You are Equusi Zohhak. As per the avidity of your caretaker, you have been reared into the world of mixed martial arts since grubhood. It was your career that brought you to Las Vegas, Nevada. You are STRONG and you are a rising CHAMPION. However, a few years back, rumour had it your interests had diverged to more BAWDY activities. Tales of a possible second midnight life have since quieted, a constant worry under the surveillance of the media eye, but fabrications of your life outside the ring still make you nothing less than FURIOUS. (( Female Equius account for Clubbent/Clubstuck, possible nsfw
You hop in place, judging her reaction to your attack, underhanded as it was. But morality wasn’t exactly something that had a place in this realm of combat, not that it really would apply in any combat you took part in, you fought to win, not to best the other person out of skill. There was no reason to do that.
She was keeping close, though far enough away to avoid your attacks. Smart, considering her not knowing about your level of ability just yet. This was both good and bad for you. You decided the most preferable tactic was to press the attack for now. You hop forward and swing your leg towards her head. Not the most subtle of attacks, but a good start, considering the damage it would cause if it connected.
With your stance centered again you return the bouncing movement to your legs, thoughts lagging slightly behind the instinct-guided actions. That was okay, though, this was just how you had come to train your fighting style. It had worked so far.
You realize the swing is coming for your head early and raise both your arms for an X-block to protect yourself. It connects with your barred arms, saving your skull from the hit but immediately feeling the painful ‘whack’ of the robotic leg swinging into your arms. You grit your teeth and twist the tapped, clawed hand in front of the X-block to grab hold of his raised leg, hissing slightly to the discomfort in your arms.
Okay. Shadow had the advantage of speed and range. Most of his advances so far had been made with kicks. It was time to try and remove all his dangerous one-ups from you.
You shove his leg away but with a lot more aggression then a normal block-follow-up, guiding his foot with your weight and aiming to pull him to the ground, hoping to move this fight to the cold basement cement and start using your grappling skills
She was clearly not enjoying your appreciation for the films you had watched before coming to this battle royale. Fight Club being the primary one, of course. But anyway, it seems that your mocking stance was having the correct effect on her, though as a professional, you had expected her to be more resistant to such things as taunting.
Her advance in space remains where it was, staying near you this time, rather than retreating. It seems that your tactic was reversed upon you. Though she certainly didn’t know anything about your primary capabilities, she also was advancing on you, and your armor was not suited to direct hits by someone of her strength and skill.
Her arm flies towards you, and there’s no time to think your plans through further. Of course, not if you expected to avoid it. Blocking was not prudent at this point in the fight, after all. The slanted fist swings in and back as your body turns sideways to avoid it. You couldn’t really attack without allowing yourself to be put in danger just yet, so you just return her jab with something different, a low kick. Your foot swings in towards her shins and ankles as you switch the stance, lending extra power to the kick.
Your fist fails to connect again, and you release a quick huff of air from your lungs as you rapidly move to pull your arm back to your body. In the same movement of the dodge Shadow has swung out for a low kick, and this time, instead of allowing yourself to take the hit with a block, you pull your leg back away from the attack. You’re not usually one to evade- but feeling the power behind the robotic appendage as it swung past, you can’t help but feel slightly glad you did for once. Your stance returns to its original position and you have kept the space between you and the machine limited, but do not have time to recover your balance enough to extend another attack immediately.
There still seems to be a final line of thought processing in your mind- Shadow’s attacks contained just as much force and power as any other equal opponent, and his speed and reach exceeded yours by enough to allow him too much of an advantage for your comfort. The closeness put an end to this- but you still had not been able to land a punch to test his defence. You would have to find a tactic to remedy this.
She was fast and strong, as you knew before, though her flesh gave way in the same as any organics, its damage resistance factor was far larger than most. This would certainly prove to be an issue later, though you decided that due to the fact that this was not a fight to the “death”, as it were, you should not exactly worry about that just this moment.
You rotate your shoulder and neck joints as you had seen some fighters do before making a move in various forms of popular media, bouncing on the balls of your ‘feet’. You drop back into your stance as she begins to move once again. Her arm launches towards you, from the side.
An easy blow, experimental, just as yours were, but instead of giving her any information on your damage resistance or deflection capabilities, you decide to do the smart thing.
The smart thing being not in the area of the punch when it is thrown. You slide backwards, taking advantage of your longer reach to avoid her punch completely, even if it only missed by a couple of centimeters. Your calculations seemed to be correct regarding her speed as well, so you rotate your visual sensors back up towards her as you cock your head to the side, as if in inquiring what the blow was supposed to do.
Your fist swings into the void, connecting with nothing before it is drawn back to resume its defensive positioning. Shadow had slide from the area of the blow with a graceful ease, and this time, you do not step back from the advance you had made, only adjusting yourself so the side of your body wasn’t completely open for a strike.
You have to raise your head slightly to meet the tilt of his, pursing your lips again the mockingly blank expression. This little back and forth of experimental jabs and dodges was over for you, and you didn’t look like you were appreciating his playful mimicry of movie-star fighters and wordless taunting at the moment.
You make a quick jab with your other arm, this time, the one already slightly slanted towards the robotics body. You’d really enjoy ripping that tilted head straight from its neck, rock-‘em-sock-‘em-robots style- …but maybe for now you should just concentrate on controlling your feelings and think about the best way to continue this little battle
She was strong, assured, and clearly very used to the event of fighting someone in a ring. However, she seemed put off balance by the atmosphere of the place. You cannot use that to your advantage, but it is good to know, none the less. You flex your movable parts, releasing superheated air from your “elbows” in order to clear out the ducts there. You would not need them, but they served to accentuate your ‘nonchalance’ in order to intimidate your opponent. This would not work on a seasoned veteran such as her, but it certainly had some satisfaction to it.
You start in an offensive stance, an atypical tai chi stance that allowed for longer reach and smooth transition into defensive, tailored for your own unhuman shape, of course. As she stepped in, a determined look on her face, you took that as the okay to begin, and snapped forward an experimental one, two punch towards her already protected face in order to gauge her reaction and the resistance to damage that she possessed.
You’re opponent seemed to hold a certain fondness for the theatrics.
You balance your weight to the balls of your feet, bouncing back and forth in place as the soft hiss of air is released from the intricate workings of his build. You try to assess the robot, studying the sleek lightly armoured structure of his framework, eyes sweeping back to meet the glowing red orbs before you. No information could be gauged from expression like with a human foe. Another new uncertainty to add to your list, to add the growing tangle of excitement writhing within your chest.
You’re familiar with the stance. Tai Chi is a hard/soft mixture of technique, and you remind yourself to control your own power and momentum because of his knowledge in it. It would be possible to throw all of your natural strength right back at you if he could perfectly utilized the style; something which you were often faulted for not being able to completely control.
You’re already raised arms deflect the respective blows, reacting upon the simple one, two with the years of the simple blocking exercise drilled into your body. This first move felt just like that- an experimental exercise of both players abilities. Even in the testing Shadows first punches came with sudden speed, and a nice blow of power behind them.
You bounce backwards only half a step (your reach is not as long as his, but for the time being you’d like a certain distance) before extending your own arm, swinging in from a slight side-
It has been a long time.
A long time since you have fought, a long time since this stench of mortal flesh was so permeable in the air. You were not complaining, though. You do not do that. You scan the crowd for your opponent, who was supposedly a blueblood, strong and experienced. You did not look forward to your chances, but you were sure that you could handle yourself well enough to avoid too extensive injuries.
However, what you have gathered about Miss Zahhak, her strength was legendary. That was good. Against a normal organic, you would have had one swing and they would have been heavily injured or worse, which was of course, against the rules. Rules were good as well. You touched your gas mask. This had to go. All of the organics were stripped down to pants and nothing else, and though you had already removed your shoes, your hoodie and gas mask remained on, hiding your robotic origin from those around you, as usual.
You were not a robot to them, not yet. You were simply a cryptic shadow with a large vocabulary. To be feared, but there was the chance you were an organic under all that. This secret, however, came out tonight, at least to those in the confines of these walls. You stepped into the ring, hearing the jeers from the crowd for your inappropriate clothing. You slowly pull down the hood, revealing the metallic dome of your head. You slowly and deliberately pull of the hoodie, then tie it by the sleeves around your impossibly thin waist, where it hung like a cape. You reached behind your head to undo the clasps on the gas mask, taking it off and hanging it from your waist to ensure its safety. Your eyes focused on your opponent in the crowd, and you speak.
“I was under the impression that physical conflict was your area of specialty, Miss Zahhak.”
You allow yourself to be distracted by the crowd once more, looking for signs of your supposed opponent, while also letting yourself subtly study the other strange faces in the room. There’s an intriguing mix in the dimly lit room…and seems to be varying levels of skill (an idea formed on appearances alone, and one which you make with a slight margin for possible error).
The information you have gathered on your challenger is lacking: a name was all you had been given, and the longer you wait, the more tense you become with all the possible adversaries shifting and moving around you. You had never been an overly patient women, and your mood only worsened in the agitated moments prior to a brawl.
Your lips thin into a displeased little line, eyes raising to meet the masked face of the man in front of you. This was not your regulated stadium, this was not your heavily referred tournament- but you had been under the impression that the house did call for a few simple rules, and the breaking of those seemed to press an immediate button of yours. You do not need to speak; the crowds angry hiss voices the statement for you instead.
Your brow raises, appeasing Shadow in the dramatically drawn out unveiling of his synthetic form. This would be much more entertaining than an opponent of flesh and bone, the creatures of your own clothe rarely of much intrigue to you in combat.
“It is my e%pertise. I trust you will not be a disappointing opponent. Let’s proceed, if you are ready”
You shift your body, placing one foot carefully back and raising your fists to the defensive starting position. You begin to feel the world finally quiet around you. Almost like a private little joke to yourself you let the words enter your mind, a flat and dull little mimic of the bell you are accustomed to being the ‘okay’ to commence your destruction:
The lingering stench of bodies, live and pushing, shoving skin to skin in the cramped confinement of Striders basement. Some already bruised and bloodied, dribbles of spit and blood flying from cracked lips with every scream and roar of growing excitement. Crowds are known ground to you. Yet…not like this. You are used to stadiums: assigned seating, dry popcorn and cheap brand less beer, middle-aged men in pricey fan t-shirts to prove their devotion to a single competitor and the ever consuming eyes of cameras set from every height and angle of the ring. You have grown so accustomed to the ideals of control.
This is different.
This is chaotic and wild, a frenzy of adrenaline and the sort of screaming and cheering you can only faintly begin to recall in your early days of fighting. You push your way to the center of the room, the large parted circle in the mass of humans and trolls alike (robots, as well, you are interested to note). Your hands and horns have been tightly wrapped, and though you’ve opted not to wear your padded gloves you’ve kept the MMA shorts and sports bra you are used to wearing in your matches. The professional branding contrasts sharply to your surroundings, and with a hard swallow of the saliva forming almost like a hunger in your mouth you realize the logos and obvious markings of your origins make you feel more like an outsider to this world than anything else. …What’s that feeling, dear Equusi, creeping into your head and making you nervously lick your lips as you scan the crowd for your opponent? Is it worry? The unease and most certainly unknown hints of fear clouding your anticipation for this fight?
This is exhilaration, an excitement and eagerness that has not struck at your being for much too long a time.
You are ready to fight.