Day 3

[Anders Nazret]

Sleep had come fitfully to the Arcadian swordmage. There was risk involved with sleeping alone on a death world in the middle of a blood sport. Anders was no fool, it was most certainly possible that some blade in the night could come upon him before he would even wake. The alternative, however, was a much more harrowing proposition. Without sleep his mind would grow dull and sluggish. Though his body was quite strong, it was far from his most valuable asset. Swordmages, above all, were trained in the mental aspects of battle. It was during this conditioning that the importance of rest was instilled into him. So, he rested.

He dreamed of being stranded on an island. It was surrounded by a stygian sea, completely devoid of warmth and home only to monsters. His only respite, his only escape, was a rope bridge suspended above the terrible ocean. Across this bridge he could see a city, welcoming and full of light. It was a beacon in the dark, a hopeful bastion against the uncaring void. Anders clamored across the bridge, aware of the antediluvian monstrosities swarming in the water beneath him. All it would take is for some unseen tentacle to grab hold and pull him into the depths, but he continued towards that golden city.

As he approached he realized that the city was not glowing because of its auspicious nature, but rather the entire city was engulfed in flames. His heart caught, fluttering, as this realization washed over him. Beneath him the worldly monsters brayed and cackled. A silhouette appeared in the fire, marching forward towards the bridge’s end. This silhouette grew more defined as it reached the bridge. He found himself staring into a mirror. The man was a near-perfect copy of himself, save for the fact he was covered in soot. His doppleganger grimaced, shaking his head and raising his sword. With a single strike he cut through the bridge’s supports, sending Anders into the depth below.

--THE FOLLOWING DAY--

Anders clutched his bleeding gut, as if he had swallowed fire. Lilith stood not far away, her pistol still smoking in the cool night air. He looked towards his allies, Fennec was helping the concussed Demetri to his feet. His gaze then met Caustic’s. There it was, that clinical and detached soul hiding behind the man’s eyes. Anders had worked with Dr. Caustic before, and he was not blind to the man’s particular view on the value of a life. But, this was the first time he had found himself at the wrong end of Caustic’s experiments. In another time and another world they would have been enemies, but Anders couldn’t afford to be picky.

“So… are we to rip each other apart like a pack of snarling dogs?” Anders finally asked.

“Oh, that sounds like fun” Lilith purred, holstering the pistol, now thumbing over a bloody razor.

Caustic surveyed the scene slowly, his eyes drifting from Anders, to his weapon, and then finally to the recovering Demetri. Anders had no doubt that he was performing some sort of mental arithmetic - the kind one did when weighing whether or not to end a life. Would finishing them off be a worthwhile investment? Or would the risk outweigh the cost? Finally, the doctor’s body relaxed. Anders lowered his weapon.

“Forgive our hostility,” Caustic said, “Naturally one can not be too careful in such circumstances.”

“This was regrettable,” Anders answered, “But, our meeting does provide a unique opportunity.”

Lilith, who seemed quite blue-balled by the whole ordeal, spoke, “Oh? And what might that be?”

“Alone our chances of winning, or even surviving, are little better than a coin flip,” He explained, “Together, however, we can stack the odds in our favor.”

“An alliance? With you?” Lilith responded, “I think we’ve been doing just fine on our own.”

“Certainly, you have, but surely you aren’t the only one that’s been doing fine,” Anders held up his tablet. Several dots blinked on screen, illuminated from his request to ping quest item holders and roaming threats. He continued, “Every one of these is a threat that is just as vicious as yourself, why leave your survivability up to chance?”

After a pause, Caustic nodded, “We will join forces for now, Mr. Nazret, however, you do realize our goals don’t perfectly align, yes?”

“Have they ever?” Anders chuckled.

Crisis averted, for now. Anders found Demetri leaning against a tree nearby. He swayed back and forth, his brain still rattled from Caustic’s assault. While Anders was not unfamiliar to the natural consequences of battle it still stung at him to see his ally in such a condition. He offered a steadying hand to Demetri’s back. The thief shuddered at his touch, whirling around and raising his wingman. For a moment Anders thought he had been betrayed, but Demetri relaxed as recognition crossed his face.

“Sorry,” He muttered, his voice groggy, “Thought you were…”

“Thought I was…?”

“Nevermind,” He said, rubbing his head, “Fennec is gone…”

“What? Where did she go?”

Demetri shrugged, “Said something about… it getting too crowded?”

“Very well, if she wants to throw herself to the wolves, then who am I to stop her?” Anders said, looping an arm across Demetri’s back, “Come on, the others are waiting.”

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

“Mr. Karl,” said Kevin, peering uncomfortably at the computer screen before him. He sat hunched over his desk, fingers drumming out an anxious rhythm beside a mug of long-forgotten, ice-cold tea. “Isn’t it a little… oh, I don’t know… questionable, watching a mostly blind guy wander aimlessly around for entertainment?”

Not even looking up from the tablet loosely clutched in his hand, Karl raised a single finger to his lips. “Shush, Kevin. Richard just stabbed the Unmade fish guy in the eye with a spork. And really, things can’t get any more questionable than an actual child being babysat by liars and killers. Come on, now.”

“But, sir…” Kevin wheedled, chewing heavily on his bottom lip. His eyes darted to the side, catching sight of an equally worrying scenario playing out on a completely different monitor, the camera perfectly capturing as the contestants proceeded to converge on each other in an orgy of violence. “I thought this was originally marketed as a cooperative event? You know, Friendship Island™?”

“It’s more like Family Island with how they’re all worked up over that little gremlin,” Karl muttered. “And you know how family can be.”

The PA squinted, attempting to recall the names of the group of contestants currently duking it out in perfect view of the cameras. It seemed to be… Dr. Caustic, the crotchety Anders Nazret, an even grumpier Fennec Shand, and a few others he didn’t really care about. Wow, they were really doing a number on each oth— ah, fuck, they were friends again.

“Toxic?” asked Kevin, rolling his eyes.

He heard a low, mirthful chuckle from Karl’s side of the room. “Exactly.”

Huffing a little under his breath, Kevin returned his attention to the camera view that had initially roused his concern, idly scooping up his mug to take a sip of his tea. He promptly froze as his eyes landed on something on-screen, choking a little as he spat the mouthful back into the mug.

Hastily wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Kevin lurched to his feet. “Finally! We’ve got one of the Unmade monsters going for Father Gascoigne, and it’s the Pepsiman!”

--​

Gascoigne had been wandering for some time, he could not say for how long, when he felt it. The spine-tingling sensation of being watched.

The hunter’s head tilted slowly, the fine hairs at the nape of his neck prickling up as the feeling grew in intensity. Swaying grass dotted with sky blue wildflowers and gray lupine surrounded him on all sides, the open plain rippling like an ocean of green with the slightest brush of the wind. All was still and silent… save for the faint chattering of birdsong and the ragged sound of his own breathing, that is.

But Gascoigne was an old hunter. He understood that it was not simple hind-brain anxiety that had stopped him dead in his tracks. It was that lingering sense of knowing that came with having been hunted oneself, once upon a time, and it was that informed knowledge that kept his senses sharp, every muscle tensed and poised for action.

Turning his chin up, Gascoigne gave a studious sniff of the air, perhaps hoping to catch some faint scent drifting on the breeze. All that met his nose was the sweetly floral aroma of the dancing wildflowers— and something else layered beneath. Something saccharine, almost painfully honeyed. Like burnt sugar and rotted meat, settling like a thick, dark treacle at the back of his tongue, sickly and overpowering to the senses.

Gascoigne knew that smell. Had encountered it once before, deep within the bowels of Inverxe. The caverns had reeked of it, the beasts had bled it when cut down by his axe. An insidious kind of scent, it was, one that promised complete annihilation and blessed salvation in equal measure.

Hands tightening around the grip of his axe, the hunter made to turn—

A man-shaped blur of red, purple and white streaked out from a tall curtain of grass to his left, striking him against his side with a bare-fisted blow. Once more Gascoigne felt his much-abused ribs threaten to crack with the force of the hit, but the hunter wasn’t cowed. Instead, he strafed sideways, wheeling around to swing his axe down to crash against his attacker’s head.

Like a spider, his foe skittered backwards on all fours, the blade of the axe narrowly whistling past its head in a blur of vibrating crimson energy. Following through with his swing, Gascoigne reeled somewhat, staggering as he turned to survey his newest challenger.

It appeared to be a man, of sorts. Dressed most strangely in a form-fitting attire that clung to every bit of his frame—accentuating a muscled form and perfectly chiseled, washboard abs—the man’s face was concealed by a reflective, silvery mask.

But this was no man, Gascoigne knew very well. Corruption leeched off from the creature in waves, staining his silky bodysuit a brackish, inky purple. What’s more, the glaring red insignia emblazoned upon his chest seemed to glow with some inner wickedness, the jaggedly-painted shape of an Omega symbol pulsing in short bursts of virulent crimson.

The hunter had little time to consider the implications of this before the creature had swiped a hand in the air, a wave of shimmering caramel-colored liquid miraculously appearing to gush towards him in a veritable tsunami.

Stifling the urge to simply shoulder through the oncoming wave, Gascoigne rolled to the side, easily dodging the swell of carbonated liquid. The wildflowers behind him, however, were clearly done for— their shallow roots drowning in a sea of sticky, bubbling soda.

Grunting from the effort, Gascoigne slammed his axe against the ground. The blade smacked with a wet schlock into the muddy, Pepsi-soaked patch of grassland. A faint crackle sizzled from somewhere deep inside the axe head, tongues of white-hot electricity licking out from the point of contact with the ground, and then a surge of lightning was hurtling directly for the bodysuit-wearing figure.

A blinding flash of heat washed over the hunter as the lightning made contact, blowing the hair back from his face. It faded fast, leaving behind a boiling, fiery field of shredded earth and crystallized sugary drink. By the time he had regained some of his faculties, the odor of burnt sugar had grown even more overpowering, simmering in the air in a menacing cloud of artificial caramel flavoring.

As Gascoigne staggered backwards a step, he ripped his weapon free of the earth, glancing up to see that his quarry had likewise regained his footing. The silk-covered man’s body seemed to be jaggedly shredded apart, steaming faintly as more of that repulsive liquid spewed from where his shoulder had once attached to his body.

“Sick creature,” Gascoigne spat, baring his teeth with great menace. “What master do you serve that has sworn you to the ministry of such violence? What bloody sacrament do you bear upon your chest?”

The Unmade man looked at the hunter, his lone uninjured arm reaching up to grasp at the mess of oozing, boiling flesh that was all that remained of its twin.

“This world… will belong to Darkseid,” the strange man intoned, grasping at his ruined arm. His fingers dug in wetly, streaks of gory black corruption pooling in his hand, slowly reshaping into the form of a glistening silver can. “Surrender to Darkseid… or taste Death.”

 

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
#21 Rogue & #08 Aster vs #28 Ketkin vs #05 Chara, #02 Trevor O’Skully & #06 Christine​

Three days in, and as is usual, alliances had shifted, as they are want to do, whether the Abyss is located on an island, a comet-oid, or some desolate landscape on a World that gave up the ghost a long time ago.

One of the few constants throughout the last three days had been Ketkin Flynn, the aquanaut, and his trusty companion… Wilson.

Was the man even aware that Wade had done this same gag years prior but with an actual volleyball? Probably not, but you can’t expect everyone to binge watch ten seasons of a television show.

As the sun started to peak up above the distance horizon, Ketkin Flynn had made his way to one of the spots that the event’s host had mentioned in his little briefings and updates. He found his way to a small clearing with a little container that had been ‘looted’ already.

“…damn,” he muttered as the sound of footsteps pull him away from the open crate.

“My bag,” a voice deadpanned as Ketkin turned to see the young woman (teenager? Tall child?) with the nailgun from earlier. She had that same weapon aimed at him and didn’t seem like she was suffering from any sort of moral dilemma as she sized him up.

“Listen,” he started before a line of three nails crashed into his right cheek and one tore his ear in half.

Ketkin’s neck was sent snapping back by the impact, and he nearly list his balance as he stumbled backwards and dropped to a knee. Looking up, he watched a man with a cannon on his hand materialize from the shadows like some personification of death. A few yards away, a stern woman light up a plasma sword and stared at him as if he’d committed a laundry list of sins. “This doesn’t seem fair,” the man sputtered as he smirked with the non-impaled side of his face. “Wilson and I don’t have enough fists for all of you,” he remarked as he patted the bear on the tummy.

“I love warm hugs!” The plush squealed as Trevor O’Skully stepped up, lifted his gun-arm, and proceeded to scowl when the barrel refused to rev to life.

Instead, the plasma burst came right out of left field and drilled the shadow assassin high in his back.

Ketkin broke for the right as nails started to whirl through the air all around him. He was intercepted by Christine just as Aster stepped up and started swinging her trident.

Chara, her nail gun trying to catch Aster or Ketkin within its reticle long enough to line up a shot, eventually shook her head as she turned to help Trevor. Standing over the man was a face Chara would never forget.

“Howdy, Sugah,” Rogue said with a wink as she quite literally disappeared into the shadows.

“Not fair,” Chara muttered as she stepped back and willed a line of knives into existence. “I don’t have any new tricks,” she whispered as an elbow crashed into the side of her skull. While there was clearly a sassy retort forming on Rogue’s lips, she had to backpedal as the knives started zipping through the air toward her. One of them clipped her shoulder, but for the most part, she managed to evade that initial salvo.

Christine dodged the trident as it once again tore up the lifeless soil of Cevanti. The assassin’s saber swing crashed into the shaft of the weapon and crackled angrily against the material. Remembering her earlier tussle with Aster, Christine had prepared a few contingencies, as she would have under any circumstances. Unfortunately for the soulless assassin, her planning didn’t account for Ketkin Flynn jamming a thumb into her eye as she tried to maneuver around to strike down her other adversary.

The woman screamed and lost her grip on the lightsaber as the trident tore right into her chest. Blood flooded her lungs as her ribs were snapped.

Aster’s celebration was cut just a little short when the lightsaber reignited in the hands of the aquanaut and stabbed her through the hip.

Rogue and Chara, engaged as they were in the closest thing to a game of cat and mouse as two grown women could be, found themselves both distracted by the screams of their partners. Both turned to see the man, lightsaber in hand, standing between their two downed partners.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he groaned. “You shot me in the fucking face!”

Chara stepped forward and fired again at the man, who broke into a limping dash that would usher him to safety.

While she had concerns for Aster, Rogue didn’t hesitate to line up a shot and blast Chara square in the gut with her spectral Proto Buster.

“Nighty night, Sugah, better luck next time,” the southern brawler cooed as she went to retrieve her injured companion.

Spoiler

Trevor absorbed a burst of plasma to the shoulder and back (Major Injury)
Ketkin has a few nails in his face and is missing half of an ear (Major Injury)
Christine has a deep stab wound through her chest and a punctured lung. She’ll wish she was dead but death hasn’t come for her just yet (Insane Injury)
Aster has a cauterized stab wound clean through the hip (slightly to the right side; her hip and leg bone were damaged so walking is a pain – Major Injury)
Chara took a plasma blast to the gut (Major Injury)
Rogue took a slash across her thigh (Minor Injury)

Ketkin steals the Lightsaber
Rogue Copy-Locks the Proto Buster using Bandit’s Secret
Rogue Rogue’s Trevor’s Ability set

Chara was pressured into one application of Focus
Ketkin was pressured into one application of Focus

(Ketkin received the 1v3 buff for this scene)

Rogue and Aster win the drop at O7.

 

[Omelette Robotnik]

“I can teach you how to kill a man real easy, Slurt,” Riddick said, amazing the boy with his resolve and ability to ignore the obvious pain he must be in. Slurt himself could barely keep from curling into a ball and sobbing due to his own injury. “But I could never teach you how to keep walking after you keep getting your shit kicked in. That's all you.”

The goblin lad couldn’t help but to be transfixed by Riddick’s haphazardly bandaged arm as the man spoke to him. Oh god… not again. Why… why did everyone keep getting hurt around him? Jester… Christine… Kolith… and now Riddick too. Unbidden, the memories came, flooding his young mind with the scenes that had played out the past few days on the island.

He remembered the fear and anxiety he had felt upon his acceptance into the event, the surety that they would deny him had been the only reason he’d even accepted his peers’ pressure to join. But there, he had met Christine. There was a part of him that knew, deep down, that it was only luck that she hadn’t also slain him in that moment. But she hadn’t. Instead, she had taken him in, cared for him, and maybe even loved him.

Jester too. They had no reason Slurt could think of to treat him as well as they had. But, those hours in the Recreation Dome, with the two of them, and the later time in the Barracks, waiting to go to the island proper… they had been more precious to him than even his own life. It was something he had never known before, and never knew that he wanted, until it had happened. And now he never wanted to go back to his old life.

There were good times on this island, but they were almost completely overwhelmed by the bad. He remembered how, when he had tried to sneak off while he thought Riddick was sleeping, right after the man had traded his only weapon just to heal him, the bounty-hunter had convinced him to stay. That he would keep Slurt safe, and teach him how to survive without coddling him. They were harsh words, but they were also exactly what he had needed to hear.

He remembered too how, upon returning to the safehouse, he had shared his meager foodstuffs with Chara, another of his self-appointed protectors. The growling of her stomach had brought all too terrible memories of his many nights suffering through the same, back on those Arcadian streets, and while they had eaten together, for a little while, it was almost like they weren’t all in a fight for their very survival.

But… It seemed like pain and death was drawn to him like a magnet. The memories came slow now, as if to impress upon the lad just how much suffering he had caused by his mere presence. Jester’s open eye cavity, gaping slick and awful as she came back from trying to find something to help him. Christine’s arm, slack and low, and her rasping breathing. Kolith’s seeping wounds and blinded eye. And now… Riddick too. His hand was all but gone entirely.

All… all to protect him. To keep their little goblin boy safe while he whimpered and cried and ran away. And sure, he had been hurt too… but it didn’t matter. If he had been stronger, if he had been tougher, maybe he could have kept them safe instead. At least, he could have helped keep them from harm. He looked down at his hands, trembling in post-combat adrenaline, and tightened them into fists.

“...I wanna… twy…” Slurt replied, a strange swell of determination filling his little heart. He was tired… so very tired, of being a burden. Of people fighting and being hurt to protect him. Back then, under that tree, he had just wanted to get away from them all. He had steeled his heart for the pain of being alone, and even the pain of dying.

 

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
#25 Kefka vs #10 Riddick, #01 Slurt, & #26 Dr. McNinja​

Kefka felt a bit… loopy? At least, he felt a little more detached from reality than normal.

One moment, he had been fighting atop a volcano. His companion, Screamsicle, had perished valiantly before the teleportation fob had yanked the clown from a fiery death. Then, he had made it to ‘the safehouse’ that Karl had been mentioning ad nauseum for days. He had announced himself to his lesser peers, and in an instant, he was suddenly somewhere else entirely.

He cradled his head as he tried not to dry heave onto the ground.

“Damn you, Jak,” Kefka grumbled as he lifted his eyes and struggled as they failed to focus. Suddenly, in the distance, the madman heard a familiar screeching. The kind that only emanates from the most vile and idiotic of partners. “Screamsicle?” Kefka muttered as he smacked the side of his face to make his eye stop twitching.

Riddick and Slurt had stumbled upon McNInja no more than a few seconds ago when a maniac scream washed over them.

“Unhand him, you monstrosities!”

The bounty hunter turned just as the deranged, partially burnt clown from the volcano lurched out from the woods and grabbed Slurt by the wrist.

“You dare steal my trusty companion?”

Slurt writhed against the lunatic’s grip. “I tink you’we confuuused, Mistaw! I’m Swurt!”

“You hit your damn head and learned the common tongue and have amnesia! Brilliant, but I’m certain I can beat all those things out of you,” Kefka rambled before Riddick’s shadow fell over him.

“Off the kid,” the punch sent Kefka crashing to the ground and freed Slurt, who slipped behind Riddick. “Get out of here,” the bounty hunter rasped as he looked at the twitching, somewhat pitiful creature.

As the trio went to walk away, Kefka grabbed something in his bag. His headache was worse, and he knew what would fix it as he tore open the bottle.

It had only been a solid ten seconds before Riddick heard the clown stalking after them. Without turning around, the bald man sneered as he ignited the stick of dynamite. “I warned you,” he grumbled as he spun around and tossed the explosive into Kefka’s chest. In the next, swift motion he scooped up Slurt and twisted once again as the dynamite erupted with a clap of thunder and a wave of heat and compressed air that ruffled the little goblin’s tattered clothes.

“Freak,” Riddick muttered as he gently set Slurt back onto the ground and looked up at the ninja. “You were sa—”

“Hand over the Screamsicle!” Kefka roared as the very much aflame clown erupted from the haze of smoke and tackled Riddick. The bounty hunter grimaced as the burning lunatic landed a thunderous blow that was enough to sent Richard B Riddick drifting in an out of consciousness.

Scrambling to his feet, Kefka grabbed Slurt once again by the wrist.

Remembering his conversation with Widdick, Slurt steeled himself as he smacked the bad man in the arm.

“Bad Screamsicle!” Kefka shouted as he literally whipped the goblin child up over his head and back to the earth. As he tried to give the little fella another ‘go around’, McNinja slammed into him. The ninja, who had experienced enough burn wounds on this island to last him a good, long while, suffered through yet another to separate the clown from the child. Kefka stumbled and smacked his back into a tree as McNinja’s elbow hit his throat. The man went for his gun.

Kefka went for the exposed parts of the masked man’s visage. His teeth tore clean through the burnt flesh, and after spitting, he went back for another mouthful. McNinja’s knee found the clown’s chest, but Kefka merely collapsed on him. As he rolled off from his writhing foe, the madman found the revolver on the ground and scooped it into his hands.

“Do I smell Magitek?” Kefka laughed as he cocked back the hammer and fired a round into the dirt where McNinja had once been.

The doctor, one his feet, scrambled for Slurt and an upright Riddick.

“Break for the trees,” Riddick barked as he grabbed the goblin.

Spoiler

Riddick has some pretty nasty burns on his arms and chest (collective Minor Injury)
McNinja’s has some parts of his cheek bitten off and he has a slight skull fracture (one Major Injury)
Slurt’s right arm is broken (Major Injury)

Kefka used PEELs!
Riddick used 1 application of dynamite (0 remaining)
Kefka steals Caster

(Kefka received the 1v3 buff for this scene)

 

[Gildarts]

Weak eyes trailed up to the silhouette around the glowing Chara. It wasn’t anything as peachy as sunshine, just a haze of light that seemed almost like a little halo surrounding the judge. Blurring the lines of the face she knew was there, watching.

However, amid whatever rampage and chaos was happening around her, there was a moment of stillness protruding from Christine’s near visible bleeding heart. The creases of Christine’s teeth were stained with vivid cherry coloring as she brandished a cheeky grin and looked up at the sky. Anguish didn’t dim her eyes but instead she wore a flare of pure satisfaction.

“Et là, je pensais que tu m'avais renié.” And here I thought you’d disowned me.

Chara, who was tending to her own wounds first, tilted her head and lent an ear while the French woman talked to no one in particular and the only entity that could matter at a time like this, in a dire state like hers. A conversation with someone she hadn’t talked to in a while, one meant only for the Creator’s ears.

Trevor, who was also improvising some fabric into bandages didn’t have to look at her to know that with the amount of blood his new companion had lost would be lethal enough to lead to a headspace that would ascend all logic. Thus her current state.

“Ce n'est pas grave, je suppose qu'un coup de plus n'était pas à l'ordre du jour pour la journée.”That’s okay, I guess one more hit wasn’t on the agenda for the day.

Unfortunately, the creator had forgotten about that all-important deathblow. The massacred brunette sputtered as she looked down.

A cascade of red trickled through the press of her fingers that laced against her impaled side. Still warm. Warmer than her fingertips. That wasn’t good. Still pouring. Up came death’s chill through her spine. It whispered to her as the last of her essence pounded with every dredging breath she dared to take.

“On dirait que Jenkins avait raison à long terme. Quel putain de connard.” Seems like Jenkins was right in the long run. What a fucking asshole. Christine grimaced through a stifled chuckle, her eyes rolling. She imagined his living face, then the hollow image that was the theorized decapitated man. His life had been snuffed out by the very hands clutching her mortal injury.

“Parfait, juste parfait.” Perfect, just perfect. “Je suppose que j'ai eu ce que je voulais, n'est-ce pas ?” I guess I got what I wanted, didn’t I? She offered another smirk to the sky. Just then, thunder boomed in the distance as though answering her challenge.

Closing her eyes, she raised her chin and gaped her lips in complete and utter surrender. First, the raspy echo of silence. For no amount of force could push air out of the ruptured airbag within the confines of her utterly crumbled skeleton.

Then she screamed helplessly, a push furthering the unquenchable flood siphoning her body of anything that was left. FUCK YOU TOO. YOU REALLY WANTED THIS? YOU DID! AFTER ALL OF THIS, AFTER EVERYTHING. YOU… Just happened to be two inches short of my heart? Why not two inches short of my soul in the first place? That’s all I ever wanted. - “BAISEZ-VOUS AUSSI. VOUS VOULEZ VRAIMENT CELA ? TU L'AS FAIT! APRÈS TOUT CELA, APRÈS TOUT. VOUS… Il s'est avéré qu'il se trouvait juste à deux pouces de mon cœur? Pourquoi pas deux pouces de moins que mon âme en premier lieu ? C'est tout ce que j'ai toujours voulu.”

Her words caught on her throat, clinging with blood and the constraints of sorrow. Blood gushed in another pulse to her tongue. She spat out the warm sludge in a forced gargle, the fresh crimson painting the lifeless undergrowth around her.

And now Slurt, he’s gotta see me die like this on Karl’s stupid screen. Christine looked around, through the mess of her tangled hair. Her eyes twitching as she took in the scenery, eyeing for a camera. “It’s okay dear Slurt, I’m not hurting nearly as bad as it looks. You just look away for now, okay?”

Christine’s head wagged, she began to lose her feeling of touch. Fingertips were lifelessly wiggling without her command. The trickle of regret creased her mind. “Et pendant tout ce temps, j'ai fait l'imbécile.” And all this time, I played the fool.

The sad part is… I know you don’t scorn me, or laugh at me, or even shake your head. The sheer impossibility of my existence is enough for a laugh, instead of doing those things. You simply… Just… Understand. “Le plus triste, c'est que... je sais que tu ne me méprises pas, que tu ne te moques pas de moi, ou même que tu ne secoues pas la tête. La simple impossibilité de mon existence est suffisante pour rire, au lieu de faire ces choses. Vous avez simplement… Juste… Comprenez.”

And I think the worst possible part of it all is… I’m finally, actually okay with that. “Et je pense que la pire partie possible de tout cela est… Je suis finalement d'accord avec ça.”

Christine’s head dipped, as though bowing to the great beyond’s will. Her eyes tilted back toward Chara, who was keenly listening, resting calmly within her observation. However, Chara was not obtrusive to the moment as she did so. Whilst Trevor felt the screams and endless words ripping against his heart and his jaw buckled as he grit his teeth sequestering his own spike of feeling. He had wanted to rush to Christine’s side, offer some compassion in what seemed to be her dying moments, however Chara had intercepted him with a mere flutter of her hand.

The look on her face, a warning. One compelling enough to let Christine have a moment alone with her maker. Her conversation for God and God alone, though with what little English was interlaced, seemingly remained for Slurt.

As Chara turned her head back, Christine’s vicious eyes met Chara’s cool gaze. Christine was buzzing with life, the last thrilling crackle of her heart against her smashed ribs, pumping her with the fuel of immaculate conviction. Every inch of her was tormented with agony and it made her body feel like it was powered by lightning. Cascades, rushes, override of desperation everywhere and with every snippet of feeling. However, to a survivor and a killer, this was her only true strength left.

You want blood, you fuckers who’d dare to hurt a boy? I’ve got so much on my hands it isn’t even funny. And considering these wounds, I’ve got plenty more to spare. “Vous voulez du sang. Vous les connards qui avez blessé un garçon ? J'en ai tellement sur les bras que ce n'est même pas drôle. Et compte tenu de ces blessures, j'en ai encore beaucoup à revendre.”

The specter wouldn’t shed any more tears, after all, her soul was somehow returned. She’d remembered Chara said this before getting bashed and battered. Slurt was alive and home safe. Waiting for her, no less, no doubt.

But there was certainly plenty more blood to spill.

“Chara,” A French curl twisted on the woman’s lips. “Would you enlighten me… As to why I’m still alive?”

A swish of fresh, juicy blood loosened from her lips, it trickled down across her chin in a disturbingly ghoulish trickle as Christine’s figure was utterly awash with death. While her buttery copper scent was still fresh, decay was a moment away.

Black irises no longer rested on Chara, though Christine’s ear waited for the judge’s gaveled response. “It might be hard to believe from… My lofty position…” Chara winced, coughing as she nursed her own burns. “But I believe we both share that same terrible luck of being too stubborn to die.”

“Luck?” Christine’s lips wiggled a smile against the challenge of the word. Killer agony lacing across her body as she hoisted herself up against some ugly-ass tree. “I wonder if it has more to do with our b-blood.”

She choked down a sputtering breath, brandishing those killer teeth into a grin forged by perseverance, one last time. A snarl of endurance raged in her enough to force her weak and impossible trudge into a limp of a walk.

Another weak inhale as she gulped down the thirst for blood that kept her breathing far past the wounds that should have killed her now ten times over. “Cela n'a même pas d'importance, n'est-ce pas? Au final, c'est la même chose.”

Doesn’t even matter though, does it? In the end it is all the same.

 

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
#13 Toga vs #24 Shikiria​

Shikiria stumbled and lurched her way through the forest. Everything seemed to hurt, but the last thing she needed was for one of her companions to mock her after this event for appearing frail on camera. Iza would never let her hear the end of it if she just fell down and died in the woods of some Arbiter-forsaken ‘tomb’ world.

“Hey, where the hell are you going?”

That voice.

The mage tensed as she turned to confront the blue-skinned tiefling. The one-eyed cleric grinned beneath her garish, empty socket as she thrust a finger at Shikiria. “You thought it would be that easy?”

“Your leg popped,” Shikiria muttered. “You shouldn’t be walking.”

“But I am, aren’t I?”

“That doctor must have good fingers.”

“On god,” Jester intoned as she held up a power drill and gave it a few revs. “I don’t have any anesthetic, but I promise I’ll wait until your dead to gouge your eyes out.”

Shikiria scowled. “Then I’ll put your ass down first!” She rasped as her arms burst into ethereal flames.

“Step up, bitch!” Jester declared. “You ain’t shit. Period!”

The two women ran at each other. At the last moment, the sneering Jester dropped into a slide and slammed the power drill through her adversary’s thigh. The impact sent Shikiria pitching face-forward into the dirt as her vision doubled for what felt like the eighth instance since her electrocution at the hands of the ninja. Grinding her teeth together, the mage turned and used her own damn hand to intercept the drill bit.

With her other hand, she punched Jester in the face, and in an instant, the tiefling’s head was a roaring inferno. As the cleric flailed around, the strap of her bag burned away, and upon hitting the ground, a familiar-looking ball rolled out from the unzipped opening.

Once the drill was out of her hand, Shikiria grabbed the dying woman’s prize and skirted back into the wilderness.

Spoiler

#13 Toga DEAD​

Shikiria had a drill driven through her thigh and her hand (just counts as one Minor Injury for tracking purposes)

Shikiria receives Quest Item 4
Shikiria receives Power Drill

 

[Chara Dreemurr]

The world had a tragic feel for it, in Chara’s experience. The most heroic acts were often punctuated with a wet gurgle and a sudden crack. Many of her friends had only shown their best sides as they were facing down their deaths, her brother included.

But this time, there was no resetting timelines. Christine was likely going to die within the next few days, judging by her breathing, her bleeding, and the gasp in her voice. Shinku was not doing much better as he used some of their water to nurse the plasma blast at his shoulder. Chara had already taken the opportunity, sadly using some of Christine’s supplies - it seemed Ketkin Flynn was quite the poacher. First her supplies, then the lightsaber.

This… had been a colossal failure. One that had cost them much and earned them little. There was no sense crying about it, as unfortunate as it was, but as Chara looked over Christine and Shinku’s conditiion, she realized she would need to do more than simply talk about it.

“Listen… Trevor. Christine. I will be right back.” Chara would say to the both of them.

Christine would look to them, shocked. “It is dangerous to go alone.”

Chara would give a slow nod. “Indeed. I am quite possibly going to die.” She added, letting go of an exhalation. That girl was giving her nothing but trouble, and part of her wanted to just say ‘the hell with it’, over sour grapes. But she was also their best shot, right now.

“If something happens, please… go on without me. Head back to the safehouse. Do… what you can.” She’d say, “for Riddick. For the rest who remain.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Give out Mercy.” Chara replied. “To Rogue. And to her friend.”

“mercy? they do all of this, and you think they deserve Mercy?” Christine spat, before hacking up a fistful of blood.

Chara gave a smile. “I do not, actually.” she would admit after a moment, a crimson knife materialising behind her. “...But mercy only offered to the deserving is a rather petty mercy, indeed. And I…”

The knife punctured into the Grass beneath them, sorrowfully, before dissipating into harmless energy.

“I still want to see as many of us live to see the end as possible… maybe even myself included!” She would add with a grin.


--------

Chara did not have a hard time tracking them - without any particular comment to be offensive, Aster was very similar to a few dogs she had known, and her feet left similar tracks. Coming to find them was not difficult. Not getting blasted would be harder. Chara had made sure she was unarmed, but Rogue already knew how dangerous she was without lifting a finger… she would have to hope that, as she entered the glade, she wasn’t the type to shoot first. And as she entered the glade…

“Not another step, Sugah!” Chara heard as a familiar buster pressed against her head, and she put her hands up just as she rounded the corner to see…

The wolf-girl from before. Just as badly injured from Ketkin’s lightsaber grab as anyone could be.

“You used your companion as bait?!” Chara hissed, looking to rogue without even regarding the buster to her head as raw fury finally cracked across her mask. Compared to her usual facade, her red eyes flashed and widened as fury finally entered her voice and her lips were cut with a sneer of disgust. Luckily, Rogue was not trained enough to actually take the shot when surprised like that, and the reaction was enough to catch her off-guard.

a betrayal to use your friends to use their feelings to break their defences and shepard them to the slaughter like cattle just like them just like-”

“No, A-ah just noticed ya. I wouldn’t do that!” She responded, defending herself. “Who d’ya take me for?”

Chara’s hands balled into fists, and she shook as she tried to push everything down, as fury she hadn’t felt in years came back to her. A pink tinge went across her face just as Rogue looked her up and down, regarding her like it was her first time ever seeing her.

“...That was… an assumption. I am sorry.” Chara replied, a hollow echo coming through her tone as she tried to find her composure. This was Rogue. She was in the Abyss. It took her a moment to find her way back from that golden hall.

“Well, what in the blazin’ hell do ya think yer doin’ over here, then?”

“Offering a truce.” Chara would reply.

“Last I checked Sugah, you got nothing stoppin’ us from just taking what we want.”

“Yes, I suppose that is true…” Chara would reply, looking to her. “If you wish me to be your first grave, there are worse ways to die here…”

Rogue just gave her a glare at that. “...Ain’t finished decidin’ if you are. Keep talkin’, sugah, and I’ll figure it out.”

Chara’s smile refused to fade at that. “...Well, to avoid disturbing your friend sleeping… you now need to do more to make sure she can heal, yes?”

Rogue gave a nod, though she didn’t reply.

“And, you still have not obtained death insurance. She has not eiter, I wager?”

“Ehhh…” Rogue aresponded, before looking her in the face. “So you still don’t think I can win this thing-”

“No. I want to offer you a choice I never got.” Chara replied, putting out her hand.

“Wha-”

“I possess the power of determination.” She would reply. “It is the core of my soul. Whatever happens to me, so long as I retain the will to return to this world, it will bring me back.” Chara replied. “If I had known your snooping before was to steal my powers, I would have just offered it then.” She admitted.

“It wasn’t just-” Rogue started, before stopping herself. “So how’s this a choice you didn’t get? Talk sense, darlin’”

Chara looked over to the Injured Aster, who currently let out a groan. “...Because when my best friend was killed, I never had the chance to put myself in his place. It was not my duty.” Chara replied. “...and maybe that’s not in your interest.” Chara replied. “And because, despite your selfish actions here, I do not see you as someone who was raised in ignorance, or loneliness.”

Rogue just Gave her a glare. “So you’re sayin’ I’m weak.”

Chara just gave a hollow laugh. “...I’m saying I have a brother at home who is worried sick about me, and who’s been worried ever since he prepared supper and I wasn’t home.” Chara replied, as her eyes finally started to break.

“I do not want to be here. I never wanted this nightmare. I have made more friends, and I am already getting ready to watch one die.”” Chara replied. “I want to be home, where I belong, with the people that care about me. Somehow, even if they’re no longer with you, I feel like you also have people that care about you. People that do not want you to rot in this hell.

Chara’s mask broke slightly, as she spoke, the lines leaving, the confidence fading, as she finally showed her age, and a nineteen year old girl looked into Rogue’s eyes with a sheepish grin.

even if it might cost me my shot.

Chara figured she could omit that bit. If she was right, and there was only a small chance she was right…

And she wasn’t about to risk a better chance of saving someone’s life on hero own. Not with the sins already crawling on her own back.

“...Why ahh you so certain?”

Chara just gave a smile. “Someone who was really evil would have already accepted. You…”

Well, you seem just like me, before I found Asriel, and mom, and dad. Looking for something to be.

“Well, at least, I believe I can trust you to not make me regret giving you another chance at life. Besides… I believe you had interest in trying these out?” Chara replied, holding up a blade of energy. “...Though they’re, ahh, not as intuitive or, er, fun as they appear.” Chara replied.

Rogue looked at her. “What’s so hard abou’ a knife?”

“Does not come with a scope. I usually hold a knife for… measurement, but Karl took it away. Alas.” Chara would reply, before giving a weak smile and holding her hand out. “Well, if you were looking for the betrayal win, I hope you will not make it as simple as a handshake, but…” She replied, holding out a hand. “Why don’t we shake hands and make this simple?”

Rogue looked to her, her eyes questioning, her temper flaring. “Well, you asked for it, darlin’”

A hand clasped to Chara’s own, and her eyes shifted with popping, vibrant colours.

 

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
#04 Father Gascoigne vs #29 Nega Pepsiman​

Axe in hand, the priest charged the carbonated super villain.

A wave of Pepsi cascaded once more over the landscape. Gascoigne swung the axe, sundering the lethal veil of caramel-colored bile as he stepped up to his quarry. Lashing out with his foot, he struck Pepsiman in the leg, and spinning the axe, he cleaved away a chunk of the spandex-clad monstrosity’s thoracic cavity.

Pepsi arterial spray screamed forth from the gaping chasm, and Gascoigne recoiled as his face was doused in the horrible liquid.

Darkness overtook the hunter-priest as he wavered and fell to a knee. He heard the bubbling hiss of the creature’s body starting to reform as it sloshed across the soggy earth toward him. As it spoke, its voice seemed to dance around the wheezing priest.

“Embrace the dark,” the voice taunted. “Hydrate or die-drate, Father.”

Gritting his teeth enough to crack some of the ones that had been Pepsi-addled, the hunter slowed his breathing as he tried to focus on that wet sloshing of boots. Days ago, this would have come much easier, but Gascoigne was a bit more haggard than he should have been, and more than that, a more twisted part of his mind willed him to lung at the monster and tear him to pieces in an orgy of violence.

“Last change,” Pepsiman rasped. “Drink or die. Make your cho—”

Father Gascoigne let out a guttural roar as he sprung from his knee, twisted, and decapitated Nega Pepsiman with a crackling swing of the Electro Axe.

As the spandex suit collapsed into an expanding pool of still-likely-delicious Pepsi soda, the priest felt something teleported into his pocket.

“Thanks for that!” Karl whispered. “Last thing we need is another deranged mascot on the loose.”

Spoiler

Nega Pepsiman DEAD

Father Gascoigne has Pepsi burns all over his face and chest resulting in blindness (Major Injury; the damage can be downgraded with healing but the blindness is permanent)

Father Gascoigne receives ‘Can of Pepsi’! How refreshing!

 

[Karl Jak]

Deadpool wins Quest Item 6 (Uncontested)

 

[Aster]

Aster limped weakly along, using the trident as an improvised crutch to take the weight off her fucked up leg.

Externally, she was mostly quiet. Just taking a moment to relax in the presence of terrain that wasn’t absolutely disgusting and mostly murderous. Just the simple sight of greenery again, and colors that weren’t made of nightmares, had lifted Aster’s spirits in spite of her poor physical condition.

Internally, though…lifted spirits or not, Aster was absolutely livid.

She’d finally managed to do some real damage in a fight, and it hadn’t even been entirely of her own volition! The bitch had gotten distracted at the last second! Not to mention, injured or not, Aster kept hesitating and pulling her proverbial punches. That little voice that was trying to be a decent person kept popping up and screaming at her with machine-gun tears not to hurt anyone.

It fucking sucked.

“God I hate being so fucking useless,” she finally growled out loud, lifting her free hand up to rub tiredly at her eyes.

“Ah wouldn’t exactly say ‘useless’, sugah,” Rogue spoke up from a short ways ahead. “You been doing pretty good for the state you’re in.”

“Don’t try and sugarcoat it for me…” the wolf-girl snapped, irritation at everything seeping into her tone. “I’m like two steps removed from being dead weight here. It’d probably be better for the odds of one of us winning if I just handed over this stupid fucking fish fork and jumped out of a tree to land neck-first.”

“Seems kinda…extreme, to me.” Rogue finally turned around to face her tenuous ally directly. “Dyin’ ain’t exactly a glamorous end to your time here.”

“Don’t really care.” Aster huffed, fixing the southern bell with a stare that positively radiated grump energy. “I paid for that damn death insurance when I signed up for this thing. I seen enough of these things in the past that I know it ain’t just some crock of shit, either. Stuff works. So I figure I might as well get what I paid for and be done with it.”

Rogue’s expression went cold and empty and she just crossed her arms. “You sure do like tah make it sound like an easy thing. Just goin’ and dyin’ like that.”

“It would be!” Aster snapped.

“Ah don’t think it would be. You ain’t a killer, you done made that clear by now.” Rogue took one step forward, jabbing a finger in Aster’s direction. “So if you don’t know how tah kill anybody else, what makes you think you know anything about how to kill yourself?!”

At that, Aster jerked back as if she’d been slapped. Behind her, her tail visibly drooped and fell until it was hanging on the ground, swishing anxiously to and fro. Her eyes were wide and she just stared at Rogue like a deer caught in the headlights. Or like a petulant child who’s bluff was just slapped aside and replaced with a heaping helping of common sense. She opened her mouth to say something, and it just flapped open and shut like a fish out of water, before she shut it again.

Eventually, Aster just deflated and lowered her gaze. “...yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” she said quietly. “I’m just a loser who’s way out of her depth here and getting pissed about it.”

“‘Least you realize that now, sugah.” Rogue shook her head. “Anything else you wanna get off your chest while we’re havin’ this little moment?”

Aster didn’t respond right away, just turning her thoughts inward. There was a lot of things she could, and kind of wanted to say. Most of it was just more angry venting about how shit her first time in Dante’s Abyss had been. Most of it, she knew, she could chalk up to just sheer dumb luck, and to most everyone else here being just…more suited to this type of thing. She was just some dumb idiot who was barely out of the range of ‘kid’ who’s only experience with fighting was some schoolyard scraps and movies.

She was a big ol’ softie and a coward. Didn’t want to hurt anyone else if she could avoid it, didn’t want to see anyone else hurt either. Hell, even as much as she absolutely hated goblins and despised children, the sad state the little goblin child had been in still tugged at her heart in a way that made her want to vomit. She was absolutely not the right kind of person for an event like Dante’s Abyss, and she was only here because she was too much of a complete fucking idiot not to see that Mako wasn’t trying to taunt her into signing up, she was trying to convince her not to sign up.

So at the end of the day, her spiral of thoughts lead to one conclusion: she was fucked. And if she was fucked, then there was no reason to think most everyone else here wasn’t also fucked, each in their own unique fucktacular ways.

So, in short…fuck it.

“....yeah. Yeah, there is.” Aster looked up, and the petulant anger from before was replaced with an entirely new expression. “I’m tired of bein’ dead weight. Next time we run across some trouble, I…” She was what? Going to actually help? “I ain’t gonna hesitate. I’m gonna give it everything I got left, so at least I can help one of us try and win this thing. Even if that means just running interference and gettin’ more beat up so you can keep kickin’ ass.”

The wolf girl brought her free hand up and rubbed at her face with the back of one hand, definitely not brushing away bitter angry tears starting to form. “And…sorry. For almost takin’ everything out on you. You don’t deserve my baggage.”

Rogue just observed Aster silently for a moment before cracking a grin. “Little resolve like that suits you well, sugah,” she finally said. “But if it would make ya feel better…” And the southern belle shrugged her bag of supplies off, and set it down, going through it. “...then maybe you could hold onto this.” And she produced the prize of their recent scuffle, offering it out.

Aster’s eyes went wide, staring at it. “Woah, uh…” She stammered in open disbelief. “Y-You sure? I mean, you did most of the work in getting it and all, s-so…”

Rogue’s grin turned to a genuine smile. “Sure as shootin’, sugah. I couldn’ta done it without you.” She stood up and sauntered over, plopping the prize down in Aster’s slightly trembling hand. “All yours. Make sure ya use it well, now.”

“Uh…” Aster was suddenly grateful for her fur hiding what she was sure was a positively radiant flush of red creeping up into her face as she nodded absently and quickly babbled, “Y-Yeah, yes. Yes Ma’am Miss Rogue Ma’am.” And she accepted the item, quickly storing it away in her own bag with fumbling hands.

“Now, c’mon.” And Rogue clapped her companion on the back. “We got work ta do, partner.”

 

[Fennec Shand]

The wilderness of Cevanti was unforgiving. Fennec trekked through the plains, alone now, just as the sun began to crest over the horizon. Upon the intrusion of the demonic-looking girl and gas mask-sporting man, she’d quickly found an excuse to remove herself from the group. She could barely be expected to rove along mindlessly with such a large, moving target, and besides — someone needed to head towards the safe house and make sure their ticket out of there was coming along nicely.

She hated leaving Anders and Demetri behind. The thief had been annoying, and the mage mildly inhospitable, but she’d come to appreciate the two of them for their usefulness in the short time they’d been traveling together. She would make a point to find them again, before their days out here in the Wastes were done. She might be a killer, but she wasn’t all cold-hearted. They’d had her back, and she would have theirs, when the time was right.

That time just wasn’t now.

The bounty hunter had been walking for quite some time when a low fog began to roll in. She stopped, trying her best to see through the clouds. The thick, graying air caked in front of her, turning almost into a wall. She slowly unsheathed her machete; the fact that it slashed through quite cleanly was the only indication she had that a solid barrier had not, in fact, spontaneously erected itself before her.

This was why no one ever ventured this deeply into the Wastes, she knew. Out in the farthest reaches of Cevanti, there was no help for anyone who ventured too far from the beaten path. The creatures would attack almost on sight even before Darkseid’s influence had reached them; with the Unmaking in full force, even the trees would strike out at you. And to top it all off, in the worst moments, even the very air turned against a weary traveler. Fennec scowled as she slashed through the fog; she wasn’t all that weary, but the hostility of the elements was certainly beginning to exhaust her.

What are you going to do on that ice rock, Shand? she thought snidely at herself — yes, at not to — as she continued through the murk. Unmade monsters and eldritch horrors lurking around every corner. Volcanic caves and frosty mountains, both ready to snap a limb off at a moment’s notice.

Could you even handle that?

CLING.

Her machete stopped suddenly against something hard. Fennec looked down; stone. Not just an idle rock, either, but a very sharply cut corner of something. Her eyes followed the line of the craftsmanship up until she could see it in full: a doorway, rising out of a stone wall just a foot or so taller than she. She stepped back as the fog around the structure began to slowly fade away, revealing some carvings just over the doorway.

The mercenary felt a shiver run down her spine at the sight. Someone had carved something in a very ancient, dark language, one that she didn’t fully understand but recognized nonetheless. She spotted a familiar character or two amidst the jumble of runes, solidifying her theory; whatever this message said, it was written in the ancient Sith dialect.

The Sith had long since faded mostly into obscurity, of course, a faction of religious fanatics that existed in the darkest corners of most worlds. Cevanti had been one of their primary bastions, but Fennec had heard legends they’d been active in the Hinterlands of Erde Nona, as well, along with the surface of Inverxe. Their fanaticism hadn’t been welcomed by most Arbiters — or so the stories went — and they’d been cast out. Fennec wondered, now, as the Unmaking ripped across Cevanti’s wilderness, if they’d be accepted more readily as acolytes of Darkseid… or if they already had.

She passed through the stone gate, running her fingers along it. She wasn’t an expert in masonry, but she had little doubt the fence surrounding this temple courtyard had been constructed out of moonstone from Erde Nona’s lunar body, Mond. From what she’d gleaned in her travels — and from the one or two wayward Sith she’d brought in for their bounty — the cult had been practically obsessed with rocks from that small celestial satellite, smuggling as many as they could offworld and building their heathen temples with it.

Yes, heathen, she repeated to herself. The Sith had been obsessed with murder and an eerie, primordial darkness, a great will of evil they thought they could impose upon the galaxy. Fennec wasn’t incredibly moral, but she knew the toll these hokey religions took on the cosmos — especially when their agency trended so horrific.

She passed into the temple proper, statues of Sith Lords long dead — and, much to her amusement, long forgotten — slowly weathering on either side of her. Piles of rubble collected at their feet where the years, and perhaps the indiscriminate will of scavenging unmade monsters, had not been kind to them. Sunlight from the Crossroads’ sun crept in through some small vents in the ceiling, but otherwise the antechamber remained remarkably dimly lit. Near the front, a small altar, most likely used in the olden days for sacrifices, stood at what Fennec guessed was about waist height.

She approached cautiously, slowly sliding her bag off her shoulder and sitting it on the stone pedestal.

“Come to appease these heretical gods, then?”

The schwing of her machete slicing through the air rung out through the chamber as she swung around. It clanged against the blade of the Electro Axe, sending Fennec stumbling backwards into the altar. Standing halfway in shadow and halfway in one of the small pools of light, the bounty hunter barely discerned the figure of Father Gascoigne, his long coat billowing in the slight breeze wafting through the chamber. He pointedly obscured his face from view, and didn’t approach further; sending he meant not to attack, Fennec pushed herself upright.

“Sight seeing,” she replied flatly.

“I’m not much for that anymore,” the priest huffed. He seemed to almost laugh or chuckle, though the humor seemed to escape him at the very last moment as he stepped forward into the light.

Fennec’s eyebrows raised at the sight of his marred face. It was burned from forehead to chin, his eyes taking the brunt of whatever he’d been attacked with.

“That looks painful,” she frowned.

“You’ve no idea.”

Fennec scoffed, turning around, slowly stretching her still very-injured arm. She had some idea.

“I can hear you, y’know. Turning your back on your enemy isn’t wise,” Gascoigne advised lowly. “Some hunter you are.”

“Are you my enemy?” Fennec questioned, tilting her head slightly back.

The clinking and clanking of Gascoigne’s heavy outfit signaled that he was not, in fact, moving to attack, but sidling around the side of the altar. Fennec nevertheless kept her grip firmly on the hilt of the machete until he was fully in view; she didn’t need to look at him to defend herself against him, and she wasn’t going to stop her rituals just because he was choosing to be cryptic.

Eventually, though, he stepped into view, taking his place on the other side of the altar. She loosened her hold on her weapon and reached up to unzip her bag, beginning to unpack small bits and bobs she’d collected on her journey.

First, she scooped up a handful of cultist toes, swiped from the ground after Steppenwolf had so unceremoniously removed them from Sigmund’s foot. The priest’s hand reached out as he heard them dropping on the stone table. He felt them gently, trying to discern what they were. The realization came quick, but much to Fennec’s surprise, he didn’t pull away. Quite the stomach on this one, she observed, almost impressed.

“You kept the boy’s toes?” Gascoigne questioned, curious.

“I keep spoils from all my jobs,” Fennec looked up at him, the expression on her face implying that this shouldn’t come as a surprise. “And then just before the job’s done, I find somewhere and leave them behind. My own little time capsule in the midst of this ridiculously fickle universe.”

“Sentimental,” Gascoigne almost purred.

“Hardly,” Shand rolled her eyes.

She pulled another spoil from her bag — a small, molten rock, hardened by the spurts of fire erupting from the volcano during Demetri’s fight with the apparition. She reached further in and grabbed several tufts of hair that she’s surreptitiously sliced from Demetri’s head whilst he slept. Truly, while his usefulness was negligible, not even she could deny that one of the true treasures of the entire wastes right now was situated atop that boy’s head.

Lastly, she felt around near the bottom of the bag and lifted the zoid heart up. She’d ripped a section of her coat off and wrapped it to keep the unmade goop from leaking into her bag, but now, as she was about to offer it to whatever craven gods the Sith had erected this temple to — or, truly, whichever ones wanted to bless her with any fortune whatsoever — she slowly unwrapped it, laying it in the center of the baubles on the altar.

The glint of something small reflected in the sunlight, deep in the bottom of her bag. She reached down into the duffel and pulled out the small syringe that had been her original bequeathment from Syntech, lifting it up before her face slowly. An almost fluorescent, glowing purple liquid oozed inside the small canister.

Fennec peered over it as Gascoigne, then ever so slowly laid it down on the tablet. It clinked as it rolled across the stone, bumping up against the zoid heart and coming to a halt.

She looked up. “Arbiter have mercy on us,” she said quietly.

Gascoigne sucked in a deep breath. “Us?”

Fennec’s eyes flitted up to him. “I’m not cruel,” she murmured.

The Father huffed. “In a place like this? Perhaps you should be.” He reached out with both hands and placed his palms on the altar, grazing the small vial of purple liquid with his finger as he did so.

Fennec blinked, and sighed. He was right, of course. The quickest path to the exit was to slice through those who stood in their way.

But that’s not the job, the hunter reminded herself. The job was to prove that she could hold her own on the ice moon, that she could do the work that had been outlined of her, and on an inhospitable place like Inverxe, the first test would be merely surviving. By now, she hoped, the master codebreaker could see that survival was a given.

She’d almost convinced herself of it, even. She looked up again through the skylight just above the altar, letting the sunlight spill down onto her wrinkled face.

You’ve survived, Shand. And it hasn’t been thanks to any gods or Arbiters or bullshit like that.

She took a deep, slow breath.

No gods. Just you.

 

[Karl Jak]

Across the island, everyone's choice of Syntech collar technology crackled to life with the dulcet tones of Karl Jak.

"Hello! How's the sunrise? Your next item drop is arriving immediately at Square... Q5. It's a briefcase. It's the briefcase. Enjoy!"

 

[Izaneus Phortea]

Stumbling and throwing her hands and arms against the trees for support was the only way Shikiria was able to move forward, her wounds were growing worse. She could feel that. The power drill, and the other orange orb weighed heavy for how she obtained them. How was she supposed to explain any of this to Iza? Her eyes drifted downward to the bleeding hole that was her leg and the gunshot wound in her side. She really wasn't doing well... She groaned with a pained effort to keep her body going. She felt like she was falling apart at the seams..

Splotches of inky black, and dark crimson dotted across her clothes, face and hair. Everything felt as though it weighed like lead. Dragging her down to the depths that called so dearly. But she couldn't give up. She simply refused. she continued to limp forward, beaten, but not broken. Not by a long shot.

She'd eaten her croissant earlier, and she could feel it's effects slowly come to work. This would be her saving grace. She would continue until she simply no longer could. Her eyes flashed with a slight luminescence as she continued through the unmade wastelands. Limping forward as though everything depended on it. Because it did.

If she died, Tatio would be left alone, dumbass thief that he is. If she died, Iza would be left forever to wander. She couldn't allow that.

Mcninja was definitely going to come for her sooner or later, and she would be ready when he did. She regretted the way things played out, as though she didn't have a say in the matter. She wished she could've made a different decision. But that didn't matter now, now she'd fight her best and come out on top, she entered this hellish competition to try and find Iza. That was most likely a dead end. She was foolish to think she'd find anything here. Her highest priority now was survival.

She trudged on, limping, groaning, ripping apart more of her pant leg to use as a horrid bandage. Just to keep going.

Somehow, she spotted a small yellow bird, laying in the deadly dirt. alive, if barely.

She bent down to pick it up once more, unsure if it was either of the two she'd seen already. Before placing it on the branch she was currently using for support. "Get out of here when you're better... please.." She pleaded. before continuing her trudge.

Unknowingly walking away from the bird as small, thin dark tendrils slowly made their way to it's branch.

 

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
Christine, Trevor, Chara, Rogue, Aster, Jason Voorhees​

They arrived at what had become the edge of reality in this corner of Cevanti.

Deep in the forest, the trees eventually fell away to reveal a collection of cabins made from sheet metal and corrugated steel. At the center of the sprawling campsite lay a large, mist-stained lake.

"Somethin' ain't right here," Rogue whispered to Aster as the pair glanced over to see the three people they had just tried to murder a few hours earlier.

Chh chh chh ... ahh ahh ahh ...

***​

Please coordinate me if all or any of you wants to post for this.

 

[Josuke Higashikata]

Earlier in the morning, Josuke awakens from a heavy slumber that occurred last night when he found a bunk to get shuteye. His companion also got some sleep in the same room to regain their energy. They weren't concerned about keeping guard since they rested in the safe bunker, knowing that no one could slit their throats when sleeping. At sunrise, the teenage pompadour stand user realizes in shock that he got teleported into the untouched Cevanti wilderness. The scenery was a better chance compared to where they had traveled from before, but that doesn't mean that threats no longer exist.

What made it stranger was that Margaret was nowhere near where he slept on the ground. He searched high and low for her, worried about what had happened to her. A negative thought weighs on his mind, making him brush it to the side immediately in denial.

"No way she is dead at this point. I know Margaret can take care of herself without any sweat. That doesn't mean I will leave her behind. Shit, we were hoping to find newer supplies for her to protect herself."

After realizing his trustworthy companion is not close in the area, it was best to stop wasting time and move on before he comes across other deranged contestants that want to ruin his day. Gathering all his mental self to get him set for the third day on this unhip, unmaking planet, Josuke hikes through the greenery forest. The morning remained quiet for him, but after walking for an hour, his stomach broke the peaceful silence to give Josuke an idea that it was breakfast time.

He sits on a dead long for a fifteen-minute rest period and prepares one of his remaining MREs. A bottle of water is set at his feet while hunching over the log, chewing on a dry piece of MRE with the packaging saying it was chicken with noodles. Still, the taste doesn't greet his tongue well, making him almost gag to regurgitate, but he immediately grabs the plastic bottle of water to wash down and swallow the nastiness. His face remained foul after eating this poor-quality food, but on the upside, Syntech is kind enough to give the contestants a survival kit instead of dropping them underneath a bus when it comes to these games. The young stand user couldn't help but ponder where Margaret's whereabouts were now in this doomed land.

For instance, it feels like he's been on this unfamiliar planet forever, but Josuke has only been here for three days now. Already, he is starting to feel homesick for his relaxing hometown, Morioh. He starts to miss his comfortable bedroom deeply, the delicious breakfast to wake up to that his mother cooks, glistening morning dew on the front lawn, and friendly neighbors. When heading downtown on the way to school, he remembers smelling delicious aromas from a few bakeries making fresh baked goods and sweet pastries for the day.

"Great, I didn't think I would start missing home this much."

 

[Kefka Palazzo]

Small, staccato peals of laughter seemed to stutter out across the wooded area he’d been teleported to. The weirdly familiar wooded area he’d been teleported to.

That wasn’t why he couldn’t hold in the giggles, though. Well, not the main reason.

He pointed his new toy at a nearby tree and tried it out.

A girlish shriek emanated from the horrible harlequin as a mana-infused blast obliterated the tree he’d casually pointed at just moments before.

His eyes practically exited his skull, he was so excited.

“Ooooooohhhhhwwweeeeeeeee-heeeeeee-heeee-heee-heeee!!!”

He gleefully obliterated a few more shifty-looking trees before literally skipping in circles with joy. “Oh my Me, Karl, I take back… eeeeeehhhh… twenty percent of the bad things I’ve said about you. This gift is just…”

Kefka pointed his gun at a boulder, and with a simple pull of the trigger, it became a bunch of smaller, smoking rocks, instead.

“It’s perfect,” he said, taking in the destruction, ruining the moment only a little by repeatedly slapping himself in the head to put out one of the more stubborn flames that had been burning since that brawny, balding bastard barbecued him. Again.

“Damn you, bald man,” he started to shuffle forward, scratching his freshly-burned flesh with the barrel of his gun. “You’re doing it wrong!!”

He was shrieking at the top of his voice. Like a furious parrot.

“I’m supposed to burn you!” he shot down another tree. “And I will!” he shot down another tree. “But also you’re kind of cool!” another tree. “So maybe not!! I’ll have to decide when I see you!!”

Five more trees were erased from the forest.

“I love this gun!!” he shouted. “Twenty-three percent, Karl!”

He continued through the thickening underbrush. “Don’t get me wrong,” he awkwardly kicked at a nearby fern, stumbling over a root but staying upright. “I’d still kill you immediately,” he slid down a steep embankment, right into another fucking fern.

With a grunt of effort, he lifted himself free, brushing himself off. “Well, not immediately, immediately. But I’d like… burn your legs down to the bones or something, y’know? So you couldn’t just ‘run away’, or ‘fight back’, or whatever cute little thing you would do.”

He tried to do the ‘spinny revolver trick’, you know the one. Where you twirl the gun around your finger by the trigger guard? It looks super cool unless you end up shooting yourself. Which, well-

Kefka screamed, dropping the gun, clutching his own hand. “Oh god what have I d-…uh. Oh.”

He looked, and to his surprise, his hands were there. All the fingers and even both of the thumbs! Not shot off or anything.

Kefka picked up the gun, sliding it into his sash. He cleared his throat, adjusting himself as he looked around. He looked up at the sky through the trees for a long time.

“Shut up, Karl,” he grumbled, storming off into the woods in uncharacteristic, stony silence.

Emerging from the thicket was a ginger-haired, dirty, sweaty, bloody, angry little man.

“Please kill that man upstairs, If you’ve ever cared for me, you’ll do this one thing, won’t you sweetheart?

Please, murder that man upstairs. If you’ll want to be my friend, you’ll have to prove you mean it~.”

To accentuate ‘prove you mean it’ he fired off a few rounds.

“I have a chocobo; his name is Ted; he is a chocobo; I don’t actually know the words; but now I have a gun~!”

Kefka began humming the rest of the tune, feeling in much better spirits now that he wasn’t plodding through trees and twigs and spiders and bugs and ugh.

“Nature. Disgusting.”

He considered that for a moment. “Except sharks. I like sharks.”

Sharks were cool. This whole world probably didn’t have a single shark.

“It’s down to twenty-two percent, Karl! Get a shark! Or- I mean, some sharks! You’re embarrassing yourself!”

 

[Shinku]

Before the F2F

Trevor looked away, unable to do anything for his suffering companion. His chest throbbed in excruciating pain, worse than the actual pain of his burns.

'When will I be strong enough to prevent anyone else from dying!,' he mused, his face shot at the voidness of the skies. If only he could cry like that day when he faced the burnt bodies of his clan. If only tears could cure the wounds of a dying soul, he'd flood the ground with his own.

He winced, as the flesh from his burns swelled underneath his make-shift bandages. But the pain wasn’t anywhere near the feeling of helplessness. Once again, he wanted to approach the lady but for what reason? He wasn’t a doctor to cure a wound nor a cleric to magically fix her up.

'Hold up, a doctor and a cleric.' a sudden thought slid in his mind. He quickly turned around only to witness Chara leaving them both. He wasn’t able to pay attention as to where the knife mage was going but his guts somehow told him that it was best to let her go. After all, what help could he provide with his defective weapon?

Instead, he decided to rush beside the severely injured lady. "I know a doctor and a cleric that might help you. I met them both on the way to the safe house. Well, the cleric wasn’t at her best but the doctor might just be able to cure you!," Trevor exclaimed, in an aim to impart at least a sliver of hope with Christine.

"We might…try…looking for that doctor. But how?" She winced, barely fighting for her consciousness. "I appreciate the thought however, I guess I'd rather embrace death," she continued, forcing a wry smile for the assassin of shadows.

"I…," Trevor muttered, desperately wanting to give the woman some hope but somehow understood her pride. "I…understand," were all the words he could add. His lips ought to move once more but he knew better to have them sealed than cause any more heartache.

The eastern wind blew, as a moment of silence consoled the two from both their afflictions.

"You know, you better not waste your time on a humble sinner such as I." Christine spoke, breaking the long silence between them.

"Who isn't one? Who among us has no blood on their hands?" Trevor remarked, his eyes once again shot towards the sky. "Do you think any of us has some shot at redemption?," Trevor sighed.

"I 'ave far too much blood on my hands," Chrisine muttered, under her breath much as a note for herself.

Trevor clenched his fist, frustration once again creeping into his heart. A silent scream, a tearless cry, an empty hope accompanied his inner fight. What else could be there, other than the meaningless struggle of a broken guardian?

Silence once again befell the two, save for the shuffling of the trees around them that danced with the passing breeze. At least the wind could provide some embrace for both their lonesome fights.

 

[Rogue]

We’d tailed those three from shortly after the truce. Chara had talked like she was about to do something rash, and now that ah had a bit of her inside my head, ah didn’t much like the idea of someone like her havin’ to do that kinda thing. Ah can’t even be sure if that were my opinion or hers, but ah knew one thing fer certain. These folks were fine enough, but if you’re goin’ to go protecting people, at least bring enough firepower to keep yourself livin’ ‘n breathin’ too. Gettin killed to save folks? That’s no good, ya ask me!

Ah slowed to a stop, frowning at the series of buildings. We were supposed to be in the middle of nowhere on a planet that had been all but abandoned for years an’ years, right? Ah had the book at the ready in one hand, and ah was mentally linin’ up just waiting for whatever of Karl’s tricks was comin’ next. Ah glanced over my shoulder, Aster’s eyes were gleamin’ in the faint light. Ah glanced up at the sun, barely reachin’ us through a dense sorta fog, even though we had ta be mid-morning by now, didn’t we?

“Something smells off…” She snarled.

“Ah thought you couldn’t smell nothin’?” The joke seemed to fall flat even as the words were leavin’ my mouth. Aster’s good ear was on the swivel, and ah could swear her hackles were up. Ah could swear mine were as well. It was just gettin’ foggier. Gettin’ harder and harder ta see… What was this?

“Hey there, you three!” Ah called over, it was supposed to sound casual, maybe even a bit threatening, but honestly, ah was feelin’ too nervous to put much oomph behind the words.

Chara glanced up with the same classic confident, almost lazy smile. The one ah knew wasn’t the truth anymore. They were all three scared. All of us were.

“So you came after all.” She stated simply, her casual tone a perfect mask as always, “How about this place, huh? Suppose that kinda puts a nail in the coffin that Karl didn’t plan for this the whole time, huh?”

Ah walked closer, Aster trailing not far behind.

“Whadda you talkin’ bout?”

The woman ah’d assumed was dead earlier today answered.

“These homes. Zhey are not something that belongs here. Yet have been here for… some time…”

Chh… Chh… Chh…
Ahh… Ahh… Ahh..

Every hair on the back o’ my neck stood up at once. Aster an’ ah whirling around.
There was another figure there on the very edge of the fogbanks. Big, black, almost a full square he were. Just stood there, starin’ in a hockey mask. Ah guess this was who we were here ta find. Slowly, all five of us dropped into more ready positions.

“Oy! You want somethin’!” Ah called out hoarsely, all my confidence was palin’ faster then a whitewashed barn as that bozo just kept starin’ at us. He didn’t say nothin’ in return, just stood there as the fog continued to roll in.

Trevor took the first shot, the protoblaster lighting up the fog and punching a whole through the clouds at our target. A direct punch to the shoulder. He might’ve staggered, might’ve just took it. Ah couldn’t tell directly in the fog.

Chh… chh… chh…

Jus’ like that he was gone. Ah blinked, gaze frantically scouring the haze for any sign of the large looming specter.

“He was right there!” Ah shouted, panic startin’ to set in.

“Behi-” Aster’s cry was cut off, and we whirled around to find the masked man already in our midst, a wicked-sharp blade in one hand. Things exploded into chaos as we all reacted in a scramble. There was somebody screamin’ and the proto-blaster’s distinct energy whine sounded off again. Somethin’ big an’ dark hit me like a truck and ah went sailing through the air. Hit a tree real good an’ solid. Slowed me down so ah didn’t end up further lost in the fog at least…

Coughing up a bit of blood, ah struggled to my feet. There was more shoutin’ and sounds of fightin’ over in the fog. Ah dug around in my bag, pullin’ out the Karot ah’d snatched at the easter egg brawl a few days back. It was supposed to make me some sorta golden hero, an’ this fight seemed like it’d need that. Ah crunched down, bitin’ half the thing off and sloughin’ off my pack. Ah could feel a tinglin’ all over my body, an ah focused, waitin’. Waitin’ for… somethin’... anything? All ah was feelin’ was tingles. Ah looked down at my gloved hands in complete confusion.

“The hell is thi-”my confusion died in my mouth as the inarguably deadly fact of a man surged up out of the fog in front of me. His hand closed around mah throat like a vise, liftin’ me into the air. Ah kicked him several times, holdin’ onto his arm to try an’ keep him from snappin’ my neck then an’ there! Ah was startin’ to see spots again, couldn’t get a breath. If ah could jus’ get one of my gloves…

With a howl, Aster leapt out of the fog planting the trident into the firm of his back. Jason took half a step forwards to recover, and ah seized the moment, kicking off of him with both legs as hard as could. Ah didn’t break free, but he couldn’t really keep hold neither. Ended up tossin’ me to the ground as he whirled on Aster.

A surge of anger an’ rage started to boil up in me. An array of glowing red knives startin’ to take shape in the air behind me. Ah had thought this power looked so cool just a few days back, thought there wasn’t anythin’ that could compare. Now ah was jus’ hopin’ it’d be enough ta kill this sun’uva’gun! That’s all they were for, these blades. Anger an’ rage an’ violence an’ hate, all wrapped up in a nice neat little knife-shaped package ta be delivered at high speeds. Chara was beside me know, her own array of personalized hateful razors taking shape.

“Ah didn’t know you were such an angry girl, Sugah.” Ah chuckled faintly, “Could do a lady some good to let some o’ this go, now an’ again…”

Chara glanced at me with another smile, “That’s a conversation for later. Assuming later exists.”

“Right.” Ah nodded.

Aster had disappeared back into the fog, and Jason turned on us, silent as ever. Chara and ah gave a nod to one another. Chara stood there, hands in her pockets, ah extended my hand, and our combined anger an’ rage washed forwards like a red hued storm. Blade after blade o’ rage, pain an’ misery thudding into the man, the whole area. All those villagers that’d chased me out of my home…. Called me a monster…. Each one of ‘em dyin’ was a knife in mah volley. Ah knew Chara’s were the same. Expellin’ our demons to save everyone’s lives.

Or try to at least! That sucka was wading through our combined onslaught with distrurbin’ nonchalance. The knives sliced through the air around him, sliced into him. Ah could swear some o’ them cut straight threw the other side! He jus’ kept comin’, staggerin’ forwards like a silent tidal wave through every single nasty thought two angry young ladies could hurl his way. The daggers were comin’ slower and less potent now. Ah was runnin’ out o’ hate? or somethin’? Inna moment ah couldn’t be sure, ah jus’ knew ah couldn’t keep this up, and it wasn’t stoppin’ him neither.

“We need a new plan, Chara!” Ah hollered, “an’ fast!”

 

[Ketkin Flynn]

Ketkin had spent the morning scavenging robo monster parts before the item drop. He almost had everything he needed to finish some electrified tonfa. They were flimsy, (probably wouldn’t help him against the other contestants) but he figured they would properly fry any of these mechanized cretins sunny side up should they continue to fuck with him. The sheer variety of these beasts was astounding. They weren’t beholden to the same rules of a normal ecosystem. Roborats would coordinate with mechagrizzly bears in the dead of night, just as you were falling asleep.



Ket shuddered at the recollection of all his close calls over the past few days. He’d mainly survived through the use of thrown together traps surrounding his camp sites and running really fucking fast, but none of that mattered now.



Ketkin turned to Wilson, who was waiting patiently nearby. Ket would never back down from a bit, no matter how tired it was.



“Are you seeing this shit buddy! I finally have a real weapon to defend myself with!” He exclaimed as he ignited the red saber and wielded it dramatically, extending his arm to show off the elegantly curved hilt.



“You have multiple head wounds! You should treat them before you bleed out!” Wilson responded.



Ket extinguished his blade. He was almost certain that wasn’t one of the bears prerecorded responses. Plus he hadn’t even squeezed him.



“Upon further.. consideration… you .. may be right….. my good sir.”



Ket sat down. Hard. Fucking nail gun. Twice now.



“I’m gonna eat so much of that little turds food when I stop bleeding.” Ket proclaimed woozily.



How to stop the bleeding though… Ketkin pondered for a moment. His eyes drifted to his new toy, and he shook his head (ow). He’d like to keep the remaining half of this ear. An idea struck him and he rustled through his bag enthusiastically. He pulled out the one operational taser tonfa and stared at it with immediate regret.



“The only thing dumber than closing a wound with untested equipment is getting shot in the face. Can’t get any worse than this right?“ ket thought. Although it definitely could get worse than this, ket didn’t have much time to second guess himself. He pulled the nails out of his cheek, trying and failing to do so quietly. He used a whole water bottle to rinse his face off. A) because some of the blood had already started to dry and crust up.

B) to spite aforementioned little turd for shooting him SO MANY times.

C) because it felt really good.



“How many nails does that damn thing hold anyways” ket grumbled as he slowly raised the charged end of his improvised weapon to his dripping wet face, unaware of the horrifying combination in his blood drunk state. Wilson just stared at him, wide eyed, paralyzed by fear. It was as if when ket wasn’t paying direct attention to him he was powerless to offer any advice.



*insert a classic shot of birds popping out of the treetops as someone screams in the distance*



“I fucking hate this game” ket cried out once he regained consciousness. It wasn’t a very long nap, and thankfully so because his ear was still bleeding. He looked over to see Wilson had fallen over onto his tummy to avoid witnessing his self mutilation. He reached a few fingers up to his face and gingerly felt out his new scars. He had sealed up the cheek holes at the cost of horribly disfiguring his skin. It didn’t give him too much pause though, that was never his money maker.



“One more…” he whispered to himself. His mouth was tight. Hard to move. He’d definitely have a slight speech impediment until further notice. He carefully angled what was now a glorified soldering iron and winced as he heard his flesh sizzle in excruciating detail. The aquanaut breathed a deep sigh of relief and let the baton fall to the soil beside him with a soft thump. He allowed himself to collapse onto the tree he had been bracing himself against.



Fighting off more sleep, Ketkin delved into his bag to prepare a meal. It seemed his food stores surpassed his life expectancy by a fairly wide margin at this point, might as well pig out. he took the entree from one MRE (meatballs and marinara), but took the snack crackers and pudding cup from another. He planned to leave the rest for the animals but he doubted even they would eat it. He wondered how exactly one manufactured food from literal dirt as he munched.



It was a little past noon, and after about 36 straight hours of metaphorically crying and shitting himself, ket was done hiding. It was time to show these other contestants, whatever depraved audience watched from their comfy little homes, and these DAMNED robots that he’s a force to be reckoned with.



Ket hoisted his bag of food and scrap electronics (with Wilson’s head poking out so he can breathe) onto his shoulder and gripped his saber tightly in his dominant hand.



“I have no fucking clue where I’m going buddy” he mentioned to Wilson casually as he strode forward with complete confidence.