Andrew vs Bregan Sparring Match

[Andrew Blade]

Don't have time to post more than an OOC thing. Later I'll check back and make an IC post, just making this topic for reference.

[Limitless]

WELL! Since we are all in this together, dont mind if I worm my way into this by doing the following...


RULES!

1. Fun must be had by both sides

2. You must work out any lingering kinks in your verbal abilities before the tournament.

3. While you are fighting each other, with the characters you will be using in the tournie, make sure to not only think of ways to beat your opponent since our opponents will prolly think of the same thing in our own fights in the tournie, but also about how to work together welll as well as ways to block/go around the weaknesses in strategy you see in battle that you think is obvious to your foes in the future.

4. Naturally, this will be done in Open style due to the fact that this tournament is of that style.

5. I'll sorta semi-judge this for you both. Any questions on your proformance, you've got my AIM, give me a shout out.

6. You will be fighting...HERE!: A modern city, completely ravaged by some unknown force. Dead lay about, fires blaze everywhere, and none but our characters and yours are alive in the city. Vehicles and the such line the shattered streets, burning patches of grass sporadically placed across the landscape.

7. Uh...have fun and all that jazz. I'll be WATCHIN you...

OH! and post your character bio's with your Introduction posts.

[Bregan]

Intros and bios in the same post? Sheer madness. I've got to find something at present, so I'll just put up my bio for now and let my opponent make the first post.

Name: Murat

Classification: Bandit King

Age: 100 years old. Forty at the time of his death, twenty years in the grave, and the remainder spent in unlife.

Physical Appearance/Description:

Murat’s distinct features, most notably his face, are hidden away from the world by the folds of a tattered and blade-marked brown cloak, the remainder of which trails down nearly to the middle of the Bandit King’s shins. He keeps his quartet of arms, which must poke out in areas through necessity, covered almost up to the shoulders in layer after layer of tightly-wrapped bandages, the hands guarded by interesting gauntlet-gloves composed of magically enchanted sand. His legs are covered by a worn pair of tan fabric pants with his feet covered by brown leather boots, the lower body garments hiding his skeletal body masterfully. Additionally, a porcelain mask, slightly masculine but otherwise devoid of emotion other than a faint smile, ensures that his facial features won’t peek out.

Out of Murat’s five most prized possessions, the most valuable things that he’s had out of all the riches he’s acquired in his long life, four of them are strapped across his body, ready for use. A grouping of swords, one for each arm that Murat has, are bound to his body in sheaths by sturdy leather straps that are designed to resist not only the weather, but the ravages of time. The other object, worn around his neck, is nothing more than a small silver locket and key on the same chain.

One should not that while Murat is referred to as a skeletal being, he is not, in fact, entirely composed of bones. Some areas of skin and muscle still cling to his body, moving as they would on a living man even though they serve little other purpose for him than decoration and a reminder of the past.

Personality:

Murat’s primary focus at this point in his life, much the same as it was in his living years, is the hunt for treasure and all that glitters. For him, it’s not so much about the usage of any of the particular objects he has obtained, or even the fame associated with having such items, but more along the lines that he proved he was better than anybody else at what he does, and that he has an item that, while useless to others, utterly enchants his mind and spirit through its presence.

Unlike what would be generally assumed of those who are beyond life, Murat is not obsessed with revenge or seeking to fulfill one last grand act of theft before he moves on. His resurrection from the grave was entirely surprising to him, as was the fact that he was left to decide his own way to deal with the remainder of his extended existence so shortly after. He behaves in death much as he did in life…more interested in enjoyment and happiness than in warfare, despite his talents in that field. The only real difference would be that he shies away from his former family of man, fearful of how they will react to his appearance and nature.

Special Abilities:

-Minor Earth Control- Murat’s special abilities revolve, for the most part, around his fighting style, which uses four swords. However, one of the large keys to his success has been the power over the elements of his homeland…the earth and sand. For the former, the rough extent of his influence is that he’s able to enter, exit, and move through materials drawn from the planet, such as rock and metal, like they were nothing more solid than air or water. With the latter, however, he has a much firmer grasp, allowing him to mold and twist the shifting sands as he pleases.

-Living Bones- The bones on Murat’s skeletal frame are far from ordinary…through the use of concentration upon his own being, Murat is able to shift, shape, and even grow his bones as he needs. This is primarily used in conjunction with his four-bladed fighting style, to adapt his shell to the needs of the current situation.

-Fear Aura- The substance that replaced the actual brain of Murat upon his death and entrance to unlife has an interesting side-effect that particularly applies to practitioners of the mental arts. Basically, much like a human being exudes carbon dioxide, the substance radiates the actual emotion of terror into the environment around Murat. While this is somewhat under his control, able to be expanded or ranged in depending on how hard he tries, it goes to a whole different level on the mental plane.

The effects of the substance are multiplied many times over, and take a much more threatening shape. The substance draws the fears and terrors from Murat’s subconscious mind, personal history, and even the memories that are sealed away, and gives them form as an extension of itself. The reason that this is particularly deadly to mentalists, aside from its abilities, is the fact that unlike the targets they focus on, it has no switches to be turned, no knobs to be manipulated. The creation of these things is as unthinking and part of its very being as the beating of a man’s heart, or the processing of food: entirely unchangeable on its most basic of levels.

With nothing to give an outer presence a foothold in, the domination or adaptation of the mind-substance becomes a rough impossibility. In addition, much like a man drinking from a well, the substance that forms his mind is able to use its affinity for fear to drink it in, making Murat more and more powerful as it consumes more terror.

-Four-bladed sword fighting style- Murat has existed almost entirely on the merit of his four swords, and so therefore is quite adept at their use. The normally confusing task of maintaining and using four different arms for different attack patterns has long since ceased to be a challenge to the Bandit King.

-Enhanced agility and physical power, based off of his transcendence from the world of the living and its need for energy to be wasted on various functions in the fleshy body.

Additional Information:

-Murat suffers from an extreme case of photophobia. This is because he bears an intense disgust for the type of being that he became against his will, though he doesn’t hate himself for it. Instead, to hide his inability to interact with others or view his own features in his present state with layer after layer of clothing and the fairly common mask over his face.

Equipment:

-Sand Gauntlets: Magical sand molded into the shape of a quartet of gauntlets around Murat’s hands. This mystical sand can expand further than one would expect from the amount covering each appendage, though not to extreme amounts. Able to be shaped at their owner’s will, and makes the handling of Murat’s bladed weapons a much easier task because of their nature.

-Four swords, made to have two distinct features. The first is to be both strong and sharp, to keep their edge even through rugged wear and require little maintenance. The second, and much more interesting feature of the plain-looking blades, is that the surfaces of each generate a thin field of acidic energy, essentially helping to cut or melt through substances that they come into contact with. A minor amount of this field comes off with each time that the weapons connect with something, leaving the additional threat of their searing forces along with the blade’s mark.

History:

Murat was once a well-known figure that termed himself, and was known in the thieving community, as the Bandit King, if not for his regal demeanor, but for his mind-boggling ability to not only battle, but to fletch, pilfer, liberate, and otherwise claim anything that caught his fancy. He lived as a warrior of the deserts, mountains, and badlands, becoming so deeply connected to the in which he lived that he was able to manipulate their energies to make him an even fiercer force to contend with. He lived until the age of forty, his autumn years looming in the horizon, until he was killed in a mostly unremembered conflict between members of his own tribe, outside armies, and the members of several holy sects.

He was brought back into the world of the living after twenty years by a high priestess of a divine order that worshiped the goddess of the land and sands, to perform a task for those of her worship and then return to his place of rest. However, oddly, the godly blessing failed to terminate once his contract had expired, leaving Murat drifting in a world that had changed significantly in the time he had been gone.

So he turned to the one thing that he had been the very best at in his more…vibrant years. The elegant arts of treasure hunting, banditry, and combat.

[Andrew Blade]

OOC: Here we go. I apologize for all the reading >.o

Name: Andrew Blade
Age: 24
Physical Description: Andrew stands 6’ 2” and weighs 185 pounds. He’s built extremely well, but only has 2% body fat, meaning he’s a lot of muscle on a lithe frame, and very well chiseled.

Combat Attire: See Symbiote Armor

Weapons:
Two custom Katanas-
Details: Sheathed together across the back diagonally from left shoulder to right hip. 30” blade, 3 ½ handed hilt. The base of each katana is hollow, with a smaller, straight blade hidden inside of the original. A twist of the hilt unlocks the inner blade and allows it to slide out. Also, each katana has a spring-loaded, hollow tang inside of the first half of the hilt. The springs are very thick and tightly wound. A latch hangs down and holds the blade in place, with a button on the hilt that when pressed, pulls that latch up and sends the blade hurtling through the air.

Wakizashi-
Details: Sheathed across lower back, 19” blade

Sickles-
Details: Two large, curved, C-shaped blade connected together by a long 14’ chain that retracts into the hilt when not stretched out. These are held on either side of his back, above the wakizashi. The chain crosses over where the katanas would be. http://www.theartofmatt.com/uploads/sickles.jpg (if you want a picture)

Sixteen Shurikens-
Details: Eight knives sheathed around each ankle, they fit between the fingers so that four may be thrown at once.

Aun-
Details: Attached to left bicep. Kept folded while inactive. Folded double-headed spear with two chain links in the middle that allow it to be folded in half. A locking bar slides down to the middle of the shaft to hold both sides together. The blades work similarly as well, folding down into the shaft as well with bars that slide between two holes to lock them together. http://www.theartofmatt.com/uploads/aun.jpg (if you want a picture)

Knuckle Blades
Details: Four 12” blades kept hidden within the armor along Andrew’s forearms, they extend from each knuckle.

Symbiote Armor: Okay... This will all be explained in Andrew’s bio. He is fused with an alien symbiote (much like the alien from the spider man cartoon series as far as function is concerned, without the powers). This symbiote feeds on the feedback from his emotions and in return keeps Andrew alive. It can condense itself to a minute size or spread itself out to a very large area, however, it always prefers to suddenly envelope Andrew with itself, covering him in a sleek, jet-black, hard armor shell with bright red slits representing the eyes, but not acting as them. This armor allows him to see in 360 degrees on all axes (plural form of axis, not axe), as well as grants him a fire-proof, non-conductive (electricity proof) outer shell. It has about the same level of strength as steel against all physical attacks otherwise, and also provides air filtration and a limited store of oxygen for underwater use. This symbiote has assimilated these weapons into itself, therefore the weapons come with the armor. (PLEASE inform me if any of this is beyond level 4 powers)

Abilities: Andrew is an expert at Pai Lin Ju (I made the name up, it doesn’t mean anything, it’s based on a post-apocalyptic asian hybrid language), a martial art developed in the Himalayas and practiced amongst a series of temples there. Pai Lin Ju was formed 300 years before Andrew’s birth, and thus had lost much of its actual potential, as not all of the students it was passed on to could grasp a hold of the most advanced aspect of it, the physical accelerators. Andrew however, is thought to be one of the founders’ blood descendants, and was able to unlock these hidden abilities. During battle he can increase his strength, speed, reflexes, endurance, and awareness five-fold.

Bio: Here we go… The short version. A baby boy was left on the steps of a temple in the Himalayas in a post-apocalyptic future. The monks there found the child and cared for him, teaching him their ways, especially the fighting art of Pai Lin Ju, an art formed 300 years before hand. Other boys were often dropped off by their parents at a young age for teaching at the temple, however, none so young. He soon grew though, and began to advance among the rest of the students in leaps and bounds, training hard with his mentors every day. After he turned 7, after noticing his skill with bladed weapons, he was dubbed Blade.

One day, when he was 19, his temple was attacked by a militaristic government organization that ordered the extermination of any “inferior” human beings. One of the temple’s students was blind, and therefore the organization attempted to accost the boy. However, the temple repelled them, fighting back as hard as they could and managing to beat the enemy to their steps. Once the enemy had retreated, a helicopter was ordered in, and a missile attack leveled the entire temple, leaving few left alive. Blade and three other mentors were the only ones left alive.

They were captured and brought to work at a prison camp nearby where they mined for the military government. Treatment was very poor, and they only fed the slaves enough to keep them barely alive. But Blade’s mentors gave up their portions of the food to him so that he may eat and grow stronger.

One day there was a cave-in while Blade was inside the mine. All escaped save for a little girl, who had her foot caught underneath a large falling rock. Blade quickly turned and flung himself upon the child, covering her with his body as the mine fell-in on top of him, burying the both of them. Everyone on the outside thought that surely they were dead, but through a miraculous feat of strength, Blade erupted from the surface of the collapsed mine, the little girl behind him with nothing more than a sprained ankle. His mentors, upon examination, discovered numerous cracks and breaks in the bones on his back, ribs, legs, arms, and even his skull. They called it a miracle that he’d survived, and an even larger one that he’d managed to crawl out of such a hole. Speculation went up among them as to whether he might be the prophesied one they were waiting for. When the last founder of Pai Lin Ju passed away, he proclaimed that a descendant of his own blood would return to the temple, reclaiming the abilities lost to those the art was passed on to. The strength and endurance Blade had displayed were certainly on the mark, but they kept the information to themselves.

Later on in the week, through a series of events, Blade managed to escape, fighting off numerous guards before going over the camp walls and into the unforgiving forest outside. A few nights after his escape a shooting star landed on the earth. Blade quickly went to investigate and discovered a chunk of metal and rock with a black goo all over it.

This black goo attached itself to him and informed Blade that it was an alien that had barely survived the long trip through outer space attached to a piece of its former planet. Blade had provided it with its first meal since the planet’s destruction and it was eternally grateful, very content to share a body with a permanent host finally. It was then Blade discovered that the symbiote could assimilate itself with the Earth of its homeworld. Reading Blade’s mind it quickly assimilated the metal inside the hunk of its planet to form the above customized blades. It then consumed his body and displayed its abilities to its new host, completely blowing him away. Blade tested out the weapons and found them to be quite light, despite being made completely of the allow. He then used a single blade and his keen skills to slice through a tree in a single slash. He decided these weapons would do and returned to the Camp to liberate the rest of the slaves.

Once there, he was met with heavy resistance by the compound’s entire staff of guards. Throughout a long and tiresome battle, he was forced to call beyond his reserves of strength and discovered that there was more there. He’d discovered how to activate the Pai Lin Ju enhancers and quickly mopped the floor with his opponents. He brought his mentors back to their home in the mountains and assisted them in rebuilding the temple before leaving, determined to bring down the military organization that had started the mess. On the outside world, Blade adopted the first name Andrew to blend in with the rest of society.

During his crusade against the organization that destroyed his home, Andrew met up with Okashii. Seeing this tournament as his best way to gain publicity for his cause, and seeing as how he had no way to get back to Earth, he joined the team and competed alongside them to reach his current position.

IC: Andrew slowly tread through the ruins of the former city, glass and other debris crunching underfoot. Gazing at the ruin around him recalled similar scenes of carnage and destruction to his mind; those caused by The Federation. Anger burned in his eyes as he clenched his fists, cracking each of his primary knuckles. Currently Andrew was dressed in a pair of loose, black, nylon cargo pants and a skin-tight grey t-shirt. However, this was quickly replaced as his symbiote descended over his body, covering him in a tight coating of sleek, jet-black armor, accenting the muscular tone of his body. As the head and face became enveloped, two red, angry-looking slits appear where his eyes would be, glowing fiercely.

With the armor came his arsenal. All over his body weapons were appearing that hadn't been there before. Two katanas were resting side-by-side within the armor covering his back. On his right bicep rested his odd weapon dubbed an Aun. A wakizashi sat sheathed within his armor at his lower back, right below a pair of chained sickle blades that were sheathed inside of his armor on each side of his back, the chain connecting them running across his back, over where the katanas were embedded. Sixteen small throwing knives were held around his ankles, eight on each leg. These seemed as if they were made to be thrown several at a time.

Aside from the weapons however, Blade seemed to issue an aura of power, like a controlled explosion. The muscles underneath his armor moved like liquid steel as he made his way through the ruined city, looking for his target here. Death and destruction surrounded him, fueling him. Whoever he met would receive the full extent of his wrath.

OOC: Ta-DAH!

[Bregan]

((OOC: Sorry for the quality of this, and the length. I'm not feeling very on tonight, and I wanted to try something a little different with the intro. My quality will pick up once we get into things.

And at least use a different setting for your spar, Derek. You're SO lazy. :)))

Picture, if you will, a dot.

Entirely unremarkable in its appearance, it is merely one speck of black in a sea of colors that whip and whirl to compose the fabric which is called reality. But, beyond the visual level, this speck is unique, beautiful in its own way, as are each and every one of its brothers and sisters, on and on across the entirety of creation. Within this one point of color lies the potential to dethrone God, the history and experience to topple empires, the talent and skill to write an aria to break the hardened heart of Lucifer himself and send the fallen prince to his knees, eyes wet with the water of empathy.

Closer, still, the piece of pigment expands, and it becomes apparent that the darkness is composed of not just a monochrome shadow, but of a plethora of blacks, of darkened shades of every color imaginable and beyond. This single thing, so precious and tiny, holds depths to make the ancient oceans, the stars themselves, appear shallow in comparison.

This dot is a world, one of an innumerable legion stretched across the limitless plains of past, present, and potential. And, should a divine viewer happen to squint their eyes at this vulgar thing, they might be able to, on the edges of their sight, make out a small shape moving across the remainder of a broken city, his purpose unclear to all but himself.

* * *

Though he had no physical need for breath, the Bandit King let out a great huff of air as he heaved his weighted bulk over a chunk of fallen concrete. It was, he reflected, difficult to give up the habits of the living world, even after being so long departed from its loving arms. His new body, fast becoming his old body, has no need for food, nor water or rest or sleep, and yet he found himself indulging, to different degrees, in each of these, most notably the last. Dreams were, perhaps, the only place where his worn and battered consciousness could find some sanctuary from the constant flow of information, and the constant tug of memory.

He was here…well, the original reason had been the promise of treasure, as he seemed to recall, as delivered to him in a fine manila letter last week. But now…now something else entirely called to him, something so deeply ingrained in his being that not even Death himself could take it when he took Murat’s life. It was the thrill of the hunt, of clashing blades and thundering roars that signaled the divine contest of war. And in this game, as in so many others, Murat was a king.

Two of his four arms were hidden under his flowing brown cloak, or at least what remained of it, folded against the bandages covering his bony chest in the stance of the eternally contemplative. In his life, and subsequent unlife, he’d had many opportunities to see the ruination and destruction of the creations of man and God, from humble farming villages to the very seats of Divine Authority on the mortal plane. And yet this…such utter destruction in a modern city was more than enough to raise a proverbial eyebrow at. In these days, superhumans or evolved beings were almost as common a presence in the major metropolises as air pollution, but even a war between two groups wouldn’t have been sufficient to do such a thing. This was less a city, and more of a city-state, on par with ancient Athens or Troy, and blown up to compensate for the present world.

“So really,” he rasped, expelling air from nonexistent lungs, “The question is more of what kind of monster is capable of causing this level of destruction, rather than the exact way it was ravaged.”

His senses sharp, and his blades sharper, the Bandit King continued through the testament to the easy destruction of all that mankind had wrought.

[Andrew Blade]

(OOC: I'ma get my butt whupped, but hopefully I can be impressive at the same time.)

The setting sun in the distance gave out weak rays of red and purple as it began to disappear behind the horizon, illuminating the ruins of the once great city with its final beams. It was as if the sun itself was reaching out for the metropolis, but dying with the effort, taking its last futile gasps before it ceased to be. However, even those gasps would be cut short by a suffocating blackness.

Massive, thunderheads began to roll across the sky, slowly, at first, but soon picking up pace to cover the sun’s light before it got the chance to set completely. These clouds were as black as the deepest reaches of space, making any casual observer wonder if the stars had all simply disappeared at once. While they raced to cover the sky, lightning flashed down, lighting up part of the city and displaying the broken and destroyed ruin. Quickly, a horrendous clap of thunder followed, shaking the pitifully few remaining remnants of the city’s buildings. This storm seemed unnatural however, as the increasingly frequent lightning and thunder were not coupled with rain, though the clouds seemed to be completely soaked. To anyone witnessing such an anomaly, it would have seemed the nimbi were made up of a tangible substance that could be scooped from the skies and brought down to Earth in hand. The uncanny black clouds quickly engulfed the entire sky, hiding the moon and stars completely behind their blanket of darkness.

Meanwhile, the storm began to plaster the landscape with lightning strikes again and again, always following each flash with a brutal thunderclap that grew subsequently louder and louder, until they reached a nearly deafening level. One such lightning bolt seemed to skip across the sky first, zig-zagging up and down the dark landscape before coming down while its partnered thunder crashed at the same time. The bolt looked and sounded as if it had shattered the sky itself, but the light behind it revealed everything around to be intact, as much so as it had been just before the storm started anyway. At the same time, the flash lit up the figure of a man clad in a skin-tight black bodysuit.

His eyes were the only things visible when the lightning faded, glowing a disturbingly angry red. This same red seemed to penetrate through the night, almost as if it burned its way through the darkness to make itself visible. Behind it, the figure stalked through the streets of the city amongst the death and destruction all around him. The roads he walked were lined with crushed cars, uprooted light posts, and smashed telephone booths. Even the pavement had been scourged by what had happened; large craters, deep gouges, and severe cracks filled the roads, ruining any chance of transportation by anything else but foot, which was exactly what the man was doing. An aura of controlled rage issued from him, matching the power of the storm, perhaps even surpassing it. At the moment, he believed himself to be the only living thing in the area, though he was very eager to find the individual or group who had managed to rip this city to pieces the way it had been. Another sheet of lightning suddenly ripped across the sky, lighting up half a city block down the street from Blade. This sudden burst of light revealed another figure on the same road, facing Andrew.

The thin being was clad in tattered brown rags, but there was no doubt that it was not quite human. A steady aura of power also emanated from the body. It could probably be considered male, judging from the way it stood and the way it was clothed. The dark figure did not care, however. Seeing the inhuman creature, he immediately deduced that this was the cause of the chaos. Crouching low, Blade growled slowly to himself as his muscles tensed.

Then suddenly, the eyes of his armor flashed brilliantly, igniting a blinding burst of red light before returning to their normal glow. But by the time they began to fade, Blade had exploded from spot where he had stood, rocketing down the street towards this obstacle. New craters appeared in the ground beneath him as he sped towards the target, though it seemed as if his feet hardly touched the ground. When he began to draw closer, the growl that had started silently was suddenly ripped from his throat, forming a low threatening snarl, then growing into a fearsome rumble, and climaxing as a bloodcurdling roar as he came upon the figure. His right hand had reached back while he raced, fingers curling tightly into a massive fist, primed to deliver the devastating blow Blade had in mind.

[Bregan]

It came, driven on the ragged breath of the rotting winds, a thing as black as liquid coal with eyes that shone the same as his past heartsong.

The coming of the storm, while quite likely an event that would have spelled death for a living thing, could do nothing to phase the skeletal bandit. He lacked eyes behind his aged mask…but by no means was he blind. The darkness merely required a different type of viewing, much in the same way that each and every painting must be viewed in its own unique way to fully appreciate and honor it. His passage from life into death, and once more into life, had given him a whole host of ways to view the world beyond those of a fleshy body.

The charging devil was drawing closer by the moment, his footfalls against the cracked and broken earth, coupled with his roar of battle, making it an easy task to pinpoint his position even if the bandit had been deprived of his vision. The apparent brute had no grasp of the subtleties of battle, the sly ways to trap your opponent into saving you the trouble of ending their life by performing the job themselves. Such a charge was more fitting to a berserker than a cunning swordsman, or even a hand-to-hand fighter. To move would only be a waste of time and a valuable chance to teach this…man-thing a lesson. And so, the tatters of the ages billowing about his lithe form like an earthen halo, Murat held his spot.

Slowly, but with increasing speed, Murat willed the bones in the fingers of his secondary right hand to grow outward, to become sharper and deadlier than they had been before. Across the length of the arm, in an effort to assist their brothers, longer spikes emerged , most pointed straight up, while three especially wicked ones drew forward to end a good five and a half inches beyond the longest point of the bony fingers. This was the power of his marvelous, fascinating, deadly living bones in action, reshaping one of his duet of hidden arms to become a more efficient servant of the red god Murder.

As the enraged creature’s fist swung forward, it was the simplest thing in the world for Murat to sidestep out of the way, the edge of the massive hulk of muscle clipping against the side of his garments as it sailed past. To allow it so close had been, in brief retrospect, a somewhat risky maneuver, but without taking a few gambles, what fun would both life and war be?

A moment of perfect stillness, of perfect silence, the white noise of the coming light drowning out even the roar of the charging behemoth. It worked across the pale surface of Murat’s burial mask like a wave, and, if only for the briefest of instants, made the dead man give cry and live once more.

Still caught up in the momentum of his swing, the aggressor never had a chance to cope with, much less take in, the brigand’s combined strike.

His upper left hand shot to the grip of one of his fantastic swords and whipped the thing free in an act as quick as greased lightning, and used both the shock of the sudden motion and the inertia of the situation to its unsurpassed advantage. Cutting the wind as if it were nothing stronger than paper, the edge shot down at the unprotected part of his opponent where his neck joined his body. At the same time, true to the surprising tactics he had so often adopted in his living time, the sharpened, concealed arm of the Bandit King jerked out of the worn clothing, shoving aside fabric as it went, to close the small distance between Murat and his new opponent.

To commemorate their first meeting, and last meeting, with a simultaneous disembowelment through impalement and beheading. And, should these two be stopped by some act of God…well, there was always the other arm and its hidden brother.

[Andrew Blade]

As Andrew swung forward with an exaggerated right fist, his vision examined every single movement his opponent made, analyzing it to determine the creature’s ability and fighting experience. It had immediately cut to the side of the attack, priming itself before the punch was even launched. This was to be expected; anybody could’ve seen the attack coming from a mile away. However, what caught Blade’s interest was that the side-step the opponent made to Andrew’s left side instead of the right, where there was still an available arm ready to attack or defend compared to his fairly defenseless right side with the extended fist. Blade tucked the information away in his mind, accepting that while his opponent may seem skilled to the untrained eye, to a true combat expert, these tactics were sloppy.

The punch carried through to satisfy the opponent, even as a sword flashed out and down towards Andrew’s neck at the same time as a spiked growth shot at his midsection. Andrew saw both of these attacks, realizing his opponent expected him to keep moving forward with the momentum. Blade automatically activated his Pai Lin Ju agility and strength enhancers in the same moment that it took his brain to send the signal to his legs to tense. Since his feet still touched the ground, it was only a matter of using the muscles for him to escape the attacks.

Both legs suddenly thrust powerfully off the concrete, sending Blade sailing a good ten yards diagonally forward and to the right at a 45 degree angle from his path with his feet just barely off the ground. As he landed, his body swung around with the remaining momentum, crouching low with a single hand touching the ground to help stop his skid. When he halted, Andrew was facing his opponent across the space of ten yards he had leaped, watching him fiercely.

The first attack had merely been a probe to see how this creature would act. Now that he understood, he would turn it up a notch. The black-clad fighter drew himself up to his full height and began to move towards the robed figure across from him. He kept his fists held up to his cheekbones in a defensive boxing stance, dragging his right foot slowly behind him to keep a steady base the whole time. Andrew would watch his foe carefully; weary of any surprises he may have up his sleeve.