[IC] ATHLETIC AESTHETICS (Doc Vs. Negatomsk)

[Doc Doctor]

@Negatomsk

"I believe in ya, ya big bozo! Just think of tha glory awaitin' ya!"

"Hrah! Glory there be!? Sound good does such to Gonad! But tell Gonad, hunchy man, of how great this glory be!? Honorable it is?"

Gonad stood at his side of the ring as the cage slowly descended, fiddling absently with a Rubix Cube. His manager was ringside, a stumpy bald man with a towel around his neck who muddled out encouragements as he massaged the barbarian's calves.

"Uhhh, the great kind! Yeah, just great!"

"Not good enough be great! Lift hearts of orphans must Gonad, and dampen taints of their portly mothers! Bwah!"

"Listen kid, be happy with whatchya got! Short of goin' out there with one arm behind ya back, ya ain't gonna-"

"One arm!? Hruh... Such then Gonad will do. Accept challenge of hunchy man does Gonad!"

"No ya fuggin' moron, I was jokin'! JOKIN'!!"

Gonad tossed the cube over a shoulder and folded his right arm behind his back before stepping forwards. His cloak, whose hem nearly touched the floor, rippled and flickered behind him as if woven from two dimensional flames. The hulking man brought up his stony left arm, powerful fingers splayed out in the direction of Lobo's side of the ring. Were Lobo to be in sight, he'd be able to feel the palpable electricity of Gonad's imagination as it gauged the distance between calloused digits and the Lucha's mask. It may have been but a concept of the mind, but even a fool with no fighting sense could detect the streamlined aura of potential energy counting down each fateful second in anticipation of that moment of supreme violence. Gonad's thick brow dropped, eyes wreathed in shadow. He might have stared straight through a cement wall.

[Negatomsk]

@Doc Doctor

Lobo Negro de las Cinco Llamas had come to the ring first, through the dry ice fog and the pyro, beneath the pulsing neon lights set in time to the belting hard rock of his entrance theme. He'd struck his trademark posed on the ramp, climbed into the ring to play the crowd, posing in the ropes as was the role, the performance, the job. And it was a job as good as any other, an assignment given by the Luchalliance, to face the bearded man at the opposite end of the ring. And so the announcements were made, the fighters called, all while the Black Wolf waited in the opposite corner, leaned against the ropes with his back to his opponent, head down, the heel of his right foot tapping restlessly against the canvas.

As the cage lowered, he turned around, snatching the Moon Hunter from where he'd laid it against the ring ropes and raising the weapon to take aim. Knees slightly bent, legs shoulder-width apart, balanced on the balls of his feet, it was impossible not to feel the energy, the focus of the bearded man before him. In response, Gonad would receive a like response: a steeled resolve, a burning spirit. Performance it may be, assignment or not, there was an art to what took place in the ring here. Even the Rudo he hunted understood that much, so must the man who stood before him now, and if by some chance he did not, he would.

Black flames erupted around Lobo Negro as he drew back his hand, stringing up the bow and nocking an arrow in a single motion as they materialized within his grip, the string a brilliant silver, the arrow a sickly violet as he fired, aiming not for the unusually named Gonad but for the turnbuckle behind him. As it flew the arrow spun, spreading a thick, toxic sheet of violet flames across the canvas that had bled off of the projectile completely by the time it hd traveled half the distance of the ring before dissipating. Its payload expended, the arrow itself would continue its flight either into Gonad’s chest, center mass, or else into the top turnbuckle should he avoid it. In either case it had spread a toxic carpet of flames across Lobo Negro's half of the ring, an equally toxic smoke rising from the canvas.

[Doc Doctor]

The proper way to duck an attack isn't to try and bend beneath it, typically. To twist to the side and bend, however, better allows one's center mass to escape the from the space it had been occupying. Gonad did indeed dodge the arrow in such a fashion, leaning sharply to his left as he twisted into a low crouch that ended with his hand on the mat. The arrow smacked into the post behind him with a hearty sounding 'Thok!'

He eyed the poison spread throughout Lobo's side of the ring, and afforded his opponent a single nod in recognition of the attack's demonstration. It had surely been a tip off in good faith. Gonad decided to return the favor. The barbarian's hand whitened, the canvas bunching up between his immensely strong fingers, lines of strain stretching out in the fabric as the ring itself creaked.
And then there was white. If Lobo remained where he was to study Gonad's next move, he'd be liable to suddenly find himself upside down. A wave of white would be all that Lobo might see looking ahead, lugnuts popping like m80's and the sturdy mat tearing as Gonad wrenched the ring's canvas out of its roots. He had erupted to his feet, the coiled steel-spring muscles of his legs unleashing their tension. He'd have situated an appropriate spread of Beardforce along the canvas to better accomodate his move, so that he'd have toughened the right parts up enough to not merely yank out a handful.

Once he had torn the whole damn thing free, discounting the canvas beneath his own feet and behind him, he'd give it a great whip, making a vast material wave roll down to block Lobo's sight. All of this had occured with startling haste, like hurridly stripping a bedsheet and shaking off the dust. Could Lobo have predicted a response so extreme by studying the way Gonad arranged his body, the way he squeezed the floor into a lump in his fist? It wasn't out of the question. Gonad looked just like the kind of person to follow ridiculous whims, which he very well was.

[Negatomsk]

The man knew how to move, that much was clear from his skillful evasion of Lobo's opening strike. Lobo returned the nod in kind, remaining otherwise still, primed for movement, bow ready to draw. And then all was white. He'd registered the movement as the man's hand closed around a fistful of canvas, and then that very same canvas had erupted before him, rolling in a wave across the ring. His legs already partially chambered, it was a simple matter for Lobo to leap upwards and back, clearing the whiplash of canvas before landing on the turnbuckle behind him.

The wild display earned naught but an irritated snort from Lobo as he lowered his bow momentarily, taking in the destruction. He'd formed no opinion of his opponent when he'd first seen the man, but they'd each of them just made their first impressions. The ring was to be respected; to deface it so was to disgrace the contest, and so it was now clear that Gonad was every bit the barbarian he seemed to be. Still, he was no Rudo, and had not earned the appropriate response. Still, the nature of the contest had become painfully clear... and that was just fine with Lobo.

Leaping back onto the cage, Lobo braced against the metal grating as he drew back to fire again. The string drew black, wreathed in crimson flame as five red arrows materialized, nocked within his grip. He sprang forward, crossing the length of the cage in midair as he fired again, showering Gonad and his immediate vicinity with a scattered spread. These arrows would explode on impact, their flash of heat and flame fading as rapidly as it had come. Bouncing off of the cage over Gonad's head, Lobo sprang back the opposite direction, twisting in the air to land dead in the center of the ring in a horse stance, bow held out before him in his right hand, his left hand hovering near his chin, palm facing downward.

[Doc Doctor]

@Negatomsk

Gonad lashed out with the canvas one last time, rolling a heavily muscled shoulder back and swiping the sucker up high overhead so that the trajectory of the arrows would be caught amidst the sweeping folds and be pulled off course into the cage behind where the barbarian had been near. Had been, because he'd be in motion during that brief period between the canvas blocking Lobo's sight of him and the detonations of explosive energy. When Lobo landed out of his twisting flight, he'd find the monster right in front of him, perhaps a mere two feet away.

When you see wild animals in print and on television, the likes of bears and lions, you know how large they are. Yet, the most common response to standing near the actual thing in a zoo, separated only by a pane of reinforced glass? 'Its huge!'
Were Lobo to wind up before Gonad, close enough to touch, close enough to smell... The impression of size would be at its most apparent. Hot wind from the detonations blew loose the warrior's wild iron hair, waving dark tendrils past his rugged face, which in the relatively low lighting of the cage match was framed sternly in shadow. He was like some kind of idol, a god made physical, built like the Japanese oni with an expression to match; a single eye slitted into a wicked vent expelling the dull red glint of wrath incarnate. Striation drawing taut under mismatched scars, a hide so marked that it could have passed for shitty cave art. Full lips, equally scarred, drew back over blocky, discolored teeth. A smog of hot breath misted out from the berserker's nose and mouth, circulating briefly into a pale cloud which dissipated upwards past cruelly arched caterpillar eyebrows. So great was the impression of this deitic beast of a man, Lobo could be forgiven for remaining stock still where he was when the berserker took a right step forwards with his left arm half extended as if for a handshake (the last handshake many had experienced on the way into heaven or hell), a sort of deer in the headlights effect. It was not uncommon. The simple and humorous name, 'Gonad', was just that. A name. It could scarcely encompass the actual creature it represented, one that could, like a lizard, peel off its outer layer of fatherly humor and crude jesting, step out of that skin one foot at a time and stand, nay, tower like the very incarnation of war.

When you are on a jet taking off, you can feel your ears pop. A tiny crackling, as of a tiny stiff joint popping. As the Beardforce finished evaluating Lobo's power, dozens of what sounded like those little pops leaked head to toe from Gonad's body, a fusillade micro-salute to the new strength as it settled into his bones, fibers, synapses. Again, that odd semi-illusion wrought from Gonad's will, a sort of physical forecast telegraphed out from his body language. Retreat was doom. It would not be possible to backpedal faster than Gonad could move forwards, just as a man may not run faster backwards than one sprinting headlong. There was only one way out of this.

Fight.

[Negatomsk]

@Doc Doctor

Uncouth as the man might be, he was also clever, using the shredder canvas not only to intercept Lobo's latest volley -- the canvas was blown into finer and finer shreds with every impact, but in that no single arrow reached its target, the temporary defense had more than sufficed -- but to provide cover as he once again evaded completely. As Lobo came to rest, a mountainous foe stood before him, well within striking distance for the both of them.

It would be pointless to deny that the barbarian was an impressive physical specimen; before him Lobo Negro was little more than a somewhat well-built masked man with a tail, a fancy costume, and a marvelous special effects team working round the clock to keep him wreathed in black flames that somehow managed not to burn anything. Drawing upright, Lobo Negro stood a full foot shorter than his opponent, perhaps half his size, at best. Still, even faced with this living monolith, there was no reason to be afraid, even as another monstrous surge of fighting spirit, of killing intent surged forth. After all, he wasn't dead yet.

Even if he were afraid, there was nothing to be seen in his face, hidden as it was behind a snarling mask, and glowing green eyes. Taking a half-step forward, Lobo Negro extended his flame-wreathed left hand in kind.

Should he receive it back, he would retreat another half-step, sliding into a sidelong stance as he took his long bow in both hands, wielding it not as a ranged weapon, but as a melee implement. One end angled towards the ruined flooring of the ring, Lobo paused for a moment before stepping forward, sweeping his bow into a lateral strike aimed for the thigh of Gonad’s forward leg. The sharpened plates set into the weapon's arches would flay flesh as readily as any sword, down to the bone if applied with enough force, but at present Lobo would be satisfied to simply hamstring his larger foe.

Of course, if he did not receive his hand back, the same would-be crippling strike would be made immediately, instead.

[Doc Doctor]

@Negatomsk

Gonad shook Lobo's hand, but remained right as he was when the Luchadore took a stance. Right foot leading, hand still extended. The berserker's one eye seemed vacant, unfocused, as if he weren't at all thinking about the fight. Some kind of autopilot? Maybe he was just going through the motions. As if to confirm this, the brute stepped forward at nearly the same time as Lobo did, left boot planting itself firmly, inexorably between Lobo's feet, carrying Gonad straight into his personal space, just about face to face as the berserker simultaneously bent at the knees. A purely reactive response, one born from having encountered such a scenario many times before. It had been the way Lobo had held his bow which had triggered Gonad's muscle memory. It harkened back to the age old move consisting of seesawing your weapon back and forth like a bo stave for rapid hits, making use of the double-sided weapon's leverage.

Had Lobo been expecting to catch Gonad with the other end? Certainly a fine choice against a one-armed foe.

However...

*As the blades tipping the bow were short and Gonad was deep in Lobo's zone, there would be virtually nothing beyond his vast reach. His palm pistoned across as he took his step to impact the bow up near its grip as it was swung, just high enough to not warrant the risk of having Lobo try to yank it back in an attempt at cutting the hand, where there was no blade and not enough centrifugal force to hurt Gonad's bear of a paw. Were this to stop short Lobo's attack, he'd find that his bow was stuck in a clamp, an underhand grip from which there was little chance of recovery.

Without missing a beat, performing each action with utmost certainty and haste, like an actor in a well practiced fight scene, Gonad capped off his performance with... A snee-...!?*

In Kyukushin karate, there is an old proverb. 'The only way to get experience, is through experience'. Over the years Gonad had not just mastered, but perfected every move in his arsenal by way of trail and error. The martial artist should always seek to improve his weapons. Faster, stronger, cleaner, honing their rough techniques until what remains is diamond-like in its consistency. A real treasure.

Were the two warriors to wind up in kissing distance of each other, however briefly, Lobo could pick up on an instantaneous thought from Gonad via his telepathy, one not shrouded behind muscle memory. It was like some kind of ridiculous grating cry, from a Japanese man.

~YUUUUURIAAAA!!~

Gonad was contemplating a show he had seen the other day. Must have been a good one. Then, Gonad offered one of his treasures to Lobo. Gonad's head snapped forwards, as if wracked by a sudden and violent sneeze, the kind that thunders out from nowhere and makes your friends gasp in surprise. The corded strength of his voluminous neck channeled its pulverizing might into delivering an untelegraphed and technically flawless headbutt, one that could cream Lobo where he stood and send him on a trip past the boundaries of consciousness, into beddy bye land. Nowadays this particular move is highly encouraged in self defense, surpassing in efficiency the clumsy windup of the headbutts utilitized in early 90's Vale Tudo matches. Even through helmets Gonad's blows have proven their potency, for although such things may absorb shock and prevent superficial injury, they do not do much slow the rate at which the brain bounces off its protective walls. Such is why numorous professional sparring partners find themselves of the ground in spite of mouthguards and protective headwear, and are heavily encouraged to keep their hands up at all times.

[Negatomsk]

This Gonad was quick; he’d stepped forward near in time with Lobo to close the distance, throw off the aim of his strike, and strike in turn. The barbarian was also practiced; the attack Lobo had mistaken for a blow and angled the Moon Hunter to intercept had in fact been a grapple, one intended to pin his weapon, and in fact succeeded in doing so. He was also powerful, in that the moment that grip stopped his swing dead, Lobo he knew he would not be getting his weapon back without a fight. When he’d set foot in the ring Lobo had known nothing of his opponent beyond his name, but without a doubt, he could be sure this man was a warrior.

Crude? Absolutely. Untrained? Most definitely not. Self-taught, perhaps, as it was not unheard of to encounter a fighter who had honed their craft through instinct, rather than learning, but only a fool who would think them any lesser for it. To a punch a hundred, a thousand, an hundred thousand times, would sharpen it into a deadly strike whether it was throw in a dojo or in one’s own bedroom. Filthy, uncivilized, unwashed, beneath Gonad’s rough exterior beat the heart of a man who had been forged in combat.

Just as the countless scars marring his body were clue enough to any who knew to look, the bow Gonad now held in his iron grip had itself had likely been hint enough to the fact that beneath Lobo’s extravagant costume, gaudy mask, and luchador trappings beat the heart of an assassin; a proper staff was a weapon for cornering, trapping and suppression. A bow was a weapon for hunting, disabling, killing.

As Gonad’s head shot forward, Lobo’s was rocked backwards from the impact, brutal as it was, but not far or as fast as it might have been otherwise. A helmet would have offered protection against the blow to a point, but the protections afforded to Lobo by his mantle were not so simple. Imbued with the Roaring Flame, his mask was incredibly resistant to impacts, and as such he was able to stave off the worst of it, and retained the presence of mind to continue as he dropped into a crouch, leaning back heavily with his tail for balance as his left heel slid forward, his right hand drawing back as a violet arrow and a pitch black string -- both of them alight with a crimson flame burning near to pink -- materialized in his grip. The shot would be ugly, but it was angled to bury the the arrowhead an inch or so below Gonad’s sternum and from this distance, Lobo hardly needed to aim.

There had hardly an instant between the impact and the attack; Lobo had drawn back the bowstring but a few inches, using the condensed energy of the Silent Flame that composed it to expand those inches into feet within the string itself, and the coiled power of the Roaring Flame to pack several thousand pounds of pull into the weight that string carried. As a result ‘twang’ of the bowstring as Lobo fired erupted with the force of a cannon blast as the arrow shot forth with more force than the flame construct had ever been meant to take… so much so that it simply exploded instead, launching a massive ball of red-violet flame directly into Gonad’s upper body.

The effect would be two-fold: the crimson fire of the Roaring Flame would subject Gonad's entire upper body to an incredibly powerful shockwave, with such force as to not only put one to sleep, but to put them through a wall -- quite possibly the wall of the cage, in this case -- while with the violet Hissing Flame that Lobo Negro had earlier demonstrated came a powerful and debilitating poison.

Lobo allowed the force of the explosion to carry him backwards as he kicked backwards off of his right leg, his mane and shoulder pads smoking from the heat as he flew across the ring, digging his claws into the boards to bring himself to a halt. He'd left his bow behind in Gonad's grip, but could get along just fine without it. The question remained as to whether or not he would need to.