Across multiple realities, he existed in one form or another. Often by other names, and sometimes by the same name. It was the same for everyone, everyone existed in multiple instances - multiple dimensions. A thousand recurring versions of themselves, spreading out from the first and evolving, growing to become near infinite in their capacity. He was the same, though different from most. Where most knew nothing of their other selves, he was deeply in touch with them. He learned from them, and they from him. They held some semblance of solid cohesion with one another. Yet, they rarely met - instead sharing information mind to mind, across the cosmic Multiverse that spanned between them.

It was, in fact, how this one knew he was being challenged. A thousand versions of himself heard the call to arms, and they passed the word until they found the one who wanted it. The one being called for, the one being summoned. It wasn't a hard ritual to do so, all one had to do was call out for him - and many times they only needed to do so in their mind. He could hear it all, feel it all. This version of him held many capabilities that others didn't, and he could sense the presence of the warrior. The Court of the Fair One wasn't an unknown place to him. He'd been there more than once. Of course, the last time he'd been there was to lay the groundwork for the magic that allowed it to work.

He and his brother, Vincent Fiorelli, spent many nights in the room etching the magic into the very foundations of it - and their intricate drawings were the reason its power worked the way it did. The Red Magister and the Lord of Flesh. They worked together in harmony, when they could stop punching one another in the face long enough to cooperate. The room pulsed with power, and yet that pulsation was the very reason none who entered had power. Aside from the basic melee capabilities, and some minor enhancements to their melee strengths, magic faltered as soon as it lost connection with the flesh that spawned it. So, he was weary of going there.

Yet, he couldn't just turn back from a challenge. He had to travel, and so he mustered his strength and shifted his right hand. The miniscule movements of his fingers contracted, shifting one across the other. Awkward, odd drawings in the air just below his waist. The power flowed white hot thorugh his veins, pulsing through his body. It exerted itself from his fingertips, and the drawing of etched runes emblazeoned on the very fabric of reality, opening a doorway.

Through the door he stepped, dropping a hundred feet and through the cosmic outline, into the pocket dimension that held the Court. His knees bent on impact, and he straightened himself back up. His hand reaching for the door handle, preparing to pull it open. And then his eyes caught the note left for him, and his hand instead shifted to rip it off the wall. His eyes scanned it, and he smiled. It seemed he was here to fight a child, something he wasn't accustomed to doing - but not adverse to either.

Once again, he reached out with both hands - his sword held in place by the string of damned souls, hilt rising just over his right shoulder - and massive blade nearly dragging the ground. His hands grasped the ornate handles, and even as he touched them he felt something change. The power was dying inside of him, shadows stopped seeming unreal - and once more rooted themselves in reality.

He smiled, knowing that the time was come to fight one who could not match him - and so had to bring him down to his level. It happened more often than he liked, but he would deal with it. He had a near infinite well of experience, of combat to draw upon. If the man thought removing his ability to use his ranged powers, to use the full scope of his might, was going to give him an advantage...he was mistaken.

The massive doors swung open violently, nearly ripping themselves from the hinges. His footfalls on the floor resonated, loud and vehement in their intensity. The metal-tipped boots, the tightened jean-like material. His unprotected chest, sweat already glistening though he ignored the heat. Long, white hair flowed down past his shoulders and his grey eyes angled themselves to search every nook and cranny, seeking out the pests that often plagued men fighting in this place.

And then he heard the braying call of what he could only assume to be his opponent, the one who demanded he fight him. To his surprise, it was not a child - though it still appeared quite like a petulent youngling seeking the favor of a beloved master. A pet, if you would, who yet remained untamed. Allowing the call to carry on, he finally responded after the man finished.

"Knock off your screaming, child. I'm here. You got any beer?" It was already evident, Lysander had no intention of taking this one seriously.

@Zyamasiel

Perhaps Lysander still had the incorporeal echoes of this realm's timestream in his head, from all that dimension hopping. It'd been about five minutes ago when Gonad had roared his challenge, and present Gonad was merely opening his bag of chips. He glanced up as the doors burst open, a jolly grin creasing his scarred face. Beer had been mentioned. That was all that mattered at the moment.

*CLOP*

Gonad rolled off the balance plate and landed neatly on both feet, nodding sagely as he spoke.

"Bwah! Sooner than Gonad thought did Strange Man arrive! Saw note on door, aye? Made note for Gonad did brother of Gonad, Testiculese, for not can Gonad read or write! Drew picture of Gonad did Gonad though. Hruh! Not does Gonad have ale, but potent yak brew, honorable spirit of Village of Gonad! If able to hold liquor is Strange Man, then enjoy he may after we do battle."

The barbarian's countenance was indeed comparable to that of a child's in at least one way. There was no deceptive cunning at all present. This one was as honest as he was ugly, the only window to his soul forecasting weather as clear and bright as cloudless Texan skies. Gentle, even. Lysander was a being whose experience had been drawn over the course of countless eons, from countless lives lived in the heat of combat. To mere men, the formidable size and musculature of Gonad was as intimidating as the reaper's own visage, his wisdom of slaying beyond them. To Lysander, a creature of this size and power was something he came across as often as a school girl sees dandelions as she skips around at recess, hardly worth a second glance. It was inconceivable to think that this brutish warrior could be called even a pleasant diversion, let alone a challenge. Yet, something wasn't quite normal here...

*Heel-toe, heel-toe, heel-toe*

His stride was flawlessly balanced, his footing sure yet innately, unconsciously aware. His body moved as neatly as a machine, oiled to perfection, each gear turning in unison, flowing without effort. He'd pause five yards away from Lysander and bow, arms at his sides. As he did so his single eye did not leave Lysander, face remaining raised. He did not look away, did not look down, as they do in the Far East. His gaze was as steady and devoid of unnecessary thought as a carpenter's bubble level, almost eerily so. He took in Lysander's appearance as a whole, sucking in the information without a leak. What were the rough dimensions of Lysander's sword? Its length, width, what mass did it suggest in pounds?

"Yak-brew, you say? I've had that a time or two. Never the best, never the worst - but it'll sure fuck a man up. I guess it'll have to suffice, at least for now." Lysander spoke calmly, basically wondering if the man was yet worth the effort. Meanwahile, as the man looked him over, Lysander took in the room. A little too ornate for his taste, but far different than the last time he'd been here. Back then, it was nothing more than brick and mortar. The foundations of something great. Barren and desolate, over the years it seemed people decided to spruce the place up a bit. Well, they'd done one hell of a job. It looked like Midas puked right over it.

As he turned back to Gonad, who was still looking him over - he shifted uncomfortably. "If you're gonna ask me out to dinner, do it. Stop just looking at me," meanwhile, he shifted and let the string of souls snap off his shoulder - the sword slamming into the ground and burying itself in the stone. It would remain there until the end of the fight, after all a great warrior once said "swords aren't for fighting, but for looking cool". If Gonad tried to lift the sword, he'd be in for a world of surprise and hurt. He simply wouldn't have the strength. In fact, Lysander didn't actually have the strength. It was simply a feat of his magic that allowed him to carry the gargantuan thing around, and wield it like a normal man would a knife.

As he shrugged the blade off his back, he took a step forward. His head canted to the side, and he finally took in the appearance of the man before him - his own experience(s) compiling a rough idea of what he could do - and then the stories from the others flooded into his mind. Here, in this place, it was unclear which dimension he was from - but several others fed him information through their connection. Gonad was, apparently, a formidable warrior. Though, not one Lysander really considered his equal. After all, he could clearly see a battle with a man named Jason being replayed in his mind right now.

That one was beneath Lysander, and that one had essentially destroyed Gonad in battle. How the man thought to even show his face in an arena after that, he wasn't sure. A loss so humiliating, so outright resounding - was not one most men would easily recover from. It seemed Gonad had, though. To have come back and called out one even more formidable than the last to destroy him.

Well, if that would be the case - then so be it. His magic flooded his veins, empowering his body. Enhancing him beyond even his already enhanced conditions. It was time to fight, shifting his weight he stood, feet shoulder width apart and within easy striking range for Gonad. Hands down to his side, he presented the other with an open target. At least it seemed that way, he also appeared to be an easy target - but the other would soon find the folly in those decisions, should he choose to make them.

He'd seen this one played out a thousand times. The bow, the stance. It was like facing a gladiator in a coliseum. Not that those fights ever mounted to much fun. The best part of that was the end, when you got to slaughter everyone in the crowd and absorb their power. Or, well, it was for him anyway. Then the man did something oddly curious. Rather than throwing a punch, swinging a kick - or even trying to headbutt him. He just...tried to basically poke him. Albeit with all five of his fingers extended, but having seen the drawing he could see where maybe Gonad didn't have any real intellect. So, maybe for him this was a poke? He wasn't sure, honestly. His compilation of data was complete, but that didn't change anything or tell him anything about what the other was trying to do here.

Suddenly, he dawned on him. As the fingers slowly made their way toward him, he realized he'd seen this joke once. Reaching up, he shifted his own right hand and let his fingers close over the index finger of Gonad, gently pulling on it just to see what would happen. If the man did what the joke implied he would, they'd share a good laugh before the fight commenced - assuming an actual fight ever did commence. Honestly, he was beginning to wonder if the guy wanted a fight or if he was simply trying to seduce him. Of course, Lysander didn't usually swing that way - but far be it from him to condemn another's lifestyle choice.

Still, though, power flooded through his veins. The shadows of his own organs shifting to bolster is already impressive physical stats. Though he'd never bothered to actually gauge the numeric values of his power, that didn't mean it was a default to zero. It simply meant he was more than capable of scaling himself to whatever level his opponent thought to be the baseline. And, as was the case, he did just that. His compilation of information from Multiversal selves showed him a rough idea of Gonad's capabilities, and so he scaled himself down to match. It was a great loss of actual power, but his melee levels remained roughly the same as he often kept them at.

The other would feel that, he was sure. Gonad seemed a veteran of combat, so surely he understood and could sense the strength within the white haired man. If not, well...that would be his own problem, not Lysander's. He couldn't be held responsible for the misjudgements of others, and he wouldn't take that responsibility. Instead, as he pulled the other one's finger - he released his grasp, and shifted slightly to the right, and one step forward. Just to ensure the other man's finger wouldn't actually make contact - and to be in the perfect position to hear (and likely smell) the outcome of the finger pull.

Lysander shifted as his hand was caught. Not only did his arm attempt to resist the turn, but he pulled backward - hard. Immediately as he felt the hand trap his own, he made movements to resist. His opposite hand shot across his body rapidly, grasping his own hand - as well as the hand Gonad used to grab him. Pulling and twisting against the arm lock - while also pulling toward himself. At the same time, his body shifted and he turned into the kick - pulling Gonad's arm across his chest and letting the kick land almost on the entirely opposite side of where the other threw it.

The blow of the kick caused his body to shift abit, but he was a man used to far more severe pain than this. Once, even, he'd been melted down into a pool of psionic waste and forced to live as a burned, charred trophy of another's might for centuries. That wasn't fun, but it had hurt a damn sight more than the kick. So, the bruising and reddening of his skin was painful - and the bruising of the bones beneath even more so. But, it wasn't detrimental to what he was enacting. The moment the kick landed, Lysander felt his chance and he took it.

He jerked hard, and torqued his hips against Gonad - lifting the others still planted foot from the ground. The other leg was midways back to the ground in that moment, so Gonad's balance would be an iffy thing at best. The momentum of his movement would launch Gonad several feet away, but that distance was still easily closeable and entirely within their effective fighting ranges. As the other man landed, undoubtedly springing instantly back to his feet; Lysander's unaffected hand grasped the recently freed one. Twisting and turning it, feeling the pain shooting through his wrist.

It wasn't broken, nor sprained, but it hurt. The result of the throw was pain he inflicted upon himself - and though it was worth it, the hand wasn't back to full use yet. Still, Lysander understood that the fight would continue. So, even as Gonad was likely getting back to his feet, he shot forward, shifting into a spin as he jumped and sending his right heel careening over to strike the right side of Gonad's face as he sought to pick himself back up from the ground.

Pressure shifted - bodies changing position always caused a pressure shift in the area around them. Only, this time it was different. His instinct, centuries of training compounding into a single mind, told him there was something far different happening here. His peripherials showed the movement even as it began. The angles of their bodies required the grip to be slipped - and Gonad wouldn't have given that up for nothing. It also helped that the arm began to bend inward - and with the grip slip his arm was already moving into position to block the strike. By the time the elbow should have hit him in the temple - his fist was bent against the side of his own head - and Gonad's forearm lay across his own.

The force of the blow didn't change much. Lysander slid several feet away from the other man - tucking his body so that it didn't throw him to the ground - and instead allowed him to keep his footing. The distance created put him a distance away from Gonad - and his arms shifted. The arm the elbow struck was tingling, almost numb. But, not broken. And he wasn't on the ground. He was getting tired of playing Gonad's little games, honestly. The whole thing was beginning to get tiresome. Rather than even continue looking at Gonad, he began walking toward his sword. That didn't mean he wasn't ready, though.

To be fair, Lysander never expected to retrieve his blade - nor even really make it all that close. Gonad wouldn't have let him, anymore than a group of old men in a western bar would let a man get away with hiding aces up his sleeves. So, as the clatter of boots on the ground hit - and the arms of Gonad tried to encircle his lithe body - he reacted. His arms shifted outward. Counter pressure on Gonad's own, pressuring them apart and keeping him from fully locking his bear-hug. In that same motion, his right leg shifted and wrapped around the outside of Gonad's own - the top of his foot shifting to the back of the other's knee.

As the man began to lift him, he'd have to both try to tighten his arms further to keep them from slipping right over Lysander's head - and lift against the pressure of Lysander's foot pulling him back with the pressure of Gonad's own legs. And, to top it all off he flung his head backwards - as hard as he could. The back of his head intending to impact the point just beneath Gonad's nose. The result of which would break the grip, and probably trip Gonad over Lysander's own foot.

Of course, the headbutt wasn't a fight ended - but it would have the effect of knocking whatever few teeth Gonad might have loose from his head, and cause his eyes to water - not from pain, but that was just something of a bodily reaction to being hit in that certain location.

If the man was just going to completely ignore the hooking of his foot around the back of Gonad's knee, and try to just keep powering through - then he deserved whatever happened to him. In the end though, Lysander had to wonder how the man could continually make himself stronger and stronger when the hall supposedly equalized physical traits and strengths to the same, base level. How was it that, in this place with its weak magic, that Gonad could be the base-line yet still somehow continuously be more powerful than his own base line allowed. It didn't really matter. That power was nothing without finesse, and Gonad was doing exactly what Lysander hoped.

The headbutt wasn't meant to connect, really. It was only meant to give Gonad a sense of superiority, an idea that he was okay and that Lysander wasn't prepared to properly defend. The hooking of his foot around the other's leg was that defense. With his ankle pressing into the back of the knee, and his body being pulled - the result was simple. The force of Gonad jerking his body backward served only to jerk Gonad's leg out from under him with that same speed and force. The result would throw even the most capable of warriors off balance.

He didn't expect it. If he had expected it, he'd have defended against it. Instead, he sought only to power through the attack and show his (somehow) physical superiority. Lysander just laughed. As Gonad's leg was pulled from under him, the torque and the twist of his own body unbalanced him and Gonad found himself laying on his back - with Lysander resting comfortably and unharmed on top of him. Meanwhile, his arms pressed against the others - whose likely fall at such force knocked the wind out of him.

If their pyshical power was equal to Gonad's, then it was nothing now for him to break the grip and roll over even as he did - now within the guard of the taller man.

@Zyamasiel

Say there were two MMA fighters, each 250 pounds in weight and of the same strength. One attempted to lift the other from behind, and the one who had been grabbed attempted a leg hook. This would succeed due to the collaboration from both the force exerted by pressing the shin against the back of the opponent's knee, and the weight of the one being grabbed. The natural downwards extension of the leg is superior in leverage to that of pressing the shin into an opponent at that angle.
Now imagine if one fighter weighed 110 pounds instead of 250. A hardened combatant would have no difficulty lifting the weight of his thirteen year old cousin, even if they were as strong. Without that extra 140 pounds, it makes the leg hook far, far less effective. It's a difference of more than two times body weight.

However...

With Lysander weighing so little in comparison, Gonad could justifiably muscle his way into completing his attack. Certainly the room made them equal, Lysander had his own set of advantages accommodating his size. The Square/Cube Law was in effect here. It was just his fault for placing himself in such a bad position. Again, if by some miracle, Lysander did somehow manage to defy Gonad's superior leverage and forced the barbarian onto one leg mid-lift...
Gonad would not land on his back. He'd fall backwards and twist to his left as a counterbalance to smash Lysander's skull into the ground almost like Randleman did to Fedor, but with much more lethal force. The result would scarcely have changed. In terms of intent, as in, the characters' capacities to have justification for reacting as they did?



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Well, Gonad actually had a counter in the mix with much more justification than the complete alteration of a move without any forethought.
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(Explaining the maneuver after the fact nearly two weeks ago, and in the process making the intent for an anticipated counter clear.)

Gonad had known his options from the start, his capacity for seeing through an opponent's actions the stuff of nightmares. Thus, though Lysander figured that Gonad would lose his balance and fall onto his back, this was not the case. As a point of reference, as Lysander had suddenly intended not to maim with his headbutt, but mock the entire time, Gonad had, on the other end of the spectrum, meant to transition into a suplex variation had the leg hook proved disabling. Thus Lysander could laugh, nothing would stop him from doing so- Save the hard floor meeting his skull with the force of a low speed motorcycle crash. With or without the leg hook, Lysander seemed to have a date with death by way of suplex.

As Gonad continued the force of his attack, and decided pure brute strength was the only way to do anything - even when it meant defying the laws of your own land and world - Lysander could only smile. Things worked out exactly how he planned for them to, really. Even as Gonad began to continue falling backward, his leg lifting from the ground as he continued to force his way through at an angle, Lysander moved. His legs lifted outward and his waist bent at an angle so fucking odd that most people couldn't have pulled it off. Lysander, though, did just that. So that when his head should have hit the ground one foot beat it there. The other not far behind, the act of bridging his body made it impossible for his head to slam into the concrete. Though, even if it had it wouldn't have been enough to kill him. Such a move wouldn't have killed Gonad, and they were equalized in every physical trait after all.

Still, as Gonad's back hit the floor and the bridge created by Lysander's body kept him from doing the same - his arms slipped themselves free - pulling up and out of the grip as they did. Then, Lysander fell upon Gonad immediately - side control mounted with one arm already slipping beneath the right arm and the other sliding around the back of his neck. His speed was something to be recokoned with, and had yet been shown to Gonad - so it was obvious the other wouldn't be ready for it. The element of surprise was in his favor this time around.

As the hand on his right arm slipped to grab the just above the elbow of his left - and Gonad's left arm slid over behind his head, he began to squeeze tightly with both arms flexing closed. The result of it being a triangle choke enacted at the very moment Gonad came to a full stop on the floor. The pressure was enough to snap the neck of a normal person instantly, and would chock Gonad into full blown unconsciousness in less than four seconds if he didn't scramble his way out of it. Everything lead up to this, really. Forcing Gonad to angle his drop, forcing him to put himself into a position where Lysander's superior flexibility could come into play.

And the fool fell for it, every step of the way.

It was to be expected that someone of inferior intelligence would fall victim to their own shenanigans. See, Lysander couldn't use his magic. And his speed and his strength were forced to match Gonad. But, Magic was only one side of a coin. A man with multiple souls could be expected to have multiple ways of interacting with the world around him. A man with multiple souls might, in fact, have a way of changing his own biological composition simply by altering the molecules on an atomic level. The hall forced the physical stats of both fighters to be on the same baseline. It removed their magic, sure. But it didn't remove the strength and speed of the weakest person there - and yet, Gonad's author continued to try and treat them as if they were simply peak level humans. They weren't. And Lysander wasn't going to play that game of pretend anymore.

As he fell, somehow still straight backward despite being forced into turning by tripping his own self up, Gonad might realize something strange. The skin he touched didn't feel like skin anymore. It felt like..metal. Yet, not any rigid material. With the activation of thought, the suit began closing over his body with his foot only an inch from the ground. The suit covered his leg entirely by the time it slammed into the ground with all that force Gonad could muster. The result was that his leg, though locked, suffered nothing akin to damage from the force of the strike. The suit absorbed the kinetic energy and fed the stone the energy. By the time Gonad's shoulders touched the ground, the suit covered his whole body.

Lysander took the energy back out of the stone and shifted it to the arms - slamming them open and breaking Gonad's grip near effortlessly. The room equalized their natural strength and speed - but scientific augmentation was something it clearly didn't account for, and that was fine with him. Gonad wanted to constantly try and abuse and cheat the system the Hall put into place by somehow always being stronger, then fine. The man wanted him to fight him without magic, without his magical powers and not using his ranged abilities? Fine. Lysander could do that. But, now the playing field was actually equal.

The spines on the suit manifested, and they forged themselves into a perfect copy of his sword stuck in the ground behind him. His hand grabbed the hilt of it, and pulled it forward. The suit continued to expand, a second set of spines forging out behind him in the shape of a large, metallic tail that functioned the same as any tail - as an extension of muscle. The suit's helmet opened, and Lysander let his eyes fall on Gonad's still prone form - at least it was likely still prone, given the amount of shock the man was likely in at the moment.

"Now, Gonad. The playing field is truly even. Come, meet your doom."

The helmet snapped back shut, and Lysander lifted the sword and let it drop directly toward Gonad's throat. He did nothing more than let it drop under its own weight, but if Gonad didn't move his entire head would come free from his shoulders.

Unfortunately this fight can no longer continue. This is my last post.

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This time you will.

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Each time I tried to reason with him in private, he threw accusations and kicked me from the chat.

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But surely his attempt at a loophole was flawless, right?

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Here's a closer look.

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Blatant violation, and not the first.

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Guess what you agreed to before the fight? Understand, an unrealistic move isn't the same as a good one.

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