clearly he did not. Unless he had some kind of metallic skeleton. Or an invisible forearm guard. Oh, the stupendous possibilities when it came to Gaia!

Either way, it had become clear to Rylen that Corourke could more than likely take a solid hit and keep standing strong. Though by no means mutually exclusive, that sort of toughness often equated to impressive physical power as well. Although Rylen considered hand-to-hand combat his forte, he stood at a mere five feet and seven inches, and weighed a meager 147 pounds--bluntly, he knew better than to try and match the relatively giant powerhouses in this tournament pound-for-pound. Corourke was no exception.

So Rylen had to make up for his lack of a bulk with his unorthodox striking techniques and the kind of raw speed his lean physique and genetics afforded him. He had sharpened his reflexes through years of training and numerous experiences in combat, both of which proved indispensable in his overall strategy for facing a brute like Corourke.

And it never hurt to have a streak of luck on your side, or at least to have your plans pan out almost perfectly. Rylen practiced his own unorthodox form of combat partially based of the kind of extreme in-fighting and explosive, short range power that formed the cornerstone of styles like Bajiquan. On top of that, the fact that Corourke's arm hardly budged from Rylen's chopping strike meant Rylen's arm would still be in the perfect place to deflect Corourke's straight punch without strenuous effort required on the half-wolf's part.

So even without knowing Corourke would go for the straight right to his face, Rylen had planned to keep Corourke's lead right at bay while he moved in for a swift, upward elbow strike to Corourke's exposed right side. That meant taking a stomping step forward with his left foot, sinking low into a widened stance to allow him to close the distance needed for his left elbow to connect. The wood creaked loudly and splintered from the force of his sneaker pounding down hard against it to solidfy his foundation. This would effectively allow him to duck under the resulting straight punch before he could even consciously realize it.

This resulted in Corourke's punch skidding off the top of Rylen's head, passing harmlessly through his hair. Well, to be fair he got something of a rubbing burn for it, though certainly not a smashed eyeball.

Even luckier for Rylen, Corourke happened to take his own lunging step forward for his punch, basically adding his own body weight and momentum against him as the right side of his rib cage would be on course to run straight into the point of Rylen's elbow.

Rylen's left foot would end up passing Corourke's right as Rylen planted it more or less in between Corourke's right and left feet, and that could possibly spell disaster for Corourke's balance. Rylen's own center of gravity was lower thanks to the way he ducked under the punch, and he had made it a habit to always root himself in his stance firmly whenever he delivered an attack--it helped his body transmit the full force of the blow while suffering as little of the effects of recoil and the "equal and opposite reaction" as possible. During this time Rylen's trailing right arm remained in a tight guard at his side.

And if that was not enough, Rylen had a follow-up this time. His left forearm would lash out again as soon as his elbow made contact, assuming it did, so that he could deliver another chopping strike, this time aimed for Corourke's throat. The angle of the strike was arguably not perfect, but if the elbow itself did not carry enough force to send Corourke careening off balance, the knife-hand strike to the throat would give him something else to worry about. Even a light jab or glancing blow to such a sensitive area could prove devastating, after all.

It proved Rylen was in no mood to pull his punches for this round after what he believed to be a dismal performance on his part in the first.

"Hn!" Rylen barely managed to grunt in disappointment when his throat strike failed to have the desired effect on his opponent. The difference in size between the two of them proved staggering, and Rylen had partially anticipated that and the fact that his pointed elbow strike would not cause the larger man to so much as flinch. Rylen's left hand whipped back immediately as if he had placed it against a hot pan, and thus Corourke would not come close to securing the grab he wanted. But Corourke did prove why he, too, had made it to the second round as he retaliated with a punishing uppercut, his knuckles becoming literally bone white in the process.

The half-wolf's head snapped back, and to the audience it would seem the uppercut had landed completely flush and rocked the smaller of the two fighters hard. Corourke and Rylen would know the truth of the matter. Rylen swung his head back at the last possible moment out of sheer reflex--but he had not been fast enough. Corourke's mighty fist smashed into Rylen's nose, making contact for only a split second before Rylen pulled his head away. Even as a glancing blow it was more than enough to crush the cartilage in his nose and tear his nostril.

Tiny, scattered droplets of blood sprayed out, and Rylen's left foot glided back away from Corourke as if from the force of the blow. The half-wolf took one step back from there, and then another. To the untrained eye it would appear Corourke's savage blow had sent him stumbling backwards, but really the half-wolf made a series of calculated shifting, backpedaling steps to give himself distance while maintaining his balance more or less completely. Rylen hated to give any amount of ground to his opponent, however small, but in this case he made sure to give himself some distance in the instant after Corourke's attack to better prepare himself for the inevitable follow-up.

Rylen's head snapped forward like a whiplash when he cleared that distance, and his eyelids narrowed into a sharp glare at his opponent as he steadied himself into a stance identical to the one in which he had started, his left arm and left foot forward. He probably had less than a second, at best, because Corourke would more than likely try to press his advantage. But if Corourke thought Rylen's mind had been significantly jarred by the blow to the point of leaving him vulnerable, he was wrong.

Of course, it sure as hell hurt, and the audience would not really know the difference with the way blood would begin to gush from Rylen's nose. It filled his mouth with the taste of iron and a bitter lesson learned.

And what did we learn, Rylen?

We learned that he would have to think of something better than attacking a fierce warrior with such an imposing height and weight advantage head-on like that again.

File it under "Stupid Mistakes"--which by this point was up to Volume 23--and continue. For now, Rylen would let Corourke assume he had the upper hand. The half-wolf felt content to let the larger warrior show him his moves. Rylen had a keen reaction, and he intended to make the most out of it in this fight.

Stepping back also gave him a chance to examine his opponent again as he tried to get a handle on just what the hell had become of the man's two fists. To that end, Rylen had only one thought; if it looked like bone, and it felt like bone...

Well, to be more accurate, it felt like bone juiced up on steroids and adrenaline and screaming for more with the way Corourke endured Rylen's blows with little problem. The fact that even a glancing blow from one of those crude, makeshift gauntlets could do such extensive damage also made Rylen more than leery of his opponent's capabilities.

However, Rylen felt confident in his agility and his reaction time, and he had no problem putting both to the test then.

When Rylen's attention snapped back to Corourke, he instantly recognized a familiar sight--the larger man spreading his arms and moving in low to shoot at the half-wolf's legs. As expected, Corourke tried to seize the opportunity to attack Rylen when it appeared the half-wolf was dazed by the uppercut. Of course, Rylen was prepared to react in an instant, and he did.

This would not be the first time Rylen had been subjected to a textbook double leg takedown, and chances are it would not be the last by a long shot. Previous experiences had instilled in Rylen the kind of perception and timing needed to counter the move before it was too late, and the half-wolf quickly put into motion a series of movements as Corourke went low.

Rylen's leading left arm would quickly drop, pressing against Corourke's head. From there, Rylen's legs sprawled out behind him and he simply dropped. His left forearm would slip on top of Corourke's head, and from there he would use a combination of his body weight and gravity in an attempt to slam Corourke's face to the ground. Sprawling his legs out behind him would allow Rylen to avoid Corourke's arms ever wrapping around his own legs to gain control and leverage. If totally successful, Rylen would end up with his left arm over the back of Corourke's head, slamming Corourke face first into the hardwood ground beneath them.

As he sprawled, Rylen also angled his body to his own right, so his legs would slide out more to Corourke's right, further away from his arms while in turn maneuvering Corourke off to Corourke's left a bit. And why is this important? It would help to conceal the motion of Rylen's right arm, which slipped down to his right side in a blur before shooting back out to Corourke's left shoulder.

SCHING!

In one fluid, practiced motion, Rylen unsheathed the slim knife at his right side and swung his arm up in an attempt to stab Corourke in the space between his left shoulder and neck as they fell (or even if Corourke managed to get his grip, as the stab would come more or less in the time Corourke would be lifting while accounting for the change in the angle). The knife had more than enough power and a sharp enough point to penetrate all three inches of its blade into flesh and muscle, though Corourke's bones would more than likely suffer less than a scratch. Not that it mattered, ultimately.

BZZZT!

For barring a complete miss, the knife would then release a high voltage electrical current deep into Corourke's body for one second, particularly around the wounded area--which would allow the current to travel up his neck and spine to his brain, and down his left arm through his shoulder.

The high voltage nature of the electrical current allowed it to penetrate through clothing and into even thick muscle and fat, which did not even take into account the fact that the knife itself had already done so. This could result in a number of nasty consequences for Corourke, among them a spasm and loss of muscular control in that region of the body, a severe pain reaction due to nerves being fried, and afterward a numbing sensation in the muscles directly around the target area (in this case, mostly those directly around the shoulder) that could drastically reduce the functioning of those muscles for at least a solid minute.

On top of all those goodies, receiving such a high voltage shock so near the spinal cord and the brain could potentially knock the victim unconscious, but that was probably just wishful thinking when it came to the kinds of peak fighters who entered this tournament.

At the very least, the debilitating electrical shock, along with the wound inflicted by the knife itself, more than likely meant Corourke would find it difficult making much use of his left arm, thus limiting both his offensive and defensive options considerably. For Corourke, it was clear his body was his weapon--his fists in particular. Rylen enacted a plan to stay in control of the fight and neutralize Corourke's weapons, putting them on equal terms in a head-on fight.

Perhaps Corourke would learn to do the same, because he had made the mistake of moving to grapple Rylen when the half-wolf had plenty of options still available that Cororourke should have neutralized first, not the least of which was a handy, sharpened knife with a high voltage charge. Rylen knew his stun knife would come in handy for the inevitable massive brute he would end up facing in the tournament, and it was already proving itself worth its weight in gold.

Robyn had quieted down once the match had started, not wanting to distract Rylen from his fight. His opponent was one of those giant tough-guy brutes, but she knew the half-wolf could take him, easy. They were alike, and speed could take on strength any day. Rylen’s only problem…

The fox winced as he got in close and was subsequently punished for it.

…he rushed into things.

But her keen eyes noted that there wasn’t as much damage as there should have been with that uppercut, and his steps weren’t off balance, although they were hurried. There was another close encounter, Rylen angling his body and pulling out…a knife? When did he get a knife? Robyn leaned forward, anxiously waiting to see what would happen…

And the other guy suddenly forfeited. Her eyes went wide, and she started booing. One would think she would be happy that her friend had won, but she didn’t want him to win like this, and she was sure he didn’t want to win like that either. Only the fact that she would be disqualified from the tournament kept her from swimming over to the platform and threatening the guy into fighting.

She’d come here to see a match, after all, to see her friend whup some tail, figuratively, of course, seeing as they were the only ones with actual tails. The vixen didn’t want it to stop just when it was getting good.