Information
Time: 4:44PM
Location: Wisconsin
Date August, 29th.
Weather: Slightly humid and clear skies
Temperature: 70°F[/align]

Posting format:
After both fighters have posted, the initial poster will be allowed to make the first strike in their second post.

Format of the fight:
A battle shall end only when one or both fighters lives have expired; however, if their fight last longer than need be their bout will continue whilst everyone else progresses to round two. This way both fighters may play out their feud without seriously inhibiting the tournament’s progression.

Rules:

• Players must be at either side of the road.
• There's no field limit.
• Everything can be manipulated and/or destructible.
• You can not attack in your initial post
• Layout is here
• You are disallowed to edit your post without permission from Mobius and authorized personnel. Once your opponent has posted, the previous post YOU make shall remain untouched unless authorized. I will immediately disqualify you if you edit post after your opponent post (with some exceptions)

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Flavor Text[/SIZE]

Enter a farm: broken and abandoned, it teetered upon the edge of Wisconsin in rusted red coating. An unassuming fixture forever frozen in a tableau of glistening chartreuse, and infinite expanse rich with naught beyond the scenery offered by wheat fields and green pastures. Picturesque if not for a loose aggregate of dilapidated machinery crumbling beneath the weight of age and rainfall, once proud tools of economic progress they have since then been relegated to a sideshow existence. Added to this graveyard of motionless machinery on the west, a barn, while traditional in its dimensions and appearance, elemental influence has reduced its lustrous red coat to a dull hue. Barn doors no longer stood as protectors of the overgrown shed, but as remnants of savage vandalism, leaving them torn and divorced from their charge exposing its hay filled insides. A farmhouse was the final attraction, complete with broken windows and worn surface, an echo of the decay that surrounded it.

It was a simplistic arena, but more than adequate for a wise fighter who knew how to exploit his/her environment. Humble terrain provided each warrior with a plethora of tactics to be implemented at leisure. Whether it was to simply charge recklessly into battle without fear of compromised equilibrium, thanks to dry terrain, or to hide behind one of many rotting tractors in preparation for an ambush. To each his own appeared to be a major focus of this bland battlefield as the opportunities it offered suggested. Malleability to situational variables was another key essence it gave to both fighters.

Poised at the forefront of a dirt road ambiguous in its length, they stood as one of few markers for a site that would have otherwise gone unnoticed. An unlucky victim of poor location attracting only monthly visits from whatever greyhound bus happen to be passing by or even rarer, a drifter. Even then it was a rarity for anyone outside of those few spectators who knew where to look to even acknowledge its presence. Though an unwise place to live, it was ideal for a fated battle set to take place shortly. Two contestants entered, but only one would emerge whilst the other found them self cast into the maw of oblivion.

Choice of transportation was optional, be it by boat, plane, or some metaphysical form of travel, conceived through supernatural means. Drawn by bravery, valor, or something else entirely, it was here they flocked for a prize to be announced only at the tournament’s end. Until such a time came blood sport was the central premise of this game as implied by its purpose and overall scheme. Of course why anyone would want to take up this challenge and traverse the globe simply to fight was another story. The reward for survival this round, however; would be little more than satisfaction one received from tearing asunder their unworthy foe. They would manifest their courage on an elongated path tar from one horizon to the next, cutting a black scar between the barn and limitless wheat. ~Credit to Doll Maker - 2007 Tournament preliminaries

Shimmering light cast shadows across the ground in a variety of different sizes and shapes. The wheat stood motionless; the stuffy air unwavering as a breeze was nowhere to be found. The farm’s large size would have been impressive, if not for the state of total disrepair the property had been left in. Weeds had sprouted from the ground all around the farm, a testament to the lack of care the locale had received as time had passed. The derelict of a tractor, its paint chipped and cracked in places stood defiant to time even after the rust had set in. In short, while from a distance this beautiful speck on an otherwise unfamiliar stretch of land seemed a safe haven for weary travelers and passersby; its true nature would be revealed the closer one came.

The slightly muggy air became thick with the smell of an oncoming storm as black clouds began to aggregate in the area above the homestead; a sizzle filled the air, an indication of a rise in ions and electrons floating freely through the air. A mighty crack echoed through the field, the resounding sonic boom shaking the foundations of the vacant structures. Blinding light filled the area for a split second, dissipating almost as swiftly as it had appeared; leaving behind a strange phenomenon. Standing where a bolt of lightning had struck the gravel seconds before, a single figure – strangely out of place by the look of his clothing – studied the area in which he had appeared, a mass of black dirt falling from the confines of his long-coat to the ground, growing in size with each passing moment.

The figure, thin yet athletically built, turned his gaze left and then right before settling on staring down the center of the road leading to the main structure. Adorned in white, the figure reached a hand up to gently remove a white fedora hiding a head of auburn strands, revealing this person to be a man. The brim of the fedora was used to unceremoniously brush non-existent dust off the waist of his long white coat. The subtle movements of his arm caused the overlengthened garment to sway, exposing his white dress slacks, two black belts with gold buckles wrapped around his waist, white suit vest and black dress shirt. A white tie with a red and black pin stuck in the center and a large metallic contraption strapped to his left arm completed the ensemble.

Replacing the Fedora back atop his skull, the young man moved forward – his eyes hidden by the shadow cast by the brim of his head covering. Though no one would know it, the young man was contemplating his location. This place, its familiar surroundings – seemed to resonate with him. He regarded every piece of the beautiful abandoned scenery with a single thought in his mind. Had he been here before? Every indicator in his body screamed a familiarity with this place – yet he had no recollection of ever exploring this locale. Curious.

With that single bit of unease washing over him, the figure reached his hands beneath his longcoat, extending his grasp to behind him. His hand’s grasping hold of twin grips as they pulled free from their hidden confines two long barreled semi-automatic handguns. Their makeup, bulkier than most weapons of their make, seemed to appear heavy and oversized in his hands. The Ratifiers – as he called them – were brought up to a ready position, both arms outstretched and positioned to fire at a moment’s notice. Tactical wariness for the unexpected was not an unusual trait for himself, as he was used to out of his control situations. That didn’t mean, however, he would be caught with his pants down in any situation.

Continuing his examination of the Farm, Mitsu Mazono would further verify the abandoned status of the area around him with a soft ping of mundane, non-lethal electricity. His electrolocation expanding outward like a ring would help him indicate a threat closing in. The smell of burnt ozone was more prevalent in the air than it had been when the bolt struck the ground, an indicator of his own unique bio-electric field fueling an unseen variable that encapsulated the man in white. Beneath the brim of his hat, serpent like eyes were sparking with golden electrical energy accompanied by a strangely eerie smile. Violence was palpable on the air, and Mitsu was ready for it.

The weather might have been enjoyable on this typical August evening, had there been a cool breeze blowing through the open plains of Wisconsin in the early evening warmth. Even dreary, dull wheat fields could hold some appeal for people wishing to "get in touch with nature" and explore the dilapidated ruins of the old farm, combing through the rusted debris like countless others before them. However, this particular evening was marred by an oppressive, stifling atmosphere of humidity and a forboding, mixed scent of ozone and petrichor in the air, enough to keep away even the most inquisitive of onlookers for the event that was to come.

The more conventional method of getting to the target would have been to drive some sort of vehicle along the cement road snaking through the great expanse of crops. However, the petite figure steadily approaching the abandoned farm had eschewed this method in favour of a more unorthodox approach. Arriving in her usual method of transportation - a favoured Aprilia motorbike - would have been far too conspicuous, and anybody laying in wait would have been alerted far too early by the growling engine. Instead, young woman loped along the dirt trail, her robust motorcycle boots sending up delicate eddies of dust with each step. She maintained a steady jog, displaying no signs of fatigue or discomfort despite the long journey from civilization, not even stopping to brush away the stray strands of dark hair that occasionally fell over her vision. She held one gun - a sawn-off, modified version of an M1 Garand, by the look of it - firmly in the grip of her left hand as she moved, with an identical model strapped to her right thigh. Clearly, she was expecting trouble.

It was only when Rakhana drew close enough to clearly see the white-clad figure waiting at the end of the road that she slowed to a halt, about a hundred feet from him, her steel-grey eyes narrowed warily and her gun aimed squarely at his chest. The young Interpol agent was under no illusions why she was here - this had to be the opponent she was expecting to meet. The stench of ozone was stronger now than ever, which was a clear indication of lightning. She would do well to be on her guard - if the lightning was in any way associated with the man standing before her, she would have a tough fight ahead of her. Gods above, how she hated lightning wielders.

Having to approach him in such a wide open space had severely restricted her ability to approach with stealth, but she was certainly not defenceless. A searing aura enveloped the girl entirely, wreathing her in over five thousand degrees Celsius of pure heat. Not yet wanting to push it to its maximum reach, the aura lingered only to a few inches beyond her reach before dissipating competely. It would certainly have an effect on the ambient temperature as she approached, and ever so slightly distorted the air with a heat haze as she walked, but there were precious few indicators other than those to hint at the intense temperatures surrounding her. Perhaps someone with keen eyesight might deduce what was happening, but to the unobservant, she would just look like a little girl with a gun. Which was perfect for Rakhana... as she had proved countless times before, it was a fatal mistake to underestimate her.

Weapon still primed and ready, she nevertheless made no attempt to fire the first shot, preferring to just stare the man in white down for the time being. She was defended and prepared for whatever he could throw at her; it was better to see what her opponent had in store for her. Then, she could at least know what she was working with. Knowledge was, after all, a priceless currency, and one that could very well save her life in this fight.

The figure was seen coming down the road long before they ceased their movement. The appearance not yet discernable, yet through movement and the dimensions he could make out, it was inferred the person approaching was at least female or some type of variation. The ever-present smile on his lips seemed to widen even more sickeningly than normal; prey had entered the lion’s den and the beast was hungry. His enhanced eyes focusing in more clearly on the woman as she approached, yet a strange undulation somewhat obscuring her features fully. Left hand gripping tightly to what appeared to be a long-barreled gun of what appeared to be antiquated design. Dark strands of ebon cascading over porcelain features in a well maintained manner.

Strangely enough, even though she stood far away – Mitsu had this strange feeling that the temperature was getting…warmer? No….it was something else; the scent of Ozone burning – different from the odor his own aura generated on a constant basis – caused him a moment of hesitation. His body remained in the same position it had, with the man in white staring down the road at this new arrival – his arms still holding the Ratifiers at the ready. The mass of black that had dispersed around him had grown exponentially from its smaller mass moments prior, continuing to grow with each passing second. Eyes, sparking with energy, hidden beneath the fedora began to intensify as the accelerated neural process was intensified further as an Aura of heat expanded off of her form with a violent intensity causing the air between the two of them to amplify.

She spoke no words yet her stance of defiance told him everything he needed to know; she was here to attack him, just as he had been waiting to attack her. Two souls were now entwined in the dance that was combat. Violence became palpable on the air as the two combatants – separated only by distance – regarded one another further. Neither made a move, and that was boring! The strange smile hadn’t dissipated, it merely twitched for a moment as one of the two made the active decision to take the lead.

A blinding flash of light engulfed the man before an erratic stream of energy rushed forth from his face. Electrons were split from atoms as the bonds that connected them were cut coalescing into the form of energy rushing towards the woman. Whitish blue in color, the particles rushed forward, disconnected from similar atomic entities as the particles coalesced into a singular stream of destruction. The speed of the bolt fired would pass the 100’ distance in almost no time at all. When the stream of electrons reached the 70’ marker something different occurred. The stream separated and began to propogate into multiple different interconnected lines of energy – each spreading out in a different direction than the first, a Jacob’s ladder formed lancing out in a controlled way four more branches of discharge, each line separately arcing but remaining connected within the center threatening to impact against the full torso of the woman.

The strange manifestation of energy would rush at the female head-on, unknowing of a defense and uncaring. The sole purpose was for the outstretching branches that formed from the main bolt to encompass and overwhelm the woman with their powerful voltage and amperage. The attack's simplistic nature had killed many, but he was curious if the girl would go down as easy. At the same moment of the energies release, the sound of twisting leather would become audible for but a second, muscles beneath the well maintained suit pants were tightening as tension was built internally. The defensive field around his form remained erect and at the ready. It was time for the main event, and the show must go on.

It was surprising to her, really, that the other figure had let Rakhana approach as close as she had. Not that one hundred feet was close by any means, but most ranged weapon wielders usually tried to take her out before she got too close. And she knew this one was armed, it didn't take any sort of preternatural sixth sense to realise that, given his obvious stance. This was was just as well-armed as her; concievably, he was even more so, in fact as he had both guns out, whereas her second was still sheathed.

A lesser individual might have felt disadvantaged by that fact, but not Rakhana; she could dual wield as well as anyone she'd ever met, but her favoured style of gymnastic fighting meant it was advantageous for her to keep a hand free. She could do so much more than just shoot, which was eventually evident to every opponent she had ever beaten into the dust. The young gymnast would not let complacency overtake her, however... how could she? That was the fatal flaw shared by all of her opponents - they were always so sure they would be victorious. Alas, they were sorely mistaken.

The moment she caught sight of the black mass spilling forth seemingly from beneath the clothing of the man before her, Rakhana pushed her building thermochemical energy through the balls of her feet, flinging herself backwards with all the speed she could muster and barely lifting from the ground as she did so. It was not her absolute top speed, with her adrenaline injection not yet active, but it was fast enough to push her backwards twenty feet in the blink of an eye, giving her a slight piece of extra distance and keeping that unknown mist at bay. Better not to interact with that at all, not until she knew what it did.

However, relying solely on evasion was too chancy for the Russian's taste, and the moment she landed she bolstered her aura; instead of being merely a searing but otherwise nondescript heat aura, it was now a corporeal, translucent field of ionised plasma alongside the intense heat. This defense had, in the past, saved her life more times than she could count, burning through inadequate melee attacks and ranged projectiles alike; thus, she hoped that it would be able to render this black mist useless as well. She could not be a hundred percent certain of this, however, so the plasma level aura would continue to be her plan B - evasion was the first course of action until she had more information.

And in fact, the decision to throw up her tried and tested plasma aura did, in fact, save her life. Not from the black mass, which hadn't yet advanced to her new position, but from her opponent's next move - a fiery bolt of lightning emanating from the man's face. He had given no visible tells, and the stream of white-hot energy would have been too fast to dodge at even the breakneck speeds that Rakhana utilised. However, her plasma aura had the ability to double as protection against lightning based attacks with an effect akin to a Faraday cage, diverting every single one of the now-fragmented threads of energy harmlessly around and away from her.

Her steel-grey eyes narrowed slightly at this confirmation of her suspicions - the person before her was indeed a lightning wielder. Who does he think he is, the gods-damned lightning emperor? she cursed mentally, though outwardly she allowed none of her irritation to show on her face. She simply fired her already outstretched Shiva with a round of pure, superheated plasma. The round flew towards the stranger with more speed than typical firearms ammunition, due to the non-Maxwellian distribution of the plasma that the rounds were comprised of. And, if they were allowed to get within range of the white-clad man, Rakhana would detonate the rounds into a buckshot-style, hoping to inflict upon her opponent (and potentially his mysterious dark cloud as well) a shower of plasma shrapnel, specifically designed to burn through armour and similar defences. In the meantime, she kept alert, ready at any moment to move again should it be necessary.

The bolt of electricity had traveled unhindered on its trajectory. Electrons burning the air as the highly volatile wattage being shifted from Mazono’s position to the new arrival came into contact with the intended target. Normally, this would be a delightful situation that indicated the end of an otherwise unexpected fight; the look on his face however, told a different story completely. While the electrical attack had made contact, the semi-transparent field of protection that engulfed the young woman had the properties required to redirect his attack – and its subsequent branches – harmlessly to the ground on either side of her. This was an unforeseeable outcome.

The air itself became more and more stifling the moment the young ladies defense had been erected, indicating to Mitsu that there was a large element of heat in relation to her powers. The golden eyes, sparking with energy flowing beneath the surface, narrowed in focus on the young woman as her counter-attack was released. The audible bang gave tell of a projectile being released from the weapon clutched firmly in the woman’s hand. Two quick resounding cracks filled the air as the weapon in Mazono’s right hand was fired almost as if by reflex in response to the opposite’s gunfire, occurring almost at the exact moment that she had pulled her own trigger. The powerful VERTBRINIUM round closing the distance in no time at all, as a second round followed directly behind the first one at a slight right-angle beneath the original shot fired at the exact same time of the initial trigger pull.

His enhanced neural process causing his view of the world around him to proceed at a crawl -attributing to his impressive reaction speed, yet even still the glowing round of his opponent was closing the 125ft difference at quite an exponential rate, yet when compared to his shot it didn’t even seem comparable. The powerful tungsten like rounds would threaten to overwhelm the woman, much like hers threatened to overwhelm Mazono. Its structural integrity not unlike the aspects of tungsten gave it a large resilience to heat, as well - its heavier mass acting as a ward in some capacity to the intense heat that it would have to pass through as it came in contact with the field of heat due to their being more projectile mass than a normal bullet.

As the opposing projectile closed in, Mazono’s form was engulfed in electricity as he released the storage of kinetic build up in his legs to release from his heel as the kinetic force released without movement, causing him to slide to the right ever so slightly a few feet from his previous position – discharge trailing behind his movements – to maneuver out of the way of the projectile at an amazing level of speed that could only be described as “lightning fast”. His stage one thunder god mode was disengaged almost as swiftly as it had been activated and as such his abrupt stop was taken into the leading leg as once more the sound of leather twisting filled his own ears - his leg muscles apparently bulging beneath the neatly pressed suit pants as the Warden body-suit absorbed some of the kinetic energy. Completely out of the way of the oncoming fire, Mazono’s arms were still up and at the ready with both guns in hand.

The protective field erected around him at all times suddenly became more discernable as the black mass beneath his feet began to swirl around him; small red sparks of electricity dancing slowly, randomly, into the air approximately 10 feet infront of him. The wave shift having been subtle - visible only due to the nature of the energy now embuing the defensive field. If heat was the cause of his lightning's inability to make contact, he'd just have to eliminate that factor. The ever-present sickening wide grin seemed to flare into a sneer with each spark. The hum of energy filled the air as the man in white's very presence radiated power. This fight was getting interesting! He had to know more, he had to see more!

Show me your TRUE power

The next few seconds in this fight would prove to be crucial. Of course, in any sort of fight, every second counted, but some more than others, and in the second that passed after Rakhana depressed the trigger on her wielded Shiva, several thoughts flashed through the mind of the young Russian in the blink of an eye.

First; the dodge. Super speed was no stranger to her, given her own ability to keep pace with the famed Japanese bullet trains when she was fully amped up on injections and pushing herself to her absolute extreme limit. And yet, the man before her had somehow dodged her bullet. A twice-as-fast, burning round of pure plasma, and somehow - she hadn't seen quite how - he had sidestepped it like it was nothing.

The second realisation came almost in tandem with the first, and that was the collison of some sort of round with her plasma shield. Usually, being fired at was not an issue for Rakhana with her plasma shield in place, which was designed to melt and assimilate ammunition with ease. However, the round that the stranger had fired had somehow not been mitigated entirely by the aura. It was not unscathed - the aura was, after all, burning at over five thousand degrees Celsius - but she was unable to destroy it completely before the dense round smashed into her chest above her ribcage.

The pain was excruciating, and even more so when layered with the shock that currently reveberated through her body. The wound gaped open, having made a ruin of her collarbone despite its weakening. Even so, she had fought through pain and severe wounds before - she had even fought through a shattered hand before. But there was one last thought, a split second after the other, that proved to be the last thought.

The second bullet, the trick shot, impacted directly in the centre of her chest, expanding and multiplying the ruined wreckage that was now the young Russian's torso. The density and speed of the rounds meant that each hit, unhindered, was like the impact of a cannonball. And the second hit was indeed unhindered, with the first having depleted her aura completely. Had the rounds been spaced, had they been slower, she might have had enough time to pull rapidly from her own bodily energy to sustain another critical, but not fatal blow. As it was, the woman collapsed to the ground, steel grey eyes staring blankly up into the warm summer sky - unseeing, unliving - before the her final, postmortem act. All of the built up energy in her body suddenly released, with nowhere to go but to consume the dead flesh in a sudden blaze of heat.

An automatic funeral pyre, as it were.

Ruling

• Rahkana takes maximum damage from Mitsu and dies as admission of Paradox in her post

Verdict Decoy advances to qaurterfinals. Congratulations Decoy. Hope to see you again Paradox for your 4th season and the invitational.