Round four will begin Sunday, April 16th at 12:00 AM EST. Good Luck!
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Round four will begin Sunday, April 16th at 12:00 AM EST. Good Luck!
Fortune supposedly favored the bold. Whether or not there was even a grain of truth in that was not the concern of the people that accepted that simple expression as a fact of life. But in the kingdom of Savion the common folk derived another phrase from the familiar saying.
Fortune favors the crazy.
Which of the two were closer to the occurrences in life, Letho couldn’t determine with absolute certainty even when completely sober, but it seemed that both phrases contained at least a pinch of truth. Perhaps it was thus because oftentimes the line that separated the two was nothing but an unremarkable notch, a disregarded marking washed away by the sweeping winds and ultimately forgotten. Or perhaps it was because there was no straight line between these locutions and if you wanted to be truly bold, you had to be a bit insane and vice versa. Either way, it was the fortune that got him through the third round.
How else could he explain the fact that he was ripe for the picking, liquored up as a barfly that had one too many fifteen shots ago, and his adversary failed to show up and make use of his intoxicated state? Reven said he was crazy to fight in such a state and she probably wasn't wrong. A housewife could have beaten him in the damp mine shaft that day if only she walked up to him and punched him in the gut. He would most likely topple over and do something he did the very second he exited the arena that day; regurgitate the contents of his bowels. But instead of a destined failure, the aforementioned Fortune decided to smile down on him. He didn’t thank it for the intervention though, but cursed its sadistic sense of humor.
He walked into that mine with a sole reason to lose and whatever gods watched over him didn’t find it appropriate to allow him even that. No, his misery was to continue, the tormenting recollection of what transpired in the tournament a constant stab in that place between the shoulder blades that you just couldn't reach no matter how much you strained your arms. The pain from the stab spread in fractured images. He would see Seth holding a knife to her pale neck, hear her chasing him away in the bustle of the Serenti streets, hear her whimpers of despair and disbelief, feel her tiny hands pushing him away, the flutter of her hair, the shiver of her lip. And always her eyes, those haunting glassy emeralds that were his judge, jury and executor, telling him that he purchased a fistful of pride for the price of her love.
He had no goal in Serenti anymore. He was a shattered ship left dead in the water after a dreadful storm. Hopeless. Aimless. Beyond all hope for salvation. Left for dead with no place to go. He would fight because of the simple fact that he was there, because that was the path he was on. He paid for his participation with his soul. And a soul was a terrible thing to waste.
***
Unlike the last round, the swordsman wasn’t drunk this time around, but given the environment, his current fighting capabilities failed to deviate from those he displayed while plastered. Last night he once again fell asleep on a random Lounge table and woke up this morning with a head two sizes too small (or too big, he couldn’t really say) and a fight to win. Reven fixed him some coffee, but the murky mud failed to affect Letho in any other manner then crumpling his face in an expression of a man that just bit into an unripe lemon. She even added a piece of advice to go along with her remedy, something about the futility of self-punishment, but once again he just shrugged it off and gathered his possessions. Secretly, below his adamant pride, hid a shred of hope that he would never set his eyes on the lovely barmaid, the pristine gallant tables and the patrons of the grandiloquent Lounge again.
The walk to the designated location wasn’t kind to the man, and once he got there, he made peace with the fact that it wasn’t going to get any better. They were set to fight on a seemingly endless stretch of beach at high noon. The sun above was vehement, charging up the gritty sand and making it emanate the barely visible tendrils of heat that made the far scenery quiver like an illusion. The waves seemed inert, slowed, as if the sea felt fatigued from the constant abrasion of the shore. To the side of him stood a crummy pier with a handful of small rowboats gently following the movement of the sea, touching the wooden sides from time to time with a dull wooden sound. Opposite to the pier stood a line of palm trees, stretching almost as far as the beach in a long crescent.
All of that Letho could handle to a certain extent. But there was another detail that started to poke his mind ever since he stepped onto the beach, and kept doing so even as he took off his coat and sat on a giant boulder. Above his head, as if to mock his hangover, seagulls circled and creaked, creaked and circled, dancing around the blatant sun as if they had something to be happy about.
Why am I here anymore?
Why is it I am still here, alive? Fighting?
That Yamihara girl wasn't even in the tourney, so why did I get this far? What's my purpose in this?
That was a question Asuka had not figured out for the past few days as she fought her way through rounds after endless rounds in the Serenti Invitational. This is a fight for the best of the best. The bravest of the brave. But what am I?
Lazily, she peered out through a large window at a row of fruit stalls across the street. Housewives and maids mingle about, chatting and laughing as they picked out fresh, juicy apples and pears. To give to their husband and kids, no doubt. Or perhaps, as she noted several young men dressed in fine clothes browsing a stall overflowing with wonderful pink roses, picking out gifts for their sweethearts.
Pfft. Who needs a family. I can fend for myself perfectly fine.
Of course, she would like to think that. The result of her first bout in the Serenti was another story. Had her opponent not fish her out of the waves, she would have been a goner even before the real fighting.
The redhead girl stared at the bustling little street market fondly before resolving to down the last bit of frothy ale. Well... I suppose I should get this over with. My opponent's probably waiting...
***
Gravel crunched under the Akashiman's feet as she made her way down a stretch of dirt path lined by neat rows of curvy palm trees, looking very much like the girl's figure, to her dismay. Hrmph. So what if I'm a bit on the... uncurvy side... Whatever. This isn't the time to worry about that kind of thing.
And of all the place her opponent - or perhaps, the event organizers themselves - had to choose as the battlegrounds. Oh, how she despised the beach ever since her misfortune at being blind-sided by the waves, nearly ending her young life in the process. And she thought this beach was going to be a lot cooler than the one before. So much for that expectation...
But what upset her more wasn't the fact that the sand here had far too many rocks to be even called a beach, but rather who her opponent was.
It didn't take her long to recognize the fighter she was to face-off against. The ominous person towered over the landscape, his deep, tired eyes appeared to hold her tight in his gaze. Scruffy beard stumps covered much of the man's face - a feature not many could forget. Almost immediately she had regretted stepping onto this arena.
"You..."
It was that man she met back at the Lounge, drunk and incoherent. A foolhardy and, perhaps, not so hard to overcome. But there was something that ticked her off about this man.
"So, we meet again, Mr. Drunken Glass-Banger. Where's that girl of yours?" Asuka scoffed at Letho, kicking a round stone towards the boulder he was seated on.
Yeah... where's that girl you loved so much?
"Heh. This should be an interesting bout, you and I. But I'll let you know this. I'm not about to lose to some heart-broken fool like you."
The time for formalities was over for her and Asuka wasn't going to be caught off-guard. Not this time around.
The unforgiving sun bathed them in feverish heat as she drew her shiny, steel sword. I'm not losing to the likes of him. Grinding her boots against the rocky surface, Asuka lowered her body and brought her fists up into a fighting stance reminiscing a boxer as she readies her punches. Kazeryu stretched out along the outside of the Akashiman's right forearm, the flat of the blade sending warm, tingly sensation to the sweat-soaked skin.
Oh, how she was looking forward to fighting him. The very thought of finally clashing blades with that gigantic sword of his brought an absent-minded smirk to her face. Even though she hadn't quite gotten his name back in the bar, the girl knew he would sure be someone other people were supposed to know about. I'll ask him later, once I've got my sword around his neck. She thought and chuckled.
The Akashiman readied her mind and body, reading every little movement the best she could as gulls and the sun watched the two people from the endless stretch of sky.
“And the hits just keep on coming.” was the sardonic comment his mind’s weary voice made once he acknowledged the presence of his adversary. A vampire, a Lavinian Demon, a goddamned child, and now a frigid maiden that, despite her assertive demeanor, reminded him of his Myrhia. Red hair, green eyes, willowy figure. Aye, if there wasn’t a chip on her shoulder big enough to feed the Radasanth slums, she would fit the profile nicely. More and more Serenti Invitational started to remind the sullen blademaster of a carousel, and each round was a slap that added to the travesty of his current condition.
To add insult to injury, he encountered the girl once before. In all honesty, he couldn’t determine the exact day on which they had their palaver because most of his days lately have been just replications of yesterdays and days before that. It was another doleful day in the Lounge, Reven was once again his own personal provider of alcoholic oblivion, and he kept himself busy by searching for the bottoms of the countless shot glasses that the elven beauty kept placing before him. In the midst of this important task, the girl snapped at him, whining about the racket he was making by hitting the glass on the counter repeatedly. He held no grudge against her then. He was after all, a rather benevolent drunk, causing maximum fuss when he would topple onto the floor and then laugh maniacally as people barely managed to lift his bulk. So he merely walked up to her to tell her that she wasn’t Myrhia and that despite the resemblance, she wasn’t nearly as beautiful as his lost love. It seemed an idiotic trivial thing to say now that he looked at it over his shoulder, but back then his defiled mind deemed it extremely important.
He couldn’t remember just how the chitchat ended on that day, but given the rather aggressive entrance of the lissome redhead, he figured they didn’t end up buying each other drinks. And they were free at the Lounge for the participants of the tournament. She even took a jab at his loss, spraying a pinch of salt over the wound that would probably remain open for eternity. Where was Myrhia right now? Was she alright? Was she thinking of him? Or did she just refused to stop running away from the pain he caused her?
The flimsy reflection of Myrhia that stood before him (whose name was, like numerous things, lost in alcohol-instigated amnesia) interrupted his pondering with a kicked rock that was en route to hit his right thigh, but his left hand reacted accordingly. It intercepted the rock in an immaculate fluid motion, snatching the rock effortlessly, in an almost annoyed manner.
“I don’t suppose you walking out of this battle before you get hurt is an option?” he asked, not even looking at the steadfast girl that now stood as tense as a cheetah that lurked in the bushes. His eyes were on the small projectile she rifled with her foot that his fingers kept turning lazily. Finally, his gauntleted fist balled over the rock, making the solid object crumble as if it was made of limestone. His eyes squinted at the invading sunrays as he craned his neck sideways and looked at the resolute teenager.
“No, didn’t think so.” Letho answered his own question. It wasn’t hard to read the correct answer in the frowning glance of the spry lass. His leg muscles flexed, his knees giving out a minute bony crackle as he got up. There was always some reluctance in the dark knight when it came to crossing his blade with a girl. Regardless of the situation or the foe, they always seemed too fragile and too beautiful to kill. But in the last round he would’ve fought a child if it showed up. And children were oftentimes higher on his not-to-kill pyramid then catty females.
His feet sunk ankle deep into the hot granulose sand, his right hand reaching for the hilt of the bastard sword that stood on his back and pausing with the brandishing of the weapon. He opted for the blade instead of the six-foot tawny gunblade that stood diagonally across his back because it looked too much of an overkill to be used against somebody so frail and weak. Above his head, restless and irksome, the seagulls continued with their circular dance filled with repetitive grak-grak-grak. Letho’s brown eyes fell into focus, frowning and ascertaining his opponent in a two-second survey.
“Very well. We fight!” he exclaimed and swung his left hand upwards, releasing the fragmented rock. The jagged pieces darted skywards like a buckshot, downing three of the wretched creaking gulls and making the rest scatter. But even as his left released the shattered stone at the annoying birds, Letho charged forwards. He was like a bull, his feet plowing through the farinaceous surface with vehemence, uplifting it as he strode towards the redhead. His hand still stood on the hilt of his blade, resting behind his back like a cocked gun, waiting for that last stride. And when it came, the titanium blade flashed in the noon sun, coming down at the girl in a slice aimed to connect with the foot of her neck. It wasn't a perfect shot, the remnants of the alcohol in his system preventing him from executing the move flawlessly, but the advancing swordsman put a good portion of his fleetness behind the attack. He withdrew most of his inhuman might though. He was, after all, only fighting a girl.
For someone as large as her opponent was, Asuka thought as her tensed muscles cried out to be launched into action, to dash forward and let the lass' steel blade sink into the fleshy cranny of his neck, she waited and scoffed at the fool's little monologue. Of course, there was no avoiding this. Everyone in the Serenti Invitational - be they mere children or an old geezer with nothing on his head but bone - must clash blades and wits against one another. For fame. For honor. For... what?
But such questions were irrelevant. Not in a time like this. The only thing that matters here was that she get out of this alive. And a winner.
Hopping side to side, Asuka waited for the man with two enormous swords slung across his back to strike first. That was the way of the Dragon Dance. That's right. C'mon closer, you dope. Rush in like an idiot that you are. She nervously waited for him as the man's gauntlet hand went for the grip, his other palming the crushed stone she kicked at him earlier. That's some raw power he's got... But he's got nothing on me if he can't catch me.
And everything the Akashiman had been waiting for began with a mere flick of a wrist. Even though she hadn't followed the shrapnels, fearing he would use them to distract her from his eyes, Asuka could still see the effects of the man's impressive strength as a trio of those feathered fiends plummeted from the sky in the wake of his maddening rush.
Curses! The swordsmaiden barely had any time at all to gauge her opponent as his bulk came crashing towards her, his sword still drawn across the man's enourmous back. What is this guy, a demon?!?
Speed is of the essence and speed is her only tool. Asuka barely had time to react to the gigantic blade cleaving the air above her head. But her legs were faster, if only barely. Without even thinking straight, she hastily rushed under the knight's sword arm, barely missing the sharp edge as it screamed angrily through the air. But such a force was not only lethal in direct contact.
"Argh!" Tumbling from the sheer force of the wind following the gigantic blade's wake, the redhead girl deftly sprang to her feet where the knight had started out, her back towards the boulder the man had rested upon earlier. Sand covered the left side of her entire body, held in place by cold sweat mixed with adrenalin-infused perspiration. She never thought there would be another close brush to being sent to the Antifirmary as this.
"Heh. You sure are quick for someone your size." She quipped, trying to upset the man for not even catching her hair in his attack. In actuality, she was overjoyed to have escaped that death blow with only minor cuts from her unimpressive tumble. But he's only human, isn't he? It's not like he's a demon that I should be afraid of. However, her left boot struck something soft and she glanced down at it from the corner of her eye.
One of the gulls struck by those tiny messengers of death send into the air by her opponent laid dead at her feet, bleeding profusely from unearthly grotesque wounds. Her eyes immediately snapping to attention the imposing figure before her, anticipating another one of his inhuman attacks with a tensed smirk.
Maybe this man is indeed a demon...
The girl pranced around with the elegancy of a gazelle, shifting her weight from one foot to the next in a perpetual dance. It was a peculiar fighting style, utilizing the panache and momentum of the ever-moving body in order to shift into the evading position. But perpetual movements had a downside; they could be charted, fall into pattern and ultimately be predicted by a keen eye. A tranquil man was a giant question mark, always concealing his next course of action. A moving man – or in this case a rather nimble woman – sacrificed stability for mobility, placing himself in a position where one misstep would designate his downfall.
It was not the case during Letho’s initial assault though. His attack was practically telegraphed, allowing the lithe lass to anticipate the movement and roll to his right unharmed. The titanium blade struck the sand with a dry grainy sound, proving the overextension of his sword arm that came as a direct cause of the lack of focus. Hangovers really were a bitch. It was sheer luck that the redhead didn’t opt for an instant counterattack because he would probably have a piece of cold steel prodding at his kidneys. Instead she made a comment that stood on a delicate balance between a compliment and an instigation, allowing them both to regain their bearings. It made the swordsman smile as he turned to face her again, her lips parting subtly to reveal the razor sharp feeding teeth of a vampire.
“It’s a blessing... and a curse.” he responded to her words. “Mostly a curse.” his mind added. The speed amplification was a nice addition to his arsenal, but it came with a terrible price and he paid it for Myrhia. Vampirism was the only cure to her ailment and he couldn’t allow her to walk the accursed path alone. It seemed that everything nowadays had its foundation in Myrhia for Letho.
“But I believe we were never properly introduced.” he continued in a lighter tone, the blade in his right spinning once nonchalantly until he held it hilt first. His left sunk to his belt as he made a minute courteous bow. The girl deserved that much for evading his first strike. “I am Letho Ravenheart. So tell me, what is a young lass like you doing in a tournament such as this one? Besides giving everybody a piece of her mind?”
He kept his left at his belt as he took a pair of serene casual strides towards his supple adversary, giving her a handful of seconds for a reply before he unleashed the second wave. His gait gave out an unconcerned, relaxed air, as if the sullen swordsman was merely walking down an avenue in a Government District in Radasanth, nodding his head to the ladies and gents.
But it was all a part of his plan. His serene left snatched the titanium dagger the stood fastened to his belt, pulling it out and letting the small blade fly towards the redhead in one smooth motion. It sparked under the sun like a chipped diamond, spinning toward the girl. But the aim was off and Letho made it so intentionally, because even as he released the dagger from his hands, he charged forwards once again. His projectile was meant to skim the girl’s right flank and Letho hoped that it would make her sidestep. That was why the blademaster went for the right-handed side sweep with his blade, skidding through the sand as he outstretched his hand and brought his blade in tow. The bastard sword was aimed to dig itself into her left hip, possibly incapacitating her for good.
Asuka watched as the burly figure bowed to her calmly after introducing himself, as if this entire encounter was nothing but a greeting before heading in for a cup of afternoon tea. Still, it was good to know who your opponent was before one of them finished the other off.
"Letho Ravenheart, eh?" She responded, relaxing her grip of Kazeryu just enough to twirl it around in her tiny hand. "Glad to make your acquaintence. And a noble blood, too, if I'm not mistakened by your name." But what's a noble doing in a blasted tournament like this?
The question nagged at the Akashiman's mind even as the giant strode towards her, prompting the girl to tighten her grip on the sword once again. "Well, I guess it's none of your business, really. And the name's Murakama Asuka. Don't wear it out just yet." She grinned wryly. None of your business indeed. It's not like you've ever come across another redhead besides that percious Myrhia of yours...
Barely a second had passed when a sudden flash of silver screamed through the windless air at the swordsmaiden. Instinctively, the girl stepped to her left and slammed the intruding projectile downwards with her sword. The silvery object deflected off the steel blade and buried itself into the sand a couple of steps off to her right.
A silver dagger? Huh? He-What?!?
That tiny distraction was all that he needed, Asuka finally figured out just as the same imposing blade whipped through the air at her again, this time perhaps intending on dismembering her or even as another deathblow.
There was no time to dodge, no time to think. No time to escape the razor-sharp death that was now staring into her eyes in the form of a swrdsman clad in dark, imposing armor. An image that would remain burned into her memory for the years to come.
There was nothing else to do but brace for what's coming at her. However, she was not one to take a beating without doing something about it.
"Oh, no you don't!" She hollered at the top of her lungs, quickly bringing Kazeryu in a sweeping upward arc. Just as Letho's bastard sword was about to cleave into her hip, her own sword struck the silvery titanium edge with its flat of its blade. Asuka futilely attempted to parry away the swrdsman's attack for a clean strike at his undefended torso, but the man's strength proved all too awesome to withstand.
With a surprised look washed across her face, the swordsmaiden found herself lifted off the ground and flying over the boulder behind her like she was nothing but a piece of cloth. Her world spun around with the frenzy of a dervish and she felt the sole of her feet bang against the boulder as she sailed through the salty ocean air.
The next thing she realized was that her hands were empty and she was lying on her side in the sand, dazed and aching all over. Her bones and muscles whined and protested mercilessly as she struggled onto her feet. Small nicks and cuts where her own sword had pressed against her body moaned feebly for their master to cease moving around so wildly. Oww... well, that's for getting in his way... Something warm and wet dripped from the right side of her head and she touched it, feeling the tender flesh scream out in pain. What she at first thought was merely sweat was instead a stream of crimson escaping the side of her head. More dripped onto the sand, forming tiny red balls at the girl's feet. Kazeryu laid a few feet away from where the lass had landed, gently caressed by the ocean.
"Hrr... now you've done it." No one makes me bleed and get away with it. No one hurts me without getting the same. No one.
Asuka staggered over the water's edge and picked Kazeryu out of the lazy waves and lurched unsteadily towards the dark swordsman. "I'll teach you to make me bleed." She threatened, ignoring the fact the wounds on her thigh and shoulder were beginning to come undone, pouring tiny rivers of blood over her clothes. Old wounds wouldn't mean a thing in this kind of dilemma. All she needed to do was give this man a piece of her sword.
"Prepare yourself!"
Pushing off the grainy sand with all her might, the Akashiman swrodsmaiden ran straight for the one who made her bleed. Kazeryu trailing behind her like a broken steel wing all the while glowing with white aura from her channeled energy.
You made me bleed.
"Okaze Slash!" She whipped the steel blade forward in a wide, diagonal arc out in front as if trying to slash her foe from five feet away. Merely a distraction like Letho's dagger, intended on giving him only minor cuts. Her real attack would come later once she got under his left armpit. Then, she would strike hard at the man's upper arm.
You'll pay for making me bleed.
Even though his attack failed to provide the intended result, Letho was rather satisfied when the might behind his slash proved to be too much for Asuka to handle. Granted, she deftly managed to parry and evade the majority of damage, but it came at the price of losing her footing completely. Her lithe body was winged backwards, making her collide with the sharp grainy sand as her longsword spun out of her hands. The overwhelming dark knight knew that this was a perfect chance to bring a definite closure to this conflict. Despite her horizontal position, Letho was confident that he could pin her to the ground with his blade from where he stood. But the fact that there was a girl lying on the hot shingle of the beach subconsciously switched the battle mode from swordfight to swordplay.
Contrary to what people outside Savion believe, there is a distinct difference between the two. Swordfight is a fight, a battle in which everything could be used as a plausible path to the final triumph, an animalistic reckoning that concluded with torn limbs and spilled guts. Swordplay, on the other hand, was much more refined variety of crossing the blades. Such a collision was a mere contest of finesse and skill, where one didn’t have to inflict mortal wounds to claim the victory, and where the adversaries exchanged their attacks in turns. And Letho couldn’t see himself in a swordfight with the intrepid redhead, despite the fact that she would most likely cut his throat without blinking. So he merely consolidated and waited for her to regain her footing and dodder her way to her lost weapon.
“Oh, is that a fact? I wasn’t aware that I needed a lesson.” he retorted with cold joviality, the kind that came with a light yet raspy tone and a creeping grin at the edge of his lips. He stood solemnly once again, his blade loose at his side as he monitored the girl’s fervent movements. “Anger, maggot! Anger will be the death of you.” his old mentor used to repeat every single time when Letho would lose his temper. Needless to say, Lothirgan uttered the warning countless times and in the end it made no difference. But now, as he looked at this same anger from the other side of the prism, he could almost see the futility of it.
The infuriated maiden came right at him, like a cornered animal that had no other options except retribution, straightforward and ultimately predictable. The swordsman merely widened his stance and bent his knees in a reflexive motion, his eyes riveted by the advance, but realtively blasé towards the lass' efforts. He knew every single attack that was available during a charge; it was after all the style he preferred more often then not. It came as no surprise that her feigned early slash failed to evoke even a flinch of his squinted eyes. And yet, there was something amiss, something that girl shouted, Okasi Slash or something similar...
And then, as if my some magic her sword crossed full five feet in no time at all, an invisible blade tore through his torso in a diagonal fashion. His dark green shirt was torn from shoulder to hip, his breastplate soaking up the damage as the unseen force jolted him backwards. The conjured strike caught Letho with his pants down, disrupting the solidity of his footing as the girl scudded to his left.
His reaction was a mere product of honed reflexes. Using the momentum of her invisible slash, he allowed his husky bulk to be conquered the force that, with the aid of gravity, made him stumble on his back. Pulling his legs backwards during the fall, he executed a rather dusty backwards roll, evading her follow up and ending up with one knee in the sand. His usually dark brown hair paled suddenly with the sand that stuck to it, the grains getting beneath the collar of his shirt and starting the irksome chafing almost instantly. His left hand grabbed a handful of dust from below, but even as he did so, his shoulder reacted with a jolt of pain. His neck craned, his head snapping sideways, allowing his eyes to notice the gash on the spot that wasn’t covered by the sturdy titanium. He returned his eyes on her with agonizing slowness and a mysterious smile.
“Touché. That was certainly a nice move. I don’t suppose you’d be wiling to share the secret after I beat you?” he spoke amiably, not getting up from his half-squatting, half-kneeling position. No, he didn’t think she would and he would be too stubborn to learn anyways. You couldn’t teach a new dog old tricks. So Letho stuck to those that he had already.
His foot pushed against the sand, making the man spring upwards and setting his trajectory for Asuka. In mid stride, his left fled to the hilt of his gunblade that bobbed on his back, clenching to it as the swordsman brought first his bastard sword in an extensively overextended diagonal upwards slash. The blade came from such a low position that it first dug though the sandy surface below, bringing a spray of dust in tow. The sheer might of the assault gave his body such momentum that it spun around the vertical axis in a blink of an eye. As the cycle was done, the titanic six-foot gunblade was brandished and sliced through the warm air in a low horizontal arch bound to gash through her luscious curvy thighs. A terrible thing to ruin, but a necessary course of action that was suppsed to ensure his ticket for the finals.
Unfortunately not long enough, so there won't be an official judging or any EXP given out. I felt like Asuka used dialogue and her character's thoughts very accurately and believable, but Letho had a superior writing style and story. Since strategy wasn't much to speak of from either party in this thread, I haven't really factored it in. Despite a good show of character from the both of you, it seemed to me that Letho had the edge.
Letho advances to the finals!