After your little information overload in the hall, you're leery of resorting to supernatural sensory methods, so you continue to eyeball your next opponent. He's not wearing any sort of formal uniform, just regular clothes, and he doesn't seem to be in any kind of stance. It suggests a lack of training, which simply doesn't tally with the invitational nature of this tournament.

As you step onto the mat, you notice very faint wisps of vapor appearing in the air each time your opponent exhales. You're also close enough now to see tiny ice crystals on his face, most heavily on his upper lip, just below his nostrils, but with a few others scattered about. That cannot possibly be natural.

SCION OF ANCIENT WINTERS: OTHRYM

You settle into your opening stance, and consider introducing yourself to this young inhuman. The way he sizes you up like a slab of beef and then grins, exposing a mouthful of teeth that look entirely too sharp to your eyes, makes you reconsider.

"FIGHT!"

How do you want to face this enemy, who is now advancing towards you with all the implacable power of a glacier?

As Othrym approaches, you do your best to match his movements, keeping yourself out of range for grabs or surprise lunges, and buying enough time to cast your divination spell. The magic returns results very different from what you've seen before. Othrym registers as human, but also as something else that gives you a sense of great size and power, as well as a deep, abiding cold - pretty good evidence for him being a spawn of frost giants, if your knowledge of Norse mythology is at all accurate. For someone so large and obviously healthy, Othrym's ki signature is astonishingly weak, but weighted against that is a strong aura of magic - again carrying that sense of biting cold - which is about as diffuse as Ranma's ki aura was.

Another interesting point: when you cast the spell, Othrym stops in his tracks, flinches, and then glares hatefully at you. Spitting out what sounds like a curse, he resumes his approach, moving more quickly now than before. Letting your spell go, you call up your ki, boosting your speed as you go on the evasive.

Othrym's fighting style is very basic, little more than punches and attempts at grabbing - though you could see him stomping on a downed opponent - all of which suggests that he is the sort of person who prefers to rely on brute strength rather than skill. At least half the martial arts styles on the planet were developed specifically to deal with opponents who had a strength advantage over the practitioner, but Othrym is throwing around so much raw force that his fists are kicking up a slight breeze - martial arts or no, most plain vanilla humans wouldn't be able to deal with that much power coming at them, and those that could would not be children. There's another factor at work as well, one that you discover when, rather than simply dodging a blow, you reach out to divert it, striking the back of Othrym's fist. The skin-to-skin contact lasts only a fraction of a second, but it's enough to numb the outer edge of your hand.

So. Superhuman strength? Check. Superhuman endurance? Currently inconclusive, but plausible. Magically-augmented attacks? Check. Strong aura of cold, suggesting affinity to ice and according vulnerability to heat? Check.

"You want to play elemental rock-paper-scissors, giantspawn?" you growl, mustering your mana. "Fine. I can do that, too. Lightning, Ice, FIRE!"

Purple flames encircling your fists, burning without consuming, radiating your Power and will to win? Check.

Othrym has just enough warning to recoil in shock, before your first flaming fist takes him in the stomach. It provokes a cry that is more surprised than pained, and doesn't stop him from taking another swing at you - an attack that you once again dodge, your speed still boosted with ki, and then counter with another blazing blow. The "fire" is really just mana imbued with the essence of heat, not the actual ravening reality of naked flame - after all, you've got the stuff wrapped around your own hands, which you're rather strongly attached to, and of course you don't want to get disqualified for going overboard - but even that seems to be hurting Othrym at least as much as the physical force of your attacks.

From there, it's all over but the crying. Othrym's strength might well match yours even when you were enhanced to the limits with ki and magic, but his best speed falls below even your base level, and his skill is a joke. Factoring in ki-boosted movement and strikes augmented by what you rapidly confirm is an elemental vulnerability for the boy, he simply can't keep up. Even so, it takes you almost two minutes to wear Othrym down - incidentally confirming that he has ludicrous stamina to go with his massive strength - before you finally manage to land a decisive blow. Appropriately, it's an uppercut, made all the flashier by a final burst of dark flame as you deliberately overload your spell in an attempt to guarantee that Othrym goes down.

He obliges, crashing to the mats with a tremor that you swear must have registered as a seismic tremor. Breathing hard from the extended exertion, you step back and give the official room to move in and inspect your fallen foe.

After a moment, the man nods and gestures to you. "Winner, by knockout, Number Three-Oh-Three!"

As the medical staff moves in and begin struggling to get Othrym onto a stretcher, you reflect that you feel no urge whatsoever to visit him in the infirmary. You still bow politely in his direction, before turning to leave the ring.

You stop short as you find a silent sea of staring faces surrounding you in all direction. Most of the kids and the normal-looking adults are utterly gobsmacked, gaping at you as if, well, as if you just set your hands on fire using pure will, in order to more thoroughly beat the crap out of a ridiculously huge boy. Others - among them most of the noteworthy fighters you've been watching, plus Ayane's brunette friend and a pair of older boys the two girls picked up from somewhere - look interested.

Cordelia and Briar, meanwhile, are too busy facepalming in synch to meet your eyes.