D-Class Finals | Kira Sakuya vs. Rue Moto

Rue could not remember the last time he had set foot in an arena before his last match the other day. Combat was an ungraceful and gratuitous sport and perhaps not one that he would so lightly involve himself with again; for now, however: today, he had been summoned. The light tapping of his soles against the concrete below was the only signal of the thin man's approach to what would be his next arena, and he released a gentle sign upon coming to the distinct spot where he was to begin his match. Such toilsome rules, and in such a dim place.

The sun was falling in the west, obscured by the city and its buildings, but the failing light that followed was plenty enough for Rue to see the dreary, cracked windows and desolate landscape of the inner city. Graffiti and vandalism littered the place, and the most bare and clean surface to be seen was the roadway itself, a hundred meters of uninterrupted and unspoiled asphalt, if asphalt could be such a thing as "unspoiled". He might have begun walking, as his opponent would undoubtedly be at some point along the road as well, but as it would seem, he had not been the first to conjure such a course.

This man was tall, muscular, more the part of a simple man's warrior image than his last opponent, an Rue matched his pace until only a few meters separated them along the road's length, having taken a mirrored position on the opposite side of the roadway. In the moment of silence that followed, Rue would give a gentle nod to the larger man, his lips curling swiftly into a calm smile.

"Well, this is round two, so I'm sure we don't need to be reminded of what to do." Rue lifted each hand in turn as he began to speak, taking a moment to tighten the white gloves he wore about his fingers; his voice was ever welcoming, but concise and serious. "I'm willing to fight to a yield if you are; if this is merely a contest of strengths, there is no need for us to kill one another over it."

From a wily assassin to a bold and confident warrior: the diversity to be seen in such grand gatherings as these was inspiring, Rue's presence notwithstanding. He listened intently to the large man's words, sensing something akin to respect in his demeanor and reaction. Well, that was pleasant: then again, lady Takaki had acted cordial and polite as well.

But he would not be on the defensive this time: it seemed this silver-haired man would not afford him that luxury as his last opponent had. Rue could only wonder if this spoke to a sense of caution or to weakness of heart, but he looked onward for a moment, as if puzzled at the sudden and dramatic assumption of a "fighting stance" that played out in the wake of his response. What a stylish invitation; Rue held his smile, "Alright then."

Then, at a leisurely pace, he pressed forward, closing the menial gap between them in a few paces. As soon as he was within comfortable range, Rue's left hand shot outward from the fringes of his jacket, where his pockets might have been, and towards his opponent's outstretched and inviting front hand. Should the fellow not react, he would find the first of his fingers snatched, twisted against its joints, and broken in a moment's span, the price for leaving an unprotected extremity at such a convenient range.

Silently, Rue remarked with a smile in the heat of their exchange. This man was brave to exchange grapples with an unfamiliar opponent: no doubt this was an area in which he was confident of his skills, but that confidence would not avail him. The silver-haired man's hand would close around his left wrist, but that was as much liberty as Rue intended to allow.

At once, Rue's rebuttal came in two forms. As his opponent gripped him, and as that left hand of his reached to reinforce his right, Rue's own left would be pulled directly inward under his shoulder, enjoying the far superior leverage of radial movement over the arc his opponent's arms would have to take to execute any bars: with their matched strength, the larger man's action could not compete, and Rue's hand had wrapped itself about the man's grasping wrist, interlocking their grips so neither could disengage. Furthermore, bringing his back hand so far forward would compromise the weight his opponent could lend to his own attacks because of the stance he had taken, and leave him vulnerable to the second part of his attack.

Simultaneously, as the force of his pull brought his torso backwards, Rue's right leg would carry the reactive momentum of his sudden display of force and shoot outward in a direct, viciously quick kick, which would dig the rough toe of his shoe into the side of his large opponent's rear leg's knee joint: with his weight undoubtedly forward to execute his maneuver and pulled more so by Rue's strength, the silver-haired man would have to step forward or lean backward to avoid compromising his balance, and either would leave that leg vulnerable to his attack.

But Rue was not willing to let this moment of weakness go to waste. In the immediate wake of his two-pronged attack, in the pain of its aftermath or the execution of his opponent's rebuttal, Rue's right hand would lurch forward in a straight punch towards the man's nose: he had almost instinctively aimed for the man's throat, but he did have a commitment to their clause of non-lethal force. With both of their strengths beyond the scope of human potential, they were physically very equal despite the difference in their sizes.

Inevitably, with the ambiguous positioning of his opponent's arm as a continuing variable and threat, Rue's strategy would not unfold in exploitation of its absence, but rather, would follow up immediately from the point of the contender's reaction. In allowing himself to maintain contact in a competition of strength, this man allowed Rue access to the information regarding the distribution of that strength as a check against his own, and he had not yet finished exploiting that advantage.

Rue's next step was invariably simple in its execution. In colliding with his opponent's sole, Rue's foot would drop into a step, his left grasping arm pulling further back to accommodate his moving forward with respect to their grapple, and his right arm carrying the force of that slight twist into a heavy punch, directed toward the inner portions of his target's shoulder where it met the tendons of the pectoral muscles. He was ready to adjust for the minimal range of motion his opponent would access, given that he could not possibly have dropped his back foot to adjust his stance any faster than Rue had, and that his arm was still locked to Rue's own, even further limiting the maneuverability of that particular shoulder. At this point, with two feet on the ground, Rue's punch could tear the tightened muscles and shock tendons and bones alike, thoroughly disabling the right arm as a functional weapon, should his opponent not have anticipated his swift attack.

As these events would unfold, the great man's spiritual energy had manifested, and it was in part the presence of this "surprise" attack that gave Rue confidence about his own. The real surprise would be in Rue's complete lack of hesitation on part of his opponent's maneuver, which put him a moment ahead, for Rue had the advantage in matters of calculation, and had more than enough experience with his own powers to worry over such an attack. As he carried out his attack, the emerald energy-form that was his opponent's weapon would make contact with him, and in that moment, lose its form. Beginning at the point of contact, Rue's aura would dissolve the spirit sword until there was naught left in the man's hand, and by that time, his attack would already have landed.