Tournament Semi-Final: Luck versus Skill

[Hera Ledro]

Combatants - Belselk Ebenhardt vs. Wylliam Morgan (Fair_Game vs. professor13)

Arena: Flatlands

Wind whistled fiercely along the flat ground, the few hills there were making a rippling effect. With exception to grass and weeds, the vegetation was scant, with only a few trees spread out in the miles and miles of earth and grass.

To the north, not half a kilometre away, were a series of steppes and plateaus, leading upwards into an odd settlement of wolf-like creatures. Caves littered the steppes, and several fire pits could be seen at their entrances.

The creatures stared out of their caves, aware of an approaching presence and not daring to come out. Their young huddled against the fathers while the mothers stood guard, staying within the mouths of the cave yet keeping their bodies tensed for combat.

A flash of purple light erupted in the flatlands, and a deluge of howls rent the air as the wolf-people cried their warnings to their families in the caves. The mothers watched closely from the steppes as three figures appeared, two crashing to the ground.

The first figure, closest to the steppes, was a young man, well-built and obviously a powerhouse. The second was smaller, and carried a keen spear and an air of unsurpassed pride. The third had not crashed to the ground. It was a man, with skin pale as the moon, garbed in flowing purple robes, floating above the flatlands with an air of divinity.

"Victors! You have passed the first challenge and emerged victorious! However, do not be fooled, for now you face an even greater challenge."

"You shall now fight another who has defeated their challenge, as well. Their skills are great, and now you must battle even harder to continue. Life is precious, but sometimes we must sacrifice a life for the good of the many."

"You have already been instructed as to the nature of these challenges. Remember, if you lose, you will be returned to your world. Die, and you shall be reborn, and forced to go through life again. Succeed, and you shall face an even greater challenge to your mettle."

"Here, your wind-elemental abilities will be amplified to twice their strength, as well as any illusionary tactics you may employ."

"You will find your energy and vitality rejuvenated. You must be at your strongest to win."

"Fight hard, brave warriors, and remember: your victory could ensure the fate of our worlds."

A flash of purple resounded, and the sound of wind roared through the air, and the man was gone. Now the next battle was to begin...

 

[Fair_Game]

The post-apocalyptic scene became disoriented around him, engulfing the nomadic warrior in a violently violet light. A perplexing image of the distorted destruction remained crystallized in his thoughts. Its lingering residual effects would bend in half, folding along one line, then another and another, until finally the entire picture disappeared from sight. An instant later a new image began unfolding before him; one of shimmering green grass, with a tranquil sea of flatland rolling like a tide of serenity. The hilly land supported very sparse plant-life, no suitable shade to salvage for the anguished soul. For that is precisely what the wounded warrior was.

Or so he thought.

Just moments before the strange teleportation he was clinging desperately to life, teetering on the brink of exhaustion, unarmed (literally) and facing a powerful blasphemer. The blighted adversary had managed to coerce the earth God and the fire God into prohibiting the ambassador of Gaia from ascension. He had been certain of his demise when suddenly the battle was over. Swaying by his knees, his once lifeless arms regained their vigor and the previously expended weapon of the Gods, the Aegis Ward, was now refastened to his wrists. Extraordinarily, the Twelve glittering gems rekindled to their brilliant blue light. Apparently, the transformation had recharged the rugged berserker to his peak condition.

Belselk Ebenhardt, scion to the will of the Gods, harbinger of justice and last son of Eselgleese, felt exactly like a juggernaut.

Tenacious yellow eyes peered out from behind a dusty brown mane as it wavered leisurely in the calming breeze. His left and right hands bent at the elbows, slowly ascending to view before his unmoving gaze. Whatever magic was at work, it was surely favoring him! Towering at his full height (5'4) the beaming brawler let out a ferocious roar, just in time to be joined by a cacophony of howls from the steppes at his back. The blissful air was filled with that powerful song.

As the twin discs began to swirl on his bucklers, Belselk felt the powerful voice of another interrupt his jubilee of thanksgiving. It was then that the mighty warrior's piercing gaze drifted to another survivor of these challenges. The figure held a spear in his grip and he appeared as perplexed as Belselk to the situation.

'The great one's have offered us their song,' Belselk remarked tossing a side-long glance over his shoulder, 'let us not waste their cheer!'

Twisting a boot into the springy earth, Belselk arched his back mimicking a wild cat, his teeth gnashed and grit against each other as his yellowed eyes hungrily devoured the adversaries staunch posture. With a yelp Belselk launched himself, bounding into the soothing air and flipping end over end towards Wylliam. His right fist outstretched like a vane on a windmill threatened to smash into the dragoon's unprotected face.

Uninterested in connecting with his mark, Beselk dropped to his knees and smacked his fists against the soft grass, hoisting his feet an inch above ground as he sent out a capsizing round-house kick aimed at Wylliam's right ankle.

 

[professor13]

A completely emotionless Wylliam watched as his adversary raced down at him from the sky, rapier poised to relieve Wylliam of his spear. Before the attack landed, however, an all too familiar hole ripped across space, throwing Wylliam into a cataclysmic, not to mention highly unpleasant, state of simultaneous sentience and non-being. He could think, therefore, theoretically, he was. However, he was without being, so in another sense, he was not.

These postulations, it should be noted, belong to the objective observer alone, and did not even momentarily flutter into the dragoon's thoughts. The only thing running through Wylliam's mind was: this really sucks.

After an instantaneous eternity passed, filled with many other oxymoronic and paradoxical non-happenings, Wylliam could once again feel himself being deposited face first onto solid ground. One might wonder how someone who spends so much of his time leaping into the air can never manage to land on his feet in these situations, but the fact remained that Wylliam was currently getting reaquainted with the taste of earth.

Getting quickly to his feet and taking a moment to wipe the dirt from his face, Wylliam realized that despite the strange change in scenery, something was naggingly familiar about his surroundings. After looking up, he quickly surmised what it was: he was standing across from a man with an atrocious fasion sense while a robed wierdo hovered above them talking about the fate of worlds.

After the robed man disappeared, Wylliam looked down at himself. What the robed man had said was true; Wylliam felt perfectly energized and battle-ready. He glaced over at his spear in his hand and saw that it, too, was in perfect shape.

Suddenly, a howl rang out across the plain, causing Wylliam to nearly leap out of his skin. As he quickly regained his composure, thankful that no one but his foe was around to see the lapse in his cool, the rugged, hairy guy shouted, 'The great one's have offered us their song, let us not waste their cheer!' Wylliam began to wonder if the man was insane.

Suddenly, Wylliam's opponent began to gnash his teeth and glare like a wild animal, then leapt into the air, flipping straight for Wylliam with an out stretched fist. There was no longer a doubt in the dragoon's mind; his opponent was completely loopy.

As the strike neared Wylliam, he easily dodged to the left, readying his spear to strike at the opponent's soon-to-be exposed back. However, the opportunity never came, as his opponent struck out with a sweeping low kick immediately after landing. Wylliam quickly thrust his spear into the gound beside his right leg to block the attack, then aimed a left-footed kick at his opponent's nose.

 

[Fair_Game]

[Dice Roll : 5, 4][Goat, Rat = Flight of the Hare]

As the metal foot covering smashed into the shaft of Wylliam's spear, Belselk felt a rush of panic. How had the heavily armored warrior reacted so quickly to the lithe advances of the barbaric Belselk? Before the befuddled berserker could protest a boot swarmed into view from his peripheral vision. A calm counter threatened to smash a permanent dumb-founded grin on the scion's mouth. So carefree was his training that he hadn't even considered bracing for the impact.

Click.

A pointed boot smashed squarely in Belselk's chest, knocking him up off his feet. Shaman, he bleated, I need more time to adjust my landing! Comically, the berserker performed an elaborate backwards breast stroke through the frilly air. This time the little warrior's instincts kicked in and he braced for the impact against the cold dewy greenery.

But there was no impact the second time.

Peering listlessly through one tightly shut eye, Belselk noted that the horizon was in exactly the same place he left it before his abrupt flight. He had expected a cushy landing but this was just too much! It was then that he felt the sensation at about the same time his eyes registered it.

The bottom half of his body was completely encased in a bluish aura!

'Goat plus Rat,' he chortled to himself, 'Goat plus rat. Goat plus Rat, that makes Flight of the Hare!' His right hand lifted to pat the dust from his brigadine, the riveted plate cooed under his calming touch revealing an dull expended gem lodged in its socket atop his buckler. His two hands planted between his legs during the roundhouse kick had been in close enough proximity to set off whatever combination arose. The flight of the hare had instantly lifted him off the ground changing the intended target of Wylliam's stern boot.

'You done good, metal man,' he murmured joyously, 'but...they say...I no play games, not no more!'

Bending his knees and pressing two fingers from his left hand atop thin air, Belselk began to pantomime a bull preparing to charge. Ok, so maybe just one more game. Though his adversary was sure to assume only on his sanity, Belselk seemed to care less. Truthfully, he was enjoying himself.

One boot planted into the ground and his body slingshot high into the air, his right hand curled up compacting tightly against his body as he pulled his legs into a ball, revealing only his pointy elbow which promised to thump the Dragoon on its head. The speed at which he moved was blinding, an effect of the skill. All that remained was a bluish afterimage of his feet as he circled Wylliam, pausing only to rocket a left jab to the back of the knee and a right hook soaring towards the left side of his head. The speed at which he moved turned his dizzying antics into a dangerous death dance!

 

[professor13]

Wylliam's cocky grin that had surfaced from what he had believed to have been a clever ploy on his part quickly flipped into the proverbial dropped jaw of shock. His opponent was floating, presumably because of the bizzare bluish light surrounding the lower half of his body.

As Wylliam stared in disbelief at the unusual sight, his hairy foe began to speak again.

'You done good, metal man,' he murmured joyously, 'but...they say...I no play games, not no more!'

His opponent then proceeded to do some hand motions and body movements that caused Wylliam to think of a particular moment when he had mistakenly drunk large quantities of alcohol, having believed it to be fruit juice. Perhaps the man wasn't crazy, but...

"Oy!" Wylliam shouted, "are you drunk?"

His foe suddenly made his move, rocketing into the air and rushing down at Wylliam, elbow first. The speed at which the attack came was incredible, but Wylliam still managed to leap back to avoid being hit in the head. He would hate to be taken out by his own signature battle tactic. However, he wasn't prepared for the insane speed at which his foe began to circle him. Not even Wylliam's exceptional reflexes were enough to avoid the man's strike to the back of his knee. He immediately crumpled to the floor from his loss of balance, with the accidental blessing of dropping below his opponent's follow-up strike.

Alright beasty-man, Wylliam thought, grinning despite his comprimising position, let's see if you have the reflexes to match your speed. Without giving warning, he sat up, lifted his spear off the ground a few inches above the altitude of his opponent's feet, and swung fiercely in the opposite direction of is foe's rapid encirclement.

 

[Fair_Game]

[Dice Roll : 1, 2][Monkey, Dragon = Breath of the Salamander]

Drunk? He mused, as his right fist whisked through thin air. Contemplating the Dragoon's cumbersome motivation as it stumbled to get upright and whipped his weapon in a wide defensive arc, it was comical. Was he trying to out guess the raging bull? Or was he merely setting up a parameter of protection? The berserker sneered as he flipped through the air. Wylliam must have assumed that Belselk Ebenhardt was holding back enough to continue attacking. But that's just it, a berserker doesn't hold back! Instead his hands dug into the grassy earth, slowing his decent and leaving a large moat in the grass behind the spear-wielding warrior. Not drunk yet, but down THIS blasphemer ... I'll drown a barrel' ale!

The spear wafted through the air harmlessly, sending a wave of air to push the dark hair out of Belselk's face. He blinked instinctively and felt a shiver surge through his body. He abruptly noticed something wet squirming in his hands! Squishy, wet, and icky, he shuddered. Finally pealing his mitts open he let out a sigh of relief. What remained in his grip from his decent was two large tufts of earth matted in wet, dew-filled grass and compacted together in a clump, like a snowball. His power-slide had left two large strikes cut around Wylliam coming to a point like a 'V'.

The familiar click resonated through the open fields.

It was something this adversary did that tipped him off. Belselk's attacks weren't working and the thin wisp of a grin the opponent wore as he picked himself up, was proving it. This guy was cocky, but his movements were completely reactionary. He was an immobile wall and the spear was an assertion of his position!

It was a challenge and Belselk Ebenhardt was going to have to change tactics.

A thin esper of blue emitted from the two bucklers as Belselk smashed his wrists together. Belselk permitted a sneer to spread across his lips, the blue afterimage spun faster from his wrists towards his hands.

'Metal man,' came the dull roar from behind the bluish flames, 'catch this!'

His right hand struck out launching a snowball out towards Wylliam's unprotected head, while his left hand lobbed the other snowball like a shot put. Suddenly the bluish aura finally subsided between his hands. The second ball of dirt began its decent as he thrust his closed wrists forward sending a cone of fire erupting from his fists dousing the ground and moving up towards Wylliam. The grass in front of the make-shift moat caught fire spreading a wave of flame that spread out among the grassland towards the dragoon.

The moat guided the flames away from Belselk, the gods were smiling surely!

Belselk lifted the cone into the path of the shot put snowball, igniting the blades of grass as it threatened to crash into Wylliam's chest. Though his floating feet threatened to falter at any minute, Belselk couldn't help but keep up his sneer. The fire was crashing towards Wylliam on all sides threatening to tighten the noose!

 

[professor13]

Wylliam smirked at the earth-clod speedily making its way for his head. This man obviously didn't realize who he was facing. The Dragoon with the Wyvern Eye could deflect such a trivial attack with his eyes closed, which is exactly what he decided to do. Smiling, he brought back his spear as he shut is eyes, then swung it forward, grinning as he felt the spear contact the ball of mud. He was still grinning as the clod exploded upon contact, splattering is face and armor with mud, though this was most likely because he had momentarily lost control of his facial muscles. His brain was much more interested in finding a way to console Wylliam's ego.

Suddenly, a cackle snapped Wylliam back into reality. He wiped the mud from his face just in time to notice the rather threatening wall of fire heading directly for him, or rather, where he had just been. It didn't take Wylliam long to get into the air where he was confident the flames couldn't reach him. As he neared the crest of his leap, however, he realized that the furry man had made accomodations for an aerial dodge with his own flaming aerial attack: another mud ball, complete with a fiery exterior.

"Ugh... this isn't going to feel good..." Wylliam lamented as he drew back his spear and slammed it onto the top of the ball. Fortunately, the flames had baked the ball into a more substantial form, meaning that it didn't explode on contact like the previous mud clod. Though pieces broke off and hit Wylliam in the face, burning the flesh where it touched, the majority of the clod rocketed back toward his foe.

Wylliam knew that as long as the blue aura continued to encompass his foe's lower half, he would have no trouble avoiding the flaming clod. Upon landing, Wylliam dashed at the berserker from his left, hoping to bore a hole into the man's perpetual offensive with a thrust to the abdomen to force a dodge, then a full three-sixty clock-wise spear swing in the hopes of catching him off-guard. He would make sure his burned face was avenged.

 

[Fair_Game]

[Dice Roll : 1, 5][Monkey, Rabbit = Dud]

The blazing ball of earth made abrupt contact against his right buckler only to slide off harmlessly. Belselk stifled a chuckle, his yellowed eye peered out from behind the shield following his opponents decent. It's one of the benefits of defensive weapon, Belselk thought as his sneer subsided, it wasn't the first time he'd considered the God's quirky wisdom.

The devious opponent made use of the momentary distraction by swooping down on the stout warrior from his left side. Belselk prepared to escape the spear-wielders wrath when a sudden rush of panic passed through his body. The bluish aura was dissipating. A sharp blade pierced the air like a hawk through the clouds.

Oh hell...

The hope of rolling right, of ducking, of fleeing... anything! Those thoughts captured the little warrior's panic stricken mind, but then his body felt the blue aura completely abandon him. The dreadnought adversary rushed towards him.

Belselk could only plant his feet and cry loudly as the spear pierced his side. His voice spooled out from his throat massaging his body into a heightened state of empowerment. Adrenaline flowed through the cells in his body at an expanding rate increasing his physical capabilities in excess. The berserker's war cry ended in an audible sputter of blood that dribbled down his chin in rivers. A silvery spear-head plunged through his exposed abdomen but missed the opportunity to instantly snuff out his life.

His mind retreated to the familiar euphoria that kicked in instinctively in response to pain. A berserker was trained to shrug off injury until the fight was won. Engorged in familiar feral strength, Belselk seized the opportunity to charge his adversary. But instead of just assaulting him meaninglessly, Belselk turned his attention to the steppes in the distance. Tossing an oblong kick towards Wylliam's skull, hoping to shake the dragoon free, Belselk turned and ran with all his might towards the cliffs carrying at least the spear embedded in his side with him.

For the night air was still alive with the wolf-beasts powerful calls, and it was Belselk's intention to quell those howls with a rare tuna, this one was called 'man in a can'.

 

[professor13]

Wylliam believed that he felt surprised when his spear found its mark in his foe's abdomen, but then the hairy adversary let out a war cry that showed Wylliam his error. Now he was surprised; so much so that he actually let go of his spear and took a step back. Apparently noticing his shock, the berserker rushed in with a kick that knocked Wylliam's helm right from his head, causing the dragoon to snap back into reality (after being sent for a loop and landing, not surprisingly, on his face). Quickly looking up from the ground (and spitting some of said ground back to the earth), he watched as the man continued to run in the direction of the steppes, while his spear wobbled from the man's side with each step.

"Oy!" Wylliam shouted, rushing to his feet and immediately taking off in pursuit, "Give me my damn spear back, you... you... you hairy spear stealer!"

Wylliam was in much better condition than his foe, but he was still having trouble keeping pace. Did the man want to die of blood loss? If the berserker kept on running at such speeds, he seriously risked heavy anemia, if not death. The robed wierdo had said that the contestants would be reborn, but he still felt uneasy killing someone for the sake of a tournament...

---------------------------------

Wylliam put his hand against a cliff wall while trying to catch his breath. He had chased his foe for almost five hundred meters in an attempt to reclaim his spear, but he had lost the man's trail at the beginning of the steppes.

"Oy! Hairy Man!" Wylliam called out, "C'mon! This has definitely lost its novelty! Give me back my spear so we can finish the fight!" Yeah, finish it somewhere that is anywhere but here. This place gives me the creeps.

A feeble wind blew through the steppes, whistling as it swept past the numerous caves along the cliff before Wylliam. The ground showed several claw tracks which seemed very recently made, as if the ones that made them had scattered into hiding at the approach of the warriors. Wylliam did not like the thought that something with claws was somewhere he couldn't see.

A growl sounded from one of the caves a few meters up the cliff as a pair of rather intimidating eyes loomed into view, followed by the body of what appeared to be a wolf-man. Wylliam realized he would have much preferred that the creature had stayed hidden.

"GROOWR!" the wolf-man repeated from the ledge, gnashing his teeth and pointing back toward the flat lands as he stared into Wylliam's twitching eyes. The message was quite clear: leave.

"Heh heh... I'd love to, trust me, but, you see, there's this guy, and he has something of mine, and-"

Wylliam was interrupted as the creature stomped his foot and growled even more fiercely as he pointed a clawed hand once again away from the steppes.

"I get it! Fine! Have it your way!" Wylliam cried, throwing his hands into the air and walking away from the wall. The wolf creature gave a satisfied grunt and turned to walk back into its cave.

Sorry, my furry friend, Wylliam thought with a grin as he whipped around and dashed at the cliff, causing the wolf creature to look back in shock, but I need that spear back. There's something rather important tied to it.

Wylliam leapt forcefully from the ground, soared above the wolf-man, and came crashing down feet first on his head. Upon landing, Wylliam pushed off from the wolfen cranium and continued his flight up the cliff as several more wolf people emerged from their caves and began to give chase to Wylliam. He could care less, though. He was going to track down that berserker and get his spear back no matter what.

"I'm coming for my spear, Hairy Man! I'll sweep the entire steppes if I have to!"

 

[Fair_Game]

[Dice Roll : 2, 5][Rooster, Rabbit = Eye of the Enemy]

The cavern was filled with familiar scents of sulfur and ash from the dried up fire pits of the wolf-men. A thin trickle of water dripped leisurely from the depths, echoing off the hanging stalactites and bouncing off the pocketed cavern walls. Pasty white hieroglyphs lined the corroded corridors long since silent in their solitude. But as the new intruder dragged himself further into the depths, the holistic murals were joined by a vibrant red as it leaked slowly from the gaping wound in Belselk Ebenhardt's abdomen.

Must... end... this...

The long spear had made the trek awkward, he had mused some meters back. Although, to his surprise, his increased strength gave him the ability to lose his adversary in the Swiss cheese cliff-side! With his left hand he seized the shaft of the nuisance and through his increased adrenaline, shattered the wooden rod between his grasp. A push and pull through the other side sent the broken weapon soaring end over end as he pulled it from his back. In pain he exhaled with a wiry smirk, at least he could walk without looking like a mobile tee pee hut.

With great patience he lowered himself into a sitting position, his doubled vision was beginning to get the better of him, causing the cave walls to swim about his head. The extreme loss of blood wasn't helping his situation, so the bull-headed warrior unstrapped the Aegis Ward and began to disrobe. Quickly, he strapped the cloth from his undershirt around his stomach and fell against the cold rock, panting.

These trials were becoming a bungling business.

"I'm coming for my spear, Hairy Man! I'll sweep the entire steppes if I have to!"

The shout echoed through the caverns, his adversary must be charging through the canyon weaponless. Another echo sifted through the caves, one that sounded like it was heading in the opposite direction. The sound resulted from the clicking heels of several of the wolf-creatures stalking the loud intruder.

The Aegis Ward suddenly shone in a bright blue, the two stones illuminated were an all too familiar rooster and rabbit. Surely this was fate!

Belselk lashed his foot out to kick the two shields into close proximity, but he couldn't reach! The wounded warrior was suddenly immobile! Frantically he began kicking with both legs, fighting to inch his way closer. The light began to flicker, the shield would soon resume spinning!

For what felt like an eternity, Belselk kicked his feet back and forth in a side-long fashion. He felt his butt slip on the rock sloshing him down along the granite just in time to kick the left buckler into the right one!

A flash of brilliant blue before him presented the furry form of Erius, the wind-mouse god. The swirling cerulean aura congealed together in the stout rodent image and it stood patiently as if awaiting Belselk's command. His mind swarmed to the robbed aggressor who had informed the duo of a special benefit of the current battlefield. Illusion!

Picturing the wolf-creatures proved difficult as he had to discern their appearance based on the sound of their howls, the scratch marks lining the many hovel like homes and the lingering scents that filled the foul cavern with 'wet dog'. Erius gladly obliged, stretching his short stature to a hulking bestial girth! Satisfied, Belselk nodded in the direction he last heard the dragoon call from and Erius dashed eagerly to find him.

His plan was simple, to attract the pack of wolf-men to the dragoon's position and call the charge with his 'blue brother'.

Hope for your sake, the challenge ends quick metal man!

 

[professor13]

"GOWR!"

Ignore it... just ignore it and keep concentrating on the task at hand...

"GRROOOWR!! GAGGAAAROOOOHHH!!!"

"WILL YOU SHUT UP?!" Wylliam shouted, glancing over his shoulder at the small swarm of wolf men tailing him, "If you're going to try to chase me down and mutilate me, have the decency to do so quietly!"

Crap, I'm getting nowhere fast... Wylliam thought with a scowl, leaping to yet another cave ledge only to find absolutely nothing, Why couldn't that fool be a little more human and leave some damn footprints or something?

"GAROOH!!!"

Wylliam jerked his head around a second time, screaming, "If you guys don't shut those ugly muzzles of yours right now, I swear I'll-" when suddenly, the clue he had been praying for appeared in the form of a rather blue wolf creature darting out from one of the caves in the opposite direction he was currently headed.

Wylliam had to get there fast, or else his foe might slip away again. Just as he was about to turn and head in the new direction, he discovered his foe's intention in summoning this creature. What had been a small party of wolf creatures that had seen his intrusion had become a small army of wolf creatures that had been alerted by the blue phantom.

Crap, if I want to get there in decent time, it's the only choice, Wylliam thought with a gloomy smirk. Hairy Man, you've got less than ten minutes left to regret stealing my spear.

During his introspection, purple energy began to gather around him, obsuring him from the sight of the wolf-men. As quickly as it formed, the purple cacoon disappated, exposing Wylliam with his opened Wyvern Eye. Without so much as a flicker of expression, Wylliam floated gently off the ground, and then not quite as gently bulldozed through the congregation of rather stunned wolf men.

Not a minute later, Wylliam was hovering outside the entrance to the berserker's sanctuary, peering at the weakened form of his foe. Had Wylliam seen this sight a minute ago, he might have tried to appeal to the adjudicators' compassion to end the fight before someone died; might have felt guilty in attacking such a wounded foe.

However, Wylliam's Wyvern Eye did not allow him to feel anything. In this form, he coldly reasoned that the combatants would be reborn anyway, so there was no logical reason not to definitively end the fight now.

A quarter of Wylliam's Draconic energy seeped into the air about him, which began to form a cyclone of razor wind with the Dragoon in the center. Dispossessed of his spear, he instead stretched his arms above his head to form a vertex from which the cyclone originated. Normally, without his spear, the tip of the vortex would be half as potent. However, due to the boosted power of wind based abilities, the entire cyclone could easily rip steel apart.

Wylliam, surrounded by his Wyrm Wind, flew tip first at his adversary, already formulating a strategy in case the berserker actually managed to avoid him for thirty seconds.

 

[Hera Ledro]

This battle is now closed for posting. Judges, please post up your decisions.

 

[Saix]

Apologies for the delay.


Fair_Game

• Originality/Creativity: 10
• Interaction with Environment: 10
• Yieldability: 10
• Readability/Grammar: 10
• Power-playing/God-modding: 9

professor13

• Originality/Creativity: 10
• Interaction with Environment: 10
• Yieldability: 10
• Readability/Grammar: 10
• Power-playing/God-modding: 10

To be perfectly honest, I found it near impossible to discredit either of you for this match. Nothing much to say, except that it was a thrilling fight! Congratulations to both, though professor13 gains my vote.

Oops, forgot that as to avoid accusations of bias - resulting in Contra not Judging this round - professor13 is the semi-finalist! Good show.