Cage Number One

[Christina Bredith]

Christina couldn’t help but curl her lip a little when she saw Damion elegantly leap right over her Sonic Sable. She should have expected such a maneuver from someone with a weapon like a halberd, but without having fought any opponents who wielded such weapons before, it would have been difficult for her to know its exact capabilities. Even so, the woman didn’t look terribly dismayed. Her prediction was very quickly coming true: this was turning out to be a lot of fun. The only thing better than being wrapped up in a chaotic battle was being wrapped up in a chaotic battle with people watching and cheering from the sidelines. How cool was that?

Not cool enough to break Christina’s focus, at least. Even as her energy blast whipped up a sandstorm in its wake, her silver eyes were aimed much higher than that, locked on the armoured Damion as he soared through the air. His suit of mail glinted in the light, but not nearly enough to divert Christina’s determined gaze. In the span of a few moments he was up, over the blast, and on his way back down again. His taunt merely caused the woman to smirk; she planted the tip of her blade against the ground, seeming to let down her guard, and responded to him by imitating a very obvious, very snobby British accent: “Oh, don’t you, now? Well that is a terrible shame! I had rather hoped it would last more than one minute. Maybe even two!”

To all ears, it would have sounded like Christina was enjoying this way too much. Her battle stance was lax, her expression was amused and unfocused, and her grip on Rosebite’s hilt was practically nonexistent. These mistakes would have cost any normal warrior the battle in an instant, especially against an opponent as superior as Damion. Christina, however, was no normal warrior. She didn’t need a very clear view of her foe’s movements, because she already knew how she would dodge them. The only thing she needed was a rough idea of where the attack was coming from, and then she would be able to react appropriately. Speed was no obstacle, nor was direction. Despite her lackadaisical attitude, she had actually planned her escape down to the very last muscular twitch.

Damion closed that last few feet between them, and Christina blew him a kiss through the swirling sands, accompanied by a wink. “Better luck next time, babe.” As soon as he lunged forward with a thrust of his halberd, the woman was already in motion. However, there was no movement to either side when she dodged, nor did she step back. For that matter, she didn’t parry the halberd by forcing it to one side or the other, either. Those would have been the obvious counters, but Christina knew that Damion would have prepared for them all, as any seasoned knight would. Instead, there was only the tell-tale flash of silver, orange, and then blue, followed by a screeching sonic boom that rumbled forth in all directions from where she once stood. Christina herself was already high in the air, soaring towards the cage’s roof as a result of the sonic blast: she had used its exploding force to propel her skyward by pointing it down at the ground, and at a slight angle to provide more distance from her foe. Within moments, she was hanging from the roof of the cage with one hand, the rest of her body dangling like a child on a set of monkey bars. A grin of thrilled amusement turned up her lips and revealed the white teeth behind them.

But Christina was not content to just avoid Damion all day. This was a battle, not a dance contest! From her lofty vantage point, she locked her gaze upon the silhouette of her foe, still caught in what little remained of the sandstorm her energy blasts had summoned. Widening her grin, Christina swung Rosebite again, shouted the command, and watched a blade of concussive energy scream through the warm air as it chased its target.

[Arsenic Ruin]

It was a new move; he had just attempted, and his weight shifted forward too much. Leaving his knee exposed for the next strike his eyes widened as he realized his mistake. Mouth growing dry as he struggled mentally to figure out his next plan of action, the hand closed in fast. Arsenic tried not to panic as the hand struck the inner part of his thigh, exactly as his body finished the turn. But it was quite difficult as he considered the position he was put in. Then it clicked, after he carefully considered the force of the hand if he could alter his weight he could counter act with a second spin.

Come on body do your stuff…

With much effort and the rightly timed movements he probably could pull it off. The hand struck, not hard but just enough to put his knee outward in the opposite direction. He grinned inwardly but he wasn’t out of the clear yet, though the strike did hurt a tad bit which did spark a minor wince. Following with the strike he attempted to move out of the way of the kick, which didn’t happen as he planned and was undoubtedly struck by the second attack as well. That only put him in a spot more pain as he hit the ground. His step faltered, as he then after recovering his balance readied his weapon.

Ugh…

Wind prickled at the back of his neck, though he dare not turn to see the danger behind him. Though what he considered doing would be a bit more reckless than your average attack. So he followed through with it. “Life is about new experiences, and taking risks.” He thought to himself. The young knight sprinted forward, and cut in diagonal approach towards the cage of steel mesh and links, pushing from the ground sword held outward, to prevent self harm.

The balls of Arsenic’s feet pressed against the wire frame, bending his knees to spring himself backwards. Altering his rotating force by making himself top heavy, and flipped backwards just as the wind based attack was nearer him, and his wall ridden opponent. He passed through the wall of sand with his eyes screwed shut, his timing was off by a half a second. As for when he landed? It was as rough as the land he made after the double attack. A slip of air pulled under his foot as he dropped to his butt and grunted.

One hand pressed to the ground the other held his weapon in front of him, and then came the stand. He stood not even bothering to brush himself off, holding the weapon forward with one hand as he struggled to see with the wall of sand that blocked his vision. So he kept his wits about him, and held his weapon at the ready stepping backward ever so daintily.

But as the screech spread through the cage his knees quivered, his thoughts broke and he almost collapsed. His weapon only gripped tighter as he closed one eye from the wrought noise, he dug his weapon into the ground. As the force that seemed to create more wind and sand build up only caused him to stagger forward, with gritted teeth his equilibrium had been thrown. And he took a slight dip to the right before he scooped the weapon up, pointed it to where he thought saw his opponents outline and prepared himself.

[Damion Shargath]

A shattering blast emitted from the ground before Damion and left behind a lesser crater. Smaller stoned and chunks of dirt rained down all about. He wondered if the woman had imploded, most likely not. The halberdier glanced around from the corner of his eyes, his body still in full motion. There was nothing to be found, not a single shard of her. He couldn’t seem to spot his nimble adverse anywhere. Wondering where she had gone, he finally dared a glance skywards. An expression of anger and direness swiped across the steel clad protagonist’s face. The woman hung monkey-like from the top restraining bars of the cage, her sword wavering in the air below. This wasn’t what busied the halberdier though for once again the woman cried out loud the flowery name which caused her weapon to unleash another such crescent wind blast.

“Can’t you ever think of something else!?” Damion shouted as the paranormal feature was closing in with a screaming ingredient, “Stop stalling your death. It will come inevitably sooner or later today, so what difference will it make? No one grieves for the inferior.”

Damion’s current status of motion and the blast coming from above gave him many possibilities and options to dodge. He decided for his left. Thus, with a straight kick of his right foot he lunged leftwards as the sonic beam crushed into the floor at his prior position. The explosion threw up another cloud of dust, much larger than the others were due to the immediate impact of the attack. Damion peered from the shrouding clouds upwards, focusing the position of the dangling blonde woman.

“Damnations! This heat is unbearable!” Damion boomed with his head cocked slightly over his shoulder.

His plan was to attract the attention of his ally, hoping that he had the time to attend Damion’s bidding. If Molotov would glance over, see the woman dangling from the ceiling, and connect this with Damion’s complaint about the temperature he would surely understand. It shouldn’t take the mutant long to then fire another icicle in the direction of the blonde lady. This of course would force her to lower herself back to the ground where Damion would have all the time in the world to pick her right out of flight with his pole weapon. This was of course unless she preferred being inhumanely impaled upon an icy murder instrument.

Surely, Damion could have waited for the woman to lower herself but he simply did not possess the required patience. His eyes twitched with vexation, his hands quivered with anxiousness, his heart jumped with a lust for blood. The armored feet of the combatant bobbed up and down, ready to break from their habit and burst into a sprint. As soon as the woman would be falling back down to earth, Damion intended to thrust his halberd relentlessly at her body. He would not let her descend with peaceful lineaments; his desire was to spray the woman’s blood across the dry earth below, his desire was to feed the insects that scurried beyond with her innards, his desire was peer into her eyes as all life sifted from her body. Not to mention that she had less than a chance to evade anything in mid flight, additionally a halberd is a two sided weapon – if you deflect one side, the other will rush towards you bluntly.

His intentions had gone from the malignant directly to the downright evil. His thoughts went from those fighting affection to the straight forward hateful. There was nothing he longed more for than to run the blade of his halberd through the body of his antagonist. The halberd wielding warrior seemed all but sane, his change of moods was comparable with that of one who suffered catatonia. If one was ever to possess the ability of reading a mind, and would dare to enter Damion Shargath’s, they would not return fair-minded from their venture.

[Molotov]

Kill or be killed didn’t seem to sit well for Molotov. While it was the nature of things on Althanas, the mutant always felt like he’d had the choice. He didn’t want to kill in defense, but out of desire, out of a need. Now in the Cell, he wasn’t even fighting his choice of targets. Killing a young paladin wouldn’t be particularly impressive to anyone on Althanas, and the mutant had come in the tournament to make an impression before anything else. All his reasons to fight were lost in this battle, but he still had to fight, just because the rules that governed men in the situation demanded it.

However, Molotov would have probably fought this challenger regardless. There was a certain appeal to attacking a knight, especially when the other option was a defenseless girl. A knight was the kind of person that Molotov wanted to destroy on principle alone. It wasn’t just the fact that he was an outlaw in Corone, but the fact that such people just seemed so full of themselves. “He’s just another ponce,” Molotov sneered to himself. “Thinks he’s important but could get beat by bloody schoolgirls.”

Then, Molotov’s body hit the back of the chain. The steel had little give, and the mutant’s body cringed at the impact. Still, it was a good way of getting space, save for the fact that this knight was more bloodthirsty than most. “Bloody hell,” Molotov thought. “What happened to the damned predictability of these sods. I haven’t yet heard that trite old speech about good over evil and justice and all that rot…”

Now, the knight tried something cute against the wall of the cage. Molotov would have tried to grab at his opponent’s shin had it not been for the blast that was coming towards them. The mutant pulled away, knowing that was the only play he had at the moment. In the Cell, endurance mattered just as much as causing damage, and Molotov was reluctant to take a powerful blast just to do a bit of damage. Thus, he pulled away, took a few steps back and took a quick glance at his ally’s situation before turning his attention back to the young knight.

“Time to bloody kill two birds with one stone…” Molotov said aloud, as if to let his ally know of his plans. “Or one bird… and then one ponce…” He took a snide look towards the young knight who was pointing a weapon at him and began to walk away, moving in the direction of his ally though his movement bordered the cage.

Suddenly, the air above the cage let out a loud crack, and a torrential rain began to flow throughout the cage. The mutant figured that would knock the girl down back into the sand, perhaps with a broken bone to boot. With regards to the knight, Molotov figured that the rain would at least bide him a bit of time.

“Bloody hell,” Molotov muttered, addressing his more immediate foe. Whatever happened to the blonde would happen; the mutant could have cared less at the moment. Given how many other concerns he had, Molotov couldn’t offer much more help to his ally. The rain would likely help them both, it would keep Molotov’s opponent at bay for a few seconds, and deliver the woman to his ally. The mutant’s cloak gave him an advantage, it kept his sight unaltered despite the storm.

However, Molotov knew that mere rain wouldn’t end the knight’s chase of him. “Those buggers are too bloody persistent for that,” the mutant recalled. With his rod ready to block any attack coming his way, the mutant thought it best to try a few mind games.

“So… ponce, you really think that bird’s gonna love you after what you did for her? She won’t, she’s in the Cell to advance, not to play some sodding dating game…” the mutant began. “And she’s probably going to bloody die now anyways… care to save her?”

[Christina Bredith]

The frustration in Damion’s eyes was obvious, and it may as well have been candy to Christina for the grin it was bringing to her face. She was getting on the halberdier’s last nerve. She knew it. She loved it. There was nothing better than watching an obviously more experienced opponent struggle like a fish out of water against a foe he should have been able to smite almost instantly. And Christina was aware that, in a head-to-head battle of weapons, she would have lost quite quickly to him. Luckily, she knew very well that there was much more to a battle than physical strength or even experience. Intelligence and cunning were also key ingredients, both of which she had aplenty.

“Complain when you can actually hit me, sweetheart!” she called back in an amused tone, doing her best to lift her voice above the sonic boom. Damion’s crazed frenzy did not appear to faze her at all; and why should it? In a less carefully-sanctioned battle, she might actually have to worry about death by the blade of his halberd. In the Cell, however, Christina knew that permanent harm was nothing more than a dream the competitors wished upon one another. Let the cutie have his row, Christina thought to herself with a smile. It doesn’t bother me either way.

Just a few moments after her sonic blade slammed into the cage’s sandy floor, Christina’s fingers began to feel wet. Although she was certain it was just a hallucination, she could swear she felt the pitter-patter of raindrops on the hand that gripped the steel bars above her. Then, just as quickly as that feeling came on, it intensified: she was caught in a torrential rainstorm that had appeared out of nowhere. “Ooooh, my hair!” the woman whined to herself; her golden locks were already dark and damp from the falling water. More importantly, she realized that this would put her in a difficult position. Although she could continue to hang on pretty easily, the rain would make moving quite difficult, as the bars around her were now slippery. “So that’s their plan, huh?”

Christina had to admit, Damion’s and Molotov’s teamwork was fearsome. It was as though they thought on the same wavelength, and without even being direct in what they wanted from each other, they knew. When one needed something, the other came running, and they never so much as hinted at what they were planning. Symbiosis like that made them a dangerous team, but Christina couldn’t help intriguing herself with the fact that it would not last forever. That teamwork will carry you far, she knew, but how well will you do when one of you snaps?

The gears in her mind were already in motion as the rain poured down. One thing about it was obvious: the ground would very quickly become slippery and wet, making footing shaky at best, which meant that large leaps via her Sonic Sable would be dangerous. It didn’t matter much, though. Christina knew that Damion and Molotov would gradually start expecting leaps like that, and they would take them into account. She could still use that to her advantage, though. Make them think I’m a one trick pony, and then show them the second.

The woman had held on for as long as she could, but now was the time to move again. She loosened her grip on the bars just slightly, in order to cause her body to drop an inch or so. That would have baited the hook for Damion; from Christina’s current grip, there was no way she could climb back up again without using her other hand, which was currently holding Rosebite in a more secure backhanded grip, with the blade pointed behind her, in order to brace for her fall. String him along… She dropped! Her hand let go completely, and quickly the woman began to fall through the air like an angel from heaven. Damion was, of course, ready to make his strike as soon as she got close enough. That was when another grin came to Christina’s lips. …and leave him dazed! “Scream, Rosebite!”

Another burst of blue energy fired out from the sword’s tip, which was pointed down and at an angle of about thirty degrees from parallel. This propelled her slightly upward again, but mostly forward, and her body traced an arc through the air as she sailed right over Damion. Shifting her weight to her upper torso, Christina flipped and spun as best she could. Eleven years of gymnastics since the age of four… I never thought that would come in handy. Even with that training, the fall was not painless: Christina grunted as she landed, slightly hunched over with the fingers of one hand dusting against the floor. The damage wasn’t unbearable, though, as she had made sure not to propel herself too high before falling back down again. These energy blasts are really wearing down my energy, too, she realized as she landed. I didn’t realize they would have such an effect.

It would still take Christina a moment to regroup. She didn’t appear worried, because she knew from this point at least she had some share in the control of the battle. She wasn’t helpless as she fell anymore; she was flat-footed and fully aware of her opponent’s location. Her face was still fixed in a grin, although it was showing signs of fatigue this time. Maybe she would get pummeled here. But what better way to do so than looking into the eyes of a man who couldn’t even defeat his own frustration, caused by nothing more than an “inferior”?

[Damion Shargath]

Damion grinned, he knew his words had been comprehended by his comrade in one way – or the better even. What existed between the two went beyond the dimensions of a normal alliance. Molotov and Damion created the perfect synergy, brilliant alone, excelling together.

It began to rain, a momentum of pleasure jolted through Damion’s body. The spellbound precipitation summoned by his ally almost instantly caused the unnerving dust to clear away. Sadly the dust was not the only unnerving thing in the halberdiers immediate proximity. He smirked as the woman tried to bait him, wriggling herself loose from the ceiling like a worm from a fishing hook. However it showed no effect, he could estimate all to well what was to follow. With a sigh he confirmed his assumptions. There seemed to be no end to the atrociously redundant style of combat that the blonde woman portrayed. With a scream emitting from her grinning grimace she unleashed another of the “rosebites”, or so she called them.

Damion’s mouth dropped limply at one side, his eyes falling halfway shut in a comical manner, “Here we go…again…”.

Having muttered the introductory words of what was now to occur de novo, the halberdier dove to his left. The beam thrashed unto the floor, spraying mud all about. Shortly after the damp brown flooring had been cast into the air it mingled with the falling rain, creating some sort of brownish translucent curtain in its corner of the cage. After a menial account of seconds the first few rows of the amphitheater were now bedraggled with brown spots.

Though this chaotic display of what must have at least seemed like a heated battle only spiked them up a little more. Most of the spectator’s now felt as if they were right in the middle of this bout, enduring the same hardship as the contestants. The was nothing better the host of this tournament could have hoped for, a fight as coordinated and an audience it amused. Due to the clandestine boring twist this battle had taken, the disappointed belligerent couldn’t help but lighten himself up a little by performing a pretentious trick. With a role through the mud that followed his evasive diving maneuver, it was once again all made more spectacular than it really was. Almost immediately after he jumped to his feet, his armor soiled, he scanned the arena for his passionately pathetic adversary. His eyes then fell upon the woman who was down on her knees obviously breathing hard. A mocking grin drew itself across the misanthrope’s visage as he observed his fatigued opponent from behind.

“This is…this is really hilarious!” Damion boomed, hysterically laughing at the top of his lungs, “You’re already showing the first signs of exertion, although I haven’t directly attacked you but a single time!?”

Damion lunged himself forth, his acrimony tainted with mockery. In his go the heavy rain drops clattered unto his armor as his feet dug further into the softening ground with each step. However nothing slowed his charge, the woman would lastly be drawn into his bloody wake as yet another victim of his violent demeanor. Damion had not much to fear, in the worst case he would yet have to dodge another of the sorcerous beams emitting from her sword. The blond haired female had proven a sufficient amount of times that she was not adept at handling her weaponry. At the rate she was overusing this feature it would not take her long to ware herself out completely and the halberdier still seemed to have an untouched spring of energy within.

Practically right behind his prey, Damion brought the blade of his halberd diagonally up from his left. Would the woman remain in her current position she would be halved. Given the unlikely option that she would attempt to block his strike…well, it was her only chance. Anything else would cost her the loss of a limb, at least. She could of course attempt to roll forwards, then again just to end up with a halberd protruding her breast. Would she jolt to the said, as left was inevitable, the halberdier would simply correct the aim of his halberd within less than a second. Thus, to brace for such situations, Damion had reached for the upper section of his halberd with his left. This grip increased precision and maneuverability greatly, just what he would need for this close quarters situation.

[Christina Bredith]

Christina could barely hear the cheering of the crowd, even as the splashing of mud from her Sonic Sable covered the first rows in filth and drove them into an excited frenzy. To be more precise, she could hear the cheering, but it was the furthest thing from her mind. Right now, the woman was focused on the battle at hand, between her and the halberd-wielding knight. Even she knew it was drawing to a close now. Her dodging was proving to be an effective method, but those blasts were draining her energy more and more quickly, and she knew she needed to conserve it for actual combat as much as she could. Even then, he was a good deal stronger than she was, and faster to boot. Maybe it was a losing battle for her now.

If that was the case, Christina didn’t show it. Her face was still smug and pretty, despite being soaked with water. Her golden hair clung to her face and shoulders as a result of the downpour, but it couldn’t possibly mask those bright silver eyes or confident red lips. At Damion’s laughter, one corner of the woman’s mouth simply tugged upwards into a smirk. “Not exertion,” she spoke breathlessly, as though she were pretending to seduce him. “You just make me so hot.” With one hand pressed lightly against her upper chest, she certainly looked the part of a woman whose heart was all aflutter. In reality, of course, sexual tension was the last thing on her mind. Damion may have been cute, but sadistic, weapon-wielding maniacs weren’t really her biggest turn-on. Besides, he hadn’t been able to hit her so far; what did that say about him?

Despite all their talk, Christina was fully aware of her opponent’s position and his movements. Having turned in the air in order to avoid having to do so from a vulnerable position on the ground, she was able to follow his movements pretty easily through the falling rain. At least it was better than trying to see through the dust clouds that had been kicked up earlier; the rain mixing with the dirt to make mud would prevent that from being a problem again. She watched the halberdier as he approached, rolling through the mud and charging ever closer. Even though she could see him shift his grip on the weapon, it was difficult for Christina to know precisely what that meant, because she was unfamiliar with the fighting style. It didn’t matter. She had to parry, and strike back. If she was going to go down, she would go down fighting.

But as before, Christina was not stupid. She was orchestrating her part of the battle every step of the way, up to and including this very moment. There was only so much she could effectively plan, of course, considering her lack of telepathic abilities, but in the end Damion’s exact actions were irrelevant. The plan was simple: exhaust one tactic to the point of redundancy, make the opponent think it’s all you have, lead them into overconfidence, and then…

The halberd struck from Christina’s lower right. This time, she would not dodge. She merely grinned instead. And then surprise them. The woman swung Rosebite hard to her right, holding it low and using the flat of the blade to deflect Damion’s weapon. She braced the guard with her other wrist in order to give herself some added support against his superior strength. Even so, she slid an inch or two to the left as a result of the poor traction. It wasn’t enough to stop her, though. Christina decided not to force the halberd away – giving it some distance would just allow it to build up more momentum for another strike sooner. All she needed to do was stop its movement cold, and then strike fast and hard. Most of her opponent’s body was covered in impressive armor, but she needed to feel no shame in attacking his more vulnerable face. Christina’s arm lashed forward like a striking viper, and even before Damion could react she was planning the next move in advance.

The game was drawing to a close, but who would make checkmate?

[Arsenic Ruin]

Rain.

The water pelted against his head, hair soggy and drooping cascading over his eyes. His lips pursing from frustration, as he blew upwards. A wet clump hardly rose before smacking him back in the face. Soon he gave in his left hand ran through his hair, to slick it his face. The pitter-patter of droplets on his armor chimed out in their own song, as a wall of water seemed to be the separating structure between the combatants and their audience. It didn’t make this squire much difference, nor did it seem to call away from anyone else in the ring. Mud flecked onto his skin from the impact of the sonic burst against the ground, which shuddered from the force.

With his right hand he re-gripped his weapon, holding the blade backwards to run it parallel to his elbow. His stance deepened, weight centering to keep his balance, knees bending for support, arms held slightly outward grunt. The rain obstructed his view, but not to the point where he couldn’t make out his opponent. But his confidence swelled he actually was holding his own, but while relish in his own accomplishment he thought about the woman he had attempted to save moments earlier, as did Molotov.

“So… ponce, you really think that bird’s gonna love you after what you did for her? She won’t, she’s in the Cell to advance, not to play some sodding dating game…” the mutant chimed. “And she’s probably going to bloody die now anyways… care to save her?”

Arsenic cringed, but he knew from the lackluster sonic attack that, or at least he hoped that she was ok. It wasn’t his concern now, not while Molotov stood not even 10 feet away from him. To expose his back would not be the better of two strategies, besides that there was nothing else to decide on. His idea was to throw his opponent off balance but the wall was to far to jack knife, and the arena was covered in mud. The gritty grimy substance that was a result of to much water mixed with dirt. Any amount of water as a matter of fact. His lips curled as he had a moment of enlightenment.

Self safety? Or anothers?

Shifting his weight forward, he clambered forwards across the mud-covered grounds; viciously Arsenic twisted himself from right to left. His right foot dragging flat against the slick surface, sending a small wave of mud to act as his own wall which would be aimed at his opponents eyes but it would fall short, and drop headed for Molotov waist. As the wave raised so did Arsenic’s sword, from the way he held the weapon it looked as if he were sending a haymaker to Molotov’s face, at the last minute flicking the blade around to the side of the mutants face.

A simple attack, if connected would deliver that fatal blow, if his opponent moved back he would just thrust the blade towards Molotov’s chest. Even still the weapon moved with unmatched grace, and the grip tightened on the hilt as it drew nearer to Molotov.

[Molotov]

Had Molotov’s attention not been focused on creating rain, he would have had no trouble blocking the attack from the young squire. However, the mutant had overestimated both the effect of his rain and his biting words, Arsenic’s blade was nearly upon his face by the time the mutant could move. Still, Molotov managed to jerk his neck, his back too sore and unwilling from the earlier attack to be much good. The sword sliced right into his check, drawing blood but providing what was only a shallow gash. Still the mutant cringed. He took a few heavy breaths and brought up his rod just in time to meet the squire’s sword before any more damage could be done.

The rain stopped. Molotov no longer cared to devote the concentration needed to maintain it. It had served its use anyways. The blonde was down from the ceiling and there were enough puddles in the sand that the mutant now had water to use at his convenience. However, at that moment, when he had been bloodied by nothing more than a child, he began to wonder if his chances of regaining his notoriety in the cell were quickly slipping away.

“Bloody careless…” he hissed at himself, wondering how much it would pain him to talk. “How many sodded criminals get beaten by some bloody ponce straight out of training school?” Most wounds, the mutant was able to cure his pain and stop the bleeding early, but the fact that this cut would be exacerbated every time he spoke made him particularly nervous about it. Hidden under his cloak, the mutant wondered now if he could even afford to take it off now to reveal his identity. He wouldn’t want the first real glimpse Althanas got of him to be an image of him bloodied by a foolish kid.

Molotov grunted. While he couldn’t be sure, he imagined himself a bit stronger than his opponent. Even if he wasn’t, the mutant was certain that he was at least smarter. There should have been no reason that someone like this squire could draw blood from him so easily. Molotov knew his problem, he’d entered the cage too bogged down with feelings, too many thoughts that were otherwise irrelevant. He had nothing to fear, he now realized. Every last person who’d entered the cage most likely deserved to die. They had ended up here for a reason, and in cases like the squire, that reason was nothing more than foolishness.

“No bloody second strike for you,” Molotov said, as he held his rod like it was a sword and pushed back against his opponent’s weapon. “This is almost over, and I’m just going to laugh soon. Your girlie’s almost dead, then my friend will be coming… what are you going to do then sod? Run? cry?”

Every word had twinged a little bit as Molotov spoke them, but he knew his voice was his best weapon against a knight. People who served ideals were so easily caught up in the trappings of their ideologies that a simple bit of cheek from a nonbeliever could create an incredible amount of anger. Hoping that would cause a second’s pause, Molotov brought his right leg up towards the squire’s stomach, hoping to knock his annoying obstacle back onto the ground.

Just for good measure, Molotov combined his kick with blowing freezing cold ice right into the squire’s innocent looking face.

[Arsenic Ruin]

The sword nicked against his opponents face, even if slightly it was pleasing. Blood drew a crimson splatter against the edge of his sword, his lips curled until the moment when the rod was placed against the weapon, his opponent dipped backward further than he expected, which cause teeter. He hoped to use the swords dig into Molotov’s face for balance. The block was unexpected, but the sword struck the rod briefly of course before the squire pulled the weapon across the surface continuing with the motions of the swing.

Upper torso bending diagonally forwards as he completed his turn then stepped back and to the right slightly. The kick felt nothing but air but the ice was somewhat unexpected, grazing against his own cheek. Pain and prickling cold feeling bubbled to the surface but that didn't prevent, his eyes from shifting over to where the blond combatant and the halberdier followed through with the dance of death. While he himself did do battle with the water machinist or so he assumed from the previous displays. But for the moment his attention was pulled away, forced into combat with one such as this it would prove troublesome if he broke away to save one who could obviously take care of themselves.

“No bloody second strike for you, this is almost over, and I’m just going to laugh soon. Your girlie’s almost dead, then my friend will be coming… what are you going to do then sod? Run? Cry?”

He snapped his eyes back towards the cloaked figure that obstructed his attacks. Arsenic wasn’t flustered; it was a playful jab something he had to become use to. For to make an attack in anger was to attack blindly and allow your opponent the upper hand, so Arsenic only smiled. He already established that the woman like the others in this cage would die, or be gravely wounded so he had made a sort of peace with himself. Even though the thought of someone in pain did cause him sigh. He composed himself before he readied his sword again.

So he decided at that moment to play this word game.

“I don’t plan to do either, and if she dies then she fought to the end.”

As he spoke he noticed his cheek had lost some feeling. But pushed forward regardless, and thought nothing of it, his weapon held out from his side, eyes narrowed on his target. He spun, dropping into a squat before bringing his weapon cross towards Molotov’s shins. So that if the blade missed he was able strike the middle of his opponents body by rising into the air, starting just above the pelvic area and ended at his face. The momentum that was put into the spin strike; was carried to the strike so even if it was blocked his opponents body was left open.