[@Negatomsk]

[i]Gonad lashed out with the canvas one last time, rolling a heavily muscled shoulder back and swiping the sucker up high overhead so that the trajectory of the arrows would be caught amidst the sweeping folds and be pulled off course into the cage behind where the barbarian had been near. Had been, because he'd be in motion during that brief period between the canvas blocking Lobo's sight of him and the detonations of explosive energy. When Lobo landed out of his twisting flight, he'd find the monster right in front of him, perhaps a mere two feet away.

When you see wild animals in print and on television, the likes of bears and lions, you know how large they are. Yet, the most common response to standing near the actual thing in a zoo, separated only by a pane of reinforced glass? [b]'Its huge!'[/b] 
Were Lobo to wind up before Gonad, close enough to touch, close enough to smell... The impression of size would be at its most apparent. Hot wind from the detonations blew loose the warrior's wild iron hair, waving dark tendrils past his rugged face, which in the relatively low lighting of the cage match was framed sternly in shadow. He was like some kind of idol, a god made physical, built like the Japanese oni with an expression to match; a single eye slitted into a wicked vent expelling the dull red glint of wrath incarnate. Striation drawing taut under mismatched scars, a hide so marked that it could have passed for shitty cave art. Full lips, equally scarred, drew back over blocky, discolored teeth. A smog of hot breath misted out from the berserker's nose and mouth, circulating briefly into a pale cloud which dissipated upwards past cruelly arched caterpillar eyebrows. So great was the impression of this deitic beast of a man, Lobo could be forgiven for remaining stock still where he was when the berserker took a right step forwards with his left arm half extended as if for a handshake (the last handshake many had experienced on the way into heaven or hell), a sort of deer in the headlights effect. It was not uncommon. The simple and humorous name, 'Gonad', was just that. A name. It could scarcely encompass the actual creature it represented, one that could, like a lizard, peel off its outer layer of fatherly humor and crude jesting, step out of that skin one foot at a time and stand, nay, tower like the very incarnation of war.

When you are on a jet taking off, you can feel your ears pop. A tiny crackling, as of a tiny stiff joint popping. As the Beardforce finished evaluating Lobo's power, dozens of what sounded like those little pops leaked head to toe from Gonad's body, a fusillade micro-salute to the new strength as it settled into his bones, fibers, synapses. Again, that odd semi-illusion wrought from Gonad's will, a sort of physical forecast telegraphed out from his body language. Retreat was doom. It would not be possible to backpedal faster than Gonad could move forwards, just as a man may not run faster backwards than one sprinting headlong. There was only one way out of this.

[color=ed1c24][b]Fight.[/b][/color] [/i]