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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.

[Omi Barsait]

Eastern end. That's where Omi would leap off one of the raised spectator walls, crashing down onto the pebbled ground boot-first as his bowed head rose steadily. Perhaps a bit too flashy, but then again, his appeal to the audience was hardly of interest to Round V participant Omi Barsait - only his opponent and the fact he would combat said opponent was vital.

Yet, likely some murmurs would flow through the disturbingly close-knit audience. For the dark-clad Serpentine Manipulation Artist seemed.. energized in a new way; less of his usual wild demeanor and a far more focused, serene expression lined him. Perhaps it was his opponent, Snow, whom he'd last seen in the [Dark Tournament] competition and years prior to that; their last and only battle was ages ago. His left and right arms extended outwards, again like a trademark scarecrow; squared in body, footsteps heading towards the center of this ring with mind to step around the upcoming occasional bark and stone, spectacles long ago removed. And yet..

[Renewal.]

..more likely to be the crowd stirrer was the fact that outstretched left gauntlet had something new to it.

A mere four feet from his designated starting end, and already Omi's left arm suddenly crashed downward- 'til the tip of that new blade hit pebble. If that wasn't enough, the fingertips of that very same hand were beginning to glow an oh-so-familiar crimson, though their intent was as of yet unknown..

He crossed his right arm in front of his chin horizontally, the right gauntlet's fist clenched tightly- and like that, Barsait began walking forward at a more brisk pace, never quite breaking into a trot. But surely not walking forward with an air of precaution either; it seemed he was already plotting for an offensive, regardless of their circumstances and surrounding spectators.

"Good luck." The long-haired fighter bellowed in a deep voice, not holding its usual merry, taunting tone either as both of those amber brown eyes peered over his nose towards Snow with zeal whilst the blade scraped across the pebbled floor just audibly.

It was time for combat.

They had fought once before, Omi and Snow. Years ago.. a clash of their then-heightened strengths, which ended in Barsait forcing them to a draw rather than allow his ominous prediction to come true. He held no ill-will towards this red haired fellow in front of him, yet Barsait's intentions were filled with crushing Snow. And the reason for that was simple.

The two had inevitably changed. Perhaps one might suggest it was natural with aging, but these two had different personalities, different levels of knowledge, different levels of expertise; yet. It was obvious to Omi, many would spot this fight and claim the almost too obvious in gleeful expectation:

"A man potent with ice versus a man potent in flames!"

Regardless of the oversimplification present, such statements were true in another matter. Stepping into the ring, regardless of how different the two had become.. they were viewed as opposite sides of the same coin. Furthermore, Omi had heard Snow already lost one match of his, and with this all in mind: a victory that would send the loser away from this ring, flames and ice, crimson and azure.. it was this implied duality..

"You'll not need to." The approaching Barsait cooed, his fingertips' crimson glow exploding into familiar streams of serpent mass his famed art was known for that would begin to envelope the already red [Ignus Pata] right on down to the tip. It was that duality Omi had to sever, today.

Eying the dual-wielded blades with not the slightest drop of hesitation, Omi's pace didn't slow nor quicken. He simply kept walking forward, right arm held in its earlier position stiffly, whilst his left arm began to shake a little. The Pata tip was beginning to slide across the pebble back and fourth and inch each, actually managing to touch the ground in the middle of this two inch path.

Middle . .

It didn't take a wealth of experience to deduce a chunk of what was occurring, though fortunately Omi Barsait had just that in these sort of competitions. Snow was being defensive. Hanging back, likely to stall for time; the nature of this opponent may have changed over the years, the Serpentine Artist had to acknowledge that. And yet, circumstances gave Omi a heads-up:

"You sunk that halberd into the ground and made a tiny bit more distance from it so I'd have to waste time stepping around it. No; even more so, it'd take me off-center from your position and you could capitalize on that. You hope to keep me on my toes until circumstances better favor you, is that it Snow..?" Sizing up the halberd in his mind as the dark-clad fighter began to near it, the serpents swarming about that left-handed blade began to scream alive - the dancing flames cackling about the naked blade.

It was a classic maneuver for those capable: keep your opponent unsteady until you're able to set up an offensive to overwhelm them. Keep them on a reckless offensive and then capitalize; Omi himself had done it several times this competition alone, and it served him well enough to keep winning him one victory after another after the dangerous spot of losing to Deitric and only needing a single loss to be removed for good from this realm of combat.

His boots crunched across the pebble in such a casual manner.

His left fingertips gave off such a lovely red glow, though the blade as its red finish began to shine brighter in a radiance of heat glowed more so.

His eyes kept straight ahead.

His mind plenty focused on the enemy: "He wants to keep me close, but not close enough I can make things difficult for him, not quite yet.. I get too far, he might not be able to stop me from a few tricks of my own, yet I get too close, he runs the risk of me assaulting him outright, he wants me mid-close range and at blade's reach."

And his right arm..

Began to violently shift to his right, in a horizontal elbow strike into thin-air; the true aim: his hand being aligned with the halberd, suddenly parted from a fist into an estranged palm, clasping the weapon mid-length in a single motion!! Right boot shifting forward along the stone floor just enough so the inner side would tilt the embedded weapon in the direction of his favor, it was a one-two motion to thrust the halberd straight out of the ground and towards its owner.

Simultaneously, the left hand would clench tight into a resolute fist, and fittingly the [Ignus Pata] would begin to swerve from the ground on up for a fierce horizontal slash through the halberd's path- all as Barsait's left leg crashed forward past his right, closing the thin gap in a fury. That horizontal slash, the blade laid flat through the air as it sliced from below at roughly waist-level towards the opponent Snow, was currently showing a little sleight of hand itself.

The blade had a red finish. The serpent mass enveloping it was certainly a sickening red hue. And right now, the thing was [to a thin degree] soaked in flames; meaning the true tip and edge location was actually off a good quarter of an inch, and one's eye would have a hard time discerning one mass of red from the next as it screamed at the dual-bladed foe. A stepping-slash that just couldn't feel enjoyable, as the right palm clenched back into a fist and began its path back towards the original position it held.

"Like HELL, SNOW~!!" Barsait suddenly roared as his expression exploded into life, glistening white teeth so very sharp-looking grazing the air in their eagerness for combat.

The advantages to ringed armor such as Omi's versus the various cons were apparent. Thin, sharp weaponry that could pierce between the rings without any problem made them less than ideal; ranged weaponry if utilized effectively, was a potential problem. Furthermore, while it could absorb some shock with assurance, blunt force could still render the man straight to the ground below if he was careless. Another issue still, was that while he was agile in the links of metal - without it, was a sight to behold.

Enough strikes of a blade, and it could be cut depending on the sword- as could with enough poor bashes, the same blade be shattered. That was the premiere functionality of such protection: a vanguard against the plentiful number of opponents whom utilized an innumerable amount of sword variations. One handed, two handed, dual-wielding, with a pommel, without, with an intricate hilt, with no hilt at all, basket guard, tapered, ceremonial versus lethal, jagged edged, smooth as paper, stone, iron, bronze, steel-

Most all suffered the disadvantage of two factors. The first, that their very tip was often thinner than the rest of the blade, meaning even if it pierced through one of the holes.. it could only go so far. There were blades designed for such pin-point assaults, of course- but none he had encountered yet, to Omi Barsait's wondrous fortune. And so they had an alternative: slashing blows. Their edges screaming against his dark armor with the intent to force it open and get to the soft under-body below.

..Except, while that was certainly possible and the blades a fighter at this level would utilize could no doubt perform such a feet- it was highly unlikely to be as plausible without repeated blows, and not with mere finesse either- but exquisite force. In short, the aftermath of parrying another blade likely couldn't, forgiving the pun, cut it.

Furthermore, while Omi certainly wasn't alien to 'fear,' it was the last thing he felt at this stage of the game.

"Haaahhh!!" The dark-clad man bellowed as his [Ignus Pata] clashed with the upheld blade of Snow, from Omi's perspective left. Except, again the advantage played in that the way that blade was laid across his forearm, Omi could support and reinforce it with the entirety of his left arm - and this is exactly what he did, fiercely giving Snow's right hand and its weapon a little clash before it'd get to adjust itself at all, much less for Barsait's chest. Omi was in short, going to press it back towards Snow's own body with as much force as he could to limit its movement. Blade to blade clash time!!







Fist brushing up his left cheek just enough to adjust its angle the slightest bit, Barsait suddenly repeated his earlier action- except this time, the elbow strike wasn't just to get his arm moving quick. It was to bash, mesh-covered elbow-blade first, right into the offending left blade as it spun in counterclockwise from Barsait's perspective- full force, the intent being two-fold.

I. Knock it off course just enough it'd give that arm a little space.
II. His right fist, palm-open, would now have access to Snow's unprotected visage, lest Snow decided to retract his right blade in which case Barsait's left would assuredly punish him.

Right fingertips glowing, it was all an elaborate one-two strike. Elbow strike right -> palm thrust on forward, the pores of his flesh beneath those fingernails giving Snow one final visual cue of the danger to come were this not prevented as it bounded straight in toward's Snow's face from the dual-wielding swordsman's center, thanks to the opponent's shifting off-center.

And Omi's boots just kept sliding forward rather than retreating.. this was a potential key moment for either of the fighters, he wouldn't let Snow back out of it and regroup his tactics even if it meant suffering the consequences of moving even closer and closer.

It was time for battle.

Now, had Omi Barsait came into this match a good several months prior to now, he would've found circumstances wholly new to him. As fate would have it, though..





..Omi was to his dismay, subjected to numerous circumstances where sharp, pointy things kept wanting to pierce his body head to toe. This wouldn't help him stop the sudden surprise-reformation of that blade of Snow's, not by a long shot. If he had the chance to describe it afterward, Barsait would likely comment on the impaling of his right armpit to be much like trying and failing to shave said armpit with a rusty razor.

What this experience did allow him, however, was knowledge in how to approach the aftermath. Snow was a parallel to Omi in that the icy swordsman was also capable of lethal devastation; great offensive capabilities with a more solid, rigid structure than the manipulation artist's free-flowing sort. Yet as the spikes of ice impaled his right side, causing the dark-haired Omi's mouth to spread wide open in chagrin..

..the rest of Snow's hoped scenario would likely not play quite the same.

[Pound for Pound]]

Disadvantage to Snow's lethal attack: it elongated the blade's radius into that of a spiky mace. No sooner did the spikes impale Omi and that sharp pain flood his brain to the core, likely seven plus good vantage points of blood oozing out fairly nicely.. would Barsait's right arm rather than try to escape the mess.. embrace it instead.

Grinding his right arm onto the ice, the mesh breaking some of it whilst the holes allowed even more puncture points along the upper arm to form- Omi in a split instant cackled wildly as his legs continued pushing forward right in stride with Snow, the Ignus Pata made wild, swift, but knowingly futile chops against Snow's right-blade just to keep it further occupied.

What did this accomplish?

I. It kept Snow's left arm still, unless he wished to drop his blade.
II. It kept the weapon even more stilled.
III. To his silent prayer of thanks, Omi wasn't impaled in a region to cause any organ-penetration. Non; Snow likely wasn't going for that anyway, given that had evident lethal intent were it the case.
IV. The ice while chilling him literally to the bone, was a solid object that kept each wound it created blocked just enough.. flow of blood out of said wounds was reduced perhaps 50, 60%. Good to stall for time.
V. Chiefly: he had no problem bleeding.

Snow's sword gone mace was tainted red as helixes of gooey red blood flooded into view, Omi's dark cotton shirt tearing with all the piercings. Yet.. even though Snow undoubtedly had more up his sleeve, the man would certainly find what commenced next undoubtedly ironic.

[Dark Tournament] 2009, Team GUILT versus Charlie's Demons + Bosley. The presumed captain, Abigail, intended to pierce Barsait in a variety of points all at once, intending to rush him down once the opportunity became plausible. An old analogy once again comes into play, something about a bag of sand.

[Serpentine Manipulation Art]

[Red Comet Redux..]

Sloppy, gooey blood. Incidentally the very source of Barsait's bothersome serpent appendages, as his right side began to seep out serpents that needed to merely gosh forward along Snow's forcibly elongated left arm to reach their intended prey. A few on the ground, 1/2 regular cobra diameter, oozed up from dripping blood as a good four, five roared right out of the open wounds with gusto, Barsait's expression as usual: a defiant confidence whilst he tangled with Snow mid-dash.

The Ignus Pata, while it couldn't do much just yet, wasn't about to allow Snow's right arm any leeway to help out the red-haired fellow's left side either - and neither was Omi's right arm, holding Snow's icy weapon and grinding it into his own body stubbornly as more endangering blood seeped out. Furthermore, the dark-clad fellow's legs were powerfully pumping forward, boot first as the kneecaps struck ahead angrily with each pebble-defiling stomp.

Sacrificing a few lesser black pawns to capture the white king was undoubtedly acceptable to this Round V fighter, Omi.

A slight bit of back-story:

Omi Barsait's [Serpentine Manipulation Art] was quite the dangerous capability. Obtaining it in his mid-teens, it took him some several days in the wilderness gulping down water in a rush while his stomach screamed in pain from not being fed, all the while flames firing out of his every pore and threatening to smother him if not scold the boy to death. To adapt it into the style it was now, took considerable time, concentration, and effort- no less like any other fighter here's capabilities.

As time passed, he began to find tricky little uses for the "art." Long-range arson. With the physical mutation synced with his eyes, it served as a great reconnaissance tool. The two combined made its utility easily worth justifying its very existence by itself; yet over time, Barsait honed it into an aspect of his being which would deliver forceful offensive flurries to an opponent. Intimidation, defense, offense, melee supplements - the uses went on. It had its short-comings, but then again, what didn't?

However, one key element Omi had discovered between he and Snow's last duel and the present, was the art's trump card against a specific molecule. What started as a theory became a destructive aspect of the art that caused untold potential mayhem - it was ergo at first concealed. As luck would have it, the first handful of times Barsait utilized it, what rare times it could come into play - smoke would obscure the arena, or some other odd factor that made the audience spotting anything difficult if not impossible. Yet, the downfall to an ace: when you've used it once, its frequency of use begins to rise, and that in itself can make a future opponent devise counters for it as well, losing the aspect of secrecy. Such a fate may soon befall this aspect of the art..

.. and yet still, Barsait had refrained from utilizing it already against Snow for one simple reason: sportsmanship. There were few water elementalists in the world, at least that Omi had encountered in his lifetime. His last fight with the one named [Vash] was rare enough- yet in front of Omi, was a man steeped in use of a molecule.

Ice.

H2O in a solid state of matter, high density. But H2O all the same.

It was unsportsmanlike of Omi to utilize in his mind, because it was a capability that could turn a majority of Snow's capabilities against himself- and even Omi as well. It was a major c***k in Snow's arsenal, one Barsait was intent on looking the other away from as exploiting it left a poor taste in his mouth.

Flashing back to the present situation, Barsait indeed spotted the glow.. He indeed spotted the spikes reforming into a singular one, which foretold what would likely happen next far more-so than a mere illumination to Omi. Snow was in his own ways a manipulator of his chosen element, after all; anyone with eyes could see that. And though it was difficult mid-rush to give it a more suiting level of thought, dread and irritation mingled in the dark-clad man's mind most potently. The adrenaline got pumping. The eyes expanded wide.

This was going to hurt like hell.

The very instant he began feeling the deep-embedded ice "swell," his mind practically exploded with rapid thoughts. It wasn't difficult to tell just what was going on- when you feel jagged ice swelling up inside of your body, shredding through bone, nerves, flesh - you'd have to believe someone describing it when they state: they noticed it. A numbing cold mixed with a skull-penetrating agony, Barsait had made a calculation error, and he knew he had to act immediately or forfeit the fight to his opponent.

Crush or be crushed. The fundamental rule of the ring.

There was no possible way to salvage his arm; only to react presuming the ice would shred right through. No longer was mere tendrils of blood oozing down icy blades- the ice was literally stirring inside a portion of his body having blood rapidly pumped through it. It was practically engulfed in the stuff, and even if it managed to tear right through the arm, would be soaked in it utterly. Ergo, there was only one thing Omi could picture doing amidst the searing pain - only one thing he could do.

His left fingertip, index and thumb, make a quick 'snap.'

Snow was mistaken in thinking blood was Omi's fuel - the serpents stemmed from his blood, but in truth, they were a substance that utilized oxygen as a catalyst to spawn their flames. A scenario painted over one-hundred times to Omi, except with a lethal new twist in that the reaction was going to be sparked inside of his own body- here came the cataclysm!

The ice would glow red for an instant, literally being dipped inside of Barsait's seething serpent blood like an apple inside caramel. It was different than if Omi were trying to perform this trick on ice existing outside of his body- the ice was completely engulfed in the serpent mass. Converting it all in a single go even as shards of it tore through his shoulder was no problem with that factor in mind.

Snow would, at most, have a second or so to spot the fluctuating gas that was pouring out of Omi's grievous shoulder wounds- lighter than air but having a little lag getting up into the air due to the whole "flowing out of numerous holes" bit combined with blood pouring like a miniature fountain. Barsait too would only have that single second or so, enough time to inhale just once.. and to, as the blood pulsed out serpents perhaps an inch or so from his now-gaping wound at most, shut his eyelids.

Snap.

[Tenacious Shortcoming]

The crowd . . their gleeful or distraught faces at the sight of gore and blood, would likely turn to astonishment or possibly even horror were they versed in this competition's players . . the area around Snow and Omi would shine a glorious, glorious red . . a chain reaction took place, flowing out of Barsait's own right shoulder as the entire arm shook violently, no longer having any feeling less due to numbness and more due to any kind of route signals from the brain could travel being severed and burned asunder . .

. . and directly towards Snow, with force that would wipe Omi's own prior serpents darting towards Snow out of existence, with speed that would overwhelm them - was a deadly wave of hydrogen flames, the oxygen in Barsait's very own right arm's blood adding to the stew of deadly force even as his body lurched back.

The only thing Omi could do in that last instant, the only thing he could possibly do in changing up the mass of flames even he had poor control of, was to crush his left palm unto a non-existent object, molding the mass's visage into that of a large, large snake's - its intention to eat the enemy swordsman whole in a bath of flames not even the coldest night could deny passage unto--

It was time to bring purgatory to the deepest layer of the icy Hell!!

This was the kind of fight late-game was known for. Every single action could get you defeated, or worse yet- killed. You had to make decisions every second, even when it seemed you hadn't the time to formulate them. Rushing in blind or idly sitting back would assuredly end in your defeat, and holding back only assured your defeat. It was a "non-lethal" competition, yes. But the more desperate fighters got to advance, well.. that distinction began to blur into the world of flat-out war. You did your best or you perished, and you just had to hope it didn't end in a fatality.

Steam burns were in truth far more deadly than most give it credit for, given you are burned twice by steam; once while in its gaseous form, then condensing into a liquid in the pores of your skin, once again in its denser state of matter. While even horrible jets of steam are very unlikely to kill you, they can scold your flesh in ways that might make you wish you were dead for the time being. However, Barsait had three aspects that made the steam, what was made, less effective than intended.

I. His armor. While it certainly had many holes in it, it also covered many points as well.
II. Barsait was being shot backwards, as was Snow. They were being sent in opposite directions, causing each layer of steam to be slightly dispersed prior to reaching Omi more and more as every instant passed. They were already beginning to distance out, thanks to Omi's earlier premature rush of snakes causing Snow to begin backing away.
III. The reaction of Omi's flames with that mass of hydrogen gas caused a lovely little chain reaction prior to the monstrous "serpent," and this would take a good brunt of the steam in itself.

However, to say Barsait escaped damage was a foolish thing to ascertain. As the dark-clad fighter connected to the floor, the massive snake being negated as the attached serpent mass was destroyed in the process of all that both unexpected yet always plausible counter Snow had in store- the dark-clad fighter touched down to the pebble stone floor, his boots making a loud reverb as they smashed unto the ground and the treads ground Omi to a halt.

"Damn.. we've both made an inadvertent counter to each-other; most people would've kept pressing on once they felt the blade piercing flesh, and that would have been their death sentence. But.." Something was.. different about Omi now. His right arm was completely and utterly straightened, fingertips numbly pointing at the ground as raindrops of blood fluttered downward.

".. I can barely feel my right arm at all. It's practically useless.. damn." There, through the right shoulder's mesh and destroyed cloth, was clumps of blood bubbling out of a horrendous series of wounds, tears, and gashes. The [Serpentine Manipulation Artist] could still move his right hand's fingertips, but.. scarcely. For the most part, he was right. The limb was practically useless, and no mere shaking it off would suffice. Tendons, muscle, nerve-endings.. it was a mess, and if that wasn't all enough, he was bleeding. Bleeding badly.

"..Damn damn DAMN DAMN DAMNnnnnnnn-"

Despite not feeling tired yet, Barsait knew he quickly would. Thin, tiny serpents clustered through the wounds, in a vein attempt to keep blood in; it worked. But only partially, enough to stem back perhaps 60% of the blood-flow. Enough he wouldn't bleed out.. yet. But even that would not suffice for too long. Already, he felt .. dizzy. That dizziness would soon turn to outright weakness, and that to unconsciousness - and that if not treated, to..

"Snow!!

Solemn gaze ripping itself apart into a wild, booming laughter that sounded eerily warm as well as ominous at the same exact time, the two fighters a tentative distance apart would find Barsait roaring with a new wind behind his eyes: "One word before we continue. Good job. No . . great job. Keep this up, would you? I want this to be the very best fight if only for one reason, old friend; whoever wins this bout, I assure you.."

The other thing about his right arm one would probably have to note, is that while his skin could more or less repel his own means of flames, his armor certainly couldn't. And though the melting point on said armor was incredibly high, as you would expect someone with an expertise in any flame manipulation to utilize - what just rushed along Barsait's right arm onward..

..caused his right Tooth of Ignus to glow a tenacious orange.

"BECOMES

THE GOD DAMNED KING!!"

Sloppy red blood running down his pale arm and the dark tungsten mesh, Omi's left hand palm-thrusted forward rather than pursue Snow with the [Ignus Pata] - causing the serpent mass to dig in under Barsait's right gauntlet, and..

Blast off!

Where his physical arm couldn't do the job anymore, Omi was guiding the gauntlet first in a 90 degree angle from his lowered right fist, on back up as his left index finger wagged around like a wand, repeatedly pointing at Snow as he stabbed the air.

It was a combo-attack; a strong supporting blast flying the airborne fist towards Snow, high high temperatures that would be sure to make whatever it slammed into feel hell - and a rigid, rigid surface that was going to make its target falter from a righteous fist.

Though Omi Barsait was wounded rather significantly.. perhaps, Snow would be able to tell just by the wild demeanor his foe had adopted- physically, he was down a limb. In terms of one of Omi's combat frenzies however, this fight just took a spin down another lane of destruction, even as Barsait seemed to shut his lips tight and seemingly.. gargle some saliva?

[Combat Pinnacle]