HereComesTheSnow

Our Daily Lives have Become a Battlefield: A Battle School RP

i dont get paid enough to transliterate choreography to text like this

Our Daily Lives have Become a Battlefield: A Battle School RP

@King Cosmos

How was he blocking with such consistency? He definitely didn't have the fight training to make a proper read at this distance...

Could it be his Inherent Engine? Can he see the incoming burst?

What was more, the baseball player was steadily giving ground as he subtly shifted the bat beneath the storm, widening the gap between them as opposed to it wilting beneath Kasemchai's constant advance. He supposed the boy would run out of room eventually, but this arrangement was not ideal. Classes would begin again before they finished if he meant to back him all the way against a wall from the center of the courtyard.

... Then he stopped, bat braced before him in time with the slight change in angle of Kasemchai's jab but receiving no impact. There was none of that minute compression as the impact traveled through the metal and into the baseball player's arms— and then there was.

Then, his opponent retreated once more, and the Thai fighter understood.

He has a read on the edge of my range. He knows the maximum distance I can strike from now. For that matter, so do I. I'd never gotten the opportunity before in previous fights— remember this distance between bodies. That is as far as I can strike.

It's obvious now that he's got something to make for his lack training in keeping up with my strikes. Every time I've switched levels ort broken a pattern, he's made the correct move to block with that bat. Some I've managed to slip through, it clearly isn't perfect, but that also rules out prediction— he's reacting to something.

He needed an opportunity. Something big to burst in on, this measured advance is too easy for him to back out of— there!

His opponent, even in the face of his aching leg, made a great leap backward, readying another swing and taking a singular moment to aim.

The Thai saw the stance, saw the motion, and threw himself to the side as the crack of the bat heralded another incoming projectile— and winced as the edge of the orb, moving at an impossible double speed, grazed his side with the force of a heavyweight's punch. If it were moving at the velocity it had before, he would have been well clear— did that slugger have this much power left up his sleeve even after his leg had been attacked?

Grit your teeth, this is your opening.

Edges of his jaw tightening, the Thai's conditioning and adrenaline bolstered his fortitude twofold, and he surged forward once his feet caught traction after the sidestep. Assume maybe a second to rechamber after that swing. Assume maybe another to readjust position for the new angle Kasemchai had taken— moving towards his opponent's right. Two, maybe three seconds to get into true striking range was a tall ask when running at someone with a bat during the best of times, and Kasemchai was not unmarked himself.

But he could not let himself be killed at range by this man's endless bag of tricks with a baseball bat.

He would cover this damned distance.

Kasemchai ran. Gone was his shuffling, steady, compact footwork, that which was too slow to use without a ring to pen his opponent into. He ran for all he was worth, long strides chewing up the ground before him as he all but sprinted towards the baseball player, bold plan taking shape in mind.

If that unusually high-percentage blocking rate was based off of reactions rather than predictions, then he knew how to tear those apart— feinting. Show one strike to land another. As the opponent reacts to that which does not come, they leave themselves open, confused, and second-guessing their reads. Much more vulnerable to follow-ups from either a different angle, or different timing.

One stride. Two. Three.

He had built up the momentum well now, and had definitely entered maximum range... but the end goal was to cover the entirety of this space. He had an option for that. Low percentage in the extreme normally, but perhaps with his power, some of the unsafe factors became safe.

Four. Five. Closing in.

Do it now, and let the force carry you the rest of the distance. Don't let him have the chance to hit you out of the air with that bat!

He launched himself up from the ground, springing off his front leg as the rear swung upward, adding height and an extra boost in vertical momentum.

How will his eyes see through a lie?

That motion had placed his left leg in front, leaving his right chambered and ready to deliver a flying knee of crushing force with all of the energy from his weight, his charge, concentrated onto a single point. It was perhaps the most powerful blow in all of Muay Thai, an art famous for devastating knee strikes from the clinch alone— let alone one with room to build momentum over so much distance into.

All he needed to do was wrench that right leg upwards, and all of that bone-rattling power would be brought to bear right on the level of the baseball player's forehead. A shot that could knock out anyone if it landed clean. A huge attack, that traded a huge windup for huge force.

He reared his back midair, as though committed with all of his being to the knee strike and ready to throw his hip into it for a little extra juice—

You should feel proud for making me use such a gambit.

And wrenched his right elbow downward towards the top of his opponent's hatted skull, as though to split a log with an axe. All of his forward motion could compensate for any power disparity between the two strikes— even if the first would have been overwhelmingly strong, the second simply needed to be strong enough.

And if fate was willing, this would carry him close enough to get his hands on him.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Gonna assume Fanilly got the other armpit so Gerard's full-bore swing through roughly the kidney area didn't nearly decapitate her

good job team!!!

Our Daily Lives have Become a Battlefield: A Battle School RP

@King Cosmos

Perfectly placed. Right on the load-bearing meat of the inner thigh, the impact forced the baseball player's stance to buckle, sending him stumbling off to the side as that leg tried to contend with being knocked out of position, his weight, and its newly-forming bruise. He doubted he'd killed it yet— it would take a few more for him to totally remove the boy's ability to put weight on it, but from the looks of things he'd already cut down mobility.

"Welcome to the world of Muay Thai, Farang."

I knew you weren't fit for this. I'll do you a service and end things quickly—

He burst forward, looking to use this opening as a means to close distance. With his opponent so preoccupied, he wouldn't need to worry about any more incoming attacks for the time being. Even if he swung—

Too high. That'll land in front of me. Getting desperate already? Hoping I'll trip?

Kasemchai closed in further, ignoring the crimson orb that fell from its pop-fly arc a scant two feet in front of him. It was simply avoided, all he needed to do was step over. Baseballs weren't even big enough to be an impedance. This was done. In another second, he would be in distance, and this fight was as good as over. That man had one leg, he was batting single-handed, he was off-balance, his head was just dangling there. All he needed was one knee and he would put him away. Maybe even a flying knee for style—

It struck the earth, and Kasemchai's world became dust, and grass, and impact.

It was as if a blanket of raw force had suddenly slammed into him, not only checking his advance, but sending him reeling back bodily. It was only thanks to his many fights of stadium experience, live combat, that he found it in himself to stay on his feet at all. Had he placed a wall in front of him? Just what the hell was that? It was as though he'd run into the fist of the Buddha. If he were any less tough, he'd be dazed and on his ass.

Kasemchai tensed his body, recalculating and recomposing, as the baseball player found his feet and retreated further.

That sealed it. He had to get inside range now. Whatever other tricks this bat contained, Kasemchai was not stupid enough to let this happen again. If such an explosion were accompanied by usual shrapnel and flame, he could have been in serious trouble. He had regained his stance and his wits by now— And would not allow his opponent any room to breathe.

He began his forward march, maintaining his stance with an almost shuffling sort of footwork— always making sure to minimize the amount of time he was outside of his solid, compact base. He would not be caught unawares again. He would not cross over his feet and get knocked end over end because he was unable to brace himself.

He refused.

As he closed the distance, his lead land lanced out with a pistonlike jab. A jab was perhaps an even safer version of the teep in this instance— a range-finder, a harassing tool, something that rarely had one-shot knockout power, but quickly thrown, not compromising his stance, and perfect for forcing reactions. Just because it did not mean a knockout did not mean it could be ignored— any punch to the face was a punch to the face, and in his experience any punch in the face was hard to think through.

He did not intend on letting up. Even if he had only just stepped into the edge of his range (he didn't have the best range on this distance, he could have been entirely outside), the moment the jab reached full extension it was retracted right back into the guard, just as quickly. Punches were snappy things. You didn't leave them out there to try and push your opponent with— If anything, you stabbed with them. Quickly. Precisely.

He jabbed again as he made another step in, using his forward motion to maximize the reach of his punch and add just a bit more weight to it.

Repeatedly.

He would not let up until he could get his hands on him. The moment he began to shield his head, he would attack the body. If he felt like it, he would even teep him in the gut— But he would drown this man in blows all the same.

Our Daily Lives have Become a Battlefield: A Battle School RP

brb changing my subs to DameDame

Our Daily Lives have Become a Battlefield: A Battle School RP

@Bartimaeus Well, class is in session.

Our Daily Lives have Become a Battlefield: A Battle School RP

@King Cosmos Yeah, they essentially carry the force in a manner similar to a projectile to a range of about ten meters or so, effectively doing something similar to the usual “wind pressure feels like the punch or kick” trope. That’s the general idea I was going for, something to work with in the face of "i'm just gonna fucking throw things at this idiot kickboxer". So saying, if Ichiro’s IES can detect an attack of that nature— basically an invisible projectile with a very short travel time, I see no reason why it wouldn’t apply to this. Kasemchai sees it as extremely unlikely that Ichiro will be able to react for all the reasons he listed, but he doesn’t know squat about Ichiro’s ability.

Hope that helps.

Our Daily Lives have Become a Battlefield: A Battle School RP

Through this process, I've rediscovered how little space I have to kick in my room. Let me know if the body kinetics or IES involved are unclear, and I'll happily try to explain better.

And yeah, Kasemchai had the usual "let's pick on the international transfer student" brigade roll his way in the first few weeks, but they usually scatter after the first foot sweep.

Our Daily Lives have Become a Battlefield: A Battle School RP

@King Cosmos

So there was something more to that bat.

The Nak Muay's eyes flashed as the crimson orb sailed through the air at remarkable speed straight towards him. As he suspected, the short man could generate brutal force at a full swing. He knew his body to be conditioned well. Even fantastically so. Compared to most of these students he could comfortably say he was made of iron, but there was no sense in betting on it in the face of anything moving with such velocity.

He stepped his lead foot outward, off to his left, the moment his opponent's bat made impact. That glowing orb didn't do anything weird that he could see besides responding as a solid—weird enough in and of itself.

So it was an AED after all, and one that seemed to produce its own projectiles. That changed the plan entirely— he wasn't nearly so safe as he thought out at long range. Not when his opponent could put projectiles downrange this fast. As a pugilist, projectile capability was one of the biggest advantages an opponent was supposed to have against him.

"Well, you misunderstand."

Supposed to.

The Thai's guard naturally raised as the fight had begun in earnest, and as he followed that step off the center line and out of the path of the orb, that outward-pointed right foot became a pivoting point once it returned to the earth, as he almost skipped through the motion like a pendulum— replacing the position of his lead as it rose into the air. With a twist of the hips to follow that prechambered rotation (the outward facing right foot), that lead leg lashed out into an inside low kick. A smooth, practiced motion borne of thousands of repetitions, just as his opponent's grand slam.

And for those paying attention in the audience, this was supposed to be utterly daft— the athlete was wholly out of range. Kasemchai was, by all appearances, kicking air.

And yet.

His IES flared, and for a moment, the transfer student was as Vajrapani.

The baseball player had powerful and accurate swings, by all means. From the smoothness of the motion, he could make a safe bet that this was indeed proper baseball form as well— but horrid for fighting. So long. So committed to raw power. So spread out. His hips had fully turned into the swing, and he had a proper kinetic chain, but he stood to swing a bat. Never in that stance's life did it encounter something that would attack it. Even karetaka, who liked to fight this long, were so much more mobile with their base— the sportsman had planted himself. Yes, it generated as much force as possible—

But it was also easy pickings. Far too easy.

Impossibly, the force of that inside leg kick reached far beyond the shin Kasemchai appeared to be striking air with— It was projected, with that full strength of impact, far enough to reach the sensitive inside of his opponent's left thigh. The baseball team member's front leg carried all of his weight, and he had twisted deep into it to cork out that fastball. The Thai doubted he would retract it in time, especially considering he had no reason to think the range of his kicks was any more than what they appeared. He doubted that this small man had ever conditioned his legs for impact that wasn't running. He doubted that he had taken any sort of kick to the thighs in his life— let alone from a Nak Muay. Even a reactive one with his lead leg was still a kick from him, who had been slamming rock-hard shins into bodies from the age of eight. His idea of "a hard kick" and that of the untrained were very different. Back at Sinbi this would be a bit much for their usually playful sparring, but at the stadiums in Bangkok he would need to throw this kick scores of times to change the expression on another fighter's face.

To the untrained? To those who had never tasted a kick in their lives? It may as well have been a lead pipe.

Kasemchai doubted this man was Lumpinee ready.

"I come from a fighting sport. And we are very dedicated to it."

As quickly as it had come, whether his projected strike had hit true to buckle the athlete's stance or by some miracle not, the Thai's lead leg returned to its stance as he coolly judged the outcome of their exchange. He could content himself with reading this man for a while, if this was all he would contend with out this far. He would move in closer when he was ready unless the situation demanded it sooner.

For now, I'll see if he measures up.

Our Daily Lives have Become a Battlefield: A Battle School RP

@King Cosmos Cool, thanks.