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Match: Mordecai vs. Mikhail Judges: Ellie, Zephiris, Sumdood Read here and here for battle information
Four rounds in, and the onlookers displayed no sign of petering energy. The enthusiasm was catching. Still, it took quite a projected voice to be heard over their cheers.
"Up fourth in the Preliminaries - Mikhail Rutherford and Mordecai!"
M I K H A I L R U T H E R F O R D "ON A COLD WINTER MORNING, IN THE TIME BEFORE THE LIGHT"
He was up next.
Mikhail looked straight ahead, his eyes fixing themselves on the arena before him. The previous fights had been quite interesting, perhaps even intense as well. All six fighters had known the basics of swordsmanship and were sure capable to put up a show... at least in the pyromancer's opinion. Many of the tournament's contestants were part of his own organization, his team: The Guardians. Any outsider would perhaps think that they would hold back if paired against their own kind but this was not the case; at least not in Mikhail's mind.
Fighting in Struggle would give them an opportunity to learn more about each other and even themselves; battle was a way of expressing one's feelings after all and when the Guardians decided to meet up once again they could discuss each others' weaknesses, perhaps even finding a way around them or creating special strategies between two or three of their members.
Two of his friends, Max and Arthas, had already faced each other in a previous match; it was certainly hard for him to remain neutral and not take either man's side. Still, it had been an enjoyable experience, one that they would surely discuss in the future.
But now it was Mikhail's turn to shine. He knew nothing about his opponent other than his name: Mordecai. The man knew that defeating this man wouldn't be an easy feat and, frankly, he felt uncomfortable with the encounter's rules. Fire had always brought confidence to him; it had fed and brightened his spirits at all times. He was one with fire, and fire was one with him. Rutherford, however, would have to rely on his speed to get an upper hand in the match.
Seven years training and fighting with various kinds of weaponry had indeed taught him a thing or two but it was truly nothing compared to what many others had endured.
Mikhail stepped into the ring, his right hand tightly holding the bat he had chosen. The pyromancer had decided to wield a Struggle Sword as it was the lightest and quickest of the choices; even though it was no Flame's End or Path to Mana, the weapon wouldn't make him feel that uncomfortable.
The pyromancer sighed, giving the bat a few swings to test its abilities as he waited for his opponent. Mikhail didn't want a repetiion of the "Hades Cup"; he had to win this thing.
M I K H A I L R U T H E R F O R D "IN FLAMES OF DEATH'S ETERNAL REIGN WE RIDE TOWARD THE FIGHT"
Mordecai had been pumped for this tournament for a while. It was his chance to use his skills to earn something, rather than stealing it. He had watched the previous rounds, rather bored with the matches so far, mainly because he wasn't in them. He had changed into his traveling clothes rather than his armor after he had heard the rules. He didn't want his armor slowing him down. Despite it being lighter than most armors, it wouldn't help him in this competition.
He was feeling pretty good until he picked up one of the struggle bats. He had learned how to fight with his broadswords, and those were made for a swordsman's artistic, fluid movements. This bats, however, were clumsy and made simply to make people FEEL like they can wield a sword. He held it in his right hand and swung it a few times and muttered to himself. "These things . . . are such pathetic weapons . . ."
His name was announced and he stepped up. He held the bat in his right hand and stood, pretty relaxed, facing his opponent. Suddenly, he got into his stance in one move and kiaied. He slid his left foot forward, held his left hand over his leg, and pulled the bat back, angled out from his body and just below his chin level. The kiai was always used in martial arts as a way to both intimidate opponents and control breathing. He had since adapted it into any sudden movement he made. "It's time to win this thing," he muttered to himself.
M I K H A I L R U T H E R F O R D "WHEN THE DARKNESS HAS FALLEN DOWN AND THE TIMES ARE TOUGH ALRIGHT"
((Good luck my friend, I'm looking forward to this))
Eyes fixed on his opponent, Mikhail watched every single one of his movements as he stepped inside the battle ring. The pyromancer had been right; this man was in fact skilled with the blade. The way he walked... how he held the struggle bat... his stance... it all showed skill and knowledge, as well as dedication. The Elonian tightened his grip, knowing that this fight would take a while; even though these were nothing but preliminary matches he had already been matched up against a rather strong opponent.
Rutherford had been planning to approach his opponent and greet him (they did have some minutes before the match started, after all) but suddenly stopped himself from stepping forward when the boy adopted a rather... exaggerated position. The man blinked, studying his opponent for a few seconds before blinking once again.
Oh well... to each their own.
He silently walked toward his opponent, stretching out a hand for him to shake. The pyromancer's voice was void of emotion. There was neither happiness nor sadness; neither confidence nor fear; neither glee nor anger. There was nothing but mere words; Mikhail had never been what you would call "an open book" and he didn't intend to start acting like one in that precise moment. "Good luck, my friend. And don't hold back."
His words perhaps echoed those spoken by a woman, Shira, who had fought the Elonian some months prior to the tournament. He, however, did not think about this; Rutherford was too focused on the match to distract himself with such memories. The man suddenly turned around and walked away, as silently and quickly as he had approached Mordecai in the first place. He turned around once there was a considerable amount of distance between both of them, closing his eyes for a few moments and letting a soft sigh escape his lips.
Mikhail had to admit that he was a tad too nervous but he fortunately had learned a technique to settle down and calm his nerves back home. He breathed slowly, giving his body enough time to absorb the oxygen he inhaled.
"Ready... STRUGGLE!"
His eyes flew open, his body adopting a defensive stance. It wasn't as perfect as it could be and perhaps lacked some finesse, but it was still good nonetheless. The pyromancer eyed his opponent, standing before him as he waited for Mordecai to make the first move. He would be able to work from there...
M I K H A I L R U T H E R F O R D "THE SOUND OF EVIL LAUGHTER FALLS AROUND THE WORLD TONIGHT"
Mordecai mostly ignored his opponent as he approached with a greeting. "I'm better than he is," he thought to himself. "I am a warrior and prince of Hekwajan. I can win this." He did, however, keep his eye on his enemy. He had always been taught to watch people, even during match formalities, as there were those that would go for the cheap-shot while you were bowing or shaking their hand. As far as he was concerned, that shows that one thinks he can't win if he doesn't use tricks, so he never used them. He did, at least, get out of his stance and stand when Mikhail approached, showing some semblance of respect for his adversary. He watched as Mikhail walked away again.
Then . . . "Ready... STRUGGLE!"
Mordecai once again adopted his stance and started slowly moving, slightly toward Mikhail, but primarily to his right, observing his opponent the whole time, hoping to get some clue to his tactics from his stance. Mordecai scanned Mikhail's stance, using his knowledge of all sorts of styles to determine a plan of action. He started going through the things that he knew. Right-handed. Defensive. Then, he went through possibilities. What would happen if he came in for a quick blow here, or here? He did this all in a few seconds of movement. Finally, he had decided on a course of action. He closed the remaining distance between Mikhail and himself as quickly as possible and, getting as close as possible, he went for a strike toward Mikhail's left shoulder. Then, relying on an attempted block, pulled the weapon back, dropped it, ducked down, caught it in his left hand, and lunged past Mikhail, swinging for his right side. Once he was done with that, he moved away as quickly as he could and, switching hands back, got into his stance behind Mikhail.
