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This was a new type of stage for Afton. The fights timing was strictly regulated, so rather than running along side the parade, like some contenders, he volunteered to wait at a checkpoint, where the ring was supposed to cross as the fights ended. Sadly, being from ye' olde'n times, his math was rather poor and his timing was off by a football field or two. The big clanky tin-can knight was forced to jog the rest of the way down the line to the ring when his name was called over the magic scrying glasses (T.V.s). He clanked noisily down the line until he made it to the ring. Climbing over the side noisily while it was stopped.

Oh how he missed his horse. Cuthwulf would have gotten him there quickly, and he could have trotted along side the magic-moving arena the whole way, waving and garnering support from the crowed. Alas, his horse was tethered at the portal to this world, along with most of his armor. Ah well, no use crying over spilled milk.

Afton awaited his opponent's arrival, in the center of the ring. This time he didn't bother to pull out his Claymore. He didn't want to be stuck holding his blade for someone who hadn't shown up yet, and look like a fool as he did last time. He did however bring his shield to the ready, from it's position on his back. That was one thing he couldn't leave there if he intended at all to enter battle anytime soon.

(Terribly short post I'm sorry.)

Showdown on Main Street

The float drifted down the main street like a leviathan with the armored man on top as its rider, fans watching in eager anticipation for the arrival of his adversary. His coming was foreseen as fans began to grow louder, cheers erupting as a crowd recognized a sound, a muffled and scratchy sound that soon identified itself...as music.

GET DOWN WITH THE SICKNESS PEOPLE!

The base drum beating again and again, the crowd slowly building their screams as the music rifted and when the screams of the lead singer filled their ears, he arrived! From the crowd Samuel burst, his form running at the float like a wild bull as he leapt into the air, a black blur flying as his right hand lashed out, hitting the rail and flipping him up and over into the arena float.

The crowd lost their damn minds, roaring and screaming as the Devil landed on his feet, whipping his head back with a grinning smile as he rose to his full height and back pedaled a little, turning his void less eyes left and right as the music blared. His athletic 6'6' frame bouncing around on light as a feather feet. Screams echoing in the street as he smiled to the crowd, thrusting a fist in the air with the feel of the music. his frame turning as he glanced at his enemy, throwing a confident grin as he fully turned, took a solid spread stance and lifted both fists in the air. In tangent with the guitar rift dark red fire works blasted behind him, going off again and again and picking up speed between intervals like a machine gun, boom..boom..boom..boom, boom, boom, boom, boom! BANG! When he brought his fists down hard the last set fired off with a loud bang! The music cut and only the yelling from the pleased crowd filled their ears now, it was overwhelming like a wave of decibels just rising higher and higher.

The fans were on their feet, roaring and screaming like wild animals as he grinned, standing back up right and walking back and forth, pacing as he faced his enemy. his black cargo pants swaying back and forth as his long legs took powerful strides, the sledgehammer swaying back and forth in his left hand as he just kept grinning. His enemy was armored, but he had a sledgehammer, today was going to be a good day.....

Finally he stopped, glaring at his enemy with a smile as his free right hand pointed back to the crowd, his fingers motioning a 'come here' like sign. He back pedaled as a staff member walked to the float and handed him a mike and he gripped it with his ebony fingers. He walked forward closing the gap between the men by about twenty feet and with out breaking eye contact looked directly at the man before bellowing into the mike. 'BRING IT b***h!"

He thrust the mike down at the man's feet, flipping the sledge hammer head over end and letting it rest in his hands now, his feet spreading apart like a foot ball player as he grinned. His body was thick with muscle but not too big, he seemed to move with athletic speed but not the grace of a dancer. That was fine for what Samuel lacked in nimble-ness he made up for in sheer raw power and speed. He held the hammer with the base of the shaft in his left hand, his right hand holding it near the base of the head, his white pupil-less eyes staring at the knight like empty holes. dead and emotionless, cold as the frosted wastelands but his body was vibrant with life. Powerful and alive, full of energy waiting to erupt onto this man a whole new twisted world of pain!

This real fight had just begun!

Psionic Charges: 50
mental Stability: 96%

Slowly in the distance he started to hear the beat of what he could only assume to be war drums, and a person whispering who was surprisingly loud for how low their voice sounded. He looked to the large magick imbued scrying mirrors that floated randomly around the slowly moving arena for some sort of hint as to where it was coming from. It was obvious that this eerie music was the devil's handiwork. He was not disappointed, for the music was soon accompanied not by human voices, but what he could only assume where the strangled cries of beast. At that same moment a demonic creature burst onto the glass' surface, running towards what Afton eventually connected as being the arena where he stood. He looked down just as the satanic spawn leaped over the railing and stumbled about clumsily.

Having been in situations like this before, tournaments with crowds screaming for blood, he hardly heard the roar of the masses. He was not here to impress the lowly surfs, only the nobility. So why should he care for their jeers, catcalls or drunken shouts? Out of the corner of his eye, however he caught a glimpse of a man in red, and instantly knew this to be the Satan's own warrior. He didn't even have to see the blank eyes to know this man was not of this world. Then again, neither was Afton.

As Samuel approached, full of malicious intent and rage, the olde knight took note that for once the two of them stood at the same height. It was odd actually being able to look someone in the face without having to look down. However the only outward sign he showed of this were a quick blink and an odd facial expression as he looked unfeeling into the creature's soulless eyes. Sam shouted what the knight could only assume to be obscenities into some sort of stone or crafted magic item (mic), this only aroused more confusion in Afton as he tried to figure out what its purpose could possibly be. This item seemed to have some thought to the obscenities as well, because it erupted into a screeching that a banshee would be proud of in response to his opponent's words and actions (Feedback). But still Afton would not rise, would not be goaded into attacking rashly, he would stay his hand for the proper time and make his arrogant seeming opponent all the more enraged. It would be Samuel's downfall if he kept at this pace, and the olde knight knew it from many hard won battles.

Finally the ape-like display of testosterone ended with a bang and another cry from the apparently wounded magic item of unknowable purpose (More feedback as it hits the floor). By the predatory pacing of the daemon, he gathered that he was supposed to return the display of aggression. Instead he drew his Richard, his claymore, from its scabbard and brought it down with a sickening crack against the speaking stone (mic), cleaving it in two with a final quick screech from what Afton assumed to be its dying form (Quick snap pop of feedback), all the while not taking his eyes off the predatory daemon. The crowed that had been screaming just a moment ago, covered their ears in defense from the loud snap-bang and the arena seemed to suddenly fall silent.

"Degenerate and base art thou, servant of Mab.... God is on my side."
( OOC Out of Ice Cream: This is both insult and threat. Mab is queen of darkness and Fae, this implies that he is a fairy, and in ye olden times, it's the equivalent of calling him a "f*****t", or at the very least weak willed. God is on my side is a way of saying you can't win, or are doomed to fail.)

Afton's words hung dramatically in the sudden silence of the air for a quick moment. In the quiet of the arena he silently and deliberately, with the smooth practice of hundreds of years, slid into a familiar fighting stance. It was a grace aided by much practice and the lack of his usual protective gear. He felt as light as a feather without the added weight of his full plate, almost dancing on the balls of his feet as he awaited his opponent's first attack. He stood with his shield presented and blade held at the ready. With one shoulder facing his target, behind the massive shield, he presented a much smaller target than his brash opponent who happily presented his whole body as a ready target. Even though the knight wasn't a small man by any stretch of the imagination, it was obvious that Sam there was going to have one hell of a time fighting someone so combat readied.

No pun intended.

"God?....that lazy ******** won't give you the time of day, let alone stand by your side, I should know...I've fought for him..." He spoke his blasphemies to this out dated fossil before him both with respect and hatred. People like this brought up bad memories, memories of a time when the Devil had fought for good men only to watch blind faith rewarded with pain and endless suffering. Samuel eyed the man took a ready stance before took his own form of readiness. His left foot sliding back as he readied his war maul. "You better lighten the ******** up cause we are going a lot further then that tonight."

With out another word the Psion burst forward in a full sprint, his broad shoulders rolling as his powerful legs carried him toward his foe. Moving like a ram with the full intent of going thru his lightly armored enemy but when there was about ten feet or so he took one large step and jumped. Hurling his body upward with incredible strength and flying into the air like an object thrown from a catapult! However as he started to descended towards the night something stopped him. A sight that would dumb found the crowd, the Knight and most likely those judging this fight.

In a jump that should have caused Samuel to come crashing down on top Sir Afton instead his feet hit something, rolling like a professional on what appeared to be air. Afton would look up to see Samuel's feet stop mid air, as if he had landed on something, his knees buckling as he rolled with his momentum, shedding off the un-needed momentum like a professional fighter. However this state of what appeared to be air walking did not last forever, no for just as Samuel finished his roll, which was about right behind where Sir Afton was standing, he fell off whatever had kept him up, apparently the end of the invisible run way.

The Devil would waste no time as he rolled off this invisible platform that had formed right above Afton's head, dropping down right behind the knight and crouching, turning on a powerful twist of his body and swinging the maul low to take out the man's legs! He turned on his left leg, rotating around so that his left side came around first, maul swooshing around to take out the man's back leg if he had not turned around already, otherwise whatever appendage happen to be there was getting demolished.

How had he done it, how he had walked on air? Simple, Psionic Force Wall. By creating the 8 by 8 foot Psionic shield in parallel with the ground he had created an invisible platform in the air, allowing him to surprise sir Afton and get the drop on him, or so he hoped However Samuel was no fool he knew a man this trained would not simply just stand there, he would turn around, maybe even swing as Samuel out positioned him. That was why he had reserved another psionic charge ready to pop out a second shield as a last second defense if need be. His ears honed in on the man's movement, waiting to hear that sound of shuffling feet and the swoosh as a steel claymore sliced thru air to tear him apart.

If sir Afton thought Samuel was just a raging lunatic, he was dead wrong. Samuel had moved with precision, efficiency and the cold calculated demeanor of a murderer who knew exactly how he was going to end Sir Afton's life.

Psionic Charges: 46
Mental Stability: 96%

Okay. I read both of your comments in PMs, and examined the fight to where it is so far.

In my opinion, the sword would destroy the psionic platform and thus stop most of its momentum, and thus Samayou would go unharmed. Whether he sticks with the damage or not is up to him.

However, what I do not agree with is Samayou creating another psionic wall right away. I already spoke to you in PMs when were discussing your ability that it needed a cooldown period. And being able to spam it was a big no no due to its low cost and instant generation. Thus, Samayou should wait another two posts before he can use it again.

So the verdict here in terms of using the psionic ability again is not possible. Samayou shall edit that out and continue as normal. Once you made that change, notify Red so the fight can continue.

{{Alright the re-post due to Vin's intervention.}}

Samuel would feel the combustion of his platform as the Knight attacked from below, rolling across the safely to fall of the edge and land behind the knight. His boots touched down with an impressive thud as he spun, both hands holding the maul tight as he brought it around to bear. On half way of the turn around his right hand would let go, using it to generate the initial force before letting the weighted end of the head and momentum carry the weapon thru the rest of its arc. His left arm tense as it swung to strike out the base of his enemy.

His eyes honing in as his right arm tensed, his low and solid base steady as he watched the knight dance back effortlessly to avoid the swing. Samuel watched, knowing that a sword swing would inevitable come, his right side itching to react as the man came thrusting back in, a classic offensive counter. However his eyes would go wide as the shield was brought down to ram him, surprised that the knight would rather try and close the distance with a shield bash rather then swing his cleaving weapon.

He had less then a few seconds to react, his only hope that the shield did not have some sort of explosive magical property. His arm extended plus the hammer swing gave him almost a 5-6 foot range of swing, meaning the knight had to charge in from 5 feet away or so giving him just a moment to think. His legs tightened, body thrusting forward in his prepared and crouched state, like a line backer bursting into the on coming offense. However due to his swing he would not really get a full charge in, most likely he would only get to stand to his height when the shield hit but he could still meet that with some force when crouched. He awkwardly gripped the maul with his left hand, knowing that chances were he would be forced to drop it from the up coming impact. His right shoulder turning into it as he attempted to counter by hockey checking the man back with his own shoulder! But why, what would drive a man to thrust his body right at an enemy charging with a shield?

Simple, Samuel had a slight advantage.

His eyes narrowed as he tucked his head and WHAM! Shield met flesh and bone yet despite the Knight's thoughts Sir Afton would not get the reaction he had hoped for. Instead of hitting a tall athletic man it would feel as if Afton had hit an on coming mack truck! Un-sure of how the knight would take it Samuel was slammed back, his shoulder aching and head ringing as he was forced back off his feet, stumbling back. Despite his hopes his grip on the maul would release from the shock, the unique weapon clattering to the ground as he fell back, thinking on instinct as his legs tucked in and he rolled with the momentum. Like doing a backwards roll he managed to create some distance, crouched in a low state with his right side a little numb and shaking his head. His shaggy hair flying about as his white eyes narrowed on the b*****d. Clever little ******** was faster then he expected, but Samuel was bigger and heavier then expected as well. Most did not see it but his athletic frame held the actual weight of a heavy weight body builder. This dense muscle and bone structure made him much more durable then he appeared, hence people referring to his as a tank with explosive speed.

However no man went with out feeling the consequences of trying to ram back against a shield with your shoulder. The dull throbbing pain and ache would filter into his mind, his hard veteran instinct telling him that the shoulder was not broken. His right hand low near his hip, ready to rely on his secondary weapon as he grinned, the crowd was going wild by now. His hope was that his un-expected counter thrust and his weight would also knock the lighter enemy back , maybe not throwing him like a rag doll but it certainly would stumble him back a foot or two when he discovered he was not hitting a feather weight, at least he hoped. There was the rare chance Afton was also not what he appeared but Samuel had no time to consider it a factor he had to run on instinct here. This thought made him grin more as his left hand motioned for the knight to bring it on. His deep rumbling voice showing signs of agitation as he snarled his remark. "Come on princess, that the best you can do?"

Psionic Cool Down: 2/3
Psionic Charges: 46
Mental Stability: 87%

WHAM!

The shield hit, Samuel was forced back but by no means did he just gently fall back waiting to be cleaved in two. He would not force the moment but make it his as they say, allowing himself to let his weight carrying him and roll away. That was the point of a tactical fighter, they allowed their movement to go as needed so when Afton swung his sword it just barely missed. What did he mean by barely? As in if it had not been for Samuel's plan to fall back and roll away that blade would have sunk directly into his ebony flesh, instead his intertwined vest would absorb the blade as it tore across him, carving a nice thick line in his armor as he fell back. At the end of it he was right where he had planned to be.

However now he had a problem, his maul was over to his left, but Afton was between him and it. This meant that the maul was a little past Afton's right and to the back of him. Samuel's right fingers twitching nervously as they unconsciously debated about the weapon on his hip as he tried to speak his words only to be cut off by another assault. Move, move, MOVE! His mind brought him to a realization as he watched the man come at him, shield at the ready. Wait for it, wait for it...NOW! In his crouched state he had explosive leg power ready to go and in a single motion, just as Afton was about to get in swinging range, Samuel would roll in a diagonal to his left. Narrowly avoiding the shield bashing lunatic and moving back in the general direction where he had started the fight.

The roll was smooth and fast, bolting as soon as his feet hit ground and covering the two steps it took to reach his maul in seconds, most likely just when Afton was turning after slowing his momentum down from his charge. Of this Samuel could not be sure, he could not yet gauge how well Afton could change direction in a charge or how quickly he could course correct himself. All he knew was he had to get his weapon if he wanted to play golf with Afton's knee cap again and after the bruise he had on his shoulder, he was going for a hole in one on this man. He would not waste time as he scooped his weapon up mid stride, his right arm shaking out the whole time as feeling came back more and more, he was ready to go.

Now he had distance, he had his charge back in terms of psionic energy, and his maul was firmly gripped in his left hand. Half turning now so that his right side faced Afton, his white pale eyes glared at the knight with intense purpose, watching from his distance but not just simply watching. His inhuman ears had been honing in on the sounds of heavy steps the whole while for the knight had proven he does not like to waste time with anything. At the sound of those steps coming anywhere near him he would prepare himself, always staying in a state that was ready to move.

Psionic Cooldown: 3/3
Psionic Charges: 46
Mental Stability: 95%