no one sneaks up on victor. not no kid. not anyone. something's off about this. his surprise is genuine when he feels the blade pressed against his backside. there's no way for him to know what stands behind him is not a child but a spectre. so, his attention is settled, tempered on one thing - how to survive.

"damn. you got me." his voice is plain, calm, impossibly so for someone teetering on the edge of another man's blade. "rhyhorn, retreat." everything goes according to plan. the rhyhorn stops its rampage, coming out of the demolished entrance with a tame trot. the leisure of a few seconds is all that victor needs. gawain's mistake was warning him rather than running him through.

there's a point where victor feels confident, when he realizes that if he runs forward then so will gawain if he wants a swift, clean kill. initiative is in his court and no one's reaction is instant. a sudden sprint brings him out of the blade's range. the same cannot be said for gawain. "STONE EDGE." victor is soon replaced with an assault of small, jagged stones.

Gawain Ryder

well, that took a sudden turn. gawain's choice of diction is a dead giveaway that something's not right. victor allows the thought to settle in the back of his mind. other priorities await.

deafening vibration render victor's orders obsolete. both trainer and pokemon alike are subjected to the screeching sound. victor clasps his ears in pain but shitter isn't so lucky. the rhyhorn can only take the attack, feeling the assault on his ear drums cause a systematic unbalance to his movements. it leaves the pokemon momentarily defenseless but that doesn't last for long. a moment of pain is met with rhyhorn's only option - retaliation.

it's not nearly as loud, but the grumble of the earth starts to sprout from rhyhorn's origin. pieces of the broken pokemart start to fall apart and vicious shock waves extend, sending a pang of force to anyone caught in it. only victor seems immune to the EARTHQUAKE, holding onto his rhyhorn's dorsal fin for balance.

Gawain Ryder

running behind him would prove impossible. victor's too focused on their position. it had been a miracle that anyone had snuck up on him before. now that he's on red alert, that wouldn't happen again. the TELEKINESIS is another story. without any obvious sign, victor couldn't know better. it had only been luck, found in the constant ebb and flow of battle, that allowed him to avoid the attack head on. a moving target is much harder to hit but a score of the pokemart's walls remnants found themselves digging into his backside.

it hurts. enough to make him wince. enough to make him clasps onto the soon to be bruise. but that's no where near enough to knock him out of comission. victor's been beaten black and blue enough to ENDURE simple blunt damage. but the technique is commendable. unfortunately, victor's no stranger to brawls. one that ended when the other was defeated thoroughly. reserving the fight to pokemon was something society did to keep tidy. prison didn't afford such luxuries.

as gawain moved, so would victor and shitter, keeping their distance, keeping their tempo. this isn't the first time they've encountered a sword pokemon. ava's doublade comes to mind. their experience with the pokemon leaves shitter ready, waiting, expecting the frontal assault. the various swipes of FURY CUTTER are countered with a full on TACKLE. nick and cuts may sting but shitter is more than happy to take them blow for blow if that means bodying the opponent with a devestating BULLDOZE. the sheer impact of rhyhorn's charge is enough to flatten the ground, threatening to steamroll through anything in its way.

Gawain Ryder

"why don't you ask him yourself?"

foolish. a straight forward attack is too obvious a read. victor sees it, shitter anticipates it. did they expect something else? if they did, they're sadly mistaken. sure, the attack is directed at the trainer but the pokemon is there to intercept it. they rhyhorn easily stands between them, ready to BULLDOZE the approaching honedge into oblivion.

the repeated attempts on victor forces his hand. while his rhyhorn takes care of the honedge, he'll take care of the trainer. in a wild sprint, victor springs forward, lunging at logan with a well aimed drop kick toward his abdomen. maybe that'll knock some sense into him.

Gawain Ryder

it's not good to be hopeful. not in battle. not when someone else decides your fate. hoisting himself into the air isn't a bad move but it's not a perfect move. just because he's a few feet off the ground doesn't mean that rhyhorn has no response. a swing of its horn allows shitter to uppercut the enemy. its tough exterior is just as dangerous as gawain's sowrd, sharp as a STONE EDGE.

victor strikes the sheath. the impact of the blow is the strength of his kick multiplied by the momentum of his charge. whether that meant it blew the opponent back or disarmed him didn't matter. what did was to keep moving. an interrupted dynamic entry brings him to a roll, pivoting around the medium as stones whiz past him. avoiding them was unintentional but puts victor at a good angle to TACKLE the child, aiming to mount the smaller body.

Gawain Ryder

rhyhorn may have been stumped by the message but that was because it was rhyhorn - dumb as shit. victor was something else. sure, he had picked up that something wasn't right, that there was something more to this kid. but he didn't care. all that mattered was beating some sense into the asshole who had just spent a good deal of time trying to hurt him. didn't matter if he was a kid. justice knows no bounds.

since the tackle had landed, victor's priority lied in mounting the fallen foe. from above, victor could brute force his way to victory. "you talk too damn much, kid." it's about time to grit those teeth because victor starts to beat down on him with a vile viciousness. clenched fists come down with a sizable anger. it's about time for him to teach the poor boy that chivalry is dead.

after all, to spare the rod is to spoil the child.

Gawain Ryder