Perhaps Yan's armor was more flamboyant than his choice of weapons. In addition to his enormous two-handed greatsword, which measured five feet from pommel to tip, he also carried a pair of matching pistols, twin daggers strapped to his thighs, a half-dozen concussion grenades on his belt, and a flamethrower mounted on his wrist. His handguns were a little out of the ordinary in that they had a medium caliber and only a medium magazine. The majority of competitors focused on either increasing stopping power with heavy calibers (like Kieran's ten-round.45s) or ammunition capacity (like Nayla's thirty-round.22s). Yan carried two spare magazines for each of his 9mm handguns, which each held eighteen rounds. As usual, Yan hadn't bothered to look up information about his opponent on BattleWeb; he liked a little surprise and thought it made his matches more interesting. He left his hotel room, fully prepared, and strode with assurance to the arena entrance.
As soon as he arrived at his starting spot on the arena floor, he raised his greatsword in both hands dramatically above his head and uttered a theatrical war cry, which immediately caused the crowd to erupt in cheers and applause. Despite the hyperbole, it was frequently the case that Yan's early-round matches were worth more credits than the final championship bouts in some tournaments. His assured popularity with the public resulted in significant financial gains for him and the promoters. The simulated forest terrain used for this match temporarily blocked Yan's view of his opponent's form as she entered through the opposite gate. Pure showmanship for the audience, Yan charged into the forest as soon as the starting klaxon sounded, ostentatiously swinging his enormous sword in wide arcs above his head. But the moment the trees blocked his direct view of the audience, the flamboyant theatrics came to an abrupt end. It was business now. In comparison to Nora's or Kieran's, his helmet's sensor suite was basic and only provided basic thermal imaging, which was ineffective in the bright, clear daylight.
His opponent appeared out of the trees straight ahead after he had been carefully moving through the simulated woods for almost three minutes. Oh no. The one matchup designed to make him think twice. She was his opponent. And an exceptionally pretty one, based on the sculpted, form-fitting lines of her turquoise armor. Focus, Zantara, he told himself in his head. Keep your eyes on the battle, not those obtrusive curves. He shook his head violently, bringing his focus back to the tactical scenario. Her primary weapons seemed to be two large, wickedly curved daggers, and she looked well-armed. Her turquoise armor had hidden panels that probably concealed backup weapons or equipment. Yan truly detested fighting female opponents; some deep-rooted chivalrous ideas, though misguided in this situation, typically made him instinctively hold back, fighting defensively, and aiming for a quick submission hold rather than running the risk of suffering severe injuries.
First to attack, his opponent moved surprisingly quickly and hurled three incredibly sharp throwing stars in a tight cluster at Yan's head. The stars whizzed harmlessly over his head as he instinctively ducked. Two more came at once, flung from her other hand, less than a second later. He could only crouch lower, hoping they would miss, because he was a little off balance. The first star bounced violently off the micromail that was wrapped around his hip. Yet the second punched through a thinner piece of articulated plating close to his waist with unexpected ease, embedding itself shallowly in the muscle underneath. Yan felt a sudden jolt of pain. That was not intended to occur! With a grimace, he moved the multi-pointed star away from his side by reaching down. Fortunately, it appeared to have missed no major organs or arteries, but it left behind a nasty, bleeding gash that was perhaps three inches across and surprisingly deep. Okay, lady, I don't mind if you want to play rough, he thought grimly, the pain focusing his attention. Forsaking his initial hesitation, he quickly drew both pistols at once, sheathed his greatsword, and launched a covering barrage at his adversary.
With the obvious intention of forcing close-quarters combat, she skillfully dodged and weaved through the incoming fire, rolling smoothly across the forest floor and quickly closing the distance. Yan was caught in the middle of changing weapons and was unprepared for how quickly she was approaching. On his back, his sword remained uselessly sheathed. Backpedaling quickly, he holstered the now-empty pistols and struggled to pull out his mammoth greatsword again. He felt the tactical advantage return as he finally held the enormous blade. Despite their sharpness, her daggers were too short to successfully avoid the defensive arc of his sword. Yan made a strong, sweeping arc with the greatsword, aiming it at her legs. Unbelievably, she lowered herself and struck the heavy blade with a block of two daggers, the impact resounding. She pulled her left dagger free from the bind and slashed viciously upwards with her right, aiming directly for Yan's face before he could recover from the startling block. She is good. Fantastic. Yan quickly leaned back, barely avoiding the slash, and got ready for another low, sweeping blow. His opponent saw the move coming and timed a perfect leap, sweeping beneath her feet and clearing the whistling blade. She twisted in midair, bringing her dagger's pommel down in a crashing blow against Yan's helmet side. As Yan collapsed to the ground, his hold on the greatsword loosened, and stars burst behind his eyes. As she landed close to him, Yan acted instinctively and swung out, grabbing both of her ankles and pulling hard, causing her feet to come out from under her. She lost both daggers as she fell hard to the ground on her back. The battle quickly turned into a scramble on the ground.
The ground surrounding his still-prone opponent was engulfed in blazing orange flames as Yan scurried to his feet first and instantly activated his wrist-mounted flamethrower. As the flames licked around her, the woman surely felt the intense heat radiating through her armor, but the insulation of the suit shielded her from the direct effects of the heat. She blasted upward from the ground, disregarding the flames, and landed a flying tackle headfirst, slamming into Yan's midriff, forcing the air out of his lungs and sending them both tumbling back to the forest floor in a mixed heap. She swiftly untangled herself, leaping back to her feet with her fists up, obviously prepared for unarmed combat. Yan fought to his feet, still struggling to breathe, but her right leg delivered a vicious roundhouse kick to the ribs, sending him tumbling back down. This time, he pushed himself up more carefully, keeping his distance at first, then slowly circling in search of a gap. Yan was prepared when she threw another high kick, scurrying inside the arc and firmly trapping her leg beneath his left arm. After throwing her off balance in his direction, he ducked low and securely put his right arm around her waist. Using strength and leverage, he planted his feet and leaned back hard. His opponent, obviously stunned by the startling impact, sailed helplessly over his shoulder in a high arc, landing heavily on her back a few feet behind him. Yan took a quick step back and used the momentary pause to slam new magazines home and eject the empty ones from his pistols. He kept the right pistol level and ready while reholstering the left with ease. Despite falling, his opponent quickly got back up after seeing the reload and launched herself into a desperate charge straight at Yan. As Yan drew closer, she fired five well-aimed shots. Each bullet struck her turquoise armor with a solid impact, breaking harmlessly and launching tiny bits of jacket material and paint into the air. He acted as though he was fumbling with his pistol, allowing it to 'accidentally' slip from his grasp and clatter to the ground close to his feet, just as she was about to reach him. As Yan had expected, the woman instinctively jumped for the dropped weapon upon noticing that her opponent appeared to be disarmed. Yan smoothly drew his holstered left pistol and pressed the muzzle firmly against the base of her helmeted skull as she skidded to a stop on her knees, reaching for the gun.
With a hint of smug satisfaction in his voice, he said, "Yield?"
"...Yes," was the hesitant, muffled response that emerged from inside her helmet.
Yan stopped. That voice was familiar to him. Just last night, he had heard it whispering oblique invitations. The same gorgeous woman he had spent the night with was his opponent, the fierce, talented fighter who had just given him an unexpectedly difficult fight. Her fierceness in the battle suddenly made perfect, horrifying sense. She was certainly upset with him for leaving the hotel room without saying goodbye that morning. Yan moaned to himself, "Of all the rotten, unbelievable coincidences..." Desperate to escape the inevitable awkward post-match encounter, Yan made a hasty retreat from the arena, quickly picking up his greatsword and recovering his dropped pistol. The uncharacteristic absence of his typical crowd-pleasing victory pose was noticed by his legions of fans, but most were too busy celebrating their victories to give it much thought.
Yan made it back to the Kyara just in time to discard his weapons and strip off his armor before making a swift and direct course for the Aantolian Sun, where they had agreed to meet after the match. Nora looked up from cleaning her katana, her face unnervingly happy as he slid somewhat breathlessly into the booth.
"Ready for phase two, Yan?"
"Ready for what?" he inquired distrustfully.
From the other side of the table, Luna whispered, "The hunt," her eyes shining in the dim cantina light.