GoD-Acheron Vs. Gambler

The day was bright and comfortable, with a pleasant wind that stirred through the variety of trees in the jungle. But the deeper you went in, the more dense and hot it became, to the point of serious discomfort. In the depths of the tree-covered jungle, the canopy covered the floor, blocking out the sun's rays, and animals stalked about both silently and carelessly. It continued this way for several miles in all directions, up and down hills, to the edges of cliffs, down to the beaches. Scattered about in certain areas were clearings, with much fewer trees. The environment was much more comfortable here, the sun being available and the moisture in the jungle being nonexistent.

Into one of these clearings, a figure stepped out. His body was covered in light armor, and a long red scarf trailed behind him, tattered. A katana was strung across his back, and kunai's were seemingly attached to his forearms. He bore no signs of the harshness he had just left, appearing neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. His face was not even visible.

Acheron looked left, and then right, his head turning slowly. He scanned the environment, taking in the sights-the grass, the trees that were here and there in the clearing (yet not enough to form a block from the sun's rays). Gambler, his infamous-and deadly-opponent had apparently not appeared.

The cyborg had expected the man to be waiting, thinking that he would get to the destination first. No matter, though-he was fine with waiting for the game to begin.

Acheron reached behind him and brought forth his sheathed katana. He held it in front of him, and in a gathering of blue light, the weapon vanished into the Sphere, a ingenious invention that he now possessed. Once the blade had left his grip, he reached to his left arm, and gripped to the underside, where his kunai's rested, embedded. With a hiss, the portion of his gauntlet that connected the blades to his arms detached at his pull, a bit of steam releasing from the cracked. He tore it off completely, and tossed it aside. He did so to the other arm, as well.

With only his hands, he was to fight, a battle of sheer skill, strength, and determination, a true contest of champions. In a fast movement, Acheron reared back, gaining momentum, and delivered a high kick to a medium-sized tree to his side. His foot tore through the wood with a crack, splinters shooting outwards from the blow. The tree slowly fell, crashing to the grass below with the rustling of it's branches. The cyborg was ready now, prepared for a hard duel. A game of death.