Blaine didn’t even budge! Not a single jerk back, step to dodge, or even defensive throw! Did he ignore hits that much? What if someone had a contact ability or hidden knife? How long would it take him to know if he was cut, bleeding, severed tendons? Devon would have to contemplate the full extent of such later.

Right now he was taking a knee to the gut, though he’d gotten Blaine’s left arm with his right hand. As Devon grunted and pushed the arm in toward the older man’s chest, Devon continued his step forward but shifted to his right and Blaine’s left this time while trying to take a quick swipe at the guy’s one supporting leg. Would he even feel it before he fell? Devon certainly felt the gut hit as he winced from the surprising reaction.

Either way, someone was going to end up on their back.

Blaine had his reasons for not moving; in a sanctioned or practice match like this one, hidden weapons were generally left out, and mutations were just things you couldn't prepare for. As most people who stepped into the ring with him learned the hard way. He landed the kick, which was good, and then he had his arms around Devon, hooking under his arms in an attempt to take him down.

However, something was wrong. Though he couldn't feel himself falling, he knew what it should look like. And his eyes told him that he was falling the wrong way. Somehow, the kid must have managed to sweep his leg as he kicked. And so....Blaine was the one who ended up on his back, but he braced himself, and as they hit the ground, he locked both fists together behind his head in a sort of improvised Full-Nelson, and applied pressure.

However, the problem with that was, he didn't know how much pressure he was applying.

Devon never mentioned it but every spar that got this close reminded him that in the worst case scenario a bolt of lightning would spare him and likely electrocute the person he was fighting. He never wanted it to get to that point. He favored distance, avoidance, knock outs, holds, and applications of his abilities that stunned, slowed… But a direct hit with a bolt he’d likely call down could jeopardize another’s life. He wasn’t about to mention it to Blaine of course, and neither would he to any typical sparring partner.

But the thought always came to mind and this time, he remembered being surrounded by the ferocious denizens beyond the abyss that he’d flown into the swarm of. Their claws, tendrils, mouths, thrashing limbs… Wind and lightning had ripped at them while they’d torn at him.

Devon realized too late his wandering mind and preoccupation with this thought had distracted him. Blaine had pulled his arm free and now both were wrapped in a tight hold around Devon. But at least the smaller young man’s quick kick had worked and the guy hadn’t even guessed at it to put an arm out to catch him. Devon pushed forward and to the side, leveraging his feet to topple forward. Down Blaine went with Tempest atop him.

Something was pushing his shoulders forward, along with applied pressure on his head. It hurt as Blaine squeezed and the force of their landing whipping Devon’s head back and then forward right into Blaine’s face…

It was true that Blaine was holding back considerably, but he was still focused on giving Devon a run for his money. However, what he didn't expect, was when he hit the ground, that the other man's head would collide with his face. He knew it had to be an accident, given the nature of the situation, and the man's noggin conked him right between the eyes.He saw stars for a brief moment, and he had to shake the cobwebs loose.

He loosened the hold just a little after that. "Hey, you okay bro?" he asked, deciding to be courteous and check on him. After all, if he was seeing spots for a second, then he could only wonder how Devon was feeling. Though quite frankly, he was thankful for his mutation at that moment.

Suddenly there was a sharp pain at his forehead. His vision blurred as he grunted and his head swam, not only with dreary edges but with the fog of his last thoughts: the Halloween battle with the creatures beyond the stars. No, he knew they weren’t real and he wasn’t there but the pain and head trauma brought him back with vivid reminder. A chill went up his back as his legs squeezed and held at the body beneath him. He went rigid, tensing with the anxiety and hormone-fueled fury to fight. It was fear.

Then just as quickly he felt freer, like he could fly off. There wasn’t something pressing against his head. It was Blaine. He’d relaxed his arms and fists. The few seconds of sky-torn demons vanished from Devon’s mind’s eye. That had hurt, but he’d had bumps like that before and it never…

>> "Hey, you okay bro?"

“Yeah, yeah,” Devon said with a chuckle, blinking to clear his vision of the iridescent floaters the bump had summoned. He winced, looking down at the man beneath him and the red mark near his eyes. Hopefully he wouldn’t have a black eye. “Sorry my head flopped when we fell.”

The air was growing colder – not that Blaine would know - and Devon’s eyes had lost their azure brilliance. Solid pools of empty darkness had replaced them as they gazed hungrily down upon the older man who was trapped beneath him.

“You ready to continue or should we reset?”

Something didn't seem right about this as Devon came to. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something...off. But he seemed okay. For the most part. But he was still pinned. Granted...he could always work on his escapes. After all, he wasn't a guy who was used to being on the bottom. As someone who was used to standing toe to toe and beating his opponent to oblivion, it would help to add a little more utility outside of his 'bag of tricks,' a repertoire of holds and take-downs that he only pulled out during emergencies. Granted, now that he wasn't a fighter anymore, legit or otherwise...he wouldn't get much of a chance to use those anymore.

At least not until his sparring mach that he'd promised Lee. The way she was doing, he was sure she was going to exhaust every trick in his playbook.

But that was for another day, because right now, there was an ambitious young gentleman who had his shoulders pinned to the mat.

"I think we can continue right here," he said, shifting just a little in an attempt to get a little more leverage. He figured after what just happened, and the guy seemed even more ready to go, Blaine could up the difficulty level just a bit.

Blaine said he was ready to go as he started shifting. Devon didn’t waste a moment. He moved his head out like he was trying to push away. His arms were trapped alongside him by the other man’s, but he also couldn’t feel Devon shifting his hands as he bowed out his elbows. He pressed his hands inward to spring them up and push himself back out from under the hold, hoping the man’s attempt to hold him would bring his arms sliding up and tightly against his own chest.

Meanwhile, Devon went from digging his thighs and knees into Blaine’s sides and pushed back with them as if trying to launch up to his feet. Had he summoned a gust of wind he certainly could have with ease. Instead, he simply wanted to get away from this hold even if that meant rolling back.

But it became clear as this transpired that the pattern of air temperature, their breath, even the static charge in the dry air was visible to him. He hadn’t meant to concentrate on his power. What was that? When he hit his head and saw Them again? He set it all aside, his eyes slipping back to their normal blue.

Maybe the spar should end soon. This was getting strange. Even pinning this Blaine guy to the floor here in the gym… It felt good to seemingly win even if for a moment. Had his head not hit Blaine’s it would have been a stronger bit of success. Devon wasn’t a wrestler though; it involved too much touching.

A few quick take downs and reset was better. Yeah. And no powers. Not that this guy knew what he was capable of.

Devon was glaring at Blaine while trying to disentangle.

Blaine saw him trying to transition, but there was little he could do before Devon was already sitting on him. He released his arms, in an attempt to gain his mobility back. Then, Blaine put his hands up in sort of a guard-like position, as if he was protecting his face.

But his lower body wasn't lying there idle. He lifted his legs, fast and hard, attempting to drive his knees into Devon's lower back. Then, if that worked, he'd be able to roll to his feet and take the fight back to where he was comfortable. After all, he didn't feel that there was much need in digging into his bag of tricks, even if he wanted to dust one of them off.

Blaine was worried about his face? Ah maybe he expected a head butt or a thrust up into his chin. Probably effective but highly risky in this case as Devon would either do serious damage to the guy’s jaw or nose as well as get himself further held. Nope, Devon wanted away.

And away he got! He rocketed back and got a hard dig into his lower back. Well, apparently Blaine had seen that before or figured out what he was doing. He was quick if stocky, and Devon wasn’t relying on his airy talents to aid his movements. He was always light on his feet but there was a slight dizziness after their head-on collision a minute or two ago.

Devon grunted as his back straightened but he was on his feet. He pulled to the side and jumped back as Blaine rolled to a standing position. He was seemingly well trained than most Devon had seen. A spar with Artair would be good to see, especially with weapons out. Noel was a tricky, tough one and could give him a good run. The real question was who would win: Ranger or Blaine? Cal would have turned up the heat…

A small smirk crossed Devon’s face. Calcifer was a tough, sold sort like this guy. He’d tried to ground Devon, slow him down. Thus Devon took to slow side-steps, never putting too much weight into any one step. His arms were held forward, hands shifting their placement in misdirection as Devon’s eyes watched the man’s joints for quick movement.

Suddenly Devon stepped closer, threateningly moving into one side guard then a direct front, but never actual punching. He pushed with his body language but didn’t throw a fist or kick. He clearly expected an attack.

As he found his footing again, Blaine took another stance, keeping his eyes on his target. The guy was better than he'd given himself credit for. Of course Blaine couldn't give his all, but slowly but surely the bigger man was turning up the hea

The man had taken a more defensive maneuver, but honestly, that's what a lot of people did. Those who made it this far, anyway. Blaine took the same stance, weaving a little as he moved to close the distance. Then, he went on the offensive, aiming a palm directly at Devon's midsection, then stepping in to deliver an elbow to the side of the head.

Devon was fast, and there were a few ways to deal with speed. The first method had ended with Blaine seeing stars for a moment, but he had other ideas.

Maybe Blaine wasn’t giving it his all, but Devon was. Well, at least his all minus his mutant abilities. He was keeping his focus – ignoring the hungry darkness of the abyss that waited – on Blaine’s footing and joint movements. Devon wasn’t looking to strike directly.

He wanted an opening. Blaine mirrored him, which was expected, and with Devon’s threatening press inward he wanted to encourage an attack. That’s what he got. Blaine’s palm came at him as they grew even closer and an elbow came at his head. Devon ducked slightly, tightening his core as his right arm – bent at the elbow and held sideways - shot up to knock the elbow aside.

Devon’s left grasped not at Blaine’s hand; he didn’t try to catch the palm. No, he took the hit to the gut with another grunt of pain and the sudden rise of bile. How many hits was that now? Three? He hadn’t gotten any in but Devon was prepared to feel the pain to get the right hold. It was okay if you lost the battle so long as you won the war.

Instead of stopping the hit, Devon latched his hand onto Blaine’s wrist intent to press firmly on the point to start a hold and make the hand useless. Devon wasn’t even sure if Blaine would be aware the hand wasn’t working for him the way he expected. His forward momentum continued, hoping to press Blaine’s arm in as Devon took his left arm’s elbow into Blaine’s bicep, effectively immobilizing one arm as he pushed to keep Blaine turning…

And maybe, just maybe Devon could start to climb behind him. With the right speed and leverage he could isolate that arm on Blaine’s head and pull him down into what would normally be an uncomfortable arm position and choke hold.

Suddenly, Devon was behind him. And his arm....it wasn't doing what it was supposed to. He couldn't feel, but his instinct was strong enough to know what was going on. Or at least, have a pretty good idea.

But then he wasn't in the gym anymore. He was in Vegas, thirteen years ago. His arm was behind him as his opponent, his friend, brought him to the ground on his stomach, locking his arm in a kimura lock. But something didn't look right...the positioning was just a little off. But almost seemed....intentional.

SNAP! The arm broke. The moment that sent his life spiraling in the direction that landed him here. Sure, he was happy now, but this moment....this position....brought him back to the dark place where he'd spent almost a decade dwelling.

Looking down, he looked for a leg, which he grabbed, attempting to shift his weight and toss the smaller man over his shoulder to bring him onto his back and mount him. Of course this maneuver would dislocate his shoulder no matter what, but popping that back in was no big deal to him.

However...no matter how this turned out...the training wheels were off.

Devon kept moving, sliding up behind Blaine. Devon knew a number of ways to get holds, achieve take downs. Disarming people was a big part of his training too. But he knew Blaine was better trained, let alone a better boxer. He’d seen it already and witnessed it in Blaine’s movements. The guy didn’t feel pain – or anything – apparently so that was another reason to be wary. Maybe Devon could get a hold but he wasn’t sure how far he could get the choke…

But not only was Devon behind him now, he had the arm and brought it around Blaine to start the choke, pulling the right arm around his head to the left and putting pressure on his neck. Down they’d go and Devon could get him to tap out. Unless of course the momentarily puzzled Blaine – at least that’s what Devon figured he was feeling when he didn’t act immediately – were to try something else. Devon was banking on Blaine’s lack of sensation causing some confusion.

Devon felt his left leg grabbed. Well, so the press down hold wasn’t going to work. Blaine tried to pull, but the smaller man had already decided he wasn’t going to try standing. It hadn’t seemed likely the first time and didn’t seem likely this time either. He used the pull of the momentum with his small jump, wrapping his right leg around Blaine’s back as the man pulled at him, not knowing it was Blaine’s intention. Devon figured instead the boxer likely wanted him to fall back.

Devon kept on, not realizing Blaine was prepared to dislocate his own shoulder for his move. The atmokinetic dug his right elbow into Blaine’s shoulder as he pushed his body weight forward and to the left, hoping to toss the man off his balance and down to the ground. Choke hold on the ground together wasn’t so bad, though how they kept getting into this position with Devon’s legs wrapped around Blaine was a bit amusing.

The sound of his heart pounding in his ears was like a bass drum that echoed in his head as his breath sharpened. The guy was still behind him, his arm still locked in the position. But Blaine couldn't see. He couldn't feel. He was out of his element, and he was still in his panic-mode of a flashback. Especially as he saw the world rotating upwards, the momentum sending him backwards instead of forwards as intended.

By now, he was seeing red, and he reached behind him with his free hand and delivered a stiff palm behind him. He didn't know what it would connect with, but he needed it to connect with something. Then, he was attempting to rotate his body to get to a mounted position. First, he grabbed his shoulder, popping it back into place with a sickening crack. Then, he planned to land a series of fists and elbows to whatever was exposed.

The look on his face was intense, completely different from the man who'd started. As if something in him had snapped.

Devon heard the pop as they were going down, turned to the left as he’d hoped. His leg was free but Blaine’s shoulder was funny even as Devon held the right arm around the neck there. With his leg free he started to twist, trying to turn him around onto Blaine’s front. However, he quickly realized why his left leg was free when a swift strike hit him in the back right between the shoulder blades. Down they went to the floor.

Around Blaine went too as they tumbled and Devon saw him pop his shoulder back in with ease. Ah, yeah he didn’t even feel that. No pain, why not abuse your major joints and connective tissue? Would this guy even know if he’d slipped a disk? The cracking sound made Devon winced as he started to right himself.

Then there was a fist to the shoulder, an elbow to his lip and Devon immediately tasted blood. Another fist hit him in the right eye. Blaine’s face was singularly focused, almost stoic. The intensity was singular, far beyond what Devon had even witnessed during the punching bag session. Devon – a trained psychologist – recognized that faraway look. Blaine wasn’t here; he was somewhere or somewhen else.

While Devon might have a large bruise and a black eye in the morning, right now both eyes became pure darkness. A rushing gust of wind whipped through the gym as Devon flung both his arms out to separate them both. Tempest rode his gust up to his feet, alighting with practiced grace as he hoped the tumbling Blaine would catch himself. Either way, he stopped the gust but readied another set should the man charge.