Arena The Galactic Shockboxing Tournament

[Adonis Angelis IV]

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There was a certain look when two warriors both knew they were about to die on the battlefield, grievous wounds traded, blood soaking the ground, the kind of stare that mixed respect with inevitability. Fists were different. Fisticuffs meant broken faces and swollen hands, nerves screaming with every breath, pain that refused to fade. It wasn't clean like a blade to the throat or a blaster to the heart. It was uglier.

Neither of them was dying, but to anyone watching, it was a brutal sight. Adonis's left side burned with pain, Ragos's face was a mask of blood, and neither man looked pretty. Adonis caught that same battlefield look in Ragos's eyes as the other fighter reset his stance, but before he could brace himself, pain arced up his ribs and down into his legs, residual lightning snapping through his nervous system. It stole his focus long enough for the hit to land.

Adonis had grown up around electric fences on the estate, had even pissed on one or two as a boy. That was nothing compared to taking a shockgaunt straight to the face. His neck seized instantly, vision flaring white, lungs locking as though each breath was another bolt. Fire ripped from his jaw into every tooth, a line of agony that made him bite down so hard on the mouth-guard he swore a filling cracked.

He staggered, jaw clenched, blood starting to run from his nose, or maybe worse, he wasn't sure. Either way, he still looked steadier than Ragos Terrek . The round was close to ending. One of them would take it if they could just survive the next exchange.

Adonis shook the pain off, forcing his jaw to unlock. His left side was dead weight now, so he surged forward with his right, throwing a double jab meant to finish it.

He needed a miracle.

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[Skyria Kyrtan]

Objective: WIN!!
Location: Tapani Arts and Sports Complex, Vyncinyth
Outfit: Fighting Unitard
Tags: Tyrant 4

Skyria's opponent was hobbled by her first effective moment of offense. The blonde fighter was still smarting from the blows that she had taken however and was not quick to capitalize on the situation.

Instead of pressing her advantage Sky gave her head a quick shake and bounced in place for a moment. She then shuffled to her right and prepared her next combination of punches. Tyrant 4 seemed to have taken the body blow quite hard as she was still bent at the waist with her eyes down when Sky reached back with her right hand with what would be a powerful overhand straight right to Tyrant 4's temple.

Sky’s assessment of the situation was quite inaccurate however. Tyrant 4 had not been as down as Sky thought and while the blonde fighter wound up for a powerful punch that could have ended the fight she was caught unaware and with lacking defense by the counter of her blue-skinned opponent.

Skyria’s whole body tingled with the electricity of the blow to her chin. Her legs wobbled and she stumbled backwards. She leaned against the rope barriers at the edge of the ring and brought her hands up to cover as much of herself as possible knowing she would not be able to punch back anytime soon.

 

[Seldan Rourke]

​

Seldan grunted as Ronhar's fist connected with his jaw yet again, snapping his head back, vision momentarily flashing with sparks. The man's arms were relentless now, each blow crackling with that unsettling voltage that made Seldan's nerves jolt in protest. He took the impacts, a steady wall against the storm, but even the strongest walls eventually crumble under constant assault.

Ronhar pressed harder, his metallic fists blurring with an onslaught of hooks and uppercuts. Seldan's guard absorbed the brunt of it, but some punches bypassed his defense, thudding against his cheekbones and rattling his teeth. He stumbled briefly but quickly planted his feet, widening his stance, angling his ribs forward as Ronhar's gloves hammered into them. Each impact sparked a deep, burning pain, yet Seldan, forged in conflict, knew how to channel agony into raw power.

"Come on, then," Seldan grunted, the metallic taste of blood heavy in his mouth. He answered Ronhar's barrage with one of his own, his gloves driving low and fast into the cyborg's midsection. Each blow was a test of Ronhar's internal workings. Seldan felt knuckles meet with yielding resistance, a subtle give, a flicker of sparks from within, and that pushed him even harder.

Ronhar blocked what he could, but gaps appeared in his defense. A sharp jab snapped his head back, and Seldan immediately followed with a hook to the body, gritting his teeth as Ronhar's counterstrike clipped his ear. The world momentarily spun, a dizzying chime, but Seldan surged forward, denying the cyborg any chance to recover.

The fight devolved into a relentless exchange. Seldan's body absorbed a brutal pounding, his fists delivering just as much in return. Sweat streamed down his face, burning his eyes, mixing with the fresh blood that trickled from a cut above his brow. His jaw pulsed where Ronhar had landed cleanest, and each breath hitched, a harsh rattle in his chest. The crowd roared, a hungry beast feeding on the violence, their cheers rising and falling with every impact, demanding more.

Then, a sudden reprieve. The ring of the bell sliced through the deafening roar, sharp and final.

Seldan slowly lowered his gloves, his chest rising and falling, and began to retreat to his corner. His body screamed in protest, every muscle alight with pain, yet he moved with a deliberate, steady pace. He wouldn't let anyone see him falter.

Dropping onto the stool, he sucked in ragged breaths as his PGEM trainers converged around him. Cold towels wiped blood from his brow, water splashed into his mouth, and a pad pressed against his aching ribs. The coppery tang of his own blood mingled with the faint, cloying sweetness of the electrolyte rinse they pushed at him.

"You're looking good, Rourke," one trainer said, dabbing the cut above his eye. "You're wearing him down. His arms are shot, his timing's off. Stay in tight, don't let him dictate the rhythm. Grind him out, soldier. This round's yours."

Another trainer leaned close, his voice low but urgent. "Don't get reckless. He'll try that glitching trick again, mark my words. Keep hammering his body. He can't win if his hardware fails. His punches won't stop you. Yours will stop him."

Seldan spat blood into the waiting bucket, rolling his shoulders, his jaw clenched tight. The bell would sound again shortly, and when it did, he would charge back into the fray.

He wasn't done. Not yet.

Spoiler

Roll 1 - 10/20
Roll 2 - 20/20
Roll 3 - 13/20
Roll 4 - 4/20 Originally | Re-roll 8/20
Total - 51

Ronhar Tane​

 

[Tyrant 4]

She leaned against the rope barriers at the edge of the ring and brought her hands up to cover as much of herself as possible knowing she would not be able to punch back anytime soon.

Before Cypher could follow up and really lay into the imperial, the bell rang and they were each ushered to their corners.

Cypher sat on a stool and pulled out her mouth guard. A bespin gas assistant coach handed her some water and she took a long sip.

“You’re getting too reckless,” the head coach knelt at her side. “You nearly got taken out at the end, don’t think I didn’t see.”

“I had her.”

“No. You didn’t. Focus up, pace your stamina. Back to basics.”

Cypher glared but grunted. She was back on her feet, teeth clamping down on the mouth guard, then the ref brought them forward and they were back into it. Cypher darted forward with a simple one, two, one, two that finished with a brutal body hook.

Skyria Kyrtan

 

[Ronhar Tane]

Spoiler: Running Total

First Roll: 19
Second Roll: 18 (Rerolled)
Third Roll: 7
Fourth Roll: 10
Fifth Roll: 8 (Rerolled)
Total: 62

DING! DING! DING!

Ronhar breathed a sign of relief as the ringside signaled the end of the round. He rushed over to his team of Pit Droids as they began running diagnostics on Ronhar's arms and legs, trying to figure out the source of his problems.

"I don't care what you have to do to get them working, just do it!", Ronhar spat out at his droid crew.

<"We're doing everything we can, sir, but your problems aren't entirely mechanical in nature">, the Pit Droid crew chief replied to Ronhar in a series of beeps and whistles.

"Surely their must be something you can do?", Ronhar responded to the droid, as if he understood its speech perfectly. As a matter of fact, Ronhar did understand exactly what the droid was saying, thanks to the many neural implants that had been installed into his brain. Droid speech came quite naturally to Ronhar, as it he had grown up speaking the language of droids all his life. Some found this "ability" rather disconcerting but for Ronhar, it was little more than yet another invaluable tool in his toolbox.

<"We'll try running a bypass routine on your arms, that might take some of the strain off your mental faculties">, the droid stated, <"But its a temporary fix at best. You should really spend some more time getting used to the cybernetics. In fact, I would recommend you leave the boxing match entirely, before-">.

"Just run the bypass, I'll be fine", Ronhar said curtly as he cut off the droid in mid sentence. Not that he was wrong or anything. Ronhar felt, quite frankly, like Bantha Poodoo, which was to say not great in the slightest. His body ached all over from the hits than he had endured from Seldan Rourke , and he could see visible dents in his cybernetic arms from the punches they had received. What the hell were they feeding them over in the High Republic, or wherever the hell he was from?!?!

Still, Ronhar thought that the match had to at least be close. He was doing quite well before his malfunction, and as much as he was hurting, so too must his opponent be hurting as well. Still, Ronhar would rather the fight didn't go to holo scorecards, for their was no telling how the judges would rate the fight. In fact, he was beginning to suspect that Rathmar Praji and the rest of the organizers didn't like Imperials much. Damned Galactic Empire, why did they insist upon ruining everything?

<"Alright sir, we've run the bypass and fixed you up the best we can. Good luck out there">, the Pit Droid crew chief said to Ronhar as Ronhar prepared himself for Round 2.

"Thanks", Ronhar grunted as he stood up, prepared to deal with whatever Seldan Rourke threw at him.

DING! DING! DING!

The ringside bell clanged back to life, signaling Ronhar and his opponent for the start of Round 2. Ronhar walked up to him, tapped his gloves as a show of respect, and braced himself for what was about to come. Unfortunately for Ronhar, his arms still weren't responding exactly the way he would have liked them to...
​

---

OOC: Rerolled a 6 into an 8. At least its better than nothing?

 

[Ragos Terrek]

Ragos never dragged a fight out when he could help it and this weren't no exception. This chit was rapidly approaching an end one way or the other. Rag's chances were dropping faster than temps on Hoth after sunset.

Ragos only concession was that his opponent looked nearly as karked up as he did. Weren't no beautiful game chit ova here, it was stand and throw until someone went down and couldn't stand back up. This weren't bout no technique, not no, training, not no more. This chit was bout heart, not nothing else.

Ragos got as lucky as he could get once last exchange. His uppercut hadn't done the damage he had hoped for but throwing that strike when he did probably kept him in the fight to walk into one last firefight. His opponent had came at him with a three punch combo that Ragos was able get off timing with his counter strike. He didn't come out unscathed, blood poured from his nose and a bee cut above the eye but he was still conscious.

One last go. His opponent went for the head and Ragos did the same.

Fuck it

Ragos popped off a left hook aiming for the head and for the win.

Adonis Angelis IV

 

[Kayla Ordo-Shan]

Kayla Ordo-Shan

Her opponent seemed cute enough. Under different circumstances, Scherezade would've probably invited her to join a weird gang run in Hutt Space. Under different circumstances, in which she would know the woman was a Mandalorian, she would try to kill her. But thankfully, these weren't those circumstances. It was just the two of them here to fight each other.

"DING MOTHERKRAKKING DING!" Scherezade yelled out. She lunged forward like a predator uncaged, leading with a sharp jab with her left arm aimed for the other woman's face that meant to rattle more than hurt, her legs already ready to dance away if need be. If she landed that first jab, she would have the upper hand.

But she didn't waste time hoping. Hope was for people with no plan. For her, the world had narrowed to a tunnel: fists, volts, and the promise of someone hitting the floor before she was done.

Her body was ready!

Kayla continued to study her foe, and aside from being grossed out by her licking the shockgloves, watched as Scherezade flew towards her with a level of ferocity she had not planned on. She went into fighting mode right then and then, back pedaling, as the first jab came in, and attempted to counter with a hook, her feet flying as she tried to dance out and strike at a potential opening.


She had to drop this mad woman before the mad woman dropped her.

Tags: Scherezade deWinter

 

[Skyria Kyrtan]

Objective: WIN!!
Location: Tapani Arts and Sports Complex, Vyncinyth
Outfit: Fighting Unitard
Tags: Tyrant 4

Reeling against the ropes, Skyria was saved by the bell so to speak. Her demise was not imminent, but the break between rounds would give her a chance to regroup and form a new strategy. Unlike her opponent, Sky's corner was lonely between rounds. She had no coach, no medical staff, no hype man, just a rag and bottle of water left by a ring attendant and her thoughts.

She didn't have time to form a great spur of the moment shift of strategy. The pause in action was only long enough for Skyria to know she needed to slow her opponent. In her normal combat sports that would mean to initiate a ground game. But that was not an option in shock boxing. She decided that she would dance. Throw sparing, but effective punches, and hope her opponent would tire before she landed enough punches to put Skyria down for the count.

The second round began and Skyria moved forward. Slow graceful movements, bouncing side to side. She for a brief moment wondered if her opponent would slow things herself to not tire. That thought needed to be shoved aside however as the punches started to fly.

Skyria blocked the first combination, shock mitts humming with electricity. The next punches Sly attempted to dodge. The combo hit only air as Sky moved. The body punch managed a glancing blow. Not anything that would stop Sky’s movements. Just a little tickle.

Skyria noticed her opponent a bit over extended and decided to counter. A quick punch. Not a testing jab, something a bit stronger than that, but not a full rear back and explosion. The quick straight right was aimed at her opponent’s forehead. Sky’s feet kept moving even as she made her own attack.

 

[Seldan Rourke]

​

Seldan rose from the stool with a grunt. His body, a patchwork of aches and bruises, felt a decade older than he was. Sweat slicked his skin, blood dried at his mouth's corner, and as he rolled his shoulders, he felt the grind of age in every joint. He'd lived through campaigns, firefights, and sieges lasting months. This was a different kind of war, though, one where his body's limits screamed louder with every round.

For a flicker of a moment, he envied Ronhar. Cybernetics, even glitching, promised power on demand, reinforcement where flesh failed. Seldan's own bones creaked, his lungs burned, and the only upgrade he'd ever had was hard living. Still, he reminded himself: war taught him that heart carried you through when metal simply gave way.

The bell rang.

Seldan stepped forward with a soldier's resolve, meeting Ronhar at center ring. The man touched gloves; a gesture Seldan returned with a curt nod. There would be no room for respect once the blows began.

He cursed under his breath. His body was old, and he knew it. Another five years younger, and maybe this fight wouldn't feel like dragging himself through duracrete.

But there wasn't time to wallow. If he let Ronhar set the rhythm, if he gave those cybernetic arms space to recover their pace, he'd find himself eating canvas.

So Seldan pressed in, hard and fast. He bulldozed forward, gloves up, ignoring the ache and sting. His fists became piston-fire, snapping jabs and short hooks aimed squarely at Ronhar's torso, hammering the ribs, the plating, anywhere he could test for weakness. He wasn't trying to score points; he was trying to end the fight.

"Drop, damn you," Seldan muttered, driving another hook into Ronhar's side, sweat and blood dripping from his chin. He poured everything into the assault: old soldier's grit, trench-born stubbornness, and a fierce refusal to give in.

The fight wasn't pretty or clean, but it was everything he had. He needed this round to end.

Spoiler

Roll 1 - 10/20
Roll 2 - 20/20
Roll 3 - 13/20
Roll 4 - 4/20 Originally | Re-roll 8/20
Roll 5 - 5/20 Originally | Re-roll 18/20
Total - 69

Ronhar Tane​

 

[Tyrant 4]

Skyria noticed her opponent a bit over extended and decided to counter. A quick punch. Not a testing jab, something a bit stronger than that, but not a full rear back and explosion. The quick straight right was aimed at her opponent’s forehead. Sky’s feet kept moving even as she made her own attack.

Cypher's head rocked back as the punch connected with an electrifying whomp and she stumbled away, blinking stars as she sought to hunch up and protect herself, gloves out to block any follow-on strikes. She blinked, trying to clear her vision and regulate her breathing. No different than a high-g maneuver in the cockpit, right? She tried to tell herself as she grunted through the mouthguard, teeth clenching down hard.

Now it was Cypher's time to try to gain some distance, she backed up, gloves trying to block any retaliation, then planting her feet, drove forward with a twist of the hips in a counter-blow, whipping around a fist with a quick right cross aimed at her opponent's chin.

She couldn't lose, not here, not now with her whole squadron watching. Tyrants didn't lose. Not to nobody.

OOC: 9 rerolled to an 8.

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

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The attack came fast, and Adonis barely had time to counter. A flash of white seared his vision, followed by the jolt of electricity running up his spine. He wasn't sure how the fighters with more cybernetics handled it, he felt like he'd stuck a beskad into a lightsocket. Stumbling backward, he caught himself on the ropes.

He bounced back, ready to meet the next assault, when the bell rang. Thank the gods, time between rounds. Adonis retreated to his corner, medics already moving in. House Verd Incorporated had given him a small team through Aether Verd , and they wasted no time patching him up. Gauze, swabs, peroxide, the sting hit hard, the sharp smell filling his nose. Adonis hissed but focused on his breathing: in, hold, out. He reached through the Manda, steadying himself, dulling the shock in his arm and the ripples of pain that wouldn't leave him.

The break passed in a blur. He rinsed his mouth with water, spitting most of the blood into a bucket, swallowing the last few gulps for hydration. They pressed electrolytes into his hand, a mix made specifically for him. He wasn't sure it helped, but it tasted good, sweeter than anything he'd had on the battlefields of Onderon or Taris.

The Force flowed through him now. He wasn't a healer, but he could bury the pain long enough to keep fighting. With a nod to the medic, Adonis signaled he was ready. They returned the nod, confirming him fit to continue. The Mandalorian slipped in his mouthguard, stood, and set his stance.

He shuffled his feet, eyes on Ragos Terrek , and smiled despite himself. "Good fight, burc'ya." Friend. The bell rang again.

This time, he held back the overconfidence. He was still hurt, still riding out the pain. No reason to rush. He bounced left, used the momentum, and snapped a jab toward Ragos's core, opening the round with a flourish anyway. Old habbits.

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[Ronhar Tane]

Spoiler: Running Total

First Roll: 19
Second Roll: 18 (Rerolled)
Third Roll: 7
Fourth Roll: 10
Fifth Roll: 8 (Rerolled)
Sixth Roll: 16
Total: 78

WHAM! BAM! SMACK!

Ronhar endured hit after hit from Seldan Rourke as the latter continued to batter away at Ronhar, probably trying to destroy his cybernetic arms and force him into submission. To be fair, it should be practically impossible for him to do that with his face alone, as Ronhar's arms were designed to be as durable and sturdy as possible. Yet, between all the dents that had appeared and the various malfunctions that Ronhar had suffered, he was no longer quite as confident in the structural integrity of his limbs.

Ronhar circled around Seldan and attempted to throw a cross into the back of his skull. If there was one silver lining in all this, it was the fact that his legs had worked flawlessly, just as intended. At least they hadn't failed Ronhar...yet!

Still, it was looking increasingly less likely that Ronhar was going to survive this round, let alone win his match.

Ronhar suddenly launched forward, trying to close the distance between him and Seldan. Screw it! If he might not win, then he might as well get something out of this stupid tournament!

Ronhar clinched with Seldan, getting a momentary reprieve from the barrage of blows he had been receiving. He took the moment to whisper into Seldan's ears:

"Careful now, you're bound to break a hand if you keep hammering on my arms like that".

Obviously untrue, as both men were wearing heavy shockgloves, but Ronhar was desperate at this point, and was willing try anything to throw Seldan off his game. Still, that hadn't been the real reason he had clinched with Rourke.

As Ronhar broke away from his opponent, he could feel himself covered in organic material, whether that was sweat, blood or spit. Perfect! With some luck, that organic material from Seldan would stay on Ronhar until the end of the match, after which Ronhar could put his plan into motion.

Assuming, of course, he survived until the end of the round!

 

[Seldan Rourke]

​

Seldan's breath rasped as Ronhar locked up the clinch, steel arms crushing against his battered body. For a moment, it was almost a relief. No punches rained down, no wild glitches hammered his guard. Then, the words slipped into his ear, a smug, needling whisper even with the blood and sweat staining Ronhar's mouth.

"Careful now, you're bound to break a hand if you keep hammering on my arms like that."

Seldan's gut clenched. He knew it was a bluff, shockgloves weren't breaking anything short of bad luck. Still, the thought slid under his skin, sticky and unwelcome. The intimate press of the clinch, the taunting whisper, the stink of blood, it all pressed in, unwanted and unsettling. Panic licked at the back of his skull.

"Off me," he snarled.

The ref didn't move fast enough, so Seldan made his own space. He drove his forehead forward, smashing it into Ronhar's head. The impact cracked like a hammer on an anvil. Agony flared across his brow, skin splitting open in a hot, wet gash that poured blood down into his eye. The crowd howled at the sudden violence, but Seldan barely heard them past the ringing in his skull.

It worked, though. Ronhar loosened.

Seldan shoved him back, boots grinding against the electrified floor. His vision swam, half red with blood, half hazy with pain, but instinct carried him. He wasn't giving the machine time to reset, not now.

He went low.

He ignored the arms, knowing they were too unpredictable and obvious. Instead, he went for the legs. His fists snapped down in sharp, brutal arcs, piston strikes aimed at the hip joints. He hammered again and again, trying to jam the servos, overload the connections, anything to stop those legs from dancing him around the ring.

Every punch sent fresh fire up his own arms, his cut leaking more blood into his eye, but he pressed harder, teeth bared in a bloody snarl.

"Let's see you run now," he spat, driving another hook into the joint with every ounce of old soldier's spite he had left.

Spoiler

Roll 1 - 10/20
Roll 2 - 20/20
Roll 3 - 13/20
Roll 4 - 4/20 Originally | Re-roll 8/20
Roll 5 - 5/20 Originally | Re-roll 18/20
Roll 6 - 13/20
Total - 82

Ronhar Tane
​

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Kayla Ordo-Shan

Though she had planned- No, that won't work, she hadn't actually planned. Like many things in life, Scherezade just let her gut take the lead, and the jab she had tossed not only had not been really effective, buts she'd somehow let herself stay totally open for the hook that hit her from the side, hitting the Sithlin right in the jaw.

Scherezade had been taken by surprise. Her body threatened to fall backwards as she danced a few steps in the other direction, fighting momentarily to keep her balance but somehow failing, finding herself on her butt on the ground.

Some would be angry at that. Others would be hateful for it. Scherezade? Her glowing green eyes seemed to sparkle with excitement as she looked up at her opponent, a new type of respect etched on her features.

From the floor, she launched at Kayla Ordo-Shan , her gloved hands now aiming not for her face or even upper body, but straight for the knees, ready to tackle her down to the ground with her, hoping not to end up with a kick to the face.

 

[Ronhar Tane]

Spoiler: Running Total

First Roll: 19
Second Roll: 18 (Rerolled)
Third Roll: 7
Fourth Roll: 10
Fifth Roll: 8 (Rerolled)
Sixth Roll: 16
Seventh Roll: 12
Total: 90

Ronhar was so enthralled by the idea of his plan that he barely even noticed Seldan Rourke 's headbutt against him, though his body was certainly feeling its effects. Blood trickled down Ronhar's forehead, though whether it was Ronhar's or Seldan's at this point was hard to say,yet Ronhar continued to fight, giddy at the prospect of carrying out his nefarious scheme.

Of course, the only way such a scheme would work was if Ronhar was conscious at the end of the round. Should he get knocked out, he would lose the valuable time that he needed to get the samples analyzed, and that was something Ronhar was not willing to give up on. He continued to dodge and weave as he peppered Seldan with punches, taking great care not to have his cynbernetics go haywire again.

Another thought formed in Ronhar's head. What exactly was he doing? This was a Black Sun event, why was he playing it so safe, so by the holotape, so by the...rules? Ronhar was pretty sure that his opponent had just performed an illegal move on him, so why not return the favor? He was the one who started it, after all!

Ronhar spun around toward Seldan's backside, trying to angle himself just outside of Seldan's reach. Stepping his left foot forward, he suddenly pivoted his body to his right, leading with his right elbow.

An elbow that was now aimed squarely at the back of Seldan's head.

They wouldn't be able to prove he did it on purpose, naturally. To all onlookers and spectators, it might have looked as if Ronhar had lost his footing, or that he was spinning back around to get into a better Shockboxing position.

Surely Ronhar wouldn't try to smash his opponent in the back of his head with a highly illegal (and high dangerous) spinning elbow...right?

Wrong!

Ronhar sped up his rotation as he tried to inflict as much damage as possible onto his opponent, ignoring the stinging pain in his ribs and the odd sensations in his arms. Just a little longer...the ending bell was surely in sight!

 

[Ragos Terrek]

By the mercy of The Most High the round ended. There was a real good shot that had this chit gone thirty second longer he coulda put an end to it for good. His counter had landed, his opponents knees had gone jelly and slipped backwards having to catch hisself on the ropes. Ragos own legs had turned to fething duracrete, he'd meant to shuffle forward and dome dude but his chit just wouldn't move.

It was with great effort Ragos made it to his corner.

"Close round kid." Bean told him, dumping a bottle of water over Rag's head and wiping away the blood on his face and chest. Bean was Korun just like Ragos but man's was old enough to be his grandad. He was also Ragos business partner in his old gym on Coruscant. Bean was training warriors in that fething gym boy, but he ain't never trained Ragos, only for this fight and they were new to each other despite their friendly business relationship.

Two quick spritz of aerosolized bacta was pumped into each of his nostrils and Ragos shook his head like a dog with water in its ear, the Monty medicated smell making him slightly light headed, or chit, maybe that was the air now that he could fething breathe again. It wasn't the most powerful batch of bacta and his nose would need seen by an actual doctor after this but he could fething breathe again.

"Vor'e burc'ya." Ragos replied stretching to the limit his mando'a. Joran Del-Finn, his first ever true trainer had grown up a bucket head. Dagos, his little brother had cared more about learning what that meant than he had but still Ragos had picked a few phrases up here and there.

The two might be in a fight but they both warriors, Ragos would show his respect.

The man across from him was back to bouncing on the balls of his feet, the time between rounds enough for him to reclaim a good measure of energy.

Ragos didn't bounce. He'd always head led feet. It was Dag who had that slick footwork. Ragos won with head movement, good timing, precision, and fucking power.

His opponent planted his feet and opened with a low jab. Ragos made no attempt to move. He simply wrapped his arms in front of himself in a classic shell defense. The hope was that those electric gloves would slip through and hit anything vital just host his forearms. Would it hurt? Chit yeah it would but not enough to drop him and it would leave a perfect opening to counter with a straight right.

Right…

NOW!

Adonis Angelis IV

 

[Skyria Kyrtan]

Objective: WIN!!
Location: Tapani Arts and Sports Complex, Vyncinyth
Outfit: Fighting Unitard
Tags: Tyrant 4

"Back in the swing of things," Skyria muttered to herself as her punch connected and dazed her opponents. She didn't get cocky however. She continued to bounce side to side, dancing in a manner that was prepared for the counter attack that would come from Tyrant 4. Her strategy should not change at the first sign of success. The opponent was anxious to attack. The goal was to wait her out.

The Pantoran opponent backed after being stung by Sky's punch. The blonde fighter continued to stay in motion. She was bouncing left and right. Her long braids swayed back and forth. Her hands were not motionless. Though she tried nothing big, she would throw out a jab at odd times. Nothing that could be timed for a counter attack when she was loosing a punch, but also nothing that would cause much damage if she connected. In fact most were aimed at Tyrant's defense.

As a jab connected with Tyrant's raised glove, the Pantoran countered with a punch of her own. Skyria made an attempt to dodge to her right. As she did so she loaded up her dominant right hand for a hook to the body.

 

[Seldan Rourke]

​

The elbow landed flush. A white-hot bolt of pain exploded in the back of Seldan's skull, his vision stuttering into static like a glitched holofeed. His legs buckled, and for a split second he felt the whole ring tilt beneath him. He staggered forward, gloves instinctively coming up to cover his face, even as the world around him became nothing but smeared light and muffled roars from the crowd.

"Son of a..." His thoughts cut off in a haze as Ronhar pressed the attack. The cyborg came on with relentless persistence, fists and steel limbs hammering like a factory line gone berserk. Each blow rattled Seldan's guard, sparks of pain bursting with every impact. He shuffled back, boots dragging across the electrified floor, blood still leaking into his eye from an earlier gash, now mixing with the throbbing concussion pounding in his skull.

He wanted to snarl at the ref, to bark about the illegal strike, but what was the point? This wasn't the Republic; this wasn't clean sport. This was Black Sun's playground, and they weren't about to favor a Republic soldier for a rulebook technicality. So he kept his mouth shut and survived.

Every part of him screamed to fire back, to swing wild and reckless, but discipline held. It was the one thing hammered into him after years of brutal training and back-alley scraps. He tightened his guard, elbows tucked, chin down, weathering the storm. His body shifted just enough to soften each blow, rolling with the hits, conserving what little energy he had left.

He could hear his pulse thundering in his ears. He just needed time. If he let Ronhar burn himself out, those servos would start to drag, those legs wouldn't spin as fast, those arms wouldn't piston like before. The bell had to be close.

Behind the blood and the ringing in his head, Seldan's eyes stayed locked forward through the gaps in his guard, a predator's patience hidden beneath the battered mask. The next round would be his chance, if he could last that long.

Spoiler

Roll 1 - 10/20
Roll 2 - 20/20
Roll 3 - 13/20
Roll 4 - 4/20 Originally | Re-roll 8/20
Roll 5 - 5/20 Originally | Re-roll 18/20
Roll 6 - 13/20
Roll 7 - 4/20 Originally | Re-roll 20/20
Total - 102

Ronhar Tane
​

 

[Ronhar Tane]

Spoiler: Running Total

First Roll: 19
Second Roll: 18 (Rerolled)
Third Roll: 7
Fourth Roll: 10
Fifth Roll: 8 (Rerolled)
Sixth Roll: 16
Seventh Roll: 12
Eight Roll: 13
Grand Total: 103

Ronhar had Seldan Rourke on the ropes!

He knew it, and Seldan knew it. The elbow had seriously disoriented his opponent, and now it was time to go in for the finishing blow. All Seldan could do was weather the storm of blows Ronhar was throwing at him as he pounded away, sparks of electricity crackling from Ronhar's gloves. All he needed now was an opening, just one clean shot to end this match one and for all!

Ronhar scanned his opponent for vulnerabilities, looking for just the right time to land his killer hit. There had to be an opening somewhere, Ronhar just knew it,

There! For the briefest of moment's, Seldan's guard dropped just enough for Ronhar to deliver a cross right to his jaw. A surefire knockout punch!

Not wanting to waste the opportunity, Ronhar pivoted on his right hip, his punch extending right toward Seldan's face. It moved closer and closer to Seldan's jaw, mere inches away from impact!

That was when everything went horribly wrong.

Just a few seconds from impact, Ronhar's cross suddenly went skyward, completing missing its intended target.

"No way", Ronhar said audibly as he tried to punch again. "No no no no no, not now, please not not!", Ronhar begged as his next successive punches went completely off target.

He could beg all he liked, but it wasn't going to change the outcome, because for a second time during this fight, Ronhar's cybernetics started going haywire again. Try as he might, he couldn't so much as get another punch within the vicinity of Seldan, to say nothing of effectively fighting him.

Ronhar had no choice. He had to back away as he again attempted to get his cybernetic arms under control. Luckily, he was able to do so far more quickly than last time, and soon had regained full control over his wayward limbs.

Still, the damage had been done. Ronhar had missed his chance, and judging by the looks of the Black Sun officials, they weren't going to score the match his way.

At least he had managed to remain conscious throughout the end of the match. At the very least, he would at least be able to enact Plan B. Still, short of some sort of miracle, this match was Seldan Rourke 's to lose...

 

[Corr]

He failed to get close, with each attempt being beaten back. This things reach was too long, his fists too large, and his hits too strong. Far beyond the likes of something Corr had experienced in the past, even if just in sheer size alone. He spat out a glob of blood on the ring and wiped at his mouth with his forearm. Pouting, he punched his knuckles together.

A step left then right, the Force imbued each movement to make him faster than before. He went to punch at Isur's knee, hoping to bring him down to his level.

Isur

Sorry, dude, I missed the ping on this one somehow.