But, if there was a range he excelled at more than minimal distance, the 'Artist' didn't know of it. Pressuring foes into moving towards the direction he desired, weaving by in manners they weren't expecting, launching surprise attacks that took fighters posed for victory by horrid surprise - it was at this distance that many faltered and had to resort to instinct. Not so with fighter [Omi Barsait], who long ago promised he had no problem losing an arm if it meant taking his foe's "soul;" in defeat or otherwise..
He would have attacked sooner, hadn't that uppercut struck him in plush. But he couldn't.. he simply couldn't, and that drove him wild. A similar rage that flooded him in the second [Gaian Tenkaichi Budoukai] tourney when facing the champion, Deitric; one that strained his mind between going completely mad-berserk and keeping relative calm.
Now, however - as his stocky legs kept him in his favorite distance, not letting Link escape so fervently - that rage was manifesting in a most different way. Omi knew, stepping into the cold "ring," what faced him today.. but that fist of Link's brought it into the forefront, and made his eyes see nothing but it.
That he was close.
That if he could persevere, he would get another chance..
..that if he did not..
[Nightmare]
That if he did not, his burning desire would FALL!!
That if he could persevere, he would get another chance..
..that if he did not..
[Nightmare]
That if he did not, his burning desire would FALL!!
Barsait couldn't raise his arms to guard his skull quick enough, but the unexpected happened; the hand that crashed into his jaw.. it faltered. Something was off about the aftermath regarding it, though he had little time to estimate on about it. Instead, the dark-clad mercenary went for his next move, the one his right gauntlet could go for: if it couldn't reach his skull to defend.. it most certainly could reach Link's remaining fist in time to stop the too familiar one-two combo he had been expecting from before!
Thus, the nimble right hand would slide his mesh-covered elbow tip on back towards himself at an angle heading towards Omi's right, crashing furiously towards where Barsait saw motion, bone & metal first to bash against it defiantly and guide it away Quickly, the long-haired fighter's eyes darted down oh-so-briefly to see just how Link was going to no doubt grab..
"He still.." Eyes widening momentarily at his error, they immediately whipped back up towards the enemy swordsman with that furious demeanor. Momentarily losing general control of his body with that fierce uppercut that caused his jaw to scream, he was so positive Link was going to follow it up with a second blow to capitalize on Barsait's condition that he hadn't considered in his wildest dreams the sword was still well in hand.
Not even an instant later, the furious Omi was not going to let this moment go without results, albeit its briefness. The sting of that uppercut was happily screaming through his chin and beyond; he needed to give his foe that feeling.
Without warning, his skull suddenly rammed forward, jutting down a bit via his neck bowing at the last instant. Both as a simple means of throwing Link off guard so he couldn't simply twist his head and reduce the damage taken, and more importantly: to bash his skull directly into the opponent's eyes and surrounding bone. A risky maneuver, no doubt - but the wondrous thing about their height difference was that Omi needn't worry about reverse-bite wounds as he had made taller fighters suffer, simply due to their positioning.
His skull would, upon impact, grind into the point of impact furiously regardless of the skull-clearing agony that would no doubt grip him. This was his retaliation for that upper, two-fold; and as their heads would meet in a most unpleasant manner, he would take that ire a step farther by performing one more simple action.
The blood fresh in his mouth, thick and causing his salivation reflex to just keep on churning the stuff - he hadn't swallowed since the impact. While Link attempted a fight finisher post-initial strike, Barsait would not be so careless. Instead, as the upper skull would clash with Link, the lower - his grimacing lips - would gladly give the enemy a sudden splash of that thick mixture of liquids, which would likely hit right below the swordsman's nose and ooze on downward.
Keeping his legs stomping furiously forward, squared stance as before, and his right arm keeping that blade momentarily at bay until Link retracted it for undoubtedly the next strike, that was the situation present.
