[center][h2][b][color=turquoise]The Cereal Killer[/color] Vs. Knight Sylvestre: Round 2[/b][/h2]
[@Lugubrious][/center]

The situation kept Cyril at a tremendous disadvantage, and he knew it. It appeared that his opponent had no limit as to how much of that material he could generate, or at the very least his upper limit was so great that he needn’t worry about approaching it in this fight. That Runch had simply sidestepped to a new pillar as easily as a single skip along the street after all the effort Cyril had to throw into taking that first tower down, then to have the pirate look down on him with that smile, Runch was mocking him. He had to keep up the pressure, get in close. Then he’d have the advantage again.

The vanguard lodged the business end of his glaive into this new pillar. Then he mustered all his mighty strength, muscles tightening with tension, and pulled himself upward in the strongest pull up he’d ever performed in his life. Even that wouldn’t have allowed him a full ascension of course, and so he called upon his sheen ability once more to propel like a rocket, his weapon dislodging from the pillar in the same motion. Cereal pellets rained down on him, striking off his armor or bouncing away from his shield, like an annoying storm he’d have to weather through. At the apex of his jump Cyril swung his weapon with the intent to hook the head around his foe, and yet the pirate was ready for him.

“Omnomnom!” came Runch’s laughter as the two met eyes. Runch held his pistol in one hand, leveled right for the knight’s face. [i]Bang![/i] The gunshot echoed across the area as the weapon unloaded its ammunition true. Splat! The shot didn’t hit with great force, it caused no injury, but instead splattered across the vanguard’s helm. He could no longer see the fruits of his labor, a most frustrating turn of events, but he could at least feel. Though his balance had been destroyed, he still sensed his glaive hook into his opponent, and even heard the Cereal Killer’s grunt of pain.

A split second later both combatants were falling: Cyril on bottom, dragging Runch down slightly above him. Though he had been pierced in the back, Runch fought through the pain and thought quickly, his eyes narrowing upon the rapidly approaching ground in a steely gaze. He could survive such an impact with only superficial injuries, but could his opponent? If the amount of armor worn was any indicator, well, best not to think too deeply into things. ”Bori bori whoopie!” he called out, his hand outstretched. A large sphere of grain generated from his palm, like a deformed balloon, stretching past Cyril. It soon collided with the earth below, sinking downward a bit, and immediately afterward both fighters hit the surface of the cereal balloon. Each man’s grunts were drowned out in a shower of cereal pellets exploding outward in every direction, the “balloon” letting out a noise that distinctly sounded like, well, like someone had a very poor breakfast indeed.

Runch was the first to rise, looking around for his pistol that had been dropped in the fall, but to no avail. It had been lost somewhere in the hill-sized cereal mound. He slid down, tumbled really, to the bottom and recovered his footing. Cyril attempted to stand, but with his vision blocked he was unaware of his footing. Expecting somewhat solid ground beneath him, his leg slipped and the knight tumbled down the opposite end of the mound. Inwardly he cursed at being made to look such a fool.

Once able to rise, Sir Boniface used his left hand in an attempt to clear his helmet’s visor of the gunk, to liberate his vision once more. As soon as the fingers swept across, they stopped moving, held in place. Cyril’s lip curled in anger and he pulled his hand back hard as he could, but it made no difference: his gauntlet had become stuck to the visor as though it were welded! Not wanting to waste anymore time, he slipped his hand free from the confines of its gauntlet and pulled the helmet off as well. A cursory observation confirmed what he had felt; the two pieces of armor had indeed been stuck together by some sort of dark brown substance, a powerful adhesive unlike any he’d experienced before. However, the situation was not as critical as initially feared, for his foe could not be seen in the immediate vicinity. Quickly he worked to adjust the screw in his head for the boon it could provide.

Meanwhile Runch looked quizzically to his left, and then to his right. His opponent was nowhere to be seen. His head cocked as he thought that maybe Cyril had been buried in the cereal mound? Oh dear, that wouldn’t be ideal. Ah, but of course! “A few strands short of a full wheat bale today, Runch!” he joked to himself with a little tap on the head. Naturally the other fighter had to have landed on the [i]other[/i] side of the hill he had made. Some days common sense just didn’t feel all that common. 

“Fair warning, I’m coming now! Omnomnom! Bori bori jet!” The cereal man propelled forward with a stream of grain constantly ejecting from the back of his feet. Skillfully he skated up the mound, figuring Cyril would have expected him to be coming around the side. Spoonsaber in hand he launched from the tip of the cereal hill, and immediately spotted his armored foe. “Bori bori grapeshot!” he called, flinging a scattered assault of nearly a hundred cereal pellets down toward Cyril, each with the density and weight of a proper cannonball.

The Knight Sylvestre turned to meet his foe’s attack head on, eyes squinted in determination. Calculations rushed through his mind at speeds the knight never knew possible before this day. The pellets moved toward him in slow motion, allowing him to account for each one, all ninety-seven. The angles, trajectory, if he did not take action he would be struck by thirty-one. Twenty-nine of them would hit his armor with enough force to bowl him over, while two would strike his head. Chances of survival if this were allowed to take place were forty-eight percent. Chances of incapacitation were ninety-six. The screw gave him the calculations he needed. With one hand he brought up his shield to guard  his left shoulder. With the other his polearm swung up, striking the first of the cereal spheres on the back of the weapon’s head. Next he twisted his weapon forty-six degree counterclockwise, hitting more of the projectiles with just enough force to throw off their course.

The passage of time returned to normal, and the vanguard witnessed the fruits of his calculations. Each pellet that had been struck changed course ever so slightly and like a collection of billiard balls collided together, which struck another, and another, throwing nearly all of the projectiles off course. Some missed the mark completely while others flew threw the knight’s hair. A single pellet collided with his shield, which he braced for, and fell to the ground. His movements had been so subdued, so subtle, and yet perfectly calculated for this exact outcome.

“... Huh…” Runch barely breathed as he landed a little distance away, his mouth hanging open. He then burst out into laughter. “Omnomnomnom! Suffering strawberries, that was amazing! I really underestimated that screw! Omnomnom!” 

Cyril wasted no time, unlike the fool before him. Deftly he hurled his shield straight for Runch, analyzing and calculating the trajectory. “Woah!” Runch ducked down low, and Cyril shot forth with his sheen, glaive outstretched and ready to pierce his enemy’s body. However the pirate was ready for such a tactic. Thanks to the foreknowledge of the journal, and the reduction in speed from his earlier trap, Runch caught the polearm against his spoonsaber, the serrated edges locking the axehead in place. The pirate smirked and held out his hand. “Bori bori cannonb-[i]urk![/i]”

[i]Thwang![/i] The knight’s shield struck the Cereal Killer in the back of the head on a return trip. If he were the type to celebrate before victory had been assured, Cyril would’ve congratulated himself on measuring the angles of his toss, ensuring his shield would ricochet back. Thankfully his foe had stood ground instead of dodging the charge. Taking advantage of the captain’s disorientation, Cyril dislodged his weapon and slashed across Runch’s chest. Blood spattered out from the wound, but he wasn’t done yet. 

Runch attempted to step back, but Cyril knew he couldn’t let his foe gain any distance. Every move he made was nuanced and calculated, his strategy focused by the screw in his head. With the tip of his weapon down low, he twisted the shaft in order to hook Runch by the ankle. The pirate fell over like an untreated sack of grain. Next was the thrust; Cyril aimed to slice the pirate’s calves and immobilize him, the same as he had done to Juniper.

His weapon never made contact with his foe’s leg. Instead a layer of cereal rapidly grew outward from where his glaive struck, sinking in a good two inches, but failing to break any skin. “Bori bori greaves. And! [i]Power kick![/i]” 

The cap’n kicked upward with his other leg, which had also grown leg armor, and shot off that armor straight for Cyril’s unprotected face. Backing off, the vanguard gave himself the room he needed to parry the attack, intending to sheen back into position before Runch could gain any more ground. He was wrong.

“Bori bori eruption: Sparklepop Recipe!” From every pore on his body, every square inch of skin, burst forth an uncountable, insurmountable wave of cereal pellets. The wave was harmless to one of Cyril’s strength and fortitude, but it still kept him back. Yet that was hardly the most impressive aspect of this maneuver. The cereal pellets shone a bright light, each one different. Some purple, some red, some yellow and green, it was a rainbow assault of the eyes, like a hundred thousands multi-colored torches forced right in his face. For the second time in this battle, Sir Boniface had been temporarily blinded.

The Knight Sylvestre cursed the cowardly tactics of the Cereal Killer, rubbing his eyes as his mustache twitched in agitation. The sentiment only intensified as soon as he recovered his visual acuity. Rather than take the opportunity to strike him blind, Runch had used his recovery time to… Create a ton of clones of himself?!

Surrounded on all sides, Cyril attempted to count them all, but found he couldn’t keep track. At some point his screw had lost adjustment, leaving him to his own senses. By his best guess there were about three dozen Runch’s surrounding him, all in different poses, each one completely immobile. Statues?

“Omnomnomnomnom!” echoed the voice of K. Runch throughout the battlefield. “How do you like my bori bori mascot surprise?” Cyril spun about on his heel, keeping a watch out for his backside. “Just one of these replicas contains the nutrition you’d need for a whole month! Omnomnomnom!”

Cyril’s ears twitched as he attempted to work out what direction the voice had come from. Damn, he couldn’t tell. A hand slowly drifted up to the screw, but then retracted. No, that’s when the pirate would strike.

“So much berry goodness all around you, omnomnom! But only one with a soul. So which one is your chef?”

[hr]

Metal and energy clashed as two swords struck together. It was clear from the moment they crossed blades the first time that the shrine maiden was the stronger of the two, despite having but one arm. However what Erina lacked in raw strength she made up for with the experience of a master class assassin. When it was clear she would be overpowered, the fox girl stepped to the side and let Juniper take her ground, overswinging the blade of hard energy. Erina took advantage in this break of her opponent’s form to quickly throw a knife into the ground between them, nary an inch from Juniper’s toes. A message of sorts.

“It seems I have underestimated the spirit within you,” began the shrine maiden. “But he is still far from a divine emperor.” She took stance, readying a thrust.

Erina backed away, but kept her posture ready to fight. At the same moment she summoned three wisps of ethereal fire. “We don’t need to fight,” she uttered simply.

“I know.” Juniper’s reply was curt as she thrust her sword forward. Erina swiftly parried to the side and maneuvered her wisps around the other woman’s head.

“Stand down or I will incinerate your brain!” she lied, drawing upon Bend’s confidence to make it more believable. Despite that, her opponent hardly looked convinced.

“I sense no danger from your parlor trick, little one.” She dispelled a flame with the tip of her blade.

[i]Little one?! I am older than you by thousands of years, child![/i]

“You seem to have forgotten that I hold sway over the spirits and the dead as well. Did you believe I would be fooled? A shrine acolyte wouldn’t have been as gullible.” With a wave of her hand, the maiden dissipated the remaining two flames, and charged with a small battle cry. She swung her blade down, fast and with great strength.

Erina barely had the opportunity to react. Though she had Bend’s expertise, her body still wasn’t the most conditioned for combat purposes. Thankfully the instincts kicked in, and the kitsune managed to roll off to the side, simultaneously creating an illusion of herself to mirror her dodge in the opposite direction. Each one stood up and held her katana to Juniper, the steel reflecting in her eyes.

“Curious. Illusions now?” Juniper smirked.

“I want to talk,” spoke Erina in stereo.

The shrine maiden rested her eyes on the real Erina, though it wasn’t clear if she did so out of luck, or if she had figured it out. “Curious. About what?”

Erina read Juniper’s body language, read her eyes. The killer instincts she had borrowed told her there was no immediate danger. She had to take a risk. The katana’s shine and durability faded to rust, and she sheathed it, the illusion duplicate following the same actions. 

[i]You should never give your opponent the opening they need,[/i] chided Bend.

[i]Hopefully, if this gesture of good will works, she won’t be my opponent anymore.[/i] 

“We are both out of the tournament,” began the exorcist. “And so we have no stake in battle any longer, but that doesn’t mean we cannot work toward our wishes. Our dreams.”

Juniper raised an eyebrow. Though she dismissed the blade of energy, she did not relax. “Go on.”

“We should, uh, trade notes?” Erina awkwardly rubbed the back of her head. “Exchange tips and such? Two masters such as we, there’s a great many things we could learn from one another, don’t you agree?”

Juniper chuckled slightly, finally relaxing her fighting posture. She brought a hand up to cover her laughter like a proper lady of the shrine. “I suppose we could. I have been frustrated with the proceedings of this event, and needed to take out that frustration in a fight. Do not worry about your ghost ally; it was never my intention to seal him, just to encourage your battle spirit. But I see you have none, and so I see no reason we cannot collaborate.”