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The sound of his feet scraping on the hard ground as he made his movements. The feel of armor and clothing pulling tight against his body as his limbs outstretched and his body turned. The smell of leather and steel and the oil that kept both in pristine condition. The warmth of the sun carried on the breeze. The hum of the crowd that sat in the stadium awaiting the first arrival into the arena.

These were all sensations that penetrated through the stagnant air in the stadium's underbelly as the young hero went through a series of stretches and exercises. Ahead of him lay the arena, only separated by a few dozen yards of stone and shadow before the closed walls around him would break away into the great, wide expanse of the arena; a short walk from where he stood now to the infinite possibilities of the future. That was why he took his time; stretching out the soreness in his muscles that remained from his previous match and working his body to circulate his blood. The hero's breathing was steady and calm, his pulse was elevated but under control, and as his fists snapped through the air at an enemy that was not there he knew that there was nothing more he could do to prepare himself now. What would happen would happen, and from here he could only rely upon his strength, his training, and his resolve.

His hand was placed upon the wall as he turned, dragging his fingertips over the smoothed but imperfect concrete as he walked toward the light at the end of the tunnel; a reminder that no matter how solid something may seem there are still holes to be found. He knew not what sort of opponent he was about to face, his adversary had advanced by default in the previous round... the man behind the curtain.

So as he stepped out into the light, with one hand resting upon each of the grips hanging from his belt, the crowd first began to cheer and then grew silent again. Who was this masked man that appeared before them? In contrast to the wild looking wolf that had stepped into the arena in the first round this figure seemed far less savage but no less mysterious.

A black mask was worn over his head, completely covering everything but his eyes from the onlookers; and the unnatural color of his pure white skin beneath the mask showed that like the last round he had painted his face as well. He wore a dark colored light jacket with a flared neck and sleeves that barely reached past the elbows, zipped up to the neck and tucked into his belt which held a holstered weapon to either side with a ribbed steel handle. Denim pants tucked into calf-high leather boots was the lone similarity to how he had dressed during the first round of this tournament... that and the black-painted steel gauntlets he wore on his hands, that reached up his arms disappeared into his jacket sleeves. Over his right shoulder he wore a sheathed sword that was held by a strap he wore over his chest above the jacket, but over his left shoulder as well there was another handle with a rubber grip jutting out from beneath the jacket.

The entire ensemble made him look as if he were a different man, but this was the very same Justice Guy that had stepped onto these grounds once before... would he do so again?

"I am ready." called out the masked male, standing now at the center of the arena. His head turned with his shoulders as he scanned the faces of those in the lower rows of seating all around; taking in their expressions of anticipation and excitement. What would happen would happen, the future was unwritten. He had come to test himself, to train himself, and to experience the diversity of opponents that the world had to offer up against a hero like himself.

"Who will stand across from me today?"

"An honor," answered the masked male in reply to the pompous man that had just made an entrance.

His style of dress was extravagant and flamboyant, but conservative at the same time. It was clear to the hero at a glance that the man standing across from him was the type that relied more upon personal skill than overwhelming force... at least, that was the impression that he got as his eyes laid upon the Baron's hand resting at the hilt of his sword and his light style of dress with no apparent armor. The hero knew of two types of fighters that used this style; blade duelists, and flamboyant wizards. Either way it was not an ideal type of opponent for him... whether he was right or wrong in this prediction, he knew that quick thinking would be his greatest ally today.

Bending at the waist, the masked male folded his right arm across his chest and placed a closed hand over his heart as he bowed in reply to the other competitor.

"You may call me Justice, sir. Do you have any requests to make before we begin?"

He would wait where he had been standing with his hands folded in front of him. If the opponent had wanted to come further forward he would have done so; the fact that the Baron had stopped short of him by a hundred feet was an indication that he did not want to get close.

...and Justice would respect that. At least until the match began.

He answered the question with a laugh. Not a mocking, condescending laugh nor a jovial, heartfelt one... it was the type of laugh where one shakes their head slowly from side to side and accepts the inevitable truth of things: no one was ever going to stop asking about the mask. Ever.

"Well," said the masked male after a moment's pause, waving his left hand dismissively between the two of them over the question, "I suppose that's something you're going to have to figure out for yourself."

The tone with which the Baron addressed him was not lost upon the young hero, but he was not about to let dry and tired taunts get to him before this had even begun. His opponent was confident in himself? ...good. He would have perhaps been tempted to hold back against an adversary that shrunk back in the face of a challenge, but Justice had every confidence that the opponents placed against him in this Contest of Champions would be every bit as confident in their ability to win as someone who had seen the future itself. The masked male could see it in the eyes of the man that stood across from him, the Baron knew that he was going to win.

And that was fine. Justice knew that he would not lose. Because in this dangerous game one cannot afford to doubt their own ability.

Still, as the man across from him drew steel and the hero reached for his own weapon a dozen possibilities of what was about to happen were already racing through his mind. By the time his outstretched arm pulled the tip of his blade from the scabbard he was already hungry to see what type of style the other man employed. As the fingers of his right hand wrapped tightly around the hilt and the tip pointed downward to the sand at his right side the masked man compared the heft of his Justice Blade to what he imagined the Baron's Honor Among Men felt like to hold... and beneath the mask his lips pressed together as his jaw set.

Though they were of comparable length his own weapon was somewhat thicker and had a longer handle to balance the weight, which only made it heavier still. Compared to the basket-hilt of the rapier his own weapon had a cross-guard style blade catch. If it came down to a contest of strength and durability he was confident that his weapon was miles ahead of the other, but Justice was no fool; no one carries a weapon like the Baron carried if they ever intend for a battle to go in that direction. Here, the weight of his own weapon would only serve to slow him down. The advantage clearly belonged to his opponent if they both used their blades properly... and thusfar Justice had been given no reason to believe that his opponent would charge in swinging blindly like his weapon was a sharpened club.

"Once you're done enjoying that piece we can begin whenever you are ready... would you like me to count down or something?"

Ideally, he would have preferred some time to observe the way that his opponent moved before getting into a dangerous position. The arena that they were in afforded them plenty of room to move about, it shouldn't be impossible to play it safe for a few exchanges and measure out the style of swordplay that the other man employed; but that in itself was still a danger. Every moment he spent on the defensive was one that he was not pressuring his opponent.

Quietly the masked man clicked his tongue in near-silent frustration over it. Some battles are won before they are even fought, and some victories could never have been predicted. The future was yet unwritten... it was time to see where this path lead them.

And so it began with slow, measured steps. The Baron moved at a practiced gait with the intention of being ready for anything that came at him, and yet nothing would. As the rapier-wielder approached the masked male would bring his own sword up from his side; his right hand against the cross-guard on the grip and his left at the base of it. Angled out in front of him in a guarded stance, he gripped the blade at navel height and the tip was extended outward neck-high. He held no illusions about his opponent charging blindly in to impale himself upon the blade, but against a lighter weapon than his own his best move was to keep as much distance as he could between them until he was ready to strike.

When the Baron stopped at ten feet it was certainly close enough that their blades could have met in this distance but far enough that neither should have been able to strike without a lunge. Justice stood his ground in the tense moment of pause; feet shoulder width with his left foot slightly back and knees slightly bent. He was ready to move if given a reason, and the hero locked his steely blue eyes upon the figure in front of him just waiting for that reason to come.




Perhaps it had been the original distance between them that masked it, but the long black gloves the hero wore were unmistakable at the close range they now stood at. It would have been a fool's errand to make a strike at the steel wrapping his wrists and would at best off-center his balance and scrape away some of that black paint to reveal the glint of steel underneath; and that was assuming such a strike could be made easily with his wrists together around the hilt of his own weapon.

It was unlikely that the strike would have happened once the Baron realized this.

If they stood in that tense state for long enough Justice would be the first to act instead; sliding his forward foot up by a foot and thrusting the tip of his blade slightly more than that. It would not cover the distance between them fully but it should have been enough to provoke a reaction from the other man.

(( Assuming you're referring to your left side. ))

The tip of the Honor Among Men whistled through the air past the masked hero's right ear; the blade thrusting high and to the outside of the target with the sharp hiss of grating steel.

Justice was more than wary of the blade in their close proximity, and though the Baron had played at engagement with his weapon the masked male did no such thing with his own. Held firmly in both hands he kept the Justice Blade positioned as a ward between himself and the opponent waiting for an opportunity to present itself. The Baron played his hand well in that short standoff, never fully committing to anything but playing at a shallow strike before drawing back his blade -- a test of the masked swordsman's own reactions. Justice did flinch a few times as those testing strikes came in to stroke the edge of his sword without trying to delve deeper than that, but he had not fully committed himself to a defense to any of the shallow feints... yet.

The key was in the distance. It was true that he was not watching the Baron's feet as the dandy man inched in closer with subtle edging, but neither were his eyes watching the blade that danced in front of him either. The tip of a blade moves far too quickly for the eye to follow, but it only moves where the hand directs it and the wrist controls the hand... Justice was neither watching the Honor Among Men nor did he take his attention away to glance at the swordsman's footing or even stare into his eyes trying to anticipate the decision to act. No, this was far more mechanical than that: the hero trained his eyes upon his opponent's right arm - between shoulder and elbow - because though a sharp blade like that could easily strike a light and shallow blow with a flick of the wrist and a turn of the elbow the distance they stood at was still too great for such a strike to reach further than the armor on his forearms.

A full swing would have been too slow to take him by surprise so it would have to be a thrust to clear the distance; a straightening of the limb and a movement of the shoulder that would predicate the movement of the entire arm. When the Baron began his lunge Justice responded by ducking to the far side of his own blade and raising his right arm outward to kick up the hilt of his weapon into the inward edge of the rapier to force it outside.

This movement was quickly followed by a step back with his forward leg; the hero pivoted clockwise on his left foot and brought his right behind him and out of danger of a fast circular slash to the outer thigh. The blade catch on his own weapon should have at least momentarily snagged the extended blade of the rapier during the movement as Justice kicked the hilt out; requiring the Baron to release the weapon vertically from the top of the v-shape or pull it back completely to make a follow-up strike. Hopefully that would provide the opening that the masked male had been waiting for...

He held no illusions about the speed of his blade compared to the other, if he aimed for an exchange of strikes his would always be slower and he could not as easily transition from one strike into another or from defense into offense like the pompous man he was now engaged in combat with -- hence he had to take his opportunities whenever they presented themselves, and why he had to take this one as well.

As soon is his right toe touched the sand behind him the Justice Blade changed direction completely; the masked man kicked out his left elbow and tucked in his right in simultaneous motion, using his right hand grip at the top of the hilt as the pivot point and bringing the blade up and over in a wide arc - the tip moving blindingly fast only because of how the leverage of the two-handed grip allowed him to quickly change the orientation of the weapon completely. Thus, as he transitioned from a high right guard to pulling the hilt back into his left side with the blade pointed forward it cut a downward arc that might have been fast enough for the end of the blade to catch the Baron's upper arm on the outside, just below the right shoulder.

As for what happened next... Justice was tensed and ready to move. His left hand on the bottom of his sword's hilt pivoted slightly. Depending upon how the Baron reacted to his last movement he was prepared either to push off of his leading leg and distance himself from the other man, or to press the heel of his left hand into the pommel of his blade and shoot it forward with a fierce thrust.

It all depended on the other man, and that blade the hero knew would not sit idly by...

The light blade moved as quickly as he imagined it to; a perfect illustration of the reason he was wary of it. It was a weapon that could cut as easily as a flick of the wrist and with just one motion it transitioned effortlessly from a parried strike to parrying a counter-attack. Fast with his hands and light on his feet, the opponent was already in position for another strike before Justice had even finished bringing his own weapon back across -- The Baron's rapier leveled and he stepped forward with a thrust as the masked hero almost simultaneously pushed back with his bent forward leg to try and outdistance the thrust.


The thrusting tip of the Honor Among Men found purchase beneath the lip of a fold of hardened leather; the diamond-shaped tip meeting only passing resistance as it drove through fabric, leather, skin, and muscle. There was no deafening clang of steel on armor or a piercing scream of pain or a tremendous spurt of blood to accompany it, the rapier simply punched through the jacket that Justice wore like a pencil through a sheet of paper.

Meanwhile the Justice Blade did not sit still either: as the masked hero made his retreating step the sword that had been brought low by his left side swung back out in a far-reaching arc to his outside. His left hand fell off of the blade as his wrist turned and swing the weapon in a wide sweep to the upper-right; it was far from a perfect reaction time to the sudden thrust but with his blade already beneath the Baron's arm it did not have far to travel -- a strike more vertical than horizontal coming up into the Baron's right armpit that would catch him with the last third of the blade. There wasn't as much weight behind the strike as there was to the rapier thrust because of his reactionary backstep, but a sharpened blade would tear through one of those billowing sleeves like tissue regardless.

Justice did not stop at one step back however, it was followed by another and yet another still to put distance between himself and his dance partner while he recovered control over his weapon after the wild strike. It wasn't until he had retreated by a few steps that the effect of that small puncture would show itself. A dark stain appeared in a band around his bicep and spread slowly by several inches. Though the extent of the injury was hidden by his clothing the rapier's blade had caught his left shoulder clean as it went in and sliced mercilessly through muscle as it came out. It was merely a flesh wound, it did not strike through bone or thick clusters of veins because it had gone slightly wide when Justice lurched back and turned his body slightly; but a cut muscle whether gushing blood or not does little to help a man's dexterity.

To avoid showing his injury as much as possible he would swing up his hand, using bicep strength to bring his hand up to chest level and grab a fist full of the wide collar on his jacket; pulling it down slightly to bare the neckline of the armor he wore underneath. If he'd managed to put distance between them he would blade his body with the right foot forward now and keep his left side back; the Justice Blade held out as straight as possible between himself and his opponent to create a maximum of usable distance between them as his breathing steadied again and he attempted to push the pain out of focus.

"A steady hand with a good weapon. You'd be surprised how little you see fundamentals these days."

And that was the extent of it.

This was not a battle of words and boasts and taunts and posturing; though the thirsty crowd hungrily lapped up every moment of the practice of their art it was not for the masses that they performed upon this stage. This was no magicians' duel or backroom brawl, it was a battle of blades where the match could be decided by a single careless mistake or an unforeseen turn of the wrist. The simplicity of the concept gave Justice a satisfied smile behind his mask just as much as the pain made him wince.

There was no stopping here. Those piercing thrusts were the more dangerous than a swing from the outside, and they were far harder to predict and parry. Though distance might have been his friend against any other opponent the only reason he had been willing to put it between himself and the Baron was to gauge his injury. Fortunately he was not forced to close that distance himself; it was always the Baron seeking to press his own advantage that closed the gap in these times and it was not left to Justice to throw himself onto that spear while trying to make his own attack.

This time, like the others, the Honor Among Men was thrust forward rapidly; the step-in was far less predictable due to coming off of the back foot but Justice held his own weapon like a wall that he would not allow the rapier past, half watching the man's leading arm for a movement and half feeling it through forced contact between he blades.


The turn was answered with a turn; Justice snapping his own wrist clockwise in answer as his elbow tucked in and his body swayed off to his left side with an outward step of the rear leg. The arm of the cross-guard came up underneath the rapier's blade and turned the angle of it wide while his upper arm and shoulder pulled to the opposite direction. It was not a wide deflection, but with the growing disparity in mobility between their weapons he had to make use of every inch he could because the light blade could cover thrice that distance in the same amount of time.

As his outward step off to Lord Kelvin's right side came down to earth he was already bringing his weapon across in a low sweep; the cutting arc sweeping across from right to left at about thigh height just as the other swordsman completed his step-in. By the time the masked hero had firmly planted his left foot his right followed suit and stepped in shortly behind it, changing his stance from bladed with the right forward to the complete opposite by the end of the movement.

As soon as the Justice Blade completed the swing arc to about his midline he pulled it back in close in a vertical guard; elbow tucked in and the flat of the blade beside his right shoulder with the hilt at waist-height. He had just taken a step in to the far side of his opponent's sword arm and with both of them stepping in any quick return-strike he could have expected from this range would have had to be an outward slash.

Those thrusts were far too dangerous to be allowed.