[@Zyamasiel]

[b]*Gonad's pulse; 35 BPM*[/b]

[i]To underestimate one's opponent is to invite folly. It was a rare thing for Gonad to bow. It meant he was going to provide his opponent with the respect of fighting seriously, a brief acknowledgement of their strength as well as a warning for them to take up their guard. Even rarer was the chance to fight a deity. For Lysander, this was just another Tuesday, so to speak. For Gonad, it was the culmination of all the blood and sweat he'd ever shed, the ultimate reward. What more could a warrior hope for than to take on the highest of beings in single combat? He'd fought just about everything under the sun. Dragons, trolls, demons, monsters of all shapes and sizes, world champions and the semi-divine, often the odds stacked heinously against him, always with the roaring drums and noble chants of his homeland lending strength to his heart and mind, as it did even now. With only one eye, he missed nothing. With his grisly body he felt everything. The cool stillness of the stagnant air, sunlight filtering defiantly through the murky, ancient windows of the Hall. Outside of his own mind, the silence was deafening.
Lysander's hand drew near Gonad's. As it did, a distant childhood memory, hazy and golden, passed through Gonad's mind like the serene breath of a familiar woman.[/i]

[color=ed1c24]*Flashback...*[/color]
[color=a2d39c]"Aye. Start with the left leg back, strong young one. Poise of Gonad must not falter, for though spirit may not falter when body does, not win wars on its own while alone, can spirit. Adjust feet, like so..."[/color]

[b]"Urgh... Like so? Now be footing of Gonad sure?"[/b]

[color=a2d39c]"Nay, pointing forward toes of lead foot should be. Aye, like that. Good."[/color]
[color=ed1c24]*Flashback...*[/color]

[i]The voice of his father's brother, firm and patient. The longest days of Gonad's life had been those spent in the years before he had aged into a true man.
Lysander's fingertips were so close now, that had Gonad been statically charged, a shock could have passed between them. A martial artist's premonition, honed not from otherworldly power but raw experience, spiked through Gonad's forebrain, a flare of will. "Now", it told him. "Now is the time."
One moment Lysander had been about to initiate a fart joke, humoring the perceived whimsy of an opponent. The next thing he perceived was likely pain. Gonad's hand had only to travel scant inches to seize Lysander's. It was like the flicker of a candle as a ghost whisks by, untelegraphed, as perfect an opportunity as one could ask for aside from flat out asking for a handshake. No handshake was this. He sought to, without any warning or delay, grip Lysander's hand with his thumb on the back of the hand and twist with such phantasmagoric impetus that had his foe been but a normal man, the wrist would have immediately snapped from the torque. Good thing Lysander was physically on par with Gonad, but this was a matter of leverage, not simply brute strength. If Gonad had his way, then in a blink he'd have folded Lysander's palm backwards, towards its owner's body, chain-locking the rest of the arm's joints out straight and in the process breaking his opponent's equilibrium, rendering it even more difficult to attempt a retort such as, say, a kick, even though throwing one from a neutral stance was sub-optimal anyways.[/i]

[color=ed1c24]*Flashback...*[/color]
[color=a2d39c]"Oomph! Not bad such is. But still need work does form of young Gonad. Turn hips over more, do not extend leg too early. Hmph! Better. Better."[/color]
[color=ed1c24]*Flashback...*[/color]

[i]-As he attempted to lock Lysander's arm, the rest of his body was not still. It was in the process of turning. Gonad pivoted on the ball of his lead foot as his left took off from the ground, not with a mighty heave, but a deathly whisper, a streamer of centuries-old dust trailing at his heel like the tattered cloak of a midnight rider bearing news of ill fortune.-[/i]

[color=ed1c24]*Flashback...*[/color]
[color=a2d39c]"Keep support leg at one-half of a right angle, and try again."[/color]
[b]"HRAH!!"[/b]
[color=a2d39c]"NOT GOOD ENOUGH! The spirit is strong, but the technique lacks! More balance there must be! Let the shin chase the knee!"[/color]
[color=ed1c24]*Flashback...*[/color]

[i]-Were Gonad's will to take full form, then but an instant after Lysander's arm was locked out, he'd feel it. A feeling akin to the one hikers get before a lightning strike. Hair standing on end, flesh tingling, sweat turned cold. But that was just lightning. Those physical feelings would only come to pass after Gonad's blow had already struck, the body's warning of the pain to come, granting him a chance to steel his nerves against the turbulence to come.-[/i]

[color=ed1c24]*Flashback...*[/color]
[color=a2d39c]"Wise already, and sharp of wit is Gonad. Only today has this instruction been given, and already mastered such have ye'. Speak to Uncle, young Gonad. For what purpose is it that learn the ways of such things, we do?"[/color]
[color=ed1c24]*Flashback...*[/color]

[i]-The mortal body is only capable of so much, but Gonad put those preconceived notions to the test. It was as if his leg had been given a nitrous injection, whipping around with the barbarian's passion lending it that extra-sharp 'snap' of impact that you only see from those few humans who have achieved the pinnacle of their art. A steel boot projected without any excess motion, on course to snuff out Lysander's upper right flank with the crisp crack of bone and muscle meeting an unyielding obstacle at high speed. A technically flawless roundhouse kick that'd make ribs creak and groan, and if it didn't rupture the liver, it'd at least severely bruise it. It was something that you felt all over, echoing through your body as a singular wave of pain. It would be highly impractical and awkward to try and block the blow with his left forearm, as he'd have to resist the leverage of the right arm-lock to such a degree as to reach across his body properly.-[/i]

[color=ed1c24]*Flashback...*[/color]
[b]"To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women! HRAH!"[/b]
[color=ed1c24]*Flashback...*[/color]

[i]-Gonad did not bellow or scream, rave or roar. He only let loose an explosive snort from his nostrils and from between his teeth, lips cut back over bared teeth at the instant the blow struck, if struck it did.-[/i]

[b]*Gonad's pulse; 37 BPM*[/b]

[i]-If all came to pass, then almost reverently, Gonad would neatly and swiftly withdraw his leg from its kick, resume his stance, and still holding Lysander in a lock, wait a few seconds to gauge his opponent, giving the entity a few moments. It wasn't a fatal blow, or one that'd immediately end the fight. All this had taken place in only a little more than a second, a gale force wind that died right after its birth, leaving the leaves to again settle. Maybe, just maybe this attack, as paltry as it was, might sway Lysander to grace Gonad with a more serious demeanor that our noble barbarian may have no regrets about this, his only opportunity to fight a god.-[/i]

[b]*Gonad's pulse; 35 BPM*[/b]