Description: It was time to find the final four of the Neo-League. Sven Maesters, the sequential loser of the Neo-League, must face off against the elusive Fumiko, in order to secure their position in the final four. Who will get a chance for the finals, and who will get turned away, defeated and disgraced? <Winner: Fumiko>
The Neo-League standings were in disarray; it's nearly impossible to think that four of the top standings were... missing. UNreachable. It was a dire warning for the times. But Sven? Sven Maesters had made it, if only barely, for the final 8. A single win is what kept him in, a single win and a series of inglorious losses. Enough to prove he was active, at least. And the venue for his match?
The Shitennoji Temple in Osaka was... not a wrestling ring. And Sven saw that as a problem. It was more of a neutral setting, in a manner of speaking, and that was not in Sven's favor. At least, at face value. The wrestler was within the pagoda, as the nighttime hangs heavy over the grounds. Candlelight illumination mingled with soft spotlights is in place, as the wrestler inspects the interior, circling aronud the temple floor. The wrestler himself was not in his mask yet, garbed in khaki shorts and combat boots. He had no shirt, and the muscled Swede was stroking his mustache and beard, the blonde growling as he studies. He was planning his springboarding, his assaults, his fighting approach. It would all change when the fight actually took place, of course, but he had to think. If he didn't have any space to leap off of?
Then the Neo-League was gone from his grasp.
Back where it began. Not terribly long ago, an uncertain and nervous Fumiko Abe stepped onto a railway platform in Osaka for her first real fight after a lifetime of practicing for art. Despite surprises, the fight was an enlightening moment of triumph for the artist. One that stirred her pride. One that drove her to taking a trek across the world to demonstrate and learn in her conflicts with fellow fighters.
An experience nearly unraveled recently in her last Neo-League fight. A moment of foolish, terrible and insulting rage that Fumiko felt dirtied her image and her honor as a combatant on the world stage. But in that moment of weakness, Fumiko has seen part of what she had been keeping buried within her. And maybe what she needed to control if she hoped to refine and prove herself.
The temple is beautiful. It is a place she wishes to bring beauty to as well. Beauty through her artform and its dance with the artform of her opponent. She is dressed in her usual formality, and she has not forgone her wrist guards and sneakers. The soft soled shoes quiet on the temple floor. Her paired sword click with occasional steps as she walks among the candles. The light glowing off her tied back, snow white hair.
Her eyes are closed for a moment, to savor the feeling of this tranquil place. She sees no chaos in the coming fight. Even with an opponent like the large man she sees across from the temple's floor. She watches him. She feels at peace here.
Fumiko Abe coughs into her hand, politely, quietly, to grab attention of the blonde powerhouse looking at the Temple around him.
When she clears her throat, it snaps Sven out of his meditations.
"Oh!" He exclaims, glancing over her, with a scowl. "You are Fumiko, ya?" He asks... says.... asksays? He gives a nod, the scowl not leaving his face. "I am Sven Maesters. Congratulations on making finals, you must be pretty good." Sven claps his hands together, rubbing them as he glances side to side. "This place is pretty." He gives a huff.
He gestures at the candles. "I knock over the candles, I look like an ass. Might be good for heel work, but I don't like it. Eh. But they put candles in a fighting arena, so how are they not going to get knocked down." Sven walks over to the sidelines, where he grabs a wolfman mask. "You fight with the swords, ya?" He asks, as he fixes the mask on his face.
"You think you're gonna hit the candles too?"
The big man is polite. Something Fumiko appreciates with a soft smile. She bows, slightly, not taking her eyes off her opponent. "I am, yes," she confirms, "And it is." She looks around taking in the beauty of the temple once more before cutting her attention to Sven and his opinion on candles.
She watches, listens, and looks. A small laugh comes to her and she shakes her head, long pony-tail waving behind her. "If I may, use the candles as proof of your skill and composure. The world will see you, move through them. There are many that doubt a man of your size capable of grace. Do you believe you cannot prove them wrong?"
Her hand doesn't quite touch the hilt of her sword. Not yet. Not until ready to draw. But she's close. "I can't see the future. None of us can," she intones with a dark memory, "But I can only demonstrate to the best of my ability. And if that means leaving the candles untouched by my art, then so be it."
She laughs, covering her mouth as she does. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be going on like this. I was rude to my last opponent, I shouldn't continue to be so."
"I don't need to prove anything to them."
Sven gives a gruff growl, glancing around. The cameras haven't started rolling. "All I got to prove is myself, and my family. You aren't being rude." Sven pounds his naked chest once. If anything, I'll be rude once the fight starts. I'll be making fun of you, ya?" Sven fixes his mask in place. "Once cameras are on me, I'll be an ass on you. All part of the act. That's all I need to show to them. It's my job. The fighting will be real." A signal from the crew, Sven nods. "Okay, showtime, Fumiko. You do your best, don't feel like you have to prove anything, or put on anything. You do you."
And the cameras are live.
"AROOO!" Howls Sven, as he throws back his head. "AROO! You think you can take on the Neo-League? You think you can win? Garbage! Pure garbage! Have you even earned a win that you took on your own? Without your swords, your little toys, you are a buffoon in fighting! I! The Warwolf! Am going to slam you down here! And slam down every taker all the way up to the championship!" And Sven thrusts a finger at Fumiko, glaring from behind his mask.
"Do you even have a chance?"
COMBATSYS: Sven has started a fight here.
A warrior's position indeed.
Fumiko is an artist, or was, originally, she still has trouble putting herself in the shoes of a combatant and not feeling selfish or prideful. The latter she may not be, but the former she is regardless of her day to day feelings. But she listens to the man putting on the mask. "You are an artist," she says with a nod and a smile. "I hope I do not dissappoint your craft."
She looks over to the camera's going live, seeing the little lights above the candle's flicker. Her posture shifts, grows serious, her hand hovers over the hilt of her blade while the wrestler ahead of her cuts his promo.
She wants to laugh, she has to bite her lip. Knowing it's all a show, all a display, and yet he says he needs to only prove things to himself. It was cute in a way.
She stands for a moment, and then realizes something, perhaps she needs to be playing a role, herself? That suddenly seems to put her off her base. So she reaches. "I do not have chances," she says, pausing again as she thinks and then settles into a position of readiness. "I have certainties. Come at me then, or do have more lungs than muscles?"
COMBATSYS: Fumiko has joined the fight here.
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Sven 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Fumiko
That is the response as she readies herself. Sven paces back and forth, like an animal in a cage. It was an act, after all, but Fumiko had her own style. As she brings the hand to the hilt, he takes the retort hard. Snarling, he glares back. "You think the Warwolf doesn't have teeth? Then get ready to get bit!"
And he backflips.
Vaulting backwards in a long moonsault, he fixes his foot on the wall of the pagoda. Slamming the boots on hard, high above the candlelight, he twists as he launches off. Spiraling slightly as he launches, he surges through the air as he shoots straight back at Fumiko, lunging in with an aerial superman punch. There, he would come in -slamming- hard at Fumiko, attempting to overwhelm her with pure power and speed. Sven's grace and strength came hand in hand.
But his flourish only bought Fumiko more time...
COMBATSYS: Fumiko endures Sven's Garouken ES.
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Sven 0/-------/------=|>>>>---\-------\0 Fumiko
Let him come. Will this wild warrior respect strength met with strength? The power to damage, destroy and rend met by the willingness one can have to take the weight of pain and turn it into an advantage. Fumiko is an artist. She knows that form matters. Position matters. Poise matters. The time, the right time, does not always come to those who simply wait. Sometimes, one must make the moment. That is a cornerstone of Fumiko's art. Her technique predicates that everything must be offered up for the art to be at its utmost.
That includes her very body.
Down comes the vaulting wrestler. He turns to a mighty punch. And Fumiko meets that punch. She doesn't take it in a flat-footed, uneducated way. She knows he is trying to stay close, to keep within her arm, and not her blade. But Fumiko is willing to resist as water when Sven crashes into her. She is struck, but she twists with the force to angle herself in just the right way.
The cut is quick, sharp, waist high and done with a sweeping through step. The shorter blade, her wakizashi, used in this close, quick dance of opening feeling and positioning.
COMBATSYS: Fumiko successfully hits Sven with Positioned Strike.
- Power hit! -
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Sven 1/------=/=======|>>>>>--\-------\0 Fumiko
Sven's own art was ultimately crude. Brutish. Past the flourish and the flair, he was simply a tall beefcake of a wrestler in a wolfman mask. Slamming hard into Fumiko, he doesn't even seem to initially recognize the girl... standing and deliver, so to speak. He was evening his stance, stepping back when there is a flash.
And barely even registers his cut, even as it tears up his naked chest.
Sven halts, as he realizes something's wrong. It's first very warm, and very cold. Peering through the mask, he could... see the red. The cut itself wasn't even registered; he was turning away from it, yes? No, he was bringing his arm up, slowly, trying to catch the blade that was already gone and done. It was a cut. It was a weapon. It was much deeper than it should be. A flicker of terror flashes under his mask. How -deep- did she cut, so fast? Sven doesn't show how he reacts behind the mask. It was concealed. But as his body tenses up, it foreshadows the reaction to the swift cut.
Consuming rage overtakes Sven as spittle boils up under the mask. In close quarters, he refuses the break away, refuses to tear back as he howls in fury. Overwhelming himself, overburning himself, the wrestler almost jolts as he jerks at Fumiko. Dipping low, he snaps both of his hands right for her legs. The knees. Should he grip her knees? He would pivot, attempt to -hurl- her straight into the candles, to send her smashing into them with reckless anger. He talked about not desecrating, he didn't- he didn't feel right. He wouldn't feel right after this. But hot Viking rage had overtaken him. He would regret this all later. But now?
COMBATSYS: Fumiko fails to interrupt Power Throw from Sven with Flashing Blade EX.
- Power fail! -
! VENGEANCE !
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Sven 1/-----==/=======|=======\-------\1 Fumiko
A raging beast. A flood of might and muscle. There was something impressive of the way the man moves. The way he powers through. But she'll be ready. She can focus. She's gotten the position. It's just a matter of following through.
A flash of the blade. The air and air alone caught. For his size and strength, the man had speed and he was not so ignorant to stay in the path of a blade.
Fumiko spins through the air, barreling wildly into the candles. The tall stems clatter, the wax crashing to the ground. Most go out by the force of being knocked over. Little around them able to catch any fire with the speed they're knocked around. The lights winking out, changing th shadow's dance.
Among the fallen light, Fumiko returns to her feet. Shaken, put off, uncertain for a moment, but recovering. She is hurt, battered, but she has not lost yet. She merely needs to reaffirm her positioning in this combat.
Hand at the ready, she looks to her howling opponent. And she smiles.
At least she's smiling.
The thought is a cold comfort as Sven's rage fades, and he realizes what was done. He couldn't break character though. Even has he brings a hand to his chest, to touch the blood, he draw it away to clench a fist. Sven staggers over to the girl, now clearly being careful not to step on the candles. With almost delicate feetwork, he was picking through them. Careful. Cautious. "You think that's enough strength for you? Or do you need MORE?!" He snarls, as he draws back that bloodied fist.
And he leads in with a punch to the head.
Whether the punch connects or not, it was a lead in to a pivot. Sven would bring his other hand around to try and grab Fumiko by her forearm. There, he would need a grip. Should he nab her, he would take a hand to her shoulder, and pivot again. This time, attempting to throw her back to the center of the temple. This time, he would give her more control on the landing; this was a repositioning more than a full on outrage. He wasn't being lenient, though.
Just setting up for something worse.
COMBATSYS: Fumiko blocks Sven's Combo Throw.
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Sven 1/----===/=======|=======\=------\1 Fumiko
Take the throw, use it to position. She isn't talking now, her focus is on her opponent and his rage. She positions, she's gripped, she rolled toward the center of the temple. She takes the hit, using the moment to turn herself over her shoulder and rolling back to her feet.
Sneakers squeak on the floor, Fumiko stands half crouched, ready, hair straying from its tailed tie. She was repositioned, but she takes this time to cool and collect herself. It's not the time for going off without concern.
But with that cool detachment does come a wrathful charge. A wide slice, spinning, covering the range around her. Heavy and wide and meant to scythe whatever might get in her way. The blade already back into its sheathe with a click before it seems the motion of its wielder has finished.
COMBATSYS: Sven fails to interrupt Bamboo Splitter from Fumiko with Wolfensteiner ES.
- Power fail! -
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Sven 1/-======/=======|=======\==-----\1 Fumiko
Positioning in unison.
As she takes the hit, he gives the pivot. She holds full control of the throw, and that was when he chased after her. As the squeak comes, he was a rampaging train, charging at her. When he got close enough, he begins to flip forward, his thighs apart, ready to snap his legs around Fumiko throat.
And that's when that flash of motion comes.
Sven once again fails to register what exactly was connecting. As he flips forward, his momentum shifts, falling short of anywhere near Fumiko. Collapsing on the ground, the best his instincts can muster is pain, wincing. He grips his abdomen, and feels the long, deep wound across it. Another slice, penetrating faster than he could see, faster than he could feel. He is much slower to recover this time. But the man's body was turning red. Choked rage rattled in his throat, as he forces into a rise, gripping his gut.
The temper was rising once more.
Position. Strike. Ready the moment. Position. Strike. The demonstrations, the artform, the flow of combat. All coming to a head to still the waters of Fumiko's mind. Seeing the great man ahead of her, fighting her and fighting his rage, is a peering into a mirror of the soul.
It equal parts hurts and relieves to see the struggle he seems to go through, to see the fury in him. It reminds her of everything she can be, every flaw of her own. And it is a wave of relief in some respects, but a terrible reminder that she is who she is and she must confront that rage and the source of it.
Her eyes close as she thinks of the lost. Not for what took them, that's what caused her troubling behavior against Aranha, but for what they were before they were taken. And she smiles.
She doesn't press her advantage. It is not the time to press the advantage. Rather, it is time to wait for the proper moment. To cool heads and to open eyes and to focus on the here and now. It is coming to the point of do or die and Fumiko Abe must make her art known for the beauty that it is.
Still as the candlesticks still standing in the temple. Fluid as the wind. Her fingertips flit and hang ready over the hilt of her blade. Her eyes look elsewhere, but her body is in the moment.
COMBATSYS: Fumiko enters a meditative state.
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Sven 1/-======/=======|=======\====---\1 Fumiko
Sven wanted to get back in a clinch.
Standing up, he was almost waiting to be attacked. When Fumiko gives him respite, however? That seems to only incite him into more anger. Sven paces back and forth, breathing hard. His teeth was gritted under it. The candles were still. But Sven wasn't. If she wasn't going to come at him? Then what would he do? The Swede decides.
And he begins to pound his chest.
Hammering the wounds, turning a brighter shade of crimson. "The warwolf will not be stopped here. You can't cut him down! AROO! AROO! AROOOOOO!" Was the frantic shouting, as he builds himself into a greater and greater frenzy. In the face of stoic serenity, Sven was providing his own reckless abandon, his wild presence running bedlam. It was clear he was exhausting himself with the display. THe question was... was it just to work himself up?
Or was it pouring out his own frustrations?
In any case, as she waits for the next attack, it eventually comes. Sven's body was now covered in stinging sweat, the wrestler gasping and breathing hard as he charges at Fumiko. Nearly tumbling to the ground from the fall. he manages to ease himself back up in order to hurl out a frantic boot at Fumiko's center. Everything he did was slow and reckless now, he was desperate to get some pain on Fumiko, some revenge. But he was burning himself out early. Foolish. Reckless.
But still throwing a kick straight into Fumiko.
COMBATSYS: Fumiko endures Sven's Light Kick.
! VENGEANCE !
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Sven 1/-======/=======|=======\======-\1 Fumiko
The moment has come. He charges for her. She steps into it. The boot was strong, his anger was pure. But she was expecting it and she baited it. An exhalation when he connects, the jolting pain brings Fumiko's eyes back into focus. And now, now that the man had moved himself so close, did she unleash her all.
The first draw steps past, virtually through Sven, the blade singing with the long stride. The second blade drawn while Fumiko's back is still to Sven. And then comes a tempest of blows, left and right, cross and vertical. A whirlwind of deadly strikes that ends with Fumiko sheathing her blades and waiting for the world to catch up with her fury.
COMBATSYS: Sven blocks Fumiko's Under A Setting Sun ES.
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Sven 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|====---\-------\0 Fumiko
Precision, vs volume.
Rage was rage, whether given with surgical focus or rampaging wanton violence. As Sven hurtles in his wild kick, he steadies himself. And he only has the split second, as she flashes. Sven imagines the slice going all the way through his body and... and he doesn't. He wouldn't. With a surge of strength, he slams his arms into the first pass. Pivoting towards the woman at his other side... he realizes what's happening, as the whirlwind of slices comes. And only with his arms up, is he able to... turn his forearms, shoulders, and face into a cheese grater special. Pieces of the cheap latex mask rip away as Fumiko waits for the response. Sven is stunned, and covered with the aftermath of what is effectively a thousand cuts. Everything hurt. But he wasn't dazed now. No, he wasn't allowing himself to be. Fumiko was waiting for the world to catch up.
And Sven's the first one to meet her when it does.
The wrestler snarls as he flings a bloodied right at her with a wild punch. Blood oozes from his limbs, his chin bearing a nick itself. Bloodied, bloodied, bloodied. A second chop comes with the left, as he gives short, rather crude blows alternating left and right. A second chop comes with the right as he flings out a finishing uppercut with the left. Should he manage to get her off-balanced enough, he would go for the knees once more. And there, he would lift her up, and begin to circle, round and round, building momentum for a giant swing. To send her hurtling... away from the candles.
But towards the entranceway of the temple itself.
This isn't Soul Calibur there are no ring outs.
COMBATSYS: Fumiko blocks Sven's Wolf Blitzer ES.
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Sven 1/-------/<<<<<<<|=======\-------\0 Fumiko
There is power in rage. Both Fumiko and Sven are born to it. They may channel it in different ways, both source it in different manners, but both use it to their own. Each cut, slice, barely restrained furious slash is a paean to the control Fumiko has over her rage and her grief. Every failure and sobbing break a lamentation to the weakness of her pride and guilt. This battle is one to remember. One to note. Come win or lose, Fumiko must remember this combat as one with someone much more like her than appearances may suggest.
A wild punch from a man of Sven's size and build is still a dangerous weapon. The blows rain like terrible cudgels. Left and right, strikes and clubs and each one Fumiko takes thumping away at her body. She leans right, left, against each of the strikes. The scabbard, with its floral design, cracks loudly against each blow that Fumiko deflects from taking the full brunt. The take down is unexpected, but Fumiko soars and rolls, her hakama pools out under her as she slides along the ground, righting herself to a low, kneeling crouch.
From her position, she breathes deeply. She gauges. Considers. Her hand goes for her blades. She hurls herself forward, toward Sven with all she has to give. Two blades drawn as one, slicing like a wave from right to left with a mighty, air splitting cry from the swordswoman's deeper sorrows.
COMBATSYS: Sven dodges Fumiko's Goryo's Wrath.
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Sven 1/-------/<<<<<<<|=------\-------\0 Fumiko
There was no sympathy for sorrows in a tournament.
Only the nature of warriors.
Sven Masters's relentless assault comes to an end, as he goes for the throw. As he tosses her away, the swordswoman is able to adjust; the hectic throwing wasn't the cure all. But the momentum was build on him, already, as she crouches, Sven throws his head back for a howl. "AROOO! AROOOO!" The cry rattles through the temple, as she charges forward. And Sven leaps backwards, backflipping as she lunges. Flying clear of the attack, he gives her the chance to recover as he lands on the wall. Roaring with a hoarse cry.
"THE NIGHT OF THE WARWOLF HAS BEGUN!"
That was the cry, as Sven vaults off the wall. Soaring back at Fumiko, he spirals as he unleashes a full-force body slam at Fumiko, aiming to rebound straight off her. To bounce straight back, to keep his momentum going. Both were in maximum strength now, maximum speed, maximum power.
All that was left was victory, and defeat.
COMBATSYS: Fumiko interrupts Three Wolf Moonsault ES from Sven with Second Blade Strike EX.
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Sven 0/-------/---====|=====--\-------\0 Fumiko
Everything is presented to the world to witness. But in the moment, the only opinions that matter are between the two warriors in the contest. Sven is a relentless fury. A force of nature that powers onward as an avalanche. A torrent for power and strength that batters and roars in a bestial manner befitting the mask he wears to show his truth.
"The night is dark, but the moon is clear in the sky," Fumiko says, her lips quirking into a smile as the moment of truth arrives. And the swordswoman rises to meet the wolf.
The first cut is slow and angled far back. A long and terrible slice. Fumiko bending with it like a reed in the wind. It's the second slash, from the smaller sword, that comes for the weight of the blow. And it's this second cut that ripples against the force of the bouncing man's brawny bulk.
Bone rattling, to say the least, but in the heat of the moment, as the two burn out their reserves with everything they have. Which one will be the last to keep on their feet? Which one shall stand the victor?
Speed meets power, in daring timing.
As he slams hard into Fumiko, the cut stops the momentum cold. The respond is half-executed, as he is sliced back. Landing hard on his back, he groans as he grips his leg. A new slice in the abdomen is just another cut. But the one of his leg... that's going to be a problem.
But Sven refuses to slow down.
Bloodied, bleeding, lacerated at the worst, he forces himself back up. He forces himself into a stand. "AROO! AROO! AROO!!!!" He chants, huffing howls keeping himself up on his feet. He was exhausted, he could barely stand.
And yet, he wouldn't let himself fall.
Sven hurls himself at Fumiko, attempting to seize her by her arms. Enough to keep those blades from lashing out. And all he would do is turn her around... aNd there, he would slip his arm around under her chin. It would be a simple... triangle choke. Shit. He was going to try and choke Fumiko out. Slowly let her slip downwards, as he squeezes.... he was going for the KO. Bloody. Sweaty.
And steadily beginning to fall apart from sheer exhaustion.
COMBATSYS: Fumiko dodges Sven's Choke Hold.
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Sven 0/-------/---====|=====--\-------\0 Fumiko
Strike, cut, move. The heavyweight wrestler is proving sturdy. Terribly so. Fascinatingly so. He has stopped using words. Simply crying out as a beast. Forcing himself onward with a warrior's resolve that brings a joy to Fumiko.
She wonders if Kenji fought like this. Fought with every bit of his all until he was overrun by a Darkstalker invasion. She wonders if she should just allow the man to connect, to take her down, to prove to her that in no way could she have changed the field of battle that day. To take away her sorrows and guilt.
The thought it fleeting. Pride wins. Pride keeps her head above the bleakness that harrows her. The rage will be her survival.
But the rage might yet prove Sven's failing. When he reaches for her, she bends like reeds, twisting around and repositioning past the wrestler. Her hand goes for her blade and she considers. She doesn't have much before she'll need to recover. She could throw everything into one last ditch effort. But no. She has to consider and conserve. She slides to strike, a simple blow. A measured slash from her blade across the torso. Almost a student's strike in its simplicity. But one hoped to do what needs be done.
COMBATSYS: Fumiko successfully hits Sven with Medium Strike.
[ \\\ < > /////////// ]
Sven 1/-------/=======|=====--\-------\0 Fumiko
And with that, a single swipe.
As Sven's fails to get his grip, fail to get his chokehold off, he is greeted by a single, swift cut. It is just slow enough, for Sven to recognize it. It is just slow enough that he feels it when it tears across his bones, his rib. But it is not slow enough for the wrestler to twist away. Something seems to slip from the wrestler, as the Swede stumbles. Staggering parallel to Fumiko, there is a pause, a silence. The mark has been made.
The last vestiges of true, viking fury was still roaring as he gives a throatless howl. "arooooo" it comes, low and guttural. But it comes as he turns back at Fumiko, eyes burning, as he slams his arm hard at Fumiko. It was a lariat, or a hammerblow, or -something- in the face, to stun her. And without even confirming the stun, the avalanche continues; Sven Maesters front flips forward, hurling out his legs to snatch them around Fumiko's throat.
It only mattered if it snapped his murderous thighs around her.
COMBATSYS: Sven can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ <
COMBATSYS: Fumiko blocks Sven's Wolfensteiner 3D.
[ \\\\\\\\ <
It comes short.
Sven doesn't understand; as he collapses on the floor. Face down, he lays there, bleeding. He struggles to rise. But the berserker rage was finished. The adrenaline has washed out. He gives a single pound of his fist, as he gasps in anguish. Anger, anger boils off him, as he tries to claw after Fumiko. Reaching for her, grasping for her. And yet, it only hastens his collapse. It might be easy to miss what's on his hand, before he collapses facedown.
A simple thumbs up.
Click. The blade is sheathed. The strike has hit its target. Fumiko can feel the boiling fury built up inside of her. The focused fury so intense it burns cold. What has carried her through the fight leaves her, exhausts her. And in the final, she sags with her hair falling loose and covering her eyes.
But there is still one more moment of glory in the viking. A rushing lariat. Fumiko is tired, she's spent from her ferocity. The blow coming, a flesh freight train. Fumiko has but the shortest of moments to react. Or to fall.
Crack! The arm meets the sheath, held up like a shield. The force rattles through Fumiko and is enough to carry her off the ground and back a short distance. She lands, shoes squeaking, bumping against a candlestick.
The candlestick wobbles behind her, back and forth, back and forth. Fumiko stands still as can be, eyes distant and bright. But her opponent falls and her opponent signals to her. And the world rushes back into Fumiko's mind.
The weight lifts, the breath comes. Fumiko releases the tension in her body. She smiles. It is done.
COMBATSYS: Fumiko has ended the fight here.
Log created on 11:11:36 09/11/2018 by Sven, and last modified on 17:40:58 09/13/2018.