He detected the creature's massive spiritual energy before he heard the screams, and by then, he was already moving. It was something that Elliott hadn't encountered in a long time, and frankly, it had his heart racing. New York had plenty of hollow problems, most of them beneath him. However, this presence was one he couldn't ignore. After years of slaughtering hollows to hone his skills, finally the one that would test him came, something on par with himself.

He approached it in the middle of the road as it seemed to mercilessly maim and kill like an animal. But he knew there was a method to its madness deep down. This knight before him--straight out of a storybook--was malicious but not quite feral. Frankly, Elliott wasn't sure what it was, but he was damn excited to find out. The spiritual pressure radiating off this guy had Elliott a very interesting kind of excited, the kind that sent a shiver down his spine and the kind that promised a fucking amazing party and a terrible morning after.

"How about you leave those guys and play with me, stud?" He said sweetly, putting a finger to his lips. "I'll show you a real good time."

Elliott raised an eyebrow and stopped his approach as the thing's demeanor suddenly changed, its movement slowed, and it stopped attacking. It asked for Elliott's name, and he supposed after a moment's thought that it would only be fair to give it. After all, they were about to get intimate, and knowing his partner's name, while not completely necessary, was nice.

"The name's Elliott." He said dropping into a fighting stance. It was a very ordinary MMA opening stance, solid yet light on his feet with his favored leg in front of the other and his fists closed before him. He was fine betraying the implication that he was going to fight this armored knight hand to hand. "How about yours, sweetheart?" He wouldn't start fighting until either the knight before him gave his name or he otherwise made any indication to attack. Elliott was nice like that, and honestly, a little foreplay went a long way when it came to the enjoyment of both.

The knight introduced himself as Lancelot, and Elliott recalled that there was indeed a knight in legend once known as Sir Lancelot. Still, he wasn't terribly familiar with the legends of the knights of the round table, especially the version undistorted by pop culture, and so he displayed no great reverence for his opponent's name, nor shock. Instead, he watched closely as Lancelot, apparently free of whatever chains of formality bound him lunged forward--fast. He speed and the power with which he swung his blade spoke of a power gap between him and his opponent, and so Elliott went into second stage immediately to compensate.

Lancelot's opening attack was a quick overhead swing of his blade, which wasn't as sophisticated of an opener as Elliott would have feared. Against a sword user, he always found himself in a better position if he were close rather than far, so he discarded his initial urge to dodge the attack. Instead, he allowed the ulna bone in his left forearm to expand and grow outside of his skin and caught the sword at an angle, letting it slide down the side and around him. The ground shattered beneath their feet as the sword landed--Elliott definitely made the right choice by stepping into secondary stage, as he doubted his bone would have stopped the blade nearly as well otherwise. As he was now placed within his foe's guard, Elliott formed solid bone on his right hand and allowed it to become sharp with two-inch long zanpakuto-strength protrusions from the knuckles. With this, he intended to test the strength of his foe's armor.
       
With a quick punch, he would lodge his fist into his foe's abdomen with enough strength that, if it connected, it would send him flying backwards with a force far greater than what one would ordinarily expect out of a svelte young man like him.

The knight moved faster than Elliott would expect of someone clad in heavy metal, and he couldn't help but purr as his fist was sidestepped. "Oh, aren't you quick!~" He wasn't deterred, however, as he watched Lancelot prepare his next attack. Being careful not to overextend, he was prepared to address the situation Lancelot was putting him in as the knight whirled behind him. A legendary fighter indeed--he wasted no movement, and Elliott found himself really enjoying the pace at which the fight developed. He dropped away from the knight in order to dodge the broadsword, the tip catching his side a bit and digging in, releasing a spray of blood.

Then he landed on the ground with his hands, pivoting less like a trained fighter and more like a break dancer, he would hook his shin around the knight's arm and press with his hands clockwise, jumping from the handstand with a transition to a strong kick to the side of Lancelot's head. Maybe there was a brain in there for him to concuss, he didn't know for sure, but it would be interesting to find out.

Hit or miss, he would adjust his momentum to go right side up and follow up with another bone-knuckled punch, this time from his left hand, toward Lancelot's side.

Elliott didn't consider himself a Corvette person. Truth be told, he was more of a Bimmer guy himself, but that didn't excuse the travesty before him as eight cylinders of fury came crashing down on him. He had just landed from his sweeping kick and as the shadow loomed over him, he didn't quite have enough time to get out of the way, so he did the next best thing, putting his hands up and catching the roof of the car. If it were an ordinary Corvette it would have crumpled like paper between the collective strength of these two highly powerful fighters, but it remained firm, which Elliott figured had something to do with the darkness that took over it. Lancelot had enhanced it in some way, making it just as strong as any bone he could muster--the ground cracked beneath Elliott, and he found his arms wavering as his strength started to give. He fell to one knee. What was this monster...?

No, clearly there was more to Lancelot than being a monster. Elliott didn't miss that look of despair from under the helmet, tears falling over sculpted cheek. There was something beautiful hidden under all that armor, unwilling and bound. In a lot of other scenarios, "unwilling and bound" would suit Elliott just fine, but not this one. This time, he would have to do something about it.

Elliott allowed himself to access the last level of his body's strength, the ground cracking once more as a surge of spiritual pressure rushed forth from his body. With this, he bought himself enough strength to get out of there, the Corvette finally crashing into the ground as he sped off to the side. He looked at his opponent, his head fully clad in its newly regenerated helmet, and he smiled, a trace of blood flowing from his hands.

"Let's get you out of there, sweetheart." He said. He charged at his opponent, intending to feint with a menacing looking haymaker. If his opponent responded, and based on the fact that he was currently little more than a raving beast, Elliott expected he would, he would Multithread and create one additional copy of himself, the main Elliott dodging to the left and the clone dodging to the right. The main Elliott would use Extract to tangle the knight's feet in a web of blood cords, while the clone would swing around, jump, and try to remove that helmet by lifting it off his shoulders.