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Description: Do you see the picture above? That's right, it's the picture perfect image of where each match will be taking place, right smack down in the center of a zen garden. For those who don't know, let wikipedia give its description of one:



If you're wondering what the other side look like, it's this picture, without the guy obviously:



Pebbled ground, a few rocks and bark sticking out, and a dab of green vegetation, this terrain is the perfect essence of aesthetic beauty. Now it's up to the fighters to make use of this beauty by bringing their own performing arts, aka THE FIGHTING.

This time around, it's going to be somewhat like last round, in that you will have spectators watching very closely since the size of the ring is going to be small. However, the volume will be a lot less due to the peaceful atmosphere and the more casual visitors (as only the wealthy can afford to watch at such a place and lucky tourists). This does not mean you won't get any of the usual cheers or boos. Think Tennis mixed with the roar of boxing in terms of the crowd. It'll be quiet one minute then get loud the next.

Field Measurements: The field is rectangular instead of the usual circular shape, so the size in feet is: 35 by 60. Though spacey, any one trying to run away won't be able to run for long. The walls surrounding the garden are fifteen feet high, with the audience surrounding the entire arena from a higher elevation.

Ten Count Boundary: Going outside the garden, mainly getting into the spectator stands or even standing on the top of the wall will begin the ten count. As usual, the flying rule is in effect as well.

Yet another round had come and gone.

This time Damon had not emerged the victor. He'd taken a great deal of damage, and while his keen tactics had put the reigning champion on the ropes, it hadn't been enough to finish the job.

One flame snuffing another.

But this war wasn't over. That single defeat had taught Damon plenty, unlike a victory, which meant the enemy wasn't strong enough to teach anything - becoming a mere stepping stone till the next plateau was reached.

Armed with new strength and a fresh state of mind, Damon entered the battlefield by jumping over the wall. His booted feet landed in the sand below with a solid crunch, kicking up a small cloud of dust. The intricate pattern below him was now crumpled into itself.

"Such a harmonious place."

It was more the setting for meditation, achieving inner understanding, rather than a place to unleash the destructive forces from within. A zen garden. The irony of two psychokinetics, warriors that fought with the power of mind alone, dueling in a place where the mind was strengthened, did not escape Damon.

"Rarely do I get to fight psions."

Damon could only wonder what it would be like this time.

Making his way to his respective area of the garden, Damon glanced over the youngster in front of him. He was a strange lad, but it masked a deeper image. Something else. Already Damon was preparing himself, removing his shirt and casting it aside. Unlike every round, his arms and torso were bare. Scars ran up and down his body, many old, several fresh. Bandages were still wrapped around his forearms where the hot metal had sliced into the skin.

"I'm Damon."

The tears were a sight that Damon didn't expect, but wasn't something that completely boggled his mind. Unlike the spectators that began to shout their taunts down at the boy. What kind of fighter begins to cry before the fight even begins?

"There are many like us; but believe me when I say I understand what it feels like to be alone. And not understand the nature of the beast."

Damon quickly realized that his words man come across as cryptic, so he translated them to a more literal meaning, "There are those that claim to have and do possess psychic powers, but they fizzle away to nothing. Either destroyed by themselves or by the deception they create."

Silence.

The crowd seemed anxious, getting louder and more rambunctious with each passing second of non-action.

"The time for words can wait, for now, let me see how strong you really are..."

And the challenge was issued. The battle was about to begin. Damon wondered whether or not the young psychic was capable of control yet? At that age, Damon had been so out of touch with control that he had literally created a monster. Or at least fed one.

It would be an intriguing few seconds.

As he had done a thousand times before, Damon freed the mental restraints on his psychic powers and let his entire body fill with energy. That familiar warming sensation and rush of force, that focus of will, returned to him in waves.

Hundreds of warriors had been blind to this great expanse of psychic power, the eyes could not comprehend what the mind could not fathom. Pip was an entirely different case. To him, Damon would suddenly be encased in a large bubble of what looked like flowing ethereal glass. It was the aura of a psion. Invisible to all but the untrained eyes, those that could see.

Damon's eyes would be the most unique, though. Pits of endless blue fire. The true manifestation of his will. More than the literal "soul of fire" a force of will burned just like a real fire. Dwindling when moral was low and a raging when confidence and spirits were high. Maybe it would be terrifying? Maybe it would be interesting. Damon could not speak for the thoughts of a different mind.

As this power exerted its presence on the physical world around Damon, the psion began to walk towards Pip. Pebbles bobbed up and down in the psychic aura as he walked. What a display to see. Focusing his mental power together, he lifted his hand and directed a tendril of psychic energy out of the aura and into his hand. Quite literally 'drawing from his willpower.' Nobody but Pip would ever notice this action for what it truly was.

"Lets have some fun, brother..."

WHOOOM!

The air in front of Damon distorted, then shifted forwards like a spear heading directly for Pip. A raw blast of psychic energy directed right at his psychic friend. No doubt Pip at least understood the principle of a spear-shaped blast for kinetic/penetration damage. But how would he react to the fact that Damon's was so perfectly controlled and manifested? Not really that strong, but honed to solid point and able to put a grown man on his back and wind him.

Hit or miss, Damon would quickly target Pips next closest location and close the range between them. Bring this fight to a close-quarters match. A hand-to-hand fight with psychic powers thrown into the mix. What more could the crowd possibly want from this match?

Absolutely nothing happened to the spectators.



Damon was no fool in placing his attacks, he'd aimed at Pip's torso/sternum area, so unless the boy was over sixteen or seventeen feet tall, the psychic spear would just hit the wall behind him. The attack left only minimal damage, a small hole with a larger, shallow crater surrounding it. The crowd was slightly dumbfounded as to how it had gotten there, though.



Given that Damon didn't need to focus on maintaining control over spent energy, he turned his attention to the boy that was quickly closing in on him. He matched the pace, neither of them running for long before Pip decided to return the favor with a psychic attack of his own. Though the control and power was clearing of inferior design, Damon would have been a fool not to acknowledge it as a legitimate threat.

A great warrior doesn't become wrapped up in the legends of his own power.

When Pip released his cone of force, Damon used the momentum of his run to jump into the air above it! The cone of force passed beneath the psions pants, ripping a freshly sewn tear there, and leaving a gentle breeze which flowed up the man's a**. Cheeks of fire he was not.

However! This would have appeared to leave Damon helplessly flying towards Pip, and even a fighter of low skill would know that it was a perfect opportunity to strike. Pip was not really in the range for anything close, but psychics can attack mentally. Damon did not plan on letting his own opening for an attack escape.

Using his psychokinetic energy, Damon released a controlled burst of force from behind his shoulder blades to send him rocketing headfirst at Pip, and in that extremely short span of time, he hardened the front of his psychic aura into a barrier. That's right.

Damon was going to SHIELD BASH, Pip.



Psionic retaliation was completely out of the question against this kind of barrier, too.

Too bad the audience could only see the minor details.

Damon knew that his attack was only going to half-work, though he only had about a second to register it before he Pip started moving back. Not a whole lot of time to really formulate a plan of attack. Even Damon had limits he had to work under when it came to planning.

Thankfully each man came equipped with instinct programmed into their brains that allowed them a few sparing seconds to attempt to get a hold on the situation. Fight or Flight, on a broader scope in this case. Rather than just do a full plant into the sand, Damon pulled his right knee up just as he came down for impact. His knee landed and the attack came plowing on through, still taking out Pip's shin, but leaving Damon in a half-kneeling position rather than face down on the rocky ground.

Pip fell forward, his right hand slamming into Damon's shoulder-blades, while his left hand came down with towards his lower back. The psion had no idea that Pip was holding something in that hand till he felt the razor sharp impact upon his lower spine. The surge of icy cold jarred Damon awake, while the wave of sharp pain following in it's wake caused hand to wobble - he almost lost his foundation.

However. When all was said and done, Pip was leaning over Damon's back, and Damon was under him in a kneeling position. From an outside view, Pip very well could have had the best vantage point in the struggle up to that point. Maybe. Pips arms were up and over, while Damon's arms were under.

Adrenaline pumping through his body now and flooding him with physical energy and a tolerance for the new pain in his body, Damon's arms came up, palms aimed to slam into Pip's exposed sides. (Both his chest was essentially on top of Damon's head, arms over.)

This is where the real fun would begin.

Damon still had some innovation left in him, despite the general populace knowing that his moves would generally be psychic ones. As soon as his hands laid upon Pip's sides, Damon would channel the energy he'd used in the shield into a broad blast directly into the boy's torso, pushing off his knee and raising up with the force itself. How did Damon have that much energy in his shield? It was simple, the shield hadn't actually been disconnected from his being. Merely hardened in one area. So all the energy Damon had had post-psychic spear, was still with him.





From a spectators standpoint, it'd look just like Damon threw Pip up and off him with all the strength of the Hulk and ********. If they could see it, they'd s**t bricks.

The young psionic would now, more than likely, be on a one-way ticket to the edge of the wall, back first. Which by all accounts, would suck incredibly upon impact. On the rocks below, Damon would be walking around in a semi-circle holding his back and generally cursing his luck.

A shame he'd used up a fairly good amount of energy now, too. From now on things were going to get a little more physical. Which was okay, Damon hadn't had a good scrap in a long time. All those matches testing out his powers, he'd neglected his fists their time in the spotlight.

Things went according to plan for all of five seconds.

Pip was thrown up at an angle by the attack, but not up and away along the trajectory Damon had hoped he would. BAD END was sensed when Damon felt the back of his pants pull up into his a**, and Pips arm go taunt along his back.

Great.

He'd managed to grab ahold of Damon's pants just as he was being hit with a kinetic blast.

Rather than being immediately ripped, Damon's pants remained intact and Pip's body did a vertical stand, hand still gripping the waistline. The force exerted had by now ripped the pants all the way up the backside. If the tinsel strength had been high enough, Pip might have dislocated his arm. Interesting thought, but irrelevant under the current circumstances.

At the peak of the attack, Pip fell back down behind Damon, ripping his pants off at the same time. And now the psionic warrior was standing there in his boxers with little diamond katanas on them. The women the crowd cheered, while the men laughed and made jokes. It was all fun in games appearently. Damon, taking this all in stride and being thankful for not being on the receiving end of an earth-shattering wedgie.

When Pip hit the ground, Damon came right down on top of his chest. Pip's hand, still clutching the tattered pants, was now pinned under Damon's right leg, while Pip's other hand was pinned under Damon's left leg. All the psion's weight was firmly pressed against Pip's chest, effectively holding him down. Not a really good mount by any means, but the boy wasn't going to be moving much.

Now came the pain.

Upon landing, Damon's right fist came straight down for Pip's nose. And boy did Damon have some hard, sharp knuckles. Not too nice, but this was a fighting tournament after all. Maybe Pip wouldn't take that punch too personally.

[ Yeah, sorry. I was writing that while multitasking. =/ ]

CRUNCH

Damon felt the give of Pip's nose under his fist, the squish of the flesh and the breaking of the fragile bone and cartilage. Having suffered a punch to the nose before on many different occasions, he knew that Pip would have some serious trouble focusing his psychic energy together for any kind of counter-attack. That was the point of a quick punch to the nose.

Break his focus.

Still firmly planted on Pip's chest, Damon pulled back his left hand and sent it down to bury another fist into the side of Pip's head. Any more focus he could scatter the more likely he'd be able to get into a full mount and possibly end this little scuffle between them.

Before Damon's fist could properly arrive at it's intended target, Pip suddenly thrust up with his arms. Raising the hips wouldn't have done anything because Damon wasn't in a full mount, he was sitting on Pip's upper-chest. Just raising his arms up wouldn't have done anything but cause Damon's fist to fly slightly off trajectory due to the meager forward tilt of his body, but behind that thrust was an immense movement of psychic energy and a painful pressurized 'force' slamming into his legs and butt.

Needless to say, Damon went sailing forwards off of Pip's chest, the general expression of OH s**t on his face. Rather than faceplant, Damon tucked and rolled in the gravel, coming to a firm stop in a kneeling position, his back still facing Pip. Because he doubted the boy was going to be getting up anytime really soon, Damon took a little bit of time to rise to his feet because his legs were feeling numb. Once he did he turned around to look at his (possibly) still fallen opponent.

It wasn't odd that he'd used a burst of force like that, Damon remembered smacking Vintrict in the face with something similar during a match between them in another tournament. Quick, uncontrolled bursts of power that generated instant results. However, Damon always used those in small doses. Why? Because when releasing energy like that so suddenly and without properly concentrating it, the drawbacks tended to be a lot worse. Damon figured Pip was going to have one helluva mental headache after that kind of force.

"Still got energy, right?"

Damon did too. He'd used all of two psychic attacks, both controlled and properly placed. The shield hadn't expended him any energy because it was already composed of psychic energy stored up around his body - merely focused to harden in a single area to create a quick-shield. True, he had less energy now, but he wasn't in any real trouble. Still, it was better to converse that energy and use more tactical moves should the fight drag out for a longer amount of time. Drawbacks could be a big pain to deal with in the middle of the fight, and Damon wasn't in the mood to deal with them.

"You know, I really wish I had my pants."

It was breezy, standing there in his boxers...