CT Quarter Finals: Otenta Vs Kurushimi

There was a red sky, covered with a black moon - it's blood pink light shining down on the coal floor that stretched out as far as the eye could see. Only a few black spires lifted from the ground that resembled trees, but it was trickery - a facade. Otenta stood in the center of this place - his Golden eyes forward - slowly turning into a maroon color. Gaping holes rifted in the ground around him, leading in a pit of pure darkness that seemed to want to reach up towards him and drag him down.

What was odd enough is that everything was quiet, tranquil, and silence. He couldn't even hear the thump of his heart as he stood there, sluggish in every movement he made. His eyes eyes finally peered down, and there he saw the glowing eyes of collective hundreds of faces. Something spark a light of fear in him and they jerked closer, their breathing now sounding within this noiseless world.

Otenta began to panic - for they were getting closer. Lighting began flashing in the sky - every light blinding him for only a moment to reveal that these eyes had grown even closer. They were almost out of the hole, they were about to reach out and grab him - but before they did.

He jerked away with a start and a heavy breath.

"Otenta! Wake up! Can you-"

"Yes, Atena, yes!" Otenta said, running his fingers through his black hair, his face contorted into a look of mild pain, "How long have I been out?" 

Grimoire Atena hovered over him and stayed quiet for a moment before answering, "About six hours."

"Six." He said casually as he rubbed his head, "I'm probably late for my next appointment." 

"If we rush, we'll be there in about fifteen minutes." There was a pause, a ponder that went through Atena's mind, "Are you alright, Otenta?"

"Yeah." He said as he pulled himself to his feet, grabbing Atena and placing her in his back satchel, "I'm fine."

He wasn't, but he had dealt with worse, much worse, than Nightmares. He prepared his staff, letting it unfold into the full length - the red blades that pulsed with magical power slowly extending to full size before he started his way on to the next tournament arena. If the coordinates were accurate - this fight wouldn't like his last one with him meeting, speaking with, and parting ways with his last opponent. 

---

Otenta soon arrived at the meeting place - inside of the Arena. His eyes were low, the gold of them shimmering in the hanging lights far up above, the gleaming sun making him sweat a little. He entered in sluggishly, using his staff/spear as a walking stick until he stopped in front of some pillars on the opposite side of his opponent - who did the exact same thing - the gates slamming shut with a loud crack.

Otenta, the only breed of demon of his kind to be created to date, wasn't all that muscular - but he was still superhumanly strong. He preferred magic and not having to work up a sweat to get his bounties - or wins I should say. He had black hair that was grown to chin length and liquid golden eyes that seemed more lazy and relaxed - or demonic - than focused. Dressed in his own style of jeans, a grey shirt, and his faux fur black coat - he didn't seem like anything more than a punk.

It was the exuding demonic power that came from his grimoire that made him feel threatening - as well as the soft resonating noise that hummed from the blades of his magi-spear. Otenta waved his hand at his opponent, a devilish grin starting break out at the corner of his lips.

"Good luck, buddy. Don't sprain anything."

As the man quickly entered into a combative positioned - the lumped over and exhausted stance quickly changed. Knees bent, his golden eyes almost glowing with focus - he spun his staff in his hand and leveled it at the man, the red pronged blades at the end began to glow with a deep tinged red color - looking as if he were charging up for a spell - the scent of burned cider filling the air as he did.

He didn't really care about the entertainment of the people in the stadium - more so he cared about the enjoyment of the battle itself. He and his opponent were all that mattered - although he wouldn't hesitate to raze everyone preparing to throw their food down at them if he felt the need.

"May you fight well - my friend - and may your hand be as steady as steel." Otenta particularly wasn't the friendliest of individuals, but the aura of the man before him seemed well enough - no reason not to show some gauge of respect.

Though, as he released his first attack, Otenta took only a single step back, whispering words that seemed more like a hiss. They echoed in another language, one that was filled with dark energy - to which his free hand was placed over the Grimoire that hovered closer to his left side. The book had flown from his satchel and opened on it's own - the pages turning almost everlastingly until Otenta stopped them with his fingers.

That brief sentence he had spoken and invocation of a spell - a rather weak one - but one enough to be manifested from the air in front of him and bolted at his opponent in a ray of blue electricity. The spell wasn't built to kill, more so to stun, but Otenta's aim was to rip through the oncoming attack through disruption and if any power of the bolt remained - his hope was that it would stun the target. If not, that was well and fine.

It was at that time that the announcer chimed in, "And the second strike has been made! Seems like things are getting off to a heated start. About time I say!"