Knowing that your opponent is part troll - a species famed for powerful healing, boundless hunger, and formidable strength - you conclude that your best bet is to end this fight as quickly as possible, while giving William as few openings to bring any kind of "troll strength" to bear as you can. A ring-out by throw sounds ideal. True, he's close to your size and won't be easy to get airborne, but that should be easily handled with ki-enhanced strength - plus, unless something really weird is going on, the odds of a part-troll being able to maneuver in mid-air anywhere nearly as physics-breakingly as Kahlua did are vanishingly small.

"Alright, boys," the Announcer says, looking between the two of you. "Are you both ready?"

You nod. William grins toothily.

"Okay." The well-dressed man backs out of the ring. "Ready... FIGHT!"

The word is barely out of the man's mouth when you are forced to dodge backwards as your opponent lashes out at you with his surprisingly long arms, fingers hooked like claws to rake at your eyes. While you avoid that strike easily enough, William presses his attack, following after you with surprising quickness. Raising your ki, you go on the defensive, deflecting blows to get the measure of the other boy's strength even as you give ground.

"Come on, flashy boy," he growls, still grinning. "Where are those flaming fists ya used to beat up my ol' buddy Othrym, eh? Where's that fancy light-show ya put on for the princess? Are you holdin' back, is that it?"

"Just fighting smart," you reply. A friend of Othrym's, huh? You can sort of see how that might work out - trolls are supposed to be related to giants, sort of like how modern homo sapiens were related to neanderthal man. Good luck determining who's who in that analogy, though. As it happens, William isn't on the same tier of strength as Othrym - with your ki up, you're just about able to match the hook-nosed boy for brute force - but he's quite a bit more skilled. Factor in their relative sizes and William's trollish healing, and you'd have a decent match-up.

"Fightin' smart, is it? Try just fightin', ya sissy! Stop backin' away and COME AT ME!"

"Alright." Rather than push his next attack away, you grab William's arm with both hands, spin around to put your shoulder to his chest, and pull. Combined with the momentum of his advancing assault, the throw gets him good and airborne; it's not Berserker's earlier flight on Altria Airlines, but it's enough to send William to the edge.

"Sunnova-!" he snarls, before cutting off in the dull thump of his landing. You notice his fingers scrabbling at the faux-stone squares that make up the floor of the ring, his thick, pointed, almost black fingernails producing a screech akin to chalk on a blackboard as they search desperately for traction.

"Oh, so close!" the Announcer cries. "Alexander came within an inch of a ring-out, folks, but William just barely managed to catch himself! This fight is still on!"

"Heh," the half-troll chuckles, springing to his feet before you can get close. "Not bad, magic man. Got me good an' cornered, ya do. Care to try and finish the job?" He beats his chest, looking a bit like a gorilla. "COME ON, IF YA THINK YOU'RE HARD ENOUGH!"

"You want me, ugly?" you snap. "Fine. Ready or not, here I come!"

And you rush forward.

"Aw, now that's more like like!" William shouts, spreading his arms and hunkering down to receive your charge. From that stance, he could easily flip you over his head or spin you around himself, or just drag you down for an old-fashioned mauling. Trolls are supposed to be good at the dirty close-in work.

Good thing you never intended to close with him. You cut your charge short almost as soon as it starts, skidding slightly as you channel your aura into your right hand.

"Psyke!" you announce cheerfully, as you let the ki-blast fly.

"Huh-?"

POW.

Right in the kisser. The blast is diffuse enough that its impact doesn't hurt William, but it's still got enough force to knock his head back, make his ears ring, and throw him ever-so-slightly off-balance. When he tries to take a step to correct it, his foot comes down on the edge of the ring, more out than in.

"Whoa, what- whoa!"

And following much flailing of arms and gnashing of poorly-maintained teeth, William Marsh tips over and crashes down.

"Ring-out!" the Announcer declares. "Winner, Alexander Harris!"

William hauls himself to a crouch using the edge of the ring for support, and glares at you.

You almost start to offer William a hand up, but then your common sense gets the better of you. Knowingly putting yourself not only in striking range but the actual grasp of a clearly-angry part-troll is just asking for something bad to happen. Instead, you let your ki enhancement lapse - showing your respect for the tournament and its rules - and bow formally - honoring your opponent for the fight.

"What d'you think you're doin'?" William growls as he hauls himself to his feet. "This ain't over. We ain't done."

Wordlessly, you turn and walk away - but you don't drop your guard.

"Oi! Don't you turn your back on me, magic-man! I said we ain't done 'ere! You come back and fight me good an' proppa!"

The Announcer is warning William to stand down. The other boy isn't listening.

"Damn you, DON'T IGNORE ME!"

There are plenty of warnings there for the prepared mind to act upon. The previous calls of challenge. The collective shocked intake of air from the crowd. The Announcer's hastily barked, "Mister Marsh!" Most tellingly, the sudden looks of surprise and fear on the faces of your friends. And as it would happen, your mind is on alert, well-prepared to spot the signs of danger and then act on them.

Gained Watchful F++

You spin about to find a hundred pounds of pissed-off half-troll in the middle of lunging for your face, long arms fully extended and hooked fingers splayed wide. His fury suits his features like no expression he'd previously displayed could - truly, that ugly visage is one made for menace. Too bad for him you can remember seeing - and being - much worse.

As you hit the proverbial dirt and roll aside, you can't help but entertain the brief thought that the current situation is probably not what the teachers had in mind when they talked about "stop, drop, and roll."

Despite that, it works quite well. William was aiming for your upper body when he leapt at you, and now that he's airborne, he's got no way to compensate for your sudden evasive roll. He makes a good effort at lashing out to catch you with his raking fingers or his feet, but he barely has time enough for a swipe and a kick before his momentum has carried him past you, out of the ring for a second time, and to a rough landing on the floor. He's still hauling himself back to his feet when he goes down again, this time with several officials piling on him like they did with Berserker.

The bland-looking men in their archaic robes are certainly earning their pay today, you reflect, as William fights back, struggling against four men at once and giving a fair accounting of himself. In the end, troll-strength or not, it's a foregone conclusion, and the snarling, furious boy is dragged from the arena.

"Well," the Announcer said, "that was bracing. You alright there, kid?"

"Fine, sir. I had plenty of warning that he was going to try something."

The blond man nods. "He was pretty obvious about it. Good call on not taking a shot at him - not that anyone would have blamed you, but it shows good judgement. Keep that up, and you'll go far." You nod and leave the ring, while behind you the Announcer raises his microphone. "Sorry about the disruption, folks! What do you say we proceed with the next match?"

You are passed by the half-Brachen boy, Connor, and the dark-skinned, white-haired, red-eyed girl named Amae; the former gives you a respectful nod, while the latter merely glances at you once and then looks away. Nice girl. Still, the reactions of your friends and acquaintances more than makes up for her lack of acknowledgement.