Final Fite I: A Floaty Fite

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

The creature had never experienced such clean, pure air, rushing over his pinkish skin. Were he capable of the feeling, Hailwing would have been elated.

Instead he stood with arms crossed near the rim of a grassy plot of land. Beyond him was an endless drop, for he stood on a flying mound of earth - a floating mass, as it were, suspended among the clouds and surrounded by the bluest of skies. He had only been here for a moment, having been transferred into the Citadel arena by will of the monks therein, but he had taken measure of his surroundings very carefully.

The ground he stood on floated high in the air, a thirty yard wide surface of terrain with no boundaries about its perimeter. Continuously, bits of stone and dirt cracked off of the jagged bottom of the platform and drifted down through the sky, as if the foothold threatened to erode over time.

Beyond the platform Hailwing stood on, dozens upon dozens of similar spaces existed. Some were smaller, a few were bigger, but there always seemed to be at least one platform nearby enough from another that Hailwing could transfer over with a moderate leap. He observed them for a moment and noted, or at least suspected, that they were not degenerating the same way that the one he currently stood upon was.

He hummed at this, considering it and whether or not he was overthinking the significance of the difference.

Then, a sudden gust of wind took him by surprise. If he hadn't responded so quickly, Hailwing would have been pulled from the side of the flying platform before the battle had even started. He planted his feet hard into the soil and knelt down, countering the push.

Then the gust ended, and he stood. With a grimace, he moved away from the edge and closer to the center of the platform. An icy mist wafted out of his mouth as he exhaled, turned, and awaited his opponent.

[redford]

John stepped through a glowing arch into the arena.

He felt grass beneath his armored feet, which was always something he found odd. The sensations he felt through the armor were just as real as any he could sense through his own skin, though it was odd when he felt the point of a blade or the heat of red-hot coals without any pain. His gaze turned upwards from his armored boots to notice that he was on a platform, suspended above the clouds.

John looked back, seeing more platforms like his, perhaps two large steps away. He also noticed that his own platform was crumbling away, albeit slowly.

Though, given the size of the platform, it might be prudent to move to another platform before too long.

A powerful gust threatened to tip him, but he willed small tendrils of the armor at his feet to creep into the earth, like the roots of the tree. They kept him upright through the wind. Though, he did sacrifice a few inches of armor at his boots for that. The gust subsiding, he willed the tendrils to retract into his boots, returning the borrowed material.

John turned his gaze upward to his opponent, seeing a figure at the other end of the platform. He was perhaps six feet tall, and stood ramrod still against the driving wind. At first glance, he seemed mostly human, except for the small wings at his back. There was a glaive strapped to his back, point up.

I'll need to close the distance quickly if I'm going to make any difference, John thought. Ever the tactician, he knew that his improvised weapons only reached so far.

He stepped forward, willing his armor to extend upward to cover the upper half of his chest and form two inch claws at the ends of his fingers. He wasn't sure what his opponent had in store, but he tried to make himself ready for anything.

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

John appeared several long strides away, his imposing form illuminated by the magic of the portal before it quickly dissipated into the wind.

Hailwing was already facing him, analyzing. John stood solidly, not a concern visible on his face and appearing nonplussed by the unusual situation in which they found themselves. Hailwing assumed him to be a veteran of the Citadel, used to the unusual arenas concocted and imagined by its many users and the monks who attended to it. He'd come to train, perhaps, to test his mettle against what the Ai'Brone had to offer.

The warrior reached back and removed his glaive from the fastened clasp on his belt which held it in place against his back. With a deft movement, he spun it over his head and rested the bottom of its shaft on the ground before his feet, its blade by his right shoulder.

"Hail," he called, in a resonant voice that pierced through the whirling winds. "Are you prepared?"

His knees bent just slightly, the balls of his feet planted firmly on the ground. Behind him, a brick-sized chunk of the earth broke off and crumbled into the air.

[redford]

The glaive favored a more reaching approach, providing his opponent with an advantage. John took a few steps forward, halting his stride in the center of the circular platform, bending his knees. The platforms were disintegrating, and it wouldn't be long before his opponent had to get close.

And when he did, he'd be fighting to get to the middle. His mind flashed on a lecture given by an old martial arts teacher.

"Your feet are no good to you if you don't know where to put them. Always control the high ground."

John crouched, readying a defensive posture. He focused on his armor, shifting it around until a round plate had formed at the end of his fist. He fashioned it into a shield, focusing on his right hand to fashion a five foot spear extending from his hand. Hopefully he'd be able to keep his strange opponent from getting to the middle, and when he did have to, it would be a close ranged battle.

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

The opponent did not give a verbal response, but Hailwing watched him crouch low and fashion a weapon and shield, somehow, out of the armor covering his body. The warrior knew that if he wasn't prepared now, he never would be. There was no sense in delaying the start of the battle further.

Hailwing burst forward, the ball of his right foot propelling him into a run, glaive pointed behind him.

Grass and dirt kicked up behind his feet, and as he approached John, the polearm came to bear and his eyes flashed wickedly.

He suddenly skidded along the ground, stopping around six feet from John and bringing the blade of his glaive down, hard, in a diagonal slash aimed for John's neck. This was the furthest he could be from the man while still being effective with the weapon. The intention was to follow-through after the strike and bring the glaive back in the other direction.

[redford]

As good as his initial strategy was, one of the most important parts of John's self-developed style of fighting was adaptability. He was at a disadvantage much of the time in terms of weapons, but maintaining a fluid combat style had helped him adapt to his surroundings. And this particular surrounding required even more adaptability.

His opponent rushed him, and John readied a spear, until he saw how he was swinging the glaive. John acted on instinct, more reacting than developing a strategy. John took a quick step forward, placing him inside the reach of the glaive's blade, at the same time drawing the metal in his right arm into his fist, making it larger than usual, drawing the spear in as well. The glaive's pole struck the space between neck and shoulder, and shook John's vision, nearly staggering him as he swung his right fist up and forward at the man before him, digging the balls of his feet into the unsteady ground to provide him with more force.

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

Driven by the heavy iron blade at its end, the glaive's momentum brought it down with great speed and force. John was moving, his armor strangely manipulating itself to form a sheath for his huge fist.

Hailwing knew his strike to be true, and so did not adjust his attack. John had moved, but the glaive's shaft crashed into him, certain to crush the man's collarbone and collapse him, halting his approach. Hailwing grunted with satisfaction as his polearm bent over John's body.

But John was no normal man, not by a long shot. Not expecting the strike to still come after landing his own, the winged warrior only had time to duck his head to meet John's fist, so that the blow crashed into his forehead instead of his jaw or mouth.

Stars and blackness exploded in Hailwing's head as it snapped back, thrown by the powerful punch. It was fortunate that he'd been able to land his own attack, for it surely prevented John from using the full extent of his strength, which would have certainly killed Hailwing outright. Hailwing stumbled and was almost able to get a foot under him, but instead collapsed backward to slam prone on the ground, his glaive tumbling to lay next to him.

It had been foolish not to try and avoid the attack completely, Hailwing would later think, after he had a few moments to recover. Of course there were many in this world who did not display their true strength, did not wear it as a warning badge.

Behind him, a large chunk of their platform broke apart, grass and rock and dirt falling away in the sky like dandelion florets. He tried to get his bearings and rise, but could hardly move his legs to try and plant his feet.

[redford]

John lifted his arm and felt the two halves of his collarbone grind together. He winced a little in pain as he brought his arm down, reducing the shield that covered it into his armor for now. His winged opponent stumbled, attempting to regain his bearings in the aftermath of John's strike. John noticed something odd about his opponent though. As he attempted to right himself, John saw deep scratches on his scalp, like one would see on metal or stone. It was then that he began to notice the other things. The eyes, focused but not quite human, the movements, precise and calculated. He was fighting an automaton, a golem of some kind. John was quite surprised, as he had never seen one before, much less one so convincingly human. An eyebrow raised as he bent down, grabbing the haft of the glaive on the ground with a giant hand. He tossed it off the side of the platform, into nothingness. It grew smaller until it disappeared beneath a blanket of clouds as the wind gusted again, as if to emphasize the peril of the fall.

The ground continued to crumble around them, faster now. Fist sized chunks were breaking off constantly and eroding the platform they stood on. The circle holding both of them was no more than ten feet wide now, and before long it would be nothing. The edge was moving closer and closer to his opponent as John took three steps back, then forward again, leaping toward the next platform. His size and strength aided him, and he landed with a foot or so to spare. This new platform had a new challenge though, and John struggled to maintain his balance as the platform began to tip slowly toward him. His eyes widened as he realized his danger, and sprinted to the middle, attempting to level the platform. Just across the bottomless chasm, the automaton looked to be attempting to stand.

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

Hailwing was conscious enough to be aware of John taking his weapon, but could do nothing about it. He forced himself to stay awake, to watch helplessly as the massive opponent tossed his glaive off into the sky effortlessly. Then, John was gone.

His world began to come back into focus as the clouds above became less of a blur. He could hear rumbling around him, and pieced together that his platform would not last much longer. Why John hadn't finished the job, he wasn't sure, but Hailwing's responsibility was to continue until the fight was over, as long as he was physically able.

He managed to sit up, then tuck his feet in. With great effort, he lurched forward to a standing position and stumbled right toward the edge. He caught himself before he pitched over, and beyond a throbbing ache in his head, he was back.

Only a few feet of earth remained suspended in the air. Hailwing looked to John on the nearest platform where he stood in the center, waiting.

Hailwing burst forward with all of the speed he could muster. He sprinted right to the edge, his toes curling around the lip of the platform, and he leaped with all of his strength. He was in peak condition, as strong and fast as most humans he'd fought, and so he just made the leap.

The platform behind him, dramatically, tore in half just as he left it, splitting in the middle and tumbling away like two halves of a shared cookie.

Hailwing had landed on his left shoulder and rolled through into a charge. The platform dipped in response to his arrival, however its behavior was slightly dimmed by John's presence, as he much outweighed the draconic warrior. So Hailwing charged, determinedly, but with no real plan. John was armed and armored, much bigger and heavier in comparison.

His hands opened at his sides, gathering mist from his flesh and making it solid. A fist-sized ball of ice appeared in each hand, and he threw them desperately at John, aiming for his head, one at a time.

Then he was upon John, and swung his right fist in a horizontal arc to try and clock him hard in the jaw.

[redford]

As the automaton leaped across the chasm, John took two steps back, attempting to level the platform if possible. His opponent landed, tipping the platform in his direction a moment before John took an extra step back. He turned his body at an angle, his injured collarbone away from the winged man. The automaton opened his hands and spheres of blue grew into them. He closed his fists around them and slung them one after another. A plate of metal formed at John's forearm, and the two impacted, shattering against his armor. He was not expecting the next move.

He lowered his arm, just in time to see his opponent closing, much more quickly than he'd anticipated. The fist caught his jaw, snapping his head to the side. John took a step back, not quite staggered, but moved with the punch, taking another two steps back and falling to the ground near the edge of the platform, plunging his fists into the earth. Tendrils of his armor grew down and around the soil, anchoring his body there.

The platform quickly began to tip downward, hopefully tossing the automaton from the platform.