148 replies to this topic

[Ransom]

As he was thrown Okereke tried to right himself so he could land properly, and only partially succeeded.
The tough skin on the bottom of his naked feet was ripped to shreds as he skidded backwards on the asphalt, only to lose balance and fall heavily backwards.
Like cheese over a grater, his skin peeled and scraped over the rough asphalt as he rolled backwards. The wounds he had taken on his back from his battle with Mark had reopened and were now filled with thousands of chunks of sharp gravel. The result was a bloodied mass of flesh, looking as if he was fresh from a harsh biblical flogging.
Pain racked his body like wildfire.
He had to ignore it, he had a battle to fight.

With some new strength he jumped to his feet in readiness for Z's next attack. Fresh pain from the raw skin of his feet stabbed him anew, and he grimaced. He had to ignore it.

Z was marching toward him like some sentinel of death, his sword held at the ready. The gleam in his eyes seemed to Okereke to say, "you sit still now while i carve you to pieces."
Well he wasn't going to sit still.

Okereke decided he had to disarm him. he would have to flank him first.

A knife gripped in each hand, he swiftly darted to his opponent's right and then dived forward for an attack at the upper body, trying to catch Z off guard.

[SL the Pyro]

Z's eye trailed Orekeke as he moved. This was a tactic he'd seen many times before; all he usually did was hold up his sword and let the unfortune souls run into it. This proved to be a mistake against Orekeke, however, as he was faster than those who had fallen that way. One of his knives just bounced off of his armor, but the other sank straight into his shoulder.

The hoarse grunt of pain was barely heard over the crash of the massive sword falling to the ground.

This opponent was considerably more skilled than Shazza, he was very adept at identifing a foe's weaknesses. A bit too adept; Z would have to do something about that. He'd use a tactic that he used against Shazza; quickly reaching out with his uninjured arm, he grasped the hand that Orekeke had successfully plunged in the knife with. He then tried to crush it, hoping to remove the knife from his shoulder in the process.

[Ransom]

Okereke heard the sickening crunch of breaking bones as his left hand was engulfed by Z's iron grip. Roaring with pain, Okereke kicked Z's body away from him with all his might, hoping it would buy him time.
Quickly, he backed away clutching his hand, trying to ignore the searing pain that was coursing through his nerves.
He looked at Z. Fortunately, the large man, in his slow powerful style, was not advancing. He only stared menacingly at Okereke, probabaly planning his next course of action.
Good. He had disarmed him and most likely disabled his dominant arm in the process. Everything he had wanted and more.
His own now useless hand stifled any feeling of triumph however. Everything comes at a cost.

Making sure to stay between Z and his sword, Okereke stood his ground, and waited for Z to make his move.
He would try to surprise him with another low attack.
Yes, Z didnt like those.

[SL the Pyro]

Z just stared Orekeke down, just as he was him. Bother, he was waiting for him to make the next move. Without his weapon, he couldn't defend against Orekeke's fast attacks as well as before. And considering his pervious success with his low kick, he'd probably come in with a barrage of those until he could no longer stand.

There was only one solution; surprise Orekeke before he could attack. The best way to do this came to him eventually. While Z couldn't jump incredibly high thanks to his armor, it should be enough. Running as fast as his armor-bound legs could carry him -- which wasn't overly fast, but enough to give momentum -- he got close to Orekeke, then jumped at him for a jumping-tackle. Hopefully this would either knock him off his feet or crush him, if he didn't get over his surprise quickly enough to dodge.

[DarkJuno]

And that's that. Let me confer with the judges.

[Ransom]

As Z's huge form rocketed towards him, Okereke quickly sidestepped and let his opponent's momentum slam him into the ground.
Z landed mostly upright, but the time it took to regain his balance was just the window Okereke needed.

With force and precision, Okereke used his good leg to land a solid kick into Z's throat.
Stumbling backwards, the man's eyes widened as he gurgled a cry of pain.

His massive body thudded to the concrete like a huge sandbag.
Okereke knew he couldn't be dead, he was unconscious or in a coma, either one. It didn't really matter.

it was over.
And Okereke suddenly found that every inch of his bloodied body was in pain.

if he could stop getting so beat up he might enjoy the next match.

[DarkJuno]

Throwing up his hands, the elderly referee yells out as the large body collapses onto the ground with a thud.

"That's it! Game! I hereby declare Okereke Fathom the victor over Dreadlord Z by means of Knock Out!" Wiping the sweat off his brow, the official silently curses the idea of making their uniforms black and raises the victor's hands to the delight of the visible crowd. Perhaps he was getting far too old for this excitement.

Whatever, at least he had a few days break before his next assignment.


******


....congratulations Ransom, and good job both of you. As stated in Clone's thread, next match up will be Chihana Isamu vs. Awn aring, at "the Docks." Steel, Goose, both of ya'll need to report there by this Friday, May 16th, 2008.


See ya then.

[Goose]

Awn walked into a door. Yes, literally into a door. He banged his head. It hurt. Not too much, but enough to warrant some swearing. This was his front door. He'd decided that he wanted to keep where he was going to be fighting secret from himself this time, though he knew he was headed for the docks. He could imagine what those docks looked like, but in order to keep himself from finding out till he was there, he had to shut his eyes. And Walk around the town with his eyes completely shut.

He tried to walk out the door, which led to the above situation. This was to be a long and perhaps arduous journey, just to get to the place where he was to fight. But he went onwards and forwards, out into the street.


...


"Awn Daring, reporting for duty." He said to a rhino at the zoo.

....


"Awn Daring, here at last." He said to a lightpost


....

Awn smelt fish. Something fishy was going on here, he knew it. The place smelled like fish. Fishy Fish. He kept walking, and fell off a pier. He'd arrived at the docks.

"AWN DARING!" he shouted as he spluttered around in the water, trying to keep afloat. He could now open his eyes. He was ready to fight.

[Steel Samurai]

The night before the fight.


Isamu lay, stretched out on top of the flowery comforter of his hotel bed, thinking about the match tomorrow. He had made it past the first round, yes, but only barely. His opponent had been tough, and he had nearly lost his life. Though the extensive wait between matches had grown tiresome, it had, at least, given his wounds time to heal completely. He would be able to fight his opponent at full strength, and for this he was grateful. The advantage was with his enemy, as Awn had been able to see his fight, observe his style, his weaknesses, while Isamu had not been able to see Awn's. The match would be difficult, of that there was no doubt. He yawned and rolled over, glancing at the red digits on the alarm clock beside his bed. 00:31. Eight hours till the match. He needed sleep, but there was too much restless energy in his body for that. He sighed and sat up, then turned so he was sitting on the edge of his bed. He slowly got up, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a singlet, and left the room.

Marion found him, half an hour later, on the roof of the hotel, holding a one armed handstand.

"You really need to be sleeping you know."

He grunted and released the position, gracefully returning to an upright stance.

"Can't."

Marion nodded sympathetically. She couldn't sleep herself. Isamu walked over to the edge of the roof and sat down, his back against the concrete wall. Marion joined him. She looked up at the stars.

"You know, sometimes I wonder whether advances in astronomy have really done all that much good."

Isamu looked at her quizzically.

"Look at the stars. Scientists tell us they're just flaming balls of gas, but I remember when the stars were signs of hope and promise . . . whenever I felt down as a child I used to look up at them and remind myself that there was something bigger than me and my problems, something which danced and twinkled sheerly for the joy of it . . . but they don't. The twinkling is caused by atmospheric disturbance, and their movements are the result of the earth and galaxy moving, not them."

Isamu gazed upwards. Orion . . . the hunter. He had been watching that night . . . the night they took her from him. For Isamu, the stars were a constant reminder of his vow to find those responsible for her death, The Hunter an eternal post-it note in the sky, a note which told him that he must hunt them till he made them pay for what they had done to her. For, in the end, was that not what this was about? A test to see if he was truly ready to defeat the man who had killed her. No, Isamu saw something very different from what Marion saw in the stars. There was not hope or wishes, or even flaming balls of gas. The one thing Isamu saw was the grinning, scarred face of the one who had taken his love from him.

Marion, unaware of his thoughts, yawned and laid her head on his shoulder.

"You . . . really . . . need . . . to get to . . . sleep . . ." Her eyes slowly closed, and she drifted off into the realm of the sandman.



The next morning

Isamu woke at dawn and gently carried Marion back to her room. He returned to his own room and pulled the katana case from under his bed. He opened it, checked the blade for any nicks or scars, and then changed into his customary fighting costume. It was but a short journey to the docks and Awn had already arrived, and seemed somewhat wet. Isamu took up his position at the marker in the ground and waited for the referee's signal.

[DarkJuno]

Frowning, a sigh escapes from a surprisingly attractive woman's mouth as she surveys the lay of the land about her, so to speak. The dock was, quiteliterally, a dock, albeit a small one. While further down the coastline lay the much more lavish, attractive port for visitors and such, thsi was where all the supplies that came toisland were hauled in. Originally made to bring in the expensive construction equipment and other items needed for the massive terraforming the island had gone through, now it was used for basically everything else besides people and items that needed to be very carefully moved - the former went to the port, and the latter went......somewhere else.

It's a rather dark, broken down looking place, ironically since the facade hid the most advanced and up to date machinery available for such a place, but frankly, that stuff just didn't "look right" according to the ones who designed the dock. A large ship sits in the water near the largest jutting structure leading to the sea, a decent facsimile of the actual ships that usually sit in that spot. Large canisters and cargo holds sit along the hard, wet, concrete floor of the area, as workers, both genuine and actors, walk about on either their daily duites or merely to "spice it up." As with the Court, here, the audience is, in fact, not hidden at all, as they gather on board the various boats about the dock eagerly awaiting the action, or behind the chainlink fence with razor wire atop that seperates the dock from the rememnant jungle before it, to seperate it from the rest of the island. More Stand and watch from the tops of the square, blocky gray warehouses scattered about, and more still from the catwalks within said buildings. Glancing about at the verious peices of machinery and vehicles littering the area, the woman referee sighs again as she notes the two competitors arriving. With a cough, she clears her throat and announces to the ever present cameras,

"This Second Match of the Second Round of the Stroke of Death between Chihan Isamu and Awn Daring is set to begin! Heed the rules of the tournement, and may the best fighter win!"




******


...all righty. Ya'll have from right this very second until Sunday, May 25th, 2008 to fight. Goose got here first, so he gets heads.

-flips coin-

Tails. Go on Steel.

Have fun!

[Steel Samurai]

Chihana glanced around. He had about 10 feet of wooden planking on his left to the water, and about 15 to the chain link fence on the other side, behind which the crowd murmured softly. 5 feet to the building behind him, and his opponent stood a scant four feet in front of him. Judging from the dampness of his opponent's clothes, there had been a tumble into the drink, and since the fighter was completely drenched, it was safe to say that the water was fairly deep. The cloudy sky threatened to rain at any moment. If these planks got slippery, it would make things . . . interesting, to say the least. Isamu's thin sandals rasped against the wooden planking under him as he glided into the draw position, weight on the back foot, with the other foot pointing forwards slightly in front. He gripped his sword's scabbard with his left hand, thumb resting on the guard, and slowly wrapped the fingers of his right hand around the grip. He looked at his opponent. About his age. He looked closer, gazing into his green eyes. Those eyes had seen combat. Those were the eyes of a warrior. His lips slowly curled into a smile. This would be a good fight. This fight would be one which, in the days of old, the Imperial musicians would have composed songs about. This might be the fight he had been looking for.

A glimmer on one of the ships holding audience members caught his eye. Someone had brought opera glasses . . . Hitomi loved opera glasses. She collected them, one of her few pastimes that did not involve fighting. Sometimes he caught her, when he came to her house to spar, standing in front of her mirror with a pair on, giggling uncontrollably at her appearance. She thought she looked ridiculous in them. Isamu thought she was gorgeous, but then, he always thought she looked gorgeous, especially in the middle of battle, when her face was flushed from the exertion and her hair clip fell out, allowing her gorgeous long black hair to cascade down her back . . . He shook his head. Painful memories had no place in battle, he should know that by now. Forgetting it had almost gotten him killed once already, and he could not afford any distractions if he was to win this battle.

The shrill cry of a gull split the air.

The referee spoke.

"This Second Match of the Second Round of the Stroke of Death between Chihan Isamu and Awn Daring is set to begin! Heed the rules of the tournement, and may the best fighter win!" A pause.

"Come. Meet my blade." Isamu said, so softly only Awn and the sensitive camera microphones could hear it.

The crowd seemed to be holding their breath.

"FIGHT!"

Isamu's blade was already three quarters of the way out of its sheath by the time the referee's "t" fades away. This was a test of his opponent's reflexes. The blade arced like lightning across the small space between them, aimed for the tendon which connects Awn's sword arm to his chest.

Edited by Steel Samurai, 24 May 2008 - 11:20 PM.

[Goose]

Awn drew his cutlass and met his foes blade. There was a clink of metal and a tiny little spark as the blades ceased to exist as separate entities and became the two different halves of the same. Awn could tell that his opponent knew how to use a blade by the way he approached, aiming for the tendon rather than any vital organs.

The two weapons, as one, were playing a game, testing out which was stronger and which was more versatile to combat. The two opponents using the weapons became irrelevant as their wrists wrangled with one another trying to see who was the more skilled combatant. The swords were dancing through the air together like young lovers throwing eachother about in the height of passion.

While the blades did their dance Awn looked at his foe. Young. Strong. Humble. Deadly. This man was a like a shadow of himself, but with a heck of a lot more wisdom than Awn himself could ever contain. Awn hoped that nobody would end up dead, because this was a man that Awn could see himself getting to know better. The crowd could be heard cheering as they saw the unusual style of combat that was taking place. Not a drop of blood had been shed by the competitors and not a hit had landed but the people couldn?t help but be awed by the skill that these two men were showing with the speed and agility of their blades.

Awn looked into the mans dark brown eyes. He could see pain in there, but he could also see enjoyment, as if training is what he did to relieve some sort of pain that went on in his heart and wouldn?t fade away no matter what he tried. There were traces of love in those eyes though the love had been tainted with a lust for vengeance.

Awn knew that in order for him to obtain the win he had to slightly change the dance that was going on and change it in his favor. They could both dance the dance, but did this man know how to fight like a sailor? Awn stepped forward with every hit, trying to push the man backwards and gain ground. The swords were clashing with more speed and anger but Awn was about to change the game completely. When sailors were out in the big blue, where they belonged, there was not much room to fight, so rather than just dance around with their swords until they tired, random objects and different parts of the body were used in place of just a sword.

Awn saw what he needed, a plank of wood. He feigned a strike to the neck of Isamu to allow him time to pick up the piece of wood that was lying down next to the man. With the plank in his non-sword hand he launched it through the air at Isamu while backing it up with a strike to the stomach, hoping that the distraction would give him the advantage.

[Steel Samurai]

Lucky. That "feigned" strike to the neck had just missed his carotid artery. Another centimeter to the left and he'd have been looking at his blood making a pool around his body as his spirit rose to the heavens. Isamu did not fear death, but he was not in the habit of actively seeking it. Not yet anyway. Not until he had taken his revenge. He felt a trickle of blood run down his neck. A mere scratch, but Awn had scored the first hit. Isamu smiled. This fighter was living up to his expectations.

Awn's relentless strikes had pushed him up against the concrete wall of the warehouse behind him. A brown blur was was flying towards him, but of more concern was the cutlass slicing towards his stomach. Isamu's blade flashed in the morning sun, sparks flying as it parried the cutlass away from his vital organs. The end of the heavy wooden plank struck Isamu in the forehead with a thud, and a bevy of beautiful colors exploded in front of his vision. Isamu staggered away, dazed. He stepped backwards, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, and his sandal caught on a large nail in the planking. He fell backwards, landing with a thud on the wooden planking. He looked up at the sky, and felt the first drop of rain splat on his face . . . just like that night . . . He couldn't lose here . . . His first real challenge, and he was already down? Dammit. It had only been half a second since he hit the ground, but if Awn was half the fighter Isamu believed him to be then he would be dead, or at least seriously wounded, in another half a second. A blade was coming down towards his face . . . The rain was so beautiful, cleansing, purifying the oily docks around him . . . The sword came ever closer . . . Rest time was over. Isamu's blade slammed into the side of Awn's, knocking it aside. He used his momentum to roll backwards, rising in a defensive stance. So far Awn had had the advantage, using his weight and superior strength to slowly push Isamu back against the wall and then hit him with that plank. He was fighting dirty. Well. Two could play at that game. It was time to shift the balance of power in Isamu's favor. Time for a counter attack.

The drizzle of rain increased to a downpour. The audience scrambled to get under cover. Isamu stood 6 feet from his opponent, the water only a few feet away. Isamu shifted the position of his feet slightly. He brought his sword down to his right side, gripping it with both hands at an angle. Lightning flashed across the dark sky, striking the top of one of the large cruise ships nearby. In that millisecond Isamu dashed forward, his blade arcing with the godlike speed of a true Raikou Yaiba strike towards Awn in a path that would rip his stomach wide open should it hit.

[Goose]

Awn had that slight moment of joy as he saw that he'd landed a blow on the enigma of a man. It was only a moment though as the man got up and tried to destroy him. This competition had started out as a no kill to win, but Awn could see that there would be no winner in this fight, only the person left alive.

Awn dodged back like a elephant upon seeing a mouse. He got struck by the blow but it didn't rip open his stomach, only a scratch, a deepish scratch. Awn looked at the man who was clearly attempting to kill him and started to walk backwards.

"Are you talking to me?" He stated out loud. Since nobody had been talking all match, it was clearly an inaccurate statement but it needed to be said.

"Are you talking to ME?" he inquired louder this time, as he regained his stance and his balance.

"You must be talking to me, because I aint hearing nobody else saying anything. Well listen sir, I aint gonna let you speak about any woman like that, specially the umpires mother. How DARE you call her an ugly elephant-nosed horse. Shame on you."

While Awn was saying all this, he was backing away from the deadly warrior and looking into the crowd who were becoming outraged by the obviously horrible comments that the man had made while attempting to slice Awns stomach open. Awn was still backing away, looking for another random object to give him an advantage over the faster and more agile swordsman but since the ground was lacking debree, he assumed his search was fruitless. Until he heard a little old lady in the audience stand up and yell

"SHAME ON YOU!!"

and throw an empty glass bottle into the arena which upon impact with the ground smashed into hundreds of little pieces of sharp little shards that separated the two warriors. Awn thought to himself for a second. The game had changed once more. If either of the two warriors were to fall on the ground that glass would be much more than an annoyance.

Awn decided that the window of opportunity wasn?t going to be open for very long, so he launched into the air and attempted to land away from where the glass had fallen and strike at his opposition. Unfortunately this didn?t go to plan and though he landed just near the obviously shocked Isamu he landed right on top of a particularly pointy bit of glass. In quite a bit of pain he leaped into the air again as momentum pushed him forward right into the man he had aimed to maim pushing the man backwards against the wall and sending Awn into a fence to the side.

?GAAAAAAAAAH!? Awn cried as he looked at his self inflicted injury and how his opposition seemed nonplussed by the push against the wall. Awn had a look of fire in his eyes. He was not going to die yet. Pushing himself off the fence he launched at the warriors leg, hoping to cause some sort of injury with his cutlass.

[Steel Samurai]

Isamu looked at his opponent strangely when he first spoke, then as he realized Awn's purpose, he smiled, then chuckled. Useless as a distraction, but amusing nonetheless. The crowd, however, apparently did not see that it was merely a distraction, and not truth. An elderly lady of around 80 years of age pushed her way to the front and lobbed an empty bottle of Jack Daniels over the fence, smashing on the pavement and adding a new element of danger to the fight. Before Isamu could begin to question why such a sweet looking old lady was drinking Jack Daniels, or, even curiouser, why she was here watching some of the most brutal staged fights in the world, Awn had leapt into the air towards him. Isamu instantly shifted into a defensive stance, ready to parry whatever attack might be coming his way, but it was unnecessary. His opponent had apparently misjudged his landing and ground a rather sharp piece of glass into his foot. Before Isamu could react and use this to his advantage, he felt Awn's body slamming into him and pushing him against the wall behind him. His breath whoosh out of his lungs. As he gasped for breath he saw Awn propelling himself towards his legs.

It was too late to dodge. Steel met steel as Isamu parried Awn's cutlass away from his legs just a millisecond too late, the tip of the jagged blade scoring a crooked red line in the swordsman's right leg. Awn's momentum carried him forward, crashing into Isamu's knees. The swordsman fell, a thousand tiny glass shards piercing his silk kimono and embedding themselves in his back. Every nerve on his back felt as if it were on fire, the sting of the whiskey left on the inside of the bottle only increasing the pain. Isamu closed his eyes and concentrated, focusing on the murmuring sounds of the crowd, the cry of gulls diving for fish, the feel of the raindrops on his face, and the dirty smell of oil and gasoline which came from the ships in the harbor and the warehouses beside him. The pain faded, definitely there, but not enough to distract him from the task at hand. His sandaled foot kicked at where Awn had been, then swept away the glass shards directly underneath it. Isamu slowly got to his feet. Never taking his eyes from his opponent, he slid his arms out of his sleeves, then took hold of the corners of his kimono and pulled down. The crowd gasped, but Isamu didn't even blink as a thousand glass shards were ripped out of his back, each tiny wound spurting blood. The linen bandages around his stomach staunched the bleeding from the wounds on his lower back, but blood trickled freely from every wound on his shoulders, mixing with the rain and soaking his bandages a deep crimson. The swordsman dashed towards his opponent, his thin sandals barely protecting him from the glass shards still on the ground. Six feet from Awn he scraped his left foot along the ground then kicked it up a mere foot in the air, sending several of the shards of glass flying towards Awn's face. Another step, and he leapt into the air, swinging his blade unerringly towards the point where his opponent's shoulder met his neck.

Edited by Steel Samurai, 25 May 2008 - 01:11 PM.

[Goose]

Awn saw the guy coming for his neck and screamed like a little girl. This was not what he had signed on for. He had thought this a game, a competition of sorts to see who the better warrior was but if that sword reached his neck he'd be dead, plain and simple. Which is why he couldn't let it hit. In mid scream Awn let his legs give way and fell on his behind on a glass shard that was sitting on the ground. So glad that the shard hit his bum and not his crown jewels he cried in more agony as some of the shards of glass that Isamu had kicked landed in his left eye.

"FURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRK!" he cried out. It was a rude word in his home town, but here it didn't really mean much. But Awns left eye was gone, well, blood was pouring out of it and he doubted he'd ever be able to see out of it again. But his neck was still attached to his head. Out of his right eye he saw an opportunity, the groin of his opposition. With his cutlass in his right hand he stabbed forwards aiming to get some momentum through the stabbing motion and found that his steel met steel. They may have been grown men now, but the desire to protect the family jewels stayed with you until you were six foot under.

It did allow time for Awn to stand up and rip the shard of glass out of his arse. it was painful, but useful since the shard was quite large. He now had a stabbing implement. In hysterics and with both arms he stabbed at his enemy, not doing much apart from dislodge every weapon from both swordsmen and send them flying into the water below.

Wait a sec. Every weapon was now in the water. no swords, no cutlasses. Scary. Awn was surly about to die now.


Realizing what he had done, Awn launched himself away from the other fighter. Awn had no experience in hand to hand combat at all. He?d grown up on horses and even his new craft which was fighting like a pirate, he? hadn?t had to learn to do anything without his cutlass. He was going to die, he just knew it.

Damn. He hated dying. It was so inconvenient. Always happened at the exact wrong moment.

Awn put up his fists. His enemy didn?t need to know that he fought like a constipated pig on house arrest. Awn thought for a second. If he were a deadly warrior that could kill a frog with just a wink, what would make him so angry that he?d lose all self control and maybe lash out and do something incredibly stupid. Step on his toe? No. Fart in his face? Maybe. Wait a sec, Awn had just the perfect idea.

?Hey Isamu. Hows your girlfriend? Oh wait, she?s Dead.?

Awn stuck his tongue out at the fighter. This was going to be fun.

[DarkJuno]

******


All right, delayed again by real life. -shakes fist-

Anyway, thanks, and I'll call the judges.

[Steel Samurai]

?Hey Isamu. Hows your girlfriend? Oh wait, she?s Dead.?

Awn stuck his tongue out at the fighter. This was going to be fun.

Isamu froze, his back to Awn. All the pain, the anguish rose up inside him, the grief almost consuming him. No. He couldn't let it happen like this. He channeled the emotions, turning them into rage; pure, cold fury at the insensitivity of this bastard who treated her with such disrespect. He turned slowly, only his eyes, flashing cold fire, giving any sign of his emotions. He paused for a moment, his eyes seemingly piercing into Awn's soul. The young pirate stepped backwards and swallowed nervously. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to bait him after all. This might not be as fun as he thought it would be. Maybe he should just turn around and *CRUNCH* His nose shattered under the Isamu's fist. He hadn't even seen the man move. *CRACK* There went a rib. Maybe two. Awn tried in vain to block the strikes, but they were simply too fast. Isamu smashed his fist into Awn's stomach, air being pushed out of his lungs with a whoosh. A microsecond later, and the rough stubble under Awn's jaw met the Isamu's hard knuckles. The young fighter's head snapped back, and he fell to the ground, unconscious. His nose, beaten to a pulp, was bleeding profusely. Without another glance, Isamu turned and walked off towards the exit.

"My search must continue."

[DarkJuno]

Tossing a random flag to the ground to the surprise of absolutely everyone since such a thing had yet to be done, the ref blows on the whistle, and exclaims.

"That's it! This match's winner is Chihana Isamu, by Knock-out!"


******


Congrats Steel, and good job both of you. See Clone's thread for what's next.

[Steel Samurai]

Isamu was kind've pissed off. It had been a week since his fight, and the next fight had still not been called. Something about the stormy weather interfering with the broadcast signals. Bullcrap, he called it. More like "We can't be stuffed getting off our asses to actually get the next fight set up, instead we're watching the money roll in from playing reruns of the earlier fights."

Essentially, he was bored. While a tropical island is all well and good when honeymooning or vacationing or what-not, Isamu was there to fight, and his training did not take long enough to cover the daylight hours. Others of the fighters amused themselves with the local girls, Isamu was sure he had seen that Brazilian, Okereke with at least 3 girls on each arm down in the hotel bar one evening, or at least someone who looked just like him, but the memory of Hitomi was still too strong.

Isamu sighed and rose, then walked over to the balcony of his room. A suspicious looking man in a long back trenchcoat hurried past the window, carrying a suspicious looking package. Isamu's eyes narrowed. Who the hell wore a trenchcoat on a tropical Island in the middle of summer? He turned and left the room, intending to see what, exactly, was up with that.

[Goose]

Awn was still lying in the hospital, after having the laundry powder beaten out of him. well, that comment did deserve it, and Awn was just glad he wasn't dead. He could've ended up a lot worse.

But he was satisfied with the attractive nurses attending to his needs, it seemed that in order to work at this hospital, you had to be under 30, attractive, and yet still highly qualified. He'd never been to such an attractove hospital before. I guess some people had all the luck.

[DarkJuno]

All right, next match, as foretold, is between Ken the Wandering Soul's Skye Monahan and Shadow Link's Dreadlord Z. Show up by Wednesday, July 23rd, 2008 at....well, sometime that day. It will take place at the...

-digs through cup-

...Resort Roof. All right, cool, I'll note that this'll be a nighttime battle, so write your intro posts accordingly.

[Ken the Wandering Soul]

It had been about five days since Skye had fully recovered from the trauma of his fight. The few weeks of pause in the fighting tournament were a godsend for him, though he wished would not have to fight again. The thought to quit kept crossing his mind, but another thought would butt in to tell him he ought to go all the way. The reward for winning this ordeal would keep him financially afloat for the rest of his life, but the risk of getting injured... of getting stabbed...

Skye shook his head, trying to get that morbid thought out of him. He leaned back against the chair he was sitting in, looking at the table in front of him. The small table held a half-eaten plate of sweet & sour chicken, with sauce-stained chopsticks perched on the edge of the porcelain plate. Also on the table were the pile of books that Skye had bought just before his previous match. The bookstore owner apparently recognized him and had them sent when the fight was over.

Room service had kept Skye's room clean while he was hospitalized, and he had done little to disturb it since he came back. With the exception of the table and ruffled sheets from his previous night's sleep, the room was as spotless as the day he first arrived. Skye sighed as he took a look around the place, as thoughts of boredom came to him. He had spent most of days here, doing nothing but reading and writing.

Fortunately, the door was soon knocked, breaking the monotony.

?I'll be right there.?

Skye picked himself up and walked over to the door, opening it to find that it was one the hotel staff.

?Mr. Monahan, you have a message from the Tournament Organizers,? the man said shortly, handing Skye an envelope.

?Thank you,? Skye took the envelope and looked it over. It was just like the one he had received before his previous match.

?Is there anything you need Mr. Monahan?? the servicer offered.

?No, thank you though.?

As the man walked down the hall to whatever duty he had, Skye closed the door and opened the envelope. He quickly skimmed through the unnecessary bits of the letter to the matters of the match.

?... will be Seth ?Z? Ziron, at the Rooftop Resort, tomorrow night at...?

Skye felt his legs go weak as he read that information, and he tumbled onto his bed. Z? Skye had seen the televised fight that man was in. He was a ruthless behemoth, and that sword... that sword he wielded... Skye started shaking uncontrollably, and the letter fluttered out of his hands. Why all these swordsmen? Why not just some unarmed guy?

That thought to quit came immediately back to mind.

Skye spent the longest time just laying there, almost paralyzed. He slowly recovered, dragging himself over to his half-eaten meal. That thought kept picking away at him, never letting him be: ?Do not fight! Do not let yourself die!?

Skye shivered again and started tearing in the corner of his eyes, both in fear and shame. He was tired of being afraid, but the fear would never leave. After awhile of just sitting there, Skye raised his fist and slammed it down onto the table. This was it. He would stop here. Just go back to life and hope that another golden opportunity would present itself.

Then, shaking hands felt a small slip of paper.

Skye opened his eyes to see that his fist did more than shake the table. He had accidentally crushed the fortune cookie that came with his meal. He picked up the small slip of paper that was the fortune.

?Those who ceaselessly chase their wish rarely die with regrets.?

Skye stared at the fortune for the longest time. Gradually, that thought of quitting retreated. A more romanticized thought came to push it out of the way.

******

As the evening approached the next day, Skye went out and prepared himself. He bought a stout new quarterstaff, and had been watching reruns of Z's fight to help psych himself up, though it still did not quell all fears.

Just before heading onto the battlefield, Skye took some deep breaths and looked to the setting sun.

?No regrets.?

[SL the Pyro]

(I thought I'd been defeated already, but whatever.)

It took a while for Z's body to recover and awaken, but when it had, he was right-out pissed. He'd been defeated earlier on, and yet for some reason was being called back to the arena against -- who was is, Skye?

While Z wondered why he was still here, he made no complaints. At least now he had a legitimate reason to vent out his frustration on someone. He stomped into the arena and drew his sword, eager to get things underway.

[Steel Samurai]

Isamu sat down in his box seat. Hmm. The man in the trenchcoat had apparently just been a courier. Damn kid spoiling his fun by being something normal. Ah well. His money was on the phobic kid.

[Goose]

Awn sat down next to Isamu.

"Nice day, aint it"

[Steel Samurai]

Isamu nodded respectfully to the boy beside him. He had put up a good fight.

"Lovely. Think we'll see any action?"

[Goose]

Awn nodded to the man/woman.

"Nah, not really, not expecting much from this one."

[Steel Samurai]

"Mmm, you may be right. How're your wounds shaping up?" Isamu relaxed and waited for the contest to begin.

[Goose]

"I like the way you redesigned my nose. It was out of fashion and looks better this way." Awn looked at the man with terror.