THE GOLD MATCH! (Pure vs RisingPhoenix)

[The Imposter]

The two combatants found themselves surrounded by blowing cherry blossoms. The petals dancing around in the stifled room would raise the eyebrows of anyone. Something already seemed very off about the area. In the middle of the circular room stood four statues, each representing a figure of one of the judges of the RPA rumble. All four had their backs to one another, while ahead of them was small offering plates. Small inscriptions on the base of the plates glowed brightly. Along the walls were various boxes with different RPA paraphernalia. Some labeled for the graveyard, others for downtown, and still some for the recycle bin.

Beneath the small impish statue it read:
I'm not me, I'm everyone else...so give me a hand to becoming you. You know what it is you have that no one else does. GUESS WRONG AND I'LL HURTYOU!

Under the angelic Kris:
Seek out the moon, reaching the light. There is the goddess, weeping the night. For one chance to stop, and one step to go. Two is the number, but only one of you bow.

Under the shady Nazgul:
Here on my plate is three orbs: pink, blue, and yellow. Only one is required for a special dance from this fellow.

And finally beneath the harlequin; Wattz:
A tear, a smile, a laugh, or a scream for you. All that I require is that you give me back my....(The last word being scratched out with an arrow pointing away from it signed by The Imposter)


The finalists could see through the statues and at each other. It was obvious what was going to happen next. This would be the gold match, the pinnacle of this year's Rumble. The stage was set and the combatants were ready. Now it was time for them to prove who would be crowned champion.

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Alright, this is it the Gold Match. 5 posts each with certain potential for interruptions from any one of the Judges after a post depending on your actions with things in the room or the statues. You have 72 hours between posts....and remember to have fun!

Please note that all four of the judges will be judging this battle. So game on rumblers!

By the toss of a guitar pick Pure gets first move.

[SQJ]

"Life, it ebbs, it flows, ebbs and flows.
Homewards it starts, to the heavens it goes.
It ebbs and flows."

His father had said those words before. They had no not been words Moeketsi had grown up with though. Merely words he'd heard uttered when the old man thought he was alone in the twilight of years of his life. The rhyme, said in human tongue, had never made sense before. Because to ebb was to recede and heaven was ahead. Life plowed forwards. It never pulled back.

And yet as his newly healed body touched ground. His bare dry feet pressing on perfectly polished wooden floor boards, offering the slightest of creaks below the front of his feet. Tingling enough to make him instinctively wiggle and curl his toes, his weight shifting forwards instead of pulling back. It was those words that clung to him harder than any other said by loved ones.

His body had been recovered, his strength, blood and muscle returned but in the place of the prior sense of being mishandled, violated, a heaviness clung to his flesh. Every pore, from his toes to his nose, to even his most reserved regions. It was the shell of a golem broken away to reveal the soul within but at the same time Moeketsi couldn't help but wonder. If this coward was really the soul of his father's son, retreating from where he'd been placed by the higher beings. It most certainly did not seem the case.

Fatigue not borne of the of the body pulled at him mercilessly adding weight to the shell that coated his skin. Those words the old man had muttered to himself so long ago seemed to tattoo themselves to his eyes granting him to hope of untainted sight. Mo could move, could breathe, he could feel the continuous surge of time and age plow forwards towards an unseen future.

But in the same moment, the same breathe, he same retreating step he could feel himself stalling, falling apart.

He was still in that one step backwards. Pulling back to some realm of unknown he felt the safer within. Flowing back into the sea instead of climbing up to land. Forsaking the pride he had in being his father's son.

Another retreating step broke more of the shell he felt he was encased in.

His father's son, the words had formed in his mind and as he took his third step back his palm scrapped upon wood, bringing into focus a box which said downtown in large letters. His fingers gripped tightly feeling the golem's curse, which still clung to his arm, chip away.
The wooden lid was old, heavy and firm in his palm. More of the curse shattered, running from his stomach up, under his armpit over his back and to the unburdened shoulder as it tore off it's hinges.

Moeketsi had yet to fully view his final enemy. Though that being said there wasn't much to see as there was a table, plates and the tall, looming statue of the shadowing figure in front, more of his foe lost behind the wings of another statue as he'd retreated. Every retreating step the wrong one if surveying him had been the goal. From the bits he could see he was facing another human. There wasn't much to pull from the scent the bitter sweet smell of petals blocking what limited ability he had.

Though all of it mattered little. In order to beat others he had to break free from all that clung to him. The overwhelming sense of fatigue that somehow had nothing to do with his muscles. He could not beat others if he could not so much as rally himself. The lid flew off it's base, the box's cover launching skywards at a somewhat minimal pace managed by experienced hands using what little was there to be used. The goal to throw it at a downward curve so it flew over the statues to land on his opponent's rib cage. The stoic figures themselves meant to act as blinders from the upcoming attack. Too hard and the lid would have struck the roof, losing all momentum. Too slow and it would have struck the statue itself.

Plus slower helped because the moment he'd let go, he'd already begun his run and pulled blood from his coat. He let it go as soon as he god a clear view, hurling his tomohawke as hard as his body would allow.

The last shells of the golem's curse, were left behind. His arrival to the new environment an after thought, now that the fighting had gotten underway.

[RisingPhoenix]

Bleeding from his open wounds, Phoenix could only sigh as he looked at his combatant, as he watched with ever pressing eyes the assassin before him. He was about to open his mouth to speak once more, but that pleasure was snatched from him and his surroundings were once again replaced. He could smell them, the beautiful dancing petals that swirled around him and his opponent in the stifled circular room. Phoenix took time to touch the petals and smile. They were beautiful, oh how beautiful they were, but he was not here for such pleasantries. Still, it reminded him that the small things in life were worth taking time to observe and experience. Taking his gaze from the swirling petals, he realized that his wounds were healed. He touched the places that had been injured. His fingers ran softly over the scars that would fade with time. His fatigue from the previous match was gone, replaced with new vigor. His mission was still the same, knowledge.

After a thorough self-examination, Phoenix looked around the new battlefield. He took in the details on the statues that stood in the middle of the room, towering over them both. These were the gods that had brought them here, that had given them the chance to become champions. They were responsible for his experiences thus far. This was something he had also wanted for himself. He had wanted to be challenged beyond belief, to gain knowledge of different styles, and different beings in this universe, in this galaxy. He paused for a moment looking straight ahead at the one who would offer up his knowledge. It was then that he noticed the inscriptions upon the statues bases. He wanted to read them, but he was sure that there wasn’t enough time for such innocent acts. Turning in a quick circle, he gazed around and noticed boxes. What these boxes contained was a mystery to even Phoenix. This entire place was strange to behold. He wasn’t used to such places. The swirling petals gave him hope of being with his flowers once again. Oh how his missed his babies, the blooming flowers that surrounded him on any day but today. A soft smile crept onto his face as he began to think on his life thus far. He had accomplished a lot, more than others had, and now his mission for knowledge had led him here.

Phoenix took this time to look ahead of him at his opponent. He really couldn’t see all of the individual’s features, aside from the color of its skin. It was pure black. The statues were translucent enough to see the outline of his opponent but nothing more. The statues, towering and menacing in stature, seemed to be the blinding force in this match. Yes they were somewhat translucent, but you couldn’t see straight ahead, one could only see an outline and that would have to do. Granted, there was room to move around the statues, but Phoenix wondered if the statues were indestructible. He hated things that obscured his vision, and these statues would definitely have to go at some point, IF he lived long enough.

His observations were cut short when his opponent, a rather odd looking gentleman, proceeded to start off the match with an offensive attack. Still, Phoenix’s eyes absorbed information that others wouldn’t have noticed. This was it, this was his time to prove to all those who ever doubted him that he was worthy, and that he was the pinnacle of power. He would show his parents, his friends in other realms and those who mocked him as a kid that he was a force to be reckoned with, a force to be crowned champion. He couldn’t see his opponent launch an attack, but the sound of the wood, and the smell of it, caught Phoenix’s attention and had he been a normal human, the wooden projectile would’ve struck him in the gut, and consequently breaking a few ribs. Phoenix jumped out of the way just in time to avoid the wooden projectile and watched as it struck the ground in front of him.

“So he’s quite aggressive, that is rather interesting, but what is he?” Phoenix asked himself, speaking very low. If he wasn’t caught off guard before, he was definitely caught off guard by what his opponent did next. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the man. It was a man, but the man was pure black, something Phoenix had NEVER seen before, which made him wonder what this being was. The axe that the male threw flew with precision of a master marksman. Phoenix knew that he had to do something or else the axe would strike him and open a life threatening wound. There wasn’t enough time to debate on what he was going to do, instead it happened instinctively. He burst into a mass of butterflies, the tomahawk flying through the swarm and consequently embedding itself in the wall behind Phoenix.

Phoenix’s form proceeded to switch back to the form he normally took as the butterflies began to mash together. Phoenix held up a hand to signal to his opponent that he wished to speak.

“I must know what you are,” Phoenix said softly, but loud enough for his opponent to hear.

[SQJ]

The floor below his feet were supportive, far more than they had been in the previous grounds. It allowed a somewhat different weight to his every step. There was an agility granted when one had confidence in their step, it allowed weight to be added to the very tips of his toes.

"Feet are allowed the right, granted by the very fact they were on earth, to plant themselves."

It was something his father had said. He could still imagine his father's naturally protruding chin, one which was not followed with an under-bite or lisp, bobbing up and down as he spoke to his boy. The surety of his words were matched only the certainty of Moeketsi's every step, allowing his toes to relax, spreading on the hard floor and exploding outward in the name of speed.

He fully sprinted around the centerpiece, Blood had had its turn to be thrown. Stone was next. He tossed blood into his stronger palm before even letting himself the luxury of watching his own axe's path, trusting in a need to combine attacks over watching them.
He faltered in his arcing running path when he saw his opponent burst apart into hundreds of butterflies which, when mixed in with the falling petals, made following the individual butterflies impossible. It eliminated his opportunity to strike his opponent, simply because there was none. He slowed, spreading running arc wider so he was closer to the wall. Determined to slow without ever once stopping.

He was fighting another magic man. The new fact on his opponent, he realized, was something that had not surprised him but rather blocked and dissapointed his vision of an ideal battle. The tension in his arm eased and Stone's hilt was relieved the pressure that once held it taut.

The butterflies reformed in front of his eyes to give him a target to aim at. But his opponent had his hand up. Despite himself his momentary falter became a full bodied halt. His main goal, momentum, was lost to him. Moeketsi found himself, standing on his toes unsure of exactly what he was waiting for.

The moment was an odd one and he had been given the misfortune to be a part of it. There was not supposed to be a pause in a fight. Not when their lives were involved; not when they were deliberately trying to kill each other.

When his sister had done the impossible and kicked that other girl, it had been during a brilliant moment of distraction caused by outside factors. One had lost their focus on not losing, his sister hadn't. The very fact that he stopped was shameful.

"I must know who you are" Moeketsi had heard the human magic man say.

Moeketsi back tracked, bouncing on his toes unable to use the confidence he'd once had. He took a bouncing step backwards and could feel the petals bunching on his head, there were so many at that point. The magic man wanted to talk? Talk?

The year before when set upon the dark human with the same tomahawks, there'd been no more than a single word exchanged. Blood had been spilled as freely as the wind had flowed on that single harrowing day. There'd been no time, no opportune moment. Though with such a man there had been no need for words. They'd been spoken in how they'd exchanged strategy, sweat, blood and torn flesh. And the mage before him wanted to mince words but offered up no sweat, no blood or tears as tribute or payment.

With the dragon there'd been no words or any attempt. Dragons spent too much of their time being fearsome obstructions to be conversationalists in the Black Thorne. He'd fought a wall that day and found himself the lesser. Caught in an angel's embrace. One much like the angel which stood in the room, petrified to become the golem's stone relative, the gargoyle. Ever present, always watching. This man was no wall or looming figure, he had not so much as been an obstruction for Blood. What right did the mage see himself having to earn the time to speak casually? What unseen gift had the gods offered him?

The gods could mince words, they could prattle as he'd seen in the room of lights and explosions. The god who proved to be a fellow stone watcher as his winged sister. The magic human of that time had earned a few words from Moeketsi but had spoken too soon. Did this fellow man of magic believe himself the better man?

Only the women had earned the right to learn his name, the one who bore the fighting cannons humans of their words called guns. She had fought, pushed and earned his respect enough to have deserved a reprieve as the magician was asking. Though in reality he'd been the one who'd needed it. It was not likely she would have used the time to talk, not a warrior such as her.

Had he earned it?

No, not this man. The very fact that he asked was the most unforgivable of insults and to make things worse Moeketsi had in fact stopped. Bringing quick but brutal death to his momentum, throwing his train of thought far off the rails to a sea of uncertainty. Where only instinct served to direct the cyclone of movement that kept him going.


Moeketsi coughed, stiffening his shoulders in a somewhat formal human manner. Still bouncing on his heels he unhooked his club with a nail in it and tossed it into the open arms of the looming dark statue to lighten his load. He cleared his throat, bringing his whole body up before switching the grip he had of Stone in his left hand. His breath held after pulling in as much air as his lungs would allow, anything to get his mind riled up to where he could feel his confidence in the earth beneath his feet return.
"I'm glad you asked I am-" He raised his right hand to offer a handshake, as was the human custom, before grabbing nothing but air in his hand. He held what was not there tight in a fist, muscle and sinew showing from the strength thrown into his grip. He forced strain to the right hand before throwing his arm in a horizontal thrust away from him and backwards. He needed the left unencumbered.

The right foot shot forward, landing and spreading firmly on the floor to plant the front of his foot. His heel twisted ever so slightly. The knee pushed forward. Energy build from the foot, shooting up the leg, up his sharp swiveling hips to his forwards lunging torso.
All the more shooting up the pulled back shoulder which with the body's build up, punched forward. It gave more energy to the arm which shot forwards at a low angle.
Just below the diaphragm. Giving a short vertical throw. All in one fluid move to give the throw much needed power and momentum as compensation for what he'd lost.

Moeketsi had given speed it's turn and now opted for power with a hint of strategy when he aimed low going for the magic man's kidney's. Frozen in place, waiting to see what the mage would do.

[RisingPhoenix]

Never in his life had he faced anyone as paranoid as the being he was facing now. After asking his question and trying to be a friendly as possible given the situation they both were in, he couldn’t help but feel a bit of tension surrounding the male before him. It was very interesting to say the least. He could tell the male had been thrown off by his question. His reasoning was the fact that the male had stopped in mid charge and was now looking at him as if he were trying to decipher ancient script. Phoenix was not human, nor had he ever been, and the fact that he had chosen this human like vessel to contain his being was no coincidence. He found humans very interesting. The fact that they had so much spirit, such courageousness, and such hope make Phoenix’s quest for knowledge even more valid. There was so much to know in the world and he had only scratched the surface.

In his time of self-contemplation, Phoenix hadn’t really paid attention to the male getting closer to him. Now he could see the details of his face, marked by heavy battle. This man was indeed a warrior. The lines on his body and face were proof of this. Scars of times long gone. Phoenix did not expect the male to do what he did, but Phoenix was great at adapting to different circumstances. The male had closed the gap between them, trying to look as sincere as he could, or at least to Phoenix he was. Phoenix looked into the male’s eyes, nearly piercing his soul with his gaze. The one thing he wanted to know was kept from him however when the male spoke only a few words that gave not his identity, but instead Phoenix was given something else, pain. The one thing he could feel was pain, but he lacked any human organs to worry about. The black skinned male’s punches and kick landed sending Phoenix toppling backwards into a backflip, which he performed with the upmost grace. When he landed back on his feet, he removed a strand of loose hair from his face and placed it back behind his ear.

Looking at this man who took this fight so very seriously, Phoenix could only feel sorry for him. He wondered if the male had ever taken time to smell the roses. Smiling, Phoenix simply looked at the male and brushed the areas were a human kidney would’ve been.

“I see,” was all Phoenix said taking in the knowledge he had just gained from the attack. It had surprised him. None of his previous opponents had done this. They had all given Phoenix the information he had asked for, willingly, in fact Phoenix had made associates during these battles. The assassin he had fought previously was a man he would enjoy fighting again. The one known as Gabriel was indeed a marvelous one to behold. THe power and strength to slay Poseidon was something he hadn't seen, and yet the male had been able to do so. This pleased Phoenix and gave him much knowledge. He had learned so much from his previous opponents and yet this man, this black skinned warrior wasn't taking any chances with him. He wasn't playing any types of games and he wasn't about to answer any of Phoenix's questions. This man surely gave Phoenix much knowledge without saying so much a sentence. Phoenix had learned, for he now knew never to let his guard down too much, even if Phoenix was a kindred spirit that enjoyed life and sought out knowledge, he would now have to prove to this man that he meant business and that he hadn't come this far just to have it snatched away from him, “let us begin then.”

Extending his right hand, Phoenix spoke words that sent chills down the spine of many. One could tell that these words were magic in nature. “Flora esfauna bloomasis!”

An odd aura surrounded Phoenix’s extended hand and from this aura sprouted three large orbs. These orbs seemed to ooze destructive power, but they also had another purpose. Whatever they touched would be coated in flora, and the flora would grow at an alarming rate. This was indeed more so a way of surrounding himself with things to use to his advantage. Nature was his forte and as such this spell would assure that he be surrounded by it. The odd orbs shot forth, one barreling straight towards the black skinned warrior, while the other two struck on Phoenix’s opposing sides. When they struck, they oozed a green slime that caused flora to grow from the stone ground. It was beautiful to behold, but also quite frightening. If one thought about it, Phoenix could create his own little place of solitude, but who’s to say he hadn’t? He hoped the male was paying attention if he wasn’t already dead, for as the grass grew, other plant life also grew from the green ooze that now coated the ground on either side of him. The scent of the flora caused Phoenix to smile. It was like being at home. Quite suddenly a tree sprouted, one then another within the perimeters of the green ooze which was slowly taking over the battlefield.

Phoenix stood there with a soft smirk on his face. He meant no harm by asking the male what he was, he merely wanted to know for reference as well as knowledge, but he completely understood the circumstances. It was hard to trust anyone, and this man looked as if any information or knowledge from him would have to be earned.

[SQJ]

The axe had missed.

The throw of his axe, the release of his might, all placed in that single, solid, throw.

And it had missed.

The throwing blade had left his arm, from the bicep to the collar bone, depleted and aching. Though, as long as the muscles could move he would make full use of them. The goal, to leave nothing of himself unspent. Even if it meant losing himself a limb as he had once before against the one with the matching throwing axes. He would not have himself bare a moment of regret. His father would never have accepted such. It would have been an insult to his entire family line if anything of the sort were to be seen coming from him. Most especially when there was none of the family to prove their worth but himself.

No regret.

His arm ached and tingled in a way that suggested that blood was streaming over it, thick, awkward and sticky where there was in fact none. He heard the solid thud of his axe hitting solid mass. The power of his throw audible by the weapon's thudding impact from the vertical throw. Moeketsi's arm was still retracting from the unsuccessful throw when his legs unpinned themselves from the floor and he charged his enemy, striking upon his foe with punches and kicks. Moves unnatural to his regular motions and rhythms. They lacked the desired follow up born of a far more cunning plan he was so accustomed to forming. But to his own surprise his flailing movements, movements lacking the crushing impacts of a elbow, a heel or knee, were proving enough. He strike upon his opponent with enough to send him flipping backwards.

There wasn't a follow up. The human, like the human who could alter his strength by changing his clothes, was a man of magic. Moeketsi had before done everything in his power to try keep that past man on the back foot to save himself from spells cast. The strategy appeared to be working in the current battle but at the same time nothing had been working. Not the way the attacks were supposed to.

He'd been completely bypassed with each attack that had had weight behind it, such as the lid throw; by passed with attack that used the sharp end of his axe; not once with the first but twice with his second, more powerful, throw.

But the kicks and punches were were what worked? And before some semblance of a true strategy could be formed the man had been knocked back to a distance he'd not been able to follow before the human had spoken,spoken again, raised his arm to accumulate power and cast his spell.


Moeketsi was right to blame himself and he knew it. The weight one placed upon their feet played a powerful part in a man's battling. How raised or flat one's footing was defined most of what could be considered life, or survival. Reacting, walking, running, sport, politics, even sexual intercourse could be effected by wrong footing but to be caught so flat with his weight spread so crookedly was shameful. His father would have been mortified.

Such was the way of magic men. One had to turn them off their spells before they could cast, and with his footing lost and his throwing axes, throw and subsequently lost to him, he had no choice but to watch as three orbs formed from the man's hands and one orb was shot out at him.

Some how ksuch an act was more surprising than all three shooting at him. Logic dictated that all three would shoot at him. He could feel his own focus split with his vision trying to capture the two orbs and their reaction against the magic human and the one that headed straight for him. His arm reached behind him, gripping hammer's hilt, unhooking, pulling and wildly swinging up at the orb. Steel met magic and the orb burst, spreading over the blade, his jacket, swaying up with his arm, took the brunt of the green splash over with the rest splashing over his hair.

At first he understood nothing of what was happening despite seeing the effect upon his opponent and but very soon a new weight fall upon Hammer and his whole side before Hammer slipped from his fingers. The green was becoming life.

It was impossible. How could this man so simply and so quickly have produced a spell that could produce life from nothing? Every little blade of grass, moss, all bore life and he was producing it from nothing. There was no time for his mind to combat what he was seeing before his very eyes, how completely against nature such a human was.

The jacket was a gift.
His father's. It was moldy and stank, so much so that it would give away his position to any enemy with a keen sense of smell. In the right weather it would would crackle and freeze, in the wrong weather it would retain water for the longest of time. It was heavy and his physical agility, overall speed and even his dexterity were effected upon him wearing it and not wearing it but it was a gift given to him by his father. It was quite literally all he physically had of his home world before being thrust to such a land. The axes, the clothing beneath? Yes they bore strong memory of his home but as one learned upon growing with battle. One's family axe became one's family axe in name. And though it was true that that name bore value, it was never truly the same. An axe, for example, would need the grip changed. The handle altered and inevitably replaced. The steel core, changed for a stronger one. Perhaps the color altered to suite the environment of battle and although it was, in all reality, still his family's axe. It would, eventually bear nothing that had originally been there. It was what kept his axes from ever fading while at the same moment what kept their pride immortal. But the coat was different. He could fee that that single moment was different from the many many times he'd thrown off his coat for a change of strategy. He was throwing it off his shoulders for the last time.

Shame ensured that the weight of the golem's curse bore upon him for what felt like the billionth time, locking him in place. Movement returned when pain struck upon his head and Anvil's edge scraped across his head cutting hair and chipping across his scalp to get it free. Blood dripped from Anvil's tip before the blade was raised high and he took off at high speed, the weight of his axe's and Armour relinquished. He was a blur of speed. His foot steps as light as he could manage as the wall of planet life surged forwards. As fast as he was there had to be a limit as to how fast the plant life was growing. Plant were plants.

The growth around his opponent was fast. He jumped ahead to avoid touching the ground where the fauna devoured what was there. There was planet life all around. Using what jumping ability he had, he threw what strength he had into legs jumping up. There'd never been enough time to go for the direct attack. Instead he ran in an arc.

Moeketsi jumped, embracing the burning of his calves that came along with it. He launched himself and landed on the heavily embedded Stone. The past throw's weight had truly had some purpose to it. He hadn't aimed for slower but more powerful with his throw for the fun of it.

Blood, the lighter embedded tomahawk stuck near, also a part of the design behind Stone's throw. It's vertical angle allowing it to be pulled up with ease before taking a dive. There was no upward jumping to be done there. Not with the ceiling as stiflingly low as it was. The most basic jump was thrown out of the question for the dive as both Blood and Anvil started pointing out and slashed inwards. Both aimed to combine upon the magic man's neck.

[RisingPhoenix]

“Very well warrior, if it is indeed a fight you want, then a fight you shall get.”

It had come to this, to the defining factors of the battle. Phoenix had set his plan in motion. It was clear what was going on to Phoenix, but he was sure the male didn’t know exactly what he had planned, after all, Phoenix was still gauging the male, learning from what he was doing. There was a moment, Phoenix would’ve called it hesitation, but there was a moment in which the black skinned male seemed distant. It seemed he was deep in thought. Perhaps he was battling his own internal demons, or maybe he was trying to figure out the best course of action to take down Phoenix. Either way, as Phoenix observed him, he could only wonder exactly why this man was fighting. There had to be a reason. Simply being the best of the best wasn’t a gratifying enough reason for Phoenix, but perhaps to this man it was enough. Perhaps he had come from afar and wanted to test his skills against those set before him. To this Phoenix chuckled mentally. His eyes examined the man before him.

He watched him, as he unsheathed his weapon and swung at the orb, causing it to burst, covering the weapon and the male’s jacket with the green ooze, as well as the surrounding area. The male removed the stained jacket, the stench of which had clambered its way into Phoenix’s nostrils. It landed on the ground with a thud, as did the weapon the black skinned man had brought forth. He stood there for a moment, and Phoenix reached into his hair retrieving a beautiful rainbow rose. It was time to show this man what he was capable of. Until this moment, he had never used blunt force against his opponents. He had always used summoning spells or his innate powers, but now he would show his physical prowess.

Lifting the rose to his nose, he inhaled and allowed the aroma to block out the stench of the jacket. The smell of the grass, trees, and flowers filled him with a renewed vigor. Oh how he missed his plants, his home, and his life. Though caught in thought, he did notice the black skinned male jump onto one of his weapons that had stuck into the wall when he had flipped away from him. It had barely missed Phoenix, but he was glad his acrobatic skills were on par as of late. He had trained intensely in years passed. Now the male stood atop the larger weapon, plucking the smaller weapon from the wall, and glaring at Phoenix with intent on ending the celestial beings life. Phoenix had to think quickly. It was not like him to be so cumbersome. There was a shimmering light that radiated from the rainbow rose and in an instant it had elongated and transformed into a devilish weapon, capable of cleaving through the hardest of stone.

The rose scythe’s blade met the oncoming axe strikes, causing sparks to fall unto the flora that was quickly engulfing the battlefield. Consequently, Phoenix thrust his right foot forward, aimed at Moeketsi stomach. If it landed it would give him the momentum to flip away from Moeketsi and swing the scythe in midair with deadly precision at the male’s chest. If it did not connect, he would push off with his left foot and perform the same attack, landing gracefully and launching another swing at Moeketsi. The blade of the Rose Scythe (http://cache.desktopnexus.com/thumbnails/815447-bigthumbnail.jpg) gleamed as if hungry for the blood of the one who dare threatened the life of its master.

[SQJ]

Twenty eight, not the age of a young man. His age was that of the middle aged while amongst the humans it was the youthful age. The age of the free and developed, no doubt that of the age of the magic human in front of him. But at that singular moment when his axes had come down in an attempt to clear the man's head from his neck, age was but a number for Moeketsi.

The air in his lungs, let alone fresh air, was but a distance memory. Considering the running he'd done now; matched with the discipline and concentration it took to plant and balance his toes on Stone while stuck to a wall, it was a miracle he wasn't chocking and gasping for air as it was. Perhaps any other time and that might have been the case.
At present he was at the precipice of his own desire. Looking up at glorious murder or down at a pitiful death,the downwards glance the ever more likely direction. But with the hope of returning to his home an ever present memory and a constant fuel source, he could never stop surging forwards in what ever direction life threw at him.

He was getting in a few quick gasps but with the limited stamina that came with the Ufeleyetsimbi each one was just half a gasp too short and became a fraction weaker. His father had mentioned it many times before. Many a brave warrior could asphyxiate in the middle a battle field where in a single breath more than one battle for their lives would be fought and hard won. Where a single gasp of air could kill rather than save.

The twin slash had been, to say the least unsuccessful but it hadn't been energy wasted by missing instead the man had matched both unified strikes with just his scythe. Moeketsi was no weakling, though what ever sense of pride in the strength he had was injured with the skill that the human magic man had used to so successfully parry his attack.

Though what ever glancing, fleeting strike upon his ego he felt was nothing compared to the thrusting boot that followed the well placed parry with the scythe.

He may have lacked the speed to catch the magic man's neck with Anvil and Blood but he'd be damned to be outdone in speed.

Most especially with a thrusting kick. A sweep, yes, difficult with his footing so precarious after having just lost out in the initiative on his attack and having just touched ground. A slashing kick would have been so much worse. Moeketsi had seen enough kicks in battle to know when one was coming but had expected the slashing kick. It was the best of a bad situation. With the booted strike that was actually headed for him all he had to do was tilt to the side hard enough so the magic man received nothing but air but somehow the boot connected.

Moeketsi had dropped lower to directly confront the blow, Blood swinging in his hand as his arm shot backwards in his attempt to spin his torso without the aid of foot work he had yet to recover. The biggest goal: To allow the boot the privilege to pass over his shoulder so he could stand and throw the magic man off his feet in order to slam his axes home upon his skull.

This, of course, had not happened. He'd swung Blood behind his back and hooked the blade to his side. His body had twisted but fatigue in his legs had slowed what limited mobility he'd entrusted them with within his hastily formed scheme. The impact was heavy upon his left shoulder but his legs had done him enough of a favor to allow to slip down while his spin ensured he took the hit at an angle.

His entire side was set alight with agonizing pain. From his still bleeding scalp to his shoulder, lungs and side, none of him would be spared from agony's onslaught but he was where he wanted to be. Beneath the thrusting kick.

Blood was lost to him as a weapon, it was hooked and the angle of bodily twist he was in was all wrong. There was just no time. Anvil was stick in the wrong hand. With the little maneuverability the left shoulder had being the one that was pulled back. Anvil was about as useful as the blacksmith's friend for which it was named.

Moeketsi roared, letting Anvil slip from his fingers with a finger flick added for spin. Anvil fell, tilting for a moment before he caught it once again but this time in his left hand. It had not been on purpose but there the situation was. He could never presume, despite priding himself on being quick on his feet, to have thought such up. He untwisted his upper body with the help of his lackluster feet, thrusting his body upwards, aiming up get under the raised leg. The swivel of his body uncoiling allowed him strength to his swung. Anvil was no light weapon to be held with a single hand but with this untwisting of his awkward position strength was gifted to him as he gave a back handed slash aimed right at the mage's chest. Weapon against weapon. Close contact, what Moeketsi thrived upon and he would not let it go, not when success and seeing his father once again were so near. Ease of breathe or no, he would not part from him. It almost felt unfair Moeketsi was only getting the battle he wanted when he'd used up so much of himself simply trying to rattle the man.

[RisingPhoenix]

His kick had missed. Of all the things to miss his opponent, his kick was the one thing that did. Still, he had to focus. The battle was coming to its climax and Phoenix had to be prepared. Phoenix had slashed at Moeketsi twice, once while in midair, and against when he had landed ever so gracefully in front of the male, but the attacks had missed and this only made Phoenix more eager to continue the fight. Moeketsi had come with a counter to his attack, for as he was landing, Moeketsi’s larger axe’s blade was closing in on Phoenix’s chest. The sting of the blade cutting into his faux flesh caused Phoenix to wince and stumble backwards slightly, but quickly regaining his composure. Thankfully when he saw the axe blade coming, he had positioned his body so that the blade wouldn’t cause too much damage. Still, it hurt, and his amber colored blood flowed from the cut, staining his once perfectly stainless outfit. He sighed, knowing that he would have to make more precise actions, and calculate for every outcome possible. He would no longer take it lightly, but now he would have to focus and stop looking at this as if it were a casual encounter.

Moeketsi was out for blood, he was out to accomplish something, that much could be determined by the male’s persistence in killing Phoenix. Phoenix could only look at the male with sincere eyes. It was something that Phoenix hardly ever WANTED to do. Killing was not of his nature, but as of late he had found himself in the situation that required him to act violently, and all of this because he wanted knowledge and wanted to achieve a higher level of intellect. He smiled and said only a few words to Moeketsi.

“I must say this battle is pushing me to limits I thought lost. Please know that if you hold back I will kill you. From this point on I will bring forth all that I have to offer.”

With that Phoenix charged expertly with his scythe held as his side in order to quickly maneuver. He was moving rather quickly and would vanish and reappeared as he got closer to Moeketsi. When he was striking distance, he launched an offensive attack, striking at Moeketsi with the glowing blade of the Rose Scythe. The first strike came from behind, aimed for the lower back. The second attack came from the side, aimed for the ribs, and the last attack was aimed for his opponent's stomach. He was going to show him and those watching that he wasn't just a gentle individual. He had the prowess to be the deadliest warrior alive. His focus had changed. His eyes were now locked on Moeketsi, and he was certain the male would sense a shift in the atmosphere. By now the foliage around them had grown to mature level and the trees seemed to groan. The flowers released their pollen and the grass swayed back and forth. Phoenix would utilize every bit of the environment he had created to his advantage, but he was already expending too much energy. By summoning the fauna using a spell, it had cost him some energy, then came the Rose Scythe, his deadliest weapon, and summoning it took a toll on him as well. Now he had been cut, and that would prove to be draining as well, yet he knew his opponent was having like wise issues. Any fight was draining, and this one was no different. Still, Phoenix maintained a concrete posture, and wouldn't dare let Moeketsi know that he was tired. He would fight till the very end, and when it came, the knowledge of this battle would come with it. He was building up his next attack even as he attacked Moeketsi. He was thinking ahead, and he was thinking of every scenario possible. If his attacks were to miss, he would prepare to counter his opponent's retaliation.

There was a low rumbling sound that could be heard as the glowing of the blade caused something to happen. Phoenix had informed his opponent that if he held back he would die and that he wouldn't hold back any longer. This is what he had meant. His eyes were slightly glowing, but the blade glowed brightly as the trees began to creak and moan before uprooting slowly and surely. they had no faces, no eyes, but they saw through Phoenix. This was his power, this was his main power, the control over nature and all its aspects. He would either lose or win this battle, but either way if he won or lost he would learn and he would show the black skinned warrior all he knew. The uprooted trees began to move towards the black skinned warrior and Phoenix, they were set to attack, and they would do so.

[SQJ]

"Life, it ebbs, it flows, ebbs and flows.
Homewards it starts, to the heavens it goes.
It ebbs and flows."



The two of them were so varied it was almost impossible to figure out exactly what strategy would work best against the man. There was none, or rather. If there was one, it was not one that would be so easily awarded to him.

Not the way he was. His face purpling as his near bare body stretched itself out, letting Anvil use momentum as it's fuel source in order to gain the power it needed to strike. The kick, which he'd taken but managed to slip past any true stopping impact, had been a blessing in disguise. For there was no manner of skill Moeketsi held that could bring about to be able to avoid the two scythe strikes that had come after the glancing kick itself.

His bare rooted feet had dug deep in grass and moss, where polished wood had once been, were too rooted to be able to follow up with much precision. That minuscule detail to others would have been just that, but to the experienced fighter, fighting at their level sometimes being too slow to an attack was counter enough and with the jumping strike, he simply hadn't been where he had planned to be. There was more fatigue to it than skill.

But his gasping strike, desperate and hard fought for, with Anvil in hand was something of a godsend.

How much more of the magic man's trickery and speed could he ad stomached if he'd lost that strike and been caught on the back foot? He surely would have drowned in his own fatigue and sense of defeat.

But he hadn't missed, and his opponent had NOT simply disappeared or shrugged it off. A moved he seemed capable of doing only once by the manner with which the magic man withdrew. Moeketsi found his feet, allowing him to stand up straight and draw breath for what felt like the first time.
Had there been much thought behind any of his actions with his breath held? Had there been any?

As he watched his opponent draw back from a position so close it was near intimate, he could do little more then let both hands fall to their sides, axe in hand and take deep breathes through his nose.

There was no longer any fluttering in his heart, his chest heaving so heavily that it felt like it was caving in on itself with his spine bending with aching pain. How far spread the gap between an amateur fight and a fight between two monstrous individuals, even if he said so himself. It was enough to fit the oceans and the earth it rested upon.

He managed the opportunity to draw in another breath and blink back a drop of blood that had trickled down his scalp to his eyes, he'd been blessed with the adrenaline and desperation to forget the pain. But not all good things were meant to last. Though the slight burning/numb sensation on his shoulder from the magician's foot seemed eternal.

Yet another sweet breathe was afforded to him when the magic man did what he did best. Talk.


“I must say this battle is pushing me to limits I thought lost. Please know that if you hold back I will kill you. From this point on I will bring forth all that I have to offer.”



Moeketsi didn't not so much as open his mouth to reply. To open his mouth would be to expend to much of himself and at that very moment he needed every second the man's words would offer in order to regain his composure. He glared back, it wasn't on purpose but not something that could be helped either. Heaving shoulders, chest, limp arms and the only thing that he felt he controlled was the manner with which he planted his feet and wiggled his toes.

He could hear his grand father's words, speaking in unison with his father.

One or the other, leave naught to lie in-between. For dishonor lies not in death but in compromise.


Those words, belonging to his grandfather kept him in tact. If there was anything more to give he'd give it.

"Feet are allowed the right, granted by the very fact they were on earth, to plant themselves."


But his feet had been cheated the comfort to set themselves in as they had when he'd offered the magic man his first offensive test. Not instead of digging in with his heel to gain and stand his ground, his heel rose up higher, lifting him and taking the surety of his steps.


"Life, it ebbs, it flows, ebbs and flows.
Homewards it starts, to the heavens it goes.
It ebbs and flows."



Moeketsi had broken himself of the golem's curse that had clutched him at the start. The fires of battle ignited within him assuaged any fears of the like to occur once more and his lighter stance ensured it. He was off his heels but that meant more strain on his calves. More of himself that needed to be spent but there was a new thrill brought upon by the human magic man's words. This rising energy was threatened to be too easily quelled by this one man. He, who would have the audacity to say that he would be trying 'his best now' as though everything else before was but a game. Like they were children locked in sporting game fully until, inevitably one hit too hard and all pleasure had been removed leaving two squabbling children.

Be Childish.

Moeketsi bounced on his heels, his eyes never parting from the magic man's, as his hopping steps on the spot were his reply.

The magic man was coming. And it was about time.

There was only so much time that could be afforded to him before he became lethargic. For the young or the amateurish that might have been minutes but to a Ufeleyetsimbi man, advanced well into his twenties. A handful of breaths was all that could be spared before the muscles lost their will and lethargy took hold.

Seeing the man take such a charge reminded him exactly of how much distance the two had put between each other. Moeketsi took a single step to the center and watched intently as the magic man came at him. His scythe bore a spectacular magic that made him disappear and reappear as it was held high. Something about the whole act seemed both awe inspiring and absurd. What magician presented his spell in battle before bringing it to use? He could see him and his the scythe, even if it was for brief moments, he could at least see enough of him to be sure of what he was doing of it. Not that the scythe mattered any longer.


What mattered was the scythe's length and exactly what the magic man's hands were doing as he held it to his side. If there was one thing Moeketsi knew, it was swinging a weapon.

He only had axes. None could be thrust with. How much more so for a weapon who's sharpest point hung behind the tip in the manner of a scythe? Anvil rose up and was tucked up behind his forearm. The hilt sticking out over his clenched hand, the head ready and taunt just below his elbow. Blood was still tucked and hooked in place, his free left hand, hanging loose.

There was no way to catch him with his eyes alone. Instead Meoketsi's eyes fell to the constantly falling petals. They had never stopped drawing his eyes and proved an aid before but were proving the bigger aid as they seemed to react to magic in a way that told him where to look. There was a irregular lack of disturbance in the ethereal flow ahead and Moeketsi would have been caught out were it not, thankfully, for the lack of the whistling of true wind in the tightly closed up room that allowed him to her the breath, whether taken in, breathe out or held that came with lifting something as lofty as a scythe.

Moekesti ducked and twisted is body, his right hand raised to block the rear attack. He was able to prevent a debilitating strike upon him but caught the outer curve of the scythe on his right side, just under his arm pit on the higher ribs. He cried out, his cry granting the will to allow movement to dictate his response. He would have been a fool not to have expected such so he twisted, moving closer to the center, towards the angel statue. A rather basic strategy, but one he needed, to put his one good side behind the statue. Without a rapier or a sword of type or would be difficult to swing a blade.

And thus the second disappearance, reappearance and attack came, this time aimed directly for his ribs as opposed to a side effect of a lower aimed strike. On this occasion, it was expected as there was only one location where there was room enough to swing an axe with statues almost surrounding Moeketsi. He'd get the gods to aid him one way or the other was his thought when the head of Anvil connected and scrapped, loudly, against the scythe's flow. It was enough to hurt his arm and open the cut wider but not enough to take any more of his flesh with the strike.

The third strike came. Far more direct than the last. but more than enough to do damage on its own by simply existing. This time Moekesti with the gods at his back and the angel's wings at his, reserved for offence, left side. He did the insane and stepped forward into the attack. Taking on the one thing that all axe bearers and all those who bore weapons, where the hilt was longer than the weapon itself, knew. There was a range you did NOT want your opponent to get inside of.

Moeketsi lunged forwards his still strong arm, unhindered by lacerations, raised to grab the magic man's collar and slam his own bloody scalp into the magic man's, over and over again until one man's skull cracked. It had yet to be his.

But somehow that had been lost. It was as though Moeketsi were caught in some kind of spell. It never seemed to be the right move or time for him. How had he lost sight of his opponent to the point where after getting on the inside he had not been able to capitalize?

How? How? How!

His opponent was still showing a brave face, one that had not been cut off. It seemed impossible that for every action he pulled his opponent could pull three. He'd started well, with the testing of his throwing ability but then the magic man could do so much, smell roses, his axe throw had been met with so much magic and that spell which had created the new world around them. It had created that spell that had nearly devoured his life like termites to a baby tree. Even against a master axe wielder as himself every single swing was but a dew drop in the oceanic barrage the magic man could produce.

But the golem's curse would not return, he would not feel helpless.

All around him the woodlands came to life. Now what had seemed insane before was now perfectly rational in comparison.

He wanted to cry out, scream foul play but his father had once said the words:

There is no foul play. Only fools who are trapped by their own lack of forethought and sense to understand that there are never rules of any kind for a fight for your life.


Impossible to argue with. There were no lines in a fight. No right or wrong, only life and death.

And death would not claim him so easily.

Moeketsi grinned wide, manic, at the world that started to close in on him. Undoubtedly the going was slow. The room was small, it didn't have the highest of ceilings, an issue he'd had to deal with when he'd been throwing in the first place.

What he needed to do was get past it and to the creaming inside track that was called his opponent.


Clutching the wound to his side, with Anvil in his left hand, Moeketsi started running directly towards his enemy. He was closer to thirty than he was twenty. His days were numbered. His father had understood and now, years later he understood too.


"Life, it ebbs, it flows, ebbs and flows.
Homewards it starts, to the heavens it goes.
It ebbs and flows."



There came a time where the tide had to come in. It was never the same as the night before but it was always the tide. His grand father had understood that and died honorably in battle. His father had known it too.

And he was dead. Dead by his own hand, suicide was common to all who crossed 'the age' where the body truly began to deteriorate for his people. No man or woman, strong or brave deliberately chose to withstand such. Death in battle or death by one's own blade was the path one chose.

He was his father's son. No matter what the man his father had become. And now there was never the time where it needed to be proved than the present. He was old but he would give it his all. He had a plan.

He'd seen it being attempted dozens of times but never once had it worked. Perhaps what it needed at the aid of moving trees instead of immobile ones.

Moeketsi gritted his teeth letting go of his side long enough to throw Anvil had to the second nearest tree, before running straight for it. He jumped up, feet first hitting up the nearest and immediately kicking out. He was near horizontal when shoot like a missile, catching Anvil before swinging on it.

This was the point where even his sister had failed. But this time Anvil stayed in place allowing him to throw his naturally light weight up where he jumped and landed on the Kris god's angel wings Blood already held over his head as he threw his whole body into the most powerful snap shot he could achieve while throwing himself at the magician determined not let him get away.

Moeketsi roared. He let out a warcry with held more words than could be heard.They yelled.

No

They demand to be heard and listened to.

In tone and inflection alone they proclaimed:

This is what you get when you bring the woods to an axe fight!

[RisingPhoenix]

Exhausted, oh how exhausted he was. He had not expected to expend this much energy in this one battle. He hadn't expected to expend so much of his magic, and yet he had. The constant throbbing pain of the axe wound on his chest proved to be more than a nuisance. It was because of the axe wound that he wasn't able to raise the Rose Scythe higher than he already had. This would become a problem if his opponent went airborne. Nothing he had done thus far had been planned. He was winging every movement, every action, and thus the results were surprising to even him. His last two confrontations had elaborate plans, but this one, this one did not. After his attack, Phoenix felt utterly drained. He had called forth nature to do his bidding, and yet he didn't know if he would have the strength left to finish the job.

All his life he had fought to become strong and to gain knowledge. His "parents" had always pushed him to be strong without giving him the proper knowledge. They didn't want a weakling for a son and thus put him through the ringer when it came to raising him. They felt that his strength was more important than his education. He went through life having to learn from experiences rather than being taught. It was an Elder Celestial Being who began to teach him things he needed to know. Life suddenly had a meaning, and the elder informed him that the more he learned, the more vast his knowledge base would become. No longer did he have the notion that strength was more important than knowledge. Instead he felt that they both weighed equally. Strength was needed, but knowledge and wisdom on how to play one's strengths to benefit them was key. He had learned this throughout his life, through fighting, through reading, through meditation and training. It had all come, and now he sought more knowledge.

As his elder once said, "when a man has learned it all, his life can come to an end, for he has no more purpose to live." How true the elder's words were at the time, and yet little did he know what he would spark inside of Phoenix. The smell of blood, or the black skinned man's blood filtered into Phoenix's nose. He had wounded the man, and his eyes narrowed on the wound. It was payback for the wound across his own chest. It was payback for the earlier response to his question. Oh how good it felt to see him bleed, to know that he had caused the man pain for his actions. He had been rude, rude enough to invoke a slight bit of anger from Phoenix, and yet part of Phoenix felt sorry for harming the man, for causing him pain. There was nothing he could do about it now, they were both injured and this battle was quickly reaching its climax. One of them would make a mistake, and when that mistake was made, it would offer up the end of this battle. Phoenix focused as much as he could on his opponent. He was breathing heavily, exhaustion slowly setting in. The energy it took to animate inanimate life was taking it toll, but it would prove to be sufficient in the end.

His eyes locked onto the black skinned warrior as he threw his axe not at him, but at one of his minion trees. Though the tree could not feel pain, the axe sticking into the bark of the tree caused Phoenix to wince slightly. It was as if he could feel the pain the trees could not. How horrid it was that this warrior would use the trees in such a barbaric manner. Phoenix could only scowl as he continued to watch the man as he used the tree as leverage to jump high. It was at this point in the battle that he had reevaluated his surroundings. Phoenix took in the faux gods or rather their statues that made up the middle of the stifled room were their battle was taking place. His eyes looked over the various things within the room once more and then his eyes settled back on the dark skinned man who was positioned on the faux god with wings. Phoenix believed this statue of a faux god to be one known as Kris. They each had a name place at their base, and Phoenix had read each before this battle had fully begun. Now this black skinned man had used the leverage of a tree to get to the wings of this statue. He had positioned himself with another axe held above his head.

"What are you doing?" Phoenix asked trying to figure out why the man would do something so stupid. Did he not know it was harder to dodge in mid air than it was on level ground? How on earth was he going to escape death? Perhaps this was his final moment, perhaps he knew his time was near and had thus settled on one last final attack. Out of the man's mouth came a loud war cry that captivated Phoenix's attention. It was so tribal, so full of heritage and defiance that Phoenix could only respect the male as he plunged towards him. By now the trees had formed a sort of barricade on either side of Phoenix, and yet he was using more and more of his energy to sustain them. His opponent was airborne, diving towards him with every intent to end his life, and here he was about to launch a counter attack that would surely end the black skinned male. He had so much more to learn. He had so much more knowledge to gain. He was not ready to die yet for there was still so much to do, so many galaxies to explore, so many worlds to visit. This would not be his last day smelling the roses, watching nature flourish. No, this would not be his last day learning, and gaining knowledge. Today would be the day he continued his mission of knowledge, and this would just be another day he will gain knowledge from.

The Rose Scythe's blade was still glowing. Phoenix waved it and the branches on the trees became jagged and sharp. The leaves fell off revealing a canopy of death that surrounded Phoenix. This was the only part of the battle he had planned. The trees would act as a thorny gate of death, and if the black skinned male somehow made it through the thicket, the Rose Scythe would cleave him through while he was in mid air. This was it, this was all he had to offer. With the little energy he had left, the remaining trees positioned themselves and awaited their falling victim. Phoenix used the scythe as more of a staff to keep him level. His eyes never left the black skinned man as he plummeted towards Phoenix, the trees doing their best to protect him.

[The Imposter]

With that the battle is concluded. Judging has now commenced!

[The Imposter]

Alrighty, after some discussion the judges have made their ruling. So without further ado:

The winner of this years Rumble is.............................

PURE!!!

Now if anyone would like to see scores or comments feel free to ask any of the judges and they'll hook you up. But as far as to why we made this ruling we see that in a few of Rising's posts he takes more than one full action and as such violates the rules. It was a sweet read nonetheless.

Any questions or anything hit one of us up.