03-22-2009, 04:00 AM
With unexpected fury, a wrinkled fist soared through the air until it connected with Jackson Pride. The titan was knocked back, and his grip on the old man had loosened. Oliver, grinning, was doing his best to hide his own surprise. That hook had come from the left—his bad arm—and he was surprised it still had any kick left. He squeezed his fist, and his knuckles cracked in protest. It was like punching a metal door.
“Alright, Mr. Pride,” Oliver trailed off, licking dry lips, “you win. One fair fight…” The weathered fighter paused as he brought his body into a fighting stance, hiding his persistent injury, “…to the death.”
The Wizard, as a gesture of honor removed a barbed weapon from his waistband—before his enemy discovered it, even—and tossed it into the air. Leaping as high as or higher than either man could was the dog, ‘Champ’, who caught the stinger in its mouth while catching some airtime. It landed on four feet, a distance away from the fighters. The creature looked on at the pair with what looked like genuine worry.
‘And I’m not going to last very long, if this god damned arm keeps up,’ Oliver whined to himself. He could try to reposition the bones, which were starting to feel vastly out of place, but he didn’t want to expose any weaknesses to the herald of might that was Jackson Pride. So he toughed it out, through blood, sweat, and locked teeth.
When Pride came at him he was like a bat out of hell, lunging and kicking with uncanny precision; likely taking from a number of fighter schools. Oliver, on the other hand, was constantly forced onto the evasive; but it beat taking actual hits from this monster. Roaring forward like a freight train, the colossus launched his right sandal on a steep arc for his elder, and that’s when the fight really got tricky. The Wizard was running out of space and to avoid the lightning strikes of Zeus-incarnate he was forced off the catwalk, onto the rafters.
‘Shit—,’ cursed the former detective, balancing on the metal beam like an inexperienced high school gymnast, ‘—what is this, the fucking circus?’
By the time he stilled his balance, it was far too late. In the distance he heard a cry, much like that of a wolf. “WOLLLLLFFFF....” The giant leapt forth and threw a school of swipes at Oliver that moved beyond the visible spectrum. With annihilating force, Oliver was knocked back through two sets of rafters; quaking the foundations a little. Pain shot up his spine and his bloodshot eyes remained open. There, stuck against a warped rafter, the onslaught on Oliver continued. Another ten punches, and at least four kicks, by the feel of it, “…FANNNNNGGG…,” and in the final act, the dénouement in Pride’s combo-breaker, he pressed his palms together and thrust them open at the chest of the ex-convict—“FIST!”—blasting him through the third rafter back into the catwalk.
The old man pulled himself up on the railing, bleeding out from all over. He wasn’t sure where he didn’t hurt, but this demon was bringing Hell and then some down on his aged bones. “Th.. that all you got… punk?” Oliver taunted, hoping some dialogue would give him a few seconds to think.”
“Old man, you are not giving me what I’ve asked of you. Fight, damnit—I know you have it in y…” and on he went, bellowing at the beaten man with a tone that would inspire Vikings and war heroes. And Wizard thanked him for unintentionally giving the ex-detective some peace of mind to devise just how he was going to beat this behemoth. He closed is eyes and provoked the part of his mind that was begging to come out.
Suddenly, and quite familiarly, Jackson Pride’s story started to play out before his eyes. That’s when he got some ideas. This was a fighter that had used his reach to conquer foes for decades. Like many tall fighters, it could certainly be his downfall. But it wouldn’t be easy… his right kick had the momentum of a freight train. Oliver would have to isolate it; and that meant taking out the left first.
Opening his eyes, the Wizard coughed out blood on the arm of the warrior. Once again, his massive digits were wrapped around his neck, squeezing the life from him. But this time, his body reacted. Oliver felt a familiar storm brewing inside him, boiling to the surface. And from his chest, emerged a white light. “Arrrrgghhh!” The heavy hitter roared as the ki blast sent him reeling, off the catwalk, where his body smashed into rafters like a twisted game of pong. Thud was the sound that his landing made; on the solid layer between their arena and the laboratory.
Fists out, Jackson Pride launched himself back toward the thin metal walkway with a fire in his eyes that had to be half a century old. But Oliver had been at the ready, and he caught the beast mid-air, in a way that to an outsider (and the Dog) would have looked like awkward puzzle pieces smashing together. The Wizard, utilizing a technical art called Systema known to all that trained in the Central City P.D., forced the monster into an agonizing leg lock.
Jackson let out a grunt that might have been a primal form of ‘Good play, mate’ as the veteran put leverage on his calf. The pair crashed back into the catwalk, but the hold was maintained. With all of his might, Oliver pressed, and the grapple conquered his attention completely … which would be his downfall. So focused on maintaining the physical resistance required to maintain the lock, he hadn’t notice the catwalk floor beneath him hum to an alarming shade of orange. And then—boom! Utilizing similar magic as Oliver’s own, Pride had charged the interwoven links of the metallic walkway. The metal erupted, shattering like glass, and gravity took the battlers downward. They smashed into a rafter and Oliver’s hold was unlocked.
Even though the pair had sustained damage, they both landed fairly well on the ceiling of the laboratory, likely causing a bit of disturbance below. Oliver had landed on both feet, while Jackson pride had rolled out of the impact. When he got to his feet, his stance—twice the height of the Wizard’s own—was a little uneasy. The weaker of his legs was now fighting to stay up. ‘Perfect,’ Oliver had thought. Now he’ll have to use the good one.
“Evening the odds, are you?” chuckled the human leviathan/ “Oh. You think I didn’t notice? Your arm hasn’t had any life for the last eighteen minutes. I’ve fought far too many men to leave a weak point unnoticed. I’ll do you one better, old man,” he said, while putting an arm behind his back, “its unfortunate that Kai’s mechanisms have left you wounded, but now the arena floor is truly swept. Without obstacles, you will fight me like you are meant to—and the fates will drive one of us out of this world, to the next dimension. Let this fight be such that every time the Earth quakes, the people will remember our names!”
---
Despite the grandeur presented in Jackson Pride’s monologue, Wizard was not taken. David did not defeat Goliath with legendary might, but legendary wit and Oliver Nash would do the same. For better or for worse, he was going to put his faith in the higher powers with this next move, with hopes that his strategy would pay off. Chi illuminated the eight foot champion before the detective, like aurora borealis. A second later, he was crossing the air between them, laughing at the forces of gravity. If there was any time to turn the tables, now was it. Oliver’s place in Friend or Foe was held here by a single thread.
Opposite the beast, Oliver Nash (a.k.a. The Wizard) faced his adversary. A canine was missing, but so were several gallons of blood. He presented a fractured stance—an accurate portrait of what he had become—as his numb arm dragged the rest of his body down. It was clear by Pride’s advance that he was about to deliver a kick. It looked like the killing blow … he could feel it in the atmosphere. And what did Oliver do?
He smiled.
The limb was going to collide with its mark, when—“SHELLBULLET!” A burst of ki erupted from his back like an angry volcano, launching him sideways outside of the kick, and his fist climbed up through the gap where it cracked into Jackson Pride’s heel, his Achilles tendant.
“Graaaahhhgghhh!”
His roar could be heard throughout the facility.
“Alright, Mr. Pride,” Oliver trailed off, licking dry lips, “you win. One fair fight…” The weathered fighter paused as he brought his body into a fighting stance, hiding his persistent injury, “…to the death.”
The Wizard, as a gesture of honor removed a barbed weapon from his waistband—before his enemy discovered it, even—and tossed it into the air. Leaping as high as or higher than either man could was the dog, ‘Champ’, who caught the stinger in its mouth while catching some airtime. It landed on four feet, a distance away from the fighters. The creature looked on at the pair with what looked like genuine worry.
‘And I’m not going to last very long, if this god damned arm keeps up,’ Oliver whined to himself. He could try to reposition the bones, which were starting to feel vastly out of place, but he didn’t want to expose any weaknesses to the herald of might that was Jackson Pride. So he toughed it out, through blood, sweat, and locked teeth.
When Pride came at him he was like a bat out of hell, lunging and kicking with uncanny precision; likely taking from a number of fighter schools. Oliver, on the other hand, was constantly forced onto the evasive; but it beat taking actual hits from this monster. Roaring forward like a freight train, the colossus launched his right sandal on a steep arc for his elder, and that’s when the fight really got tricky. The Wizard was running out of space and to avoid the lightning strikes of Zeus-incarnate he was forced off the catwalk, onto the rafters.
‘Shit—,’ cursed the former detective, balancing on the metal beam like an inexperienced high school gymnast, ‘—what is this, the fucking circus?’
By the time he stilled his balance, it was far too late. In the distance he heard a cry, much like that of a wolf. “WOLLLLLFFFF....” The giant leapt forth and threw a school of swipes at Oliver that moved beyond the visible spectrum. With annihilating force, Oliver was knocked back through two sets of rafters; quaking the foundations a little. Pain shot up his spine and his bloodshot eyes remained open. There, stuck against a warped rafter, the onslaught on Oliver continued. Another ten punches, and at least four kicks, by the feel of it, “…FANNNNNGGG…,” and in the final act, the dénouement in Pride’s combo-breaker, he pressed his palms together and thrust them open at the chest of the ex-convict—“FIST!”—blasting him through the third rafter back into the catwalk.
The old man pulled himself up on the railing, bleeding out from all over. He wasn’t sure where he didn’t hurt, but this demon was bringing Hell and then some down on his aged bones. “Th.. that all you got… punk?” Oliver taunted, hoping some dialogue would give him a few seconds to think.”
“Old man, you are not giving me what I’ve asked of you. Fight, damnit—I know you have it in y…” and on he went, bellowing at the beaten man with a tone that would inspire Vikings and war heroes. And Wizard thanked him for unintentionally giving the ex-detective some peace of mind to devise just how he was going to beat this behemoth. He closed is eyes and provoked the part of his mind that was begging to come out.
Suddenly, and quite familiarly, Jackson Pride’s story started to play out before his eyes. That’s when he got some ideas. This was a fighter that had used his reach to conquer foes for decades. Like many tall fighters, it could certainly be his downfall. But it wouldn’t be easy… his right kick had the momentum of a freight train. Oliver would have to isolate it; and that meant taking out the left first.
Opening his eyes, the Wizard coughed out blood on the arm of the warrior. Once again, his massive digits were wrapped around his neck, squeezing the life from him. But this time, his body reacted. Oliver felt a familiar storm brewing inside him, boiling to the surface. And from his chest, emerged a white light. “Arrrrgghhh!” The heavy hitter roared as the ki blast sent him reeling, off the catwalk, where his body smashed into rafters like a twisted game of pong. Thud was the sound that his landing made; on the solid layer between their arena and the laboratory.
Fists out, Jackson Pride launched himself back toward the thin metal walkway with a fire in his eyes that had to be half a century old. But Oliver had been at the ready, and he caught the beast mid-air, in a way that to an outsider (and the Dog) would have looked like awkward puzzle pieces smashing together. The Wizard, utilizing a technical art called Systema known to all that trained in the Central City P.D., forced the monster into an agonizing leg lock.
Jackson let out a grunt that might have been a primal form of ‘Good play, mate’ as the veteran put leverage on his calf. The pair crashed back into the catwalk, but the hold was maintained. With all of his might, Oliver pressed, and the grapple conquered his attention completely … which would be his downfall. So focused on maintaining the physical resistance required to maintain the lock, he hadn’t notice the catwalk floor beneath him hum to an alarming shade of orange. And then—boom! Utilizing similar magic as Oliver’s own, Pride had charged the interwoven links of the metallic walkway. The metal erupted, shattering like glass, and gravity took the battlers downward. They smashed into a rafter and Oliver’s hold was unlocked.
Even though the pair had sustained damage, they both landed fairly well on the ceiling of the laboratory, likely causing a bit of disturbance below. Oliver had landed on both feet, while Jackson pride had rolled out of the impact. When he got to his feet, his stance—twice the height of the Wizard’s own—was a little uneasy. The weaker of his legs was now fighting to stay up. ‘Perfect,’ Oliver had thought. Now he’ll have to use the good one.
“Evening the odds, are you?” chuckled the human leviathan/ “Oh. You think I didn’t notice? Your arm hasn’t had any life for the last eighteen minutes. I’ve fought far too many men to leave a weak point unnoticed. I’ll do you one better, old man,” he said, while putting an arm behind his back, “its unfortunate that Kai’s mechanisms have left you wounded, but now the arena floor is truly swept. Without obstacles, you will fight me like you are meant to—and the fates will drive one of us out of this world, to the next dimension. Let this fight be such that every time the Earth quakes, the people will remember our names!”
---
Despite the grandeur presented in Jackson Pride’s monologue, Wizard was not taken. David did not defeat Goliath with legendary might, but legendary wit and Oliver Nash would do the same. For better or for worse, he was going to put his faith in the higher powers with this next move, with hopes that his strategy would pay off. Chi illuminated the eight foot champion before the detective, like aurora borealis. A second later, he was crossing the air between them, laughing at the forces of gravity. If there was any time to turn the tables, now was it. Oliver’s place in Friend or Foe was held here by a single thread.
Opposite the beast, Oliver Nash (a.k.a. The Wizard) faced his adversary. A canine was missing, but so were several gallons of blood. He presented a fractured stance—an accurate portrait of what he had become—as his numb arm dragged the rest of his body down. It was clear by Pride’s advance that he was about to deliver a kick. It looked like the killing blow … he could feel it in the atmosphere. And what did Oliver do?
He smiled.
The limb was going to collide with its mark, when—“SHELLBULLET!” A burst of ki erupted from his back like an angry volcano, launching him sideways outside of the kick, and his fist climbed up through the gap where it cracked into Jackson Pride’s heel, his Achilles tendant.
“Graaaahhhgghhh!”
His roar could be heard throughout the facility.
[SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
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