A Unrealistic melee/blade fight between two new users.

.. The cancerous sun, the cankerous heat and the cantankerous cold are heart-haunting. Everything in this God-forsaken place is either wicked and warped or blasted and burned. Golden Graisn shimmering in the trillion of sun-spears that rained down from the ball of fire that hung in the sky arrogantly; its callous face toasting the skin of men and women who ran to the wintry cold arms of the ocean. Minerals in the sand swayed to and fro with each passive wave.

Above it, the sky leeered down at them with a manacle-grey hue, like an ashen face. It seemed to compress down upon their minds, such was its throttling effect. Their hearts became heavy, sinking their weights down into the sparkling ocean. Pebbles whisked about the underwash like the little pieces of glitter. A galaxy of dragonflies fizzed through the beams of light, wings a-glirr in the magical space between water and air. The sounds of children playing enlightened spirits.

The ground shook compellingly, cracks revealing its true nature of destruction with the area. The source of the beach had become engulfed in flames of red. The crimson red optics poking out from the fire and revealing phalanges that reached out into the air. Flames dying out, sinking into the ground below the heels of his naked feet. There the muscular figure stood at six feet tall, the ruby red kimono tucked into the long and drooping white overalls. Expanding the aura of fear about the beach.

Quickly, the immediate vicinity was infected with the aura of his power. The sword lay sheathed in its imprisonment that was tied to his back, right above his buttocks. The sword was named Sinryuishi.. given to him by an older brother. They were both indeed erudite in the ring of blade fighting. Though, the thing about it was.. it was a switchblade katana. .. It had been roughly measured to about fourteen feet long, the circumference curved inward so that it could easily catch blades and parry them to the side; whilst disarming them.

His long, obsidian black hair had been stuck in a pony tail, the scraggly strands of hair had ran down to stop at the middle section of his spinal cord which was draped with olive-skinned flesh. His hardened jaw bones had tightened along with his teeth crowns pushing and scratching against eachother. The cross shaped scar upon his right cheek had been shown within the vicinity with a slight look from the people about. He stumbled onward; like a drunken fool, the toes digging into the cracks of the ground created by his enormous strength.

A blade in his right hand signified himself to be ready for his opponent

The hoplomachus would wear a bronze helmet, a manica on his right arm, loincloth, heavy padding on his legs, and a pair of high greaves reaching to mid-thigh. His weapons were the spear and a short sword. The small, round shield was as much a weapon as a sword or spear, not unlike the original hoplites, who used it primarily for defensive purposes, but also employed it in their charges, using it to ram their opponents at the onset of a fight. He wears no shoes so the floor chafe his feet and give him a challenge.

The sword (gladius) is two-edged for cutting and had a tapered point for stabbing during thrusting. A solid grip was provided by a knobbed hilt added on, possibly with ridges for the fingers. Blade strength was achieved by welding together strips, in which case the sword had a channel down the center, or by fashioning a single piece of high-carbon steel, rhomboidal in cross-section. The owner's name is engraved on the blade (Commodus).

The small, round shield (cetratus) was primarily used for offensive purposes, rather than defensive purposes - such as bashing, or ramming. The spear (hasta), is about six and one-half feet in length, with a shaft generally made from ash, while the head was of iron. It was used for both thrusting and throwing.

"If there be light, then there is darkness; without one another disruptions will occur in this world." Commodus of Rome faces his target with his feet, shoulder distance apart, keeping his right shoulder (holding the spear) in direct line with the direct. He brings up his spear so both the shaft and the head form a straight line and are pointing diectly at the target. Making sure that his right hand is holding the spear in close to the right side of his head, with his thumb almost touching his cheek and that the shaft is over the point of his shoulder. Once he is correctly lined up, he makes an impulse and calculates the amount of hold-over necessary to compensate for the spear's notorious rainbow trajectory.

Commodus focuses his gaze on the appropriate spot of his target (upper torso) and takes on step forward with his left foot while simultaneously drawing back his spear arm until it reaches the cocked position. He rotates his body forward and pushes off his right foot, sending the spear on it's way, ensuring accuracy with a spine breaking throw to pierce through the flesh and bone of his opponent.

The birds had let their songs ring out through his ears.. the feet continuosly patted against the ground.. the oak wood sandals sliding underneath himself. His crimson red optics, seemingly, peaceful, wandered about the area. The samurai observed the tall trees in the vicinity, the arms of the nature reaching outward with the phalanges curling about and grasping at his sides. His nostrils flaring outward and letting his breath of life go upon the dust of the Earth.

With a loud sigh, he bowed his head to let his undone golden-brown hair lay down in front of his face.. the cross scar being illuminated by the orb called the sun that was wavering about. The caelum had thus on, lustrously, shown its beauty of ultra-violet and blue. The sun's rays coming outward and focusing its ignorance upon his olive-skinned face with vengeance. His digits dragging against his firm jawline as he stared onward.. the smog clearing outward to reveal a tall opponent in the midst of the darkness.

It seemed that this person, was here to fight. He chuckled to himself and breathed in, his fingers rubbing against his temple. His heart pounded as his pink, reddish tongue had wiped over his lips, putting them together. Oh, how he could not wait to taste the sweet blood upon his lips again. In his right hand the sword had turned to reveal itself from the slithery grasp of the shadows.. it was exactly fourteen feet long, being completely black and glistening because of the sun's rays.

The circumference of the sword was curved inward.. looking as if a shark had bitten into its form. But in all reality, this part of the sword watch to catch, parry, and disarm opponents. And with his quick movements and unbelievable agility and strength, he could do this without a care in the world, and a sigh escaping the imprisonment of his lips. The tip was digging into the ground, the pieces of rocks splattering outward from the short bust of force and unlimited strength

Underneath him the ground had to quake once more, the waters miles about him twisted and turned and batted against eachother with happiness and unease; their master was near. They readied themselves as the yonder above had turned an ashen grey.. a storm brewed in the heavens as God looked down with amusement as his unjustified wrathful warrior stepped into the arena. The area around them being nothing but dust, the wisps of crunched bones and old flesh had come outward and crunched under his toes.

The voices had battled in his head as he swirled the blade in his palm.. highly annoyed with the continuous babbling.. "You are Righteous, O' Moutoku, destroy him with ease!" Sometimes the samurai wondered if he was the only one to hear this man in his head. Slowly his right foot had come into the ground and slid out a couple of feet from his left. Twisting the left foot off the heel to reveal the toes that pointed outward and up to God. Bending his torso and letting his right hand swirl above his head with the infamous sword above his head, being grasped by the elongated hilt with two sturdy hands.

Just, as if, on cue, the sword had been mindlessly thrown towards his form with strength. He twirled within a one-eighty turn with the circumference of his blade dragging through the vicinity of where his body would be, ceasing the thrown spear as it was caught within the blade-catching region of Sinryuishi. Demonic blades of blood clashing against eachother, sparks flying out towards the form of the newfound opponent of Mikalo.. highly flammable with ease. The tip of his sword cut downward and hit the ground, sending the spear stuck with the bottom half sticking out, it snapped as he let his blade come backward.

The sharp shrapnel of the spear rotated into the air and flew onwards towards the Gladiator, and in the mean time, he had been accelerating onward to drift with a grin upon his face past the form of his opponent. Dropping low and letting his afterimages behind him blurr and disperse as soon as his sword had cut downward behind the knees of the figure.