JT sprinted, behind him the roar of a very angry four-armed giant echoed through the woods. The giant was angry; he had been shot several times, by the man he was chasing. Glancing back, the massive creature ate up the distance between them easily with his immense stride. Gritting his teeth, JT hopped over an outcropping of tumbled boulders, hitting the loam on the other side with his shoulder, rolling smoothly into a firing position with the carbine pointed at the giant.

Depressing the trigger, feeling the short, sharp recoil as three more round raced down range, striking the giant in one knee. The blossoming of three angry red dots slowed the massive creature a moment as he looked at his knee.

“Shit…that is not good…”

The giant, roared again, pulling an orb from a satchel, an orb as large as JT’s head and it was glowing. Not waiting to see what it did, already coated with the ectoplasm and hurriedly gooping it on his rifle, a soft translucent glow emanated from the rifle, “Oh thank God!” he muttered as he whipped the rifle up, drawing a bead on the chest of the humongous being.

Again the rifle barked, three short retorts filled the air as once again a tight grouping of shots raced towards the giant, only this time when they hit, the giant paused in his action. A confused look crossed his face as he felt his incredibly wide chest. There was no angry welts this time, no the bullets had pierced his iron like hide and hit the vital organs protected by the thick slabs of muscle and bone.

A grimace crossed the giants lips, as he spat, his right arm lifting to throw the now blazing orange ball. Not waiting, JT fired again, three more rounds hitting the chest again, as they did the giant threw the ball with all his might, however as stated the bullets had struck the giant again. These bullets causing him pain, a pain that the giant hadn’t felt before, a pain that caused frothy red to spill from his misshapen lips. His lungs had been shredded by the bullets.

The ball stuck with tremendous impact twenty feet shy of the rocks, erupting in a flash of heat and concussive energy that knocked JT back about fifteen feet from his protective barrier. Sitting up, the man peered through the smoke, and he could not see the giant. Scrambling to his feet he held his rifle ready as he moved forward slowly, when he heard a bubbling laugh.

“You won this round human. But I will be back, we will fight again and I will kill you next time!”

Stepping up to the massive body, the giant glared into JT’s eyes.

“Hey man no hard feelings. You came after me, I told you I really didn’t want to fight. I am still trying to understand this whole damn thing.”

Squatting next to the giant, he placed a slimy hand on the man’s shoulder, “Look bub, anytime you want to do this again is fine with me. By then I may have figured a way out of this crazy dream.”

The giant chuckled, “Until next time then.” and died.

Rising to his feet, JT searched the giant, finding the satchel only with heavy orange balls inside. “What the hell am I supposed to do with these things?’

Having now opted for a gray t-shirt, tan cargo pants, and a pair of hiking boots in lieu of the suit he had been so rudely whisked away in, Arthur trekked through the forest at an easy pace, keeping a wary eye out for both the other fighters and a suitable location to begin his preparations anew. He'd encountered three other fighters since leaving the mountain, though none meriting any significant remark. Two fled on sight, and the third was removed from play with a single blow. If he had been capable of experiencing genuine emotion, he might have been disgusted by them. Instead, he simply dealt with the ones that needed dealing with and moved on, searching the forest for either a cave, or a building with a sufficiently large basement.

In the depths of the Forests the figure of Arthur Greystoke marched onwards. Killing off a few of the weaker competition as they interrupted his adventure. Little did Arthur know that he was being followed. About ten yards behind the electric man was a woman whose form loomed over most others, this woman is Jean Baldwin. Known to some as the Unstoppable Juggernaut, known to most as The Extreme of Strength. Among the Extremes there were few who were as feared as Jean, the rest of the Extremes are more stable than she is. Jean, however, tends to go a bit too far in combat. Her killstreak is twice as long as any of the other Extremes and three times as brutal.

Arthur's path seemed to be random, as though he were looking for something. Something with an unknown location. Perhaps he was looking for one of the houses within the forest, there were a few scattered about. They would make decent locations for planning and meeting up, if they weren't discovered. Jean could see the merit in this, she had heard about his killing spree on the Mountain. This man had killed three foes with relative ease, taking the first three kills of the Arena in one go. Several other deaths followed, but his triple kill was something to be admired.

The man kept treking onwards, Jean opting to begin closing the distance between them. She picked up her pace and started bridging the distance. Seven yards. Five yards. Three.

The woman caught up to Arthur, stepping forward just enough to be put into his left periphery. With a slight turn of her head she spoke to Arthur, looking down to him. "So, nice weather we're having. Huh?" This was about the most horribly awkward sentence she could muster, and it wasn't even intentional.

Finally. He'd been waiting for her to make a move since she first started following him. She must have been heavier than normal, making that much noise with every footfall, but increased weight was hardly surprising considering the sheer size of her. Arthur was by no measure a small man, but she stood head and shoulders above even him. When she came abreast of him and uttered her surprising attempt at small talk, he caught sight of the bar of metal she held and assumed it to mean she was a fighter of the melee variety. Her size and the impulses of technology he could sense within her body seemed to indicate excessive strength as well, but what the limits of that were exactly remained to be seen. She wore a suit of armor that looked both heavy and durable, but he doubted it would be anything he could not overcome.

"Let me guess, you're here to prove your worth against the Arena's first promising fighter." He said, ignoring her attempt at small talk. He had always disliked that. It wasted both time and energy, and accomplished nothing as a result. He quite honestly would have preferred an outright attack to striking up a pointless conversation. Though one thing he liked even less than small talk was charging in blindly, so he held back, waiting for her to make the first aggressive move.

Well, that was certainly convenient. Greystoke did two things that made Jean's job a lot easier. First of all, he bothered to respond to her. Instead of the whole, instantly replying to her with an attack. Secondly, he asked a question that she generally has to bait out. Saves her the effort of actually carrying on a respectable conversation. She's terrible with people, but you can't quite blame her for that."Well, yes. I am here to kill you, but so is everyone in the Arena. " There was absolutely no distance between them, each was within arm's reach of the other. Just the way Jean liked it.

Before anymore conversing took place, Jean had already achieved her end goal of conversation. Getting close enough to her opponent to strike first without fear of retalliation. Jean's face turned from complacent and relatively emotionless to pure wicked intent. Her right arm shifted, her left arm twisted upwards. The but of the staff tilted upwards into her right hand. Leaning to her right, she shifted all of her weight into one collosal swing of the staff. Its length, weight, and speed at this distance would almost guarantee a hit on a close proximity target. The Extreme aimed the massive rod at his hips, just below his stomach. Aiming to cripple him and finish him with one blow, the intent of this strike was to break his pelvis and rupture his intestines.

Her expression gave it away, and when that changed, time slowed. Or at least Arthur's perception of it. He watched the muscles strain to move her limbs as fast as they would go, felt the impulses racing through her nervous system to carry the commands of her brain, and began to move himself. Even his own movements, which were quicker by far than those of the woman beside him, seemed to crawl through mud as he anchored himself and pulled his torso down, beneath the level of the oncoming blow. A blinding flash illuminated his right hand as the massive club passed over his head, and coalesced into the form of a sword as he rose back up in the wake of her assault. He drove this new blade directly toward her heart with all the strength and leverage his anchored position gave him, using her own momentum against her as she threw her weight into the blow and propelled herself toward him and the point of his weapon.

Jean was not so foolish to play a risky gambit without some way to follow up, it was honestly rude of Greystoke to presume she would just lie down and die to a single swipe of a blade. In her left hand the fingers loosened their grip on the metal rod. The Rod's momentum transferred into the ground, she twisted her body away from her previous path. The staff slammed to the ground, sending chunks of earth flying away from the impact. Her fingers crunched together into a tight fist, the muscles in her arm tensed and she brought her hand back towards Greystoke. His blade would reach her first, but it would not reach her heart. Her swing's momentum allowed her to push her right foot towards Greystoke, twisting her body even more towards him.

The blade shoved its way through her shirt, tearing a hole in her ribcage just below her breast. It cut into the bone, breaking two of her ribs and punching a hole into her left lung. The pain was excruciating, but her heart had been missed.

As the blade penetrated her body, her swing was still in motion. The back of her hand and forearm were aimed at the side of Greystoke's head, he may have landed a blow on Jean but she too would land a blow on him. The blade's wound was not immediately fatal, but her strikes carried enough force to crush bones with ease. Greystoke would have two options; Try to fare the storm and take the hit, or to back away from Jean's strike.

His solution to the second attack was as simple as his solution to the first, and he dropped his head beneath her blow, bending at both knee and back as he twisted his own body to the left and gripped the "hilt" of his blade with two hands. As her fist sailed above him, he pulled the blade down and left, aiming to bisect her abdomen from the original stab wound to her right hip and pull the sword clear of her body. He would then pivot his body back to the right, circumstances permitting, and angle a second slash through her legs at the knees. If her position and momentum held true for the fraction of a second it would take to execute both maneuvers, the portion of his blade nearest the handle would strike her right leg, while her left would be struck only inches from the tip.

As her arm connected with nothing but air, Jean knew her attack had whiffed over his head. The sight of Greystoke's head sinking downwards was another indication that she had failed, how unfortunate that he was crouching lower, she didn't have the ability to do this when he was upright. The swing of her left arm ceased just above his shoulder, her arm relaxing just slightly. Jean's right foot sank into the ground a bit as she tensed her leg, her left leg lifted upwards with as much speed as she could muster.

The blade began to rip its away across her lungs, shredding her left lung. It snagged on her ribs, breaking them even further, beginning to fill her lung with blood. It spasmed and pain became visible on Jean's furied visage. But instead of letting herself succumb to this pain she clenched her teeth so tightly that her right incisor cracked from the pressure, she refused to cease her attack.

Greystoke's constant dodging would work against him in this situation, as he dropped downwards she too dropped her arm. Not with intent to strike, but intent to box in. Her left leg rose upwards in a vicious knee strike, aimed towards his chin as he crouched lower. With her arm above his shoulders, and her knee coming up towards his chin. He would be forced to find an escape or his head would pop off his shoulders like the cork from a champagne bottle. With her knee being just a deadly a weapon as her hands, this knee strike to his jaw carried more than enough force to kill normal men with a single strike. This knee carries enough force to derail a train, this knee carries enough force to tear Bull Elephants in half.

Should this connect with Greystoke, well, we'll see how tough he is.

The blade tore free of the woman's torso as her left leg began to move, and even as it arced back toward her right leg Arthur knew his trap had been a success. Not only had he baited her into making a foolish attack with little chance of success, but he even managed to arrange things so perfectly that his intended course of action required no deviation in order to avert her strike. The blade would come back to his right as intended, cutting through her right knee as it did so, and catch her left calf just below the knee on the back side of the crossguard. From there the power of the swing, combined with his unshakeable footing, would be more than enough to use the extending leg as leverage to shift her entire body, rotating it to her right and removing his head, chest, and shoulders from harms way, as well as forcing her off-balance. All this, in addition to very likely crippling the giantess, with no deviation from his original intent. Either he was a much better tactician than even he thought he was, or he was just plain lucky. At this point though, he'd honestly take either one.

Well, there goes her leg. Honestly this is only the third most painful thing to ever happen to her, and the second most crippling. However, while having previously lost limbs, the pain is still indisputably real. The blade tore a wound in her side as well as cleaved the lower half of her leg rather messily off of her body. Her knee strike was a miserable failure, however, due to Greystoke's grossly contorted form and crouched position she now had a ludicrous advantage.

What the swordsman neglected to react to was the arm right next to his head, as he turned to the right with his blade he had put her hand directly in front of his face. And with his position of being crouched down, and with his body contorted, there is literally nowhere for him to run. It would be impossible, even for Greystoke to move anywhere right now. What with his feet being rooted in place as well.

Jean howled in fury and agony, basically losing her mind on the spot. About the fifth time this has happened to her in the Arena. Her hand opened and she shoved it towards Greystoke's face. While nowhere near as strong as her knee strike, Jean is still physically the most imposing character in the Arena right now.

When this attack connects, Jean's hand will clench tightly around Greystoke's face. Her strength will allow her to crush his head in the palm of her hand, not allowing much time to resist once the initial grapple has taken place.

Should he survive the initial crushing with her hand, she will follow up by falling forward. This is not on purpose, rather, somewhat improvised. As she really doesn't have any say in the matter whether or not she is going to fall over. When she does fall over, she will also force Greystoke to the ground. If Greystoke is pushed to the ground, she will proceed to enact her revenge on him for cutting off her leg.

With the hilt of his blade still hooked behind the woman's knee, all Arthur had to do to avoid the hand being driven toward his face was pull her closer, leaving the hand with nothing but air behind his head as his left hand vacated the hilt of the sword and moved to her abdomen, pushing up and back in order to hurl her bodily off him and several meters away before she had time to react.

That done, he would turn to face her again, letting the sword disappear from his hand. "Who are you anyway? My last opponents were weak, unable to stand against me for even a moment, but you... I can feel the power in your blows even without being struck. If one were to hit me..." He shook his head and a small smile crept onto his face. "I may not survive. It's been a long time since I felt anything like this. Since I've been outclassed. It's exhilarating."