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[Sephiroth]

((This is a very nice role-play by the way, ^^, keep up the good work!
Edit by Drack: OoC = two brackets ))

[Megell]

Marcus activated the scroll in the same instant that the attack came flying up, the crescent arch burned deep into his flesh and he was knocked a good twenty meters backwards sliding along the ground and skidded to a stop. Forcing himself off the ground with his hand, the blood dripped in excess from his wounds. He tried to inhale as he stood back up, but even that he had difficulty managing as the blood began to seep out of the corners of his mouth.

He stared at where he opponent had been, but the thick fog even obscured his own vision past the point of getting a clear idea where he was. Lucky, all he needed was the general area.

It was at this point the scroll finally came into effect. The scroll erupted into a torrent of flames and blue electricity as the runes and words illuminated itself then faded. A second later, in spaced separately at each point of the arena stood four misty figures, each a clone of Marcus. While these clones were still as powerful as the original, and acted independently they needed the alcoholic mist to form themselves properly.

[Drunken Illusions! 4/4] ((I?ll be counting each as an individual character, but they go down after one good strike. There alcoholic in base, so water and fire auras btw.))

[Near fatal wound: 3/4 rounds remaining until death.]

[Rytiko]

Venefictus silently cursed himself. He had been too slow. However, it wasn't necessarily a loss just yet. Even if the foe wasn't dead, he was very close to it. It wouldn't be long before the end of the match. It was time to bring things to a close...

Four. There were four separate auras spaced across the arena, two behind and two in front. The opponent's plan had been set into place. It now appeared that the hunter had become the hunted. Venefictus was not worried, though... Even their speed could be beaten with strong wit.

Warping to the exact center of the arena once more, he returned his sword to his chest in the shape of an inverted cross. Shadow began swirling around him as the blade began to pulsate with dark energy. Each pulsation carried with it a taunting effect... It was a black technique with the intent of bringing out an intense rage in the hearts of the weak-minded. The man he fought was not necessarily weak while sober, however his mind would not be hard to manipulate... And if he could get the clones near him, victory would be his.

[Megell]

((For his grand finally, remember he doesn?t know if any of the clones actually grappled, however the arena still

Marcus knelt at the far side of the arena breathing heavily a he felt his head begin to black out, shaking his head, he attempted to clear his thoughts so he could get back on track? yet either the booze, or the wounds were making the whole world seem more real then it had been in a while. His left hand gripped the ground and cracked through the earth of the ground. He could remember it all know, the guy he had been fighting had been the one he had been fighting all along. Rage filled him. However he held himself back, he didn?t have the energy for a direct assault, he was going to use one last magic attack.

The first clone, under the effects of Venefictus aura began to fill with an uncontrollable rage, however restraint wasn?t part of the plan that it? s creator Marcus had originally planned. So like the rest of the clones, the first clone ran directly at where Venefictus stood. The first and second clone both jumped at the mid point of their runs and slid themselves along the ground, aiming for Venefictus? legs in a grapple. The other two, aimed directly for his arms, Marcus had realized that the clones wouldn?t last long anyways; he just needed about ten seconds to pull off this attack.

The last, massive burst of aura began to build in Marcus; a small glowing red pulse began to forum under his feet as the aura reached a final critical level. And at that instant he jumped as far into the sky as his body would let him do. He got up about 40 meters above the pit, which put him above ten meters above the mist. Marcus then prepared the final part of his plan, a simple, (yet greatly empowered), version of his fireball technique. Inhaling deeply Marcus shot a giant fireball at the pit.

The pit that he had turned into a large bomb.

The mist, the clones, and even his own blood was loaded with uncountable large amounts of aura exposed alcohol, and it was about as explosive as TNT if put under the effects of a magical fire. The fire slammed clean into the arena, and a second later the massive reaction began. The fireball entered the center of the mist where he hoped venefictus had been standing and for a split second it appeared like that would be as far as the effect would go. Suspense filled marcus mind knowing that that alone wouldn?t finish of his opponent. Yet a second, to his relief, later a deep red hue appeared beneath the mist with a loud grumbling sound.

The arena pit then exploded into a massive fireball that shot up in a huge torrent of flame, force, and dirt that raced out in all directions. The entire first ten rows of observer seats were devoured in flame, ash and death. As the fireball raced up towards the ceiling, Marcus managed to say one last thing as he put his arms in front of his face in a defensive posture. ?SHIT?! The flames engulfed him a second later, and thrust him up, scorching his body as he went and launching him clean into one of the topmost support beams of the arena. As he hit it, his spine snapped from the shear force of the impact, and his now lame and burnt body fell towards the ground, falling amongst a scared and confused group of spectators on the outer most edge of the arena.

[KO for Marcus]

[Queztatlapoca]

Teyld's eyes widened as the flames shot out and washed over him. His arms lashed out, in all directions, as he rose from his seat and tried to beat the fire off him. He collided with a few of the stone chairs, leveling a few of them. Settling back down, charred skin and all, he returned to his broken chair and waited for someone to enter the arena.

[Rytiko]

Each of the three clones were easily blown away by a large pulsation of shadow energy, dispersing the mist in the immediate area as well. However, Venefictus did not expect the massive fireball looming towards the mist. Knowing that death was certain, he did not try to stop it. There was no avoiding the torrent that would consume the arena. Instead, he took a mental snapshot of each of the auras that surrounded the arena, and took into account everything that he would need to craft a new form out of this experience...

~~~~~~~

An Asiatic looking man clad in black robes, with a small amount of the purple martial arts garb beneath the robes showing along the base of them, walked to the nearest intact edge of the arena, looking at the devastation in awe. The arena seemed to be attracting more and more powerful combatants every day...

Kabushi Hisakada was not ready to fight just yet... No, there was someone in particular that he wished to fight. He would wait for this match.

~~~~~~~~

Observing the massive destruction, a very tall man in a sleeveless black-and-white tailcoat, arms tied in white bandages, sporting baggy black pants and boots and a sinister looking scythe on his back, shivered a bit. The amount of evil energies in this place was chilling.

Stepping to the center of the ring, he hoped to send the evil in this place to where it belonged...

[Queztatlapoca]

He watched the man step into the pit and smiled a bit. "this one looks like he could be some fun" Teyld thought. Raising himself out of his chair he stretched, cracked his neck, and leaped into the arena pit.
He went into a roll on landing and sprang out of it rising to his full height. "Are we new here?" he growled.

[Rytiko]

Despite the intimidating stature and presentation of the behmoth standing before him, the comparatively small and lanky man, with an aura cold and threatening as the Grim Reaper himself, let out a chuckle. This laughter failed to bring any form of light to his cold - yet strikingly beautiful - face. It was odd, the way that the man worked... Though possessing a kind heart filled with joy on a normal occasion, when battle approached he abandoned all of this affability in exchange for objective and clear thought. In battle, this man had no personality... The only thing he fought for was the kill, and the only morals guiding him towards evil existed just long enough for him to face the correct person before he attacked. Still, his coldness would not interfere with his taunting. Provocation was a useful tool, after all...

"I am new as a combatant, however I've been here long enough to know that you can't win," he said smugly, with a provoking half grin directed towards his opponent. The man before him was a prideful one, and he would hit just the right strings in order to lure him into throwing the first strike.

"It seems to me that your victories in the past - the illusionist, that shadow creature - came from a suicidal act on their own part. If I wanted to know what it felt like to truly taste victory, you'd be the last person I would ask."

[Queztatlapoca]

Teyld grunted. "So you are new here. Any stipulations?" Much the opposite of the man he was standing feet from, he used anger and hot rage to fuel his fights. Insulting him would only help fuel that fire.

[Rytiko]

"Stipulations? Hmm... I think I would be interested to see how you manage yourself when you have to maintain some level of control... Setting VI?" he offered, maintaining the smug tone and nonchalant hand gestures, giving the impression of extreme arrogance. "Or... is that too much for you?"