[IC] WEAPON OF CHOICE - Lysander Vs. Gonad

[Doc Doctor]

@Zyamasiel

What if God was one of us?

The hulking man lay on the right plate of the giant scale, reclining comfortably, propped up on an elbow as he absently watched the far door. The scale remained balanced despite the tremendous weight. The scale was always balanced. It'd taken Gonad nearly three months to track down this structure. A sort of dimensional crossroads with divine inspiration, the Court of the Fair Ones. This sacred structure had been crafted for a singular purpose; a place where higher beings were expected to leave their power at the door, where men could fight gods, and otherwise insignificant creatures could fight men. The lowest form of observable life in the Hall set the baseline, although microscopic organisms were right the fuck out. It was by the being's own volition that they surrendered their power, but to break the law of the Hall and to die in the Hall was astral death, cessation of existence in every meaning of the word. Those who dared to violate the law here were those who grew tired of such paltry pleasures as sentience offered, who could find solace only in absolute oblivion. The threat of such a fate had deterred most for many thousands of years, for what if a man entered and after him closely followed a mere spider, or a beetle? To meet one's end at the mandibles of a bug, deprived of any hope for an afterlife...

These things were known to Gonad. Was it his will to end the existence of a god? Nay. Nay, though surely one may try to end him for having the impudence to again open the doors of the dreaded Hall. No, Gonad just wanted to knock a god out. Just in case of accidents though, which do happen, he'd posted a note on the outside of the doors.



And so our noble barbarian waited for a mighty foe to step down from the boundless depths of space and time, to trade fists and blood, that a merry battle may be had. He pulled out a bag of assorted veggie chips, prepared for the long haul, hoping that his invitation had been heard.

*A flashback...*

-Gonad stood outside the Hall the of Fair Ones, hands cupped around his mouth, bellowing at the moon with all the force his wall-shaking baritone could exert.-

"HRAH!! COME AND FIGHT GONAD SOON!"

[Zyamasiel]

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.

[Doc Doctor]

@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?

[Zyamasiel]

"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.

[Doc Doctor]

@Zyamasiel

Had Gonad known what the man was thinking, he'd have been sorely confused. Perhaps this one entity had fourth wall awareness and was looking at a silly, reconned version of Gonad from a fight that had suffered from the debilitations of an illiterate overseer. But speculation was speculation. Surely if Lysander's notion was correct, he'd be able to win with ease. Maybe he'd even beat Gonad in one move. Gonad completed his bow and, like Lysander, took a neutral stance. Gonad seemed surprised when the man actually dropped his weapon, a bushy eyebrow rising. He was even more surprised when, despite having been standing at a distance of five yards from the man, somehow the fellow had somehow crossed the distance and gotten into Gonad's striking range with a single step. No, wait. Gonad must have blinked for a long time. Or maybe Lysander had crossed the distance and then forgotten having done the act of doing so, and Gonad had forgotten having seen it. At any rate, it'd at least not happen again.
Gonad was more concerned about the buster sword being abandoned. He knew it wasn't for him to question the strategies of gods, maybe the weapon had been superficial and this one was capable of using their body.
The barbarian's heavy bracers were over on the floor by the scale, and thus it could be considered that they were both more or less unarmed.
So it was that Gonad firmly slid his right foot forwards and at the same time casually extended his left arm towards his opponent's upper chest, fingers splayed, open palm facing the ground, in no hurry at all. Whether this opponent retreated or not would reveal the truth.

[Zyamasiel]

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.

[Doc Doctor]

@Zyamasiel

*Gonad's pulse; 35 BPM*

To underestimate one's opponent is to invite folly. It was a rare thing for Gonad to bow. It meant he was going to provide his opponent with the respect of fighting seriously, a brief acknowledgement of their strength as well as a warning for them to take up their guard. Even rarer was the chance to fight a deity. For Lysander, this was just another Tuesday, so to speak. For Gonad, it was the culmination of all the blood and sweat he'd ever shed, the ultimate reward. What more could a warrior hope for than to take on the highest of beings in single combat? He'd fought just about everything under the sun. Dragons, trolls, demons, monsters of all shapes and sizes, world champions and the semi-divine, often the odds stacked heinously against him, always with the roaring drums and noble chants of his homeland lending strength to his heart and mind, as it did even now. With only one eye, he missed nothing. With his grisly body he felt everything. The cool stillness of the stagnant air, sunlight filtering defiantly through the murky, ancient windows of the Hall. Outside of his own mind, the silence was deafening.
Lysander's hand drew near Gonad's. As it did, a distant childhood memory, hazy and golden, passed through Gonad's mind like the serene breath of a familiar woman.

*Flashback...*
"Aye. Start with the left leg back, strong young one. Poise of Gonad must not falter, for though spirit may not falter when body does, not win wars on its own while alone, can spirit. Adjust feet, like so..."

"Urgh... Like so? Now be footing of Gonad sure?"

"Nay, pointing forward toes of lead foot should be. Aye, like that. Good."
*Flashback...*

The voice of his father's brother, firm and patient. The longest days of Gonad's life had been those spent in the years before he had aged into a true man.
Lysander's fingertips were so close now, that had Gonad been statically charged, a shock could have passed between them. A martial artist's premonition, honed not from otherworldly power but raw experience, spiked through Gonad's forebrain, a flare of will. "Now", it told him. "Now is the time."
One moment Lysander had been about to initiate a fart joke, humoring the perceived whimsy of an opponent. The next thing he perceived was likely pain. Gonad's hand had only to travel scant inches to seize Lysander's. It was like the flicker of a candle as a ghost whisks by, untelegraphed, as perfect an opportunity as one could ask for aside from flat out asking for a handshake. No handshake was this. He sought to, without any warning or delay, grip Lysander's hand with his thumb on the back of the hand and twist with such phantasmagoric impetus that had his foe been but a normal man, the wrist would have immediately snapped from the torque. Good thing Lysander was physically on par with Gonad, but this was a matter of leverage, not simply brute strength. If Gonad had his way, then in a blink he'd have folded Lysander's palm backwards, towards its owner's body, chain-locking the rest of the arm's joints out straight and in the process breaking his opponent's equilibrium, rendering it even more difficult to attempt a retort such as, say, a kick, even though throwing one from a neutral stance was sub-optimal anyways.

*Flashback...*
"Oomph! Not bad such is. But still need work does form of young Gonad. Turn hips over more, do not extend leg too early. Hmph! Better. Better."
*Flashback...*

-As he attempted to lock Lysander's arm, the rest of his body was not still. It was in the process of turning. Gonad pivoted on the ball of his lead foot as his left took off from the ground, not with a mighty heave, but a deathly whisper, a streamer of centuries-old dust trailing at his heel like the tattered cloak of a midnight rider bearing news of ill fortune.-

*Flashback...*
"Keep support leg at one-half of a right angle, and try again."
"HRAH!!"
"NOT GOOD ENOUGH! The spirit is strong, but the technique lacks! More balance there must be! Let the shin chase the knee!"
*Flashback...*

-Were Gonad's will to take full form, then but an instant after Lysander's arm was locked out, he'd feel it. A feeling akin to the one hikers get before a lightning strike. Hair standing on end, flesh tingling, sweat turned cold. But that was just lightning. Those physical feelings would only come to pass after Gonad's blow had already struck, the body's warning of the pain to come, granting him a chance to steel his nerves against the turbulence to come.-

*Flashback...*
"Wise already, and sharp of wit is Gonad. Only today has this instruction been given, and already mastered such have ye'. Speak to Uncle, young Gonad. For what purpose is it that learn the ways of such things, we do?"
*Flashback...*

-The mortal body is only capable of so much, but Gonad put those preconceived notions to the test. It was as if his leg had been given a nitrous injection, whipping around with the barbarian's passion lending it that extra-sharp 'snap' of impact that you only see from those few humans who have achieved the pinnacle of their art. A steel boot projected without any excess motion, on course to snuff out Lysander's upper right flank with the crisp crack of bone and muscle meeting an unyielding obstacle at high speed. A technically flawless roundhouse kick that'd make ribs creak and groan, and if it didn't rupture the liver, it'd at least severely bruise it. It was something that you felt all over, echoing through your body as a singular wave of pain. It would be highly impractical and awkward to try and block the blow with his left forearm, as he'd have to resist the leverage of the right arm-lock to such a degree as to reach across his body properly.-

*Flashback...*
"To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women! HRAH!"
*Flashback...*

-Gonad did not bellow or scream, rave or roar. He only let loose an explosive snort from his nostrils and from between his teeth, lips cut back over bared teeth at the instant the blow struck, if struck it did.-

*Gonad's pulse; 37 BPM*

-If all came to pass, then almost reverently, Gonad would neatly and swiftly withdraw his leg from its kick, resume his stance, and still holding Lysander in a lock, wait a few seconds to gauge his opponent, giving the entity a few moments. It wasn't a fatal blow, or one that'd immediately end the fight. All this had taken place in only a little more than a second, a gale force wind that died right after its birth, leaving the leaves to again settle. Maybe, just maybe this attack, as paltry as it was, might sway Lysander to grace Gonad with a more serious demeanor that our noble barbarian may have no regrets about this, his only opportunity to fight a god.-

*Gonad's pulse; 35 BPM*

[Zyamasiel]

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.

[Doc Doctor]

To come out into the sticks to fight a clown, only for the mask to be hurled to the floor to reveal a demon beneath the façade. The violence came abruptly, a shredding detonation of clashing skill.

Gonad had no expectations, no interfering static blinding him. He lived this fight moment to moment, as ready to face anything as a child was to believe in Santa Claus. He was grabbed by his opponent, who then pivoted to haul Gonad into what seemed to be an improvised hip throw. Small fighters have their advantages. Their uppercuts are punishing against taller foes, they're typically more lithe, agile, the square/cube law favors them. And yes, Lysander's lower center of gravity was beneficial as well, particularly with throws. Gonad had his own advantages, however. Reach and weight. Gonad was a solid two heads taller than his opponent too. Thus for Lysander to pull Gonad's arm across his chest, he'd have to yank the big fella down to his level, give or take, and that wasn't going to be blazingly fast given he was leveraging a quarter-ton of meaty man, and had to first lug the big lug in from more than an arm's reach away. As this occurred Gonad's rear leg bent at the knee, and an instant later he kicked off as hard as he could.

Lysander was hanging onto the wrong arm for a proper hip or shoulder throw, and his grip on Gonad's hand was tenuous at best. Gonad's paws were as large as catcher's mitts, and not only did Lysander have to try and hold onto Gonad's hand, but his own, further resulting in a relatively weak grip. As Gonad propelled himself into his opponent, he fiercely bent his left arm to tear his hand from Lysander's (relinquishing his own on the man's right hand), clenching it into a fist to keep any digits from being grabbed as he did so, that same motion culminating in his elbow jagging towards the back of his foe's head like a stake hammer from roughly a large forearm's length away, most of the monstrous berserker's mass thrown into it. It was abrupt, terrible in its concussive power, and as with most of Gonad's attacks, untelegraphed and with no preemptive wind-up to give it away. The only hint Lysander would have would be Gonad's hand suddenly jerking free. Bruce Lee could consistently throw a punch within 9/100 of a second. That was approximately how much time Lysander had after Gonad freed his hand to both register that his opponent had escaped being thrown, likely a mite or two less. He then had to process the possibility that an interminable danger was heading his way. Afterwards there was the task of consciously registering said danger by evaluating the possible ways Gonad would hurt him and singling the most likely one out. Lastly, he had to avoid it, more easily said than done given how the scope of Gonad's elbow could have plugged a dinosaur's ass. Due to the somewhat steepened angle of the blow, it'd be particularly tough to try and fudge it with a duck.

If the blow struck dead on, it'd be capable of powering Lysander face-first into the tile floor hard enough to actually skid for a few meters, leaving a bloody streak beneath the body. This would without a doubt submerge him deep, deep in unconsciousness, a coma even, for although the body could be bolstered to withstand considerable duress, the brain had no muscles with which to grow stronger, and could only rely on the thickness of the skull to absorb shock that would rattle it into a bloody stupor.

[Zyamasiel]

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.

[Doc Doctor]

@Zyamasiel

Gonad himself couldn't detect pressure shifts well enough to avoid attacks based on the readings. No man could, least of all because of how closely behind the air pressure the blow followed. It left no time to react even if one noticed the miniscule shift. That was one ability Lysander'd find no success with in this fight. But he was still able to react to Gonad thanks to a compound of the elements, his keen instincts, and having seen the blow coming out of the corner of his eye. He recovered well enough, right arm likely weakened noticeably with numbed forearm and sprained wrist. And then he took his eyes off his opponent. Or, at least, he seemed to. Lysander believed Gonad to have the intellect of a child, and thus had figured that the berserker wouldn't immediately see through the ploy. Lysander was turning away to face his sword, intending to walk towards it to make the barbarian rush forwards... Only to unleash a counter-attack thanks to having seen Gonad's reflection in the blade, perhaps? The berserker was having none of this.

If anything Gonad took it as an insult. This one wasn't just in the process of looking away, but also sought to defeat the Lord of the Rising Sun with a party trick? Tinctures of maroon anger spread throughout Gonad's chest like spider legs, a cold heat blossoming at his fingertips. He left the ground silently, with no more noise than one would emit from a casual shift of the bare body, nothing that would even remotely alert suspicion. A quarter second after Lysander's eyes fully left him, the barbarian had let loose with a broad jump, his bulk compacted behind the breadth and height of his opponent's own enlarged (due to its closeness to the sword) reflection with razorous efficiency, limbs tucked in. The world record for broad jump was 12.3 feet. Gonad could cross 7 at a bound with little effort. Lysander's eyes would have no sooner focused on his blade, not even having yet deciphered the images refracted therein if such was his intent, than he'd both hear the clatter of Gonad's boots right behind him and at the very same time, if all went accordingly, realize that both his arms had been pinned to his sides in a gargantuan bearhug, Gonad's mitts clasping together just above the belt line, not with fingers locked but almost as if he was shaking hands with himself. Having not been looking, there was no foreseeable way for Lysander to have quite prepared for this, as ready as he considered himself.

No sooner would he have been potentially seized than the ceiling above would invert itself, colors blending into a vomit-hue of acceleration, the air whistling past his ears like Comanche bone flutes. In the entertainment industry, when one sees a wrestler land a German suplex, it is a carefully practiced stunt involving a canvas convolution of wood that absorbs the brunt of the impact. Gonad weighed a Big Mac short of a quarter ton and Lysander himself tacked on another two-hundred or so. The floor of the Hall consisted of inches of solid marble over hard, unforgiving earth. 326 kilos of weight projected by the pneumatic physical might of Gonad, whose exquisite form carried himself into a steep back bridge, and all of it centered upon the head and shoulders of Lysander. If successful, Lysander would arc unceremoniously into the floor such that his brains would scatter all the way to the scale, his scapula shattered like china plates, and his vertebrae pulverized below the bone-flecked soup of his skull.

[Zyamasiel]

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.

[Doc Doctor]

@Zyamasiel

There was scarcely any time to react properly, having not seen the exact move coming, and by the time Lysander felt the arms around him it'd be virtually too late. Gonad's arms were longer, heavier, and had the dynamic force of first initiative behind them, making it easy to fully encircle his opponent's body with superior power and secure his grip, whereas Lysander would have only just began moving his own limbs in reaction after feeling the sudden pressure. Reacting off of touch alone was befitting of the Matrix, not this scenario, where one fighter had actually tried to attempt combat without looking. That, and how he had an injured arm made his breaking of Gonad's hold nigh improbable.

He'd manage to get a foot behind Gonad's knee, but he'd find that it was mostly a combination of an opponent's weight and the restriction of a flexing leg that restrained the target. The flexing outwards of a leg was naturally more forceful than the forwards pressure applied without the added leverage of significant bodily mass. As 220 pounds was almost negligible to Gonad, he'd be able to muscle his way into completing the suplex if nothing else were done, and by the time that became apparent it'd be too late to try another hook, not that it'd do much. Lysander's headbutt would hit only air, Gonad's head peaking at the base of the man's skull, jaw tucked in, cheek pressed against the nape of Lysander's neck. Gonad wanted to smash Lysander's head, not his own. Anyone foolish enough to attempt a suplex with their head level with their opponent's shouldn't be allowed to even grapple. All these things had been accounted for by Gonad, hence his lack of hesitation, the absence of doubt in his knowledge of bodily mechanics. This was why Gonad hadn't broken eye contact when he bowed. Looking away from your foe is considered borderline suicidal for good reason.

[Zyamasiel]

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.

[Doc Doctor]

@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?



======
Well, Gonad actually had a counter in the mix with much more justification than the complete alteration of a move without any forethought.
======


(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.

[Zyamasiel]

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.

[Doc Doctor]

@Zyamasiel


Lysander was overestimating Gonad's durability and strength, and thus, his own by extension. Just as there was a finite about of weight he could lift, there was a finite amount of force he could withstand. His hardened head wasn't much more durable than the record held for the thickest skull amongst humans, that being one which could endure roughly 1,100 pounds of force before it was entirely crushed. It still wasn't Gonad in danger of being hurt though. Lysander's odd maneuver might have aided him in tanking a suplex from a normal man, but Gonad's destructive power when implementing wrestling finishers was something else precisely because it compiled every possible factor to maximize killing force.



The dynamic force of Gonad's German suplex spiked at at least 3,350 foot pounds, likely much greater, well over a ton and a half. As Lysander stretched his leg up to try and break his fall, it'd be subject to what amounted to the weight of a brand new Sedan. There was never a chance. If his leg was locked out, the kneecap would burst like an orange and fold backwards like a cheap lawn chair. If it was partially bent, it'd collapse in on itself with the ankle very likely snapping from the sheer unexpected power. There was no hope for deflection to safety, anymore than a nail had of deflecting the blow from a hammer should it bend mid-strike. As that first foot had been expected to save Lysander's head, the complete failure of it to meet the expectations would result in his skull splitting against the floor regardless. Gonad's back arch had been much steeper than what's usually seen in wrestling explicitly to peak Lysander's head past Gonad's at the apex of the maneuver, and to prevent said head of Lysander from leaving the impact zone, as Gonad was used to opponents trying such a desperate last ditch tactic. Gonad had grabbed Lysander around the waist for a reason. It allowed him to lift an opponent higher than would be possible with a higher grip, and when combined with Gonad's back bridge, made for a fiendishly difficult attack to avoid. His finishers were called finishers for a reason. Once Gonad had lifted an opponent off the ground, the combination of his and his opponents' weight, his excellent form, and the solidity of the impact surface reliably served as an often irrevocable death sentence. With at least a full ton of force still left over, Lysander's head would be due to hit the floor before his other foot and likely crack like a melon, with little time left to do anything in that time frame but admire the honed physics of one of the world's most brutal unarmed killing techniques.

[Zyamasiel]

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.

[Doc Doctor]

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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