Paradox vs Blacksmith: Darkweight Title

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Paradox glared about her, even as she panted, sucking in much-needed oxygen. While the temptation to go after Dalkiel was almost overwhelming, Blacksmith was shaking off the effects of the blow. As the behemouth Death-Marcher closed in, she turned her focus to the more immediate danger.

Blacksmith went for the tried and true. His hands closed about her throat once more. She made no effort to resist; indeed she smiled grimly. She showed no distress as he began to squeeze. Seconds ticked by, and suddenly the Death Marcher let go, arms waving in pain.

The spikes visible on her neck were red-tainted, and she grinned as she stared at the bigger man. Even as the audiance gasped, more porcupine-like spikes appeared over her body. She leapt forward, hugging the Blacksmith around the neck, pushing her body against his. "Come on, big boy, don't you want it?" Little dots of blood appeared all over his body, as he struggled to escape her grasp.

The spikes suddenly disappeared, and she struck out viscously, at the same target Dalkiel had hit earlier. As the bigger man swayed, Paradox suddenly began to glisten, as an oily fluid seemed to ooze from her very pores.

Once more she leapt forward, and as the acid-laden liquid touched the minor wounds of the spikes, Blacksmith bellowed with furious pain. Paradox was content to keep the contact short; so far, her assaults were of a nuisance nature. But the time was coming to get serious about putting the Death Marcher down...