[i]The proper way to duck an attack isn't to try and bend beneath it, typically. To twist to the side and bend, however, better allows one's center mass to escape the from the space it had been occupying. Gonad did indeed dodge the arrow in such a fashion, leaning sharply to his left as he twisted into a low crouch that ended with his hand on the mat. The arrow smacked into the post behind him with a hearty sounding 'Thok!'

He eyed the poison spread throughout Lobo's side of the ring, and afforded his opponent a single nod in recognition of the attack's demonstration. It had surely been a tip off in good faith. Gonad decided to return the favor. The barbarian's hand whitened, the canvas bunching up between his immensely strong fingers, lines of strain stretching out in the fabric as the ring itself creaked. 
And then there was white. If Lobo remained where he was to study Gonad's next move, he'd be liable to suddenly find himself upside down. A wave of white would be all that Lobo might see looking ahead, lugnuts popping like m80's and the sturdy mat tearing as Gonad wrenched the ring's canvas out of its roots. He had erupted to his feet, the coiled steel-spring muscles of his legs unleashing their tension. He'd have situated an appropriate spread of Beardforce along the canvas to better accomodate his move, so that he'd have toughened the right parts up enough to not merely yank out a handful. 

Once he had torn the whole damn thing free, discounting the canvas beneath his own feet and behind him, he'd give it a great whip, making a vast material wave roll down to block Lobo's sight. All of this had occured with startling haste, like hurridly stripping a bedsheet and shaking off the dust. Could Lobo have predicted a response so extreme by studying the way Gonad arranged his body, the way he squeezed the floor into a lump in his fist? It wasn't out of the question. Gonad looked just like the kind of person to follow ridiculous whims, which he very well was.[/i]