Counter the Attack above You

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SainguineXshadow

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Stephen saw the attack coming in slow motion and waited for the right time to jump onto the staff and launch himself into the air before drawing his Dreadnought Divider with Bloodtinged bullets and taking aim at his target firing all 6 rounds from it's chamber even one round already explodes like a NukeX100 so you can imagine the effect of six rounds "Enjoy the afterlife" he said as he melded into a shadow as the inevitable chaos that would occur.

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Maverick_6

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#952  Edited By Maverick_6

Bold finds himself laying at the bottom of a molten crater, his hand laying at the bottom of a massive crater. Everything around him is destroyed beyond much in the realm of measure, as he finds himself having accumulated a massive of amount of energy within his person.

In one hand, is six bullets his aggressor shot at him. They sit at the bottom of his palm. In his other hand, is an unlit cigar composed of something more hardy. As he somehow crosses the distance to leave the obliterated piece of land he's standing on, he finds the cataclysmic levels of energies that usually would have disrupted the area, to be almost entirely within.

"Huh. I wasn't expectin' that. Boys got more potent bullets than I thought, I guess." He said as, he intricately moves them along his fingers, attempting in vane to examine them. Unable to get a good look, he moves out of the nuclear crater in one whir of a motion, landing 300 hundred miles away in under a second. Trajectory meticulously calculated. His body cools, but the bullets are still a little hot. His cigar resumes normal form,

"Gonna need to have a word with that kid, some time."

Said as he unceremoniously drops the six rounds fired into the sand .

"The meantime? There's you."

He takes one puff of his cigar, turning to face his opponent. His heel raises a bit, as he balances himself on one leg for a sec.

*BOOM*

The impact is heard from the heavens, but those on the ground are the ones to bare the brunt of it. As everything seems to shake, a haze of sand flies outward in all direction for miles. Each grain like unto shrapnel, able to saw through flesh like a steel blade and clog up machinery. Backed by winds like a blastwave, eventually descending into something more gentle hurricane like winds.

*Puff*

The vacuum ceases and oxygen returns. His cigarette, now able to burn, as he idly watches the aftermath from the clear as day eye of the storm.

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Scoundrel

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#953  Edited By Scoundrel

He moved out of reflex rather than instinct, and as such he altered his density just in time to avoid the ultimate devastation. At the last second his body flickered from sight until he was nothing more than a vague representation of his former self, as he stood more or less a hologram that you could see through. But even though he was safe from the attack, he was forced to witness the hellish carnage going on around him. His enemies attack was so ruthless, that it devastated the area in seconds. Once a vibrant scene of life was now no more than a wasteland of destruction. Conrad was forced to watch as everything around him was destroyed, from the tallest building to the smallest blade of grass. Every little thing was wiped away, as bricks crumbled into dust, cars ripped to shreds and all the other objects around were torn a thunder. But nothing was more devastating to Conrad than the loss of lives. One by one the innocent bystanders caught in the blast died in a horrific manner, without even the chance to scream. Their bodies went up in flames, scorching them from the Earth, leaving nothing behind other than a few scattered ashes and the weeping tears of other love ones.

Even though the attack last less than a few minutes, Conrad had to watch it all in his transparent state. Unable to help anyone. Had there been at least one person, man woman or child within his grasp he could have save them in the same manner he saved himself. But in the end all he could see was the scattered bones lying around him, still smoking in the aftermath. Filled with a rage unlike he had never felt before, he yelled across the battlefield, “You Godless Bastard! Just look what you’ve done!” as he readjusted his form into a more powerful state. This time he shifted his density to it’s strongest form, turning his body into a stronger and more durable fighting machine. Acting out of rage, he charged forward, knocking any standing debris out of his way with the greatest of ease. Even the largest of object still remaining were tossed aside as he moved forward with peak human speed. The only thought running through his mind was to “Kill Kill Kill!

But while moving forward, ready to choke the life out of his enemy with his bare hands, his moral code ‘Not to Kill’ kicked in. Despite all the death and blood shed around, he still felt he could bring his enemy in alive. Quickly changing tactics, he jumped up just a few yards away from his target.In doing so he kicked off from the ground launching himself through the air where he came down against his enemy with his right boot leading the way. Strong and sturdy he prepared to preform a simple thrust kick upon his enemy's chest with enough force to crack some ribs. But then that would be easy to defend. Knowing this, the Scoundrel had an ace up his sleeve, and at the moment of contact he put his real plan into motion. Expecting a block, shift or counter strike, he quickly altered his density back to his malleable state so that at the moment he collided, he would phase through his enemy and end up on the other side. Then using his tactical advantage, he would readjust his density back to his normal state and provide a full side kick to his enemies back. Hard enough to hear the crack when he breaks the spine. This is of course if he manages to phase through his enemy [You].

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Kaede_

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The poor, confused man was running around the battlefield, shouting about killing. He sounded like he really needed some help sometime soon. Kaede wondered if maybe she could offer it to him when his confusion ratcheted up to the next level, and he darted towards her, launching himself in a powerful kick.

Well, that looked unpleasant. She did the only sensible thing and squeezed her eyes shut with an undignified squeak, and drew herself down into the core within. The girl was gone, and a red-crowned maple tree remained, quickly phased through and then kicked, hard, from behind. Bark shattered, leaving a mark, and a shuddering of leaves rained down upon his head.

Within herself, Kaede unfolded again, and shook her head, a girl once more. This was absolute madness.

What was she even doing here in the first place? She had absolutely no idea. Maybe someone else could help her understand. She turned to the nearest bystander. "Hello. Would [you] like a flower?"

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Hegemon

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@kaede_:

In that moment, Kaede would turn and pose a question to the instigator of the chaos herself. She'd menifested an illusion of a bystander, but in reality, it was Anakia Mankhan, the Dark Celestial host. Everything in the surrounding area began to wither away, object by object until nothing would remain and eventually, even the bystander Kaede spoke to would disappear. This was an illusion, a physical illusion she created and enveloped the entire area within it. It was intended to creep into the minds of its victims and slowly drive them to the pits of despair and loneliness, compelling them to suicide by whatever means necessary.

As for Anakia, she simply chose to walk away.

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Interstitial

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It was very odd to watch Ivana Mankhan, host of the Dark Celestial, reputably a sorceress of great power, and caught up in a terrible identity crisis. No wonder she chose to walk away. She couldn't seen to attack anyone but herself, and couldn't even remember what her name was.

The assassin didn't pity her. Pity was unbecoming, and there were other targets. She shifted herself into a separate dimension, and emerged elsewhere, monofilament-edged blade stabbing down out of nothingness at [you].

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Gripper

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It wasn’t the sound his enemy made when reappearing, nor was it a distinct oder, that let to his defeat. It was the sheer luck that Jack had his Stooges at the ready, watching his back in angles he could not see. In no specific pattern they slithered around him with a clinking sound, each one moving with a mind of its own. Up and down, side to side, it was their job to look where he could not. Whatever one of them saw they all do. Therefore as his opponent shifted in from another dimension unknown to Jack, he was immediately spotted by a Stooge. Even without seeing him with his own eyes, the image flashed through Jack’s mind, clear as crystal, with the one Stooge shining on him like a powerful spot light, and as he knew he caught his enemy off guard, it just felt right to say, “Gotcha!

Already in motion, the closest Stooge, Curly, retaliated by extending outwards, to attack the enemy before he could reach his host. Moving in with a twirling pattern, it formed a cork screw shape, never once taking it’s optic center off his enemy. Like a python, it wormed its way around the sword’s tip as it was leading the way, then on to wrapping its way around the arm. Still moving at an exponential rate, Curly continued until passing the shoulder and moving on to the man’s chest. From that point on it was all over, as Curly held him up in mid air, as snug as a bug in a rug. All that was left was to shoot a couple 50,000 volts through its system, rendering his enemy unconscious, with messed up hair and the slight smell of smoke rising from his body.

But just as Jack was about to celebrate a quick victory, a new challenger [YOU] appeared on the battle field. Roughly fifty yards apart, alone on an open field, he skipped the pleasantries and moved right into action. With a twist of his waist and a push off from his left foot, he began pivoting his body to the right in a 360 degree spin, while still holding on to the unconscious body of his previous attacker. At the same time he spun he strategically extended his arm out, building up its speed and striking force, waiting for the point he would finish his spin, and return back to a face to face stance with his prey. By then Curly should be in striking distance ready to slam what it considers a fist, plus the body mass of his previous attacker, and together they should supply enough brute force, that when coming hard on the right side of his new enemies frame, he should successfully knock him/her unconscious, just as easy as he did the previous attacker.

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Rey_King

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No Caption Provided

Anthony sees the arm, hurling at him at high speed, but his opponent made a huge mistake, attacking him with machines. He sits down, "connecting" with the claws' systems,but a firewall has be activated, making it a problem for him, but he succeeds, rendering the claws useless.Now the real threats are out of the way. He walks to the man, the owner of the claws'. "Gotcha, didn't I". He reels one hand back and punches the opponent in the jaw.

He looks are around to make sure the police isn't around but finds [You] instead, threaten that you say what he did, he sends thousands of drones with .7mm calibers, headed your way, he vanishes among the swarm of drones.

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Gripper

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In an instant the sky went dark. The sound of a thousand spinning motors hovered above as the drones took over the sky. Like a swarm of locus they moved in and together they were a deadly threat. Any one drone could take down a single individual with ease, but in thousands they were a force unlike any ever seen before. Still standing on the ground beneath them, Jack was left with little options and less time. As the first of many bullets were fired, he began by making a shield. With his lower left arm at the ready, it began coiling over itself as it extended, until it made a large spiral shape much like a Snails shell. Hiding underneath it, the millions of bullets ricocheted off it, leaving behind a loud clinking sound and a hoard of empty shells next to it. Unfortunately this was only the first wave of drones and just as Jack caught his second wind, the drones attacked from all sides. Still using his makeshift shield as his main line of defense, he needed to fight back hard or be killed.

With no time to waist, he sent forth his three remaining arms up to the sky, angling out each in a different direction. Like a rocket they shot upward, with their claws clamped tight forming a spear like tip, that pierced its way up with a whistling sound. The three stooges continued extending outwards until reaching a point just a few feet above the drones, at which point they rested their ready to strike. Still hiding behind his make shift shield, he peered out from under it just long enough to watch his arms reaching their final resting place, at which point he sent an unbridled charge of energy through them. Together they formed their own lighting rod, sending over one billion volts of energy between them, with lighting zipping and zapping from one to another. But as the drones were now caught in the web of energy, every one of them burst into flames. Every single one exploded in a ball of fire, only to rain down as scraps of hot metal proceeded only by an echoing of booms. But as the last of the debris flickered down around him, then and only then did Jack recoil all his mechanical arms back inside where he stood in the center of a pile of gun shells and drone shrapnel. It was at this point he was moved to make a clever witticism, but the best he could come up with was, “I sure as Hell ain’t cleaning this up!

It was then he saw his newest opponent [You] standing across the battlefield no less than fifty yards away. Realizing he could now use the debris around him as a weapon, he called forth his two upper arms to lead the way. As they shot forth he began spinning them at his sides in a reverse jump rope manner, in order to build up their speed and strength. It was then and only then he whip them across the jagged shrapnel around him, kicking the debris forward like a fan with the tips of his mechanical arms scraping the pile. Like buck shot they flew with the speed of a bullet, with never ending waves. As long as Jack could keep his arms moving and the debris never ran out, the attack would never stop coming. However, hoping his enemy would surrender before death, he gave him/her an occasional chance to surrender, therefore after about thirty seconds of attack he would shout, “Lay on the ground face down with your hands in the air, or I will continue!” If not the arms would spin again.

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deactivated-5ab869058874a

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Dreadpool lay face down on the battlefield, jagged shards embedded along his backside. He might've muttering darkly at the agony shooting through his spine, but the sudden and familiar sharpness spreading through every puncture reminded him that his healing was at work. Besides, his lifeless form sprawled against the pavement gave way to one of his favorite tactics.

Some might call it playing possum; he called it crafting a counterattack around a relevant internet gif. Motionlessly peering through the crook in his left arm, he could just barely ascertain his newest opponent's position. A gloved hand clasped his sidearm, finger inching around the trigger.

Without warning, he jammed the pistol under his thigh in the direction and pulled the trigger. The shot pierced the silence and a bullet cascaded out of the barrel, racing towards his opponent's forehead. The desired outcome?

Headshot: 2x Kill Bonus.
Headshot: 2x Kill Bonus.

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Dr_Higgs

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Polaris knew his opponent was faking it. A perfect field of vision surround him by generating rapid pulses of electromagnetic energy. He could visualize the red and black clad mercenary's movements, specifically how his hand had tightened around his pistol despite supposing to be dead.

Niel kept a magnetic hold over the barrel of the gun and wrapped a metaphorical highway extending from the barrel. His reaction speed was still human so he'd never be able to dodge or deflect the bullet as it came out. Best way to stop it would be before he fired.

The bullet let loose from the gun and was drawn away from niel by the magnetic field surrounding it. Like a gentle breeze guiding a kite into a tree, his magnetism guided it right into the wall to his right.

He then fixed his attention on the next poster. Without moving a finger, electrical charges began to swirl around his oppenent. Invisible to the naked eye, the current built up all around them before a surge lightning. Was released right at point blank distance into their 22nd vertebra.

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Backstabber

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@dr_higgs:

Jason stood like a fool, boasting about his awesomeness as he faced down his opponent. With no clue as to what the Doctor was really up too, he shouted vulgarities while beating his chest, all in an obvious attempt to prove his dominance. With his right hand he began twirling his 9mm around his finger, spinning it back and forth, with expert skill and timing. He tossed it behind his back, then over his shoulder than caught it again in mid air, all the while shouting, “I’m gonna kick your butt so easy that it would be too easy to easily kick your butt!”. Hoping his gun was still loaded, he aimed it dead center of his opponents eyes, ready to pull the trigger without a seconds thought, while trying to think of another awesome catch phrase to impress the Doctor. But like the fool he was he never once guessed a massive charge of electricity was surging around him with enough voltage to kill an Elephant, even as his overly greasy hair began standing on it’s ends. In his world the fight was all but over, with one pull of the trigger, and the smell of gun powder in the air. Never would he have expected the pain that was about to come.

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Before he knew it a bolt of lighting shot up his spine, with fifth degree burns across his body. His whole back had been singed away exposing a chard spinal cord, with cooked organs resting around it. In some sadistic way Jason managed to stay alive, screaming ungodly like a little girl, while he emptied his bowels at his feet. His hair, in fact all body hair, had been burned away under the skin line, which was peeling away from his bones. Had it not been for the fact he had an accelerated healing factor, and that he could not do a damn thing about the attack now, he danced around the battle field crying like a girl while flapping his arms in an attempt to cool himself off. By now the flesh on his back had grown over as his girly screams where now pathetic whimpering. Unaware of who or what was around him, he continued to parade around while complaining, and kicking up a ton of dust under his feet. The only audible words he could pronounce throughout the painful ordeal was, “It just ain’t fair” as he held back the urge to cry!

It was then he notice another figure standing near him, with no idea how much he heard. Immediately he wiped away the tears from his eyes, while trying to fake courage. “I don’t know who you are but your freaken dead!” With that said he looked around for his gun, only to find it melted into a chunk of lead from the electricity, and with another ‘Damn it’ under his breath, he decided to make the best of it. Darting his eyes between the melted gun and his enemy [You] he held the piece like a baseball behind his back. For the sheer fun of it, he spit on the ground like a pitcher in a big game then with a little help from his mutant gene, he rolled his right arm forward launching the piece forward. With above perfect aim at his enemies chest, and a speed that rivaled the fastest bullet, the piece of lead rocketed across the battlefield with one and only one objective, kill the target. But whether he hit his enemy or not, all Jason could think of, was how awesome he would have been as a baseball player. Then as always his thoughts rolled back to slutty women and the nasty stuff he wanted to do with them!

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deactivated-5ab869058874a

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Dreadpool

An awfully young assailant suddenly loomed just above me, sword swishing down towards me in what was sure to be a swift and clean kill. Well, kill is kind of a relative term, for me, but that's not important ("or is it?").

I could feel my movements blurring with quickness as I freed my katanas from their back-sheaths, crossing them over my head to block the overhead slice. The golden swords clattered dramatically against mine with a metal clang, and I thanked my maker ("well, writer") my swords didn't shatter beneath the enchanted might of Red Riding Hood's.

With a thought I appeared on the other side of the battlefield, tightening by fists around the jet-black grip of my blades. The back of my neck prickled; I could almost feel the presence of my enemy someways behind me, like those moments in Skyrim when a mudcrab spots you and the game won't let you fast travel. Yeah, that's exactly what it felt like.

Wasting little time, I spun around, bringing my right katana swishing through the air in a horizontal slash aimed at my opponent's throat.

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Rey_King

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Kegen blocks the blade with a finger shattering it "Aww.." he said moping "I did it,again" He launches a quick punch to the chest with his other hand,with enough force to tear a mountain

Before. he flies off he spots an opponent or at least he thinks it is. "I doubt you'll live but lemme just make your death interesting" He raises the magma just below the ground raising up the area of rock,a wall of flames burst behind the opponent. He rises up to the platform about. 45 ft and stares at the opponent, he rushes to them leaving a deafing shockwave behind him, he pulls his first back,and is about to hit the opponent with a tectonic shattering force.

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deactivated-5ab869058874a

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Dreadpool

Remember what I said about dying being a relative thing for me? This is literally the kind of thing I'm talking about.

By the time Hercules' douchier little brother was finished with me, I was a self aware puddle of a human being buoyed on the surface of the dirt. I know this because the absurd assault had rendered me a disembodied spirit, observing from an imperceptible plane of existence - a limbo of sorts.

In a sense, I was dead, and yet something buried in the transcendent nature of my powers tethered me to the realm of the living. I couldn't move on, and I couldn't move very far from my body - or rather, the liquid gore that remained of it. The circumstance was all too familiar to me; it was a waiting game, and not a very interesting one.

Before I knew it, the sun had sunk beneath the horizon and the moon shone beautifully through the clouds and over the darkened battlefield, leaving me to contemplate the meaning of life whilst my body regenerated itself.

Hours went by. The inky sky was now a deep blue. I had taken rest against a dusty boulder, now wondering if I could call Bradshaw (@maverick_6) from the grave ("love that guy!"). Another hour. Pink was beginning to fill the horizon, and my corpse looked like a human being now; muscle and sinew were rapidly replenishing over the bones. I could feel my spirit beginning to gravitate back towards my body. Then--

"Freaking HECK that's a long respawn time," I grumbled, reconstructing my red 'n black spandex suit with a thought. I clutched the handle of my broken katana, eyeing the jagged shard remaining on it. I could fill exasperation welling within. "Ohhhh...hahaaahahaa....Uncle Dreado's gonna go to town," I growled, springing off the dirt. With all the strength I could muster, I flung the broken, jagged blade at the throat of my enemy.

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Major_Blackstar

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Once again Alix was thrown into the heart of battle, with his hand clenched around his shield. Prepared for the worst he took a defensive stance with his shield at the ready, while keeping a watchful eye on his opponent. In an overly tense moment, the enemy attacked, throwing his broken jagged blade at his throat, with both an impressive speed and strength. Like a blur it crossed the battlefield, closing the distance like a bullet, with a razor sharp edge leading the way. With no time to waste, Alix raised his shield, blocking the blade inches before it pierced his skin. Together they let out a loud clinking sound as they collided, only to send the blade bouncing off in a different direction. But with a lifetime of training, he strategically sent the blade flying upwards with an arching angle, that on its way back down it would fall right behind his back.

Never once taking his eyes off his enemy, he casually remarked, “That one’s gonna cost you!” as he reached behind his back with his left hand. At that exact moment, the blade fell hilt first into his waiting hand, where he clinched it tightly to get a good feel for the weapon as well as its weight and balance. Then with a squint in his eyes, he swung his arm forward with the blade leading the way, sending it back to it’s owner’s throat, in a sense of poetic justice. But before he let go he used every bit of strength he had in his arm to send the blade back faster than it was thrown at him, with the added advantage of his above peak human strength!

Realizing he was not alone, he immediately took notice of a new arrival on the scene [You] and turned to engage the stranger. Using the advantage of distance, he reached into his utility belt, and pulled out a small devise resembling a white hockey puck, and with a healthy heave tossed it in the strangers direction. In less than a second the puck exploded releasing a thick cloud of smoke throughout the air, cutting visibility down to zero. Hoping the enemy was either dazed or confused, or at least caught off guard, Alix reached for his fire arm, and with a pull of the trigger, unleashed a wave of suppressing gunfire in the way of thousands of small energy blasts each capable of a deadly force.

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Gripper

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Within seconds, a thick cloud of smoke filled the air. Visibility was now down to zero and like a fool Jack flailed his arms around in a mild state of panic. Already he was coughing from the smoke as he waved his natural hand across his face for fresh air, but the fact was he was out of his element. Even his mechanical arms were useless against the cloud, as they began sending signals to Jack’s brain that they were getting concerned. Suddenly the sounds of a massive energy build up could be heard in the distance, and within seconds thousands of small but lethal blasts of energy were fired. But from Jacks perspective, each blast was easy to avoid as the build up of energy shone in the smoke, like a light house through the fog. In a sense they were the easiest things to see in a cloud of nothing.

Despite the vast speed and numbers of the blasts, Jack relied on his new bodies natural abilities, and as such began a ballet of dodging bullets. Beginning with a back somersault that turned into a few cartwheels, he danced around the energy blast with minimal ease. All the while hoping and waiting for that brief moment when his enemy either ran out of ammo, or at least needed to reload. Unfortunately all his dancing did was waste time and energy, and in a thick cloud of smoke, his oxygen supply was scarce. Now wheezing prematurely, he knew his only option was to escape the reach of the smoke and fast.

In a rush for air, he planted the tips of his two mechanical arms firmly on the ground, forming a solid base to work from. Then with the speed of a thought, he hoisted himself upwards by extending the arms from his back, thus lifting him up as the arms grew longer. With nothing but a loud clinking sound underneath him he felt the need to say a verbal quip just for the hell of it, and as his head pierced up above the smoky cloud he jested, “Welcome to floor two, no smoke but a clear view for a butt whooping!” Now with a clear view of his surroundings and the man attacking him, he countered the attack with his own barrage of energy blasts, as he called forth his two upper mechanical arms to coil over his shoulders and blast away.

It was then he caught out of the corner of his eyes, the movements of a new target on the field [You]. In desperate need to end the fight quickly due to his exhaustion, he went in to action before thinking things through. In a rudimentary attack, he lowered himself back to ground level, just as the last of the smoke filtered away, and proceeded to coil his two upper arms one over the other, in an attempt to build up their strength, Then without a second thought he slammed them down hard into the ground between them, with such a force that it tore through the pavement and created a growing fissure that spread out towards his foe like an earthquake. But even though he could not be heard over the sound of the ground being ripped apart, he once again tried his hand at a catch phrase and thus boasted, “How’s that for a welcome card?” realizing how bad it was....while he was saying it!

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Kevlar_

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With her barrier at full strength and an Ares Shrike loaded with explosive rounds, Kevlar stood ready to disassemble her foe. As her foe's monstrous fists turned not against her, but the ground, she began to realize the kind of danger she was in. A protective forcefield was nice, especially considering the nature of hers, but it wouldn't help to protect her from gravity itself and certainly wouldn't keep her alive long enough for her to crawl out from the mantle of the earth. As the earth split apart, she instantly realized what she had to do to survive.

Run.

In a frenzied, adrenaline fueled rush, Kevlar burst to the side, gaining as much ground as possible before the fissure reached her. A second before it arrived, she leapt with all her strength as the ground rushed out from underneath her. With arms stretched wide, she desperately grabbed hold of the newly formed ledge and quickly climbed back up onto land.

Pissed off, shaken and at a loss for words, the first person that she caught sight of was [You]. With her free hand, she reached into one of the pockets in her jacket and removed a flashbang. With haste, she removed the pin and sent the small bomb flying straight for your feet. A momen later?

Bang.

A sound that would deafen a man and a light that could blind filled the area. And, not a moment later, Kevlar set her sights on you. Hoping to leave her foe blinded and open to being ripped apart by rounds packing enough power to shred a tank in seconds, she opened fire on [You] with an entire clip of explosive ammunition out of her LMG. There were two things that Kevlar was good at. Fixing stuff that broke...

And hitting her target.

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Gripper

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In a flash everything changed. With a brilliant display of blinding light and a deafening screech from the flashbang Jack was hurt badly. Blinded, he stumbled around like a lost babe, unable to see where he was going, while rubbing his fingers in his ears to stop the incessant ringing. He was now oblivious to all around him, trapped inside a hell in his own head. Over and over he would scream out words like, “What the hell” and “Who’s there?” but was unable to hear them. To the world outside he was a stumbling fool, an easy target with no clue to what was going on around him. However his stooges were not.

Despite the powerful effects of a flashbang, his mechanical arms were unaffected and like a visual crutch, they could see for him. In a stunning display of joint symbioses, Jack’s visual acuity was anew, and despite the oddity of the situation, he felt whole. To him it was completely natural, seeing through the eyes of four mechanical arms, as natural as if it was his own two eyes. As such, he was more than ready to defend himself when his enemy opened fired.

In seconds round after round of gunfire split the night, each with enough power to shred a tank in seconds. With no time to think, Jack instinctively raised his arms for protection, including his human arms which he used to shield his face. However, upon mental command, he used all four of his stooges to create a wall of metal between him and the gunfire, and after stacking one arm a top another he was temporarily protected. For the next few minutes rounds of shrapnel bounced off the wall, with nothing more than a loud ‘Cling’ and a few sparks.

Realizing he could not hold her off forever, he needed to strike back hard and fast, before his enemy could come up with another plan. With limited strategic knowledge he decided a frontal attack would be best and as such he set his plan in motion. By now his sight was slowly returning to normal, and with a thought his four mechanical arms began moving again, this time wrapping around him. Soon he was safe inside a make shift ball of steel, with his arms caressing him inside. It was at this point he began rolling forward like a giant boulder, picking up speed and momentum with every stride. He was now a force to be reckoned with, ready to roll over anything in his path, much like a Juggernaut. His only weakness was a limited field of sight, but at the size of a small compact car he was pretty sure to hit his target.

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Revan-

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Dab out of the way, then cough fire back.

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Voracious

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Septimus reared his feet, planted to the ground and reared to dodge.

However....

His eyes fall upon a man, standed and in the way, trapped beneath a car by the previous rampage. "Grah." He growls, dashing forward with his hands denting into the car. He feet drove into the ground dirt kicking up a he lifted the car with one hand and with the other he grasps the injured man and tosses him.

He speaks in his scream. His screams speak of pain. His screams speak of raw, unadulterated fury. They speak of that abomination with that compels him to feed, reproduce and survive. It carries with it an aura of nightmare which makes all those around who hear it flee. It takes every once of his person to not frenzy and be consumed by the beast, which in this situation would simply run in the case of aggravated damage caused by the flame. Damage that was harder to heal.

No. It was the beast who wished to flee. Septimus wished to fight.

*CHINKT*

The tip of his great sword knocked the cover of the fire hydrant off, and sent generous amounts of water gushing forth at such pressures as to knock the vampire along the sidewalk until he halts his flight with the impaling of his sword in concrete.

His eyes reard his prey and his stance gets low, like that of an olympic sprinter. That is if an Olympic Sprinter carried a Six foot long Sword tipped with diamond hard tungsten carbide that he sought to attack his next opponent. (You)

No Caption Provided

He flew forward, crossing dozens of feet in under a second, all that speed, strength and momentum focused on running his opponent through with his sword as though they were a freshly speared fish. From which, he would hoist them up and spitefully throw them a dozen meters away.

With one final growl, he collapsed, whether his attack worked or not.

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deactivated-5ab8682ab2fc9

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Gideon Hunter

There was no time to think. Acting on inhuman instincts alone, I almost-instantly rotated counter clockwise into a potent left hook that batted the sword away a split second before I would've become a mercenary kabob, the adamantium spikes coating my glove compensating for what would otherwise have been a very bloody, very painful counter.

Using the momentum from the sudden rotation, I swung my right fist in a horizontal, back-handed arc, seeking to viscerally drive the spiked back of my fist into the jaw of my next opponent with the force of a truck.

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Supra-Man

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The spiked fist landed only in the open palm of the Supra-Man, intercepted a half-second before it could connect with its target. Even adamantium cracked on contact with Nemo's skin, crumbling ever so slightly as he squeezed his fingers.

Brushing the metal residue from his palms, Nemo inhaled deeply then exhaled, a hurricane-like gust of wind now sent towards his hapless foe.

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deactivated-5ab8682ab2fc9

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In a blur of motion, I dove into a smooth roll past my attacker's side to avoid the winds. Almost immediately I rose back into martial poise, arms tensed to guard my torso as I sent a roundhouse kick at my opponent's stomach with enough force to shatter concrete.

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Hawkshade

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#976  Edited By Hawkshade

Hawkshade's stomach tenses as he eats the kick, grunting with the impact while his rear hand darts down to hook behind your knee in the crook of his elbow, tucking your leg against his torso and hurling his huge fist in a thunderous uppercut toward the point of your chin.

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Supra-Man

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Nemo's eyes tracked the fist throughout its approach, the initial motion appearing unthinkably slow to the Universal Man. His foe had attempted to grapple him, only to find him standing as statuesque as ever. He raised an eyebrow at imperceptible speeds as it careens powerfully towards his chin, undoubtedly a move that would cleanly knock out any ordinary being. With a flex of his powerful muscles, though, his brutal foe was tossed aside.

Time for a warning shot.

With a single eye closed, Nemo aimed to shoot a thin beam of crimson energy at the feet of his opponent, the concussive force of its impact at their feet likely enough to toss them wildly aside.

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I darted forward, ducking under the narrow beam in avoidance as I moved into grappling range of my opponent. With roaring speed I shot at my opponent's torso in a tackling maneuver, driving my shoulder into my opponent while seeking to grab hold of their knees and launch them on their back.

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Voracious

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#979  Edited By Voracious

Septimus felt the impact of the man as he reactively appeared to grapple. His superhuman strength was negated by positioning, as the man promptly picked him up and slammed him onto his back.But his grip still remained on his opponent. His legs, sought to ensare his hips. And his hands, gripping shoulders with such strength as to deform sheet steel.

*Crack*

His jaw had begun to open, bones popping as his jaw expanded more, and more, and more, until it became of such width that he could fit his opponents all too human visage into his mouth. Septimus, did not seek the opponents flesh. No. He wanted their blood.

No Caption Provided

The long bladed tendrils shot out towards the opponent's own carteroid arteries. Two seconds, unconsciousness. In ten, death.

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Gripper

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Jack tried to remain calm while staring into the beast jaw as it opened wide , but the fact was, it was a disturbing sight. Filled with popping noises and a spray of saliva as it continued to creak its way open, exposing far worse than a display of jagged teeth. It was far beyond the normal experience that he was use to. But despite the unsettling chill it sent down his spine, he was more than ready to react when what passed for his enemies tongue shot out. Cold and clammy it’s long bladed tendrils reached out for him, wiggling it’s way closer to Jacks carotid arteries like a deadly leech. In that one brief moment, Jack’s body, responded by falling back, as he leaned away at the hips. With his feet still planted firmly on the ground, he arched his back moving his neck away from striking distance.

Still in a position to strike back, with a mental command he called forth his right upper mechanical arm at the ready to defend as well as attack. With a speed fast enough to catch a bullet, the arm shot up between them with its metal tip claws clamping away. Then without warning the arm, striking like a cobra, clamped down upon his enemies tendril with a vice grip holding it tight and in place. Despite the awkwardness of steel and organ wrapping around one another, Jack kept a cool head and with another quick command to the arm, released over 50,000 volts through it and straight into his enemies slimy appendage. Filled with crackling of energy, the arm would hold tight until Jack felt confident that his foe was down for the count, then and only then would he release his grip and reply, “Now that’s how you take a licking!

Now standing face to face with another foe [You], outside along an abandoned street, Jack took the advantage of first strike. With his right upper mechanical arm at the ready he shot it out to the nearest parked car, and after clamping tight upon it’s under carriage, he hoisted it up in the air. Then without the need for a wind-up, he easily hurled the automobile towards his foe ,as easily as throwing a base ball. The only difference being, the ball weighed over 5,000 tons and was thrown at a speed that rivaled far above a peak humans. But still playing the percentages, Jack made double sure to put his enemy down, therefore just as he sent the car flying through the air, he could only hope and assume his enemy would be distracted by the behemoth or at least looking up at it. It would be at that second he would call forth his lower left arm to his side and shoot from it’s tip a small but powerful blast of energy, with enough force to put an average someone down for the count.

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Hawkshade

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Hawkshade hurled himself to the side, driving every muscle in his peak human body to the limit, twisting into a sideways flip that he replicated from absorbing the routines of a thousand Olympic gymnasts with his photographic reflexes. Raw physical power and machine-like precision of movement came together in a single moment of acrobatic perfection that flipped him out of the way of the flying car with only a hair's breath to spare.

But he didn't stop there, carrying his momentum into another backflip clean over a car parked on the side of the road, moving his huge frame through the air with a speed and agility that belayed his size. The energy blast punched through the parked car, narrowly missing him and spraying him with shards of molten metal.

Then it was his turn. Tree-trunk legs pumped like pistons in an engine as he charged you. At the last moment he spun mid-dash and leapt with an easy that made it seem as if he simply levitated into the air. His foot drove out, every ounce of his two hundred and forty pound airborne frame behind it, heel targeting your jaw with bone pulverizing force.

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Voracious

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He was thirsty. His disciples and supernatural abilities sapped without the Vitae to fuel him. But he still had his Potence. He still had his will.

*Plink*

The sound of boot hitting steel. The heel of his opponent was met with the flat end of his six foot long. All the while, he stepped to the side and allowed his opponent's strike to be channeled into his blade, the foot sliding all along as Septimus stepped out of the way.

Bone crushing force became his own, as he continued the spin and brought the tungsten carbide tip of his blade swinging towards his next opponent with concrete cleaving force. All in seeemingly one singular, fluid motion.

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Hawkshade

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Boots struck the ground and Hawkshade carried his momentum into a roll that took him under the path of the blade, powerful legs driving him up from the ground in a rising uppercut, huge fist driven upward by the force of his legs, aiming to slam into the point of his foes jaw.

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Major_Blackstar

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When it came to fighting, there was nothing Alix loved more then when it came down to hand to hand combat. Over the years the weapons may have changed giving one side an advantage, but when it comes right down to it, it’s always one man standing against another. That is why he respected the art of hand to hand combat, and even trained to be the best. Win or lose when two men fight, and give it their all, they are both a winner in some respect. In this case, Alix could already tell his enemy had skill and training just from the way he sneaked under his defense and struck at his jaw. Although it was a simple and rudimentary move, his enemies speed and balance put him far above the best he had ever faced.

Realizing this, there was no time to waste, Alix needed to strike back hard and fast, or take a devastating blow to his jaw. Unable to block the incoming blow with his shield, Alix instead leaned back while planting his left foot firmly behind him on which to pivot upon. In doing so, he brought his right leg up from the side and began swinging it in front of him at waist level. In effect, his body was placed in a ‘T’ position, with his body leaning to one side and his right leg coming in as the other. Therefore when his enemies blow came in, not only would his jaw be out of striking range, but his right leg was striking back with a side kick to his valiant foe's exposed sternum.

But whether he connected the kick or not his next primary move would be to put some distance between him and his enemy, giving him a chance to gather his wits and plan his next move. After four or five perfectly executed back flips, he finished off landing twenty yards away from his enemy [You], with his shield already cocked back on his throwing arm ready to strike. With a quick, “Your good I’ll give you that!” he secretly reached behind him into his utility belt with his free hand, and quietly pulled out his bola. Then in an attempt to distract his enemy, his eyes darted to the left, assuming most skilled fighters would be following them, at which point he then tossed the bola forward, relying on his skill and training to hit the target. If successful the incoming weapon would strike near the head where its stronger than steel cord would rap around it, until finally two heavy weighed balls would eventually come colliding in, possibly crashing the skull.

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Musa_Bashir

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#985  Edited By Musa_Bashir

Acrobatically ducks. Darts. somersaults forward before rolling up to his feet, while simultaneously flashing his hands forward. Aethrium claws extended and ready to disembowel.

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Voracious

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The Damned Disciple watches his opponent swiftly approach with steady, blood red eye,s walking contrastedly slowly and constantly adjusting himself so that he is facing his opponent no matter where he walks. His six foot long sword held tightly in hand, lowered and pointed squarely at his opponent as he approaches. A fool's guard. His walk, careful. His breath? Absent. His hunger for prey weak enough to feed on? Great.

The opponent nears with indestructible claws that had not reached. The blade comes down with superhuman swiftness and decisiveness, threatening to intercept the opponent at the very edge of Septimus' range. Such a strike hosting enough force to crush a car or bisect an unarmored man into two halves.

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Hawkshade

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#987  Edited By Hawkshade

In a heartbeat the blade would flash down toward the crown of Hawkshade's head. His lead foot was to the left of the blade and his rear foot was to the right so the blade would, if it struck him, slice him vertically into two parts.

He was, however, pre-warned by his ability to read the body language of a foe with preternatural accuracy, learning more in a glance than most did from a year of analysis.

The blade was too fast to dodge. So he moved first. Exploding into a spin that snapped his rear foot forward, across the centerline and now in a straight line with his lead (now rear) foot, this moved his entire body to the left of the blade, his back turned to the blade as it slashed through the air behind him and toward the ground.

With flawless timing he continued the spin into a spinning elbow, driving every ounce of torque into his extended elbow that came down toward his foes nose like a hammer, aiming to crush the ethmoid bone beneath the iron-hard point of his elbow as his feet finished the spin, evading the strike, closing the distance and attacking in a single fluid movement.

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Voracious

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Dust flew up from his strike and the Vampire Vanguard is seen poofing from the confusion at maddening speeds.

There is a faint feeling of something wet beneath his lips. Could this be? The trickling of Vitae? The white fluid came from his nose, and as he raised it to attempt to identify the nature of his next opponent, he could not. He had been truly robbed of his nose. At first, his rows of razor sharp teeth grit and his face contort to one of something greater. He took a step forward, and he began to wobble. His sword, screeching against the ground for a moment before he actually picked it up off the ground.

He staggered forward, raising his sword to the air as he neared his opponent before bringing it down towards them with an ensuing eruption of dirt. The obviously telegraphed move, serving to fool and lure his opponent into a false sense of advantage as from his other hand, he'd fire his desert eagle with unerring accuracy and the intent for the round to smash apart the skeleton of his next opponent with a weapon made more so for hunting bears, then mere men.

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Hawkshade

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#989  Edited By Hawkshade

Hawkshade was not fooled by the ploy and he threw his body into a diagonal roll into Voracious's range and toward his sword arm side because the moment his body moved past the hilt he was safe from the blade and as he moved past the sword-wielding shoulder he was thus outside the firing arch of his foes .50 caliber rounds.

The momentum of the roll carried him to his feet behind his opponent and he didn't bother to turn, delivering a stomping back kick toward the lower spine of his foe from behind their back, the piston-like power of his tree-trunk legs more than enough to cause spinal shock and induce temporary paralysis.

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Killer_Instinct

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#990  Edited By Killer_Instinct

In an instant, Hanzo twists his body and catches the blow to his 'ribcage', which sent pulsating crackling sounds rippling along the innermost core of his torso. He stops for a moment, shaken by the sudden attack, but his lifeless eyes dart up towards his enemy.

Without a word he slides off the lower part of his mask and unleashes a torrent of flame and smoke in front of him, the shotgun-blast like effect of it choked with black smog as it settled treacherously quickly: a ruse!

The now-revealed face of the assassin grimaces as he lowers himself below the haze, throwing a nefariously sharp dagger at his opponent from underneath their immediate field of view.

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Hawkshade

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The flames billowed toward him and the vigilante tossed himself into a no-arm aerial flip at a ninety degree angle to his opponent, landing on his heavy boots several feet from the path of the fire and smoke, his eyes firmly upon his foe as the man crouched, drew a dagger and let fly. Hawkshade's shoulders rotated, bringing the back of his right hand across his face to contemptuously swat his opponents projectile out of the air while his left hand swept forward, whipping a Iaculum-blade into the air at nearly a hundred miles per hour, blade singing as it spun, arching in a lightning quick curve around his next foes leg and aiming to sever the Achillestendon with one swipe of razor sharp tungsten steel.

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Voracious

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#992  Edited By Voracious

The Beast gnawwed at his mind, calling for blood. But in order for that to happen, he had to be able to get to his opponent. His steely mind fought against the urge to feed as he clutched his sword, holding it squarely at his side in a way akin to a knight. Or more accurately...

A baseball player.

He was keen to account for the projectiles tricky direction as he quickly dashed to his left.

*CHING*

The sound of metal on metal as his edge collides with the flat end of the projectile in one broad yet well placed swing, not only was able to intercept the projectile. Indeed, the struck it with such precision, timing and accuracy to send the projectile right back at his opponent, with such force that it's tungsten edge would be perfectly at home in Type II bullet resistant armor.

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Hawkshade

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A hand flashed outward and Hawkshade snatched the Iaculum-blade out of the sky, twirling it his palm as he paced in a circle around his opponent. "Thanks." He smirked.

Then he begin bouncing on his toes, rocking his weight back and forth as he circled, feinting and toying with the edge of his next foes range in a masterclass of misdirection and deception his photographic reflexes had recorded in a battle with Musa Bashir, making his hated foes movements his own and deploying them against his rival until-

-he struck. Feet sliding forward as if they had a mind of their own, closing the distance with the serpentine grace and snapping his lead hand out with a casual, lazy speed, fist not closing until the last inch-- when it clenched into a brick of bone and muscle that aimed to snap his next foes orbital bone under the thunderous jab.

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Supra-Man

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#994  Edited By Supra-Man
No Caption Provided

Remaining still as possible, Nemo watched his opponent maneuver back-and-forth, an eyebrow raising as he considered what they might attempt. Would an evasive maneuver be too generous? If they lashed out as they seemed they were about to, and he did not move, the only result was that they would injure their hand. He was reminded of one of the first times he and Alex fought...there were still quite a few tricks up his sleeve, even then. Enough to keep Nemo on his toes, at least.

As the microseconds ticked by, he chose not to take the hit. The S-Crested Wonder simply shifted to the side, leaving behind a frame of light in his image. His foe's perfectly-thrown fist met only empty air, the afterimage of Nemo fading but a second later.

"Close one," he taunted, immediately regretting the juvenile jab. On some days, he wasn't quite so professional.

Sticking out his foot, he motioned inwards to trip his opponent at super-speed, using their momentum against them unexpectedly. Better to end a fight without too much violence - only a blow to the ego, if it worked.

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Voracious

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#995  Edited By Voracious

He watched the ground, his face getting nearer and nearer to it as he fell forward.

His palm hit the ground, and his arm balanced his entire body, gear and all. From the hand, he landed on his feet. Thus was one somersault. Now? To do it again. Hand-Feet-Hand-Feet-Hand-Feet-Hand-Feet. His body twisting as nimbly a gymnast, yet with a trenchcoat stocked with weapons and wearing enough body armor for him to easily to three hundred and Seventy pounds. The series of somersaults end with his feet dragging on the ground and kicking up dust.

He sees his Desert Eagle having been previously dropped on the ground, and reaches into his coat to pull out his Bowie knife. Slowly, he holds out his Zweihander in a single hand, pointing it squarely towards his opponent. His eyes, glowing an ominous red.

No Caption Provided

He said nothing with words, seemingly silently challenging his opponent as he stared dead center towards their eyes. If the eyes are the window to the soul, then the two orbs in his viewing sockets was the Gateway to the Beast. There was no transfer of energy. No transfer of matter. Simply, to gaze into Septimus' eyes as he focused would be to gaze into the Eldritch essence of unholy terror itself. The ground would begin to melt. The skies, turning blood red. Flesh would peel from the opponent's skin and a fire erupted from thin air around them. It's smouldering heat felt without contact, and growing ever more intense as it neared them and seemingly ensnared the world.

The mind would undo the body in itself, as the opponent would simply fall to the ground.

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Gripper

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For what seemed like an eternity, Jack was in Hell. Beneath the safety of his overly large thick sunglasses, he made the mistake of locking eyes with his foe, without any knowledge of the power in his enemies glare. Upon contact, he fell to the ground screaming in agony, as if his mind was being ripped apart. In his head his brain was on fire, with flames scorching out of his ears. His eyes violently popped out of their sockets, followed by a spray of blood that never ended. With both hands he peeled away at his flesh, ripping it off in sections to expose his rotting yellow skull underneath. The fact of the matter was it was all in his head, like a Jedi mind trick, killing himself from the inside. To the outside world he was laying on the floor in a fetal position, shaking while screaming bloody murder, as he clawed away at his face.

Even with his higher than normal pain threshold, his ongoing nightmare was more than he could handle. His heartbeat pounding inside his chest, faster and faster with each second. Finally he could take no more, and with no other option his mind simply.....shut down. Immediately his body went limp, laying there like a sack of wet potatoes, with no signs of life. He was now a sitting duck, lying defenseless against any other attack, motionless and alone. But it was then his mechanical arms kicked in. Realizing their host was in trouble, they immediately began low level shocks throughout his system to stimulate the body. Starting with the most important, they continually shocked the heart and mind then moved on to the others. Without a host they would die, and with out them, the host would die. Either way they lit up his insides with electricity like an internal defibrillator, until slowly his wits returned and he was able to rise up on his feet.

Still shaking off the cobwebs, Jack immediately called forth all four mechanical arms, for both aid and physical support.It was then, as his double vision was slowly returning to normal, he saw his enemy [You] standing just a few yards away from him alone on the roof top of a high rise building. Ready to attack Jack swiveled at his hip, while thrusting his lower left mechanical arm out like a whip, that would come crashing along his enemy around the knee area, hoping to knock his foe off his/her feet. At the same time his upper left mechanical arm was on the move, shooting forward with the goal of clamping his enemies neck, and either clamping around it and pinning him/her to the ground in a neck hold, or at least strike along the jawline and knock him/her out!

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Voracious

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Gripper

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Phantomshell

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Just narrowly. Just by the smallest of margins. In fact the metallic appendage of his unorthodox foe may have very well brushed the bottoms of his black Nike Flynets. By mere inches and with acrobatic brilliance the Phantomshell aerially launched his body straight up, knees tightly tucked into the chest while his arms extended outwards for brief, but never the less airborne; balance.

However as athletic as he may be, the lack of an inherent superpower meant that the one two offensive combination had only been partial subverted. Snagged in midair, the impact alone was enough to gag the secret Strix beneath his wine red mask. But then to be violently slammed and pinned to the ground? Most people would have been rendered unconscious on the spot.

Yet as the Phantomshell slowly slipped out of consciousness, he smirked. Blinking as his eyes tracked the flashing red lights sailing through the crisp air from one roof, to the other. Having launched a series of sleeve cloaked circular explosive devices the very second he had been unceremoniously intercepted. Whether he succumbed to the brutality of the slam or not, one thing was sure. The area of his opponent was about to erupt in an explosive piece of decimating theater.

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Voracious

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He lowered his blade taking a moment to gather his own mind and recover. Yet, in the silence, he heard the air part ways as small circular disks headed his way. His knife was the fleetest weapon in his hands, and in a flash of bullet slicing speed, Voracious cut the first disk headed directly for him in half.

*BOOM*

The vampire growls out of irritation as the blast sends him backwards. There is no pain felt from his Knife destroyed, fragments sent into his body armor like shrapnel. Or as the explosion shattered every bone in his body and rended the flesh of his hand asunder. As he spirals into the air, his face moments away from hitting the ground, he flips and lands with his feet on the ground. All, in not even a single second amidst the heat of the battle.

*WOOSH WOOSH WOOSH*

Explosions erupt all around Septimus as he swings his greatsword and flips acrobatically about the rooftop with an almost balet like grace. The twirling of his great sword slaps away projectiles that threaten direct impact, sending them exploding all around corners of the rooftop. His jumps distance himself from his opponent's explosion.

His dance ends with his twirl ending in an abrupt dent in the ground. Explosions behind him turn him into a black Sihoulette, ensuing shrapnel doing nothing but annoy the being who had no need for any internal organs bar the heart.

He takes off in a blur, his last step on the ground at the edge of the roof, as he leaps towards his next opponent from some twenty feet away his Zweihander in hand....held by the blade as Septimus threw it towards the next opponent in spear like form and with the force the fully penetrate a car as though it was an elk.