Mifune merely let go of his sword and instead of attempting to dodge completely threw his right hand out and hit Setrak along the side opening a wound along his hand but knocking the point out of the way. Using his momentum and now free left hand he attempted to drive his claws (yes he has claws he is a werewolf) directly into Herriman's throat. Whether the attack would succeed or not mattered little as Mifune was braced for the impact of the blow and upon hitting Herriman would knock him to the ground as well as Mifune who would then stand and retrieve his sword with much haste.

Priroda's eyes watched the battle fascinated. Her sister Sol couldnt watch at all. For whatever reason, unbeknownst to priroda, her sister seemed scared of herriman! Well, Priroda watched him, refusing to let defeat go without a lesson. She watched both combatants with fierce eyes, soaking in every detail. She had even found some admiration for Mifune, who not only fought Herriman for essentially thesame reason she had, but stood to fight, that her sister Sol wouldnt have to. For this, she silently respected the man.

None the less, she didnt want Herriman to loose, for that would mean that Mifune even further outclassed herself than herriman had, and that wouldnt even need to be tested. So, once more she cupped her hands about her mouth and shouted to Herriman. "ya skazal , eto ne vy smeli svobodno!" (i said, Dont you dare loose!) silently, she hopped that the strange man had some snazzy counter.

Herriman had him now. Mifune's sword went sailing across the arena, bouncing off the arena's fly limit barrier and coming to a stop against the arena's wall, the chain falling on top of it. When Mifune's claws came into contact with Herriman, the result wasn't pretty. Mifune's katana was enchanted, masterfully tempered with a diamond blade. His claws, however, were just that. Claws of keratin, untempered, unenchanted, mundane. Not only was Mifune trying to put his claws through a neck guard of hard chitin, but there was also Herriman's primary protection, the armor field.

Irrevocably, and brutally, Mifune's claws would shatter against Herriman's protections, likely breaking his fingers as well with the speed he was going. The neck guard was ruined as fractures snaked across its surface. As Mifune impacted him from the side and they started falling, Herriman would try to spin, so rather than land on his back with Mifune on top, Herriman would try to land on his belly, with Mifune under him.

Breaking his claws and fingers while simultaneously shattering the neckguard Mifune lowered his shoulder as he bowled into Herriman. Instead of pressing the attack he quickly stood and sprinted to retrieve his sword. Next he simply turned his back and walked out of the arena "No longer worth the effort" he said as he continued out of the Arena his hand fixing itself once he left the combat zone.

Herriman was back on his feet quickly, and he turned to face Mifune again. Except...the filthy coward was actually walking away. Away from HIM! "SAMURAI!" Herriman called out, although he knew it wouldn't get Mifune to return. He was angry now. "YOU COWARDLY WOLF FUCK! GET BACK HERE AND FINISH WHAT YOU STARTED!" Herriman continued. He was yelling at an empty arena at this point. He stood there, a few moments of silence as the crowd just watched, stunned. Enraged, Herriman made as if to throw Setrak to the ground, but he suddenly stopped. He looked up to the top stands, where the gods themselves watched the fights, and saw The Raven God. It raised an open palm to Herriman, and Herriman directed his attention to the ground.

"All is going according to plan...my lord..." He muttered, before walking off the arena sands. Herriman decided to head straight for the training area. He need to tear some training dummies in half.

A few minutes after Herriman left, the arena reverted to its original state, all the damage from the previous fights disapearing.

Peter appeared in the middle, consulting a list.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, what a treat! A double feature, with two wins going towards Herriman, The Ever-Changing! Our next fight promises to be just as good!" He announced, and the crowd once more started cheering, excited for more bloodshed.

"Representing Kri, he weighs in at more than twice that of a normal man. The Lycanthropic Berserker, the most fearsome werewolf this side of the arena, SSSOOOVERRREIGN!. And his opponent, a proven veteran of the arena who represents Hephaestus. The Walking Forge, one of the greatest living blacksmiths, KRIX! MAAAAAAAAARDUSSS!"

Once the two fighters appeared, Peter gave them a few seconds in case they wanted to offer a quick prayer to their deity, before raising his arms.

"FIGHT!"

“You know Sovereign, I'm still contemplating how you successfully managed to drag me here. I could be tending to my woodlands right now had it not been for your hair-brained idea.”

“Honestly Kri, your pun is unappreciated.”

A faint giggle snaked from the woman's general direction.

“But to answer your question--”, Sovereign continued. “--Charm did it. You're fond of me and I of you. It's a mutual friendship if anything,” the werewolf stretched his arms and legs out, his crimson eyes briefly extending up to sweep across his patron's unyielding visage as the muscles and tendons in his monstrous form rearranged themselves. “And besides, if you wanted to depart from these games, you could easily do so. No one's holding you here, so it's undoubtedly obvious that you seek to remain here for one reason or another. Perhaps, Kri, you enjoy the sight of mortal creatures engaging in senseless acts of bloodshed and carnage? Maybe you long to socialize with other heavenly creatures worthy of your status?”

Oh hush was Kri's meager answer. She focused on the heated conflict raging between Mifune and Herriman. Within a few short moments however, the battle ended, the two combatants---both still alive and relatively unharmed--departing the arena. Afterwards, a series of magical spells reconfigured the field into its former arrangement.

The announcer concluded his introduction of the two newest fighters, which induced Sovereign to bid Kri farewell.

It wasn't long before Sovereign found himself standing in the arena proper. From the perspective of the onlookers and from his soon-to-be rival, he presented himself as relatively plain in his outward appearance. No weapons or armor and no obvious magical effects accompanied him save for his claws and the rows of dagger-like teeth that lined his inner maw. His tail swished lazily at his rear.

When the fox decided that winning the fight was beneath him and simply walked off out of the arena, Krix shook his head in disgust and pushed himself off the railing he'd been leaning on. In all his years as the champion of Hephaestus, he'd never encountered a fighter with such blatant disregard for his patron's honor. In all honesty, the act was baffling. Nevertheless, he was ready when his name was called and made his way to the fitting rooms to retrieve his weapons and remove his vest. Once his blades were slung on his back, his hammer slid into a loop on his belt, and the chains wrapped securely around his arms and torso, he stepped through the entrance arch and into the light of the arena.

The view that greeted him was an interesting one, with hundreds of cheering onlookers and a bipedal wolf standing opposite him on the field of battle. He'd never faced a wolf before, and this one looked decidedly more feral than the fox that had faced off against the changeling. It also held no weapons and wore no armor, seemingly content to rely on its natural gifts in lieu of weapons crafted in a forge. A curious choice, though one that begged a question. What was it exactly that gave this creature the confidence to face a man with a longsword forged by the gods? He had no doubt the answer would be interesting indeed. He began to coil the chains tighter around his fists and forearms as he drew nearer, then halted his progress while his opponent was still two dozen meters distant. There, he planted his bare feet shoulder width apart, raising small puffs of dust as he settled them firmly on the dirt and stone beneath himself.

Some may have uttered a prayer at this point, a supplication to their patron to favor them on the field this day, but Krix's prayers were never uttered in words. Only in the clash of hammer on anvil and the wail of a bellows in the forge. He held the handiwork of his prayers on his back and wrapped about his limbs, and he had faith they would carry him through. "Let me guess, your patron is a keeper of forests and trees? I do love trees. They make excellent kindling for my forge."

Sovereign's only response to the man's snide remark was a rich, deep howl that cut through the rumpus of the ecstatic crowd. Instantaneously, three swirling portals each produced a trio of ghastly, canine-like creatures of sizable proportions and ferocity, their fiery hides and razor-sharp claws poised to absorb the blows of their victims and rend the hide of their prey with an animalistic zeal never before exhibited by any customary predator native to the simplistic world of the living. Termed 'Shadow Hounds' by Kri, Sovereign's allies took no time in assessing the current situation that they suddenly found themselves in; they immediately registered the smith that they gazed upon as their master's foe and consequently reacted in kind.

Fanning out to encircle him, their excited speed and agility would make covering the comparatively short distance placed between man and wolf a meager challenge. Sovereign's companions would be within striking distance of the smith in less than a fraction of a second, and would most likely assault the man with firey tooth and fang pinpointed at the ankles, kneecaps and shins of the smith.

Sovereign did not remain rooted to his starting point either. Being tiered far above his deceased comrades in the physical sense, the werewolf was already on the prowl long before the Shadow Hounds even stepped free of the mystical gateways that bridged their domain with that of the arena's. Sovereign's substantial shape was propelled by all four of his limbs with supernatural rapidity. He appeared as a faint, dark blur that dashed to and fro, his path of movement completely irregular—chaotic even to the untrained eye---but nonetheless calculated all the same. Rocks and the occasional tree acted as natural barriers and articles of concealment as he swiftly made his way towards his enemy.

Consciously, Sovereign knew that the Shadow Hounds would only be a distraction to the smith. They were fairly effective against weaker mortal and immortal beings of martial prowess, but demigods were a prey animal that they were ill-suited for handling. Though perhaps they would surprise him? Maybe united, they could cause harm to the man.

But even so, that was the point of course. After all, isn't distraction one of a hunter's greatest tools?

((I'm going with Schradinger's idea about the arena pit being a mix of trees, rocks, grass, and sandy spots, since apparently it was Light's intentions from the beginning; maybe we can go with notdeadyet's idea for the next fight, however.))

((Note on the Shadow Hounds: They're tough, but I don't really expect them to be effortlessly scoring hits on demigod-level champions. But I do consider them an appropriately-tiered attack for a being like Sovereign, which means that they can become exceedingly dangerous if left unchecked or handled the wrong way.))

((Also, let me know if I should control them directly or if they should be treated as low-tiered NPCs. I'm actually unsure on this. The GMs might want to give a verdict. I don't know.)))

A fraction of a second was more time than he needed, setting his right foot back as one of the wolves circled around to that side and charged toward him, using the motion as the catalyst for the creation and expulsion of several dozen earthen spikes. They would be fired from the ground at breakneck speed in a shotgun pattern aimed in the direction of the oncoming wolf while it was in the mid-point of its leap, making avoidance of the lethal projectiles a tricky prospect at best. Simultaneous to this, his left arm extended toward the wolf to that side and the chain wrapped around it shot forward with nearly the same speed as the stone projectiles, aiming to ensnare the creature. By this time, the third wolf was almost upon him, claws and fangs outstretched in preparation for its impending attack, and Krix dropped to his right knee, using the momentum to help drive his right fist down toward the top of the creature's head with enough force to crush it between the unyielding chain encircling his fingers and the stone below.

The first Shadow Hound vanished with an eerie howl and a plum of dark smoke when the rocky spikes made contact with it.

The second Shadow Hound, however, had taken a minute gander at the demise of his mate and the ensuing approach of the extensive series of chain links that aimed for his own ensnarement. He jinked to the side moments before the unforeseen strike made contact with his spectral form, violently pushing his body into his own leftmost direction with a powerful flex of the corresponding leg and arm. Although his trajectory had been abruptly altered of his own accord, the Shadow Hound's momentum still carried him handily, which caused the wolf to awkwardly stumble about during his attempt at a quick recovery, his body flailing widly in the sand and gravel. An opaque cloud of dust and sand was produced from the ordeal, which worked in tandem with the faint wind to hide the Shadow Hound from plaint sight.

And by this time, the third wolf—who had trailed behind the two others in their mutual advancement upon their shared prey—saw what events had unfolded and adjusted his attack pattern accordingly. Before coming within range of Krix's chain-wrapped hand, he halted and retreated away with due haste, moving about in irregular patterns made to distort and confuse anyone or anything that attempted to sight him for destruction.

Sovereign saw the second Shadow Hound use the boon provided by its own dust cloud to dart away from Krix's immediate effective range and take up position amongst a collection of trees, bushes and rocks that lay some four hundred feet away from the area where Sovereign and Krix resided. It's counterpart did the same.

Chains are dangerous, Sovereign thought to himself. And fast too, but they seem less geared towards inflicting direct damage to an opponent but may be designed more for catching and ensnaring him. But I wonder what manner of restrictions accompany the creature's capacity to bend the earth? Let us see.

As he navigated the varied terrain of the arena with an expeditious and chaotic degree of tempo, Sovereign gripped and broke free great clawfuls of loose, hardened stone from the surface directly below him. Always keeping Krix's body in his peripheral vision as he surged and zin-zagged onward, the lycanthrope unleashed his two bundles of projectiles one after another in lightning-like succession.

By their nature, the rocks were not aerodynamic in shape. They could be better likened to grape shot of exceptionally dismal quality, severely limiting their accuracy at longer ranges, but giving them improved hit probability against scattered targets or a single adversary moving in a sporadic or fixed fashion; dodging every single projectile was highly unlikely, but not outside the realm of possibility should the innate powers of a demigod be factored into the equation. The missiles accelerated down-range towards Sovereign's enemy with the speed of a round fired from an anti-material rifle of quality make and large caliber, the pebbles fanning out into a vaguely cone-like formation as they went.

The werewolf suspected that his enemy wouldn't be killed by such an underhanded attack, but the opportunity to further experience Krix's powers over the earth was too much for Sovereign to pass up.

Krix could feel the sand and dust as it surrounded the spectral wolf, and more importantly could feel the empty space which was occupied by that wolf. The cloud of earth did not settle as it should have once the beast moved away, but rather followed it to the copse where it took refuge, continuing to obscure sight as well as smell. He could also feel the chunks of stone being wrenched from the ground as his opponent circled, and it became clear what the next move would be. A wave of his hand as the chain retracted and the stones were hurtled toward him was all the warning he would give as he altered the stones trajectory to fly clear of him and instead fly into the copse where the second wolf had taken refuge with its sandstorm. Assuming, of course, that the wolf still occupied the space. If not, the stones would be directed to whatever locale it currently inhabited, carrying all of the force his opponent had launched them with. More than enough force to shred tree, wolf, and stone alike.