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Something was moving inside the far gate. Bits of motion showed through the dark, and that loud sound of air parting to quick motion.

What it was wasn't going to become clear instantly- just that whatever was making the whirling noise was very large, as it came forward out of the gate, spinning blurring man in its center and the object sticking out far beyond it's end into colorful pastels of what might have been clearly discernable shapes, stilled.

Alchert spun like a wild man- appropriately- not making any sound but his breath as the feet stepped on, keeping him proceeding forward just a few strides beyond clearing the exit of his side of the ring-

A boot planted hard, body leaning into it, and the hands let go. Before it was even clear the man had stopped, Razen was going to be facing down Alchert's "sword", spinning like a thrown tomahawk- only horizontally instead of vertically rotating- coming at him leveled just below the shoulders, fast. Of course, the object wouldn't clearly be a sword. The speed of spin and forward motion combined would blur it so that the handle wasn't all that clearly distinguishable, a little peice sticking off a massive hunk of material that looked less like a sword than a massive hunk of rock crafted in shape of some such thing.

What it was, in fact, was an organism all it's own, covered with a tremendous amount of carapace with strength comparable to iron, coming to rough wedges that one would for sake of convinience refer to as blades. They came to a 45 degree angle more than any sharp edge, but with a sword a good 5'8" of length from blades beginning to end, with a handle almost two feet in length. That blade wasn't just long, but about three inches thick at it's center before it started sloping into the blades. Nine inches wide from one blade's edge to the other. It, naturally, was going to weigh over a good 80 pounds.

Though it couldn't really be called a sword as it was alive, if it could, it'd be a behemoth among them, and nothing anyone normal could even swing, much less fight with. Or fling at high speeds.

The man with his foot planted, twisted down and around like a pitcher from his throw, however, was not normal. He was over seven feet tall, his shoulders were as wide as those of any two normal people of five-foot-something, and the part of his body not obscured by a ragged brown cloak wrapped around by the sudden halt of the spinning, was his head. Covered in thick black hair and a beard, each sparsely decorated with gray, leathery skin, amber eyes that looked more feral than human, and an expression of the extacy of the hunt to match.

It wasn't a mechanical horror nor some fairy mage.

Razen was fighting the Beast King.

Alchert midward was not one of thoughts that could be clarified into words, nor were they entirely clear. But the man- if he could be called it still- recognized the massive weapon returning to him. He could have tried to stop it- his body was larger, stronger, faster than any usual humans. But he didn't have the supernatural speed it'd take to get a grip on the handle instead of taking it dead on.

The massive man slammed down onto his palms, and knees, running like some bear, and barrelled forward, roaring out from under the shaggy hair as he rushed forward, charging toward the man opposite him.

The blade would slam into the closed, thick wooden gates where he'd passed from before, stuck with the blade wedged most of the way through the splintered wood, leaking a clear liquid down along the door.

In a way, there were several beasts there- the only ones, of present, that Alchert had any control over- but in another way, there was only one. Perhaps the fiercest of all.

Alchert Midward was no longer himself, but a collection of a whole, the head of a body of many. And he was here to prove-

No, wait, he wasn't. No clarity like that. He was here to satisfy beastiel instinct that flared most brilliantly in combat, but most importantly, to eat. And eat strong beings. Old traditions held that one gained the strength of beast they betook the flesh of, and only more so if they killed them. Alchert was there to fill his belly, and rise on the food chain.

So, naturally, if the bear charge was allowed to get that close, the first thing he'd encounter after the initial impact, was a head coming up to take a chunk out of his side while he slammed him to the ground.

Though, if all went as choreographed all the time, fights would have been much shorter.

Stopping the forward momentum was good and great- but the fact was, that Alchert was no projectile. As soon as his momentum stopped, the push of his feet and palms against the ground would continue bringing him forward, though slowed to the beginning of the charge. Having waited so late, Razen wouldn't have much chance, or likely expectation of need to, avoid a large skull planting itself in his stomach with more than enough force to knock a smaller man onto his back.

He'd be spared the follow through of the man crushing him into the ground and tearing him to peices by his magical riposte. As if struck by a speeding car, Alchert suddenly folded at the middle, shoved over onto his side and rolling along the ground to a stop just over a yard from where he'd started. His huge bulk did give him some advantages, even in a game like that where he'd be facing down his own force. A hit that might have left the average man broken was little worry to the monster.

"Hrrf!"

The beastiel man snorted like a bull, planting heavy palms on the sand and climbing back to a low crouch, half standing. This time, he paused, but a moment, staring down the other man like a buck deciding whether to charge another or not.

And slowly, he started forward, not in a charge, but step by step, lumbering toward the little man at a determined gait.

It wasn't fleeing? Then it had a trick. But cautiousness didn't enter Alchert's line of compiling natural impulses. He- they- were a stout being, and could take more than their fair share of punishment. Thus, to hunt effectively, rather than playing cautiously, they followed the natural course of hunters without need for that instinct.

He'd simply stalk his prey until it was worn out and had shown him all its tricks, habits, and ways, and then strike it down and have his feast.

If the man was just going to hang there in air, Alchert would trot right up to him, and immediately crasp a massive, meaty hand around the wrist of the hand not supporting him in the air, and then reach quickly around for the one pointed toward the ground with his other hand.

And then stretch out.

Making use of his larger size and beastiel strength, he'd simply pull his arms out to either side, pulling the man's arms in opposite directions until the elbows and shoulders started popping and dislocating, continuing to stretch with his chest bulging forward and arms thrusting back behind him, until one limb ripped clean off the body.

Superhuman speeds. Mmm. Tastey.

Physics wouldn't fly out the window simply because his body was at the moment that much better than a normal person, whatever cause or effect in the case were.

The feet came down on the arm, landing, and Razen started trying to run up the arm.

Maybe, with his superhuman speeds he'd be able to go from landing to starting to step forward before the inevitable happened.

Running up an arm, even if Alchert's was larger than the usual, would have been an acrobatic feat taken slowly, considering the small area to stand in further complicated by the contours of muscles. This wasn't even the primary issue though. Alchert's arm wasn't anchored with a hold on anything- it wasn't even trying to hold weight up atop it. Just stretching forward.

So as soon as Razen landed, the arm would start to fall under his weight. Depending on if he was running already or still landing once the arm fell to a certain angle, he'd either slip right off and fall onto his face on the ground, or else fall forward if he were running, landing with his stomach over Alchert's shoulder, legs over the front and upper half sticking over the front.

If he was on the ground, Alchert would simply drop his weight forward, off his feet, while he twisted his body a little. No effort, right off the bat, dropping a lot of force down into his knees- due to his great weight. Knees intended to land on Razen's back. A rib or two was almost doubtlessly going to crack.
If he was over Alchert's shoulder, he'd grab the man's belt with the arm he was draped over the shoulder of, reaching up over top him and taking hold. The other arm would grab the ankle of a the leg nearer his head. Then pull on it, dragging that leg out, thigh in front of his head, and bend forward to bite down on the fleshy muscle of the leg right through any fabric he might have been wearing. Alchert wouldn't slice through the muscle immediately, but his teeth were good for biting beyond the usual human structure, a personal evolution, and would sink in deep very fast. If Razen struggled, he'd rip a chunk of flesh off his leg. If he didn't, the jaw would continue going tight until that bit was severed, which would be cleaner and easier for doctors to adress at least.

Whatever was pressing down on the arm, it was coming down on thick muscles somewhere in the forarm, on an arm not anchored or actively resisting. About all it would do was fling the arm back to Alchert's side faster.

Where it'd come up from again quickly. As Razen did his jumping retreat, he'd have a nice view of Alchert's walk picking up into a stalking trot, quick stepping with long legs and keeping the man effectively clearing any distance away from the massive beast.

It was just as soon as he "landed" that he'd have arms coming down toward either shoulder, to grab the upper biceps in the massive, meaty hands. He'd grab anything else too though, head, neck, ankles, or clothes, whatever happened to come into reach if Razen tried to retreat or move away.

He just kept quickly marching in to keep him getting away, bent slightly forward to loom down heavily, half-bent arms snatching for a grip. Even if he had to chase Razen all the way back against a wall to get a hold. Whatever was grabbed, however, was almost certain to find itself broken expediently there after.

An eyebrow quirked, as the thing stopped his hands, it's mouth moved and made sounds at him. Alchert wasn't entirely sure what to make of that. He understood the attempt of communication... but judging from his eyes, it was no more to him than some foriegn language, the raving of a madman, or perhaps the chittering of a squirrel.

The eyes were focused hard though, a feverish focus of the hunter. It was not pitying or emotional, simply analyzing what was going on before it. Intelligence concerned only with taking note of this and moving forward. Cruelly natural apathy.

The hands continued to press, but pressed over, forward and down, all the big beast did for that first moment of the lock was press in, holding Razen in place.

And then the right boot came off the ground, coming upward with the leg bent and planting itself in the upper stomach of the man and continuing to press in, a hard kick snap kick. The leg would press out, going straight, as Alchert's body weight just kept leaning in, probably winding Razen and assuredly knocking him back onto his bottom.

Alchert would only shamble forward quickly again, this time bearing down, likely toward a self-same lock as the last, only this time with the smaller man on the ground.

He wasn't fighting heatedly anymore. He didn't seem desperate, or really concerned.

Just silently methodical.