5 The Practicality Of One's Own Experience

Azazel awaited his opponent. His calmness at such a situation, slightly caused his opponent to be wary.

Any opponent that was in this specific arena, was not a simple one. The Swordmaster flickered towards Azazel, raising his sword in a crescent arc.

'An attack to test the waters will always be taken advantage of.' Azazel dodged to the side, using the kinetic force generated through his feet, thigh, torso, and out of his arms, into his fist. He sent a harrowing palm, directly into the mans hand.

Seemingly no damage was inherited. And seeing how the sword did not go flying, his grip was strong, befitting of a swordsman. The man jumped back, somewhat surprised.

"You're good." He said, "But if this is all you have, then this fight will be a quick one." Rushing in a zigzag, he prepped his attack.

"You had already lost when you, decided to imitate such a stupid pattern." Azazel grinned as he eyed the mans legs. He crouched down slightly, equipping his stance.

*WHOOSH*

The sword struck air, missing Azazel's body by inches.

The man then jumped upwards, clearly having read an attack that would aim for his legs. But to jump in the air was a poor maneuverer, one that Azazel aimed for clearly.

'He fails to use his full potential when he picks up a sword. While the physiology of these inhabitants may be slightly unknown, nerves will always exist.'

He sent a nerve wrecking kick. This time inputting his full force, shown by the torque, that came from the rotation of the hips, making his kick act like a whip.

Azazel's adrenaline pumped furiously, heightening his bodily functions to react in such a situation, his sympathetic nervous system in haywire.

Before the man could attack, his kick slammed into the mans arm, just under the armpit, but what the Swordmaster did not expect, was the sudden immobilisation of his limbs, which was enough for Azazel to kick his chin, sending him flying backwards.

"HAHAHAHAHA, look! Look! I, Dustin will finally win, heheheheheheh." Dustin boasted, not expecting the sudden turn around.

But his fellow celestial dragon, Carlos, was anything but happy, "Just watch! Your slave is going to die a foul death!"

The rest of the celestial dragons, cheered, enjoying the fight. They had everything they could ever imagine, but the thrill of such a battle, caused their inborn disgusting nature to reek with happiness.

"That my fellow slave, was your auxiliary nerve. Once hit hard enough, it sends electrical signals to your brain, causing it to be overloaded in 'pain'."

Azazel watched as his opponent stood back up, he had expected for the opponent to be stunned longer, however the physique of the One Piece world was something not to be belittled.

"Because you jumped, like a retard into the air, thinking your a fucking bird, I slammed your nerve, making your system shut down due to the electrical charges."

"Ah, I forgot. You don't even know Bruce Lee, therefore you wouldn't know any of the knowledge I have bestowed onto you just now. It is merely 0.01% of his greatness." Azazel saw that his opponent was now extremely wary. So what could one do if the opponent was waiting for an attack?

Mess with him, clearly.

"Gosh, you fucking smell too, when you jumped, a whiff of your stinky ass got into my nose." Azazel scratched his nose, taking a booger, flicking it unto the arena.

A martial artist should not be wholly respectful in a battle that could write his death, instead he should use whatever is at his disposal. And while Azazel may seem carefree, that was an outlook he wanted his opponents to believe.

The Swordmaster, took no notice of such insults. He was a slave, he was used to the insults of the bastards watching.

"Sigh, a sad reaction, to such profound greatness." Azazel shook his head, and rushed to the opponent.

A sword swung out frantically, nicking parts of Azazel's body. While he was boosted by his martial talent of the Hanma bloodline, he was not yet a God of the martial way, like Bruce Lee.

He ducked under, dodging a horizontal attack, and used his forearm to intercept the Swordmaster's arm. Grabbing it tightly with his right, he used his other hand to send a full force backfist to the enemies chin, causing blood to leek out of his nose.

The Swordmaster's vision blurred and he wobbled slightly, Azazel took full advantage. Stepping inward, as close to the body as he could, he readied his fist, one-inch away.

Utilising the principle of kinetic linking at his utmost. He delivered a one-inch punch, sending the man tumbling backward, saliva jumping from his mouth.

When one was doing so well, why would he back off?

He then pounced forward, crouching slightly, before extending his legs and twisting his body, striking the mans forehead with his elbow.

The man dropped to the ground, as cheers once again erupted.

If an attack was hard enough, it would send the brain sliding inside the skull. Especially with an elbow that used it's small circumference to pinpoint the force. Once the brain, secluded inside it's cerebral fluid moved about, it would recoil back and forth, hitting the skull each time, causing trauma.

In turn, it sends a shockwave of neurotransmitters through the nerves, making them short circuit.

In other words, he got knocked the fuck out.

'The fight isn't being announced?' Azazel sighed, knowing that the opponent would have to die, for himself to win.

He walked to the unconscious body, prepping his finger, to give him a swift death.

*THWUP*

A callused hand, gripped Azazel as he crouched down, squeezing his neck.

"F-fuck you!" The man had regained conscious in such a short time, or maybe he never lost it in the first place.

But Azazel smiled at the act.

'Such good resilience and will. He would have made a good martial artist, if not for the sword he uses.' Not caring about the blood being slowly cut off from his head, he drilled his finger deep into the mans head, cracking his skull, and into the brain.

Killing him instantly.

"AND THE WINNER IS, THE ASURA!!!"

A booming of applause occurred and the constant shuffling, mixed with the chattering of celestial dragons could be heard.

"You see! I have won! I never lose!" Dustin gloated to Carlos, wanting to make every moment of his loss as painful as his own.

"Quick! Let's go now! I want to personally see what kind of slaves you have. Hehehehehehhehehehe."

Carlos scoffed, but started walking nonetheless, and they soon disappeared, along with he rest of the celestial dragons.

Azazel, littered in small cuts, calmly walked to the gate, and a guard chained him, then leading him back into his current room. His holy martial blood, had seeped onto the ground today. Something that training would surely remedy.

'The world will soon become enamoured with the greatness of Bruce Lee, and martial arts. I can't wait!'

Training was the nutrient, experience was the digestion. Azazel was ready for whatever came in his way, and any hindrances to the future of martial arts.