THE ARENA

Slamfist figured the attack would work, it was quick and effective, being used in less than a second each time it was performed. He had taken on villains, such as Ferrum who could control metal, all without activating his unique brand of weaponry. The thunderclap was one of his more well known moves, being performed with and without aid many times in the past, especially against foes that wielded electricity and shorted out his arms. Slam didn't want to reactivate his weapons at this point anyway, figuring his dexterity was his only hope at this point in dodging future attacks. But they were also very effective and he could just as easily keep the man at bay with them. Deciding to go forward with his previous plan, Slam knocked another tile loose and threw it at his opponent, dazed or not he was still standing which meant bad things if Slam got near. Following shortly after the second tile Slam bullrushed at the Centurion, if he was faking he wouldn't risk another hit from a tile. Iif he wasn't there was plenty of pain coming his way to get him out of the fight.

The second tile hit, Marcus was watching from the guise of his warbled position and knew that if he didn't take the shot Slam would figure the ruse. He turned his back for a brief second and took the heavy tile square in the shoulder blade. It shattered and embedded into his nearly impenetrable hide and finally Marcus let sound escape him; "AAARRGHH"

This was no ruse, a tile made of what ever that shit was, thrown at that speed hurt like hell. Fortunately it all played into the 'prone ruse' Marcus was putting out for his opponent to drink in, and it worked like a charm. As Marcus reeled around he saw the Monster just steps from him in a full on bull rush. Marcus; whose knees were already bent thanks to the facade of being dumbfounded; dipped low and grabbed the charging monster by the waist. With all his strength he dug deep and arched backward, using his own considerable muscle on top of Slam's own massive momentum to catapult him over Marcus's head and down on to his opponents head. The face-to-face suplex was a move from his Pro Wrestling days, It was usually preformed by two men that were trying not to hurt each other, but when used in a real fight with these sorts of forces of nature, the effects could cripple or kill. It was this move that he'd planned to do, and we'd soon find out if it worked or not.

Slam's whole world was turned upside down, quite literally. Fortunately Slam had learned how to fall through years of football and even more years of fighting villains. Slam knew there was nothing he could do about the actual suplex at this point but he could control his landing. He tucked his head back, landing on his shoulders rather than his neck or head. The force spread evenly across his broad shoulders, but the impact ached like a bitch. A burst of air exited his mouth, along with a roar of pain. He had fallen for another ruse, I really got to stop chargin' at this cunt.((I mean this in the nicest way possible. Being Australian, the word doesn't carry nearly the same stigma that it would had he been raised in the U.S.)) Clearing his head with a shake, Slam threw a punch at the Centurion's arched back.

The original Katachi watched as a the form of a civilian from the sidelines. Cheering each time a strike was landed, just like a true fan. He Waited for blood to be spilled until he made his move. He shifted a mosquito out of him, underneath his clothing. The mosquito flew out, completely unnoticed by the roaring crowd. It would fly into the arena, just like an innocent bug and suck up spme of both Slamfists and the Centurions Blood, in minute amounts, It would then fly back to the original Katachi, and give it to Katachi, who then turned the mosquito into a wallet. Inside the wallet contained the blood in a small container. It was not actually inside Katachi JUST YET.

With being turned upside down, it took any real power out of Slam's punch. Not that it didn't hurt, the blast caught Marcus in his damaged shoulder an further ground the pieces of tile into meat. But again, It was The Centurion's highly trained fighting skills and cool head that would prevail. As soon as he felt the punch, he dropped his bridged back and came right down on Slam's over sized hand, trapping it. Although he knew the man-monsters strength would be all he needed to pull free, Marcus only needed it for a second. He flexed his hips and with his arms still clenched around the larger man's waist, swiveled into position, in a full mount. His knees coming down in the hollows of Slam's inner arms, pinning them to the mat.

It was by sheer luck that Marcus had retained control of his own sword, the alien blade had fallen loose during the slam(actual slam move, not the character Slam). Marcus was set to rain down punches, one hand in fist the other with the blade of a sword that could cut stone and metal.

Punches rained down on Slam's face, the sword in the Centurion's hand marking gashes across Slam's face with every other punch. Slam spit blood at Centurion before flexing, the man couldn't have weighed more than 300 pounds, easy enough to get his opponent off. With one quick movement, Slam threw his arms back, launching the Centurion across the Arena, effectively serving as a human catapult. Let's not try that anymore, Slam thought to himself as he slowly stood, facing the general direction the Centurion had flown.

The Centurion crashed to the ground hard, it was enough to render the air from his lungs for a split second the wet membrane of his lungs vapor locked. He stood up slowly, this time it was no ruse, the toss had hurt him. He pulled with all his might, and slammed his balled fist into his own diaphragm. The air rushed back in with a rasp growl. He coughed loudly and then tried to steady himself.

Marcus could see the alien sword laying by Slam's feet, where he'd dropped it. He, himself couldn't utilize the swords energy powers and wonder if Slam could. That would be a problem, although the sword could cut Marcus, it may be able to damage him with the powers the alien had spoke of. Marcus pondered whether Slam would use it, he certainly didn't need to after all, the man-mountain had more than enough power to inflict damage all on his own; and for some reason Marcus believed that he hadn't even seen the full capabilities of what Slam could do yet.

Marcus smiled his tooth snarl, to let his opponent know that he was unbruised by the last attack, it was a lie but still he wasn't about to let on. He tossed his sword up into the air and caught it in the reverse direction, so that the business end now pointed down. He charged, knowing that Slam probably wasn't going to be making that mistake again. Marcus knew that a distance fight with an opponent that had reach advantage and the ability to create a thunderclap wasn't going to work in his favor, so it was time to bring the fight to the big man and check how he dealt with being pushed in battle.

He took four huge long gated steps, in order to give the impression that he was going to give a bull-rush of his own, But leapt into the air just out of range of the Slam's approximate melee range. His plan was invoke another one of Slam's patterned thunderclaps and leap over the blast, coming down with the sword to plant it hilt deep in the huge man's carotid artery. The rules stated that killing was illegal, but Marcus had watched Slam heal many times already, and knew that Slam's healing factor would keep him alive, or at least he hoped

As Centurion bounded at him again, Slam crashed his fists together again, re-summoning his armored glove and gauntlet. With another, even more thunderous clap than before, tinged with the high pitched clang of metal on metal. The blast was much bigger this time, more surface area, more strength, more sound, all went into this blast. Unfortunately none f it affected Centurion, who leaped into the air, over the blast, coming down right on top of Slam. Slam jumped back, but not far enough. The blade embedded itself into Slam's pectoral, above his lung. Had he been a lesser man, a man made of weaker flesh and bone, he'd might have been dead, or at least on the way. Fortunately he was not. The blade stopped at his ribcage, unable to break through his incredibly dense bones. A roar of pain passed Slam's lips as he felt the cold metal inside his chest. With an explosive amount of anger, Slam swung hard with his wrecking ball of a right hand, right into the Centurion's ribcage and hip, sending the man flying, sword still in hand.

Bone cracked, air once again left his lungs, and he flew across the ring. With nothing to catch him, he slammed him down the ground. A vomit of blood exploded out of Marcus's mouth. As he lifted himself to his feet, his shattered chest plate fell away. He now stood naked except for his battle dress and sword.

The Centurion wiped the blood from his mouth with his forearm and it left a streak across his angered face. His entire body shook with rage. He was letting his psychosis take hold, turning him for the cold and calculating warrior and into a the blood thirsty Berserker that he kept tucked away at the back of his brain.

"AAAAAAARRRRRRHHHHHHH!" He screamed as he once more charged into the fray. This time he would have no fancy moves, no ruses, no faints. He charged straight in not caring if he was hit, he wanted to taste flesh. He came at Slamfist with a constant barrage of punches and stabs, his objective was to get inside and do as much damage as possible.

Slam saw the rage, there was no mistaking it. This was more his speed, a straight up brawl. Both men were weakened, but there was fight left in both of them. But he wasn't sure if it was another trick. Thinking quickly, Slam loosened another arena tile and threw it, followed by another thunderclap, shattering the tile as it flew, sending shards flying at Centurion. With that out of the way, Slam charged at Centurion, blocking the sword as best as he could, every now and then one would score a wound on the massive man. But Slam still had the strength advantage, without Centurion's tactical knowledge Slam had the upper hand. With each shot he received he delivered another at Centurion.

The was little to no thinking in this psychotic rage that fueled the Centurion, He didn't even try blocking the pieces of tile. They hit him, along with the concussive blast of the actual thunderclap, he just tucked his head down and powered through it. The blows he threw had every ounce of power he had in them, even the gargantuan strikes Slam threw pounded down without much of a defense.

Defense wasn't what the Centurion was going for. As the damage started to mount, Centurion was literally covered in his own blood. His nose was broke, ribs cracked, two teeth loosened, and both eyes blackened but he wouldn't relent. Getting in close enough again he finally reached through and tried grabbing Slams waist again. This time he wasn't going to loose his grip, he would plant his sword down through the meat of the bigger man's buttocks like a locking pin to hold his death grip. His plan wasn't for one suplex, he was going to go for a fight end series of them. One after another. This football player might know how to take a single fall, but how about ten?

More blows were traded, Slam gaining the advantage through his healing factor, each hit affected him a bit less than his opponent, and that was growing ever more obvious. Slam was still bloodied, his nose broken, his cheek bone bruised. One more shot and Slam noticed Centurion aim the blade for Slam's hip region. There was little room to move so the blade burried itself in Slam's thigh. Wincing in pain, Slam braced himself, readying one last maneuver before he became airborne once more. Slam didn't have momentum working against him this time. With one final effort before he could be lifted, Slam brought his hands together quickly looking to catch his opponent's head in a powerful clap. It was much weaker than the others, so as not to kill the man, but it was Slamfist, he never did anything half-assed. He was determined to end the fight now.

The blows would have obliterated a normal man's head, even another superhuman, would have been out for the count. But with such a high fighting skill(which has been neglected with all these 'glancing blows' thus far), Marcus had expected the thunderclap. He tucked his chin down onto his chest just as the massive hands clanged together above the back of his head. The sound was still enough to blow both of Marcus's eardrums out, making him temporarily deaf. But it was too late, he slipped around back. He had locked his bear hug around Slam's waist and with the sword buried in the man's thigh, it would take an act of god to dislodge him.

Now Slamfist was locked in for the ride of his life, Marcus expected the man to role his neck the first suplex, but he wasn't stopping with one. The Centurion had earmarked the rest of his waining energy for these series of slams, and he began to go to work. Like a machine, he wasn't going to wait for recovery, just nonstop slam after slam on the incredibly dense floor.

Centurion barely ducked the clap, but Slam was still prepared. Centurion slid around to Slam's back, but Slam still had enough reach to hit him. Slam swung backwards with his elbow, catching the Centurion in his ribs. "Just fall down," Slam roared. And then he felt his feet leave the ground.

The blow to his ribs was just insult to injury by this point, the cracks turned to a full on break and the Centurion coughed another mouth full of blood down his opponents back. His adrenaline and psychotic rage ignored the pain, he was like a dog with a bone.

Centurion went to work, His hips and legs pumping like the pistons of a machine. He had Slam's back and wasn't about to let go, the sword was locked in his thigh muscle and the healing factor had healed in around it. He suplexed, spun still keeping his grasp, and suplexed again and again and again, slight changing his angle and trajectory each time. The big man's bones and skin might be as hard as the Centurion's own, but their was one thing Marcus knew from experience. The brain bouncing around inside that thick skull was a mushy as any other and Concussions knocked out 'tanks' too.

After a few suplexes Slam had had enough. His head ached, his body bruised, but he forced himself to continue. In a last ditch effort Slam grabbed for any surface he could. His hand caught a hole from one of the various tiles had been displaced. Slam gripped the ground with his right hand, stopping the last suplex short. With all the might he could spare Slam swung his massive left arm, activating the seismic generator at the last second. If it hit, there was no way the Centurion would be able to keep himself standing.