Stops Chris' pole

Chris, legs embedded in spiky rock, was using both hands to haul what looked like a long, thin rod out of his throat. He'd swallowed the length of the dead tree like a sword-swallower swallowed a blade, and now he was drawing it back out, changed.

Narrower, thinner, smoother, and slick with fluids.

Chris, it seemed, wasn't just the kind of changer who could adapt his form. He was the kind of changer who gained new sorts of powers while in an alternate form.

He hauled the last of the tree free of his mouth. Fifteen feet long, thicker at the end he had just removed than at the end he held, now that he was turning it around to get it in a position he could wield it. Too long to be a proper club, not quite a rod either.

*****

Kenzie's efforts left Chris entirely unmolested as he brought his weapon down, shattering Tristan's created ground, freeing his legs.

*****

Chris brought his rod down, stabbing it deep into the ground, and held onto it for leverage. It had to be sturdier than the dead tree had been, because it didn't bend and it didn't break. Condensed down, maybe, shaped to be hard.

He reared back, and he blew. He'd broken down and processed more of the dead tree than what he'd used to condense it into a giant club-staff. He exhaled a cloud of wet sawdust.

I didn't want to put up my forcefield if it would catch the sawdust, so I endured it, flew closer, and used my forcefield for only as long as it took to kick the stick he was holding onto with all of my strength.

It broke, and with it breaking, Chris fell down the hill, rolling over wet grass and weeds, until he came to a stop against a cluster of two trees that had grown next to one another.

He began to pick himself up, working his way up the hill, stabbing down to pierce the ground with his half-stick and plant it there like an ice-climber might use a piton.

- Glare 3.3