Mugen, Kefka, and Screamsicle hunkered over the GPS inspecting it studiously.
"Earlier today there was a lot of activity here," Mugen pointed out, singling out a tile. He circled an area on the screen with his index finger. "First there were three dots, then two, then a third one appeared, then there were only two again. The way I see it...there must've been a big fight, then one of them died, then someone else swooped in like a vulture to devour the scraps."
"KEKEKEKE!" Screamsicle affirmed loudly and shrilly, looking pleased with himself for his observations.
Both Mugen and Kefka cringed, but did their best to carry on.
"I hate him," Kefka pointed out once more, his jaw clenched. "...so, if we head right over here and kill these two, and then head over here and kill those two, we'll have gotten four points, which should put us in the lead. And then you can ready my bath."
Mugen shook his head, his beady eyes flinty and alight with disbelief.
"This is not that kind of game," the ronin explained with a sigh. "It's a last-man-standing kind of deal. Besides, we don't have any weapons, unless you count that thing."
Screamsicle positively beamed - he seemed happy to be a part of it. His little feet hopped from side to side while he chittered happily and clicked his little clawed hands. Kefka gave the little green critter the sort of look a diabetic might give their insulin shot, and sighed.
"Our best shot is to shoot our wad all at once over here at the Easter Egg. Success or failure, we'll come back here to lick our wounds. Whichever of us come out of it, anyway."
They both looked thoughtfully at the Saibamen, as if both wondering if they might come back without him, or even worse: if he might come back without them. Did he even count as a contestant? The logistics of that were unclear. Mugen kind of figured that he didn't, since he wasn't wearing a collar, but he seemed like a little more than your average indigenous fauna as well. Regardless of what he was, Mugen had to swat his prized Beetle from the beast's hands some three or four times already and the dawn hadn't even fully broken. ...it was nice to have company, sort of, but couldn't he have landed some less eccentric companions?
Even in the near pitch darkness of the midnight forest, Toga was able to make out the fear and adoration in her prey’s eyes. She had called herself Ellie, and it hadn’t taken much for Toga to convince her that they should be partners on this island of death. After all, she was just a young school girl, right? How dangerous could she really be? Well… the adventurer was about to find out just how deceiving looks can be. The murderous lolita slowly, and intently, laid her body against the prone and bloodied form of her target, her snake-like eyes staring intently into Ellie’s. The young woman bit her lip anxiously, then with some trepidation, spoke.
“Hey. Wake up.”
Groaning laboriously, Toga opened her eyes as a gentle, but firm, nudge shook her frame. Very little light made it this far into the forest at this time of night, and she could just barely make out the bulky silhouette of the heavily armored Ellie standing over her. Rubbing her eyes with a yawn, Toga grumbled and asked, “Ugh… what- what’s going on? Is it my shift, or something? I was having the most wonderful dream...”
“No no,” Ellie began, her voice having a slight tinny quality which she claimed was the suit’s fault. It had been impossible to convince the woman to remove so much as the helmet, despite Toga’s best efforts to seem friendly, and the younger woman didn’t even know what she looked like beneath the forest green power-suit.
“Karl said something about another Easter Egg a few seconds ago. Something about how partners would love it. Think we should go?”
Still shaking off the last dregs of sleepiness, Toga considered her next words carefully before speaking.
“Think there will be any cute boys there?”
Between the darkness and the helmet, there was no way for Toga to see Ellie’s face, but she smiled a bit imagining the look of surprise that likely passed over it.
“Um… I don’t know…”
“Oh well. Whatever. Toga sleepy. Fuck Karl’s little toys,” Toga said with probably a bit more venom than the Dante’s Abyss host deserved. She was still salty about getting blown up earlier and laid at least half the blame on Karl for giving the alien asshole the dynamite.
Careful not to avoid the makeshift cast on her broken arm, the murder loli was thinking about going back to sleep, but first…
“Hey… Ellie. It’s kinda cold, don’tcha think? Why don’t you take that armor off and come snuggle with me… We’ll be warmer if we lay together, and maybe we can have a little… fun too,” the teenager said, slipping easily into her most alluring voice. But Ellie had already moved on, a tinny whisper stating that Toga should just deal with it because someone had to keep watch. Pouting in the dark, Toga sighed and tried to get comfortable on the hard dirt floor of the forest. That girl was a tough nut to crack, especially in that armor. But the lolita would get her in the end. She always got what she wanted.
“Y’know Nico, you’re a pretty alright dude,” I shouted over my shoulder as I fired another rocket, “I’ll be honest, I was planning on killing both you and Rossi, but after this I don’t think I could live with myself if I did. “
So, that was a bold-faced lie. I’d have no qualms cutting his throat and then sleeping like a baby afterwards. But, given the state of just how fucked up I was and the fact that Nico-boy shared his toy with me, I was feeling generous. On almost any other day I’d stuff this launcher down his throat and pull the trigger, but Ol’ Pecan was just running out of steam. Can you believe that? Me, of all people, not wanting to murderize the bejeezus out of someone? It was a strange feeling to be honest.
That is called empathy, properly functioning humans have it in abundance.
Oh be quiet. What the fuck was a “properly functioning human” anyways? They don’t exist, at least not here in Multerra. Man, you should’ve seen some of the degenerates on Mesa Roja. Those freaks made me look like an absolute saint. If you really want me to, I can blast a hot one right into Nico’s chest. My finger brushed against the trigger and I licked my lips. All I’d have to do is turn and blast, the musician wouldn’t have a chance to even react.
Please don’t, he’s the only reason you’re alive right now.
Then shut up and enjoy the fuckin’ show. As another rocket left the chamber my eyes began to tear up. It was almost the perfect night. The rocket plowed into a sandbank, blasting it apart with enough heat to send freshly crystallized chunks of glass glittering into the night. Each tiny shard of glass sparkling as it caught the light from the moon and residual fire from the rocket. I sniffled and wiped my eyes. Man, just how much blood had I lost? I was getting downright emotional.
“You okay?” Nico asked, coming to a lull in his music.
“Nothing, what was that one phrase from that dead guy you were telling me about?” I asked, snapping the fingers on my good hand to try and remember, “Uhh, ‘If music be the tool on love, play on motherfucker’.”
Nico snorted, and continued to strum away, “Not quite, but close enough.”
With tears in my eyes I leaned in close and kissed the still-warm barrel of the launcher.
“Love you,” I whispered, stroking its length.
“Hey!” Nico shouted, “Don’t get your slobber all over it.”
“Fuck off,” I shouted back, “She’s my girl now, you can have the leftovers.”
Face to Face
#19 Victor Wolfe & #15 Cho vs #25 Pecan & #26 Nico Cinder
For some reason, they had been leisurely using the weapon to rearrange the scenery.
Victor didn’t know these people, but he already wanted them dead. The briefcase, before it had gone inert, had told him that there were plenty of injured people on this island outside of the corpse with the broken face and whatever friend he had spent the first day getting bludgeoned alongside.
One of them, some sort of laughing maniac with part of his arm horribly disfigured, was now stroking the rectangular barrel of the rocket launcher. Did they not understand the point of all this?
“They must both be trying to lay low and convalesce,” Victor whispered as he flashed a grin at his replacement for Kayleigh. “We’ll strike, remove them from the equation, and claim that gun. Here, let me borrow yours for the conflict.” The emperor pointed to the nail gun, and while there seemed to be a moment of hesitation, Cho handed it over.
“This will be that easy?” Cho whispered.
Victor sneered. “More or less, I’m sure.”
The assassin and his newfound page crept a wide arc toward the pair of men who seemed more focused on their frivolous male bonding than guarding their position.
“Show no quarter,” Victor whispered once they were within striking range. “This island is filled with monsters.”
“How do you know that… aren’t most people here just competing to win?”
“Then they’ll lose to the monsters,” Victor said with a predatory grin on his face as stepped out into the open. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the shield silently whispering through the air like a frisbee. The Emperor of Neo New Bablyon, a man known far and wide for a variety of, uh, ‘skills’ hadn’t known when the thought to use it in that manner popped into his head. For all he knew, it was just some more of the occasional nonsense that Karl Jak liked to sow upon his islands of intrigue, violence, and murder.
The vibranium shield crashed into Nico’s upper back with enough force to topple the young man forward and send him tumbling down the slight incline.
Pecan, who had grown a bit sluggish from all the effort it took to stave off death, needed a moment to process what had just happened. “HEY! No one probably murders that guy but maybe me!” He declared as he twisted and fired the rocket launcher. The kickback sent the murderous lunatic careening down to where his ally had come to rest.
“Split!” Victor yelled too late as the rocket exploded in the ground between him and Cho. The assassin felt flares of white-hot searing pain as his pant leg melted, but Cho had the wherewithal to quickly uproot a wall of earth and stone. Struck by the explosion, the earth absorbed the heat and became something akin to magma.
“I can roll with this,” Cho muttered as he turned his head and dragged his hands through the air. The wall of magma broke apart into dripping, glowing orbs that danced in the sky above the earth bender’s head as he pursued their foes.
Pecan, in one of the day’s many miracles, managed to regain his bearing and retaliate. The weary killer’s eyes light up as he fired a rocket at the approaching Cho. The man defended himself with a globe of magma, and in the ensuing blast of light and fire, Nico was up on his feet.
“You really mean that about maybe wanting to probably kill me?” Nico asked.
The killer grinned. “Would I lie to you, kid? Here, thanks for lettin’ me borrow this, but I think I’ll kill these two with my bare hand,” he held up his good hand and winked before gesturing with his head toward the still-dark stretch of trees. “Kill or be killed!”
Pecan lurched forward, managing to dodge a pair of fiery globes before one caught him square across the chest.
Nico shouldered the rocket launcher and fired, but the round hit an (seemingly) indestructible shield mid-flight and erupted in another terrifying blossom of light and heat. With a frown on his face, Nico faded away, understanding that vengeance would have to wait.
Pecan, even as he burned, kept hopping and shambling toward Cho. “C’mon, you little pissant. You kill your mother with those hands?” With that, the killer started to whistle as he advanced.
Cho furrowed his brow and stared over at Victor, who simply shook his head.
“He’s a mad dog. Just put him down.”
When Cho’s next blast melted half of Pecan’s face but failed to stop the madman, Victor stepped forward and yanked back hard on the nailgun’s trigger. The assassin fed a line of nails that spanned Pecan’s foot all the way up to the man’s now nearly fleshless skull. It was only when the final nail crashed into his brain that Pecan stopped whistling and toppled backwards.
Striding over to the corpse, Victor was astounded—and infuriated—that Pecan, who now had one of his melted eyes dribbling to the grass, was still trying to form a smile with his blackened lips.
Victor brought an edge circular shield crashing down onto Pecan’s face and silenced the lunatics sneer once and for all.
…
…
#25 Pecan DEAD
23 Contestants Remain
Nico has some hairline fractures in his shoulder bones that will give him some discomfort when lugging the rocket launcher around (Minor Injury)
Victor has some second-degree burns down the side of his left leg (Minor Injury)
Cho has used an application of Focus
Victor, Nico, and Cho are on cooldown and cannot enter another F2F unless they leave their square or waive this protection via PMs.
Pecan is dead and may execute his method of revival on the World of his choosing.
“Rise and shine, it’s the morning, my lovely little contestants. It seems, unfortunately, that many of your more battered island mates passed away in the dark hours. May the kais usher them to peace. Or something. This place doesn’t have a hell, does it?
“Anyway, let’s take a moment:
#06 Ashe-0
#07 Roy Mustang
#02 Okuyasu Nijimura
#22 Nemesis
“Now for the zones that will kill you if you step into them. You know, the ZONES YOU SHOULD TRACK AT ALL TIMES. The following zones will go live – and stay live – in six hours from now. Avoid them.
J4
H2
C2
B3
B5
“Have fun in Factorial Town this morning.
“Goooood luck. Mwah.”
Out-of-Karl Bulletins
Remember to send full movements to me and remember that entering an active DZ at any time is death. I’ve had a few instances of people trying to kill themselves over the last two days, and after highlighting this in the discord, I will start enforcing the rule of ‘you die if you enter an active DZ’. I love you all but rules are rules.
Face to Face
#11 Sigmund Vrell & #14 Suwako vs #21 Frieza & #28 Deadpool vs #09 Mugen & #29 Kefka vs #01 Arthur Morgan & #04 Kopaka vs #13 Yuuka & #20 Doomguy Easter Egg: Potarra Earrings
Factorial Town was quiet. Just moments prior, one of the Syntech helicopters had dipped into visibility and dropped an innocuous-looking capsule at the center of the city’s main thoroughfare (if such a thing could feasibly exist in a robot town).
One Mr. Wade Wilson found himself quite literally ‘making his way downtown.’ In his hands, he held the large capsule that contained today’s prize. So far, so good! It was a lovely morning for a musical interlude.
“Walking fast…” He felt eyes on him but he didn’t dare look! “…faces pass and I'm homebound.” The mercenary, still humming lyrics beneath his breath, broke into a sprint as the bursts of ki crashed into the pavement behind him.
Stepping into the street, Screamsicle snarled at the retreating mercenary before glancing back at its infernal clown master.
“You are a disgrace to tiny green people everywhere,” Kefka remarked as he gave the Saibaman a derisive pat on the head.
Up ahead, Deadpool had stopped halfway up the block and turned around. He watched as Kefka, Mugen, and their child labor emerged. Craning his neck to see up into the adjacent building, the mercenary waved a hand. ”Are you awake up there, William?”
For his part, Frieza kept low and under the veil of additional darkness provided by the gutted interior of the apartment building. The alien warlord had both sticks of dynamite at the ready, but his instincts told him that the situation was still in the nascent stages of development.
When it was clear that he was by himself, Deadpool scowled beneath his mask. “What a fucking M*** thing to do!”
The mercenary spun and crashed right into Doomguy. “Oh, great… this asshole.”
A grin spread across the marine’s visage. “I remember you. The one with the mouth. You have amusing internal organs.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls.”
After throwing the capsule behind his shoulder, Deadpool backflipped as the marine swung, and while the nimble mercenary avoided the armored fist, he failed to account for the arm cannon adorning Doomguy’s associate. Bolts of plasma stitched up the side of Deadpool’s body as he went crashing through the street.
“Secure the capsule,” Yuuka whispered as she pointed the weapon toward the trio standing on the other side of the block. “I’ll, uh… lay down suppressing fire?”
Someone else would have possibly had a witty retort for the woman, who now wore the faintest of little smiles on her face. That ‘someone else’ was not the Doom Slayer, who drew the Masamune and broke into a sprint toward the three warriors, who had managed to find the capsule’s mechanism. As the pneumatic air hissed out from storage device, the trio backed away from their prize to deal with the new threats.
For his part, Screamsicle the Saibaman stepped up to provide a means to cancel out Yuuka’s oncoming salvos. With the alien covered the ranged opposition, Mugen and Kefka found themselves wonder what – the fuck – they were supposed to do with an armored marine bull rushing them with a massive sword.
“Do you feel sword envy?” Kefka whispered into his associate’s ear before the pair scattered.
The clown stumbled up the stoop of some stupid-looking android eatery. His eyes moved to a pipe that stuck out from the side of the building, and with scowl, he tore out the decorative piece of steampunk nonsense and turned.
Doomguy was pursuing Mugen down an alley.
“Oh, well that’s preferred,” Kefka sneered as he turned to see that the battle had been joined.
“Howdy, Partner,” Arthur Morgan spook coolly as he lifted the BFG. “You brought a pipe to a gun fight. Tough luck.”
The gun discharged as Kefka dropped down into the splits. Despite the grace with which the Magitek Knight reacted, the oncoming burst of plasma still scrapped by the right side of his face before exploding into the structure behind him. The clown collapsed into a silent-yet-convulsing heap as Arthur turned and found himself in a three-way gunfight with a Saibaman and a woman who was surprisingly older than he was.
***
Mugen, his aches and pains from the last day flaring up as he retreated down the alley, spotted what could very well be the opening he needed—a dumpster had been rolled into the middle of the cramped corridor. Beyond the dumpster, a metal wire fence stretched nearly eight feet off the ground. Mustering what he could, the samurai leapt onto the dumpster, and a beat later, he lunged for the top of the fence. He was up, over, and then thudding to the pavement, and when he got back to his feet, he was wearing a wide smile.
Part of Doomguy’s brain wanted to pursue just as the smaller man had done. The marine had the training to easily scale the obstacles, despite what his appearance may indicate. Yet, he came to a pause and opted for the more visually intimidating option.
A vicious swing of the Masamune was enough to cleave a marine-sized gap in the dumpster. After that, Doomguy simply charged through the wire mesh. Mugen had a head-start, but the marine was unrelenting and only death would bring pause to his relentless slaughter. Yet, the street at the other end of the alleyway was different enough that the sword-wielding soldier paused almost immediately. Just half a block behind him, the road had been dull shades of rust and dotted with ugly buildings sporting random mechanical doodads. This street had that identical underlying theme, but everything was also covered in a thick layer of frost. Icicles hung from the fronts of the structure, and many of the streetlights were caked in translucent ice, bathing everything in a frosted yellow glow.
Up ahead, Mugen had tripped and crashed into a heap of limbs. After regaining his composure, the man quickly started to scan his surrounding for the nearest blunt instrument that could be conscripted into his services.
“Not alone,” Doomguy spoke aloud as he carefully stepped out into ‘Christmas in Factorial Town.’ For someone who had made their living slaughtering hellions in much more hostile lands, the marine couldn’t help but feel like he had stepped into a truly alien landscape.
“Correct,” a robotic voice intoned from the balcony of a nearby building.
Kopaka proceeded to promptly rain down a hail of frozen projectiles upon the marine, who slung the Masamune over his head and back as he crouched and rain for cover. Shards of jagged ice crashed against the flat of the blade, but even with its size, it couldn’t protect his entire form. A few barbs of ice sank through his armor and scraped the flesh that lay beneath. Even still, the Doom Slayer marched forward—that is, until the frozen ground itself surged up and crashed into his chest.
The impact turned all of the soldier’s momentum against him, as he felt his chest plate splinter as it buckled, caving into his chest and squashing his ribs against his lungs with enough force to knock the wind out of him.
Seeing the marine topple against the uplifted chunk of ice, Kopaka hopped down from his high ground and shifted his focus to the unarmored human.
“I remember you,” Mugen remarked. The dark-haired samurai had managed to dislodge what seemed to be a partially frozen axel from the undercarriage of an overturned robot. That said inert robot appeared to have a face was a detail that the man sought to ignore given the current situation. Gripping the makeshift weapon in both hands as if it were a katana, Mugen steeled himself against his chilly adversary. “The mountainside? Yesterday?”
“I recall,” Kopaka finally replied. “You and two others were attempting to steal from the cowboy. A dishonorable decision.”
“Hey, don’t you judge me. Did you start this contest with dessert?”
The Toa of Ice crossed his arms over his chest. “No. Hot sauce packets.”
“…but were they any good?”
“They were delicious.”
Kopaka rushed forward as the ice and snow constructions in the street began to crumble. The sound of all the ice around him cracking and starting to fall to the ground was enough to distract Mugen, who failed to react sharply enough to the bludgeoning blow that landed across his chest and face. A beat later, a second strike was nearly enough to knock Mugen out cold. The samurai retained enough wherewithal to last out, and the axel bent as it crashed into Kopaka’s head.
Before he could press the fleeting advantage, Mugen had his improvised weapon yanked from his already quavering fingers. Realizing that he was being backed into a metaphorical corner, the samurai leashed an errant haymaker at the robot’s visage. Kopaka grabbed his adversary’s outstretched wrist with one hand, and the toa’s other fist slammed square into the center of Mugen’s forearm.
The sound of the bones cracking apart was loud enough to have been heard by the marine, who had shaken off the haze and managed to pry away the impacted parts of his armor, unfortunately exposing his underlying and all-to human physique. Yet, the marine had no quarter in his mind as he stalked toward the ice-cold machine. The Masamune was not something he had wrenched from an abandoned carcass. It would taste more blood on this day.
Swinging, Doomguy scowled as the machine eluded him. Abandoned precision, the marine unleashed a flurry of rapid jabs and twisting cleaves that forced Kopaka to dance backward on his heels. A few strikes managed to land glancing blows across the robot’s body, but none were enough to break the toa’s robotic focus. (I do hate using this word as just a normal word given the confusion it may bring with the aspect of our system – also I’ll delete this parenthetical bit later today)
Instead of folding under the pressure of the mad space marine, the toa merely waited for his moment and fired a freezing beam of ice from a pointed, metal finger. The beam struck the chest of the Doom Slayer, and for the second time, the bane of Hell found his rage ground to a halt by the cyrokinetic machine. Even as he tried to drive the sword into Kopaka’s chest, Doomguy found his muscles tightening, yet he growled as he attempted to push forward.
A firm strike from Kopaka dented the side of the marine’s helmet and sent him collapsing to the watery pavement. The toa, moments from slaying the warrior, heard the distinct shout of his ally. After kicking the marine in the head to ensure he wouldn’t be going anywhere, Kopaka rushed to aid the only ally he had made on the island.
***
Too many types of ‘energy’ screamed through the air.
Green plasma bursts from the BFG, the condensed yellow pellets of the Proto Buster, and the erratic blue ki blasts of Screamsicle all light up the dawn sky as the three adversaries jockeyed for control of the capsule.
For minutes, the exchange had been something resembling an elegant dance of death.
That is, until the true maestro made himself present.
Springing from his roost, Frieza released a hailstorm of telekinetically-controlled debris. Bits of broken machinery and scavenged innards from the nearby buildings started to crash down into the street as the alien warlord cackled with delight.
Yuuka twisted, her side arm switching to fully automatic mode as she tried to blast away the carnage flying down at them. The woman found herself backed up against a building, and while she managed to evade what seemed to be an entire engine block, she hadn’t prepared herself for the death rays that compromised the structure behind her.
The older woman noted the sudden growing shadow in front of her and sighed as she was swallowed up in an avalanche of twisted steel and dust.
For a moment, it appeared like Frieza’s gambit had worked. The cowboy and the Saibaman (who would entrust their care to such a feeble species?) had been momentarily incapacitated by the telekinetic onslaught, and the path would be laid clear for the alien to casually kill everyone and claim the prize.
It was then that the final two entrants into the rumble made their presence known.
Claws raked apart Frieza’s back, and as the conqueror tried to right himself to attack his foes, he was kicked from the balcony. The changeling hit the ground hard below, and his bag landed a few yards away. Realizing what was at stack, he started to crawl as Sigmund hopped down from the balcony and took a moment to look at the blood that now adorned his bladed fingers.
“So many different types of internal fluids… this island is a lovely experience,” he muttered as he started toward the capsule. Suwako, his demon-tongued associate, entered from the other side of the street.
“All clear,” she replied as the High Priest crouched down and removed the top half off the capsule. Tucked neatly in a velvet jewelry box were…
“Earrings?” Sigmund groaned.
“Ain’t no one stealing today, fella,” a stern voice said as Sigmund glanced over to see the cowboy.
The cowboy with the BFG.
The cultist forgot everything in the world as he dove clear of the BFG blast, which crashed into the base of the capsule and caused a fount of dirt, steel, and pavement to belch forth into the morning air. Sigmund landed headfirst and immediately understood that something was not right, because an effort to stand up only triggered a wave of nauseating vertigo to buckle his knees.
Arthur, who had watched the explosion and traced the glitter of the earrings as they soared through the sky, made way for the prize. In the background, Suwako rushed into combat only to be met by the unyielding metal frame of Kopaka. The toa crashed down onto the shrine goddess, nearly flattening her down into the pavement. With the false child quite literally in the dirt, Kopaka moved to assist Arthur.
“Behind you!” Kopaka shouted as he saw the white-and-purple alien monster throw the stick of dynamite. Sprinting forward, the toa swung both hands and batted Arthur clear just as the dynamite exploded.
The toa vanished in the subsequent roar of flames.
With a thud, Arthur landed free from the blast and looked down at his clenched fist. He opened his fingers to reveal a pair of nondescript golden earrings. “Better be worth somethin’,” he mused as he stood up and tried to find Kopaka through the fresh layer of smoke that had fallen over the street. Instead of a toa, a small girl emerged.
“What ar—”
BANG!
Arthur swallowed hard as he felt the bullet crash into his chest. Red started to slowly spread across the cowboy’s chest as the little girl ran over and snatched the earrings from his now trembling hands.
“Mine!” She shouted before sticking out an elongated tongue at the cowboy.
As Suwako disappeared back into the haze, Arthur staggered back and collapsed onto his haunches. His breathing was already coming in wheezing gulps as he touched a hand to the bloody front of his shirt.
Words formed on his lips but never came. The cowboy closed his eyes. He felt tired… so tired.
24 Contestants Remain
Suwako has received the Potarra Earrings (expect a PM shortly)
Doomguy has lost hearing in one ear (a Minor Injury) and suffered irreparable damage to much of his armor (writing flavor/Story Injury)
Yuuka will have more scrapes and bruises than she can count. (all together a Minor Injury)
Sigmund Vrell has a minor fracture to his skull and a concussion (Minor Injury) – he is also suffering from visual and auditory hallucinations (a nuisance more than a crippling thing -- writing flavor)
Deadpool has a variety of plasma burns across his body (a Minor Injury)
Kefka has been blinded in his right eye and has burn along the right side of his face (a Minor Injury)
Mugen has a broken arm (Major Injury)
Frieza has deep lacerations down his back (a Minor Injury)
Arthur Morgan has been shot with the Golden Gun and will die from these injuries in 48 OOC hours (Mortal Injury)
Kopaka has widespread damage (scrapes and bruises), impacted hearing, and a limb (all combined for a Major Injury)
Frieza used one stick of dynamite
Suwako has used the Golden Gun (I used a randomized dice roller to determine which of her listed foes she would gun down)
Sigmund Vrell has used an application of Focus
Kefka has used an application of Focus
Everyone has been teleported back to their square by the collars. Easter Egg provides no cooldown protection from F2Fs.
Pain. Pain like fire racing across his body, enveloping him in a casket of flesh-hungry flames.
Arthur slumped to the ground with a thud, the back of his shirt wet with his own blood. The fabric clung to his back, sticky and warm. His lungs and the fresh bullet hole in his chest burned at him, and though his face was largely numb, he still felt the itch of hot tears trickling from the corners of his eyes.
His eyes stared up at nothing, unable to grasp the world around him, dimly aware of metallic hands grasping at his shoulders, jostling him, trying to get him to focus. But all Arthur could see was the wide bowl of the sky looming overhead, covered in a smattering of stormy gray clouds brewing with thunder.
He felt... cold. But not all over his body, as he’d come to expect from death. Blearily, Arthur attempted to look at his companion, whose voice he could hear as if from a great distance— it was the most Arthur had ever heard Kopaka feel, and the Toa’s concern brought a tremulous smile to his lips.
Try as he might, Arthur couldn’t understand a word the distressed bionicle was saying. He wanted to, he did, but it was like the words swam through water to reach his ears, garbled and completely distorted. This brought on fresh pain for Arthur, though it were a different kind of pain. Somethin’ like heartbreak, he s’posed.
He settled for grasping gently at the Toa’s hovering servos, fingers leaving crimson prints across his friend’s snow white armor.
“Kopaka,” Arthur choked out, voice scarcely above a whisper and garbled from the blood rising like gorge in his throat. “K’paka. Take m’gun.”
Senseless hands fell from Kopaka’s arms, dropping to the dirt at Arthur’s sides.
Then, with a slow, ponderous trickle, it began to rain.
Kopaka backed up from the dying human, and paced back and forth. He gripped at the sides of his head in grief and frustration, subsequently throwing angry gestures at the sky and ground. Senseless, furious growling escaped his vocoder. He picked up a large rock, and pitched it into the bushes with a crackled and thud. The BFG was resting against the tree, as limp and harmless as Arthur who was propped up next to it. The slow drizzle began to come town as fat, heavy flakes of snow as emotions overcame Kopaka. Options. He needed to consider his options.
Duty was the only option.
Currently, his only duty was to Arthur Morgan. He glanced back at his partner, and squinted with resentment. The indolent wretch was already giving up. At the same time, Kopaka was panicking with deep concern. The android marched around the clearing a bit more, and then stalked back towards Arthur. He flexed his left hand, which could not close fully. The motors in the elbow housing whined and clicked gruesomely any time he move the arm. Kopaka felt pain, yes. But he did not let it control him. Weak. Pathetic.
But honorable.
"It is...what we believe, that makes us heroes..." Kopaka murmured to himself. They were words that felt familiar to him. Words that had filtered up from the dark places in his distant memory. More recent words came to mind.
"I didn't take you for a coward, either..." Kopaka hissed at the delirious man. Is this all it took to render the outlaw disabled? The bionicle could scarcely tolerate that Arthur would rather sit here and allow his body to dictate his fate, rather than enact revenge on those who had done this...or...find a remedy for the wound...or...something! Only cowards gave up. Kopaka nudged the cowboy with his foot.
"Arthur." he growled.
There was no response. Kopaka kicked him in the leg.
"Arthur!" Kopaka barked. The only response was more gurgling, haggard breaths. He was incapable of producing tears. The bionicle's only equivalent was to spread the sinister creep of his freezing rage even deeper. The boughs of the tree overhead creaked and sagged with new ice. The snow began to come down in blankets. Kopaka uttered a low, guttural growl, and swooped down to grab Arthur's left hand.
He abruptly broke the human's pinky finger with a sharp crack.
"Owhowww!" Arthur howled. He coughed and spluttered, looking around in confusion. His lucidity began to fade instantly, and Kopaka shouted at him.
"WHO DID THIS TO YOU?!" Kopaka screamed. Arthur's head lolled around, trying to bounce up to meet Kopaka's eyes for just a fleeting moment.
"Erggh'salilgirl. Dumb hat with eyes...tongue..." the human grumbled before losing consciousness again. Kopaka blew out a long, cold breath and stood tall again. His joints and servos made violent grinding noises as he did so, but they went unheeded. Contestant number fourteen. Suwako Moriya. She was the one who had taken his Duty from him. Kopaka was silent for a long time.
"I'm sorry, Arthur Morgan. For many things." Kopaka murmured. The android promptly set to work, rearranging their belongings. Kopaka split their remaining rations evenly, but left all of the sauce packets in Arthur's duffel. He did not believe that Arthur would survive to enjoy them, but the Toa would never submit to complete pessimism. On that note, Kopaka took careful time to leaf through the cowboy's journal.
The android carefully and deliberately spelled out a message for the human, doing his best not to snap the only pencil in Arthur's satchel.
OPEALON. I WILL BE AT ICE.
After replacing the journal and pencil, Kopaka did the only remaining thing he could for Arthur. Pale blue light shimmered down his form as he conjured the will of Winter to his hands. Dense, heavy banks of snow began to shift around the clearing, subsiding from the human's face and forming a perimeter around him. A white dome of hardpacked frost constructed itself over Arthur's head, with a small round opening facing out towards the nearby bushes. After a few moments, the grinding, sliding sound of reinforced ice came to a halt, and Kopaka nodded approvingly at the igloo.
With that, he shouldered the BFG 9000 along with his pack, and walked off into the graying wilderness once more. He made a point of senselessly screaming at nothing for quite some time, and smashed every sapling or rock in his path...
Back in the relative safety of their original meeting place, Kefka found himself in a reflective mood. It was like they always said; searing, agonizing pain and a sudden loss of depth perception’ll do that to you.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and then shrieked a horrible, awful, hateful shriek, sustaining it long enough for Screamsicle to join in.
“The audacity!” he trembled violently, pumping his fists as though about to fight someone, before cupping his palm around his mutilated eye. “I hate- hate, hate, hate that greasy drifter! We’re going to hunt him. Do you hear me, Mugen? He took the eye of a god, and so I must see him off to oblivion with the one eye I have left.”
Mugen stared at the deranged individual, seemingly unable to decide how to respond.
“Where do you think he could have gone? He couldn’t have gotten far,” Kefka continued. “That Magitek gun of his is mine. Such tremendous technology; it would be a waste if we failed to recover it from lesser hands.”
“You really want us to go after a man who nearly burned your head off with a big gun unarmed? Is that your plan?”
Kefka scoffed. “Well, it sounds dumb if you say it like that.”
“I think it just soun-”
“Careful,” he said it with such playful calm, making it a lilting song-like word. It was very strange to hear such precision calm coming from the man with the wild, raving eyes.
“Point is, if we’re going after someone like that, we need weapons.”
The Magitek Knight grabbed fistfuls of his hair and growled a high-pitched, animalistic growl that eventually gave way to a disquieting pantomime of polite laughter. He let go of his hair and let his arms fall slack. He took a deep breath.
“You and your incessant… logic. Fine, we’ll get some weapons, but then we’re killing the worm who blinded me!!”
The rain began to fall as Mickey Mouse’s third hour lying underneath the frozen, headless corpse of the Nemesis began, mixing with the dripping of melting ice. His brow remained furrowed, his scowl permanent staring up at the monster Karl Jak unleashed upon them… that he had slain. The beast hadn’t been at its best when he’d met it in the glade; had Bryanmesh been responsible? If the Nemesis had managed to come out of that alive — mangled but alive — did that mean Gilgamesh was dead?
As if the purple-suited prince of pain could hear his thoughts, Karl Jak’s voice rang out over the island’s hidden loudspeakers to announce the dead. Ashe-0, Roy Mustang, Okuyasu Nijimura, and Nemesis. Mickey’s lip twitched, his first movement in three hours, as he realized he’d had encounters with all four. Yet no Gilgamesh — and he hadn’t heard the King of Heroes’ name during the announcement Gildarts had worshipped, either, so undoubtedly, the young man lived on somewhere on this goshforsaken island. That was good.
Poor Gildarts. Mickey has sheltered him in a cave a few miles away before he’d set off. If he’d found anything useful anytime soon, he’d have brought it back to the battle mage, but the encounter with Nemesis and his subsequent willful paralysis — partially spurred by the adrenaline flowing through him and partially by the pounding concussion — had delayed him so sufficiently he expected Gildarts was long gone by now and had long forgotten their encounter.
Moments later, the Nemesis’ corpse lurched, and Mickey barrel-rolled out of the way as it collapsed to the grassy ground with a thud. He rose to his feet at last, and turned his gaze to the trees around him.
This swath of forest looked different than the one infested with dinosaurs did. The trees were lined with weird-lookin’, bright purple veins that snaked through the branches and almost… glowed, even in the cloudy darkness of the early, rainy morn. Mickey guessed idly that meant something was deathly wrong with the trees, so he’d be careful in his lumberjacking.
A little while later, a relatively sturdy branch lay on the ground in front of him, removed using what the mouse king had begun to call, in his head, the ‘Nemesis technique.’ He’d frozen a section and bashed it apart with the butt of his gun.
He dragged the limb towards the Nemesis, lifting it aloft. The task was a bit easier thanks to his slightly larger size, so for once he didn’t bleep at Karl Jak for expanding his muscles, but simply offered a small thanks as he started to bring it up into the air.
He held it for a moment, and said: “Sorry ‘bout this, fella.”
And then he jabbed it into the Nemesis’ gut.
Blood splattered from the wound and onto the mouse king, who did his best to wipe whatever he could from his face. Then he turned to his duffel bag.
Rrrrrrrip.
He split it down the zipper line, laying the fabric out flat on the ground and going over the contents. He ripped the map into four segments and used them as makeshift ties, attaching each of his four water bottles to the Nemesis’ mangled limbs. He pressed his brain to focus as his consciousness faded in and out; between that and his constantly-in-pain hand, this process took a long time, but eventually, all four water bottles were attached and frozen solid, just to make sure. Lastly, the mouse froze the fabric of the duffel bag to the branch impaling the Nemesis and stuffed the compass and three remaining MREs into his hoodie pockets.
Lifting with all his strength, he began to drag the Nemesis through the woods, slowly but surely. He was not a big mouse, but he’d been through more training than a lot of his fellow competitors, and they’d be wrong to underestimate him. He pulled the hulking corpse through the woods, knowing a cliff face was somewhere nearby, when finally, he broke the tree line of the venomous forest and found the drop.
With one big yank and push, he shoved the Nemesis off the cliff and watched as, weighed down by the water bottles, it fell pretty flatly into the water below. It wobbled for a moment, but eventually began to float steadily. Without waiting for it to drift away, Mickey Mouse leapt into a dive and followed it to the ocean.
He splashed into the waves, bursting through the surface and swimming towards the makeshift boat he’d created. He clambered onto the Nemesis, still being pelted by rain, and adjusted the sails as much as he could. “Abra cadabra,” he whispered, using all his magic might to hold the sail taut in the face of the downpour, and quickly the wind, gusting at high speeds over the island river thanks to the storm, caught in his duffel sail and propelled the S.S. Nemesis forward.
Mickey kept his focus on his magic, making sure to concentrate harder when the sail began to falter. Despite the raucous weather, the mouse found that his journey across the river was… well, it was relatively smooth sailing.
The S.S. Nemesis docked just over an hour later and its single passenger disembarked and vanished into the tall grass of the meadows. As he did, Karl Jak’s failed experiment, felled by the bravery and persistence of two Kings, floated away, never to be heard from again.
Sigmund turned to his companion, the little goddess proudly wearing her set of gold earrings, as the light came up in the day. Contrary to the elation that could be expected on her face, her brow was darkened as she seemed to be deep in thought.
"Something on your mind? That's not the happiness that usually comes from a victory."
Suwako grunted in response, taking her hat off as she fiddled with Pyon-ta, looking into it's eyes as they kept up their breakneck pace. almost as though she was looking for answers.
"It was victory. In that one battle, we took something of our enemies, made ourselves more properly equipped, and left with hardly a scratch. And hot as he might have been, I confess to enjoying myself seeing that look of shock on his face." Suwako added with a smile. "...It's been centuries since I was able to see fear and pain like that, and know that I was the cause, from a human. And know that I was the cause. For a curse goddess, that's intolerable."
"I thought you were a goddess of the land."
"Well..." Suwako gave a soft, nostalgic smile. "I am a goddess of the human understanding of the land. I was the rock and the steel, but I was also the soil for grain, and the mud that came after a bright rain. I am that which humans Sing praise to when the soil gives life-sustaining nourishment, and I am that which humans bitterly weep and beat the ground against when famine comes and the child goes hungry. Suffice to say, I am that which Humanity refuses to take into itself."
Sigmund looked at her for a moment, and then shook his head. "...You're a strange thing."
Suwako just nodded - it was true, after all. "But we might be hunted by something more terrifying than that."
Sigmund looked to her. "his partner?"
Suwako frowned. "yes. His partner. That's what I'm trying to figure out."
Sigmund raised an eyebrow, not willing to give another prompt and instead waiting for Suwako to continue.
"I'm trying to figure out if he's a good man or not."
Sigmund looked to the little goddess, and nodded in understanding. "...I guess we'll have to hope he is-"
Suwako blinked in surprise, like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "No, actually. We have to hope to me he isn't." Suwako would reply, remembering Arthur and Kopaka's reading together. the memory reminded her of fond memories of Sanae, and that very fondness gave her more than enough empathy to shiver.
Sigmund looked at her shivering questioningly. "forgive me, but I don't know if that makes sense-"
Suwako looked at him. "because that's where true hatred comes from!" She snapped, looking more enthusiastic than angry, but coming up to Sigmund. "That's why I have such a low opinion of purity. Some idiot like Aku calling himself 'pure evil' misses the point!"
Sigmund went rigid, but he leaned forward ever so slightly, interested and learning now, instead of bothered by the display.
"Truly terrible things don't come from some psychopathic moron with no feeling! They come from a normal, decent being pushed to it's limits. Take the worst thing that a terrible man could ever do to torture someone - and it will often come up short to a man Consumed by vengeance for the death of their child. Some selfish asshole doesn't care. But someone attached - they care a lot. They hate a lot. it becomes what they think about. their goal, above all else. A good man so broken he may commit evil is the most dangerous thing in the world, and I personally do not want to see how long the fancy robot can draw out an agonizing death!" Suwako spat grumpily.
"...Well then." Sigmund would say, adjusting his cloak. "I suppose we'll need to do our best to avoid him."
"That or kill him before he gets a chance. Not like the island gives us other options, right?"
Gilgamesh slowly blinked his eyes, his mind foggy and unaware of his surroundings. He gathered himself just to see his hands voracious dig into Okuaysu’s chest cavity. His hands were moving without his permission, tearing the stand user’s heart of his chest. His synthetic claws brought the heart closer to his mouth. Gilgamesh struggled with all his might to stop himself, but it became clear that his own hands did not belong to him. The creature known as ‘Malgamesh’ brought the organ to his lips and tore through it.
Gilgamesh wanted to vomit, he could taste the raw heart, chewy and tough, in his mouth. He could feel the blood trickle from his mouth and his smooth, alien hand wipe it from his chin.
“Have mongrels always been so...tasty,” he could hear a voice say. It took him a moment to realize that it was his own, but much more gruff. His heart dropped as he remembered he was a prisoner in his own body.
“Release me!” Gilgamesh screamed in his mind, but the words didn’t escape his lips.
“Oh?” Malgamesh grinned. “It seems like you are finally awake,” it said before crunching one of Okuyasu’s ribs in its maw.
The King of Heroes cringed at the loud snap of the bone. “I said to release me, you abomination. I am done with you!” Gilgamesh growled.
His corrupted body licked one of its bloody nails clean before speaking to its prisoner. “But why? This is so much fun,” it chuckled. “Besides,” it took a deep breath, “you’re getting what you want. Everyone here fears us,” Malgamesh declared victoriously.
Gilgamesh was appalled. Fearing and respecting a King was only natural, but people here now feared him as a beast, a monster.
“I control you, beast. You shall obey the King of Kings!” Gilgamesh commanded and he willed his hands to move. His fingers obeyed Gilgamesh, flexing and moving with his orders.
“Oh no you don’t,” Malgamesh hissed, recurring memories in the King’s head.
Images flashed past Gilgamesh’s ‘eyes’. He watched as his many defeats blurred past his eyes. He could feel the rage simmer as he re-experienced his body turning to ashen dust when he was banished by Protomouse. The emasculation when Diablo tossed his body like a chew-toy. The public humiliation as the bullet pierced through his skull from Deadpool’s pistol. He lost control of his fingers again and he could feel his consciousness slip into the toxic anger.
“Why are you doing this?” Gilgamesh cried out. He would have shed a tear if he was in control.
“To show these disgusting bastards, who the true King is,” Malgamesh seethed, baring his teeth.
Gilgamesh collected his emotions. All of the pent up fury of the past. The humiliation of past defeats. The anger from previous disrespectful behavior. He gathered it all into his chest, the tension threatening to break it open. And with a heavy exhale, he let it go. All of it.
And again, he was able to move his own two hands. He brought them to his face and peeled the parasite off. “Who the true King is?” Gilgamesh condescended, his voice once more his own. “That would be me,” he seethed, between his grit teeth.
The Golden King pulled away the malefactor from his face, peeling it like a used up face mask. The rest of the black tar receded from the outskirts of his body. “Wait,” the abomination cried out. “I can give you so much power, just don’t put me back in the capsule!”
Gilgamesh responder, holding back in his anger, “You were just a tool, just to be used.” He scowled as he continued, “As a tool, you overstepped your boundary.”
With a grunt, he managed to tear the rest of the Malefactor off his skin, it’s gross oozing tentacles grasping for something, anything. It’s foreign thoughts were no longer present in Gil’s mind, but he hoped that it could still hear him.
“You underestimated me, filthy parasite,” he hissed before tossing the blob onto the ground. It attempted to scuttle away, but Gilgamesh crushed it with his golden boot. “You are a traitor to your King, and thus you deserve a punishment worse than death,” he sneered, digging his boot into the Malefactor. It let out a tiny squeal whenever he put pressure on it. He cruelly grinned before reaching in his bag, to retrieve the high-tech capsule. The Malefactor squirmed and banged against the glass as Gilgamesh scooped the small creature up. He peered inside the glass, the small thing struggling briefly before it gave up, deflating in its container.
The virago finally managed to collect herself, the pounding headache was fading and her stomach no longer rejected every piece of sustenance. Now that Eudora was feeling better it was time for them to get a move on, she wasn’t planning on becoming a liability.
WOOSH
From behind the fire maiden an ominous sound emerged from silence. A fighting stance was assumed, one foot firm before the other only to face...Nothing. When she turned Eudora expected some sort of ambush, but instead there was only a smoldering mark.
Scorched into the ground there was a dollar sign where Victor was but a moment ago."Victor? Is this a joke to you?" It remained quiet, "VICTOR?!" Kayleigh's words were met with dead silence. It was as she feared, he had left her here in the freezing cold. Several emotions crashed into her stomach like a tidal wave. Even with no one around she refused her face to show what her heart was feeling, this was her way. She was alone once again, there was but one choice, leave this hellish place.
Angry mumbles were born from Kayleigh’s lips as she was gathering her supplies. It was obvious the Jester’s little stunt did more than she was willing to admit, however, she wasn’t here to make friends, she has a clear goal and purpose. Reaching this goal required time and for her to be smart, so she had to use Karl’s gift with great care. She finished one of the rations before setting off. “Fuck this frozen wasteland of piss and shit. And fuck Victor Wolfe.”
The lone traveller walked for hours, leaving the frozen wasteland behind her. The climate became better, the weather itself however was abysmal. “Even now the gods piss on me.” A flaming fist was sent through the nearest tree, Kayleigh looked up and continued her rant, “Is this what you want? To anger me further? Are we now of singular mind?!” Flames of fury not only engulfed around on her fist, they also raged within. She was trained to withstand pain and suffering but nothing of the emotional nature. A second blow crippled the defenseless tree, shattering it into splinters through the air.
“Woah, that tree is spitting flames.” A strange unknown voice spoke out rather loud. From the bushes a man stumbled towards Kayleigh and her wooden victim. “Oi, you, flaming lady where is the nearest exit?”
Kayleigh wasn’t sure if this was a ruse or just another idiot at the wrong place at the wrong time, but she wasn’t planning on finding out, “Remove yourself from fucking path.”
“Whoa what’s the hurry, why rush? Why am i getting wet?” The man’s questions didn’t make any sense. Logical conclusion was; it was yet another idiot. This place seems full of em.
“I have no quarrel with you, nor do I seek it. Break words or pass through, what is your purpose here?” The brunette’s eyes sought out the stranger’s and awaited reply.
This... wasn't disastrous, but it definitely wasn't good.
Frieza gingerly touched the shredded flesh along his back, staining his fingers deep purple, and noticed his hand shaking. He clenched his fist, letting the blood drip down his wrist, and an irritated flick of his tail smashed a crater into the ground. He wasn't used to taking damage in this form. Would it scar? He truly didn't know. His powers had been restricted ever since he'd been spirited away from his home universe, and they'd been restricted further by this infernal collar.
When he'd signed up for this competition, he'd known he wasn't going to be untouchable. Knowing and seeing--feeling the white hot, visceral pain and adrenaline and fear and rage flood his senses--were two different things.
It was far from a mortal wound. It was far from the limits of his pain tolerance. But it was a crack in his armor, the breaking of a seal, a point of no return. Yes, he'd known he could die here, but this was the first taste he'd ever had of true mortal peril, and it was throbbing electricity through his veins. He hated it. He hated it more than words could describe. But whether he liked it or not, here he was not the all-powerful tyrant he had once been. Whatever force that dragged him to his land had reduced him to... to a mere...
He took a deep, shuddering breath, willing his roiling hot fury down to a cold simmer. The game wasn't over. No use losing his head already. He was injured, but aside from the shock, the wounds weren't that serious. Deadpool was nowhere to be found--whether he'd just wandered off or died was beyond his knowing, but he wasn't too surprised either way--and he was down to only one stick of dynamite, with nothing whatsoever to show for the previous encounter.
Oh, but this wasn't over. Not by a long shot. It was time to get serious.
Slowly, rigidly, he walked over to what seemed to be a pharmacy, and spent some time treating his injuries. It was tricky to reach, but using his tail and a full-length mirror he was able to clean and bandage his wounds. They still hurt, and would probably restrict his movement by a small amount, but the last thing he wanted to do was leave a blood trail should anyone try to track him. Not to mention that dying to infection, of all things, sounded like a horrible way to go.
With that, he packed some more first-aid supplies and took off. Though he seemed to have calmed down some, expression placid and movements purposeful, his expression betrayed bottomless anger and bloodlust. For now, he would bide his time. He would lay low, and wait for the opportune moment to play his final hand. But the next person foolish enough to cross him would die. Slowly. Painfully.
The rain dripped down the metallic shield, removing any grey matter still attached to the surface. It certainly was a marvel of engineering, the metal itself seemingly stronger than even Victors daggers without enchantments.
The military officer had put up a decent fight and once again had left Victor's face with some considerable scarring. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a lot left of the skull to make it worth keeping but the shield and phone and all for the cost of a fractured wrist. It had been a while since the assassin had suffered an injury that would not heal within minutes, the stinging pain whenever he forgot this fact a constant reminder of the collar around his neck, and what it could do to his powers.
The rain cooled the sting from the burns on his leg, the ambush not going as perfectly as he had hoped but still leading to one less contestant to worry about, so that was a win in his opinion.
Overall today had been pleasant, other than the injuries. He had gotten to smash in the brains of some inferior specimens, gotten a nice shield and met up with his apprentice. The earthbender showed once again that if push comes to shove, his powers can be used to devastating effect. The boy still hesitated to deal a proper finishing blow but he had given it the good old college try. If only their opponent had not been able to survive so long as a walking corpse he might have even added another kill to his record. But for now this was Victor's time to celebrate.
Taking one of the empty water bottles Victor had in his bag he allowed the rain to fill it whilst they recuperated from the hard-fought battle.
“Victor?” Cho questioned.
“Yes, my sweet?” Victor teased
“What was he, why wouldn’t he die, is he like you?” Cho tried to choose his words carefully, the assassin considered swinging his shield at the boy to teach him some respect but decided to be patient.
“Like me? Why no, I am a refined, gentleman emperor who just so happens to know how to handle myself in a fight. He was a low-class garden variety lunatic with a murder kink, I have the skills to orchestrate violence on a scale that that reprobate could never even dream of. That's the other difference if our situations were reversed he would probably just kill as many people as possible before someone finally put a bullet in his head. I decide not to kill unless I feel that it helps my goals, so everyone on this island is fair game.” Victor said with a satisfied sigh, leaning back against a rock as he let the rain wash grime off his face.
“Everyone?” Cho questioned, concern filling his voice.
“You knew it when you signed up. There can only be one winner in the Abyss. If you think it's hard for you, I may have to finish off three or four people I genuinely like, there usually are not even that many people I like in the world so this is a bit of a first for me.”
Flabbergasted by how casual Victor was announcing this Cho stood up, Victor not even flinching just closed his eyes with a knowing smile.
“So you are just going to kill me?! And Sigmund?! Just so you can win this game. So noble Mr Emperor”
“Well, if you want to prevent that, go ahead.”
“What?”
“You heard me, lift one of the rocks, and crush my skull, no harm no foul, I will just go home and celebrate the victory you cost me. I am not going to kill you yet, Ideally Sigmund you and I are the final three and then we can settle it like gentlemen by agreeing on a winner, or seeing who is truly the strongest in New Babylon through combat.”
Cho seemed to calm at the idea.
“Besides, I notice the way you look at me,”
“Ew, not this again!” Cho recoiled
“Not in that way boy, in the, I wonder if I could take him in a fight way, after all, your bending is impressive, so it's not strange that you may want to find out what wins, your techniques, or my raw skill. And now you don't have the hindrance of our stations or the idea that things may go too far and you lose your life permanently, you will revive, I won't hate you for it, and other than some restrictions from these collars, we can go all out!” Victor grinned
“So indulge me a little longer sweet boy, for I want an all New Babylonian finale!”
She seemed far too calm for someone her age in the physical state that she was in. It was almost creepy. Her constant insistence that Ellie remove her armour or at least her helmet didn’t help change that impression either. Was she even human? Or a teenager? She had wondered if she should ask, but after pondering on it, she decided no answer Toga could give would settle Ellie.
Neither of them had much sleep the night past. Both got some in but something about Toga made Ellie uneasy. It made it harder to get a good night of rest in when the person supposedly watching over your safety made constant remarks about removing her armour.
The sun rose into the sky, lighting up the island. Still amongst the trees, they wandered about, Toga with her slung arm and Ellie with her power armour. Ellie carried both duffel bags on her metal shoulders to help the teenage girl out with her injury.
That led to another question. Could Toga defend herself in a fight? How effective would she be with a broken arm? Maybe she had powers in reserve that Ellie couldn’t see – surely something gave her the confidence to be on this island. Without the power armour, Ellie wasn’t sure how well she would fare either. At the least, she still had an ally. Discounting that would be foolish.
“Ah, you should feel this sunlight,” Toga said, closing her eyes and lifting her one working arm up as if embracing the air. “If you took off your armour, you could feel it warming up your skin.”
Despite herself, Ellie smirked. The girl was persistent. “The armour gives me plenty of warmth. But thanks for looking out for me.”
Toga took the response in her stride. “No problem. But you’re missing out...”
Ellie stared at the cloudless sky, taking a deep breath, and finding the calm in the moment. Whatever may come, she would be ready.
“Well… this sucks…” grumbled the sodden teenager as she stomped through the puddle-strewn forest. Just ahead, Ellie was leading the pair, her grey-green powersuit keeping her nice and toasty. Toga didn’t know where this rain had come from, but it had gone from a nice, clear sunrise to soaking wet in less than ten minutes. Obviously, she blamed Karl for it. Wouldn’t surprise the loli in the slightest to find out he’d sent the rain just so she could watch her partner be dry while trudging through the mud.
“So… uh…” Toga considered her words carefully. Her constant plays to get at whatever prize awaited her under that steel shell had been continually thwarted, and by this time she knew just asking wouldn’t be enough. She’d need to bide her time and wait for the perfect opportunity. Still, this was a desperate time, and she was tired of being soaked.
“Think we could take turns in the armor, Ellie Mellie?” She asked, putting on her best sweet, innocent girl voice. “I’m getting soaked out here! Lemme have a turn tooooooooooo!”
In response, all the teenager got, was a brief scoff and, “Not my fault you didn’t get the suit. Take it up with Karl.”
Toga sighed sullenly, tightening her grip on the Power Pole, and reevaluated her strategy. Maybe she could play the sex card? Yellow eyes eyed Ellie up and down before discarding the idea. Even with the voice altering properties of that helmet, Toga could tell the woman was older than her, and probably unwilling to risk pedophilia on system-wide television. And likely uninterested in women anyway, with her constant rebuttals of Toga’s advances. Fucking prude.
A quick glance to the side revealed one of Syntech’s many “camera birds”, as Toga had come to call them. She’d discovered the little devices that first morning, when she had been practicing with her given weapon and using the extend function to “shoot” birds out of the sky. Even up close, they were nearly impossible to distinguish from the real thing, and they were probably everywhere. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise her in the least if Karl had cameras in more than just the wildlife. And people thought SHE was creepy!
To say that Arthur ‘woke up’ would be an exaggeration. Rather, he gradually became aware of the world around him in stages, each one more painful than the last. The first stage was discovering that he felt quite cold across most of his upper body, a thin sheet of frigidity clinging to the skin of his face and torso. It was like he’d been half-buried in a snowdrift in the dead of winter, the frost seeping straight down to the bone. The persistent chill made him tired and achy, until all that he longed for was sleep.
The next stage was the pain, a fiery point of sheer agony spiking straight through his heart.
Arthur jolted into a sitting position with a sharp gurgle, one hand shooting up to brace against his chest, fingers fumbling to grasp at the cause of his discomfort. The packed ceiling of frost sheltering his head exploded outwards, soft clumps of snow thrown in all directions as the man thrashed about like a fish on a line. Strangely, the pinky finger of his left hand hurt something awful, the swollen digit throbbing in time with his heartbeat.
It was after this dramatic episode that Arthur found himself to be sitting in a pile of snow, shivering despite the obvious signs of summertime evident in the green forest surrounding him. He hunched over with a groan, eyes clenched tightly shut and teeth gritted, as a fresh wave of pain wracked his frame.
What… what had happened to him? Where was Kopaka?
Panting hard, Arthur tried to look around for the Toa, struggling to see through the sheen of tears blotting his vision. But there was no brilliant sheen of white armor sticking out against the backdrop of vegetation and lofty trees, and certainly no glimmer of frigid optics glaring back at him. And definitely no Kopaka, poised to reprimand him for being so careless in battle, so inordinately stupid.
The ex-outlaw drew a hissing breath in through his teeth. He leaned forward, bracing himself on his hands and knees, vision swimming and flashing gray. With a mighty shove, Arthur pushed himself to his feet, then staggered backward to lean his weight against a nearby tree, uncertain if his legs would hold him up for long. It was hard to tell, considering that one side of his body had gone strangely numb, the fuzzy sensation traveling down his left side from hip to shoulder. It hurt to stand, but Arthur felt he could manage it. Had to manage it. He needed to… he needed to…
He needed to find Kopaka.
Arthur took a stumbling step, intending to do just that, but found that his balance wasn’t quite what he was used to— his equilibrium careened wildly, nearly sending him crashing to the dirt because of it. He managed to catch himself against the bark of his previous support tree just in time, nails digging with a vengeance into the trunk’s grooves as he leaned heavily upon it.
“Damnit,” Arthur spat, mouth tasting of blood. “Damnit!”
His own words sounded distant to his ears, like they were echoing from the bottom of a deep tunnel. Arthur’s world at large seemed to have been consumed by utter silence; he found that, after a moment of straining to listen, he couldn’t even hear the wind sifting through the leafy branches of the trees around him, nor the birds calling down from their perches high up in the forest canopy. Without sound to guide him, all he could do was stare helplessly at the frost blanketing the ground, letting the rain fall in a cold drizzle over his shoulders and drip along the curved brim of his hat.
It did not surprise him to see the Wolf, now. It stared at him from the edge of the clearing, yellow eyes gleaming and dusky gray coat utterly unruffled by the breeze, the silvery curtain of rainfall appearing to slip straight through its ghostly shape. Unlike before, the wolf’s muzzle was not curled in a snarl dripping with the promise of spilled blood. Instead, it merely gazed solemnly upon the former outlaw's hunched, trembling body, ears laid flat against the top of its skull.
“What the hell do you want?” hissed Arthur, eyes narrowed in a fierce glare at the phantom. He gave it a grinning snarl of his own, teeth stained a vibrant, bleeding red. “Why are you following me?”
He jerked slightly as the wolf started forward, its massive paws padding soundlessly across the forest floor. Arthur wrestled with the desire to turn his face away, his skin gone deathly pale beneath the gore and grime of the island. As the apparition drew closer, though, the wolf slowly shifted into something.... else, its dark form pulsating with shadows as it grew suddenly much taller, more leggy, a lofty set of antlers curving out from the crown of its head.
The Stag paused before him, large black eyes studying him with a cool regard. Arthur fought to hold its gaze, sweat pouring down his back in cold rivulets and legs trembling from nerves.
“I… I don’t understand,” the ex-outlaw begged, his blue eyes desperate, pleading. “Please. I don’t understand.”
The mighty deer’s head bent gracefully downward, the light rippling across its golden pelt, and for a moment Arthur feared that it would impale him on the sixteen sharp points at the tips of its antlers. But the stag did not, in fact, deign to attack him. Instead, it seemed to incline its slender head in a brief bow before turning swiftly away from him, long legs carrying it off into the forest in several mighty leaps. There and gone again, just like that.
Arthur breathed in deep, tipping his head back to lean against the trunk of the tree behind him. His throat bobbed with an anxious swallow, sweat dripping down to his collarbone. The insides of his ears promptly cracked, the soft sounds of the forest around him audible once more.
It was then that he heard the voices. Two… or perhaps one? They sounded so… similar, yet oddly different at the same time. Arthur craned his neck around to peer at where the sound was coming from, eyes trailing up to where the forest and mountainous slope joined.
Could it be Kopaka? Was the Toa of Ice only a short jaunt away, possibly confronting another contestant right at this very moment? Arthur’s blood chilled at the thought, a surge of adrenaline shooting through him. He needed to get up there, figure out what was happening. Protect his friend.
His vision swam as he took a tottering step, body running both hot and cold at the same time, fresh sweat beading at his temples. His mind reeled wildly, but he managed to steady himself enough to chance moving forward again. Without a backward glance, Arthur left his bag open on the ground, resolving to return soon to collect his things.
Everything aches, everything is torn. My favorite, and coincidentally my only hoodie, is now basically rags. The rocket launcher feels like it went to college and put on a solid freshman fifteen. A scream bounces around in my head like voices in empty high school hallways: "I like weight upon my shoulders!" I'm once again thankful to have memorized a lyric for every occasion of my suffering. That being said, I don't know where I ended up, but it sure was pretty. Someone painted the trees lovely autumn shades in this glade. Have you ever looked really hard at the leaves in a tree? And boy, do I mean, do you everreally fucking look at those things commin' off of the branches? They look like precious gems and jewelries, the way they drop from trees, the way they shine in the cold, comfortable light of a cloudless fall day. Oranges, yellows... reds.
"Ah Pecan, you fucking shit," I muse bitterly. "You've got me spouting verse."
Great, now I'm gonna be waxing poe-etic for the foreseeable future. "HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HAAAA-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
I can't help it, I lose it then and there. I devolve into a fit of delirious laughter that probably would've been kinda funny to watch in different circumstances, and if I hadn't started screaming bloody murder in the middle of it. Me screaming like a demon was probably kinda funny in this specific circumstance, come to think of it, violent and unnaturally loud though the sound might have been. It was probably even funnier when I slung the rocket launcher off my back and unholstered the guitar. Yeah fuckers, I'm throwing a rock star-sized tantrum right now, what are you gonna fucking do about it? Laugh at me? I'm laughing at me too. This shit was hilarious. That pun? Perfection. I wish my fans coulda heard it. Pecan dying? FUCKING HILARIOUS! I start wailing on the guitar with abandon.
The sound that sang from the instrument was the kind of brutal agony that one would be hard pressed to find even in Hell's deepest depths. It was loud, vicious, unruly, contemptuous. Yet something behind it, hidden underneath the sound, was forlorn and defeated. It was as if bitterness and spite had been given form in these vibrating strings. My fingers drip up and down the neck of the guitar, with enough kick and gusto to melt the skin off some poor fuck's face.
I discover another fucking universe, and the first person I meet? Yeah, that fool is fucking dead, like, dead dead. Also, he wanted to kill me! And I don't know if I'm ecstatic about that or just disappointed. Or angry. I don't know, I guess I'm usually kinda angry. I'm definitely not surprised. My guitar strumming comes to a very grungy, lulling pattern that walks around the leafless branches above lazily but with a volatile tilt, simmering in time to my thoughts.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know this line of thought isn't exactly easy to follow, I think to myself. It's all over the place and improperly worded, thought out, and conceived. I can't make sense of it myself, which is probably why we got along with people like that motherfucker.
Pecan was kind of...Nah, Pecan was definitely a piece of shit, and I had only recently had the 'luxury' to call him a friend. Sort of, at least. He is a genuine and enjoyable dude under any circumstance that doesn't involve him wanting to harm or kill you. I've been fortunate enough to know him for several of these very rare circumstances, and have come to the conclusion that if he didn't want to kill everything, he wouldn't be so bad. This thought sends me into a slightly less insane fit of chuckling, and I continue to pull strings. One of them makes the sound a string on an electric bass would produce, instead of the acoustic appearance the instrument puts on. It thrums and reverberates, heavier than the other chords plopping out.
"I guess I'm one to talk," I say, bringing my conversation with myself out loud. "I'm no saint. In fact, I guess I'm the opposite. "
Does that make me a bad person, accepting a deal from the devil? Or maybe it's all the shitty things I do, the excess, the mistakes, the arrogance. I'm not an idiot, like I know I'm just having a pissing contest talking this shit out with myself like this. I know these are truths. Do they brand me? Am I shoved into that dark, chained up box of evil with the rest of the sinners? I really only ask because I really wanted to see if underneath all that bloodlust in Pecan, there was, I don't know. Anything else? I think about it for some time in silence. A cold breeze whips past me, cooling my hot head off a little bit, tempering the steel.
Probably not, I think to myself, we've proved ourselves to be a pretty regrettable species. I'm not sure which question I'm answering, or what event or proof I'm referring to. All of them, maybe. It also probably doesn't fucking matter. Pecan, regardless of what kind of man he was, sacrificed his worthless, wretched life for me, me, another human being. From where I'm from, that's the kind of shit friends do for each other. That's the kind of shit you pay back in full. That's the kind of shit heads go fucking missing for. That's the kind of shit-
Hey, where did all the leaves go?
A sudden piercing chill breaks me from my thoughts, bringing me back into place. It was snowing, and I hadn't even noticed. Philosophy does that to ya, probably. A frost spreads its way across the ground like icing on a cake and shines like someone spilled colorless sprinkles on top. The trees all around me had died, and the ones behind me bordering the path I had come from were quickly losing their foliage as well. The ice advanced in an all consuming march. My fingers had gotten a bit stiff but I kept playing, partly because I fucking felt like it, partly because I didn't know what else to do. The sound that erupted from the guitar had noticeably shifted; an industrial, busted clockwork sort of growling comes from infernal thing. I start to slash at it, picking up on this rhythm, this horrid and wretched feeling. It was ungodly, chaotic in its existence. The guitar relished in its own noisy symphony.
Sadly, I never reach the crescendo. Shame that, would've loved to hear it. Pecan would've loved to have heard it. I let the last chord I pluck ring out into the newly minted frozen wasteland, ending my obnoxiously anarchic song with a quick lick. In front of me shambles a robot. The robot appears to have a very, very big fucking gun. Snow flurries up around the mechanical entity, making this guy the envy of any McDonald's ice cream machine at 3 A.M.
The sound change was coming from that thing, and that thing was coming towards me. I look at ol' rocket box at my feet. If I had the time later, I'd paint Pecan's Baby somewhere on it in the blood of my enemies. I don't pick it up though, not yet. My hand rests lazily on the body of my guitar.
"Pretty big gun you got there," I say as it crosses my path. I don't stand in its way, but it doesn't keep walking past me. Progress is progress.
The machine turns to look at me, but y'know I almost wish it hadn't. I don't think I've ever seen something so metal have such a human gaze. For a moment, it doesn't speak. Eventually, it does. It sounds like a he.
"It is not yours, and it is not mine." The voice that comes out of his headpiece is garbled and distorted. He's been through it, I think, and more than just the physical it. Video games taught me that robots have feelings, or something. I lick my dry lips, catching a flake of snow by accident as I do. That sounded less like a warning, and more like a statement, though I have no misconceptions that this guy wouldn't blow me away without a second thought. But why hasn't he? And why haven't I tried to do the same to him? So many questions today, so few answers. Such is the life of Nico.
"So you're not gonna use it on me?" I say with a tilt of the head.
"Not unless you plan on giving me a reason to, no." He was still looking at me. I couldn't figure out why. By this point though, I had gathered the balls to look back at what I think was his eyes or ocular pieces or whatever-the-fuck have you. "And it does not appear that you plan to use your own weapon."
"No, no I do not," I reply steadily, "but people have a habit of saying one thing and doing another."
This solicits an audible and visible response from the being, but whether it is approval or disapproval, I can't make heads or tails. He hasn't said anything about the guitar yet. Most people, I feel like, would say something about the guitar. Then again, this guy didn't give me 'most people' vibes. This guy, no, he's got direction, a responsibility. Hell, I guess now I did too. Man, Pecan, he'd want me to hunt down those shady fucks that got 'em. It's the least that I owe him in exchange for my life. Hell, he'd want me to bless this island with as many explosions as I possibly could. He wouldn't stop until he blew Karl Jak, his private island, and everyone else with it into the abyss of the sea, and I think he'd want me to help him do it.
And I think this robot and his big boy gun might want my help to do the very same thing.
And I think I'm going to.
I'm gonna tear all this shit up. All of it.
"Hi, I'm Nico Cinder, and boy, do I have a deal for you."
Aku sprints down the tunnel with a hop while pain keeps pulsating throughout his fractured leg, reminding him he isn't the perfect god of darkness was in the past. Hissing and clawed feet pattered against the rough natural ground that echoed throughout the tunnel. Unfortunately, the shogun of sorrow traveled too far from the tunnel entrance, and there was no turning back now since the goblins blocked the way he came. There better be an exit for his career to continue in this fun game of mortals. A light bulb goes off his head how to slow down Jak's little slobbering henchmen.
He stops for ten seconds to inhale the cave's air to store much air in his lungs. Enough time is on his side since Aku could gain some distance between him and those savages. The demonic warlord throws his fireball upon the ground in front. It was used as a flare to get excellent visibility to watch as his enemies stepped into a trap. His black humanoid chest puffs out, showing how much oxygen stored within him. Once Aku sees those ugly goblin faces hissing to take a bite out of him, he opens wide and exhales the air from his lungs, which boosts his fiery breath.
A significant section of the tunnel lights up bright, viewing each other as Aku releases his wrath upon these inferior beings. Only eight bodies were continuously burning while the rest of the pack back away from the danger. Those that caught on fire scream in agony and released their final breath, falling onto the ground to continuously roast till charred until the fire dies. He stops after a minute releasing fire out his green-lipped mouth to keep the remaining oxygen source, aiding him to control his breath while running. Finishing his attack, Aku runs away as the horde of goblins stays hot on his trail.
A light soon appears at the end of the tunnel that the shogun of sorrow is running toward that location. A relief came over him but washed off quickly due to his focus remaining on the potential threat. Finally, Aku runs out of the tunnel but trips over on a rock, making him fall onto his knees. The demon's legs hit the firm craggy ground that belonged to the massive grey mountain that towers over the island. He scrambles to get back on his feet and continues running on the slick rock surface.
The pain pulsates again in his leg after that hard impact. While running along the narrow cliffside, rain pours heavy out of the dreary dark nimbostratus clouds covering the potential beautiful sunrise. Large droplets patter against his body, helping to cool his burnt back. His feet hit a couple of puddles that were quickly made by the natural falling water. The group of starving goblins remains on his trail. However, the frustrated embodiment of evil halts immediately and turns around in the opposite direction, where he will meet these abominable underlings face to face.
As they approach him, most were confused about why their meal decided to stop and make it easy for them to consume. As they are within his sight, the demon opens his mouth wide in a split second.
"STOOOOOP!" the powerful mortal of darkness roars in demand, causing the vicious goblins to halt twelve feet away abruptly.
"I AM GOING TO GIVE YOU A CHOICE HERE MORTALS, CHOOSE WISELY! MY NAME IS AKU THE SHAPESHIFTING MASTER OF DARKNESS THAT ONCE RULED THE PLANET EARTH FOR CENTURIES! BACK INSIDE THE CAVE, I HAVE ALREADY SHOWN YOU A FRACTION OF MY POWERS I AM CAPABLE TO PRODUCE! JOIN ME BY MY SIDE, AND I WILL MAKE YOUR WILDEST IMAGINATIONS COME TRUE! I WILL MAKE YOUR FAMINE NO LONGER EXIST, AND FILL YOUR EMPTY STOMACHS WITH RICHES AS YOU BUILD MY ROAD TO VICTORY IN DANTE'S ABYSS. OR, YOU CAN CONTINUE TO SERVE THAT UNGRACIOUS MORTAL KARL JAK THAT HAS COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN YOUR SOCIETY AND ABUSE CONTINUOUSLY! LOOK, YOUR PEOPLE ARE CRUMBLING APART IN A HORRIBLE DARKNESS, BUT YOU CAN EXPERIENCE A WELCOMING DARKNESS THAT IS AKU! JOIN ME OR DIE!"
The almighty most powerful shapeshifting master of darkness, Aku folds his arms in a tyrannical manner while judgment appears on his face. He felt proud about his offer and speech to persuade those hungry stupid mortals that he is the ruler of their domain.
"Massssssster Karl issssssssss the maker of thissssssss world and provided usssssssssss much throughout our lifetime. He hasssssss given a haven for our people to sssssssssstrive in, and we mussssssssssst obey his game, conssssssssssuming any soul that daresssssssss to take part in." One of the goblins comes forth and speaks his mind about their society's religion.
Aku curses with anger, and his hands turn into fists of rage. The arms bend out from crossing earlier into a villainous foiled plan position. Unhappy frown forms with his green lips curving as the horrid teeth begin to chatter.
"SO, BE IT!" the shogun of sorrow throws a tantrum at their choice of words.
He activates his eye beams, shooting out to hit the loose mountain rock wall beside them. The lasers cut through the rocks, causing an avalanche to happen. Rocks begin breaking piece by piece from the mountain and start a landside that crumbles the cliff underneath where the goblins once stood. They all tumble down the Syntech built geographic formation, killed by the debris falling and crushing their puny bodies.
BLAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
The laughter echoes far and wide near any land next to the mountain, spreading his wickedness for everyone to hear.
