(Twenty-one [21] motes plus twenty-four [24] due to eight daily allotments, leaves me with forty-five [45], to be used later)
Tyran looked his opponent over, and decided he would give him a good thrashing for his hubris. With that, after the battle's start was announced, he took no time in charging toward the human. He lifted his greatsword high above his head as he prepared to bash the human's head in. The crowd cheered, and eagerly awaited the clang of armor, pained human screams and a splat. But the human looked at him, still smirking.
Tyran was confused by this, but kept coming. Closer, closer. He simply had none of the respect that Uburra-Namall and Jassi and Jissei had taught Tyran and his comrades; Tyran would teach this human some respect if it was the last thing he did. Maybe even make him an honorary Boquabian in the process, he thought; black and blue, with a little bit of red would make excellent colors on him.
At last Tyran had nearly reached his human foe, and used his great leg strength to throw himself twenty feet in the air. A great warrior yell emerged from him, and his eyes gleamed with insidious anticipation of just how mangled the scrappy young man would be when he was finished. The thought tickled him.
But that sensation would soon be ended with the start of another.
"What kind of trickery is this?" Tyran cried out, looking down; he had been frozen in his warlike attack position, and still hovered in mid-air. His angry expression faded more into dismay, and the human looked increasingly more pleased.
The crowd burst into more applause at this new turn of events. Tyran hadn't counted on a magic user, and it would likely cost him dearly...starting with a one-way trip to decorate the wall with a new crater. A great shattering smashing sound erupted from the hole Tyran left in the wall, and everyone wondered if he would be out of the battle as soon as he had arrived.
Fortunately, Tyran was tougher than expected. He emerged from the rubble, though ragged and pained, and still had the stamina and reflexes enough to elude the magic bolt that the human had followed up with after slamming him into the wall. Another violent crash came behind him, narrowly missing him with all the shrapnel and debris it released. He would have no time to sit and catch his breath; instead, he reached for his sword and hoisted up his shield, and resolved to make due with what he had been given.
The mage watched with sinister glee as his magic built up again, and then extended his hand to release what could easily have been mistaken for purply-pink lightning. Tyran dodged, hoping his shield would take the brunt of it; fortunately, his expectation had not failed him. And in his dodging, he landed behind a heap of rocks. Immediately, he dropped his sword, and picked up one of the larger pieces to cast at his human adversary. And while the human wasted precious mana to riposte the huge stone, Tyran would take the distraction as an opportunity to get closer.
The mage's eyes widened as he noticed too late that Tyran was upon him; his magic was all that spared him as the blue strongman bashed him in the face with his shield, and sent him flying backward. And from here on out, Tyran would not relent. This magic fellow was rather dangerous, and if he was going to lose to him, he wouldn't let the victory come easy.
Tyran caught up to where the mage had tumbled, just as he had built enough power for a magic missile. It narrowly missed, and likewise, he narrowly missed the mage's head with his greatsword. But he did get a good kick in. Another near-miss with the sword; another missing bash of the shield. Another bolt of magic to the face (fortunately with no effect beyond force, or Tyran would go home unpleasantly disfigured).
The two would exchange for a while; magically-augmented punches here, swipes of the sword and shield there. Punch, duck, swipe, dodge, kick, duck, lunge, parry...And amazingly, Tyran would begin to show signs of wear before his magic-wielding counterpart. No wonder this human fellow was so ineffective; he was using most of his magic to keep his stamina up, to wear Tyran out!
The idea made him furious, and it slowly began to show. His movements began to sharpen once again. His reflexes became angry bursts instead of brutish swipes. He grew steadier in his anger, and more precise in his indignation. The mage started losing ground quickly, as Tyran's motions grew yet more relentless, until finally he had been tricked out of magic fuel again, just as he backed into a corner. But Tyran had no time to give some witty remark, or to bask in his impending victory. He could only think of the words that Jissei had told him:
For the lives of allies, wield it as an angel. Against the lives of foes, wield it as a demon.With that, the mage would meet a swift and bloody (though temporary) end.
“…Judge not what a man has done, but judge what he could have done if he was a different bloke altogether. For art thou a leper? And a leper can changeth his spots…” --Rudy Wade, Misfits (Series 4, Episode 8)
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