Don't Talk About It

New York City has its share of secrets; in a city of a hundred million, that goes without saying. From the seedy drug dealers hiding the fact that their drug was cut with baking soda, to the housewife with her cheating husband, and to the banker, cheating his customers, New York is a city of lies and cheats. Some secrets are more dangerous than others; Robert Patrick, of 10 Dreary Lane, for example, had no idea of the individuals lurking about his house, planning on stealing everything he owned, including the future of his daughter, and among that gang of thieves and burglars, none yet knew that though Mr. Patrick was not aware, a local vigilante very much was, and he was currently in the tree branches, waiting to spring his trap.

But this isn’t about them; this is about a club that is even seedier than the aforementioned drug dealers, if that is possible. The type of club that constantly has sticky floors despite it just being clean, the type of club where food, beer, and bodily fluids run like water, the type of club where- well, you get the picture. Behind the stained surfaces, dark floors, and bar that could barely be counted as such is a door. And behind this door was a staircase, much nicer and newer than the door. And down this staircase was a room, and in this room was New York’s most well-kept, and perhaps darkest, secret.

The Metahuman Fighting League!

The roar of the crowd drowned out any noise that would make it through the sound-proofed ceiling, and what that didn’t accomplish, the meaty smack of empowered fist-on-flesh would. The crowd surrounded a central pit, surrounded by a normal wooden fence; and in the center, two combatants; even as she watched, one knocked out the other,and finished it with a victory lap around the center. Among the individuals, there was one that didn’t quite fit in, shrouded in a black cloak. No one gave the figure any mind - plenty of individuals were weird like that here - but she certainly seemed to be paying attention. As the fighters walked (and were carried) off stage, a middle aged man with a slicked back hair and sunglasses on, and a microphone in his hand.

”Ladies and gentlemen! Lets give a big round of applause for our contestants!” The rush of noise that followed could put an airplane to shame, and the announcer smirked. Time for the main event. ”They put up a good fight, but now, it’s time for the main event!” The rush of noise that followed dwarfed the previous assessment, but the girl, she didn’t hear it; she drew closer to the edge, hands clenched on the edge of the fence. This is what she’s been waiting for. With all the flourish of the showman he is, he gestured towards the same entrance that the previous one had left. ”The grand champion! The indestructible titan, a living champion of pure power, the one, the only … Berserker!!”

As if on cue, a black coat fluttered over the heads of a gathered crowd, and the girl launched herself over the crowd, a graceful flip landing her square in the middle of the arena. She was almost unassuming, were it not for the gold strings of magic surrounding her body. The crowd grew hushed, all eyes on the woman as she crossed to the center of the arena. A look of sheer determination was on her face, and for a moment, the announcer looked taken aback; who would be crazy enough to just jump in the ring with the grand freaking champion?! But, there were no rules against it, so he got over his hesitation and brought the microphone to his lips.

”Well, folks, it appears we have a challenger in the ring! Challenger, face your opponent!” Apophis turned to face the approaching, shadowy figure in the corner. A whisper, to her; ”Yo, girly, what’s your name?” She only glanced at him for a second, before answering in a clipped voice; ”... Apophis.” The announcer nodded, then; ”Looks like Apophis is ready for the smackdown! Lets see Berserker take. Her. On!”

Underneath New York Miguel knew he was king. Not a hero where people expected him to perform great feats but simply to beat down to the  people set before him in the arena. Relishing the cheers of people that thundered through the stadium and feeling the eyes on him; all brimming with various emotions. Fans that envied him, enjoyed his displays of violence and even lust all mixed together in a way that led to people always placing their bets on him. Time and time again he succeeded where the other competitors brought before him failed.  Inadequate strength that managed to magnify his own, to the point that people had begun to think he was unbeatable. Invincible should they not look out from the pit of their own illegal combat.

This success brought with it their own benefits. Such as his own room, the door with its own name tag and beyond relatively fine looking. Though he was mostly looking in the mirror, running fingers over the black stubble which had begun to grow over his jawline. Rough he imagined by human standards, maybe even impossible to cut with a normal razor. Luckily he didn’t often hazard using his blade to do the job. This after all  had more than anything just become a means to get his fix. Illegal violence but one that was sanctioned by almost everyone around him. Hell, people cheered when he beat his last opponent. A meta that looked more rhino than man, bellowing until he was beat down by him. Blood coating knuckles and the unconscious man being wheeled away by the medical team.

Thinking about it now brought a dark grin to his lips, along with the emergence of a desire to fight someone like that again. To hurt people in a way that resonated with him to the very core of his being. A screen in the corner projected the current fight going on. Two people beating at each other  in an uninteresting display that only caught his peripheral attention. He worried at the armor he was wearing, which was composed of a greek styled armor save for sleeves which were absent to allow the mixture of greek and nordic runes that ran along the dark colored skin of his arms in sleeves. Leaving almost no visible skin uninked, glowing an undulating within the artificial light of the changing room. The armor wasn’t necessary but he wore it because going without a costume felt wrong.

Soon enough the person responsible for telling him it was his time came and he nodded; knuckles audibly cracking as he walked through the hidden halls of the underground fights. Louder the cheering became the closer he got. The people likely too excited to see how he would do against the people thrown against him. As soon as he stood in the shadows of his entrance the announcer had stated something about a surprise fight. Well, a surprise might have been better than whatever inept loser could give him. Hell, he couldn’t help smiling at the concept of someone actually going out of there way to fight him. No glory to be gotten for this from him but he would accept it anyway. What kind of demi-god fueled by war would he be?

With a grand leap he blurred through the air, colliding with the stage in a resounding boom that echoed throughout the sound proofed stadium. Even the announcer looked at him shocked before resuming his usual showmanship, considering the tattooed, dark skinnned berserker with nothing but enthusiasm in his eyes. Hands rested on his hips and eyes focused on Apophis, curious why a woman would challenge him. No, her sex didn’t matter. It never mattered to him when all that mattered was a good fight.

He felt the hesitation within the crowd and even the announcer as if it were audibly spoken. Undaunted by everyone looking at him or the woman. ”Alright, who am I to take away a smackdown from the good people,” He responded, leaning in to the mic to allow his voice to carry. That kind of cocksure swagger in his voice that came with exposure to being a showman like this. People demanding to see him in action, to fight and to win. He had the feeling this would be no different, cracking his knuckles and eyeing the woman up. Gossamer strings of gold glittering around her, ethereal almost in how they looked and what they might have meant for him. ”i’ll let you start this off even. Hit me with what you got. Let me see how good you are,” He pat himself on the chest, hearing and feeling the metal with each tap. He wanted to see what kind of metahuman, magic or whatever abilities she had.

If she was even worth him trying.

He was confident, cocky. The sign of a warrior … or an idiot. From the way he walked, she assumed it was the latter, but you could never be sure. Katrina sighed through the mask; she hated this thing, it made it so damn hard to breathe. A quick glare to the side sent Kate scurrying back, hiding behind the imposing figure of Isis (or at least as imposing as an ethereal reflection could be). This should be a thing they’re handling, but they refused. Katey can’t function in front of a crowd, and Isis didn’t think it was honorable, no matter how much she tried to explain it wasn’t supposed to be. Still, she refused, and she’d be damned if Kitty was let loose anywhere near a crowd this size; that’s just itching for disaster.

Despite her reservations, however, Katrina had to admit it was nice to be back in the thick of things. It felt like all she’s done lately is talk to people; save for that little scuffle in New York, she hasn’t had much action. No one could pose a threat to her in Olympus (nor were people exactly itching to try) and were it not for her magic, she’d be even more out of practice than she already is. As she faced down Berserker, she wasn’t feeling fear or trepidation; no, it was excitement flooding her veins like a drug, sending shivers of expectation down her limbs. She shook out her fingers, scattering the feeling across the dirt floor; at the same time, the golden threads solidified, flashing red as they clung to her body, forming what could only be described as rings on her wrists and ankles.

”Let’s give them a show then.”

Her breath was slow, even, relaxed, eyes wide open as she rushed at him; as her barefoot hit the ground, another ring blossomed, lasting just long enough for a massive force to create a dust cloud. Through this cloud she rushed. No fancy tactics, no dodging or weaving. She got one free shot, and she was gonna take it. Her closed fist smacked straight into his chest, carrying with it a force that her little body could not naturally contain, just about fifteen times more powerful than even a strong man. She didn’t press the advantage, instead with a breathe she bounced away, back to the spot she was in.

”Was that good enough for you?”

It was mocking, sarcasm thick enough to cut with a knife as she stared down her opponent, waiting for the dust to clear to see the damage. It was thrilling to use her full power, to not hold back for fear of harming innocents.

Miguel didn’t know what he was expecting. Seeing the strands of gold shift into red rings that adorned the woman's fingers and wrists. Magic or metahuman talent he didn’t know, though he wanted to see what it could do. So the strike connected with his chest, sending the berserker flying back a good dozen feet until he connected with the arena wall. It was not an unknown feeling to be thrown through the air, his feet leaving the ground and body hurtling backwards A few breaths followed that, then a wide grin as if this were something almost amusing.

She could hit hard, though he had to wonder if she could hit him hard enough. There was a dull thrum on the point of impact but that was just because the armor had dented inwards against his chest. Miguel emerged from the cloud of dust, brushing off a few granules from his shoulder and locking eyes on the woman. ”I don’t know. That the best you got?” He shot back with equally biting sarcasm, looking no worse for wear.  Ripping off the metal armor with a motion and sending it clattering to the side. The stuff was pretty cheap anyway and his wardrobe department could replace it.

He audibly cracked his neck, taking in the stance the woman took. Obviously she was skilled which meant he would have to take her a little more seriously than the bricks that were thrown at him before. He slipped into a tight boxers stance, hands brought up in fists.  Now he would test her a little.

”My turn. Let's see if you break as easy as my armor,” And so he stepped forward. The propulsion was quick, faster than any human athlete could reach and shooting him across the room in the span of a second or maybe even less. Bringing a fist sailing forward in a deadly accurate strike meant to dislocated her shoulder, followed by a few more swift jabs meant for her torso and other joints.

Her attack struck without a stitch, sending him slamming into the wall of the arena. A quick flush of satisfaction brought a smirk to her face; him being mostly unfazed was only the icing on the cake. He tossed his armor to the side, and for a moment, Katrina had to admit the sight of his skin distracted her. It was cocky and arrogant, and very appropriate for the moment. Katrina followed suit, nimble fingers detaching the belt at her hip and tossing it to the side, out of reach. The swords that hung on it clanged against the wall; stupid, as Kitty was yelling at her, but this was fun. It was almost … erotic, being without her swords.  It made her feel naked. The announcer was saying something, hyping the crowd, but she drowned it out; there was only her and him in this fight. Nothing else existed, only the heat of her body and the curled raised fists in front of her.

Berserker took off after slipping into quite the traditional boxer’s stance. How quaint. He was fast, incredibly so, but so was Katrina, and his first strike met her palm, blocked with a grunt. By Ala’khir, he was strong, she had no advantage in that category. There was no time to massage the sting in her palm; his second strike slipped by her body as she contorted away from it, the third barely missing as she ducked. On the ground now, her muscles bunched underneath her, launching her in the air and away from him.

”If you want to break me, you have to earn it.”

There was a fire building in her limbs, spreading down her veins at the combat, and this translated to her face, the smirk and burning in her eyes suggesting an innuendo. Still, no time to ponder it, as she was back in action. Crossing the short distance at similar speeds he had shown, she aimed another fist at his kidneys, her weight on her right foot; whether it connected or not, a quick pivot would bring her feet into his rib cage.

He expected her to dodge the strike but instead he felt the impact against the palm of her hand. Flesh and bone receiving the impact that came from hitting like he did. That impact reverberated through her, back through him and his entire being. It spoke to a portion of him that craved battle, as if he could only really be happy when he was clashing against someone else to the death. It was a thrill that he could only describe as erotic, enough so that he would have spent his entire life fighting if society had not ingrained in him the concept that violence shouldn’t be the answer. A woman that could fight, now that was just better.

Even then his instincts were well against it.

His second strike met the same answer as the first and then the third managed to miss, the woman ducking out and flipping away to avoid any further damage. ”Don’t have to tell me twice,” He smirked, excited even more by the little tousle they were having. Wondering what other surprises could be in store for him. If she could actually bruise him or make him bleed. Especially without those swords, which he wondered if they were more than just the average folded steel.

Both were portraying provocative expressions, though maybe for different reasons. All at once she broke the distance between them with the same speed, slamming a fist into his kidney with a jab and then following through with a kick to his ribs.  That stung a bit more, practiced strikes seeming to ignore a bit more of his bodies durability but at most he guessed he would have a painful bruise. The pained grunt transitioned into an amused chuckle. ”That’s better! I actually felt it that time!” He felt the power rise up within his muscles, and then slammed his fist forward.

A dodge was something he anticipated and this was mostly to show off some of his strength. Meant to slam into the ground, shattering it with a single strike and throwing up a bit of dust. A flex so to speak and he knew how his powers worked. The same way that everyone else learned when they fought him. Becoming too hard to hurt when they wasted their time trying to play to the crowd.  After that show of force he would unleash a flurry of punches, all too powerful for a human to block peppered with a kick or two to keep her on the defensive.

Her strikes hit, but they seemed to do little more than amuse him. That was fine, this was amusing her as well. Recovering from her kick, she sprung backwards, avoiding the downwards strike just in time. This time, however, she was genuinely shocked; the force behind this one was beyond what he had shown so far. She was taken aback, if she was honest with herself. Ignoring the bitching coming from the reflections behind her, she readied herself for the next barrage of attacks, and just in time too. If that ground pound was anything to judge by, she couldn’t block these ones, not without some severe damage to herself, at least.

”I see we’re no longer playing around then. Good. Then let us get to know each.”

She was faster and more agile, which served here, but the sheer power of his strikes carried their own danger. Just avoiding them wouldn’t be enough; if they skimmed her they could still break bones and cause some significant damage. Physics 101. The flurry he threw her proved easier to dodge in theory; while she did avoid the brunt of them, the force from her blows spreading bruises across her side. Then, an opportunity; as the first kick came, she jumped, twisting in midair to avoid another deadly strike. Red strings of magic enhancing her abilities, she brought her knee down to a painful point on his joint. Planting her foot in the ground, she pivoted, slamming her foot on his hip joint.

Using that momentum, she brought herself up, a flurry of blows, each aimed at joints and other delicate places, such as the throat and eyes. Any normal person would be killed by a single one of these blows, but she knew that, should one of these hits, it would do nothing more than make him angry … she had to admit, it was kind of exciting to see him at full strength. Could be fun. Each blow she delivered was powerful, the full length of her enhanced strength and training come to bear, enhanced with her magic. Any normal person she could defeat, but he … well …

He was for sure the right choice for the Blackguard.

He normally started by playing around but something in the back of his mind told him not to hold back anymore. The strike against the ground more a warning how hard he could hit, though that threshold increased with each strike. Most of his follow ups were not the same misses. Near misses maybe but he could feel the faint brush of skill that came with contact. Luckily nothing was ripped away with the force and instead he imagined she would have been left with some wicked bruises by the end of it. Something about flesh bruised from battle only managed to excite him even more, instead of that non-sense with someone coming out of a brawl unscathed.

It wasn’t a battle unless he was bleeding from somewhere and he wanted to see if this woman could draw blood from him. That was when he saw the next attacks come into motions. Things meant to strike his joints, maybe lock him up and prevent movement. The strike came down on the joint of his knee and sent a painful jolt through the limb. It stung like hell, enough to throw him off balance and allow the woman a couple more strikes. Guaranteed ones at that.  They ended up hitting his throat and stomach, causing more pain but he managed to step back a couple in time to avoid any blinding shots.

He ground his teeth together, feeling the haze of red begin to rise around his perception. That he might cut loose if he didn’t reign himself in a little. Not often he had such a fun fight with what he assumed was such an attractive woman. This was way too exciting and the crowd agreed, though he wondered if they had turned their cheering to this woman. An unknown that could bring about an upset in their little world.

”Keep giving me love taps like that and I might start making a few assumptions here,” He grinned, tasting the salt on his lips. He was starting to feel it but Miguel knew that wasn’t for long. His body never stayed so easy to hurt for long, and he felt that each strike was coming out a little harder. Soon she wouldn’t even be able to take glancing blows without the shock breaking bones he guessed. He baited out one of those strikes, arm snaking out to grab her wrist or ankle and then twist to throw her across the ring. If that didn’t work he would have stepped back, unleashing his own barrage with some attempts to hold back. Mostly moves meant to stop someone from moving, but he hoped she had more than just strength enhancing moves.

She was sensing a pattern here; the strike to his knee hurt him, if the way he recoiled was anything to tell by, but each subsequent hit did less and less damage … which was quite frankly surprising. Each strike carried enough force to take down a bull elephant plus some, so for him to resist each strike, and with diminishing results! How could he do that? Some kind of … adaptive immunity? Creating some sort of ablative defense against her attacks the more she attacks him? Hellfire, that was dangerous. Blast it, she had no time to think, she had to juke away-

Next thing she knew, a sudden flare of pain through her leg and she was flying through the air. She barely had enough time to twist and contort before hitting the ground hard. The air was forced out of her lungs, only adding to the bruises, and maybe a broken rib. Thankfully, the damage was minimized thanks to the way she landed, taking the brunt of the throw to her legs and arms. Pain lanced through her, and she was sure something was bleeding, but the thrill of the pain only lent itself to energy. She sprung up, staring downstage at her opponent. A trickle of blood stained her leg where the kneepad had cracked, the landing ripping the leggings a bit.

”You continue to impress. I expected you to be dead by now.”

In a swift movement, the niqab covering her face was removed and tossed to the side, the silken garment caught by a current and billowing the crowd. Full lips and straight, elven features framed sparkling blue eyes and long lashes, currently twisted into a smirk. Her gloves came next, leaving her hands bare, the glitter of ice-blue polish apparent on her fingernails. Her fingers flexed, audibly cracking, and she shook them out at her side. The red rings disappeared, a quick flash of yellow light replacing it, but then it simply disappeared … as did all traces of her. Vanished, as if by magic, A particularly observant person would notice the footsteps made in the dirt, but it would have to be quick; she reappeared suddenly, the red rings about her wrists appearing again. She was behind him, and this blow was a sharp one, aimed to the back of his neck, with the sole purpose of disabling him.

She didn’t stick around to see if her blow worked. Assuming she was capable, she skipped backwards, landing about ten feet from him. Another yellow flash, and this time, three versions of her split from her. Each wore identical expressions, each staring at him with resolve in their eyes. Each spoke, though sounds only came from the one to the right.

”Don’t tell me thats all you can do? And here I was hoping for you teach me a few things.”

This was shaping up to be interesting; the blood pooled on the ground, mirrored in her illusions, but she didn’t expect to fooled him. He was a seasoned warrior and he wouldn’t be fooled by a simple little trick like this. No, he was good, as the pain spreading across her ribs and breasts could attest to. She’d definitely need a nice long bubblebath after this.

Blood.

That was like the key that opened the floodgate and colored his sight even more red save for the point that was the woman he was fighting. It took all the fraying self control he had to keep from rampaging. Teeth ground into his lower lip, the hope that paint would somehow keep him from doing anything too stupid. Like creating the need for someone to get rid of the body. ”Lucky for you i’m not that easy to kill,” His blood pounded in his ears and eyes honed in on every movement she was making. That changed when she revealed a new color and the power that came with it.

Her shape disappeared into nothing and left him looking at the thing air. He looked around for any sign that she was moving around, because unless she were gone entirely there had to be some kind of sign. His mind worked through that logic and he thanked the fact most of his intelligence seemed to be in the realm of combat. Made him the champion that he was, like the time they tried to put him up against some kind of teleporter. They didn’t last that long either.

It took him a few seconds to note the footprints within the sand and turn to the strike that slammed into the side of his neck.  The pain lanced through his neck, and all the places held in there. He stumbled from the strike, a low growl issuing from his throat and trying to follow the woman who was becoming more and more interesting. Would that hit work again? Maybe but he doubted it.  Soon enough he would be too tough for anything that she could do. So he learned from many years of combat.

”Don’t worry, i’m just getting started,” He stated with that same angry growl. Three more now? Seemed like this woman had so many little tricks but maybe that just made things fun. Two more people he could punch. If they were solid anyway, otherwise he was just playing this big game of guess with her as the contestant. He looked over the surroundings of the women, any sign that one of them real and the others were false ones. Could she replicate blood? Miguel took a deep breath, rushing forward with his upper body low.  His fingers dug through the ground and drug up a bit of sand.

The sand had a point. At the last moment he threw it with the intent of hitting her face. Maybe to throw the woman off, or if it were an illusion through her. If it were the former he would have made a furry of strikes and the latter he would have turned on one of the other two to make a less well informed decision. Which was just swinging wildly because his mind was working on violent asshole wavelengths.

Oh, he was right, he was in no way easy to kill. Despite the protective abilities of her Ruby Rings, that last hit had still hurt, the pain somewhat distracting; more so was the fact that she could still feel the hardened muscles under her fingertips. She shook her hand, her illusions repeating the motion; she had to focus and ignore the pain, the dull throb from her fingertips and her leg. Gods be willing, she’d leave this with all limbs attached. The look in her opponents eyes, she’s seen it before, in Shields whom have gone off the leash. It was the tell-tale sign of a berserker, and definitely not a good one for her. He rushed her, scooping down to grab sand as he did so. She barely had time to react before the sand was flying, going straight through the middle reflection, right next to her. A curse left her lips, and with a flash of yellow light, her illusions disappeared, leaving her standing not five feet from him, to the right.

Well, that wouldn’t do, being this close to him, but she couldn’t run; already, the crowd was growing restless, hungry for blood. If she left, they’d tear her to shreds. It’s been a long time since Katrina was unsure she could deliver what they wanted. This guy was intense, worse than anything she’s ever faced; if they were fighting for real, Katrina wasn’t sure she’d have half a chance. As it was, she was already pressed to her limits. She was injured, though admittedly it did little to slow her down, and she was tiring, her breath coming in forced, quick breaths to conserve her stamina. This had to end quickly. She had one last chance, one last ditch effort to at least knock some sense into him.

”Strong and smart. I approve.”

And she did. A strong man, with halfway decent tactics and power to match? Yes please. Still, now was not the time to dream over her perfect man, not when said man was trying to kill her. No matter how hot he looked with battle rage burning in his eyes. Her magic flared again, the red spirals across her wrists and ankles, and she moved. Not towards him, but at an angle, at speeds that would put a car to shame. As she did, a plume of dust followed her. Her arms pumped, each step around him scattering dust until it covered the arena. It didn’t take long, really, not with the force with which she was putting down.

When dust had real and truly covered the arena, most importantly thickly around the area the two combatants were, she stopped. The viewers couldn’t see anything other than the plume of dust, and a sudden flash of gold as she activated her crown. Transitioning from high speeds to jump, her golden crown propelled her off the smoke, almost blurring with her movement; mid air, gold turned to red and, if all went well, her foot cracked into the side of his head with much higher force than she had put out before. Not due to any special skills or anything, simple physics; using the force of her run, she jumped, and then used her Golden Crown to leap off the dust cloud she made, further adding to her force.

Of course, her magic wasn’t designed to take force like that, and as it hit, it cracked, shattering like glass and disappearing into the ground. As the red ring cracked, something in her foot gave, and she fell into a heap, pain lancing through her already injured foot. Whatever injury he had given her already did its job, it seemed. As she hobbled to a stand, supporting her weight on her left, she could only watch and see what her attack did. She could leave satisfied if she even left a god damn bruise.

His demented wild grin grew wilder when he noted that his tactic yielded some results. He didn’t know for certain if he was dealing with illusions or clones, but there was only one way to eliminate possibilities. He could tell with each movement he was pushing further towards the victory, with each punch he was not too far from clenching this. The rational thought that went beyond keen combat instincts however were something that had been lost a few seconds ago. Ripping and tearing away any protests he might have with fighting a weaker opponent. Instead all he wanted to do was fight and she was in the way.

In a flash the illusions were gone and there she stood, or so he assumed. Body whipping into motion to bring around a fist in a violent yet elegant arc of kinetic  force. More of the red magic flared int the eye, spiraling through and the woman moved. She wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot he could imagine, eyes following her trajectory and body compensating for the amount of force keeping him committed to the punch. His foot dug into the earth below, twisting as he forced his body to turn towards the woman with a minimally acceptable lag.

Attempts to follow her proved fruitless when she began to kick up dirt within the arena, creating a large cloud which quickly would obscure visibility even for him. His eyes darted to and fro, attempting to catch any glimmer of movement within the great cloud. His heart was hammering in his ears and blood running with a sound that was almost like a jet engine. A flash of gold signaled him to look towards it, but that was too late to react. That didn’t stop the strike that came down at the side of his head, an immense pressure that lanced through his temple and brought him hitting the ground with a resounding crunch and boom.

It hurt, more than her other strikes but he knew that it wasn’t to take him down for any length of time. So he removed his head from what felt like a crater, a bruise likely to form from where he was struck and eyes focusing on the only prone shape within the dust cloud. He clenched his fists, feeling the joints crack and the decisions that he could make rushing through his mind which grasped onto the logical thoughts much better now. ”So, that the best hit you got? I could do this all night if that’s the case,” He shouted the challenge and allowed her to do with it what she wanted.

She scoffed, but unfortunately, her opponent was right; that was the best she could. Oh, she had plenty of options at her disposal, each more desperate than the last, and none were particularly appealing, nor did any promise to yield fruit. It would, more than likely, just cause him to grow stronger and even more out of control. Already, she could sense he was nearing the edges of sanity; she’s been there, and it isn’t easy. Having a perpetual anger issue promised all sorts of methods to control it, yes, but also making it easier to diagnose in others. And she saw it in the way he moved, the almost jerking, barely-restrained movements that sent whips of air whistling towards the ground and anyone unlucky enough to be in the way. The power he has must be absolutely astounding; she was eager to test his limits ….

It was good to know he could be hurt. As the dust cloud cleared, the rapidly-forming bruise on his temple and side of his face was clear, bringing a smirk on her face. Not that she had much of a reason to be smirking, she reminded herself, as she accidentally put weight on her injured leg and winced in response. She was much too injured for that. This was a time for humility and a humble decline of the slowly escalating conflict; any good warrior should know when a tactical retreat was necessary.

Besides, she didn’t want to hurt him.

”... I concede.”

Her low voice carried clearly over the shocked crowd, stunning them into silence. Such a stunning fight, ending in such an anticlimactic way …. Were it not for the barricades, it was likely they’d tear her apart, not that she blamed them. She would likely react in such a similar way were she into engaging in such bloodsport. An exaggerated sigh lifted the strand of hair that fell in front of her face, blowing it clear of her vision. Despite her loss, she could chalk this up as an overall win; she obtained a good grasp of his abilities and capabilities … and more than that, she hasn’t had this much fun in years. Yeah, she’d accept the loss, this time.

A deep breath to concentrate despite the pain, and magic flickered to life again, but none of the ones she had used previously. No, this was a deep violet, appearing as stone-like script running down her body and disappearing in her clothes. On her wrists, two armlets appeared, made of the same stone. Immediately, her leg crystalized, coated in a thin layer of the same material the armlets were made of, causing her to release a sigh of relief as the pain immediately faded, like flicking a switch. She sagged, putting her weight on her uninjured leg to let her injuries heal. In the meantime, she turned her gaze towards her opponent.

”Truth be told, I did not come here to fight. I came here to talk to you, if you’re willing.” She offered a hand, coincidentally the hand she had almost broken on his face.

It hurt. His head was bruised, leaving him both curious and a little aggravated. She was holding out on him, that much he could tell from the small showing that had left him feeling true pain through this whole tussle. Would he actually need to get serious now? Then she conceded, which sent a ripple of shock and confusion through the crowd as if they were feeling the same disappointment that he was. Why was she giving up now when things were just starting to get so good? ”You…concede?” He seemed to muttered the question, despite how clouded his processes truly felt.  They were too far in it to just stop now. His teeth ground together, a harsh chord more for his own ears as he tried to hold back the sudden rush of rage which blew through him like fire. As if it were burning his very cells, compelling him to continue despite his opponent not wanting to fight anymore.

Should one look into his eyes they would see the deep seething anger roiling with little to keep it from exploding outwards. He took a few breaths, one after the other until he could feel the rage within subside if only a little. Enough to allow him to speak beyond the outraged questions and more towards the vague mystery that had been presented to him in one sentence. That she had a further purpose to coming to him than just to fight him. There was a reason that left him looking at her with an almost stunned silence while the crowd likely wanted to tear this interloper apart. She had afterall just blue balled them from an amazing fight, especially if they would get to see some blood for the money they paid.

His eyes shot to the crowd and then back to the woman as he continued to calm himself down and then finally he managed to speak without the low growl painting his tone. ”You wanted to talk with me? Well, that’s a damn interesting way of doing it. Alright you got my attention,” Now he could even smirk, as if somewhat amused by the concept of someone fighting him just to catch his attention. He offered a hand just like her, trying to hold back enough that he didn’t feel the crunch of bones between his strong fingers. Pulling back his fingers he stripped away the few bits of costume armor and pressed them under one of his arms, motioning with his head.

”Well, if you want to talk to me let’s not do this out here,” He then directed towards the crowd who were still rather incensed. ”wouldn’t want to have to beat up the fine folks of new york,” With that he would offer to lead her to his own dressing room where they could talk without anyone just listening in on them.

”If there is anything I am, it’s interesting.”

Her self-assured stance and confident smirk hadn’t faded a bit during what amounted to a one-sided smile. She shook her raven locks in disbelief; after that first hit, she was completely outmatched … now that’s a secret she wanted to discover. Despite the pain lancing through her leg, her eyes were still drawn to the physique of her opponent. It was a long second she stared, the sound of the irate crowd drowned out by the sudden, rhythmic thumping of her heart beating in her ears, and she was suddenly aware of just how tight her outfit. Not normally something that would bother her, but she had the oddest, girlish desire to cover up. What a foolish thought. She banished it (not entirely successfully) from her mind, tearing her gaze away from Miguel just long enough to retrieve her belt and weapons, discarded at the start of the battle. Having them in her possession made her feel a little better; she always felt a bit naked without the familiar weight of Charm and Dignity at her hip.

Before she followed him, however, there was one thing to take care of. Her eyes closed, a forcefully relaxed expression crossing her face as she concentrated; some of this magic was still hard to reach, though would get easier with practice. Once again, color flared from her, but none he had seen yet; a violet as pure as the flower from which it gained its name poured from her, coalescing into a single armlet seemingly made of stone on her right hand. From this, matching script ran down her body, disappearing underneath the thin outfit. Soon as the color faded, a stone cast wrapped around her injured leg, and an immediate sigh of relief left her as the pain abated. It wasn’t a terrible injury, so it didn’t take her magic long, but it  was still plenty long for her gaze to travel back to Miguel, now expectantly waiting for her. It was all she could do to not bite her lip.

The stone cast shattered with a resounding crack, and with the grace and poise she displayed at the start of the battle, entered into the room behind the stage, the sounds of the crowd and the announcer abruptly cut short. Like music to her ears. She leaned against the cool walls, taking a quick breath before engaging with … with the man who was not wearing enough clothes for her comfort. She held in the sigh she felt brew up within her. She almost regretted coming here alone … surely Jessica could have handled it. It was her own insistence to handle all the recruitment herself … It was abrupt the way she turned away, with the resolution to look nowhere but his eyes. That … lasted all of three seconds. Resigning herself to ogling his chest and resolutely ignoring the faint heat in her core, she offered her hand.

”I believe introductions are in order. I am Katrina Russel, leader of Olympus and head of the Blackguard. I’m here to recruit you to save the world.”