Day 2

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Karl Jak

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Early Morning Phase
(0000 to 0600 AM)

“A new day is dawning, all my lovely little people. While I have no sad news to share with you, I’m sure some of the dead men/women/robots down there will have their name in lights soon enough.

“Let’s get onto the danger zones!

A5
G9
B2
G1

“Be aware that at 6 AM, a second capsule will be falling onto the island. The same rules apply as the last one. Your collars will take you there and back, so long as you don’t die, of course! You could also physically travel to the spot as well. The package will drop onto square B4 at 6 AM. It’s a prize designed to highlight all the friendships on the island, but even if you’re forever alone, you might want this one for yourself anyway.

Happy hunting! Or happy hiding! We can swing both ways on this island.”


Out-of-Karl Bulletins
  • Remember that once a danger zone ‘activates’ (24 hours after I initially post about it), it stays on for the rest of the contest, unless I state otherwise.
  • Please make sure when you send in moves that you list ALL the squares you intend to travel through. I’ve reminded a few people of this, but starting with Day 2, if you don’t include all the moves, I’ll just be replying back ‘please list out all your moves’ before I technically move you.
  • The next Easter Egg will drop at the start of next phase.
    • You can join into this fight by messaging me (once you’re in, YOU ARE IN – do not ask me to withdraw, as I will not honor it this time around … once your character taps on the collar to queue for the egg, there’s no ‘off’ switch :p)
 

Karl Jak

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Face to Face
#06 Ashe-0 & #07 Roy Mustang vs #23 Bruce Banner

Ashe-0 had rebooted a few minutes ago, and the battered twosome had started on a journey that they hoped would get them far away from psychotic monsters and all the other various things that plagued this island.

The machine moved laboriously—her servos and mechanical parts in clear need of maintenance that would never come on this abandoned island. Even so, Ashe-0 didn’t betray any sense of weakness or fragility. After all, there were many benefits to being a machine.

“I think we might be in the clear,” Roy spoke softly. Just a short while ago, Karl had made an announcement that no one else had died. On top of that, the eccentric host of this competition had made reference to an additional package being dropped on the island. Karl had stated that this was an important find for ‘friends’, and while the twosome had yet to talk about it, Roy figured both of them were willing to risk it all once again.

It might be something we can use to… remedy the situation.

“What is that?” Ashe-0 suddenly inquired, lifting her one good hand and pointing toward and object that was glimmering ever so slightly in the moonlight. As they drew closer, they saw that it was a large disk of some kind, emblazoned with a star at the center of what appeared to be a very patriotic red, blue, and white design. “It seems sturdy. It may serve well as a weapon.”

“Let’s grab it and run,” Roy whispered.

Ashe-0 leaned forward and grabbed the top of the shield, but as she tried to pull it away, she felt resistance. Pulling a little more, the pair furrowed their brow as both noticed the scrawny, almost sickly-looking man holding onto the straps on the rear of the circular bulwark. “There is a small man attached,” Ashe-0 intoned as she glanced to Roy.

“Please just leave me alone,” the man implored as he tried very poorly to pull the shield from Ashe-0’s grip. “This is all I have, and I can’t let you take it.”

“I’m sorry,” Roy replied. “But we need this, too.”

“You’re making me angry,” the small man whispered as his eyes suddenly went from brown to green.

“Something is happening,” Ashe remarked as she suddenly felt the man’s grip on the shield grow by leaps and bounds. Furthermore, the once-sickly man’s skin had turned green, and as the machine watched with a degree of robotic intrigue, the human began to grow upwards and outwards. His dirty and stained lab coat and underlying dress shirt tore away to reveal a rapidly expanding chest and enormous biceps. With one last failed tug at the shield, Ashe-0 made the obvious comment as she found herself face-to-face with the hulking, muscular monstrosity. “We have made an error in judgement. You need to run!”

“HULK. SMASH!

Stepping forward, the green behemoth let go of the shield and closed both of its giant fists around Ashe’s skull.

“Run!” Ashe-0 repeated as the Hulk tore her head—spine included—up out of her body. As the indicator lights flickered into darkness on final time and the stressed servos whirred their last cycles, Ashe-0’s body managed to fling the shield into the chest of Roy Mustang.

It took everything he could muster, but the soldier honored his new friend’s final request.





...

...

...

#06 Ashe-0 DEAD

27 Contestants Remain

Bruce Banner is now the Hulk.

Roy Mustang has stolen the Vibranium Shield. It’s cool, the Hulk doesn’t really need it.

Hulk has gained ‘Improvised Flail’! (…This is not a real Weapon)

Roy and the Hulk are on cooldown (protected from another F2F) for 8 hours or unless they move from their present square. This protection can also be waived by letting me know via PMs.

Ashe-0 is dead and can execute their preferred method of resurrection on the World of their choice.​
 
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Roy Mustang

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There were times when Roy felt worthless.

A state alchemist was a human weapon, a walking, talking, one-man artillery of destruction. He was one of the best. A snap of his fingers could render a squad of enemy soldiers to cinders in the blink of an eye. His wrath could render a zoid to a bubbling mass of twisted slag. A bonfire memorial to power and rage that could not be opposed.

Yet his flames could not protect, despite the controlled precision of his power, loses mounted as he pushed forward. His reckless actions cost those around him, and on some level, he knew that. He left himself vulnerable, trusting others to watch his back as he focused on his goals like a petulant child. They did it too, sacrificing for his follies without even questioning him. Why did they trust him? Why did they think he could do anything worth the sacrifices they made?

Of the two of them, Ashe-0 had been the better combatant by a significant margin. Time and again she had stepped in to save Roy’s life from the islands crazed combatants. She owed him nothing, and he didn’t exactly provide her much of a tactical advantage. Why had she chosen to help him? What ‘experience’ could she be gaining by taking blow after blow to shield a half-dead man she’d met the same day? Her last action as the monster had torn her in two was to toss him a weapon. It didn’t make sense.

Roy’s legs gave out as he fled along the coast, his over-wrought body reaching for reserves that had long ago run dry. He tumbled to the ground, rolling to a stop face first. The strange shield humming as it bounced off the ground. Mustang struggled back onto hands and knees, staring at the weapon in growing frustration. They had been weaponless. Clearly, they would need a weapon to survive in this death match. When stated that simply, their choices seemed perfectly reasonable, the obvious solution.

Why hadn’t he been smarter than that? Why couldn’t he have come up with a better plan? Like a weapon would let him stand up to the living monsters he had met in this place! He reached for the shield, hand shaking. With a growling scream of rage, he made to throw the blasted thing away, arm raised back to send the disc plummeting into the ocean's waves. He hesitated there on his knees, breath heaving and ragged, staring into the night sky. The vast stars of the crossroads danced in the early morning hours, brighter than he could ever see them back in Markov.

There he was, about to throw away Ashe-0’s last sacrifice with careless abandon, just like every other rash action he had taken. His arm fell limp at his side, and he sank back on his knees, head bowed and teeth clenched.

He was just a worthless fool.
 

Karl Jak

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Face to Face
#07 Roy Mustang vs #19 Victor Wolfe

“Why are you playing with that thing?” Kayleigh asked once she saw that her companion had cracked open the metal case he had stowed in his bag the last day.

Victor glanced up from the briefcase. He only smiled as he blinked out of existence.

***​

Roy had put some distance between himself and the scene of his friend’s death. He had lurched, tripped, and stumbled his way through the forests of Beetleland with his eyes set on the cliffs at the southern end of the island or the waters of the lake he knew was somewhere nearby.

Unfortunately for Roy, he quickly realized that he was no longer alone.

“I’m going to need your equipment,” a sinister voice spoke from up ahead of the wounded soldier.

Lifting his head, Roy Mustang grimaced at the sight of a sneering man in dark robes. In one hand, he held a briefcase that hung open. The apparatus had some kind of LCD display that seemed to list off everyone on the island and their… physical state? “What kind of monster are you?”

Victor Wolfe grinned. “The best type of monster. The one who wants you to surrender everything you have or die very grimly.” Crouching down, the man proceeded to pluck a rock up off the ground. He tossed it up and down in his hand for a few moments before nodding his head and smiling once more at Roy.

“Can’t do that,” Roy replied as he tried to brush the grief from his countenance. “This is a memento from a friend.”

“Then it’ll make a lovely memento mori for the two of you.”

The assassin sprung forward, his healthy body moving faster than Mustang could muster. Military instincts could only carry a battered caracass so far, and even though he evaded the first two errant blows, a third caught him in the side of the head. Mustang teetered for a few fleeting moments before fresh adrenaline coursed through his ravaged body.

The vibranium shield smashed into Victor’s chest and face. The Emperor of Neo New Babylon grinned even though he tasted blood in his mouth. He threw himself back at Roy Mustang and overpowered the man’s equilibrium. The pair crashed into the ground as Victor swung the stone and landed a blow right above the major’s eye. The shield, sandwiched between the two, jerked upward, peeling Victor off of Roy like an old scab.

Once more falling onto his side, Victor fought back the frustration as he scrambled forward. He swung the stone, but this time, he was met by the shield. The assassin felt something in his wrist give as the rock shattered between his fingers. Fortunately for Victor, his murderous mind was well-focused enough to avoid the next shield attack, and vibranium bulwark crashed down through the ground. Weakened as he was by a day of violence, Roy struggled for a fleeting second to pull it free—far too much time to give a trained killer.

Victor lunged over the shield and tackled Roy, who felt his arm slip free from the weapon’s grips. Once more, the pair found themselves jockeying for position, but by this point, nearly all the strength had waned from the injured soldier. Heavy blows crashed against Roy’s chest and face, aggravating the internal injuries he had sustained from the geokinetic youth.

“Goodnight,” Victor growled as he leaned back, grabbed the shield, and brought it crashing down onto Roy’s face.

Even though his skull had been shattered by the blow, the dying soldier still managed to reach out and rake his gnarled fingernails down the side of Victor’s face, giving the man something nice to pair with the nick that adorned his other cheek. Mustang even managed a faint grin as the lights started to dim.

“Oh, we’re playing funny games now?” Victor seethed. “I said… GO.”

Victor brought the shield down hard on Roy’s face.

“TO.”

A second crunch of vibranium against flesh.

SLEEP!!”

After the final, face-mashing blow, a winded Victor Wolfe stood up from the corpse. Even the man’s mother would have some hard luck identifying her baby boy.

With a smile, the assassin used the dead man’s clothes to wipe the blood and other assorted biological tissues off of the shield’s surface. A quick rifling through his person revealed a cell phone.

“Interesting,” Victor muttered as he pocketed the device and returned to the briefcase. What he saw made him scowl, but even so, he still tried to tap in the sequence. Nothing. “Does this not…” The assassin tapped the controls inside the case, but there seemed to be no response.

The screen of the case was likewise dead… except for a message that flashed up: ‘Good luck getting back! :*’

“A one-way ticket?” The assassin-turned-emperor scowled. “Fuck you too, Karl.”






#07 Roy Mustang DEAD

26 Contestants Remain



Victor Wolfe has used the Money in the Bank briefcase (which, for clarity, allows its user to teleport and challenge any individual at any time, regardless of cooldowns)

Victor Wolfe’s wrist is fractured (Minor Injury) and he has a momento from Roy scrapped across his other cheek (writing flavor/Story Injury)

Victor Wolfe receives the Vibranium Shield and the Cell Phone.

Victor Wolfe has used one application of Focus.

Victor Wolfe has reaffirmed his status as resident Human Monstrosity of Dante’s Abyss.

Victor Wolfe is on cooldown (protected from another F2F) for 8 hours or unless they move from their present square. This protection can also be waived by letting me know via PMs.

Roy Mustang is dead and can execute their preferred method of resurrection on the World of their choice.​
 

Mickey Mouse

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“...Gildarts?”

Mickey Mouse sat on the ground in the middle of the forest glade staring up at the broad-shouldered battle mage. He looked altogether the same as a few years back, so Mickey knew this was the same guy, but something about him was very different. His eyes were glossed over, his face contorted into a weird, crooked smile; he hunched over, his face close to the much tinier competitor. His voice warbled in a way that the mage probably didn’t even realize, but that signaled something was very, very wrong.

“Are… are you okay, pal?” Mickey asked, waving his hand in front of Gildarts’ face. The man’s gaze didn’t falter from the mouse’s eyes one bit.

“Why’re you so tiny?” he sputtered, skin growing pale and desperation filling his pores. Every question seemed to come with such urgency, and yet simultaneously so lackadaisical. Honestly, Gildarts’ general state concerned the mouse king, though Mickey wasn’t altogether sure that the mage could tell how he looked to others, or if he even cared.

Mickey rose to his feet. Even at this new, taller height, he still only came up to about Gildarts’ hips. He glanced around the hulking monstrosity of a man, looking for more signs of familiarity.

Was Guu with him? Mickey remembered the battle mage had served the perky princess. What about Erza Scarlet? They’d been friends, he started to recall — or she’d known him, at the very least. This whole universe was starting to really mess with his head. Gilgamesh, Kopaka, Victor, and now Gildarts. Some with fully-formed memories of him, like the New Babylonians, and some with seemingly no clue at all who he was or where they were or what the heckskies was going on.

Mickey blinked. Was Minnie here? She’d been an Ambrosian.

“...mouse,” the battle mage exhaled, “M-Mickey.”

The king’s attention snapped back to the man, and he frantically searched for the right thing to say to jog the guy’s memory even more. “Yes!” he cried, almost automatically, “Mickey Mouse. That’s me, bud. Is Erza with you?”

Gildarts blinked. “...Erza?”

The mouse’s expression brightened at what sounded like a vague flash of recognition from the other man. He rushed toward Gildarts, reaching out and placing one of his tiny, gloved hands on Gildarts’ own. “Yeah, buddy — it’s me, Mickey. I was her friend! We’re pals, right? Are you okay?”

The questions rushed out of Mickey, because he had a sinking feeling this moment of light was going to be short-lived.

Gildarts’ jaw hung agape and he started looking frantically around the glade. “Where… is… Erza…”

The keyblade master opened his mouth to respond, but was stopped as Gildarts’ hand stretched toward him, and ever-so-gently, a finger traced one of Mickey Mouse’s large ears. Gildarts fell from a crouch fully to his knees, and Mickey reached out and tried his best to hold the battle mage aloft. Whatever was causing this — whatever was pumping through his system — may not be completely gone, but it certainly seemed to be loosening its hold. The mage met Mickey Mouse’s eyes, and the king could see the same flash of recognition he’d seen at the mention of Erza’s name. They were close to something, he could just feel it…

Then, Karl Jak’s voice blared from the treetops again, and Mickey had to dive out of the way to avoid Gildarts’ hulking torso.

From his new vantage point sitting by a nearby tree, Mickey watched as the intoxicated man knelt to no one, muttering something under his breath as Karl droned on — clearly annoyed — that no one else had yet died in the Abyss. The mouse’s head quirked to one side as he realized that Gildarts was bowing to… Karl?

What the bleep?

Something was deeply wrong with this guy, and Mickey didn’t even know where to start. Yet whatever it was didn’t seem to put Gildarts in a violent mood, so for the moment, the mouse felt safe near him. He’d been in heckin’ danger running by himself away from the Bryan-infected Gilgamesh, and at least now he and Gildarts could look out for each other.

...or, well, he could look out for Gildarts. The battle mage didn’t really seem in any condition to be in Dante’s Abyss, period.

How had he gotten here? No — how had he gotten like this?

Mickey’s gaze turned back to the forest from whence he’d come, and his thoughts drifted to Gilgamesh and the malefactor. Was Gildarts’ condition Karl’s doing as well? So it wasn’t enough to throw them onto an island filled with murderers and other sorts of bad dudes, but now the purple-suited prick had decided to further play Gosh and have his way with the contestants with all sorts of dangerous substances? The depth of Karl Jak’s immorality always never ceased to amaze Mickey, but never surprised him.

Nevertheless, someone like Gildarts wasn’t destined to last long out in the open like this, and Mickey would never last long if he was stuck as the crutch to someone so deeply intoxicated.

But he couldn’t just leave Erza Scarlet’s friend alone to die.

“Come on, pal,” he reached out and placed a glove on Gildarts’ back. “Let’s find you some place safe to rest.”

And then, he resolved, I’ll find Gilgamesh.

He couldn’t let Gildarts wander the wilderness in this state, waiting for death. And he couldn’t let Gilgamesh be yanked by the Malefactor into a situation that would put him in the Grim Reaper’s path.

“Isn’t that what you fancy yourself? A hero?”

What does a hero do? Save people, of course.

Mickey Mouse would save everyone.
 

Gilgamesh

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“More. MORE,” the fallen King screeched, echoing throughout the forest. His synthetic skin pulsated with his heart. His eyes darted across the dense woods; the pale moonlight was more than enough to track his prey. While the lowly mongrels need to sleep, Malgamesh was built for the hunt. He leapt from tree to tree, cracking each of the trunks as he forcefully pushed off each one. The scrawny faun that had he had devoured sated him for mere minutes. His next meal would need to be something more...substantial. The Corrupted King of Heroes scowled how he had let so many of his quarry get away. Not next time.

Gilgamesh’s thoughts emerged from the abyss, peeling away the Malefactor from his face. “Must. Gain. Control,” he managed to choke out, his hands peeling the parasite from his face. “I am stronger than you,” Gilgamesh grunted. The alien was losing its grip, using up most of its power to save itself from certain death. Its thoughts penetrated Gilgamesh’s mind, attempting to bribe and plead to maintain control.

“You may be strong,” the creature whispered in Gil’s mind. “But we are stronger together,” it said enticingly. Gilgamesh growled in response, “You are merely my tool! Nothing more than a weapon who has overstepped its bounds.” The King of Heroes grit his teeth as he continued to struggle. The Malefactor’s voice became more panicked and pleaded with him.

“We can win this together, don’t get rid of me. You need me!” it shouted in Gilgamesh’s mind.

“I am the King! I do not need anything from the likes of you,” he seethed.

“But think about what Mickey did to you! He sent you to the deepest pits of hell, forcing you to abandon your country! He has always stood in your way!” it screamed in terror as Gilgamesh was close to prying it off his face. But its words struck a chord within the King of Kings, causing him to falter. If the Malefactor had a mouth, it would sigh in relief. It continued to egg on Gilgamesh, “That mouse considers you a villain when you have done nothing but sacrifice for your people.”

“Stop. It.” Gilgamesh muttered, the malefactor regaining its strength. “That is the past,” he decreed with uncertainty.

“Is it? What does he think of you now?” the creature dealt the final blow. With the last question, it snapped back into place. Malgamesh dropped his arms to his side and broke out into a sprint, screaming at the top of his lungs.

“Mouuuuuuuuuuse!”
 

Karl Jak

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Face to Face
#05 Gilgamesh vs #02 Okuyasu

Okuyasu floated gently under the moonlight. The pain in his stump had ‘abated’ to a numb throbbing that he found only slightly unmanageable. He had made it to a clearing that contained a small body of water that the map called ‘Gear Lake.’ Unbeknownst to the stand user, the lake had recently served as the site of a scuffle involving a waterlogged serial killer, a marine, and a middle-aged woman with a corporate sponsorship. The moonlight made the water sparkle like crystal and under other circumstances, the scene might have been quaint.

Unfortunately, the man and his Hand weren’t alone for long.

“I know someone’s there,” Okuyasu shouted as the black mass emerged from the lake to reveal the glistening, alien monstrosity known as Malgamesh. “Not this shit.”

“It ends. Now.” The monster seethed as it advanced toward the stand user.

“I know,” Okuyasu replied sternly as the Hand shifted forward and swiped a bitter palm at its user’s constant assailant.

Malgamesh lunged sideways to avoid the vanishing chunk of shoreline and rushed. A second attack from the Hand staggered the rampaging beast, but the orgo-synth pushed its meat sack onward. A burst of flames caused the silent, once-imposing entity to stagger and crumple as the sinewy black monster charged passed it.

Okuyasu yanked back on the controls, but his reflexes were not what they should have been. He managed to spurt up into the air but not until after the blade of the lightsaber cleaved off the top half of his head.

The stand user hit the ground with a dull thud, followed moments later by the motionless form of the Hand.






#02 Okuyasu Nijimura DEAD

25 Contestants Remain

The Jetpack is there for Malgamesh

Okuyasu is dead and can execute their preferred method of resurrection on the World of their choice.​
 

Kopaka

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The Toa of Ice was upset, and he was reaching a point where he could no longer suppress it.

Not only was Kopaka viscerally uncomfortable with the idea of simply waiting for someone to ambush them, but the spot Arthur had picked was also the least aesthetically pleasing location possible. Kopaka had stood in the gleaming moonlight alone; a single bastion of purity and justice amidst a landscape of rot and refuse. Towers of crumbling garbage loomed in the darkness, like a mockery of the idyllic forest from just hours prior. Persistent dribblings of runoff filled the sounds of the night, along with the whine of insects.

And there Kopaka stood, motionless, waiting for something to happen. There Kopaka stood, simply hoping that the Arthur human was not only awake, but alert to any threats that may have bore down on the exposed android - trusting Arthur, as the cowboy had so vehemently demanded.

But nothing happened, and Kopaka had had enough.

Arthur was watching Kopaka, for what it was worth, and stumbled down from his ambush point in a pile of old dishwashers as he saw the Toa approaching. He slopped through the pungent muck, and adjusted the bandana he had habitually pulled up over his face.

"Reckon we oughtta move on?" Arthur grumbled. Kopaka wanted to be mad, but it was clear that his partner was willing to reconsider their plan. It was not sensible to lash out at him under the current circumstances.

But he wanted to.

But he didn't.

Instead. Kopaka allowed a frustrated burst of elemental power to fly from his form, instantly freezing the muck a short distance around him, and causing a small swarm of bot flies to drop like verminous hail. Arthur offered a long, low nod.

"I agree." he sniffed.

"We will find another position for your ambush." Kopaka relented. The bionicle glanced at the horizon, and Arthur followed his gaze. It was evident that Kopaka didn't have a specific plan for where they should go. He just wanted it to be anywhere but here. The grizzled human was about to respond, but Kopaka spoke again.

"If we fail to find a quarry again, then we will go with my plan." he hissed. Arthur sucked in a deep breath of stank and released a slow, loose whistle.

"Sure. Fair 'nuff." he responded. His tone was resigned, but carried a whiff of optimism. Kopaka was not in the mood for cowpoke whimsy. After a day of dealing with the sulky Toa and his inscrutable face, Arthur was beginning to be able to pick up on the many different types of silence Kopaka had to offer.

"Let's get to it, then." Arthur grunted as he saddled up his duffel and weapon. He splashed a few feet through the mire when the bionicle called out again.

"Wait."

Arthur wheeled around wearily.

"What now?" he asked, dreading the answer.

The sound of buzzing flies and bubbling slime filled the silent pause.

"I have frozen my feet into the mud. Please assist." Kopaka called in a barely audible growl. Arthur yanked his bandana down and shook his head, sighing.

"Uh huh. I'm comin', I'm comin'..."
 

Jak

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Mar bent down wincing as he touched his foot. He gritted his teeth as he tried to remain as silent as he could. He bent down, looking around his surroundings. The smell of fumes came up in the skies as he covered his mouth with his handkerchief. Dante’s Abyss was strange enough as it was as he had hoped the area held enough hiding spots to lay low for a long time.

The eco warrior strives for perseverance and something in him told him he shouldn’t give up, get up and keep himself safe.

He sat beyond the walls and decided to eat a bit more to satisfy his hunger.

As he sat down, he carefully set his foot down to relax for just a bit.
Thump..

Thump..

Thump…

Was that his own pulse moving through his ears? He placed his hand on his ear with the chow mark on it that was unusual. The bite that Malloki took and ate.

He was about to close his eyes again as he leaned against the building’s side as his eyes changed from ocean blue to a mix of ocean blue and light purple.

Now and then, the translucent angel form stared into the distance, almost watching for danger to appear.

The Dark King appeared bored, leaning on his dark eco encrusted throne. The Nobel raised an eyebrow at the king. “Why don’t you do something useful like helping our host out and planning accordingly?”

The lavender demon stood over a map his host was looking at like a general planning his recent move in the chess boards of war. “Mar, what do you think?”

The eco warrior looked up as his sides seemed to be planning what to do next.

Light crossed his arms as he looked over at his host. The eco warrior was sitting cautiously taking a bite of his food.

“Hey, Mar, you alright?” The will-o-wisp angel asked every so often, waiting to see his reaction.

Not often did the lavender demon admit to asking his host for help in the most trying of times.

Jak appeared in his head, appearing as his position was outside his body.
The Dark King observed the map, moving his fingers around the map as movements. They had to be all in agreement before they told the part knife eared Wasteland what to do next.

It was then Mar pulled himself up, carefully. If he wanted to know the power rankings, Karl probably ranked him low. He had lost one match against the human voodoo doll, and somehow he got hurt instead of him.

Karl wouldn’t make a fool of him again. He may have lost some of his loving audience as they watched only to get disappointed after the fallout.

He remembered the vibrating announcement that Malloki was dead and after that, a few more had joined the man in the afterlife.

He remembered the ottsel’s words “Jak, this isn’t your first rodeo. You know what to do and what some of these guys are capable of. Don’t let them drag you down.”
 
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Karl Jak

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Face to Face
#03 Mickey Mouse vs #22 Nemesis

Mickey had left behind Gildarts, who still seemed to be suffering the ill-effects of one or more hallucinogens. In his head, the mouse hoped he might be able to scavenge the wilderness to find something that could help bring the old acquaintance back to his senses.

The mouse had trudged almost to the southern extreme of the Venom Forest when he heard the heavy footfalls.

“…Gildarts?”

Slowly turning around, Mickey gulped hard as he spotted the former Mr. X trudging very loudly through the trees. While the face was clearly different and an arm was missing, the diminutive competitor recognized the tyrant’s big coat. Despite suffering a tremendous amount of damage from someone or something, it had spotted him and


“Not Gildarts,” Mickey replied as he scrambled up the closest tree he could find. Even with one of his hands burning with agony, the adrenaline in his tiny rodent veins numbed the pain as he hurried to get up and away from the monster.

“Moooouuusssee!”

“Oh now it talks!” Mickey yelped as the Nemesis crashed into his tree. The first blow wasn’t enough, but the second caused the trunk beneath the tiny mouse to splinter and yawn apart. Without a second thought, the mouse leapt to a branch on the adjacent tree. While somehow more adept at combat than many of his more (seemingly) capable peers, Mickey Mouse momentarily forgot that was a child-sized mouse with an adult-sized firearm hanging from his back. The jump that should have deftly taken him to momentary stability instead—augmented by his extra weight—sent twisting and twirling to the ground after he slipped.

Crashing noggin-first, Mickey started seeing doubles as he wobbly rose to his feet and reached for the freeze ray. He swung around and saw that three blurry versions of the tyrant were lurching toward him and none of them look pleasant. The mouse pulled the trigger.

He missed.

A boot bigger than his chest crashed into Mickey.

Nemesis shambled forward; his hand extended as fingers clenched and unclenched almost mechanically.

On the ground a few yards away, the mouse shook his head as everything came back into focus. The Freeze Ray was nearby and undamaged. Mickey was nearly out of time. Planting his good hand against the tree he had splintered upon landing, the little king shoved free and launched himself at the weapon. He felt the knuckles of the monster brush against his tail before the tree shattered and splinters splashed out all around him.

When the tyrant turned, it found itself staring at a mouse armed with a freeze ray.

“…take a chill pill, fella.”

Nemesis swung as the blast of ice struck alongside his chest and face.

By the time the creature had frozen completely solid, it’s fist was three inches from Mickey’s panic-stricken visage.

“Sorry, pal, but something tells me you don’t have a tragic origin story.”

With that, Mickey bashed the tyrant’s frozen skull off its shoulders.





#22 Nemesis DEAD

24 Contestants Remain

Mickey, despite a flashing moment of clarity, has a concussion, alongside some bruising and scrapes (a Minor Injury)

Mickey Mouse is on cooldown and cannot enter another F2F unless they leave their square or waive this protection via PMs.​
 
Last edited:

Kefka Palazzo

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“-We’re in a …game?”

“…How could you not know that? There were sign-ups, a pre-show, a whole bunch of announcements-”

“I just woke up here.”

“What?”

“I don’t like to repeat myself,” said Kefka. “It’s simply dreary to make the same sounds in such quick succession, don’t you think?”

“…No?”

“And that’s what separates us, I’m afraid,” the little maniac replied, his face splitting into a peal of twisted laughter. “But seriously, that, and, you know. I’m… I guess you might call me god. Quite a big shock, I’m sure, to gaze upon the divine, but I have taken on the flesh of man so that I might… experience your turmoil.

And this is a game, you say. How utterly barbaric. I simply must meet the organizer to pay him my respects, and to take his arm. I already respect him tremendously, so I don’t believe I could simply kill him yet. Respect must count for… I don’t know. An arm, I guess?”

Mugen said nothing. Kefka was not surprised. The poor mortal was stricken by his divinity.

Drole.

“This ‘easter egg’ had better be as powerful as you say it is, for it will need to be. I encountered a creature on my way here. Something achingly twisted and monstrous, it tried to literally tear me in half. It was…

Exhilarating.

Kefka closed his eyes and shivered, gently biting his lip.

“Uh, yeah, okay… but… yeah. It’s supposed to be pretty powerful. You seriously didn’t sign up for this? You had no idea this was a game?”

“No, but that’s far less dreadful than there simply being a man-killing monster. I wonder if there are points. Are there points? How many points do I get if I kill you?”

“No, that’s not-”

“Are there additional points for style? I could torment you for hours! Realistically weeks, but you mentioned a time limit. Wouldn’t want to get carried away!!” he broke into another whooping cackle.

Mugen’s brows knitted together with mild alarm – he’d already clocked the guy as crazy, but he might have dialed him in a little low on the scale.

“Uh…” he replied. “Yeah. So, okay. It’s gonna be a while until the easter egg event goes live, so what do you want to do?”

“Right now? Honestly? I’d like to take a bath. But…” Kefka gestured at the endless crags and rocks and snow. “Wait when did I- Screamsicle, how long was I napping?”

Mugen’s quizzical expression prompted him to elaborate.

“My servant-monster dragged me along by a raft of palm fronds when I desired a refresher nap. I didn’t realize he’d drag me up a mountain, but that’s a vicious punishment for another time.”

The disgusting little runt of a monster screeched its dreadful, ear-piercing screech. Kefka shivered.

“That’s Screamsicle, by the way. I hate him.”

Screamsicle screamsicled back at him. Kefka ground his teeth.

“So, anyway, that was my day, how are you? No wait, I don’t care. No- wait… what was it? Can you… can you fight! That’s it; can you fight?” Kefka asked.

“I’m pretty good with a sword.”

“So where’s your sword?”

“Well, I don’t have it on me-” Mugen began.

“So can you fight or can’t you?”

“You want to find out? You might have trouble keeping up with that limp of yours.”

Kefka glared at Mugen. His wide, demented eyes boring into his light some hideous beam of light. “That’s- that’s a rebuttal. That’s fun, so funnn-” his eyes darkened. Madness and fury everlasting burned brightly within his gaze, before his visage broke into a sunny smile. “I suppose I had gotten used to the ‘please we beseech thee, divine one’s and the ‘no, please, no, no, no’s, and the like. More pomp and circumstance but… perhaps less flavour.”

He licked his lips.

“So, anyway, about that bath…” Kefka looked Mugen up and down. “Hm… on second thought, maybe we should get our bearings with that… thing of yours.”
 

Aku

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The sleeping demon rolls in his slumber as the hours go further into the night. Snoring roars from his mouth, making echoes throughout the tunnel. All around Aku, faint whispering can be heard, interrupted over his snores' volume. Unaware, something in this godforsaken darkness of the cave is stalking the master of sleep. Whatever this creature was, it's slowly moving stealthily.

"Flung… everyone… into… the… future.."

Aku mumbles in his sleep, making the stalker to stop in an alarm state not to awaken this embodiment of evil.

"Where… my… evil… is… law…"

The shogun of sorrow continues to sleep talk while snoring abruptly.

This creature keeps edge closer and closer to the demon warlord of chaos. More whispering continues but is now closer to where Aku sleeps. A small pale hand filled with a series of warts and sharp dirty nails creeps near Aku's head. This hand wasn't going for Aku; instead, this creature was interested in stealing Aku's bag that he was using as a pillow. The pack tugged by this stranger was slowly being pulled to the side while the demon's head rested on it.

This process took about a solid minute, as this thing tries not to disturb Aku in his sleep. Success is achievable as the small pale-skinned hunched humanoid creature with long pointy ears drags the survival bag out from underneath his head. Without thinking to cushion the precious head of his witness, Aku's skull hits the hard ground at the right amount of gravity to cause a substantial hit in his noggin.

This sleeping demon's eyes open rapidly as his small black pupil eyes realize he isn't alone.

"Argh… WHAT" Aku speaks in a groggy state of his awakening.

Quickly, the desperate thief scampers away in fear while raising the stolen bag over his head. Aku jumps up from his position immediately creates a ball of fire in his hand to have the ability to see in the dark cave.

"NO ONE STEALS FROM THE ALMIGHTY AKU! PREPARE TO RECEIVE YOUR PUNISHMENT, FOOL!" the shogun of sorrow roars, echoing in the tunnel to make his enemy fear in his presence.

Whatever this creature was, it cannot see if the demon is getting closer to him while running. A chase has begun, and Aku wasn't going to tolerate the thief stealing under his nose. He gets into a starting position, bending toward the ground like an Olympic sprinter and launches himself with speed to catch this mortal. His run has a limp since the fractured foot reminds him of the pain that is there, but Aku isn't willing to let a creature below his authority thwart this potential victory. The fast demon gains upon the thief's trail, thanks to his highly athletic and bodybuilder shape.

They wind across the elaborate tunnel system in a Scooby-Doo fashion chase. At last, they come to a stop at a cold dead end of the cave. Aku closes in on the criminal, ready to release his wrath once he grabs his duffel bag back. As the ferocious tall demon comes closer, his palm's light source reveals what this creature was. It's an off-putting appearance to behold, but Aku doesn't care to gross-out.

The thief is a hunched-back pale malnourished goblin filled with warts and pimples all over the sickening skin. Limited black hair strands fall from his head, almost bald. His face has a crazed aspect along with a pointy nose that extends out from the skull, and plenty of crooked rotten discolored sharp teeth fill up his mouth. Eyeballs are solid white with tiny red veins, evidence that this little monster was blind. The arms wrapped around Aku's essential bag have barely any muscle on the bone, matching the rest of his appearance.

BLEHEHEHEHEHE!

Aku laughs at the situation that the crook got himself in. The power of his laugh makes the goblin scared for his life, clenching bag tighter by hugging it.

"NOWHERE TO GO NOW IMBECILE! NOW HAND OVER MY STUFF NOW!" the tyrannical demon demands this creature to give back his goods.

The goblin freezes solid in fear and does not respond to Aku's words.

The shogun of sorrow's eyes starts to glow by charging the laser beams to threaten this low life. In a split second, Aku receives his belongings from the goblin, throwing it onto the ground and climbs the dead-end brown rock wall into the blackness above. The demonic tyrant limps toward his bag and picks it up with one hand. He straps the duffel bag tightly around him, using his strong pull. Before Aku walks away with gladness that he got his precious survival pack back, moans echoed coming from up above.

Where the goblin crawled into was not a hole but a cliffside standing ten feet tall in front of him. It didn't sound equivalent to three or four creatures; it reverberates that there could be an army.

"Sssssssssmoooooooooth sssssssskinnnnnnnnn!"

A chorus of goblins creepily repeats the phrase over and over again, mixed with different quotes.

Aku raises his hand higher to see the horror scene that's about to unveil. The light flickers off the series of scary, nasty faces that had the same features of the little goblin before. A surprise expression washes over Aku as he angles his head higher to make out that there must be more than thirty bodies to count. It is impossible to manage to calculate all the goblins because most disappear in the darkness behind the group's front line.

"Praisssssssse, masssssster Karl for gifting ussssssssssss a fine sssssssssssspecimen to fill our belliesssssssssssss." the grotesque goblin in center of the front spills his words out with wet sticky saliva that pours upon the stony surface.

"Oh no." the outnumbered demon utters underneath his breath, a worried expression on his face that is better looking than those dirtied savage goblins.

As they step closer to the cliff's edge, Aku makes a mad dash in the opposite direction to get away from these hungry vile mortals.
 

Frieza

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At least Frieza managed to get a few hours rest before being woken by Karl Jak's announcement. It wasn't anything extremely pertinent, aside from the next Easter Egg announcement. As soon as it was finished, he rolled over, and went back to sleep.

The earliest rays of dawn woke him several hours later. It wasn't quite time to rendezvous with Deadpool, but at least the better visibility meant he could start searching the area for anything interesting left over from the battle--information, weapons, supplies... or bodies.

To be honest, there wasn't much to be found. Dried blood, gore, debris, damaged infrastructure--a severed mechanical arm, which... he considered taking with him, maybe he could salvage it for parts, but ultimately decided against it. He wasn't about to start picking up weird shit with no immediate use. At any rate, clearly he had missed quite the scuffle. There were no stray weapons, no bodies, and no real solid clues as to what had gone down beyond "a lot."

Somewhere in the distance, Frieza heard a faint buzzing sound. When he followed it to its origin, into what seemed to be a grocery store, he found... bees. Many, many bees, swarming around a mountain of broken bottles and dried brown liquid. He blinked. What in the world had happened here?

"Fuck yeah! Pepsi!"

Deadpool's voice came from behind him--Frieza hadn't even realized he was there. Before he could properly react, Deadpool shoved his way past him into the aisle, grabbed a few sealed cans, and started guzzling them down like a frat boy doing a keg stand challenge. When he tossed one to Frieza, he barely managed to catch it, and for a long moment just stood there, staring at it dumbly.

...Well, whatever this "Pepsi" was, it seemed to be potable. He cracked it open, and took a hesitant sip. It wasn't bad, actually. A bit too sugary for his taste, but it was thirst-quenching.

Deadpool offered him another, but he held up a hand. "Uh... I'm quite alright, thank you."

Frieza left his comrade to continue ravaging the Pepsi aisle and went to explore the rest of the store. There was more food and water, which was always useful, so he stashed away as many provisions as his duffel bag could hold and grabbed some packaged biscuits to hold him over for the time being. It was good to know he might not have to be so stringent about rationing supplies after all.

He glanced out the window. It was almost sunrise, which meant it wasn't long until the morning phase would start. Which meant the next capsule would be landing soon. That damned girl had distracted him during the last event, and he couldn't even figure out whether or not he'd missed anything important. Or what the capsule had even contained. Not only that, but he hadn't even managed to kill her, and he was down a stick of dynamite. What a waste. He had two sticks left, and he needed to make sure they counted--at least, until he could get his hands on another weapon.

A plan began to formulate in his mind.

"Deadpool," he called out. "We're going to Factorial Town for that second capsule. You have no weapons, and I only have two sticks of dynamite left. We'll both be at a disadvantage if we don't act now. Do whatever it takes to get the capsule, understood?"
 

Sigmund Vrell

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Sigmund sat at the fire for a long time, quietly contemplating the competition so far as he stared into the flames. The rush from their encounter earlier had faded and though the cultist still grinned when he thought about the conflict, barring the cheap shot Ashe had pulled, it left him wanting more. Had the cyclops not escaped, he would have loved nothing more than to see how far he could push her quiet, stoic demeanour before she broke into a gibbering wreck. Denied this opportunity, the high priest found himself gently polishing his claws in anticipation. Things would go differently next time, he would see to that.

“The fire’s starting to get low.” The psion muttered, though he wasn't quite sure whether he was addressing Cho or himself. He quickly stirred the embers with a twig before rising to his feet and hoisting his duffel bag onto his shoulder. “I'm going to go collect some more firewood.”

Sigmund dusted off his robes as he strode off into the darkness of the forest. He glanced upwards in an attempt to find the moon’s position in the sky, but the foliage was far too thick to see anything more than a few scattered stars. The priest frowned to himself for a moment before getting to work gathering wood, feeling around on the ground for good sticks and scowling once more at Karl’s robbery of his sacred sight.

Satisfied with his gathered kindling, the cultist clutched the pile tightly before heading back to Cho. A few minutes of walking passed, which became ten minutes, which became half an hour. Sigmund glanced around, trying and failing to find any sort of landmark in the dark jungle.

“By Gal’skap, where am I?” The Babylonian muttered, stuffing the firewood in his bag as he looked around, searching for anything that could help him. When nothing presented itself, the cultist did the only thing he could think of. He started walking.

The high priest reached into his bag and pulled out an MRE, choking down the vile food as he made his way across the island. By the time he was half-done with the packet, Sigmund found himself clear of the forest, the trees parting to bathe him in moonbeams. He knew he should turn back, that he wouldn't find his way back to Cho this way, but a voice seemed to pipe up within his head.

“Keep going.” It seemed to say, growing louder as his claws glinted in the moonlight. How long has it been since their first use? Minutes, hours, days? The madman couldn't seem to remember, all he knew is that it had been far too long. “Quickly, before dawn breaks, strike under the cover of night. They panic most at night.”

Sigmund finished off his MRE before tossing the packet aside, grinning wickedly in spite of the foul meal. His march continued, his way lit by the gleaming orb above him. He crossed craggy badlands and misty moors without finding a single cowering foe to terrorise and he felt his mania ebb as the moon fell, continuing its descent towards the horizon. For some reason he couldn't quite place, it felt somewhat disapproving of his inability to track a foe down.

Before the night was over, he felt ice crunching beneath his boot. The northman took a deep breath of the chill air and couldn't help but smile, a pure, nostalgic smile rather than the manic grin he had worn before. Just like home. If that weren't enough, he spotted a small light in the darkness. Initially he thought nothing of it, before realising that it was not mere moonlight reflecting off the ice, but rather a cave with the light of a flame peeking from its mouth.

“This is it.” Sigmund thought to himself, though he found it difficult to muster up the same bloodlust as he had before. The Babylonian had grown tired of the trek and he already missed Cho, hoping that the youth was safe back at the campsite. Still, the cultist had come all this way and he wasn't about to waste his progress. He scrambled towards the cavern, claws at the ready as he reached the mouth of the cave and peered inside. Rather than some hardened warrior or savage bandit, however, he found himself confronted with a small girl? Woman?

The pair stared at each other for a long moment, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Once, twice, thrice, Sigmund attempted to raise his claw against the girl, but he just couldn't do it. His mania drained from his mind like ale from an upturned tankard. The sentiment was redoubled when he noticed her leg, which had clearly seen better days before. Most noteworthy of all, however, was the fire that she had set up, more specifically the remainder of the MRE that she had prepared on it.

“Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you.” The high priest said, raising his hands before realising that with the glove on it was a much more intimidating gesture than he intended. Slipping it off, he turned to the girl with an innocent expression, then to the remnants of the meal. “You're supposed to cook those?”
 

Arthur Morgan

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They traveled overland in the wee hours of the morning, just as dawn’s light began to sparkle across the dewy grassland. With swift movements and careful steps they crossed the open plain, surveying the landscape around them with distrustful eyes. They knew that at any moment another contestant could spring upon them, potentially even cause serious harm. If they were to survive—and Arthur very much wanted to ensure his companion’s survival, surly as the Toa was—then they would need to move quickly, and hopefully secure for themselves a safe path across Karl Jak’s depraved chessboard in the process.

The two struggled down a steep incline, staggering amongst a jagged pile of rough-strewn rocks. Their duffel bags felt leaden on their shoulders, weighing them down with every step. The lack of sleep seemed to weigh on them even more, however, tempers flaring like fiery coals whenever one perceived the other as being too noisy, too careless in their steps. The contestants walked with a slightly bent posture, eyes never quite focusing in one direction for long— they were ever watchful, always on the defensive.

Arthur, for his part, kept his massive weapon held at the ready in a firm, white-knuckled grip. At times, the ex-outlaw was certain that he felt someone’s regard upon him. It was a disquieting feeling, one that crept along the back of his neck like a parasitic vine, infinitesimal shivers quaking through his shoulders and spine. He found himself casting long, searching looks at the swaying grass around them, determined to find their hidden pursuer.

Mercifully, the only creature to spook out of the grass was a simple grouse, the fat bird winging up into the sky with a shrill, warbling squeal at their approach. Arthur watched it glide across the sky for a moment, its panicky calls growing more distant the further it flew to escape them. At an impatient shuffle from Kopaka at his side, the ex-outlaw turned his attention back to the long walk ahead of them. No words were exchanged as they pressed on, neither willing to be the fool to get them killed by making idle chit chat.

It was close to mid-morning before the two weary travelers came upon a forest. Welcoming a reprieve from the hot sun, they passed silently under the shady boughs of numerous oak trees, yet still studied the vibrant green vegetation closing in around them with suspicion. Crawling vines and sticky thorn bushes caught Arthur's clothing and scraped lightly at Kopaka’s hard plating, the thick brush concealing any would-be attackers from their sight. Thus, the two moved with slow, ponderous steps, ears pricked for any unusual sounds from the woodland around them.

The sound of rushing water came from afar. Arthur moved in that direction, turning and beckoning Kopaka forward with a short, efficient wave. After a minute or so of walking, they came upon a clearing— immediately noting a puddle of blood, numerous scorch marks searing into the earth, and discarded missiles burnt all up with explosive gunpowder, faint traces of smoke hanging heavily in the air.

Arthur, naturally, moved forward to inspect the mess of gore painting the grass. The humid air stank powerfully of iron, the unpleasant smell filling Arthur’s nostrils as he crouched down beside it. The blood had browned as it dried, nearly blending in with the dirt, but something stuck out to Arthur in the sticky mess, something… unusual.

Reaching out, Arthur plucked up what he judged to be a chunk of flesh, something white and wiry clinging stubbornly to it. It rubbed wetly between his fingers, warm droplets of blood dripping down his wrist. He squelched it gently between his fingers, holding it up to his nose for a sniff.

It smelled like musk and earth. Like an animal.

Arthur leaned back, studying the bloody mess from a new angle. There were more clumps of fur scattered around, leaking crimson ichor across the gore-stained grass. It looked almost like… hair?

A sudden coldness came over Arthur, crashing over him like a particularly frigid wave. This... was a deer. Someone, or something, had come along, took it down, and ripped it to shreds. Probably eaten it whole, judging by the lack of distinct remains.

“Ah, shit,” he breathed softly to himself, eyes widening.

The former outlaw shot to his feet like a bullet loosed from a gun, startling Kopaka. The Toa had been standing a short distance away, deep in the process of examining the still-smoking remnants of a busted missile in his hands, perhaps judging its worth as a temporary weapon. The bionicle’s optics whirled about to leer at the trees around them, clearly expecting an ambush, but returned to focus on Arthur at the ex-outlaw’s hasty approach.

“We need to move,” Arthur hissed, voice low and urgent. He barely restrained himself from grasping onto the Toa’s arm and dragging him along, settling instead for brushing past him and uttering a brisk “Now.”

Grasping onto the shredded missile as one would a javelin, Kopaka quickly fell into step a few strides behind Arthur, pedes treading heavily over the leaf-littered ground as the two set a punishing pace. “What did you see?”

“Something bad,” Arthur ground out, not turning his head to look back at the not-so-peaceful clearing they’d left behind. The whites of his eyes flashed as he glared at the silent woodland around them, spine so tense it seemed bound to snap in two. “I ain’t too keen on running into whatever caused all that… that carnage back there. A creature that can do something like that lingers. You would too, if you was the baddest thing around. Ain’t much need to get in a hurry, now is there?”

With those ominous words, the pair slipped quietly into the trees, the forest around them suddenly seeming far less inviting. Shelter from the sun could be found elsewhere; now, it seemed that evasion and stealth were paramount.
 

Nico Cinder

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"When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, That's amoOoOoOrr-aaayyyy!"

Fwhissssshoooom. POP.

An orange flower blooms on the glass surface of the lake by our little dinghy, a reflection of the violently mesmerizing explosion Pecan shot off into the air. It was intoxicating, having a little sun hanging above our heads. Really puts things into perspective -- like how being on this island considerably raises my chances of spontaneously combusting. This little song and dance routine Pecan and I are putting on likely makes that an exponential increase, BUT-

ka-BOOM.

As we are fond of saying around here:

"Fuck it!" Pecan howls. No, he can't read minds, he's just been saying that on and off for the past half hour in between my beautiful Dean Martin impressions. I hum the rest of the tune in time to lazy chords and Pecan's erratic explosions. He shoots off another one, apparently deciding that he was sick of looking at that weeping willow tree on the shore. Bark and tree tears go flying every which fuckin' way, and I suppose I'm just lucky neither of us got hit with any backsplash on that one.

We found this boat not far from the lake shack we were currently squatting in like the vagrants we were. It was hidden under some pretty impressively sized leaves and branches, but this kind of advanced camouflage was no match for our superior ability of being able to use our fucking eyes. It was a tiny little thing, but it floated and it fit the two of us with what little gear we had. At first it was just a quiet slip out onto the water to catch some fresh air and to stay hard to pin down, but then I started to play my music the way Joe Jonas taught me to and Pecan wanted to blow off steam in his own way so now-

BOOOOOF

A sizable geyser of water erupts about 50 yards away, along with a school's worth of very colorful, incredibly unfortunate fish. The gronky, dank scent of lake is much stronger in the next few passing moments. The boat rocks and sways a little in the resulting wavage, but I'm unbothered. I found a cozy way to lean back in this uncomfortable piece of junk and I was taking full advantage of it for as long as I was allowed. I was sore, and I know he wasn't any better. We were probably down to one visible eyebrow between the two of us, if I had to guess, and I don't think I can ever watch Star Wars again after seeing how mangled my boy's arm was. I was always more of a Lord of the Rings kind of nerd anyways, I guess. The bleeding in his leg had finally subsided to an at least somewhat manageable amount after continued care, but there's no way he'll be able to do much with half of his goddamned body for the rest of the game.

"So you don't gotsta reload this thing?" The wounded warrior asks from the other side of the boat.

"Naw, it's the craziest shit. Unlimited ammo. Rocket's just kinda keep appearing in the tubes. Can't like, just spray and pray rockets," I explain, "but I keep pressing the trigger. And sure as shit, motherfuckers keep blowing up."

"That's fucking beautiful!" he groans, his chuckles causing him a good amount of discomfort. If Pecan were capable of shedding a tear, I think this weapon of mass explosions might be able to do it.

"Fucking right? Fair and balanced gameplay if I've ever seen it," I giggle like a child. I think part of me meant it, too. If Karl Jak had in some way, shape, or form been a part of developing Overwatch or Call of Duty, those games would still be downloaded on my Xbox instead of deleted in a drunken bitch fit. Part of me didn't mean it though, because part of me also hopes Karl Jak has an allergic reaction to some new product in his dry-cleaning that sends him to the hospital, and that he recovers from that violent allergic reaction only to die on his way home in a car crash, mugging, or other similar human error-related accident.

Gosh, games really do just bring the worst out of me.
 

Fenix

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The kid was polite, at least, Suwako mused. Placing one hand perpendicular to the floor, a spire of earth shot out from underneath, pushing the goddess to her feet with ease. "...Yeah, you're supposed to cook those." Suwako would say. "the one I ate, anyways. You read the instructions on the packaging, right?"
The man in the cloak turned away ever so slightly, and Suwako gave a smug smile.
Trying to change the subject - though not without enthusiasm - the hooded figure spoke again. "You bend the earth. I have a companion who does the same. Are you another human who's mastered the element of earth?"
Suwako grinned and chuckled. At a time like this, when her guaranteed worshippers amounted to a single enthusiastic teenager, she had no problem talking about herself. It would be good for her internet ratings.
"A master? bending earth?" Suwako asked, before chuckling and shaking her head. "...I simply move the earth as I please. summon it, create it, dismiss it in the need and shape that suits me."
"Magic, then?" The hooded figure asked.
"It's no more magic for me than bending your finger is magic to you." Suwako would explain. "...We skipped introductions. Suwako Moriya, God of earthliness."
"...Many who are not gods can move earth as you do."
Suwako shrugged. "That's fair. Well... you've no need to believe me if you don't want to." Suwako would add, bringing her focus closer and expanding the spire into a mound of earth for her to sit back on. not as comfortable as her earlier position, with her leg in a position to actually heal properly, but it let her see eye to hidden eye with this man, and that was important to a business-man. "So. You're a hooded young man. I'm a fragile woman with a broken leg. I sure do hope you're serious about your promise." Suwako said with a cautious smile and a quick mental check on where she'd left her duffel. If this man was here to kill her, she had no problems giving him a proper beatdown rather than letting this turn into something ugly.
"I meant what I say. So, what brings a young girl like you to enter a Competition like this, anyways?"
Suwako gave a chuckle, deciding not to give the little tidbit that she was older than most monuments he'd ever seen in his life, let alone people. "Well, I had my reasons. The first one's probably the simplest."
Sigmund looked quizzically at her as Suwako walked forward on her bum leg. "It looked like fun." She finally added with a grin.
"It looked like-"
Sigmund's gaze turned earthwards as bands of rock encircled his feet and the feeling of something sharp poking against his back forced him forward. Unwittingly, he'd entered Suwako's range of earthliness, and with a simple stride forward, the blonde smiled, placed a hand against his chest, as claws of stone erupted from them and the girl's eyes flashed.
"-But honestly..." Suwako would say after a moment, sigmund's breath running fast as he debated his options. "...It's been disappointing. First I meet a kid who reminds me of my descendant. Then I meet someone who's nice to girls in trouble. I have a hard time killing either."
and with that, the earth that Suwako had brought together abruptly vanished into a puff of sand, leaving her new friend coughing.
"Was that... really necessary?!"
Suwako put a hand to her chin. "...Probably not. But it's been a long time since I got to mess with a new friend," Suwako admitted. "Besides, you were a little too lax on this one. I'd like my partner running a little more aware in this competition."
"I don't recall offering a partnership."
"You offered one by not stabbing me when you had the chance. I took it by returning the favor." Suwako remarked back, allowing her long tongue to hang out of her face. "So... where do we go from here?"
 

Yuuka Kazami

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The sun clawed and crawled its way above the horizon, and she sat and watched it chase the stars and moon away in silence.

They had taken a brief reprieve from their walking to set up on the grassy cliffs, finding it a good vantage point over the city, valley and lake. Though it felt like hardly more than a wink (at least to Yuuka, who could sleep for weeks at a time), both of them in turn had gotten some shut-eye in anticipation of the second day ahead, one which would undoubtedly be harsher than the first. It always was. It had to be. It wouldn't be quite as fun any other way.

She leaned back over her shoulder as she heard her companion stirring from his sleep, one probably just as restless as her own. Something somewhere between Jason and the anticipation made it hard to let your guard down right now. That, and the announcement Karl Jak had made last night. The second brawl was beginning at 6 AM sharp, and they weren't to be a moment late.

(Theoretically, there was the option not to go, but Yuuka was no coward. She relished the thought of the little artifact-grabbing pow-wow's danger.)

"Morning," he spoke, his tone somewhere between greeting and objective statement.

"Morning it is," came her reply, half mocking him and half mocking herself for not having anything better to say. "It won't be long now, so prepare yourself." A pause, as she thought about that and tilted her head back forward. "Or don't. It's not really my problem if you die." She smiled, a playful smile somewhere similarly halfway between morbid and genuine.

It was a smile Flynn had likely seen before; it was the smile of someone to whom death, even her own, meant nothing.

He took a deep breath in. "...Right. We have a plan, or are we going in guns blazing? Frankly, I'm not opposed to either." She could hear him getting to his feet and his things together, but didn't bother turning around to look at him. "But it would be helpful if we're at least on the same page."

"Hm." Yuuka kicked her legs a bit as she thought (a rarity), staring into the distance at the town instead of the sky now. It was too far to be more than a smudge at the edges of her vision, so scoping the place out was a definite no. "Just gunning it for the prize will be like swatting flies- every other contestant is gonna be trying to get it, and it'll be chaos." Her nose wrinkled as she spoke from yesterday's experience, and she leaned back over her shoulder to look at him in the eye again. "It would be prudent to focus on taking out the biggest threats first, before they get any bigger. Besides, it's no fun shooting fish in a barrel."

The smile that bloomed on Doomguy's face as she explained "the plan" wasn't too different from the one on her own.
 
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Remilia Scarlet

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Sleep had come when I wasn’t paying attention and sucker-punched me in the dark. Given the choice, I would rather have stayed up through the night than leave my neck out to the green haired Yuuka. The trust we had was built on a profound desire to not be turned to chunky salsa by the horror icon of Crystal Lake (Yes, I know who Jason is, I was twelve once). Since the bemasked terror had failed to make himself known, the passing moments only brought more questions to her thoughts on me. I saved her life, sure, but her cold attitude towards me made it seem like any sign of weakness would turn to a vicious betrayal. Even as we found shelter underneath the black sky above, I had propped myself back buried into the hill, eyes glaring as if to burn fear itself into this botanical woman. She seems to only enjoy my efforts as entertainment, her smile never left her.

The night took me eventually, my wound would not allow me to stress myself to a blood soaked end. Those that rampaged out on the island concerned me, consciousness eventually left me and once it had returned I had found myself alive. I couldn’t help but glance in confusion at the sleeping terror beside me once I had wrestled the dust from my eyes. I’d take that as some proof she considered me worth keeping.

Even asleep, an aura of intimidation radiated from her. Something ancient, something undeterred. Like a great dragon rested over it’s ill gotten hoard.

Once it was no longer stupid o’clock in the morning, we had exchanged “pleasantries” and made a plan. The kind of plan I could sink my teeth into. Raw, undiluted, nothing fancy, nothing pretentious. Only the wicked swing of weapons as they broke through flesh and bone, the cacophony of each step as combatants pushed into the scrim or fell back to regain some footing. The din of heavy weapons fire subsuming shouts of glory and pain, viscera raining down one those unlucky to lose will or limb. Fire that burned through the veins that pushed men and women forward, that last gasp as lead stuck home. The fight with Jason had felt like a moment of that feeling, my focus had been to save someone in trouble. But this would be a proper battle, where survival and death was an inch away in any direction.

I couldn’t help but smile, my teeth shining through, and a click in my mind told me that perhaps our two minds were not so opposed as rocky greetings made appear. We both certainly enjoy one aspect of life: that no other could claim to be stronger than us, that the things in this world that could tear worlds apart lived only because we had not found it yet.

“It looks like you have your spirits up, Doomy.” Her smile widens just a fraction more. “Good.”

“Hell Yeah.” I straightened up, my mission now centered as I looked around this prison one last time. I lifted my sword to my shoulder once again, knuckles white; It was no Crucible, but it would be enough. The sounds in the night may have been something from a man’s worst nightmare, but it would be untrue to call me some mere man. “Let's cause some ultraviolence.”
 
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Cho

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Despite the restlessness of the night before, Cho had managed to fall into a deep slumber, the crackling of the fire and the watchful presence of Sigmund gave him enough security to allow himself to doze off. He actually slept quite well, all circumstances considered.

When he awoke, however, things were not quite as pleasant. His cheek was sore as anything and it had bled through the night. He grimaced at the remnants of the taste of iron on his tongue and spat a glob of blood speckled spittle to the ground. His throat had progressively grown more irritated, his voice also growing a little raspier overnight.

He rolled over to face the still glowing embers of the remnants of the duos fire, straining his eyes against the dark, penetrated only by a few minuscule beams of light that peeked through the canopy, giving the Earthbender a vague glimpse of the imminent sunrise.

“Sigmund?”

“Hey, Sigmund?!” His voice pierced through the surrounding trees.

Silence.

“Shit. Okay..” Cho groaned as he pushed himself up to his feet. ‘Maybe he’s gone for firewood, or he got ambushed on the way.. or he ditched me.’ That same anxiety that had welled up during the day before but subsided when he found the High Priest erupted in the pit of his stomach. Uncertainty roiled around his head, should he stay and wait for Sigmund to return? What if he wasn’t coming back? He’d be a sitting duck, sat waiting here. He slumped back to the ground, his head cradled in his hands.

“Shit, I should go, right?” He asked, hoping for some clear cut answer or for Sigmund’s voice to ring out behind him or.. something. But silence reigned.

“Fuck it. I’ve gotta go. I can’t wait here.” He spoke aloud again, as if there was some kind of validation the trees around him could provide. He got to his feet again and set off, tentatively at first before breaking into a jog, keeping his eye out for any sign of the Psion.
 
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