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Description: It has been a long road, but now we have arrived at the fated Finals, where two people will compete to see who will be placed into history as the top fighter.

Located in an open-roof stadium is the ring where the final round fight will be taking place. The sound of wild cheering from the many fans that have congregated here fill the arena in a loud uproar as cameras zoom in on the action to broadcast the fights all over the world. The floor of the arena is a glossy hard floor with the logo of GTB painted in purple and pink upon the white sheen (do not worry, the floor is not slippery). The time is evening with the lights blazing upon the ring while fireworks go off in the background to signal the drawing conclusion of this spectacular event. Sitting at the north end is Midus Sonners himself, watching the fight personally to not miss such an important event.

Field Measurements: The fighting area is a perfect circle with a 50 yard diameter. The walls that keep the fighters away from the spectators are raised up to ten feet.

Ten Count Boundary: The ten count begins whenever the fighter is knocked out of the bounds of the fighting area, such as into the spectator seats. The flying count out is also in effect, which means, if you stay above ground by your own will for more than ten seconds, you will be DQ'd.

Fight Ends: March 28th, 12 AM Central

The cool night breeze wafted across Fireside's features, and he smiled almost imperceptibly as he walked slowly, solemnly towards the southern entrance gate of the main arena. The structure was massive, looming over him some hundred meters, and easily thrice that in diameter. Already, he could hear the roar of multitudes, their voices combined into a warbled cacophony of anticipation that suffused the air with a static excitement that was impossible to shake.

Perhaps many a fighter would ponder these final steps heavily, anxious about the upcoming fight, but Fireside was as a new man entirely. Gone was the nervous, if haughty and grandstanding man that had been gracing the arena time and again in this tournament. In his place walked a man who looked as if he had just seen and understood the very nature of the multiverse itself, so determined was his face. His very carriage had changed. Though purposeful and calculated before, his steps now each bore the weight of a great calling, one that none except he could fathom.

He paused outside the gate, giving himself time to perform a final reflection before stepping inside and carving his own path through Fate.

Fireside's gaze wandered about, unfocused, his mind thoroughly preoccupied. The roar of the crowd was inescapable though, however, and Fireside felt a twinge of pity for them.

Fools. Let them cheer, let them cheer... for it will likely be their last joyful moment. This world will burn at the hands of the Legion... their pathetic souls enslaved for eternity. I am truly exalted to be their Harbinger.

Dread Lord Sargeras, Dark Titan... I offer to you this unsuspecting world to do with as you please. Your humble servant desires but to share in your unending dark glory.

His thoughts then wandered again, and Aetyra's image flitted across his consciousness, resplendent in her indigo saronite armor, her blood red hair streaming around her as her great runic axe clove her enemies in twain. Fireside's heart beat ever so faster as he imagined his newfound power, capable of equaling, perhaps even besting her at last. Finally, he would be able to take his rightful place as her superior. Oh, and she would like it too. The thing Aetyra understood best was power, and Fireside knew it was both her greatest gift and greatest weakness. She would drip wet at the mere sight of his glory upon his return, begging him to take her. His eyes twinkled at the thought. Sadly, there were more pressing matters. He could afford to contemplate in which way he would violate her, and this pathetic world, after he had eliminated the final person standing in his way, for if he bested his opponent here, truly, there would be none to stand against his unbridled might.

Fireside rolled his shoulders, turning to the task of opening his channels to the Nether. The familiar rush of energy suffused him, and he embraced it, ready to bring his terrible powers to bear against his opponent. Everything was ready, and with a slight nod to the gate attendant, he stepped through the rising gate into the massive amphitheater. The tumult of the stands rose to greet him, washing over him in a rush of sound that nearly drowned out his own thoughts. Slow steps guided him into the nearly 150 foot diameter arena, his scarlet and gold robes glinting dazzlingly in the massive floodlights. The breeze persisted inside, whipping the hems of his robe and sleeves about him spectacularly.

Fireside had allowed himself the luxury of indulging in the spectacle of the final match, and he smiled inwardly as the great speakers of the stadium began to play, somehow managing to overwhelm even the crowd. He would not let this opportunity to imprint his greatness into the minds of thousands go to waste.



Even as the grandiose tones of his chosen theme reverberated, Fireside paused about 20 feet in from the edge, his right hand sweeping to the side in a great flourish, and flames leapt from it to coalesce into a beachball-sized orb of reddish flame a further ten feet in front of him. It burned there merrily, ready to incinerate it's target at it's master's command. Fireside merely watched, and waited, ready to take control of his destiny.

Even from 100 feet away, Fireside noted the impeccable dress of his opponent and smirked. If nothing else, the demon had an excellent sense of style and understated grandeur. It was a refreshing departure from the usual grandstanding that infernal beings were wont to indulge in. Then again, it might be a sign that all was not as it seemed, that he was purposely understating his power. It would be well to remain very cautious.

The size of the area lent itself heavily to Fireside's advantage. With plenty of space to maneuver, he would be able to make use of his ranged abilities to great effect while placing himself (hopefully) out of harm's way. With this in mind, he would not give his opponent time to relax on the far side of the ring. He could engage at this distance already, and so he did.

Arkamha! his voice bellowed, and as the sound rolled forth like thunder, so too did the flame sphere. Contained within was the power of a landmine and the burning energy of a roaring hearth. It revved up in place, then shot across the arena floor, straight at Razel, at roughly 15 miles an hour.

As the sphere shot forth, Fireside wove his hands in practiced gestures, and violet lines of magic wove themselves into ghostly plates of force, armoring his torso and legs. They glowed faintly, proof against weapons both mundane and supernatural. He kept his eyes locked on Razel though, unflinchingly staring. He would not permit a single detail to escape his notice.

Fireside watched quietly as the demon batted away the flame sphere, which skidded back towards him a ways, and diagonally to the side. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, it hadn't gotten close enough to detonate. It recovered from its erratic path, spinning up once again, and curving back toward Razel a second time, now coming at him not quite head on but rather slightly to his right side, as he was advancing.

Meanwhile, Fireside moved to consolidate his grasp on the initiative. His hands swept out in an arc to the side, his sleeves billowing as he did so. Twelve fiery spears, six feet in length and about an inch wide, coalesced into being, forming a defensive semicircle around him. Four of these he sent on the attack with another wave of his hand, each staggered to strike different points on the advancing demon, though he was yet still over 75 feet distant. One swept through the air towards the demon's head, another at his chest, and one each for each thigh. They moved swiftly, faster than even the flame sphere. With any luck they would score concentrated burns. At the very least, Fireside hoped it would slow Razel's advance, and perhaps annoy him by setting fire to his clothes. An angry opponent was an opponent that made mistakes.

The burst of speed with which Razel closed the distance was astonishing, easily equal to even the peak of what Fireside could attain when under the effect of magical enhancement. Though he did not let fear cloud his thoughts, Fireside's face turned to one of concern as the demon barreled straight through both the launched spears and the others he had set to defend himself. A few survived, and hovered in the air, awaiting further commands, although judging from the effect of their brethren, their use might be questionable at best.

Truly the most concerning thing was that the flames had literally seemed to have no effect on Razel. It wasn't simply him toughing through them, no, he seemed literally immune to damage from fire. This posed a serious, serious problem. Fireside had dealt with demons a great deal, and knew much about them, given his service to the Legion. However, any he had encountered, though usually resistant to fire, nonetheless were not simply immune. As Razel barreled towards him, Fireside could only surmise that the flames simply weren't hot enough to work.

Then there was a tremendous crack as the demon's shoulder rammed straight into the center of his chest. Only, it didn't. It hit a force plate instead, which, although brittle, was as hard as tempered steel, and acted as such when hit by forces both magical and mundane. Furthermore, unlike real armor, it had another advantage: it was not directly connected to the body of the wearer, and thus did not transfer the force of impact to the caster. The plate was not as durable as real armor, however, and shattered after absorbing the blow, disintegrating into spent arcane dust.

Razel, unless his bones were made of even sterner stuff than carbon steel, would likely find himself with a fractured, broken, or dislocated shoulder, and an unmoved Fireside. The demon was too close for comfort, but it seemed that attempting to run away would be futile, so, once again, Fireside steeled himself for a close-quarters match. Stepping back just enough to give his arm some clearance, Fireside opened his right palm towards Razel's face, and let loose a torrent of greek fire from his hand. At this range, it was unlikely to miss. Even if the flames themselves had no effect, the liquid fire would stick into the demon's eyes and blind him for some time, leaving Fireside an opening to reevaluate his strategy.

Meanwhile, the flame sphere, which had narrowly missed a second time, came in for a third run, this time directly from behind. Hopefully it would connect with a still recoiling Razel.

Unstoppable force, meet immovable wall.

Or at least, that was what Fireside had hoped for. What he got was, well, not exactly quite as advantageous, although the demon had, by design or accident, left his arms free, something that Fireside could only silently thank the powers that watched over him for, as he toppled to the ground, his balance thrown from the tackle to his legs.

His arms being free meant Fireside could continue the stream of fire from his right hand. He added a second gout from his left, trying to force the burning pitch down his opponents throat as soon as he opened his mouth to laugh. With his opponent basically on him, the demon's face was an easy target.

Fireside fed more power into the streams, and they turned from a dull red into a bright yellow, their temperature increasing some two hundred degrees. The force of expulsion from the point of origin, and the angle of his hands ensured that the liquid fire didn't spray back onto Fireside himself, instead blanketing Razel and the immediate area around them in furiously burning pitch. He would have responded to the demon's jeers as well, but he was too busy concentrating on maintaining the assault, something that ranked higher on his to-do list, for sure.

Though basically pinned, the armor plates on Fireside's legs protected them from immediate harm, for now, and frankly, kept Razel's grasp on them loose enough that he felt confident he could reasonably kick free if necessary.

As the two infernal servants tangled, the flame sphere arrived at its destination, and detonated behind Razel. With the demon's body basically protecting Fireside from the blast, it washed over Razel, it's flames unlikely to do much beyond quicken the incineration of his foe's clothes. The force aspect of it, perhaps, would be a different story. Similar in nature to a landmine, it could easily mangle and perhaps even rip limbs from a normal human. Though Fireside did not expect such a force to have the same effect on his opponent, perhaps it could cause an ankle sprain or minor fracture in the lower leg, something that would make it easier for Fireside to escape.

Fireside often attributed to brilliant strategy what to others might have appeared to be dumb luck. This was exactly such an instance. As Razel capitalized on his position, the demon's hand found Fireside's throat, and began squeezing the life from him. It forced Fireside to cease the stream from his left hand, and he pulled it back in a vain attempt to try and loosen the demon's hold, as his right hand continued to belch fire, though no longer aimed, and instead spraying in random directions as Fireside struggled against the chokehold, then finally falling off as Fireside could no longer maintain his concentration.

Then came the explosion, and suddenly, the hand on his throat was gone. Fireside blinked, his ears ringing and sound muffled to an imperceptible muttering. The hem of his robes was on fire, but mercifully, the force plates on his legs had eaten the force of the explosion that washed over his lower half. Their energy was spent, but they had served their purpose admirably. Fireside staggered to his feet, stamping out the flames quickly, before they spread. He raised his gaze, and saw Razel on the ground behind him. Judging from the way the demon was lying on his back, Razel had gotten the worst of it, which was certainly a positive development, all things considered.

The burning pitch in the demon's eyes would occupy him for some time yet, as the stuff was stubbornly sticky and required a concerted effort to scrape off. This would give Fireside time to reestablish more favorable conditions for himself. Seeing Razel start raising himself off the ground, shedding clothes as he did so, Fireside knew his window of opportunity was drawing to a close, so he acted. He covered the sound of his casting by speaking to Razel, who, not being able to see, would hopefully remain in the dark, literally, about what was happening.

"You'll find I am no ordinary mage, demon. The Burning Legion comes to bind you into its service... and I am eager to do the honors."

As he spoke, a red marble-sized bead glided from his index finger and came to rest about a foot in front of Razel, and pulsed with a gentle glow, silently.

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Xorbus Chronodam Fulherai - Charge 1



OOC: As per the ability boost thread, the burning pitch from the greek fire lasts an additional 2 rounds after application unless an entire action is spent to scrape it off. And it burns at the hotter temperature (yellow flame), since that was its last application. Just noting it so there is no ambiguity.

Fireside practically danced off to the side as the demon advanced towards him, chuckling to himself. He was in high spirits, because the flame sphere's detonation seemed to have been far more effective than he had hoped it would be. Not one to complain about an unexpected bonus, Fireside worked it into his plans.

He jogged around in a small circle of a 15 foot radius, centered on the orb, leading the demon on. He knew that although Razel might be stunned and disoriented for now, the pitch would burn out soon, and his hearing would likely clear up. Something would have to be done... letting such an opportunity go to waste would be, quite frankly, stupid.

It didn't necessarily have to be an offensive preparation, though. Not being in any immediate danger, Fireside was free to reestablish his defensive wards. Calling upon the infinite Nether, once again, the violet skeins of magic wove themselves into armor plates protecting his torso and legs. Fireside continued to move as he summoned them into being, not wanting to take the chance that the demon might stumble into him and reverse the tables once again.

In the meantime, the small red marble began to pulse with light just a tiny bit faster than before.

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Xorbus Chronodam Fulherai - Charge 2