Neo League 0120 - NL00120 Semi-Finals: Chet vs Fumiko

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Description: Chet continues his run by outlasting Cody in a tough fight that could have gone either way. He avenged one of his few losses this Neo-League season and inches closer to winning it all. In his way stands Fumiko. Fumiko was awarded the victory after careful consideration in a very tough match against Mitsuru and once again finds herself in the semi-finals. It is the first time these two face off and it is sure to be another wild and close battle. (Winner: Fumiko)

Osaka, Japan! Bright lights, big crowds for this, the first contest of the Semi-Final rounds in the Neo League Tournament brought to the world by Antonov. The garish billboards and even more garish public are out in force at the famed "Catcaller's bridge", the wide footbridge serving as a the spot du jour for this part of the tournament. Cameras are set up, people are bypassed, the crew has everything orderly and clean for the competitors. And the well-heeled and desperate to look well-heeled are packing in to see just who will be going for the gold after tonight!

It was not meant to be this way. It could have been Mitsuru. It could have been the girl that showed promise despite her terrible lack of confidence. The violent potential given a chance to step up into the spotlight and see what it meant to represent. But that was not the case, and now once more Fumiko Abe finds herself the remaining Japanese competitor, and only there as a result of judges' decision.

Cold bile ran through Fumiko Abe's veins. She knelt, ignoring the crowd around her, the cameraman filming her, and the stage manager goading her. She wanted to center before she fought this man. She exhales, her eyes open and she stands. Affixing her blades to her hip, she looks forward. Tightening the straps on her wrist support gloves, she steps forward. Tying back her hair, she focuses forward.

Her name is called, the crowd cheers the somewhat local girl. The artist. The fighter. But she feels nothing here. She has an opponent. She has a fellow combatant. Her bow is polite, and she finds it within her a desire to see what art her opponent practices. But the rage of Fumiko Abe burns cold in the bright light of day.

COMBATSYS: Fumiko has started a fight here.

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Fumiko           0/-------/------=|

Chet was closed. So close. The Illuminati had many fingers wearing the goldest rings of glittering purple and sparkling green, and the Neo League fighting tournament was just another tempting prize. If Chet could win the championship, he would win the rights to the tournament for another season, for devilish ends decided by his master, Gil. Gil's brother, Urien, would surely know just what to do with the global brand. Chet was just a lone intelligence operative trapped in the criminal networks of the world, cast out by the Central Intelligence Agency and brought in by the conspiracy of powerful banking cartels that represented Gil's quest for Godhood. To be a God was to be immortal. What that meant, Chet didn't know, but Chet suspected.

Chet suspected Gil sought his graven image, imprinted into the souls of every man and woman, and particularly every child.

Chet stood across from Fumiko, wearing his unusual clothing. A cashmere sweater, a longcoat down to the thigh, dancer's slackers, and a pair of thin rubber-soled plastic shoes. The wind buffeted past him, his long honey-white locks flashing around his head. Fumiko's file was blank. They had observed her fighting before, but in small clips and samples. She was a swordswoman, meaning that Chet would have to fight with lunging blows and clever locks past long zones of danger. This was going to be a strenuous fight.

Chet had been trained in Kung Fu from birth, and later Camp Perry, better known as "The Farm", a training area for various civilian, military, and paramilitary employees of the United States government. His hands languidly moved up as his feet slid into a ready position, his hands loose and his wrists ready for snapping action into position, fingers articulate and the true, manacle grip hidden inside his fingertips hidden with the apparent softness of his falsely feminine fighting countenance. Chet was a strangler, a gouger, and a cheap shot artist, with fast kicks and ruthless motions trained by decades of practice katas.

"Fumiko, it is a pleasure. I am Chet, the one that is sought. I will enjoy seeing how you fight."

A fight to Chet was not a test of skill or a spiritual experience, but a trinket puzzle to toy with. Blood was merely the palm holding the toy.

COMBATSYS: Chet has joined the fight here.

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Fumiko           0/-------/------<|-------\-------\0             Chet

Fumiko Abe would be more widely known as Fumiko Sato, at least in art and culture circles. She has long demonstrated the art of swordsmanship, as well as the more traditional mediums she is known for, but only recently has she burned into the fighting scene under her original name. A third place showing, eliminated only by the eventual victor, was significant in a tournament where none of the others at her level returned to participate. But the money would go far, and she had a great deal of need to prove herself either a failure or worth her own pride.

The American she doesn't have much concern for. Another foreigner to her. If he were as interesting as the pure destruction of Mike Bison, or the skill and politeness of Bob Richards, it would be something else. But the man would have to prove himself.

"I promise to show you respect as an opponent in putting my all into this effort," she bids to Chet. And then, with a burst, she is off. A darting step, a cut to the side, a quick feint and a darting slash for the center of Chet's mass. Stepping through, aiming to wound, to put off position, to place herself somewhere better to capitalize on her movement over the American.

COMBATSYS: Chet blocks Fumiko's Positioned Strike.

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Fumiko           0/-------/-----<<|=------\-------\0             Chet

Chet's lips curl into a puckish smile at the response, intuiting her emotionless style. That means he's going to have to calculate her as a mathematical quotient, not a manipulated machine. A rare woman indeed.

Chet leans back on his heel at the darting step and extends his fingers to open his hands at the sidestep, before the feint draws a raise of his arm in caution and the slash draws his arm down from the elbow to mitigate the slash. It cuts along his arm and under his shoulder, rather than slash across his pectorals and severe his torso's power.

Gritting his teeth as blood splashes outwards, he steps backwards to allow the blade to swing outwards on the eventual course away from him with its inertia, before he swings about with his opposite fist and thrusts it inwards with a rapid punch to the sternum, aiming just below the line of her bosom and above her zyphoid process. He knows that this position is the most heavily defended by a skilled martial artist, hence his attempt to force the defense lower than his intended target. Against a swordswoman, that means he will push her attention lower and draw the blade into a better position of study as it relates to her defenses and his continued attempts at discerning her fighting trigonometry.

COMBATSYS: Fumiko fails to interrupt Fist Pivot Adjust ES from Chet with Flashing Blade EX.

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Fumiko           0/-------/---<<<<|==-----\-------\0             Chet

Underestimation strikes again. Presumptions of this American. Presumptions against his skill or style. Overconfidence in skill, her own. Both drag her down when Fumiko attempts to slash her way past her opponent's offence. She's struck hard. A breath jolting blast to her chest. She huffs, stumbles back, staggering and heaving for a gulp of air.

Sparks of rage bubble up inside of her. She shakes her head to regain her footing. It would require smarter positioning going forward. But, she promises herself, she would make similar mistakes again. She would put herself toward victory, and she would conduct herself with respect. But she knew her opponent would be on her swiftly, and she could not afford to keep her guard down.

Chet draws his fist back with a low exhale from between his teeth, clenched shut with his lips parted. She's been shaken. That was a lucky move, having avoided such a counter when he had made that gamble. He must take advantage of his accidental insight into her fighting mechanic.

Chet's hand darts forward from below, clutching at her jaw. Should he find a handhold, there's a twist to the side as his body churns, before he clenches his fingers over her mouth and then casts her across the field of battle. Otherwise, it is a mere missed grab at her face, with his trunk now exposed because of his raised arm.

COMBATSYS: Fumiko blocks Chet's Uppercut Palm Throw ES.

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Fumiko           0/-------/-<<<<<<|===----\-------\0             Chet

A snatch, another attempt to snare and hurl her. He was a close in fighter, a grappler. They were different, interesting in ways. Fumiko was least familiar with them. She had seen many with weapons, that struck with chi or steel or fist, but relatively few that sought to wrestle and make things close.

But she was not so quick to allow this man to take such swift and simple advantage of her. She would prove a step ahead. The hand takes her face, but only for a moment before Fumiko pushes off and back, away from her assailant to clear her mind and regain a bit of breathing room.

There, she closes her eyes, she steadies her breathing. Mistakes were made, but she would not allow herself to be pushed so far away from where she needed to be. She just had to pace herself and to focus on what was ahead of her.

COMBATSYS: Fumiko enters a meditative state.

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Fumiko           1/-------/<<<<<<<|===----\-------\0             Chet

Chet takes a step backwards as Fumiko manages to wrest free from his grip, frowning dourly. He locks eyes with her before she closes them, and puts his hands low, watching. As she steadies her focus and balances herself, he decides that he will need to reevaluate the swordswoman before he gets cut to ribbons.

Hands at his sides, he takes a step forward, before his leg snaps up in a kick as he leaps backwards. His hands rise up to either side as he bolts backwards, landing in a defensive position with his left hand forward, in a fist, his right back, open, lower to the ground than before and ready to maneuver with his fast feet.

COMBATSYS: Fumiko dodges Chet's Evasive Kick.

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Fumiko           1/-------/<<<<<<<|===----\-------\0             Chet

Quick and defensive. The man strikes with a clever motion. Fumiko's eyes snap open on his approach. She moves to the side, a deft repositioning. Her eyes slick closed again as the foot hurtles upward past her and carries the flipping man away.

Like a dancer with her partner, she steps with his retreat. A swift, wide motion, maintaining composure, fluidity, and security. The strike snaps out. The sheathe sings with the steel as it's draw. A harsh slash toward the man retreating, following him with her own intensity.

COMBATSYS: Chet blocks Fumiko's Intercepting Strike EX.

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Fumiko           0/-------/<<<<<<<|=====--\-------\0             Chet

Chet bevels about with his hand held in reserve coming to the fore, slapping at the incoming slash with a downward hand to bring it across his outer thigh instead of letting the blade carve through his stomach. He follows around with a motion to place them back to back, his feet melodically tapping around her as he presses against her from behind, then spinning about with a low, undercranking blow at her ribs from the side. His fist jams upwards, to strike into the armpit and torso, with a harsh, small piston motion.

COMBATSYS: Chet successfully hits Fumiko with Chest Pound Punch ES.
- Power hit! -

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Fumiko           1/------</<<<<<<<|======-\-------\0             Chet

A sharp strike. Winded. The crack of rib at the force of the blow. Fumiko stumbles sideways, gripping her side. She heaves, seething, fury building within her.

A burst of anger. She swings forward. Slashing with both blades in a wave of steel. Her fury bursting outward, cutting her focus and her practice, throwing herself forward into the fray with a wild abandon

COMBATSYS: Chet fails to counter Goryo's Wrath from Fumiko with Astral Magnificence Kick ES.

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Fumiko           1/----<<</<<<<<<<|====---\-------\0             Chet

Chet steps backwards, staying low and coy as he watches Fumiko carefully. As he observes her anger, the mathematical quotient he was using to box around her becomes a manipulated quantity, the quality of her rage and emotion luring him into false opportunity.

Chet explodes forward with a blurring kick, but it arches past Fumiko's head as she ducks into him with a pair of sword strikes.

Blood splashes and he lets out a cry of pain as his leg kicks up and he's cut across his arms and torso, landing on his back beside her. He lays on the ground, bleeding profusely and wheezing. Looking up at the sky as he hears the now distant cheers of spectators in his head, he burbles up blood, his palm curling inwards to touch his hewn flesh gingerly, grimacing with a bloody scowl.

Two blades taste blood. Fumiko stands in the aftermath. A flick of her blades, and she sheathes to two swords once more. She looks down at the man, turning her sneakers aside to avoid some of the spilled blood, and she kick-steps away from him. Once more resuming her ready posture.

"I see you are brave," she tells him. "You move with purpose and strike when opportune, but is your technique opportunistic or do you make your own openings?" Her fingers dance on the hilt of her sword. She reads his scowl, she herself looks stone and steady.

Should she wait and bide her time? Should she move forward with assurance? There are questions dancing in her head about how she should approach this confident American. Intellect tells her to play it safe. She should trust her instincts and bide her time. She still feels the thrum of pain in her ribs, even if she does not seem slowed by it.

A fool's approach, perhaps, but she wants to test the mettle of the American. She surges forward. She stops in front of him. The slice she carves with a flashing draw of her blade lifts wind into the wake of the swing. The sound of metal carving air sings loud enough for the crowd to hear. A wicked slash, one that could bisect lesser men.

COMBATSYS: Fumiko successfully hits Chet with Soul and Steel.

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Fumiko           1/----<<</<<<<<<<|=======\=------\1             Chet

Chet places his hand on his knee as he sits up and shakily climbs to his feet, hand over his stomach as he feels his vigor sapping rapidly. He watches Fumiko with hazy red eyes, capilaries making his white pupils bloodshot.

He turns his head to the side, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

"One should never produce their own opportunity. That merely reveals one's inner form."

Chet carefully, gingerly, moves back into what resembles a fighting form, blood leaking down his chest and down his legs, pooling at his plastic and rubber shoes. The charge is met with a swift backpedal, but he's caught by the blade and emits a scream as the tip cuts him through, causing him to a spin about with a waving arm upwards. He falls to a knee, his upswinging arm coming down to catch himself on the ground.

Chet breathes in with a shudder, turning his head with his honey-white locks about his sweaty face.

There's an explosion of motion as Chet bursts off the ground with a quick two-step into a standing position and he pounces his hand down to the ground, before he flips into the air off the handstand and aims to bring Fumiko to the ground beneath his somersaulting legs.

COMBATSYS: Fumiko interrupts Medium Throw from Chet with Kamae Tachi EX.

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Fumiko           0/-------/-----<<|=======\======-\1             Chet

Pressure, force the step, create mistakes. Combat is a dance where you must lead your partner and see where you partner is leading you. Fumiko Abe has seen and learned it well. And with the weight of her desire behind her swing, she has made what she wants.

The moment to strike. He bursts forward, steps, moves and pounces and flips. Fumiko sees the man turn in the air, breaks him down into a line of action, sees the shapes that comprise him, sees him as a sketch completing in the air.

Fumiko smiles.

She moves nearly too fast to see. A draw, a cut up along the falling man's side. A swift one with the short blade. The force of the draw pulling Fumiko into a spin. She holds her arm close, sheathes, draws the long blade. A second cut in the air. Again and again she flashes and whirls. The lights of the cameras and the lights of the commercial district shine with each brief appearance of a blade.

Form and dance end and Fumiko lands, sneakers squeaking, swords locked firmly in place. She stands tall, head high. "Secrets mean nothing if they do not produce results," she says, adjusting the strap on her wrist protectors and looking behind her toward the American.

Chet lands on the ground after his somersault, in a three point position. He stands, surely and calmly, before he falters and drops to his knees, blood leaking out of him from the pair of sword cuts sustained while he was rolling over her.

Chet looks down at his hand, covered in blood, before he crumples forward and collapses.

COMBATSYS: Chet takes no action.

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Fumiko           0/-------/-----<<|=======\======-\1             Chet

COMBATSYS: Chet has reached second wind!

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Fumiko           0/-------/-----<<|=======\======-\1             Chet

COMBATSYS: Chet has left the fight here.

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Fumiko           0/-------/-----<<|

Log created on 19:57:41 02/12/2019 by Fumiko, and last modified on 11:05:40 02/18/2019.