Dante's Abyss: Conquest - Registrations (IC)

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Strazio Rockwell

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The drugged-up magick-starved Strazio had to be basically strapped into the interviewing chair. Blood still oozed from the bullethole in his gut, but Elise’s remedy had managed to bring him back from the brink. By the time he had become cognizant of his surroundings the interviewer had already repeated their question three times.

“Is he even alive?” Alex asked, pulling their face from the camera and glancing over at Luka.

“I.. uh, I certainly hope so,” Luka answered, squinting to see if Strazio was even breathing.

“I mean, the contestants have to be alive before they get onto the island,” Alex noted, “Or at the very least reanimated, I’m sorry, but unless you want to enter I have to move onto the next application.”

At this Strazio stirred. He inhaled a wet sharp breath and his head rolled back. He pawed blindly at the wound in his gut.

“I’ll answer your fuckin’ questions,” He said in a strained voice, head still rolled back.

“Oh, right then,” Alex said, jumping back towards their camera, “We’ll start off easy, what’s your name?”

There was a concerning delay before he finally answered, “Strazio Rockwell.”

“Alright Strazio, tell us a bit about yourself.”

“I’m… I’m,” Strazio’s jaw worked wordlessly as he struggled to conjure anything more than pained wheezes, “I’m pissed off.”

Alex shuddered at the response. Despite being damn near dead there was something dangerous about the man. Alex exhaled slowly and asked their next question, “What special talents or abilities do bring to the Abyss?”

Strazio visibly winced at the question. He shifted in his seat and tilted his head back down, covering his eyes with blood-matted hair.

Strazio huffed, “ I’m very pissed off.”

“Good answer, good answer,” Alex nodded behind the camera, they adjusted the focus and zoomed in on Strazio’s bloodied face, “What do you hope to win by participating? Money? Fame? Status? Sins of the flesh?”

For the first time since Strazio had arrived Alex caught a glimpse of his eyes. Two needly bloodshot things glared at them from behind a curtain of dirty hair. Had they not been staring through a camera Alex was sure they would have been killed on the spot.

“I want to kill Damien Alabaster,” Strazio answered.

“He must be delirious,” Alex said to Luka, “We don’t have a contestant with that name.”

Strazio erupted from his chair, startling the both of them and sending his chair skittering. Blood squirted from his open wounds and his legs shuddered beneath the weight, but those two pissed-off eyes stared Alex down.

“I said, ‘I want to kill Damien Alabaster’.”

“Okay, okay,” Alex said, holding up their hands in surrender, “You can kill anyone you want to, buddy, I’m not going to stop you.”

Strazio exhaled sharply and fell to one knee, nearly collapsing altogether.

Alex shook their head and spoke into a microphone on their lapel, “We’ve got another contestant, this one's gonna need to be patched up before they’re admitted.”

At that, whatever stubborn thread that was holding Strazio together came unwound. All the tension in his muscles vanished and he collapsed onto the concrete floor with a wet smack. Luka gasped. A small pool of blood expanded around him, apparently unable to be held inside anymore. Syntech medical staff appeared from behind the curtain and quickly set to work stabilizing the latest entrant into Dante’s Abyss.
 

Ridley

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Bertha Garfield was a heavy-set woman with the eyes of a well-fed tiger, the build of a Large plum, and the Well-set expression of a grazing cow. Her solution for keeping entertained in the deserts of Mesa Roja was a pack of gum, a Carton of cigarettes, and a Radio playing episodes of 'the guiding light' on a 24 hour broadcast round-the-clock broadcast. Most of the time Syntech tended to send at least two employees to any given stand, but she was considered completely fine on her own. after all, she was only really here to collect one or two potential contestants, buried beneath a desert vault. Ignoring the low-risk low-reward model, Bertha was the only one with the necessary qualities in Syntechs estimation.

The day's monotony was broken when a large, black shadow flew overhead the stand, A shape that could have been a dragon, or an oversized vulture. Bertha adjusted her thick glasses to try and figure out why for a moment, before giving up as she lost interest in the shape, and opted for another bite of her egg salad sandwich, instead.

The air screamed, as the shade came closer an closer in sight, the sound of Thousands of pounds of reptilian force colliding with the air rippling out in sound and sending dust flying everywhere, as the Figure finally came into view.

With a slam, the desert was set into chaos as dust devils followed, the lizard landing only at the last moment and kicking up a dust devil in his wake as his body struck the all-too-soft desert and laid it bare, and the Draconic heir Let out an ear-piercing roar.

Bertha looked up to the Titanic figure, and responded by blowing a large, pink bubble, holding it for a few seconds before finally allowing it to pop. "Name."

The Draconic terror snapped a glare for a few seconds to bertha, before any reply came.

"Oh, His name is Ridley, but he prefers to be called 'Lord Ridley, specifically. Do you have space for official titles?"

Bertha was quick to pull out a form, pointing to the bottom left of the form, and Liz was quick to get out a pen and start signing. It only took a few minutes for the Doctor to write up the form, occasionally looking up to the wrathful eyes of the lizard above her, and, through some hardly visible shift or blink, somehow communicating enough to write the next designation without another word.

After a few minutes, with the occasional growl or grumble, Bertha looked across the form while adjusting her glasses the entire time, as if she was never quite at the right angle, before looking up and frowning. "Signature?"

A bladed tail hooked out, smashing through Olivia's pen with lightning speed and missing both their heads by inches. cracking back like a whip, the deadly weapon slowly moved to the page itself, leaving a curiously exotic signature in a language none here knew.

"so, that's how you spell your name? How is it pronounced?" the Doctor asked, to which the Reptile only gave a glare. "sorry, sorry."

Ridley looked plaintively to bertha, giving a low snarl. Bertha, for her part, got up from her thankful chair, as the metal creaked back into place, put on her sunglasses, and pointed straight outside to a nearby teleporter.

"And make sure ya get your interview done."

Ridley's response was a simple growl, before turning and seeing another figure.

"Hello, name's Samantha Allen. I have questions for you, Ridley-"

At last, the Creature spoke, getting close enough for saliva to dribble next to the syntech reporter.

"Lord Ridley." The beast spoke, in a voice altogether reptilian.

"L-Lord Ridley. What is your name. I mean-"

"That is a dangerous name to have in my presence." Ridley would respond to a sweating reporter.

"U-understood. S-so why not tell me about yourself."

"I am the god of death. The Pirate King. The scourge of many worlds. I've come to kill as many people as possible. Lucky, isn't it? That you aren't among them."

"...I think that works for commentary. Uhm... is... what special abilities or talents do you bring to the abyss?" She'd ask, hopeful to move him off the topic.

In response, Ridley opened his mouth facing away from the reporter. "Hrahhh!"

Plasma flashed into the distance, as Ridley was quick to look back to her with stoic silence. "...Any other questions?"

"What do you hope to win-" The reporter started to ask, before being cut off.

"Killing is its own reward. But I've been informed Karl jak has quite a bit of money to give out. I'll be taking it." Ridley would reply with an insidious grin.

"that m-makes sense. Alright, that should be everything-"

"Oh, and Samus?" Ridley would ask, now looking directly towards the frightened cameraman behind her.

"Samantha, actua-"

"After my business here is done I'm coming for you. Always." Ridley would snap, before walking into the teleporter.
 

Mirage

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“A contest, huh? You know, I am the champion from that Rosy Carnival thing last year right?” The legend stretched and had a duplicate feel out his biceps before giving an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

“I see. Sir, are you going to fill out the forms or just brag about yourself all day?” The sharp looking attendant narrowed her eyes at the trickster, trying to figure out if he was serious from behind her glasses.

“Well I uh, yeah of course I was just giving you answers like you asked, you wanted to know my impressive skills right?”

“On the paper, sir.” The woman sighed before turning her attention to the other filed contestants and began to organize the ones from the day.

“O-oh, right! Champions do still gotta fill out paperwork after all… uh where do I sign?”

“Be sure to fill out all of the forms before signing off.” She spoke without even looking back up at him.

“Yeah I just, it’s a lot of writing, yunno?”

Silence.

“Geez, I wonder if Wraith joined up in this. Seems like her kind of style, but I haven’t seen her since she kinda exploded. Wouldn’t be the first time, though.” He mumbled to himself as he filled out each box on the forms. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure how exactly everything worked on this planet, or any of them for that matter. She wasn’t dead-dead, right? Now that he thought about it, after all this searching and training, did he even see any banners drop in the event? He was for sure no longer on Solace, after all, or any of the Apex Games arenas.

“Uh, hey, you wouldn’t be able to tell me if there is another contestant that I know would you?”

She simply looked up at him with a glare. “Name?”

“Uh Renee. Renee… uh,” he paused for a moment, trying to remember as the attendant's gaze burrowed deeper into him. “Blasey! That’s it.”

“Yes, we do have one registration under that name.”

“Sweet! Here, my signature and everything.”

The attendant stared at the papers, most of the boxes including some kind of self-centered joke or a bunch of scribbled out mistakes before some simple word was put in. This guy was definitely going to die out there. Then again, it wasn’t her problem. So were thousands of other no-names just like him.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“It’s Mirage, so when does this all happen?”

“Now.”

A couple of other suited individuals with earpieces and glasses came over to the legend, nodding.

“Just a quick pat down and you’ll be good to go.”

Without being able to respond, a collar was suddenly snapped onto his neck and they patted him down in what felt like under a second.

“Woah, hey, hold on, this again?”

“Yeah, standard protocol, get him on the ship with the others.”

“What about the device he has on him?”

“It passes, nothing else unusual though.”

“Hey, wait, but don’t champions and that get-” Mirage was completely ignored before he was suddenly tossed into a dropship with double doors, inside with a bunch of military outfitted soldiers.

“Don’t worry guys, they don’t know that we are the Champion Squad!”

The men and women simply gave him an odd look.

“C’mon, it’s Mirage! You know?” He pulled out his custom trophy and pointed at it.

PLEASE STRAP YOURSELVES IN, DESTINATION: DANTE’S COMET

“Ooo, a comet, never been to one of those before!”

A holographic screen appeared in the middle of the hold, a familiar man suddenly speaking to the group. “Hello Ladies and Gents, thank you for your dedication to becoming cannon fodder for this year's event. For this year, you will be…”

Mirage stared at the screen, tuning out the words as he struggled to remember something.

“Hey, isn’t that the guy who-”

The legend was suddenly cut off by the engine and the sound of his body slamming into the wall behind him, knocking him out cold. He was now well on his way to another competition, and perhaps another victory?
 

Jason Lee Scott

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Rotting. Despair. Loss. Failure.

The mighty had fallen. A decade had passed since the alien assault on planet Earth. She had sent all of her might to conquer the primitive, backwater world as her master had commanded her. Day after day, monster after monster, she had been relentless in her battle against Zordon’s champions. It had all been for nothing. She had lost.

Rita Repulsa was dead.

In a final, desperate gambit she had personally led the final attack to the city of Angel Grove. Her forces divided the Power Rangers, slaughtered thousands, and very nearly overwhelmed the champions of the world. Yet they came together anyway. Even divided the Rangers were able to work as a unit and defeat her minions. Rita Repulsa herself engaged the Red Ranger in a brutal battle in the throne room of her castle, and it ended with a sword driven through her sternum.

“More will come. What will you do to stop all of them?”

“You’ll never know.”


Rita’s dying taunt had been mocked by a paragon of good, still furious that she’d taken his family from him forever in the final battle. Her last thoughts had been despair that he was right.

Until now.

The intergalactic space witch had returned by means she didn’t understand, in a realm she did not know. Yet she understood that she was no longer beholden to Lord Zedd. If anything it was to the man who slew her. But there was something greater calling her from the void, reminding her of her failures over the years. She couldn’t defeat the Power Rangers. She had even tried to make her own Green Ranger, but he had been overpowered like the rest of her forces and ended up betraying her. She had eventually stopped the Green Ranger, but his power transferred to the Red Ranger. It was with the combined power she had set into motion that she had been slain. Every part of her invasion had been a catastrophic failure.

She understood the voice that drove her now, and commanded her. She had a new master, and she would serve his means to the end of time, for he would make her mighty.

“Ahh, after ten… years, I’m free,” Rita cackled with only a second of hesitation as she stretched her aching, mutilated limbs after a decade of rot. “It’s time to conquer…”

The Unmade witch looked around. Where was she?
 

Nico Cinder

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The day was almost over for each and every little Syntech boy and girl and robot on staff in Cevanti tonight. Bernadette and Lily talked about plans for a late night coffee, and ever-serious Samuel had begun to break down some of the holographs and neon advertising structures that make up the majority of this particular registration station. Things were certainly wrapping up, the end of the day in sight for every employee, be it home or rest or-

Wait, what was that noise?

What would soon be noticed as a rush of footfall first started as a low hum, but quickly turned into a roaring din accompanied by shouts and bodies colliding with bodies.

"W-wait wait! Only one entrant at a time please! Settle down!"

Oh, good luck with that one, dude. An entourage of misfits all dressed in black and red came moshing up to the front desk with all the abandon of music drifting on the wind. And there was music in the air; some jackass was wailing on a guitar. HARD. All these weirdos were chanting something horribly off beat, so much so that Wallace the Front Desk-er could not make out what anyone was saying.

Now, Wallace was generally a reserved lad. But, so close to the end of his very long day, in the middle of his very dull, very last pile of paperwork and red tape, he let loose. "PLEASE! ONE AT A TIME!"

Everyone, almost all at once, stilled themselves. They weren't paying any attention to Wallace, though. No, roughly 30-40 angsty teens and young adults had all turned to the center of their own storm. And they were saying something under their breaths, all together, all on rhythm this time. It was more than slightly unsettling. One figure stood in the center of the procession, fingers rippling to a stop across the strings of a very sinister looking instrument. Cameras flash and red lights blink on drones above, catching his little musical flourish.

"If you couldn't already tell, it'll just be me tonight."

"And your name," Wallace sighs, gripping his stylus just a little too tightly. He had had seen enough dramatic entrances from enough pompous assholes for one lifetime.

"Oh? What's that? Ladies, Gents, I don't think our Syntech friend can hear you."

Everyone's whispering grew to be angry talking, grew to be vicious shouting.

"NI-CO, NI-CO, NI-CO!"

"My name is Nico Cinder!" The brimstone boy says with a shit-eating grin, "and I've come to melt your faces off!" The applause and cheers from the Cult of Cinder was thunderous.

"Yeah, fine, whatever, just get in the teleporter, guy."
 

Miyamoto Musashi

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“Juuuust a bit further…” the ronin muttered, her mouth slightly ajar, tongue frozen in the middle shortly after, left arm searching to balance herself as she wibbled, wobbled and teetered.

What was she doing?

Searching for sake of course!

What else would a good-for-nothing ronin spend their drunken stupor of an izakaya evening doing? Her heels danced on the edge of the bar counter as she reached for the topshelves herself, bypassing the bartender entirely.

In the midst of vibrant tavern chatter and the ever-present smell of alcohol that one could carve with a knife, the perplexed bartender looked up and called out, a hint of desperation in his voice. “Miss? Miss..? I need you to step down, that’s dangerous!”

“It’sss fiiiiiiiiiiiiin--whoa!” the swordsman downplayed even as her arms went for a wildly flaying merry-go-around, nearly dooming her to crash into the shelves.

Nearly.

But not quite. And so she jittered just a hint of an inch further, her fingers now tasting the neck of that delicious top-shelf sake bottle.

“Miss! Down, now! I’ll have to call the guards!” pleaded the ever-adorable bartender. In another life, she’d lay with him for the fun of it. Why not? The drunken thought was discarded as she finally found solid purchase on the bottle.

WHUM!

“Eyyy!”

Ohay! The bottle!

Musashi stared at the sky, her fingers now squeezing the white porcelain bottle for dear life. A slight adjustment, ascertaining that the bottle pointed upward. This journey would not be for nothing.

...but she should’ve crashed by now? Surely?

Vzzzsshhn.

Awwwwww drat. Not this again. Not today!
How would she even explain this to Hibiki?

Such were the thoughts of the ronin as she was swallowed by the suddenly conjured portal in the tavern floor.

THUMP!

And so, as unceremoniously as ever, the portals came and went, unceremoniously dumping the world-hopping swordsman from one world to another, without paying any heed to whether she actually wanted to travel.

Hint? This time she actually didn’t!

And now she was...wherever this was.

“xt…”

Damnit. Bikkiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!

“Oi! Get a move on!” bursted a gruff voice from behind, sending the drunken ronin to scamper onto her feet with all the grace of a moat-fallen feline. Regardless, now that she stood - if the in-place swaying could really be called standing - the ronin quickly found herself faced with a mountain of meat and muscle glaring down at her.

But of course, the sake bottle remained perfectly level all the while. It was important, after all.

“Mmmooooove!” he growled, teeth grinding hard enough to send pearly white pieces flying her way.

Yowch!

Somehow apparently the muscle-mound wasn’t in an all too friendly a mood as his bear-sized hand came down and lifted the drunkard by her shoulder, spinning her around in place before shoving her forward.

Staggering onto the counter-top, now face-to-face with a pretty, uniform-clad brunette the bewildered barfly grew ever more confused by the second.

Hmm. A comedic relief, perhaps? Or a swordswoman judging by her attire. A drunkard most definitely. All good enough traits for now. Infranty, regardless.
Given this had all already been televised anyway, the clerk just went with it. All for the sake of entertainment, after all!

“Here’s your join form. Sign here!” requested the alcohol-filter processed angel in front, pushing forward a sheet of paper and a pen, with a line at the bottom.

“Whuh?” Mushashi lifted her eyebrow a little, one hand still holding the prized sake bottle. It had been acquired through hard-pressed effort of bar-thievery, clearly it was worth its weight in gold!

“Juuust sign there. We at Syntech will take care of the rest, yes? Yes. Sign away!” the confusingly devil-esque angel flashed her brightest smile, shoving the pen into Musashi’s hand without any hesitation. “Aaand onto the last line there.”

And while we’re ignoring whichever universe a world-hopping ronin had learned to use a pen in, the alcohol addled sellsword quickly swished her name onto the paper.

Her pen did not stay on the line, mind you.
Or anywhere near it, really.

Honestly, a portion of the ink was probably on the desk now.

Anyway.

Just as quickly as she had come, the befuddled swordswoman was ushered aside into the next line, all the while a “Next!” resounded across the landscape.

Just what the hell had she gotten herself into now?
 
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