Cage Match (Selah and Angel)

OoC: Okay, we know the object of this thread. To pwn Chronos! Let's have us some fun...

BiC:

The hulking giant breathed, drawing breath in the stank and filth that surrounded him. He had had it up to here, waiting and waiting for the challenge he had been hired to face. It didn't matter to him who it was, nothing ever did. As long as he had the money he needed to finance his research, he asked very few questions about bounty jobs. And this one was particularly pricey, so he hadn't passed up the offer when it was presented to him.

He truly was a giant, standing at over six feet. His shadow cast a shadow that blackened a large portion of the mat around him. In the crowds, the behemoth heard cheering of some sort going on, in a language he didn't understand. There were a few signs, most of them displaying various ways a person was able to be defeated in the strange combat he had been asked to take part in. Some said his name, written in strange symbols. Others said different things, but he had long lost interest in whatever it was.

Wrestling, they called it. Or a form of it, at least. When the other combatants emerged from wherever they were, bars would encompass the arena, and the last left standing would win the money. It was very straightforward, and the giant liked it. He could smash them, then leave. He flexed his gloved right arm, the muscles that rode through the black surface of his clothing bulged. On the other side of his body, he flexed his elbow, pressing against the pinned-up sleeve of his shirt. The dark greatcoat he was wearing hung loosely around his hulking frame, the left arm fluttering, empty.

And his masked faced forwards, awaiting the fighters that were supposed to battle him. His copper hair stuck up, changing color as he moved to dull iron. His belt held up his pants, the dark emerald eye that clasped it pointing straight. On his back, in the huge strap, was a massive, metal staff, laced over with lines of deep, soft purple.

Chronos was waiting.

OoC: Short post. So sue me, as Safer would say. I wanna fight! The mat is pretty big, making for a decently sized fight.

OoC: I am bluntly reminded of Super Smash Brothers. This ought to be quite interesting. And please, forgive me… I glean my perceptions, regarding the initial process of getting into the ring, from television and the big screen. >> It's a sorry array to work from.

BiC: "… You."

He might have been of wax, a figure fled from the raw molds, eluding the finishing touches of his heavenly master, who would endow him with skin, bones: all those qualities that separated man from clay. As it was, the man standing before her had not been outfitted with the necessities of physical humanity. Amaranth, vague though her perceptions were this humid evening, still paused to wonder how the receptionist's expression managed to cling to the bones of his face. It was a malleable face, one that melted from smile to grimace like a work of ooze; he had been smiling when she'd made her appearance in the muggy hall, and had spat disdain by the time she'd concluded her salutation. It was a straightforward greeting, without the flourishes, the roses, the simpers, the blushes.

"Amaranthine at yer service. Here faer the wrestling match; is that the door ye go in?"

"You?" the receptionist gasped, as she rubbed her staff between her fingers.

"Yes, me. Ye did get my message? I said I'd be accepting yaer invitation, and here I am."

"But it's—"

"Two against one, quite right. Good man—ye'll be lettin' me through now?"

The broad, waxen face before her melted again. It became a stamp of disbelief, fixed in place by crumbled eyebrows, a bundled nose, and straining lips.

"Ye were expectin' someone else, then?" Amaranthine asked coolly.

It became obvious that the desired answer was "yes"—this answer, however, was hindered by the charity of falsehood.

"It's me an' another, no?" Amaranth asked.

"… You?" said the receptionist, his features slipping. Muscles caught them instantaneously; "you" was apparently the happy medium between truth and lies.

"I was under the impression…" Amaranth began.

What the receptionist surmised regarding the subject oh her interrupted dialogue, the sidhe could not say. Her attention had been caught, quite suddenly, by the play of shadows just beyond herself and her auditor. A door, which she had marked upon her arrival, lay ajar; through it, a thunder of voices could be heard. The dank wall seemed to shudder, quivered with the disordered motion of the multitude, and at the nebulous crowd's vibrant centre, shafts of filmy light thronged upon a square patch.

Something giant stood distinctly contoured where the light laid its ivory canvas.

"Is that one of them, then?" Amaranth murmured. The receptionist uttered something shrill and indistinct; Amaranth, however, was beyond caring: her interest had been snared. She stepped nimbly onto the desk that inhabited that shallow space between herself and the receptionist; dimly, she was aware of his protestations.

"You can't—wait a moment—"

It took Amaranthine half a moment to traverse the desktop and slip through the door. It took her paltry antagonist an even narrower span of time to realise that to stop this… creature (he could not bring himself to call her a girl, for there was something inhuman about her… he shuddered.) would be quite impossible. He moved from the vicinity of her passage, suffering her to pass, his face a twisted mask of anguish, and contented himself to wonder how in the world she had gotten a hold of a summons.

"Do you even know how to wrestle?" he called, suddenly.

Amaranth was now some feet beyond the door. She glanced over her shoulder, her smile broad, and replied, "I should hope I did! I'd be a livin' shame tae me faery brethern if I didn't."

Horror, in its shallowest sense, struck the receptionist dumb.

This evening's match would be interesting.

---

Amaranthine slid, a minute or so later, into the ring. It had been an arduous journey, carving her path through the overrun aisles, and she had detected several vague, drifting hints of iron in the air. Her jaw tightened noticeably.

"Iron be damned…" she muttered.

She found the massive block that was the ring and swung herself beneath the cables. No one had questioned her on the point of her staff, and she drew it in after her, lying it just beyond the reach of inquisitive, pilfering fingers that might emerge from the rabble. This done, she straightened.

"A good evenin' tae ye, sir!" she began, turning cheerfully to the massive figure across from her.

There was a moment's delay between her salutation and the man's reaction. At length, his head turned leisurely in her direction—there was yet another pause. Amaranth had the curious feeling she was being scrutinized.

"We're tae be fightin' against one another then?" she asked.

"I suppose so," he returned. His baritone was of an imperturbable hue, and it commanded her attention.

"Ye wouldna happen tae be my ally in this enterprise, would you?"

"I came here with the intention of fighting alone."

"Ah!" Her grin was ample, vivacious. "Well then. I doan suppose ye'll be goin' down easily, eh?"

"I suppose you're unrightfully entertained by all of this?" the man retorted phlegmatically.

"Unfortunate, but yes, I am." She paused. "Very entertained." The grin broke afresh across her visage, and she took a step toward him. "By the by, what's yaer name? I'm Amaranth."

There was an interval of silence.

"Chronos," he said at length.

And that was all.

OoC: Yes, long post. >> Apologies for grammatical errors.

Only a few minutes away from reaching the arena, two men paced through the maze of darkened tunnels. Silence reigned between them, and only the sound of running water from nearby pipes broke through it. The first man, his skin a dark coffee brown, was sweating, the slick substance giving his face an unnatural sheen. With his right hand, he was counting off how many openings they passed, while his left hung at an odd angle. The second man, his skin pale, watched in amusement as his guide led him closer to his goal. Standing at seven feet tall, he had to stoop slight as to not knock his head on the ceiling.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way? I’d really hate to get lost,” the second man spoke. His words, though supposed to be spoken malice, sounded lifeless. But they still had the desired effect. Letting out an unintentional squeak of fear, the first man quickened his pace. He knew that if he wanted to keep his other arm from being snapped like a twig, he would have to be quick about ending the journey.

“Just make sure you win this fight, okay? I’ve already betted on you, and-” the first man started, but the words were cut from his mouth as a cold hand grasped him back his neck. Lifting the smaller being into the air, Rogue hurled him with tremendous force into the wall. Things cracked, and it wasn’t the pipes. Cringing in pain, the dark skinned man cradled his broken arm, a piece of bone jutting upwards out of it. Trying to crawl backwards as Rogue advanced, he whimpered in fright as the taller man brought his emotionless face to his.

“Talk like that again, and I’ll be forced to snap your spine and carry on without you. You shut-up and guide me, and you’ll get your due payment.”

Picking up his guide with one hand, the robot set him on his feet and pushed him forward, almost knocking him over.

~

“There, we have arrived.”

Standing on a slightly raised platform, the pair looked at the sight before them. An arena that spanned over 40 meters in each direction took up the space in front of them. The sound of people jeering filled the air, enough to deafen most. And taking up residence in the middle of the arena, presumably where the mechanical being was to do the actual fighting, was the ring. Already, two figures were standing on it, waiting for the third fighter that was him.

“Now, about the issue of my payment,” the guide grumbled, turning his head to face the robot. But instead of being greeted with the pale skin face, there was nothing. Rogue had disappeared.

It had taken him less than a second to delay the guide’s eye nerves with the help of the L.I probes. Having been in the tunnel for so long with the machine, he was crawling with them. Walking to the ring without the slight deterrence, Rogue grabbed hold of the ring and hoisted himself up. To all that watched, it seemed that a pale, scantily clad man had entered the ring.

Chronos took in the two challengers with little interest, weighing them against each other. One, which bore a passing resemblance to a human-based life form, clutched a long staff in her hands, one longer than his own Arm Striker. He took notes of the green burns on her neck, strange markings he had never seen before. He disregarded her for the second creature, who was taller than the dark knight, wearing much more radical clothing. Chronos noted the strange skin he had, almost as though the man was grafted with it, rather than it having grown naturally.

"You're my opponent." The man made the statement as fact, rather than question. Chronos casually leaned on the edge of the ring, too wrapped in his own thoughts to pay him any attention. The Arm Striker was now in his hand, its surface caressed by his dark glove. The dregs around him were cheering for the match to begin, but the dark knight was only thinking of what he was going to do with the prize money, he could see it being turned into chemicals for his research. So much so, that it took a large shout from the large man to attract his attention.

Chronos turned his head to face the stranger, who was standing opposite Amaranth. "I suppose so," he whispered, in a dull growl that established that he did not wish to speak. He returned to staring at the floor from within his mask, waiting for the starting bell to issue, so that he could end this rapidly and quickly. Or so he believed.

Amaranth did not try to engage him further in conversation, given that he clearly did not wish to chat further. Instead, she looked him over, studying his dark clad body, tracing the linings of his muscles inside the shirt and leggings. She also saw the stump his left arm was, and widened her eyes. She wondered how he had lost it. The stranger, who was known as Rogue, continued to check over his opponent.

Chronos did neither. He had already made up his mind about both. He would leave both alive, but neither intact. The soulless warrior waited, rubbing his hand up and down the staff's surface, tracing the purple lines. He couldn't feel it, but he knew it was there. The Arm Striker was a part of him, more so than any weapon he could wield. Chronos' ears perked up, moving inside his mask, when the announcer came on the loud speaker, his deep voice over the crowds.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" he roared, the crowd surging in response. "WELCOME TO WRESTLEMANIA! OUR CHALLENGERS- AMARANTH THE BEAUTY AND BLACK ROGUE! WILL THEY BE ABLE TO OVERCOME THE MENACE, THE HORROR, CHRONOS THE DARK EYE?! FIND OUT!"

Chronos looked to his opponents in mild confusion. "I didn't come up with that name," he muttered, cracking the knuckles of his right hand. "Let's do this, gentleman, lady." The Dark Eye looked up, watching the bars of the cage close in on them, the roars of the crowd growing louder. With a secure clang, they fastened themselves in, sealing off all chance of escape.

The Dark Eye stood up to full height, then looked to his two challengers. "Ladies first," he said with a deep growl to Amaranth. "Take your shot at the 'Dark Eye'."

Amaranth chuckled. She thought it was a stupid name too.

It came without reflection, that nuanced realization that she, Amaranth, had taken up a vast challenge - only fools underestimated such strapping appearances as the one Chronos presented, dismissing brawn with a cavalier snort and calling it the opposite and unhappy cousin of intelligence. There was both strength and intelligence in the straight spine and calm, shrouded sensation of a glance that towered before her - an competence, she immediately sensed, far sharper than the animal wits of the realm of Faery, from whence her own faculties had been derived. Chronos's capacity might be likened to the brilliance of a creator, she thought dryly, one before which both man and beast stretched themselves in awe. She wondered briefly what had driven her to challenge this man, of whose nature her own proud Folk would give obeisance - but she had no time to dwell on such matters. She had plunged headfirst and willingly into this fight, and would spare no time soliloquizing herself from it again.

"Ladies first, then, eh?" She knelt, eyes still fixed upon her massive opponent, and picked her staff up from the ground. "Cheers, then."

She clasped the staff, tipping it backward and forward against her raised palm, then glanced sideways at her ally, he whom the announcer had labled Black Rogue. He too towered over her—ironic, no? she thought—and in fact seemed taller than the Dark Eye himself. (But really, it was bad taste to make fun of someone’s artistic license. The announcer had no doubt tried his best, eh?) She couldn’t make out a great deal in regards to her ally, and only hoped he would be kind enough to aid her if things were to turn out badly for her. It disturbed Amaranth to think her own ally might not be benevolent toward her cause, but having commited herself, she decided it was useless to moan.

Shaking her head, Amaranth turned resolutely back to Chronos. She smiled.

Evaluation finished, it was now high time to act.

She stepped forward, shifting her weight with caution only because the circumstances and their raised, accompanying expectations demanded that she do so. Impulse urged her to spring forward, whether she was equipped with a plan or not, but it would be awkward, reason disputed, to be beaten down while bounding mindlessly through the air. And besides, Amaranth’s evaluations consisted of no experience, and experience only came with experimentation, which would be fruitless if she were pulverized seconds into the match. “Slow and steady”, beastial little virtures though they were, had the tendency to win certain races, and while the phrase, in this context, was vastly skewed, it could always be applied with the hope of working. Slowly, steadily, Amaranth removed a hand from her staff, lowering both to her right side as she fell into stance (nothing official, unfortunately). Her fingers flexed about the length of hawthorn, gripped—she heard the hum of her own potential energy, buzzing in her tightening limbs—her eyes were fixed upon the face of Chronos, and the smile came again…

A lash!

The staff whipped outward from her body, carrying her springing figure in its wake; the attack came without surprise, and Chronos arrested it with equal speed. His intact arm met the staff and batted it aside, in such a way that the staff continued upon its path with added velocity. There was a thud of impact, and Amaranth tumbled past him, dropping her staff and executing a clumsy somersault in a more clumsy attempt to keep herself upright. The attempt only half worked; she landed in a deep squat and felt the ground pulling at the soles of her sliding feet. She tried to stand before the skid was finished and only managed to topple back, still facing Chronos—she flung her arms wide and tripped back a pace. The cage wall caught her, and there was a roll of laughter from the crowd.

Chronos was thankfully not smiling, as she pushed herself up with a grin (it is best to laugh at oneself, you see). The manner of the Black Rogue, however, had changed—he seemed vaguely amused, if squint-eyed perception could in truth be trusted. Amaranth was trembling, for the fall had not been kind, but she picked up her staff and stepped forward from the wall.

“A first,” she called. Chronos did not acknowledge her utterance.

It was mad, of course—but having been thus engaged, Amaranth found herself quite animated for more such action. Even the prospect of being knocked about could not quell this strange and sudden excitement. She attacked again, handling her staff as one would handle a foil; Chronos’s arm came up to block it again, but she swung under the offending limb and lunged forward. The staff might have made contact had Chronos not anticipated it, and before he had even completed his futile block, Chronos had reversed direction and caught the staff aimed at his chest.

Oh dear… Amaranth thought, as Chronos yanked his arm, and the hand holding her staff, back. It was inevitable that she would follow the staff, for her hands felt glued to the wood. Oh dear, oh dear, oh gods. And now both feet were off the ground, and she level with Chronos’s head. Oh gods… And now she was flying past him, the scene a blur and confusion…

Amaranth, helpless to salvage either herself or her dignity, crashed into the cage wall still clutching her staff. Chronos, then, had let it go. She plummeted to the floor, landed on her face, and lay for a moment, stunned.

Heavens.

That hurt.

It was all about timing and odds. You needed both on your side if you were going to succeed at anything in life. And from the way that his teammate crashes into the cage wall, he doubted that the faery had either. It seemed that he might have to intervene if he wished to win the fight. Might.

If she could only last a few more minutes, then the L.I probes would kick in. From then on, the fight would have been heavily one sided. Rogue disliked unneeded combat in most forms, fighting only to protect himself or something else he deemed useful to his own cause. But then, things would rarely work out the way he ever planned them to.

“Opponent.” The word was immediately followed by the automated movement of Rogue’s arm compacting, the barrel that was his hand pointed at Chronos’ form. After a brief pause given to let the Dark Eye turn around, the mechanical man let off a single shot. To everyone who looked, it appeared that Rogue had just shot something out of his gloved human hand. The bullet embedded itself in the floor next to Chronos’ feet, dangerously close to his left foot.

“She is not the only one in this fight,” Rogue stated, and lowered his arm. Though he did tower over his opponent, he did not show any emotion in response to his intimidation tactics or superior size. Usually, the person would have at least backed away.

Hypothesis would suggest this human isn’t 100% normal like the rest.

It didn’t matter. Humans, one way or the other, were all the same. He would fall like so many beings before him. As a smile crossed his projection of a human mouth, Rogue returned his arm to normal, and removed his Magnetizer Blade from its resting place on his leg.

Ooc: I was strained for time, but here’s my post.

Chronos took note of the weapon in Rogue's arm, noticing the blue glowing blade that emerged from the metal weapon. The ebon fighter lifted his own arm, as the blade came down, blocking the blade with his elbow. The machine, undaunted, came at him again, forcing the metalhead to use his good arm to bat away the weapon. In the meantime, Amaranth had gotten up again, and both were tag-teaming him, though with no fixed pattern, so it was easier to fight them.

Chronos ducked, just as the blade came down again, and delivered a kick that knocked the wind out of the woman behind him. Without missing a beat, Chronos grabbed her, ignoring her various attempts at escaping, her attacks and so forth, and threw her towards Black Rogue, slamming both into the bars surrounding the caged arena. Amaranth fell, flattened by the immense weight of the android that followed her decent to the ground. Chronos walked forward, and grabbed Rogue, lifting him off the woman with as much effort as he would to pick up a log. "Fight me," he commanded, growling softly within the confines of his cowl. With another toss, Rogue found himself bashed against the cage walls, released by Chronos, and fell to the ground in a kneeling position. Just as Rogue got up, Chronos kicked him in the face, the Dark Eye's boot sending him flipping onto his back.

Chronos almost, but not quite, grinned, turning his attention back to Amaranth, who had gotten back up again. The Dark Eye unsheathed the Arm Striker from his back, removing it from its latch, and lowered it in front of him, its body parallel to the ground. His good arm’s hand clenched around its surface.

OoC: Sorry for the short post, but I've been on overtime lately.

OoC: I suppose it’s time I posted. It’s been exactly fifteen days…

BiC: It was very discomfiting to rise and find oneself confronted by a six foot or so giant, wielding a six foot or so staff. The staff in question was the colour of sun-baked granite, interwoven with magenta lines, its heft apparent even without a bulbous head. Chronos was turned toward her without any evidence of malice. Rather, his expression seemed a kind of grimly humoured, Well then? Try me.

Amaranth had only just managed to stagger upright, hands grasping, massaging the chasm of pain tearing through her ribs. Her breath was coming hard from the wounded confines of her burning lungs—gods, the Dark Eye kicked hard. But he had not given her any reason to think contact with his great feet would be anything milder than the taste she had been given. Only misty-eyed Hope dared whisper anything contrary, risked placing soft faith in the clemency of her antagonist. Half-crushed by kicks and the bulk of her so-called ally (anguish was never merciful, even if the cause of grievance had been executed without meditated intent), Amaranth, with a injured, irritated growl, renounced the faiths of Hope. It was best to understand, and understand immediately, that she was in hell, that there would be no mercy, that Hope was rubbish within the cage of the ring. She glanced sideways, wondering vaguely where her staff had gotten off to, but instantly returned her attention to the Dark Eye—the hint of grim humour had intensified…

She was vulnerable. She removed her hands with a grimace of pain from her ribs, made a quick, sideways movement that did not deceive Chronos. He didn’t attack, but effectively mangled all hope of escape with his presence. There was something very terrible in those apertures between him and the ring boundary, as though they called to Amaranth (“Come, escape by us!”), but where in truth the very soul of tempters—in their paths lay only death. She glanced wildly past the giant, toward the Black Rogue, clambering from the ground. Perhaps, if she were to provide some diversion, give Rogue some time… perhaps Chronos were not as impervious to deception as he seemed…

Glamour, she thought (oh goodness, she had never been more conscious of her thoughts than now!) I’ll attempt Glamour. She wondered what she might conjure—something that would call away his attention, though she doubted he would be frightened by anything she had ever seen. She combed through her memory. A rabid dog—yes, that might do nicely. The necessity of the situation was discombobulating—she had found her object, but fumbled with the spells that would release it.

I wouldn’t try that, if I were you, a dry, acerbic voice murmured suddenly .

Huh?

I said I wouldn’t try that.

You’re talking to me? Amaranth exclaimed. Faery though she was, it seemed little incentive to get her own people to talk to her - it was thus always a surprise when they did.

No, I’m talking to the man behind the eyeless giant. Yes you, chit. I wouldn’t try Glamour.

“Inspiration, then?” There was something of an escalating horror rising within her that prompted Amaranth to speak aloud.

No. Don’t try magic at all. Don’t.

But what am I without it?

My, you are profound… The voice slipped lazily into obscurity.

Amaranth gritted her teeth. The faeries so rarely communicated with her that to feel their voices, their influence, now, was aggravating. Did they truly care? Or were they, as always, playing some vile trick to confuse her even further?

“Rubbish…” she murmured, concentrating her energies again. “Stupid, worthless rubbish…”

The foaming image of a rabid dog was forming in her mind, growing more solid with each… passing… moment…

“AH!”

A sharp pain tore through her head; the image disintegrated; Amaranth stumbled backward with a cry. In the brief seconds of her eyesight, before she shut them from the sting, she saw, as though for the first time, the staff in Chronos’s hand, the magenta, sun-backed granite staff…

“Oh gods.”

She had a horrible suspicion of the significance of that staff now.

And then Black Rogue came pelting from behind the Dark Eye.

Driving forward with his shoulder, Rogue put all his momentum into the strike at Chronos. His shoulder connected right between the metal man’s shoulder blades, forcing him to fall forward on his face, right onto his own ally. Taking no chances, Rogue grabbed the Dark Eye much like he had done to him earlier, throwing with him with as much might has he could muster to the side.

“Are you injured at all? Do you require any medical attention?” the robot asked his companion, offering a hand to help her up. Simply shaking her head at the question, the fairy jumped when Rogue’s helping hand pulled her off the floor.

“We need a strategy to beat the enemy. With a strategy, our chances of winning improve significantly.”

Without waiting for an answer, the mechanical being turned to face Chronos, who had since clambered to his feet. Switching the Magnetizer blades magnetic properties on, he threw the blade forward. The weapon embedded itself in the cage floor below Chronos’ feet, the magnetic field spreading out upon impact.

“The being seems to be composed of a metallic substance. Hopefully, that substance is magnetic. The field should slow his progress for a few moments, giving us enough time to come up with something. What other armaments do you possess?” Rogue asked quizzically.

“I posses nothin’ else, other than my staff,” Amaranth replied.

“We will have to make do with what we have, it seems.”

Counting figures and odds within a few mere moments, the robot plotted out multiple plans of attack. Most of which had a high probability of being unsuccessful. There was one however that showed promise.

“Do you think you could get close enough to the Dark Eye to plant this on him?” A small panel on Rogue’s torso slid open, invisible to Amaranth’s eyes due to the human illusion, and the mechanical man pulled off the small round, clip like item. He held the Electro Probe out to Amaranth.

OOC: I hope I portrayed everyone okay.

Chronos reevaluated the abilities of his opponents. He still believed them incapable when it came to actual battle, but if they thought he couldn't read strategy, they were fools. The metal one, Black Rogue, had given some sort of electric probe to the strange woman, which it intended to have placed on the Dark Eye's person by the woman. Chronos would amend that error.

The metal bonded to the Dark Eye's body retracted from where he had generated it, specifically in the stump of his left arm, and the coat arm of his right, as it amassed into his legs, pooling specifically into the secret pores drilled into the soles and heels of his massive boots, preparing for a lunge. Chronos crouched, targeting both at the same time, holding his Arm Striker out like a battering ram. Both Black Rogue and Amaranth tensed in response, holding out their respective weapons. The blade was still inside the floor of the cage, generating a magnetic field of some kind. Chronos was unaffected, though that would change if the probe they had was planted onto him.

He would make sure it didn't.

Chronos bent his legs, aiming his trajectory perfectly. The Dark Eye leapt from the ground, but instead of moving forward, which was his foes' believed was his plan, the coils on his legs acting as springs to propel him upwards. His one gloved arm reached up, and smashed through the ceiling, tearing through the metal, and latching himself firmly onto the surface, spreading metal from his arm to lock his heavy body in place. The two others looked at one another in confusion, as the metal within Chronos' feet began to generate density, hardening into lethal coils that could be used as whips. They stood there, trying to figure out his next move. The metal wasn't making a visible change, but enough of a change from Chronos' perspective to mean that his next plan would occur without a hitch. He inclined his head slightly to look at both of them and simultaneously released both coils he had created.

It was too late. The woman, clearly the smarter one, called out a warning to the metal cyborg, but it came slower than the coils did, and they were more nimble than a few hundred pounds of titanium. Both coils snaked around both of his opponents' legs, and jerked them upwards. The metal one dug into the matted floor, but he was uprooted by the superior strength of Chronos' metal. Chronos waited, like a spider awaits his prey, as they were lifted up against their will, and separated, the metal increasing in mass and density, slammed into the cage sides roughly, their faces squished between the bars. Chronos didn't move until he was certain they would be no trouble, then lowered himself by the metal he had created to eye level with his opponents.

"Release us." Chronos turned towards the metal one, who had uttered the command as a statement, rather than a threat. The Dark Eye ignored it, and focused his attentions of the woman, with whom the metal he had created was wound up over his neck, incapacitating her through various nerves and stimulants inside the creature's nervous system and spine. She could still breath, and was doing so in gasps as he approached her, positioning himself so he traveled horizontally rather than vertically with the metal he had created. He released his hand from the metal, allowing the grey substance to latch to his back instead. The Arm Striker was still within his palm as he approached, and he found the probe he was looking for in between the index and middle fingers of her right hand. The small thing that could stop his movement, if his metal was magnetic, which it was not. It could carry electricity through itself, but this could provide an edge to his opponents he was not willing to give.

He smashed her hand, breaking the probe with his staff, causing her to scream in pain as the sharp injury traveled through her hand and arm. By some chance, he had accidentally hit a pressure point in his attempt in addition to the probe, which sat crushed in her hand for a moment, as she involuntarily clenched her fingers, then it fell to the ground as she released it, knowing it useless now. His task complete, Chronos retracted his metal, and fell to the ground, falling right next to the magnetic blade.

His opponents fell shortly after, the metal one Dark Rogue landing with more ease than Amaranth, who landed hard on her rear, but quickly recovered. Chronos bent down, tearing the sword from its confines, and raising it. He sensed magnetic properties, that much was certain from the strategy that had been twarted. He looked towards the metal figure, who was just waiting to see what he would do with the weapon. Chronos slashed the sword in the air once, considering the possibility of throwing the weapon straight through the circuitry of his opponent, the magnetic properties generating damage that would put him out indefinately.

Instead, Chronos shouldered the Arm Striker, and deactivated the weapon with the same switch that he had seen Black Rogue use earlier. He threw it to the man, who grabbed it out of the middle of the air. "Thanks," the tall one muttered, looking down at the blade, and flicking it back on, the blue hum returning to the field.

Chronos did not answer, but the metal cyborg understood the meaning of the gesture. Chronos inclined his legs, retracting the metal he had created back into his body.