Description: Grant comes to test Duke. In a strip club. Alan gets mugged.
The Hairy Palm. This name can mean many things, but in this case it's a bottom-tier skin joint. Squeezed between a liquor store with better security then most banks in the area, and an adult film store. Music far too loud blares past the heavy door and black-painted window, long faded decals claiming the girls are 'top quality'. If they have degraded as much as the announcements, it's probably not going to be good. However, many prominent criminals use it as a place of meeting in Metro City, given that the eye of Haggar and others tends to be broad. And within one of the back rooms, receiving a dance that looks more like a muscle spasm from 'Boobie Jane', is Duke. It is likely only etiquette, or boredom, that he bothered to linger when the rest of the posse left. She likely looks far better with those clothing on then were she to dare to take him off, and any money in her waistband is mostly likely a bribe to cut it short.
But Grant is here for business. He is here to make an impression; Duke is an agent of Geese Howard who Kain said hated him. As such, his use to his long time ally is significant. And a simple thug like Duke will respect only one thing. Force. The Martyr of Might did not care for the place his informant pointed out, but semantics are irrelevant. Within the crowded room, housing only a chair and a tiny box with a pole sticking out, a wall of meat erupts forth.
Bricks shatter inwards, as well as dust. The filtered music into the ceiling speaker shorts, beginning to repeat 'Oh baby,-Oh baby,-Oh baby,' ad infinitum. And in a swirl of tassels Boobie Jane bolts for the door, intending to slam it behind with a high squeal. Looming in his makeshift entryway is the crimson masked figure, alley visible behind. The blue cloak pools around his frame, staring towards Duke rather brazenly.
"You are Geese's rising enforcer known as Duke...?" is inquired, with the authorative tone of someone fully aware that this is the case. "I am an associate of Kain. ...You may call me the Martyr of Might." Why he just popped through a strip club wall is probably a good question.
Alan R. B. cameos in the background, crackling with electricity, drinking hard liquor, and being slapped by every single girl he opens his mouth to. It never seems to take.
Not his typical place to do business, to be sure, the Hairy Palm still offers one thing that a man such as Duke can appreciate; a semblence of cover from the All-Seeing Eye of Mike Haggar. Whether or not it's simply coincidence, the Hairy Palm does not see as much police activity as its sister club 'The Troll's Lap,' presiding across the river, making it the ideal location to conduct any worthwhile business that is... -less- than legal. With the far less dubious Troll's Lap soaking up all the authoritative attention, it leaves Duke to take care of less than savory business at its lower class companion club. Smoke fills the Hairy Palm at an almost consistent basis, and the smell of smoke, booze, and what can only be vomit lingers in the air far longer than necessary. But, love it or hate it (and Duke most certainly -hates- it here and, in small part, wishes that he was at the Troll's Lap) the Hairy Palm is ideal for what Duke needs --
-- no matter how much he may despise the location.
And he does.
Business concludes the same as always; the Syndicate lieutenant has only made his presence known here today to reassert his authority over those lesser gangs which he has begun to subsequently absorb into his ranks. To let them know who to respect. Who to fear. His companions, a group of men in clothes far too loose and pants that fall down well below their waist to artfully display their boxers, have begun to leave. The dark-skinned man, however, lingers; for whatever reason, Duke stays in the cheap strip club, only half-watching as the dancer seems to be dry heaving on stage rather than dancing. He holds a glass of scotch, not drinking from it, but simply staring in silence at the dirtied glass. He furrows his eyebrows, and frowns distastefully. "Worthless garba--"
It's a thought he never quite gets to finish. With an explosive rain of brick and plaster, Duke's words are completely drowned out by the force of -something- completely decimating the nearby wall. While 'Boobie Jane' makes a run for it... Duke does not do so much as move. His eyes snap wide in momentary surprise at the sudden, unorthodox entry to the club, before that dark gaze narrows at the sight of the man before him. Large. Crimson mask. Hasn't he seen someone like this before...? In the World Warrior tournament, a man named--
"The Martyr of Might, huh? I've seen you before." Relatively speaking. It's hard to not be known when entering such a public event like -World Warrior-, after all. "So, you work with Kain...?" Slowly, Duke gets to his feet, dusting off his coat. This can either be good news, or horrible news. He hopes for the former, but -- it never hurts to be prepared. "Then you know exactly who I am. So...
"... why are you -here-, 'Martyr of Might'?"
"Forgive me for not being more subtle. But I do not think a hole in the wall will affect the resale opportunities of such an establishment." Grant is getting as close to true humor as possible for the jaded and stoic man, but it's also very much the truth. He doesn't care, and even if this is one of the best hangouts -- where attention like world renowned World Warrior contenders erupting in would be unwanted -- it's unlikely Duke himself even cares.
"I have heard you care little for Geese Howard. ...If you wish to undermine his organization, I can offer you my aide. There is no need for compensation. There is no need for allegiance. There is no need for anything..." Grant flips aside his great blue cape suddenly, exposing his rather impressive physique in the smooth motion. Huge feet slide across the rubble, and both forearms cross before his chest. Each breath swells him, coming out slow and trembling, as if that simple act is barely accomplished with ease. White hair furls as unseen chi brims, fists flexing then relaxing. "...Other then for you to prove to me you are worth the investment. Do you believe you can manage?"
Grant then falls silent, green eyes staring, challenging, /expectant/, at the other man. It's a simple demand. Kain has tested him, but Abel has not. And for Duke, this is a fighter who shattered Sagat, meaning he is miles from bottom tier. ...It will not be a surprise if the Southsynd enforcer makes his acceptance thoroughly -- violent.
They'll likely benefit from the attention," is Duke's response. It's true enough; having someone brutally attack and destroy walls of your club without even caring, especially someone renowned as Grant, will likely be a boon for business for the low-class Palm. This will likely not be good for -other-, less legal business, but Duke seems not to mind or even care. In fact, this is a fine turn of events for him. He didn't like this place much to begin with.
Their drinks are horrid.
What he does care for, is what Grant has to say. He knows well enough about Kain's vendetta against Geese; perhaps not the why, but that doesn't matter to a man like him. It, however, means that men like Grant -- individuals who detest Geese -- will eventually come to seek him out. To offer their help. And, of course... to test him. It's not a shocking affair for Duke. Already the man known as Hell's Executioner has had the exquisite opportunity to taste Kain's flames, and then be brutally beaten by Rugal Bernstein. Both ended in opportunities to grasp. So, looking up calmly to the Martyr's intimidating posture, he smirks wryly.
"... hmph. You want to test me, huh?" As Duke speaks, he shifts slowly, his right hand lifting to drag fingertips along the scar that drags over his neck. A calm, cold smile twists across his lips. "Fine then. I'll show you..." And without much further talk, Duke pushes off his right leg. He flings himself through the air, intent on snapping his right leg into the side of the other man's masked head. Quick, simple -- and probing the Martyr's defenses. "... just how much I'm worth! HRAAARGH!!"
COMBATSYS: Duke has started a fight here.
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Duke 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Grant has joined the fight here.
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Duke 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Grant
COMBATSYS: Duke successfully hits Grant with Light Kick.
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Duke 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Grant
"..." Grant does not clarify further, for he doesn't need to. He can sense the burning violence within the other man's soul, realizing simply that he is a man of rage and violence. As if Jiro were not inept, and capable of making something from that talent beyond a fool of himself. The lunge forward already shows that for all of the lack of refinement, Duke is by no means a meager opponent. A lunge backwards is too slow, cracking against the side of that great face. But it might feel as if doing such to the bricks adjacent would of given better hill, for he's scantly staggered in the slightest. He does adjust his stance, slowly turning back his head while cracking it to the side. "We shall see how you measure."
He then slithers forward, entire body flowing. It is almost beautiful at the onset, how each muscle clenches in tandem, building up a momentum from the balls of his feet. It is amplified as it travels through his chest, and as the massive man flows forward, the overhead fist, angled slightly down, is traveling at tremendous speed. And with force that few alive can truly stem, trying to shatter through Duke and send him flying backwards, at the wall within the constrained space. Simple, and the mastery of his form likely lost to Duke, but far more then sufficient were it to land undefended.
COMBATSYS: Grant successfully hits Duke with Fierce Punch.
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Duke 0/-------/-======|==-----\-------\0 Grant
It's pretty clear from a single strike that this is going to be something of an uphill battle; and perhaps an effectively quick and brutal one, at that. Duke finds his sudden, sweeping kick largely ineffective against a man so large and bulky; just as he might have thought. And though Duke's self-made style might be 'unrefined,' he is by no means foolish. Physical attacks like that one will not get the man anywhere. He is going to have to try something different.
But, just as he is in the middle of these thoughts, he notices the sudden surge of motion. He has little time to consider just how brutally painful the next strike is going to be; instead of staying put to offer up a defense, Duke instead attempts to twist to the side, to avoid that singularly powerful fist. He's just a second too late, however; the punch rocks Duke's body SOLIDLY, flinging through the air like a ragdoll and crashing THROUGH that nearby wall with the crash and rain of rubble. There is silence, for a long moment--
--before Duke is suddenly leaping straight through that newly-made Duke-sized hole in the wall, rushing across the ground in a blur of black and scarlet as a single, dark hand snaps forward to grasp onto the other man's throat...
COMBATSYS: Grant interrupts Treadmill from Duke with Kyou Chou-Jin.
-* CRITICAL HIT! *-
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Duke 1/-======/=======|====---\-------\0 Grant
There's absolutely no response to the vicious assault, at least initially. Grant can see it, as clear as day. Every aspect of the advance. And as the seeking hand goes towards his throat, the Martyr of Might's open palm surges upwards. It strikes Duke within the face, with devastating force. So much so that any hope of even laying hands on the other fighter vanishes in an instant, raising him up into the air to blow out a significant chunk of ceiling in the same motion. And at the apex, stalling for just a moment, he allows the Southsynd enforcer to plummet a meter or two. Down comes a fist thereafter, pegging him in the middle of the back. "HRRGH!!" is roared, amplifying the descent to such a magnitude that the ground cracks underneath Duke, shuddering the very foundation of the building and creating a fair indented crator. Only then does he get up, slipping backwards and allowing his cape to close again. "...Is this the power of a man who wishes to take Geese's organization from him? I could never beat Howard. And I doubt your masterful planning sufficient to skip an inevitable meeting upon his tower." This is not goading. His tone not insultive. It is genuine wonder, which might make it all the more infuriating. Grant is... dismissive.
It's bad luck. There's really no other way to ratoinalize it. Duke is overpowered here, but the fact that it is done so effectively amounts to something he can't quite grasp. Only hit twice by Grant, he already feels like he is breaking apart -- though his companion Kain hit considerably harder for what seemed to be considerably less effort on his part. It's the fact that he has received so many solid beatings -- some considerably worse than this -- that allows Duke to shrug off most of the pain in the aftermath of such a titanic blow. soaring amidst chunks of debris before he lands with a meaty thud, in his own, personalized crater.
It's when Grant elects to speak that Duke finally gets back up, and stares at upwards at the man. Blood falls down his lip and stains his goatee, but the look he gives Grant isn't one of rage. Rather? It's incredulous. "You're making the mistake of thinking I'm coming after him now. Plans take time, patience, growth. Though if you can't grasp the first concept, then it may be beyond you..." Slowly, Hell's Executioner comes to a stand, wiping rubble off his jacket. His hands move forward just in front of him, and easily clasp together. "I'd be an idiot if I think I could take the Syndicate right now at my level of strength, wouldn't I?" He doesn't bother waiting for an answer to the question. It's rhetorical. "Besides..."
Just like that, Duke's hands lift. He raises them high into the air, before simply SLAMMING them into the crater he has made of the ground. Almost instantly, FIRE explodes outward from the point of impact, beelining a path straight to Grant -- to crash into him explosively and knock him backwards and away. "... we're not done here yet. GRAAAARGH!"
COMBATSYS: Grant dodges Duke's Sledgehammer.
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Duke 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 Grant
"It would be a long and careful process to supply you with the aid neccesary. You need the strength of mind and body to both survive this process, and when the time comes execute the brutal takeover. Do not patronize me for doubting those qualities, witnessing both your style and ability." All he does is remain where he stands, until both fists hit the ground, In a flash he's lunging up, clearing it completely. Assuming him to be slow by any measure is a mistake, and he reaches the apex of his jump, glaring downwards for just a moment. "If you believe yourself able to... and it is not delusions of grandeur..." Down he comes, right leg extended and suddenly bursting into hellish flame, boiling from his heel all the way to the hip. An eclipse of purple hellfire, intent on slamming into the man and furrowing a crater backwards, to end the fight in that single swoop. "THEN PROVE IT!!" Whether this will entail the end or not is questionable, but Grant no longer harbors any true believe that he is going to be capable of turning this around. Which means little. How he reacts to criticism and doubt -- his stability -- is truly what is being assessed. To be confident without overconfident... does he have that trait and intelligence?
COMBATSYS: Duke Toughs Out Grant's Messhou Hisetsu!
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Duke 1/-------/=======|======-\-------\0 Grant
There's no preemptive judgments -made- about Grant's style, of coruse. The fact that he leaps over that giant wall of flame is no more surprising than how hard the man can hit, regardless of how much effort he may have put into the doing -- the doing of any of this, for that matter. But as Grant speaks... Duke merely smiles, and stays where he is at the epicentre of that crater. "And do not make assumptions of my plans without knowing them. But if you want proof..." As Grant descends, Duke does not do so much as move. Most people would attempt some meager defense in the wake of the other man's swift, flowing movements. Instead...
... Duke stands still and accepts the full brunt of the blow.
To -prove- himself.
The sweeping kick encased in that hellish, violet flames would floor most normal people. In fact, it -should- by most rights send Duke slamming into the ground and simply put an end to this. Instead? Duke crashes downwards from the burning fire and physical might... but he -does not fall-. He stands his ground, that crater deepening further as, the moment that all the momentum has been sucked from Grant's assault... he surges forward, a single fist slicing forward in one, brutal haymaker. "...I'LL GIVE IT TO YOU."
COMBATSYS: Grant blocks Duke's Volcanic Bomb.
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Duke 0/-------/-------|=======\-------\1 Grant
...Impressive. The speed of this assault is phenomenal. Even to Grant's astute eyes and reflexes, the odds are anything but in his favor. Intimately close to the hellish opponent, a skip backwards barely allows him the room and time to interpose a forearm, catching Duke's fist. Muscle meets muscles, and in the struggle for dominance he breaks the chain before anything further can be unleashed, sliding away in another ripple of his grandiose cape. His arm throbs. Not many people can actually stem his strength, even for an instant. Let alone... well. The power is not in question. But there are explosions, and there are concentrated explosions. "Hrrmph. I will not pass my judgement so simply. I decided to test what effect words have on you. Were you shaky of your goal, or merely insane, or aspired recklessly, I would leave. ...That might not be the case. So here.
Grant's right foot stomps upon the ground beside, so hard it sinks an inch. Purple fire ignites, bright enough to hurt ones eyes. A rush of chi swirls around him, power pulsing through his veins.
"Is your true test..."
Forward Grant now slides, drawing up his heel.
"Majin...
Through sheer kinetic force, that impossible concentration of energy is formed into a razor's edge, slicing through the floor as if it were a hot knife through butter. And aiming to impact the other man within the chest, from hip to shoulder. The effect it might have is unknown... but the wall two meters behind slices completely through, blowing further out to damage even the main room of the Hairy Palm.
"ENGETSU-RIN!!"
COMBATSYS: Duke endures Grant's Majin Engetsu-Rin.
[ < > //////////////////// ]
Duke 1/----===/=======|-------\-------\0 Grant
Yet that single slash is not the end. Three more follow, each as vicious as the first, one slashing towards the other shoulder and hip, the second up the midsection to impact his face, and the final a whirlwind across his pectorals. After that seething, focused power dissipates, he rushes forward like a bull, forearms raised and belting into him with all the kinetic strength possible. To send Duke spiraling like a football through the shattered area behind, and probably to land upon the bar or one of the stripping stands. His foot stomps anew, the last vestiges of power diffusing away...
Now... this. Duke has never felt something quite as powerful as this. Despite the fact that his last blow was brought to a sudden, ground-shattering stop, he is not deterred. And while he is filled with rage, any astute person can tell -- it's a cold sort of rage kept perfectly contained within those dark brown eyes of his. Rage not for Grant, but just an all-consuming inferno of brutal fury that consumes Duke's entire being. It's not exactly what one would find in a natural person -- but Duke has not been -natural- for quite some time now. "If you want a test of my resolve, then, just look into my eyes, 'Martyr.' No matter how long it takes, no matter how many bodies I end up building a path with, no matter what I have to do..." Fire begins to crawl up Duke's arms, an aura of pure -heat- permeating through his being as his eyes, in stark contrast, level a cold stare on the other man's masked visage.
"... I am going to reach the top."
His resolve has been put to the test. And perhaps Grant may find it -reckless-, but Duke, in the wake of the other man's assault, simply does one thing -- runs into the first strike. The sheer force of the blow cuts and burns through Duke's jacket, carving a long gash across his chest which is almost instantly cauterized from the heat. And yet, he makes no exclamations of pain, nothing; his eyes stare, steadfast at Grant as fiery chi continues to swell across his person. More, though; a second slash, followed by two more, send Duke flying higher and higher, each cutting and burning before the CRASH to his chest sends him flying -- just in time to be crushed like an insect under Grant's titanic strength, FLYING into a nearby dancing pole. The pole snaps off, carried with Duke on his backwards fling... before he lands, soundly against the bar with a sickening CRACK and an explosion of wood and glass.
Silence. For a long, long moment, there is silence. Perhaps Grant killed the man who claimed to be unkillable. Perhaps...
"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!"
... But unlikely.
The loud cry serves as a herald for what comes next. Grant likely can't see it, but he'll be able to hear it: the sound of meaty fists STRIKING the ground over and over in a frenzied flurry of blows. And the second that sound starts, the entire ground of over half the club floor?
It explodes.
In an instant, the ground beneath Grant's feet blows OUTWARD in the way of a sudden, hellish EXPLOSION of flames, consuming everything in a potent firestorm that empties out every ounce of Duke's rage... with intent to take Grant into the heart of the storm in a brutal explosion of power.
COMBATSYS: Duke has reached second wind!
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Duke 0/-------/---====|-------\-------\0 Grant
COMBATSYS: Duke successfully hits Grant with Ground Zero.
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Duke 0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0 Grant
Nobody has ever gotten up from that move in Grant's life. Only a handful have ever taken it and even remained standing. He had seen the resolve in the man's eyes, and decided it the sort that is indeed capable of doing incredible damage. A man like him might be underestimated due to the initial views. The very ones Grant made. But beneath it all is ambition. Willpower. Both those facets combined might allow him to overcome most any obstacle, even if patience is questionable. His persistence is not. Significant enough is his surprise that the blow strikes him dead on, the first true impact offered thus far. He skids backwards, body flaming, and hits the wall behind. But he staggers forward, clothing badly singed.
"...Mayhaps you have greater capabilities then anticipated."
Grant then draws upon his power, crackling with deep purple lightning as he grits his teeth beneath the mask, feasting on the pain that might cripple others, It flashes up, licks at his body, curling over muscles that seem to grow harder, veins bulging so obscenely it is a wonder they do not pop. The club itself rattles, and the shattered surroundings groan in annoyance. There might not be a Hairy Palm after this. "Prepare yourself..." is finally growled. Apparently fully intent on settling this now. In one final blow, if such can be managed.
COMBATSYS: Grant gathers his will.
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Duke 0/-------/---====|=======\-------\1 Grant
Perhaps Duke's claims about being 'immortal' have more basis to them than one would think. Being struck so hard, with so many bruises, burns, and long, cauterized cuts across his body, Duke still stands in the aftermath of that fiery storm he conjured up in response to the other man's assault. He is bruised and battered, but he is -standing- quite securely, slowly walking past the shattered counter he was just recently introduced to. His eyes still burn with that cold rage, that firm resolve and unkillable ambition. Glass and rock crunch beneath the man's feet as he stares forward at the Martyr, taking him into consideration with that dark gaze. "... You think so, huh?" Greater capabilities. It seems that Duke has at least proven one point here today.
"Hmph. Let's see what you've got."
Duke doesn't move as soon as he is within several feet of Grant. He feels that aura that swells around the Martyr. Unfortunately... though he managed to take that beating and actually -get up-, an impressive feat in and of itself, Duke is still battered. Rather than hesitate to confront, Duke takes this moment to prepare -- just as Grant instructed -- dipping low into a fighting stance, and running a hand slowly across his scarred neck.
"Come on."
COMBATSYS: Duke gains composure.
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Duke 0/-------/----===|=======\-------\1 Grant
Immortal, certainly not. Resilient? Not particularly. It is his mind that overrides the wounds of his body, and little more. This is no longer the one-sided battle anticipated, but it will require far more to actually defeat Grant. He was struck down once, but even after that crippling blow and his own recovery, he has yet to win. There's no need for further words, merely another incredibly fast dart, sliding a naked foot across the churned ground and then unleashing a lightning fast strike, aiming to hit Duke within the stomach and double him over that great fist. There's a grunt as it would hopefully impact, and a condensed crack of kinetic force that might send the other man staggering backwards. Were Duke to know styles, it's very reminiscent to karate; Only with explosive chi manifestations, a penchant for aerial lunges, and a lot more pain then any other practitioner of even the basest type in the world.
COMBATSYS: Duke endures Grant's Medium Punch.
[ \\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Duke 0/-------/=======|=======\=------\1 Grant
Perhaps not resilient to Grant, but who can claim to that? Maybe a small handful of people. There's no excuses to be made; Duke gets up after such a tremendous blow and, while haggard, certainly is not floored and dying. No broken bones, no ripped off limbs. He still stands up perfectly against the oncoming onslaught. As Grant surges forward, Duke elects not to move -- he could, and he could likely muster a defense against the other man, but what would that prove? Instead, he takes the blow head on once more, shooting backwards. The similarity to the forms of karate are something he may ponder over later; he's not a stupid man, after all. But still, as he goes flinging back--
--Duke lifts a single foot into the air, and SLAMS down without a single ounce of hesitation. That strike is more than enough to cause enough friction to bring his backwards momentum to a halt, and he strikes with such speed and fury that the ground literally shakes beneath himself and Grant, seeking to unsettle the footing of the larger man before a circular -blaze- of fire springs forth, intent on slamming int Grant and EXPLODING in a rather painful manner. "HAAARGH!!"
COMBATSYS: Grant endures Duke's Seismic Impact.
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Duke 0/-------/----===|=======\===----\1 Grant
The blast hits Grant. Grant does not react. He does not fall. He merely barrels through the flames, whirling up with another grunt as his now smoldering cape bears the brunt of this abuse, aiming to strike out with his foot and bury it within Duke's stomach, trying to send him staggering backwards -- preferably with every ounce of wind knocked from his supple form. It happens in a snap, scarcely after the assault was even finished by the other man. This is obviously far from completely over in either direction, although the Martyr of Might has begun to pant lightly, bringing up his fists and cross them before his chest. Waiting to see whether that ends the fight. And waiting to see whether it shall herald the end of Duke in this particular fight...
COMBATSYS: Duke endures Grant's Light Kick.
[ \\ < > ////////// ]
Duke 0/-------/-======|=======\===----\1 Grant
When a person is coming at you -that fast-, there is usually only one sane reaction: attempt to get out of the way. This, however, is not what Duke ultimately decides to do. No; the man instead surges FORWARD, greeting the Martyr halfway in what may seem a crazy act. Yet there is no flicker of insanity in his eyes. Just that constrained fury as that foot lances out and digs into his stomach with unparalleled force for simple, physical might. His breath is forced from his body, blood coughed up in a splatter. And yet...
... he does -not- fall. Instead, he swings forward with a single fist, seeking to CRACK it across Grant's masked face with surprising might, to stun the man. The next comes low, a palm to the stomach to launch the entire mass of the Martyr straight into the air... before it is all finished off with a winding punch, SLAMMING into Grant's sternum to knock him through the air and -away- from the Southsynd enforcer.
COMBATSYS: Duke has reached third wind!
[ \\\ < > ////////// ]
Duke 0/-------/--=====|=======\===----\1 Grant
COMBATSYS: Grant fails to interrupt Crack Up from Duke with Majin Haten-Dan.
- Power fail! -
[ \\\ <
Duke 1/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: Grant can no longer fight.
[ \\\ <
Duke 1/-------/=======|
Impossible! Grant destroyed this man again. He's still standing?! And not about to fall, even with the lethargic deftness of this last assault? And thus, there is the showoff. That grand finale, as he snarls while unleashing a monumental upwards strike, aiming to peg his opponent within the chest as his leg starts to flare. But he's struck in the face heavily, completely knocking off his aim. The kick snaps into only air, and leaves him in an absolutely helpless position to the follow-up. He's sent flying backwards, crashing upon the ground and skidding the final distance, hitting the wall with a grunt. There is no immediate raise. Merely a deep grunt, as he rolls over and holds up a hand, too lethargic to endure any more. Were Duke to continue, it would involve Grant merely getting beaten to a more heavy degree, and he can tell he has lost. This is the moment where the disoriented fighter is straddled and punched in the face until the referee calls it, or someone's dead. "Enough." A few seconds later he gets to his feet, allowing his scorched cloak to fall back over his form. "Hah. Such raw willpower. I do not think I have ever encountered it before... Impressive. I struck you down once with ease, and twice with effort. ...It seems I reached my limit before you did." Grant has no reason to stay, grudgingly respecting now Duke's capabilities, on more levels then one. "I shall pass on my assessment to Kain. You might find your rise within Geese's ranks more convenient. He would not notice if your rivals for position were to suddenly die... the blame would be ours, not yours, would it not? We shall watch. Even if you may not see us." And in a final whisk of blue, the great figure leaves. Duke can worry about the damages and the one crushed stripper. What matters is nobody important was hurt.
If anyone wonders what happened to the cameoing Alan R. B., he caught some titanic blow somewhere, flew into the wall, and was knocked out immediately. It's OK, though, nobody important was hurt.
Raw, unrestrained willpower against the will and strength to sacrifice one's own well-being for power. The result is clear. However it happened, the fight has shifted -considerably- from what might have seemed like a one-sided encounter, and now? Duke stands tall -- albeit horrifically battered -- above the fallen Grant, panting and bleeding rather intensely from the mouth, but still seeming ready to continue the fight. Unlike any common brute or berserker, Duke does not leap after and begin to horrifically beat his downed opponent. In what is supposed to be a test, there is no point in that -- and Duke is not some common, psychotic thug. When Grant proclaims enough, Duke comes to a stop. And despite how much he wishes to slump down... he stands tall.
"So then..." He begins, in a panting breath, slowly gathering himself up, "... I'd guess I passed your test?" And so he has. Of course, the Syndicate lieutenant does not gloat, or condescend to the Martyr. The other man has a clear strength that surpasses Duke's own. Instead, the gangster rubs the back of his neck, considering Grant's words with little more than a calm smile. "... It is sad, but I certainly can't control what any crazed enemies of Geese do to his men." As Grant turns to leave, so too does Duke, taking a long look around him at the destruction.
"What a good day for business."
And then he steals Alan's wallet, because Duke is a dick.
COMBATSYS: Duke takes no action.
[ \\\ <
Duke 1/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: Duke has ended the fight here.
Alan has like 50 singles in that wallet - and nothing else?! He was not so foolish as to bring his Primary Wallet!
Grant comes back, and steals Alan's pants.
Log created on 19:55:16 07/20/2007 by Grant, and last modified on 23:19:55 07/20/2007.