[center][h3]Knight Sylvestre vs the Cereal Killer – Round 1[/h3][/center]

In quick succession, looks of anger and annoyance overtook Cyril's features.  Though still bearing his weapon at the ready, he ceased his threatening circumnavigation for a moment to narrow his eyes and think.  His tense nerves stood ready to spring into action at any moment, but if he guessed right the good captain would not attempt a preemptive strike, lest he dissolve any chance at the mutual sportsmanship his request for single combat required.  He glanced at Juniper, whose knowing look and matching smirk told him she realized it too.  It was the martial artist who spoke first.  “He's a clever one, huh?  A ploy to make you choose between sacrificing honor and sacrificing a good shot at victory.  Or maybe he has really gotten to think highly of you over these thirty-something seconds.  I wonder what you're thinking?”

Cyril did not allow his gaze to deviate any further, so his reply came as though he were speaking through his potential opposition.  “Like you, I'm remembering what I said in that market.  I guess that means you know what I'm thinking.”  Beneath his dark mustache, his lips curled into the slightest of wry smiles as he met Runch's eyes.  This time, he addressed the pirate.  “A knight's honor is for storybooks, but a long time ago, that was what I dreamed of.  Maybe that's why I didn't throw it away before, and I won't become a hypocrite by throwing it away now.”  Idly, he windmilled the point of his halberd around in a little circle.  “Forgive me if I don't throw down my gauntlet, but it looks as though we're going to be having a duel.”  

For once, the pirate did not burst into pleased laughter, but instead returned a smile of his own from beneath his prominent whiskers—a grin as pure and full-bodied as a bowl of whole wheat flakes.  [color=turquoise]“That's good to hear, Sir Boniface.  When this is over, I hope I'll be able to treat you a bowl of my best.”[/color]

The vanguard's eyebrows narrowed.  “Excuse me?”

A single, scarred arm waved in the air.  “Hey, what about us?”  Juniper questioned, flicking her index finger between herself and Erina.

Cyril shrugged as he rolled his neck and prepared his stance.  “Whatever you like, just keep her from interfering.  Maybe you'd like a nice chat.”  With his off hand he flicked his visor down, covering his face as the mask of metal slotted into place.  “Or a good brawl, your own one-on-one.”

Adjusting his spoonsaber and still determined to let his opponent make the first move, Runch bristled.  [color=turquoise]”Omnom...not quite what I had in mind.  Am I wanting for an 'en guarde', sir?”[/color]

“Don't bother.”  A brilliant light occluded Cyril as he shot forward, fast as a fired cannonball.  Adrenaline tore through Runch's veins, allowing him to swing his shining weapon with enough force to crack a mast and meet the dark steel of Cyril's horizontal strike in a deafening [i]keeng![/i]  The clashing weapons slid a few inches across one another as the two men tested their strength, each pushing with everything they cared to spare.  The spoonsaber's serrated edge caught and grated against the halberd's smooth one, sending painful vibrations into the vanguard's hands just like a flamberge would.  Cyril recognized the situation, but his helmet betrayed no disquiet.  From beneath it, in a low tone, came the words, “I'm ready any time.”

Pivoting to the side, Cyril relented wholesale, allowing Runch's push to proceed and force both weapons by him.  As he pivoted, Cyril span around to deliver an armored shoulder check into the pirate's body.  Barely phased by a blow that would have stunned if not cracked a lesser man, Runch retracted his arm to the left as he stepped back and came about in a sideswipe.  Cyril brought up his halberd's hilt to deflect the spoonsaber's oversized head before throwing out the butt of that shaft as a jab for to the diaphram.  A downward slap from the spoon rendered that blow harmless, given the short distance it had to start moving, and the next moment it lashed out in an overhead swipe.  Rather than attempt to block with his halberd again, Cyril twisted his upper body to let the shield on his left upper arm take the hit.  A split second passed, both mustached men's eyes locked together again, before Cyril activated his Sheen once again to blast straight forward in a shield charge that bowled Runch over and left him lying on his back.  Having passed overhead, the vanguard spun about as he slid to a stop, kicking up a bit of dust.  Nary a scratch worse for wear, Runch rolled to his feet, chuckling, and the fighters faced one another about fifteen feet apart.

[color=turquoise]”That's no small skill with a polearm, even in close quarters.  But now the table's set, allow me to serve the first dish, omnomnom!”[/color]  In a flash, his pistol was raised and cocked.  [color=turquoise]”Bori Bori Cracklepop: Mush Mellow Recipe!”[/color]

[center]-=-=-[/center]

Having relaxed her stance once it became clear she would not have to fight -at least for the moment- Erine watched with inquisitive eyes the brief but furious melee exchange between her friend and the morose knight.  At the point where Runch unveiled his Devil Fruit powers, however, she was obliged to return her focus to the other woman, who know approached.  Every instinct told the young kitsune to be on her guard, for Juniper -from her missing arm and countless scars to her bold swagger and brusque smile- cut an imposing figure.

“So, you're a shrine maiden, too?”  The martial artist questioned, taking a closer -and rather judgmental- look at Erina's clothing.  After a moment, she gave a light snort.  “Or some sort of spiritualist.  I can sense the kami swirling around you.  One in particular...though, there is nothing divine about it.  A very...dark...soul.”  Had she two arms, Juniper might have crossed them, but instead she placed her hand on her bare hip.  “Would you like me to remove it for you?”

For a moment, the glib girl was taken aback.  [color=bc8dbf]“A-as if!  I'll have you know this soul is the Remnant of Emperor, an ancient sovereign chosen by the gods themselves, summoned to this plane by yours truly!”[/color]  She turned up her nose, scoffing.  [color=bc8dbf]“If you find yourself unable to detect a whiff of the divine about it, you must be a very poor shaman!  And remove him?  Ohoho!  You're quite the dreamer, my friend!”[/color]

A moment of silence -save the ringing of weapons and attack-calling in the background- passed before Juniper gave a laugh.  “Heheh.  A liar and a chuuni.  So much for a nice chat.”  She pretended to wipe a tear of laughter from her eye.  “Don't worry, missie, I know my trade.  I'll have that ghost out of you before you know it.”  Placing her fist against her head, she cracked her knuckle and assumed a fighting stance.  “I should warn you it's a tricky ritual.  If you resist, the results could be...painful.”

Erina jumped, the back of her cloak flicking back and forth.  [color=bc8dbf]“Hold on, you're not wanting to fight, are you?  We really don't need to.”[/color]  She held her hands up in placation, though by remarkable coincidence her right managed to end up a few inches from the hilt of her katana.

The dark eyes of Juniper missed nothing.  Giving a derisive smile, she relied, “Well, I can't just let some evil spirit linger, can I?  Besides, I've been itching to beat the tar out of something.  Pent-up frustration, perhaps.  Keeping all that inside is unhealthy, don't you think?”

Erina's hand closed around her blade's hilt.  She closed her eyes as she drew it, and as the shrine maiden watched the decimated blade reconstituted itself, becoming razor sharp and attaining a mirror sheen as though time had been turned back to an era long ago.  When Erina opened her eyes, they held a strange sort of depth, and an visage knowing, cold, and keen.  [color=bc8dbf]“Far more healthy than picking a fight with me.  You're not tearing us apart.”[/color]

“Ah, there you are.  Aren't you the scary one.”  After a moment of perusing Erina's eyes, Juniper let hers dance across the blade.  “That's a nice sword.”  She held out her hand, and a shimmer of light appeared.  It took on the exact shape of Bend's katana, and Juniper rested it on her shoulder.  “Show me what it can do, spirit.”  The clash inevitable, Erina replied with a grim frown and stepped forward.  Sparks flew as steel bit into solid magic, and the second one-on-one began.

[center]-=-=-[/center]

The moment Cyril felt the spread blast of gooey white hit his shield and armor, he regretted not using Sheen to boost out of the way.  They didn't hit hard, for they were slow, but they were [i]heavy[/i]--heavy enough to weigh the vanguard down once they stuck like barnacles to his metal gear.  A quick initial test of moving limbs confirmed that he was officially impeded until he could spend some time to pry the sticky stuff off, which would of course leave him wide open to attack.  Cyril gave a sigh with a roll of his eyes, though his exasperation did not extend into anger since, even if it were bothersome, it was a learning experience.  This pirate was a matter manipulator -or at least, matter creator- and, more importantly, he called his attacks.  He did it in a manner as hammy as it was cheesy, with a total lack of self-awareness that led Cyril to assume such a thing was convention where he came from.

The next moment Cyril wondered why his foe didn't seem to be capitalizing on his debilitation, but Runch appeared to be laughing.  [color=turquoise]“Omnomnomnom!  One of my newer recipes, a sweet treat for kids, but I'll wager it leaves a sour taste in the mouth of an armored individual like you, sir.”[/color]  He clicked his tongue as Cyril charged forward, noting that it took a bit more effort for him to close the distance.  With a flourish of his spoonblade he stepped forward, chopping with the girthiest portion of its metal length at Cyril's unprotected right shoulder.  

Without much in the way of an overdraw on strength, Cyril parted ways with the ground, bringing up his back leg as a counterbalance before lashing out with his front in a snap kick.  His armored shoe popped the spoonblade upward and, loathe to release his precious weapon, the captain held fast his grip and leveraged his strength to stall the spoonblade and reverse its flight.  Before that could be accomplished, Cyril's halberd had already been driven in a shallow thrust into Runch's ribs.  Without much room to start moving, it did not do much but snag in his snazzy waistcoat, but the followup push delivered enough push to force him back, puncturing the skin in the most cursory manner, though a less durable man would have had to rely on his ribs catching the steel before it hit his lung.

Surprised, but filled with new vigor, Runch changed plans.  His attempt to return his spoonblade to normal position seamlessly transformed into an overhead strike, with enough weight behind the edge to put a real dent in his foe's caplike helmet.  The vanguard, however, witnessed and reacted.  Already withdrawing his weapon after the thrust, Cyril twisted its shaft counterclockwise, not just to catch the spoonblade but to strike it.  The impact helped kickstart Cyril swiveling the glaive in the opposite direction, and in the span of another instant Runch took a blow across his other side's ribs from the flat of the axeblade.  Though Runch already had an inkling, the brief exchange cemented one fact in the pirate's mind: this man knew better than he the art of armed combat.

With nowhere to go but a paradigm shift, Runch threw caution to the wind and tried, in the spirit of a desperate boxer's haymaker, a diagonal crushing blow.  His weapon met nothing but air as Cyril swept through with his clockwise motion to bring his left leg around into a side chamber before extended a straight kick to the gut.  The air blown from his lungs, even if for just a moment, Runch stumbled backward.  He decided to go with it and threw himself in a backward flip to gain distance, shouting as he did, [color=turquoise]“Bori Bori Pillar!”[/color]

Cyril watched as his foe ascended skyward atop a tower of tightly-packed cereal that surged into shape from his hands.  Runch's face, although still one of unworried enjoyment, betrayed a bit of bemusement.  For the moment up until the pirate's mounting altitude rendered his peepers inscrutable, the vanguard felt sure that Runch was staring not at his eyes but above and to the left of them—at the screw in his head.  It was a look that gave the vague suggestion of [i]its that powerful?[/i].  In an instant Cyril's mind was ablaze.  [i]Does he know about the screw? ...He could have asked the handler about his next opponent's equipment, maybe.  If he's wondering if I'm beating him in close quarters because of its effect, he's in trouble.[/i]  Two brief but furious exchanges had drilled the same conclusion into Cyril as it had his foe: though Runch was by no means a slouch with his unconventional weapon, Cyril's formal training, constant practice, and aggressively practical style gave him a substantial edge in melee combat.  With that in mind, there was but one conceivable road to take.

[i]I'll just have to keep him from getting in, then.  Since he has no method of ranged attack, I can batter him from afar until he tires out.[/i]

[i]He's going to start relying on those strange, food-related powers.  Unless I can figure them out quickly, he'll wear me down until I'm out of juice.[/i]

Through the cross-shaped slit in his helmet Cyril stared up at Runch atop his pillar, yanking a marshmellow off his arm to deposit on the pillar's receptive surface.  With a certain theatricality Runch stabbed his spoonblade into the cereal by his feet, then held out both hands, wiggling the fingers.  In reply, perhaps even taking his opponent's overracting for granted or just wanting to get on with it, Cyril reached up to start adjusting his screw.  A twinge of annoyance quivered the pirate's mustache, prompting him to call, [color=turquoise]“Bori Bori Grapeshot!”[/color]

In an instant, a deluge of rock-hard spheres fell upon Cyril.  The first few clattered against his armor, leaving dents where its curvature allowed them to, and they prompted the vanguard to growl as he crouched and raised his shield.  Despite their small size, the pellets [i]hurt.[/i]  The man might have just as well been commanding a brigade of superhuman slingers to pelt him with stones.  After a moment the first volley ended, but a second followed on its proverbial heels, convincing Cyril that he could not stand and take it.  With an angry grunt he stepped forward and swung his halberd in a great cleave, lodging it several inches deep in the cereal column, where it came to an abrupt stop.  A tremendous heave pried it out, accompanied by a spray of cereal, but Runch had already stepped toward his perch's edge to stretch his palm out toward the knight once again.

This time Cyril dodged the grapeshot with the aid of a short boost.  Putting his poleaxe to a woodsman's mundane purposes, he rounded the tower until he could make the weapon bite into another side with a second swing, and once again he barely managed to twitch out of the way in time to avoid another brutal barrage of breakfast.  By this time Runch knew both what his foe was up to and what he could do in lieu of his less-effective grapeshot.  From above, Cyril heard the captain cry, [color=turquoise]“Bori Bori Firehose!”[/color] and he looked up in time to see an entire stream of pellets barreling down on him.  With wide eyes he attempted to finish his readied chop -the last needed to send Runch hurtling down from his high horse- but before his halberd could cut deep enough the cascade hit him.  It bowled him over, battering every inch of his body with its constant bombardment, until it finally rolled him out of effective range.  More bruised than a seaman's anti-scurvy fruit supply, he brought himself to his feet about twenty feet from the tower in time to hear Runch announce, [color=turquoise]“Hellberry Blast!”[/color]

Cyril raised his shield to block, but his enemy's shot was not aimed at his shield.  The rough orb burst apart against the ground between Cyril's feet.  In the next split second, dragged on into what seemed like forever thanks to his adrenaline, the vanguard could see all too clearly the plume of flame unfurling beneath him.

“Gaaaaaaagh!”  The explosion blew Cyril off his feet, throwing his smoking form up and back.  He landed heavily on his side, burned as well as bruised, and only found the strength to starting dragging himself up into a stooped stance after a full second had passed.  When he looked up, he saw the tower teetering, and thought with a grim smile that for all the pain he felt his mission had been a success.  Then he noticed the smile on Runch's face, and that the cereal pillar teetered toward him.

Gritting his teeth, Cyril dove sideways, and the pillar crashed onto the cobblestone where he'd struggled seconds before.  A still bitterer frown took hold of the vanguard as he noticed that Runch did not appear to have fallen with it.  When he glanced the way from which the tower toppled, he spotted the pirate atop a second emplacement, newly arisen mere inches to the left of the base of the old.  The sight, one of frustrating futility, caused Cyril's grip on his weapon to tighten as he stared up at the pirate's grin.

[i]Even though I'm the better fighter, this is going to be hard.  The hardest I've ever faced.[/i]  He swung his glaive around into a ready position, and began to move.