Kotal Kahn, Emperor of Outworld, scarcely made any real effort to dodge the incoming blow. Even in the pouring rain, the only real illumination coming from the occasional lightning flash, his Osh-Tekk reflexes made avoiding the slow greatsword of the medieval soldier a trivial task. The man was a classic stereotype of a Middle Ages knight, clad in heavy plate, with an unwieldy sword clasped in his gauntlets. Behind him stood two other men in similarly misplaced clothes, each patiently waiting their turn.
The knight attempted to strike once more. A clumsy, if powerful, attempt at jabbing. It wasn't a completely amateur maneuver. He kicked off his heel after recovering from the miss, sending himself forward, claymore pointed directly at the Emperor's gut. Kotal acted as quickly as before, backhanding the knight's sword right along the flat, and sending the man hopelessly off-balance. As the knight stepped to the side, attempting to regain his footing, Kotal's right fist rocketed up, quicker than a human could blink, making solid contact with the armored soldier's helmet. The heavy steel object crumpled under his enormous strength, the point of impact bending inwards and sending a fragment of steel straight through the knight's left eye.
As the first opponent collapsed, uselessly groping at the gaping crater in his helmet and screaming in agony, the second figure stepped up. A mostly-accurate samurai, straight from feudal Japan, eyes glimmering with malice beneath his slick kabuto and a nodachi clutched tightly in his hands, he took three wide steps towards the Osh-Tekk before him, curved blade raised high and prepared to shed blood. Alas, he never made it to the actual swing. As his arms tensed for the downward slice, the sole of Kotal's boot slammed directly into his chest as the Emperor executed a front kick to rival Leonidas. The Japanese warrior's ribs caved in on themselves, crushing his internal organs and sending him rocketing ten feet backwards, flat on his back, dead before he hit the floor.
The third, and final, foe waded in. A classical Roman Retiarius gladiator, with a trident in one hand, and a large, spiked net in the other, lightly armored in leather and cloth. He kept his distance, spinning his net, poking with the trident, seemingly trying to keep Kotal at bay until he found a moment to strike. Kotal gave a small smile, amused at the mortal's attempts at tactics that would only work on.....conventional enemies. Lowering himself to a crouch and circling the gladiator, growling and making a few swipes here and there, the Emperor baited his foe into striking early. The Retiarius drew back his net, and cast it forward, attempting to snare Kotal's upper body.
Kotal Kahn slid to the side, and clasped the rope the gladiator was holding in his fist. Wrenching with all his might, he pulled the final foe to him, hurtling the gladiator straight at himself.......only to bring him to a dead stop as Kotal's ceremonial tecpatl knife slid into the man's gut. Wood and obsidian forced their way through muscle tissue, organs, and arteries, bringing a waterfall of beautiful crimson down to mingle with the puddles on the mud. Kotal pulled the knife upwards, carving a four-inch ravine into the man's torso and bleeding him dry, as the rain stopped, the sky cleared to reveal the chrome of the training room, and the three bodies at the emperor's feet disappeared.
"Ah. What a quaint little device. This is not training, it's sport!"
(Bored, so I wrote a semi-long post. Might not be at my best, it's kinda late.)
@Anyonewho wants sparring? Probably just gonna leave somewhere more interesting in the morning.
(SORRY DUDE ACTUALLY CALLED ANYONE! DIDN'T MEAN YOU!)
