"#36 Broli
#32 Star Eater
#29 Demetri Malius
#18 Red XIII
#15 the Future Warrior
#30 Celipa
“May the six find solace in the legacy you left.”
Clearing his throat, Karl glanced at the map board. “Okay, now for Danger Zones… it’s just a few:
“C6
E8
E4.”
“Also, please be aware that F5 is NO LONGER A DANGER ZONE. I hope and pray that you can hear the emphasis in my all-caps, Ladies and Gentle-Crossroadians.”
“Please be on the lookout. If you are the owner of certain … ‘Joke’ support items, you might realize that there’s often more than meets the eye.”
“Take care!”
Notes:
This phase will last until June 5th at 9 AM CDT!
I expect the pace of DZs to become glacial, if you’re someone thinking/planning ahead.
Weather – Calm morning. A little cooler across the island. Like, noticeably so. Autumn weather vibes.
Damocles found himself digging through his backpack searching for food, while the son of Poseidon, Boros, suggested they go forage and hunt which was a clever idea as well. The Centurion ordered a few of his men to go out hunting, which yielded success and they brought back meat, allowing what remained of the legion to eat up, including pieces to feed what was left of his legion. Damocles, while trying to season and fry some food up couldn’t help but feel out memories from years ago.
He went home to his father from his recent recruitment in Alexandria. He was part of the second legion for years while his father, Leontitus studied to be a brilliant senator and his retirement from the same Legion that Vatallion came from. He and his father had tested the waters and he had learned valuable lessons in fighting him and learning philosophy lessons as well. Everything was supposed to go well until his family was brutally murdered that day for a god who played him at home.
Damocles snapped open his eyes as he looked around. “Anything going on?” He turned toward what was a fair distance away, seeing an explosion in the distance.
“Sir, was that Arc?” Damocles frowned, “It might be. He did what he had to do.” “Thanks for feeding us, might be the longest battle we ever had to face, sir.” Damocles nodded “Don’t mind me. Thinking about memories.” He was dejected, sure, but he tried to keep thinking of more positive memories to balance out the other ones.
The Centurion forced himself to think of other things. He eyed Boros, what must he think of the man after fighting countless battles with him and his men.”
He forced himself to walk as he refused to let himself give up after an actual fight. After all, what would those people who were watching him on this television come out with? The line of members of his Legion seemed to dwindle and it seemed like even Boros looked down at him. It just seemed like every motivational piece of thing he could think of, it never seemed to hit the right way with Arc gone.
Democles even sighed as he muttered under his breath, looking at his more weary men “Amici Probantur Rebus Adversis "(Friends are tested through advisory). "We have faced trials and tribulations beyond measure," he said. "We have lost brothers in arms, seen our homes destroyed, and endured hardships that would break lesser men. But we are not broken. We are the Legion! And we WILL..NOT... BE...DEFEATED!”
A roar of cheers is heard among the men. A roar of approval erupted from the legionnaires. They raised their weapons in unison, their voices echoing Democles' rallying cry. "Aut Viam Inveniam Aut Faciam. "("I will find the way or I will make one".)
The fallen Centurion often thought of his own father’s quotes “Remember not all your enemies will be found on the battlefield.” and he often reflected on that at times. Why was he here? What was he fighting for? What were his men fighting for? He wanted a Legion and here it stood, he needed to make himself proud, he needed to make his father proud, he needed to make his Legion proud. Who was he saving someone from this time? There was no Rome to save, he had to save his new home, the Crossroads. He had a new purpose: Fighting for the crossroads, his new home no matter the cost.
However, a thought hit him. Arc’s death was never announced. Could things really be true, and Arc was still alive?
Fresh air made its way through Kanda’s crushed yet recovering windpipe. That old geezer really got the jump on him, a feat not easily accomplished. As a warrior, Yu respected the accomplishment, but as a victim, he was glad the mage was put down—by none other than Cho, nonetheless.
‘Good thing he was around. He earned a compliment after that.’
Yu turned his head towards the heavily injured avatar, dragging his body forward. “You did well back there, Cho. Not only did you save my ass, you also showed me a sense of honor. Thank you.”
Words of positive reinforcement didn’t come naturally to someone like the general. For him, it felt like setting his precious pride aside. Cho turned his head around, meeting his DA partner’s gaze. A moment of tranquility.
…
“WHAT?! I CAN’T HEAR, YU,” the avatar shouted. “WHAT DID YOU SAY?! YOU WANT SOMEONE TO SPANK YOU? THAT’S KIND OF WEIRD, MAN!”
And with that, the freshly planted seed of sentimental weakness that was sprouting deep within Kanda’s soul disintegrated into ashes, which a gust of spiritual rage scattered into a thousand pieces, once again fueling Kanda’s fury.
This time, it wasn’t just the one vein throbbing on his forehead—this time, it had a little buddy, a smaller, more innocent-looking vein branching off its big brother.
“YOU ABFFSOLUTE MORON!” The exorcist shouted, once again landing his fist on Cho’s head.
Cho, not really sure what he did wrong, moved to the other side of Kanda, making sure his one ear that was still kind of working was facing his partner.
“And that creepy old man only had some condoms on him. Who the hell brings condoms to an island like this? Disgusting.”
The avatar did his best to pick up every word Kanda spoke. “Perhaps we can use them as a silencer for your weapon?”
Yu sighed in silence. “That’s not what they’re for…”
The duo continued their journey, hoping to find some kind of relief for Cho’s wounds.
She hopped off the trail with a sort of grace she rarely got to show in such competitions, landing on the toes of one foot after the other as she went to retrieve the heavily-beaten Saibaman currently sprawled out over the side of the cliff. Grabbing him by one little clawed hand and tossing him over her shoulders, she hummed a tune to herself.
Telling the stories of our dreams,
Petals drifting in the wind and rain,
What was it that you saw within
The colors of the sunflowers that day?
"-Upsy daisy."
Dex groaned as he was hefted once more over the edge of the cliff, into the pensive arms of his Syntech-assigned boss.
Yuuka was not far behind him, pulling herself onto the trail nearby as Ben dragged the Saibaman away from the edge. She heaved a great sigh as she flopped onto the solid ground, a pout adorning her face. "To think they're making me do pull-ups at my age." Looking up and over to Benny Boy for a quippy response, she paused and blinked when the man remained completely silent. Tilting her head, she pushed herself off the ground and into a sitting position, before shimmying over next to him to observe the injured Saibaman herself.
Poor little guy was definitely bleeding a little from where he hit the rocks, not to mention a few new purple-brown bruises from the beating to the head he took which were oozing... Well, based on the couple of new holes Ben was sporting in his robe, they were oozing some sort of acid. It didn't look great. Plus, he was like, semi-conscious at best.
The pout Yuuka had been sporting rapidly turned itself downward into more of a scowl. Her eyes narrowed, taking on a sort of animalistic fury she had not yet sported in front of Ben. "Bastard. He's lucky I don't have it in me anymore to jump down that mountain and put a few more dents in his head myself."
With a shake of his head, Ben hushed her. "I understand how you feel, but we must focus on mending our wounds and resting first and foremost. As it is, we have little chance of winning if we are to get ourselves into pointless fights every step of the way." He eased the Saibaman off of his lap and onto the ground. "And we can't leave Dex behind in this state."
Wrinkling her nose, Yuuka sat down next to Dex. Within a few moments, a soft bed of clover flowers sprouted from between the rocks of the path to cushion little Cabbageboy's head. "You're right, but I'm not happy to admit it," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. Her own blood, dripping down the front of her white shirt and slowly cascading onto the ground as tiny red petals, was warm against her skin.
Well, it wasn't smooth sailing, being swept away in the tide... no matter how smooth the Pepsi it was made from went down the gullet.
"Bleh, haaack, ptttthhhhh!"
Slumped over on the ground, Jar Jar was coughing out his lungs as the soda fell away from the . Whether he was drowning in it, or simply didn't like the taste, wasn't clear. Certainly wasn't having a good time of it, though.
Meanwhile, Chron sat up, suit drenched in the stuff and with a somber smile on his face. His left arm rested comfortably on his knee, hand hovering over his crotch from that devilish strike Beatrix gave him mid-combat.
"Heh... Even with a half-numb nervous system, a low blow can knock me out of a rhythm. Reminds me of when Georgie Girl would do that, in our training."
Then... his smile faded. Memories came to him, from a distant past what felt all too recent to him. Memories of someone he knew. Someone he cared about, more than anyone else in the world. Technically, this person had been a part of his life up until he entered the Crossroads, 5 years or so ago. But... well, after a while, it just... wasn't the same. Things changed. Now, he'll never see her again. Never know what would come of the many lives she could have lived.
The horologist laughed, half-heartedly.
"All the time in the world, and all of it for naught."
John Connor spoke up from the distance, seemingly unfazed by the sugary substance seeping into his military fatigues. "Horol, can you walk?"
It was time to get a move on.
The gentleman got up, jacket and pants dragging down in bags, and tried to shake out the pepsi. Obviously, it wouldn't get it out; no doubt his clothes would be sticky and uncomfortable from here on. Unless he were to rinse them out?
Chron pulled out his satchel. He had one fresh bottle of water left, by now. Thankfully, he'd accidentally swallowed an inhuman amount of pepsi during the tumble- made the poor scholar's tummy hurt, it did. Regardless, he should be decently hydrated for now, and so he was free to make use of his last water bottle to rinse out his clothing.
"Chron, do you have a moment."
"Yes yes?" As he turned his head, a little bit of water splashed on the stone below, missing his pants by about half an inch.
"You can hold your own, but you don't look like the aggressive type. Definitely not the type to kill recklessly."
"Indeed, murder is not an ideal solution to most problems."
"So why enter Dante's Abyss?"
"I'm here to die! Simple as that, friend."
"That's not all there is to it."
"How do you mean?"
"If you were just suicidal, you don't need the abyss for that. A lot of people here torture and maim others for the hell of it. And if someone offered to cut you off quick, you wouldn't fight back like you do."
"Heh, you're clever. Just as I expect from the John Connor."
"Listen." John sat on his knees, bringing his head down to Chron's level, and stared at the scholar with an earnest, friendly, yet stern gaze. "Obviously, I don't want you getting yourself killed doing something reckless. That puts us at a disadvantage. But also, I don't want you putting yourself in danger when you don't need to. There's a lot to life you won't get to see if you kick the bucket here."
Chron gingerly shut his eyes, at that.
"I do appreciate it, John. Truly. But you need not worry. I came to Dante's Abyss because I need to die, and figured it would be fun to go out in a blaze of glory or a hilarious mishap on my part. Beats the usual way, that's for certain."
"You want a thrilling last experience. So you do want to die?"
"No, no, I want to live on for a very, very long time, rather! That's why I need to die."
"You're not making any sense."
"It's fun to bewilder people, after all! But no worries, friend. It's all part of my latest experiment, you see."
"Experiment, huh? What kind is it?"
A beam of light shone from betwixt the clouds, bright, and yet washing out the color of Chron's skin and clothes. A long, drawn out smile stretched along his cheeks like splintered wood. His eyes drew half closed, and he stared deep into John Connor's gaze, as if peering into his soul. Arms swung out to 3 and 9, palms turned up to face the heavens, Chron looked as if he were a beaten, drenched statue drying out in the sun after a long, hearty storm.
"Why, one dealing in life, death, and time itself!"
The wave of carbonated beverage sailed over them and into the trio they’d encountered, washing them away and splashing back onto the mousebot. They stumbled back, lifting up an arm to try and block their face from the backwash. They tripped over their own feet as they spun towards Pepsiman, a scowl plastered on their little mouse face.
“What the HECK?” they shouted, shaking their hand off and trying to rid their circuits of wayward Pepsi droplets. “Ya couldn’t have done that a little sooner?!”
“Rise, Carbonated Phoenix,” the Pepsi mascot droned as it placed a hand on Beatrix’s back, helping her stand. The Proto Mouse gawked, turning and watching as the veritable tidal wave of Pepsi finally began to subside.
They were shocked to see that the three dudes they’d been tangling with were, in fact, totally gone. The Proto Mouse pressed their hand to the side of their face as they zeroed in their ocular sensors on the location around them, searching for any sign, but there wasn’t one. The Pepsi wave had truly taken the dudes off to some other corner of the area.
“I feel… strange,” Trixie’s voice mumbled behind them. They turned towards her just in time to see her lift her hands up and stumble as she observed them.
“Trixie!” they called, rushing over and catching her as she fell to the ground. Her eyes rolled back. “No friggin’ way. I’m not losin’ you too.”
They lifted the Lancer Buster and aimed it for Pepsiman, then growled, “What did you do?!”
“Friend Proto Mouse,” the Pepsi cyborg chirped, putting his hands up. “There is no need for mistrust. Have I not been a loyal friend and provider of refreshment to you for almost a decade now?”
The mousebot scowled. “She’s seizing up, Pepsiman,” they shouted. “Did you poison her?! I’ve heard of folks gettin’ poisoned on this island. What’s the antidote? Give me the cure!”
“There is no cure,” Pepsiman droned, crossing slowly over towards the pair and kneeling next to them.
He placed his hand on the barrel of the Lancer Buster, slowly moving it aside. The Proto Mouse could feel themselves about to pull the trigger, about to wipe out their Pepsi friend where he stood, and honestly, they couldn’t believe themselves. The rage bubbled up in them like sour Coca-Cola, unstoppable as it rose. It took all the willpower they had to keep from mowing the Pepsiman down right there, and when the soda cyborg finally slipped his arm beneath Beatrix’s back and took her weight, they stumbled back, catching their breath.
What the heckskies is wrong with me?!
“She has received the Blessings of Bepis,” the Pepsiman said softly, taking his other hand and caressing her cheek. “It may take a moment to fully wash over her, but soon, she shall be refreshed.”
The Proto Mouse’s expression betrayed their deep confusion. The Pepsiman had always been a bit… dogmatic, but he’d never been this weird before.
They supposed the same could be said about them. The power of Mickey Mouse and the Proto Man combined was a lot for one tiny little body to hold, and they could feel the strain it took on them, could feel the forces of each part pushing and pulling not just in their noggin, but throughout their entire body.
They’d almost murdermoused the Pepsiman, for Gosh’s sakes.
Who the heck even am I?
Beatrix’s hand snapped up, grasping the Pepsiman’s wrist and shoving him away from her as she popped into a seated position. In what seemed like an automatic follow-up, running on instinct rather than logic, she conjured a sanguine spear in her hands, but glanced down at it as the blood looked very… non-blood like. Rather, it looked… brown, and kinda—
“Ew, it’s sticky,” she mumbled, dropping the spear onto the ground. She glanced up at Pepsiman. “Goddamn weirdo,” she breathed. PM let the language slide.
“It’s Pepsi,” the Pepsiman smiled, or seemed to.
Beatrix blinked. “What?”
“You have received the Blessings of Bepis,” he continued. “You are no longer Beatrix, blood mage. You are a Pepsi mage.”
Beatrix’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her friggin’ head, but behind her, the Proto Mouse — for the first time in several hours — could not help but giggle.
“Wait, wait, wait,” they chuckled. “Does this mean you’re Pepsitrix instead of Beatrix now?” The Proto Mouse burst into a cackle; they laughed so hard that they nearly forgot about almost filling Pepsiman full of bullets.
Pixie examined her hands. She felt different. Her blood felt…carbonated? She could feel it flowing through her. More than usual. She blinked in disbelief before peeling away the bandage from her right shoulder. Doing so ripped away some of the burnt flesh and low and behold…she was bleeding Pepsi.
This is fucking insane.
“The Pepsi fucking Phoenix? Arbiter damn it.”
“Language.” PM and Beatrix said in unison.
She rotated the ring on her finger and faced the top of it downward towards her palm. Clasping her hands together quickly the needle on the tip of the ring band pricked her skin. She pulled her hands apart and formed a liquid spear of Pepsi. She twirled it around before jamming it into the ground. As the blade hit the dirt it flash-froze to form a solid razor-sharp tip.
“May the blessing Bepis serve you well, Pepsi Phoenix.” PepsiMan said giving her a double thumbs up.
PM couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
“This is hilarious.” They said.
“I’m glad you find it funny!” Beatrix snapped.
Using the leaking Pepsi from her hand she pointed her palm at a nearby tree and to her disbelief entombed it. Closing her hand the Pepsi froze and crushed the trunk of the tree, splintering it.
“Well, that’ll be useful in a fight.” PM said with a giggle.
“The Blessing of Bepis is strong with you, Pixie.” PepsiMan said, doing a little dance.
“Don’t call me that.”
Beatrix sighed. She could use a drink.
“Have a refreshing can of Pepsi!” Their mascot friend said, like he could read her mind.
He produced a can and handed it to the Mistress who, without hesitation, cracked it open with an audible hiss and took a long drink. Letting out a burp she crushed the can and tossed it aside.
“You know someone is going to have to pick that up.” PM said.
“Really? I’m standing here with third degree burns, a missing eye, and a dead wife and you’re going to preach to me about littering. Syntech has janitorial staff. Let them clean it up. It’s the least they could fucking do.”
“Language.” PM and Beatrix said once more unison.
“I still can’t believe I’m a Pepsi Mage now. I can feel it flowing through me. Like a tingling sensation.”
“Must be the carbonation?” PM mused.
“Whatever it is. It feels weird.”
The Mistress’ thoughts changed to her wife. She closed her good eye and imagined Jaina’s face. She kept reliving her dying moments. She saw her mortally wounded wife laying before her. Beatrix was tough. She had been through so much in her life. Three or four different wars, torture, execution. Losing Jaina was proving very difficult to stomach. Part of her felt that it was disparaging to even consider suppressing those feelings. To carry on like she didn’t just lose the love of her life. Her second spouse to die on her, leaving her alone in the world. She could only imagine Stephen’s reaction. I’m sure Jaina dying had sobered him up quite a bit. Possibly even angered him. Beatrix didn’t even begin to know how to bring her wife back. Nothing in the numerous texts she had obtained about blood magic held any sort of spell or ritual that could return a person to corporeal form. She could only preserve her soul. Even then, with her power suppressed she had had to rely on Hakkar to do it this time. Not that she had needed to do it in the past, but the idea had always crossed her mind that one day she might need to.
“Let’s keep moving. Who knows if we’ll run into anyone, but I’m not going to sit around to find out. Not with the island shrinking as fast as it is.” She mused out loud.
Bandages were in short supply, but Obi-wan had luckily came with an excess of cloth. What had once been his robes sleeve was now being used as an improvised bandage to hold Yuuka’s cut together.
The Ancient Yokai was barely troubled by the injury - if anything, it seemed to put her in a slightly better mood to see a bit of her own blood.
Ben’s worsening frown, on the other hand, was mirrored by Dex’s silent scowl in the corner of their little camp - one all too close to the cliff he’d fallen off not long ago. Dex had initially been damn near deliriously happy after his wake-up - until he’d seen Yuuka’s own state.
The adventurous feeling, the gentlemanly duelling of the moment had left Ben like a balloon popping.
He had come into this with the understanding that nothing would be real. That he would be, mercifully, on his own. That this would be a simple world of black and white.
Instead, he’d watched a broken relationship between friends, a set of people who shouldn’t be here insist on doing so, a boy already so crazed he’d fallen to the darkness long before Obi-wan had ever met him. And now another lost soul was now burning with rage set apart from him, an existence never meant to have a happy ending - one cursed to die within this cursed festival of gore and death.
His death, and many others, might have been a staged consequence in Dante’s abyss. But those within were still real, still just as alive and vibrant and wrapped in the force as he was.
This was reality, and that reality had stolen the breath from the general of ten years ago and brought back a tired old man.
“...damn.” Ben muttered to himself.
Dex had, on the other hand, absolutely got a fire under him since he woke up - looking at Yuuka’s wounds with anger.
“So why ain’t we going and grilling that jackass immediately? Or is it “to spare him”.” Dex finally yelled. “Do you think he’s gonna just turn over a new leaf?”
The words hurt more than he had a way to express, glass broken against his heart, and Ben’s pain threatened to overwhelm his head as he winced.
“...I do not.”
“Then why didn’t you take the shot. Why didn’t you prioritize taking out the guy who beaned me and - “ Dex yelled, his anger hot as he turned towards Yuuka, and then just stopped - giving an exaggerated groan instead.
Ben took in a deep breath, but did his best to keep it quiet. He needed that second, that air, to tamp down his own grief, but the last thing he needed it to come across as was a sigh of irritation. After all…
“Because it is not the Jedi Way, Dex. But you’re right.” Ben replied, his face sagging a little as he spoke. “I was careless, and I put all of us in more danger than I should have.”
“Because you can’t just get aggressive for some reason, due to your Jedi way!” Dex spat.
Ben would shake his head. “Because I didn’t prioritize your safeties when I should have.” He replied.
Dex folded his arms, seemingly ready to give full lip to whatever came out of Ben’s mouth, and the Negotiator found his words hard to find in the moment.
“And because of that, you’re right.” Ben replied. “Because of this, you and Yuuka were injured, and us with not a thing to show for it.”
“It really is just a scratch.” Yuuka was quick to reply, sing-song as though a slash to the chest was a paper-cut, though her eyes flashed to Ben’s own scrapes as he continued speaking.
“I cannot promise to fight aggressively, the way you might want. That’s not the way I’ve learned to fight, even if I wanted to - it would end poorly for everyone involved.” Ben would admit. “But in this fight, I forgot that my duty is not to myself alone.” Ben would say with a grimace. “My job here is not merely to win - it’s to fight at your sides.”
With this, Ben bowed to the Saibaman in front of him, his anger still showing in his arms.
“I failed at this. I can try to save who I can, but it’s important I save those who I call friend first on this island. You’ve put your trust in me, and I swear I’ll not betray it again.” Ben replied.
Dex’s eyes narrowed as he took that in. “Sees ya don’t. Looks like we’re about to be in Fistfight heaven.” The Saibaman replied.
After a second, he did look to Ben with a scowl. "so if you see that kid again..."
The words came to Ben from a lifetime ago as he answered, the force's clarity coming to him.
"...I will do what I must."
Despite that, there seemed to be a lessening of Dex’s permanent scowl. He was about to ask Dex if they’d be opposed to a round of tea before his arm was violently yanked back and He was pulled back onto a nearby stump in an arm bar.
“And now you are going to hold still while I bandage these scrapes.” Yuuka’s low pitch chimed in, and the fire that still smoldered in Yuuka’s eyes told him he had very little choice in this matter.
“...I suppose it is.” Ben replied, as he utilized the Jedi art of staying very still and being cooperative with his terrifying nurse for the moment. Quite a commonly used power in his experience, funnily enough.
Face to Face #41 Vanitas vs #28 John Connor & #37 Chron Horol & #26 Jar Jar Binks
It was daytime.
“I prefer the day,” John Connor remarked to his two companions. After their… ‘incident’ earlier in the morning, they had spent what felt like at least a solid two hours trying to wash away the saccharine-yet-acidic aroma of cola from every part of their body and clothes.
Chron nodded his head. “New challenges for a new day.” He spoke confidently as he adjusted his tattered, cola-stained clothes. A few days ago, the horologist had set out on this adventure. He’d encounter allies. He’d fought terrible foes. He’d nearly drowned in Pepsi. Now, he was simply dead-set on ensuring that his exit from this stage went with a bang rather than a whimper.
“You look forward to war?” Connor remarked quizzically.
“It’s a long story,” Chron answered calmly. “I’m a student. Fighting like this. Even dying… it’s nothing I’m not used to. If anything, I welcome it.”
Connor scowled a little. “You remind me of my school teachers and all that bullshit about being a ‘life-long learner’.” He added air quotes to ensure his tone was conveyed properly to his partner.
“It is what it is,” Chron remarked. “If you don’t put yourself out there, how will you become better? How will you grow and learn?” He was almost smiling now. In a way, it was somewhat off-putting to Connor. “What I learn on this island, I’ll take with me… and I’ve already learned so much.” Again, there was something in the younger man’s eyes and tone of voice that unnerved Connor. Chron was clearly flesh and blood, but in many ways, the horologist had a dab of Terminator in him.
Shifting from Chron, John turned to confirm that Jar Jar was still asleep. “We should wake the gungan soon. We can’t linger too long he—”
SCHINCK
The javelin-esque shard of ice sank into Connor’s chest.
Spinning quickly, Chron intercepted the keyblade strike. On the other side of the exchange, a crazed man stood staring at him with ill-intent clearly plastered across his face.
“You made the wrong choice!” Chron growled as he shoved back with Saba.
Vanitas lurched backwards, wincing despite himself as he steadied himself. His left arm hung limply against his body. Scrapes and bruises could be seen beneath the compromised portions of his body suit.
“You don’t have a chance,” Chron rasped upon realizing the other man’s condition. “How can you even stand?”
“I have the darkness at my side!” Vanitas rasped as he hopped backwards. A beat later, he spun and launched the keyblade. Chron deflected the projectile with a well-timed twist of his own sword.
From a few yards away, a half-awake gungan let out a yawn before starting the obvious.
“But itsa moorning!” He remarked with half-closed eyes, unaware of who had been talking about the dark. When Jar Jar rubbed his eyes and caught a look at the deranged, half-dead warrior glaring at him, he let out a dramatic shriek and leapt up into the arms of the T-800, which flashed him a confused look as the gungan tried to scramble and cower behind his neck like a spooked cat.
“Chill out.” The Terminator intoned as it plucked Jar Jar off by the back of his clothes and set him down. The two made eye contact.
“Yousa be back?”
“I’ll be back.”
With John Connor laying on the ground, the Terminator bent down and collected the man’s weapon.
“No,” Chron spoke. “I’ll do this.” He stressed, holding a hand out to stop the massive, Austrian killing machine. He turned to face Vanitas. “I’ve been waiting for a challenge like this.”
In its deadpan, the Terminator spoke the obvious. “Your odds of success here are 84.5 percent.”
“Never tell me the odds,” Chron remarked as he stepped forward.
Vanitas, keyblade rematerializing in his good hand, grinned as he stuffed the handle of the Void Gear into mouth. Holding it in place with his teeth, he summoned the other member of his pair of weapons.
“Your odds of success are 73.2 percent.”
Chron scowled as Vanitas, body ravaged in more ways than one, spun through the air at him like a twisting top. The two keyblades left shadowy shimmers in the sky as Darkness Incarnate closed the gap and landed a pair of rapid blows against a bemused, unprepared Chron. The horologist went reeling, but he kept his balance.
“Stand strong against the evil!”
The man turned to see that the Terminator had not spoken.
“That was me.”
He looked down to see that the ornate lion’s head beneath the hilt of the sword was speaking to him.
“Pardon?” Chron sputtered.
“You think any sword gets a name?” Saba replied—its metallic jaw moving rapidly as it spoke the somewhat sardonic retort. “Stand and fight, Chron Horol!”
Chron twisted and managed to block a keyblade. A beat later, Vanitas landed a stunning blow to Chron’s head with the second. The horologist fell, but as he did, John Connor scrambled forward and swung the barrel of the flammenwerfer against the dark warrior’s face.
Recoiling with a grunt, Vanitas came lashing back with a sickening blow that tore flesh, sinew, and eye away from the right side of Connor’s face. The soldier collapsed into a heap once more as a frantic gungan rushed to his friend.
“Pathetic.” Vanitas leashed a burst of flames that enveloped Jar Jar, causing the now frantic gungan to stop, drop, and roll down the sloping hillside.
Chron dashed forward. His teeth nearly bared, the horologist smashed the blade into the Void Gear. Before Vanitas could do much of anything, Chron was swinging and leashing another thunderous blast that was barely turned away.
“You’re still not good enough.” Vanitas seethed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he spun and threw the keyblade. His foe parried the projectile away, and just like clockwork, that left Chron wide open to the bolt of lightning that struck his shoulder and neck.
“Enough,” the T-800 stepped forward and bathed Vanitas in flames.
More spite than anything else, Vanitas shambled forward—keyblade held high above his head as he glared with glassy eyes at the robot. A swift, massive boot to the chest sent Vanitas ragdolling backwards.
Turning, the T-800 helped Chron up to his feet, and the horologist immediately moved to assist his friends.
“Are you okay, John?” Chron asked as he helped the man up off the ground. “It doesn’t look like you’re bleeding.”
While it hurt, his ally was right. Connor was not bleeding. In fact, the open wound was sputtering black, vicious fluids and the occasional spark of electricity from a damaged tract of wiring. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the wound that unnerved his partners, but the fact that the keyblade strike had sheared off part of the soldier’s face, revealing a red eyeball and a metallic endoskeleton.
“Well… I’ll be damned.” The soldier rasped as he pressed a hand to the wound on his face. “I’ll be damned. Where’s that lunatic?”
The group turned but only found a few assorted fires burning low on the ground.
***
Up in the observation deck, Karl watched the face to face play out and snickered a little. Within moments, he caught the shadow looming over him as his office chair was slowly spun around.
“Hello, John.” Karl smiled. “Are you enjoying the luxury booth we provided you with?”
“A Terminator, Karl?”
The producer gave a coy smile as he shrugged his shoulders. “You didn’t specify the terms when you opted out, John.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
Karl rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. It doesn’t vibe with the grizzled solider schtick.”
30 Contestants Remain (but yikes, y’all, we on the verge of another mass culling, it feels like)
Vanitas is burned, stabbed, and has some fairly crushing wounds, but… he lives (Insane Injury, replaces all prior injuries for the purpose of tracking)
John Connor was stabbed with a chunk of ice (Major Injury)
Chron Horol was grazed with some lightning (Minor Injury)
Jar Jar Binks caught fire … how wude! (Major Injury)
The young woman stumbled and crashed into a heap a few yards from Cho and Yu. Her young yet alien face was contorted in pain as she clenched her fingers at her ankle. She winced for a moment before turning to see the two men. Her eyes fell to the BFG hanging at Yu Kanda’s hip and she recoiled.
“Please no!” She spoke with a childlike yelp as she tried to scoot on her butt away from the pair.
Cho, whose impacted hearing didn’t prevent him from picking up body cues, lifted his hands. “HEY, IT’S OKAY. ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?”
Yu Kanda put a hand to Cho’s shoulder as the boy went to take a step forward. The avatar turned back and flashed a quizzical expression to his companion.
“It’s Dante’s Abyss, Cho,” he spoke slowly and sternly as he glanced at Graowr.
“Look at her!” Cho remarked. “She probably lost a friend or something.”
Graowr perked up. “Celipa? Have you seen here?” She was moving toward them, albeit cautiously. “She is big. Buff! We ran. SCARY monster out there.”
“SEE?” Cho declared. “MONSTERS, YU.”
Yu Kanda leaned to look passed Cho and stared at the majin. “She doesn’t look so normal herself.”
Graowr pulled her eye down and blew a raspberry at the stern, stoic fighter as he turned his focus back to his young, handicapped companion.
“I already have one stray… I can’t pick up another,” Kanda spoke in slow, deliberate words.
“I HAVE A GOOD FEELING ABOUT THIS.”
And then the blue fist tore out through Cho’s abdomen. Yu Kanda flinched despite himself as he looked down to see the mass of flesh, muscle, and viscera that had be shoved out through his young associate’s gut. The ensanguinated skin of Graowr bubbled as shifted from blue to black.
Cho pitched forward as his attacker wrenched his literal pound of flesh back through the young avatar’s body.
Yu scooped up the younger man and recoiled—his eyes on the Future Warrior as she grew and changed before his eyes. Her flesh darkened to the deepest black. That goofy, unsuspecting face peeled away to reveal a pair of wild, bloodshot eyes and an impossibly wide maw that promptly slurped up the chunk of Cho in his clawed fingers. Its teeth gnashed hungrily as its hideous form grew to almost seven feet tall in front of them. Its tongue lashed at its maw to gobble up any lost remnants of flesh and organ.
“Was that a kidney?” The Shogun of Malevolence snickered as it leaned forward and breathed its hot, fetid breath into their faces. “Delicioussss.”
Cho, the ground beneath him a crimson mass, slumped in Kanda’s arms. His companion, trying to support the young man with one arm, awkwardly attempted to hoist the BFG with the other.
“Oh, no.” The malicious entity chittered as it wagged a finger. “Not enough arms? Must be A REAL SHAME.”
A third limb spurted from the chest of Aku. There was a crackle of energy as the lightsaber imbedded into the hideous flesh of the best flared to life before punching through both men.
“Ohohoh!” Aku sniggered. “Let’s do that again!” Another alien appendaged, armed with a machete, sliced seamlessly through the pair. Despite himself, Yu Kanda did not fall. Sure, his teeth were clenched to the point where they had likely cracked, and every single cell in his body was screaming in unison.
But he stood.
Aku threw his head back in a rasping, alien laugh as a grimacing Yu Kanda, through some sheer feat of human resilience, wrenched the heavy gun up enough and found the trigger.* His vile beast of an attacker heard the woosh of the weapon and roared his disdain as the plasma burst crashed into his chest.
Falling backwards, Kanda clutched an arm around Cho as he tried to balance the gun once again. He fired, but this time, a burning bulwark materialized. The plasma blast struck that wafting, wavering surface as if it were a brick wall.
“Fucking… come on!” Kanda hissed. “Come out and die.”
“You firsssst,” Aku whispered from behind him as the exorcist turned and received a terrible kick to the jaw.
When Yu Kanda finally stopped rolling, he found it a struggle just to draw breath. Was this it? Reduced to the foodstuff of some eldritch beast straight from the gates of Hell itself?
He clenched his dirty, bloodstained fingertips into the ground as he tried to lift himself up.
A few yards away, Cho was resting in another puddle of his blood, but the young man had somehow managed to lift an arm. The repulsor blast caught Aku in the chest, but the beast shrugged them off as he walked forward and scooped up the wounded man.
“Last words?” He asked Cho with a smile.
“EV… EVER seen a muh-MUD slide?” The deaf avatar sputtered.
The Shogun of Malevolance tilted his head. Then, a beat later, he felt the rumble of the earth beneath him.
Turning, Aku scowled as the wave of wet dirt crashed into him and swept him away.
30 Contestants Remain
Aku used Ring of Fire
Cho used Earth Bending Unlimited
Yu Kanda used Lightning Reflexes (*I left out the blue SFX)
Cho was impaled … a few times (Insane Injury)
Kanda was stabbed through the lung … and the stomach(Major Injury)
Aku was blasted (equivalent of a Minor Injury)
Arc grimmly teleported from spot to spot as Lord Zedd angerly followed behind. Power Rangers this, their little dog too that, it was just as Arc thought from the beginning this guy is insanely evil and being with him was only going to get Arc killed. But, he would live a few minutes longer. Maybe he can bait the Emperor back into the Golden King he just blasted with a bomb. But, how am I going to live through that? If I immediately turn and flee I'll get shot in the back. I'm not fast enough to outrun a gun.
"Hello! Just one death recently, but I have a sad feeling that won't be true. Please bid farewell to...
"#39 - Cho."
"Be aware that Day 3 will end with an Easter Egg event. Also, the open invitation to Multerramania will become available on your collars at some point today. The reward for competing there will be a randomized 'grab' from the Easter Egg pool as well. Do you have it in you to fight for the belts?"
"There are no new danger zones today. Starting with tomorrow's phase, there will be some ... shifts to the rules and requirements of your stay on the island. But until then... good luck <3"
Notes:
This phase ends tomorrow, June 6th at 9 AM CDT
During the Evening Phase, the penultimate Easter Egg will be available for you to join. The Egg match itself will be the first thing that pops up for Day 4, Early Morning.
Sometime tomorrow (check the timer on the Discord), a tag team will be able to volunteer to compete in TLC for the tag titles vs the Rock and Sophia. You'll take wounds but receive a pull from the remaining EE pool. OOC terms for that event are identical to the first one, but the IC rules will be different.
VMMM! The molecules of Birkin’s very being buzzed as they were violently wrenched apart and even less gently stitched back together by the work of Syntech’s™ teleporter™.
When the purple-tinted haze of faster-than-light travel cleared, the brilliant virologist's knees buckled beneath him as he thudded onto the grass like a discarded Pepsi bottle, the blades still wet with morning dew.
His scrawny chest heaved for breath, streaked with sweat and wracked with pain.
Birkin managed to draw breath once… twice—before his entire body jolted, a guttural, anguished scream wrenching itself free from his throat, the faint contours of the pitiful man’s musculature beneath his skin appearing to twist, coil, and churn.
Thus began his metamorphosis—creeping, agonizing, utterly unstoppable.
He writhed. He convulsed. His right side, still fragile and bruised from his little brush with professional wrestling, now swelled and jerked with an abhorrent vigor; the fingers of his hand splitting as the bones lengthened, serrated, into viscera-streaked, claw-like protrusions.
They immediately lashed out; raking long, ugly gashes into the dirt and grass underneath his tortured form. The morning’s sweet notes of birdsong and the gentle, cool island breeze might as well have been from another planet, distant and unknown to his senses…
Fleshy ligaments and cartilage stretched hideously, as if Birkin’s body was hungrily and impossibly clawing for space outside its biological constraints. The burgeoning mass spurted and bubbled, and with a sickening pop, a blazing orange eyeball erupted from what used to be his shoulder, its bloodshot gaze swiveling wildly to survey its surroundings, half-shrouded by the mangled remnants of his lab coat.
A long, tormented groan slipped free from Birkin’s lips as wave upon wave of pain crashed over him, each nerve ending firing in protest at the monstrous invasion of the G-virus creeping through his veins. His left hand clutched at the earth, seeking some kind of anchor, some reprieve from the physical world whilst trapped in this private hell of agony.
Face to Face #39 Cho & #35 Yu Kanda vs #23 Nealaphh & #16 William Birkin
“Stay. Awake.” Yu muttered as he half-dragged, half carried Cho.
“Leave me,” Cho remarked, his skin a deathly white as he struggled to keep his head up. “You… you can still keep fighting, Yu.”
“Quiet, you’ll attract that monster again.” Kanda looked around and then tried to read the blood-spattered map that he’d partially unfolded in his hands. “We should be near a landmark… we can find something to make the bleeding stop.”
Unfortunately for the pair, there was no lack of monsters on the island.
An inhuman scream pierced the morning sky as a frenzied, slimy hulk of man came shambling out of the woods and crashed straight into the pair of wounded warriors, bowling them over with a sweeping motion of its overgrown arm.
Kanda fell backwards, trying his hardest to prevent Cho from striking his head on anything. He looked up to see a man in a lab coat screaming to himself a few steps away.
“No,” Yu rasped as he hoisted the BFG and fired. The blast hit Birkin just as the man’s overgrown, cancerous left arm just as enormous bone blades burst through the flesh.
A shadow fell over Yu Kanda. He fired, forcing Nealaphh to retreat before the Godmind could enact whatever scheme it had formed.
“Back. The fuck. Away!” Kanda screamed as he struggled to his feet and fired wildly in the direction of the floating figure. His focus glued on that threat, he had nowhere near the time he needed to react as the mutated Birkin’s massive claws raked up along the length of his torso and literally flung him as if he weighed nothing.
Kanda felt his ribs collapse, likely sending shards into both his lungs. At some point, he’d left the ground, but he experienced none of whatever trip he took. All he recalled was the sensation of slamming into a rock. “M-monster,” the fallen man hissed as he watched Birkin leash a gurgling scream. Kanda fired the BFG and landed a blast that blew apart Birkin’s right arm.
The monster bellowed as it lurched sideways. A second blast never came… Kanda slumped, spent.
Literally frothing at the mouth, Birkin shuddered as a fresh new arm ruptured out from his right shoulder. As that happened, the scientist’s perspective shifted as his head literally slipped downward to make way for a new skull—malformed, fleshless, and devoid of humanity. The new head released a terrible scream that lacked the warbling, frantic tone of Birkin’s prior shouting.
Picking up Cho with his new arm, G lifted Cho up and stared into him with its beady yellow eyeballs. Its ‘mouth’, an assortment of teeth amid hideous, purple muscles let out another vile, monstrous screech.
“Fu-fuck off,” Cho groaned as he fired a repulsor blast into the beast’s mouth.
G screamed before slamming Cho into the ground… much like an angry toddle might slam down a doll that has angered them.
Much unlike a doll, Cho’s body essentially tore apart after the second or third slam into the earth.
On the sixth, he was mercilessly dropped to the ground, where he somehow, someway, had managed to draw something into his hand. Nestled between the three remaining fingers, the periapt shimmered as Cho, his eyes having been smashed in their sockets, smiled with that remaining teeth that hadn’t been smashed in their sockets or driven through the surrounding flesh.
“Burn in hell.”
The ground beneath Cho opened up into a fiery chasm as the Earth Bender slipped beneath the molten stone—his anguished body vanishing in a plume of dark, acrid smog as the volcano rapidly bulged up from the earth.
"No!" Kanda gurgled as he saw the first spurts of lava scream up from the grave of his friend. A moment later, the ground around him was rumbling. The exorcist steeled himself, but instead of a stampeding beast, he was instead being washed backwards by a churning, roiling wash of muddy earth. Swelling around him, the wash carried him down the nearby rolling hills of forest. As the tide about him ebbed, Kanda, vision not what it should be, swore he saw an earthen facsimile of Cho smiling at him.
And then everything went dark.
Back at the volcano, G roared and swung its bladed hand, shredding apart the magma but failing to stop it as it continued to well upward. In an instant, the magma crumbled to reveal the snarling lava elemental within.
A burst of flames washed over G, forcing the hideous abomination to recoil as the remnants of the Birkin flesh were seared away.
A boulder crashed into the elemental’s skull, breaking its concentration as it turned to fire a retaliatory stream at Nealaphh, who managed to avoid nearly all of the wave of lava.
Nearly all.
The lava elemental shifted its attention as claws punched through its chest.
Undeterred by the flames and the sight of its bone spurs charring in front of it, G wrenched the blades free and reeled back to land another blow.
With what could best be described as a sneer, the lava elemental’s compromised chest puffed out.
And then it burst.
#39 Cho DEAD
29 Contestants Remain
Yu Kanda is Insanely Injured.
Birkin absorbs the equivalent of a Major injury that replaces all previous minors
Nealaphh received some scalds while maneuvering form the lava (a Minor Injury)
Birkin used ‘G is my Creation’ (off-screen, because I wouldn’t want to write drug use – that would be very immoral of me)
Cho, and all his things, went up in (literal) flames
Face to Face
#20 Arc Lalatoya & #21 Lord Zedd vs #XX The Hierophant
“Are you keeping up?” Zedd barked as the skeleton popped into reality next to him.
“Of course, Lord Zedd.”
“Good. We must ready ourselves to destroy these… these…”
“Mongrels?” A voice called out.
Zedd snapped his fingers and vigorously nodded his head. “Yes! Mongrels.” He frowned behind the mask. “Wait, who said th—”
A gilded fist crashed into the warlord’s skull.
The Hierophant sneered as he strode out and found himself face-to-face with Arc. “You again?” The Babylonian demigod inquired. “Any more teddy bears?”
“No,” Arc grimaced. “Just this angry space guy with a freezethrower.”
“A freeze-what?”
Now it was the Hierophant’s turn to be cold-cocked. The blast from the gun struck him in the chest and face, driving him backwards for a few feet before the crown atop his head illuminated the morning sky like its own miniature sun.
Zedd hissed as he turned away from the fusion. A few yards away, he saw Arc likewise reeling. “Blue-Eyes!” He growled. “Time for you to do something.”
Arc, grimacing beneath his arm, nodded his head before teleporting back in rapid succession, eventually settling down behind a tree as Zedd shambled and lurched back to join him. “I can distract him again,” Arc spoke. “Leave you an opening?”
The space-faring, transdimeinsional warlord laughed a smug laugh. “I have a better idea,” he muttered a simple-looking sphere popped into his clawed hand. A perfect sphere, it had another little sphere on the top—maybe a cork of some kind?
“What’s that?” Arc muttered as a bolt of lightning crashed into the trees around them.
“What you’ll need to finish off that pesky imbecile!” Zedd cackled as he leapt back. “Grow, BLUE-EYES.” He threw the orb, which burst apart upon contact with Arc’s chest and bathed the skeletal knight in a shimmering white light. “GROW!”
Hierophant, who had been somewhat leisurely trying to force the rats out of their hidey-holes with a few errant bolts from Stormbreaker, winced at the sudden flash of light.
Up from the treeline, Arc Lalatoya grew—his body expanding in all directions as his already impressive figure reached a height of nearly sixty feet. Initially confused, the knight soon shrugged it off as he realized that the growth had at least, for the moment, nullified the crippled condition of his leg.
“Oh… this is new.” Arc spoke—his voice literally echoing across much of the island as he took a moment to look around. From up here, he could see a limitless assortment of small fires sprinkled across the island.
Was that even a volcano over there?
“Huh.” The knight spoke as he glanced down into the trees, which now seemed so very far away. Arc waved his hand, releasing a wind cutter nearly half the length of a football field.
Down below, the Hierophant cursed and grimaced as the island itself shuddered at the impact. Waves of green energy splashed out as the magic cleaved a yawning crater forty feet deep into its surface. In the blink of an eye, a stretch of the forest was reduced to a great, simmering mass of felled lumber.
With the canopy gone, the Babylonian gestalt got his first, best look at the knight that loomed over head.
“Bullshit.” The Hierophant seethed as he scanned the twisted network of branches, foliage, and upturned roots for some sign of Lord Zedd. “Sorcerer! What foul magic is this?”
Up above, a voice called down to him almost casually. “Oh, there you are.”
A shadow—vast and terrifying—fell over the Hierophant as his eyes went wide and he felt fresh rage boil in his blood.
“You dare?” The Hierophant hissed. “You dare to despoil us? You da—”
The boot came down. The gestalt lifted his hands and screamed a litany of curses as the ground beneath him instantly started to buckle. Uncrushed, he was nevertheless driven down as the earth itself split apart under him.
Feeling just the ground under his boot, Arc put on a faint smile. “I mean. I’ll take it.” He spoke in his casually booming tone as he lifted his foot to see that there was still a crackling, glowing spot down in the dirt.
The Hierophant screamed as he pulled himself up out of what would have been anyone else’s grave.
“You think you can crush ME? …crush US?” He screamed—his voice sounding much mousier by the time it reached the head of the skeletal knight. “We are the GOD-KING!”
Stormbreaker crackled as the Hierophant spun the axe around and around.
An unphased Arc held out a hand and casually leashed a fireball the size of ferris wheel down onto the island.
As that orb lazily descended, an irate spec of gold split through it. Propelled by the might of Stormbreaker, the Hierophant soared upward like a comet.
And punched clean through Arc’s forehead.
A few beats later, a seething Hierophant landed back on the ground with a thunderclap—the gestalt’s eyes shimmering white as its expression turned from rage to one of smug arrogance.
Shortly thereafter, the massive corpse of Arc Lalatoya came to a rest on the island. The impact shuddered the landmass. On every part of Dante Island, those survivors felt the hideous but fleeting tremors as they washed over the killing fields.
Lastly … somewhere, very far removed from the scene, Lord Zedd laughed.
#20 Arc Lalatoya DEAD
Zedd got punched in the face. Like. Hard. (Minor Injury)
The Hierophant healed earlier in the scene.
The Heirophant took a few scrapes and bruises (Minor Injury)
The Hierophant used Relic The King’s Crown (-1 Focus)
Zedd used ‘Make my Monster GROOWWWW’ and is now on cooldown
Wherever you were, you likely heard, felt, or saw some glimpse of this lunacy as it unfolded somewhere on the eastern part of the island
“Aye,” Democles replied. “We should go… There is still ground to cover. I have faith that Arc and many of the men still live.”
“Agreed,” Boros remarked as the pair stood away from their long-dead campfire and turned to see a man in a body suit waving to them.
“Can I offer you a refreshing Pepsi?” The masked figure spoke.
“Can you offer a fight?” Boros spoke, his spirits lifted by the prospect of combat with this strange figure. “It’s been a long night.”
Pepsiman tilted his head. “I apologize. That is not my purpose. I have someone who can … service you in that regard.”
A sullen, redhaired woman strode out and grinned. She had the manic expression of a small child who was absolutely coked out on soda and candy.
“What’s the line?” She asked as she leaned closer to Pepsiman. Pixie nodded her head before returning to her previous battle stance. “Prepare to DYEDRATE.”
Boros, reveling in the thought, broke into a mad dash as a bewildered Proto Mouse stepped out a few paces behind their other two friends. There were words forming on their mouth before the shockwave of Boros’ fist striking the ground sent the smaller fighter bowling backwards.
Pulling up from the shattered earth, a beaming cyclops turned and swung again—this time, an errant haymaker that crackled through the air as the Carbonated Phoenix leapt backward in a burst of caramel liquid. Landing in a crouch, she lashed out with two pressurized jets of Pepsi. The cylcopian warrior shrugged off the first before the second blast to the chest stalled his momentum.
The assassin-turned-duchess scowled as she saw the other fighter closing in on her.
“I see you,” she muttered as she turned and sprayed.
Democles, shield to the front, grimaced as the frothy, bubbling solution spilled over the surface of the shield. It didn’t hurt, but there was something almost demeaning about being spattered with such a strange, gurgling concoction. He had fought for the glory of Rome, and he was supposed to die here… sprayed to death by some foul, alchemical poultice?
“No,” he grimaced as he broke into a painful sprint—his every step labored behind the woman’s unyielding assault. He closed the distance and swung the shield at Pixie, who snickered as her body split apart, collapsing to the ground as a puddle of sugary, carbonated fluids.
A burst of automatic fire pulled Democles’ focus. He got the shield off as the Lancer Buster’s rounds crashed harmlessly against its Vibranium surface.
“I have your back, Centurion!” Boros remarked as he barreled toward the mousebot.
“WHOA there, Fella!” Proto Mouse shouted as they scurried from the path of the cyclop’s fists. Again, the ground buckled, and the machine lurched just long enough to lose their balance. An oversized kick crashed into their chest as they were thrown backwards.
Up from the ground, the Pepsimancer rose once again. The ground around her bubbled and hissed as Boros and Democles realized they were ankle-deep in the saccharine solution she seemed to dribble and leach from her pours.
“Freeze!” Pixie remarked as the Pepsi froze into an impenetrable slush around their feet. Despite its appearance, neither warrior could liberate themselves from the snow cone-like concoction.
Democles flung the shield as Pixie dipped and glided through the deep freeze toward him. She had a shield of her own—forged in the Blessing of Bepis—and she bashed it against Democles. The bulwark erupted, not unlike a dropped bottle of Pepsi losing its top. The centurion was thrown up into the air, and he came down onto the hardened surface with a terrible thud. Not only did he feel the bones in his body shudder under the impact, he heard the crumple of electrical components in the satchel he wore.
Boros, finally wrenching himself up from the deep freeze, charged. Pixie, her patience lost, threw out a trident of Pepsi that tore deep into the cyclops. Eye wide, the massive warrior came to an abrupt halt. With clearly labored movements, he tore free the weapon, which popped like a water ballon in his hand. He turned to look at its owner, and she could already see his skin starting to try and stitch itself back together.
“Resilient, eh?” Pixie inquired—her voice a bubbling hiss not unlike that of a partially-opened bottle of glorious Pepsi.
“You are a fascinating warrior,” Boros remarked as he rolled one shoulder after the other. “I don’t think I’ve fought anything quite like you.”
“Yea,” she replied. “I get that a lot, I guess.”
“Back to the fighting!” The cyclops shouted enthusiastically as he broke into a charge.
A snarling Pixie cupped her palms at her side and glared at the rapidly approaching warrior. In an instant, there was a swirling vortex of shimmering Pepsi humming within her hands. “Pepsi-ha-me-HA!”
The threw her hands forward, releasing a shimmering, bubbling beam of pure, undiluted Pepsi. The beam crashed into Boros, who took it head-on with a grin. Hands fumbling, he tried his best to once again defeat her attacks through force of will.
It wasn’t until he felt and saw his fingers and arms start to disintegrate that he realized he may have finally miscalculated his great reservoir of strength and resilience. Trying once more to push forward, his leg finally gave way, and the beam of Pepsi sheared away his skull and most of his torso.
#04 Boros DEAD
28 Contestants Remain
Beatrix used ‘Pepsi-ha-me-ha’. She is now on Focus cooldown.
Democles endures. He slipped away in the final beam struggle. His body is ravaged. Bones splintered. Lungs compromised. But he is a soldier of Rome. He will not yield (Insane Injury). He does have diabetus, though (Story Injury)
The GPS was destroyed in the fight.
Proto Mouse got biggity-bodied by Boros (Major Injury, replaced any pre-existing Minors for tracking purposes)
Beatrix/Pixie absorbed the equivalent of a Minor Injury.
He was fueled by little more than rage and malice.
His body was failing him, but the dark in his heart was all the warmth that Vanitas needed as he lurched and shambled his way forward.
“This is a terrible place to be alone.”
Vanitas turned; his one good arm tensed as he hoisted the fistful of blackened, charred fingers. “Show yourself.” He rasped as his own conjured flames flickered to life across his outstretched digits. “I’ll KILL you where you stand.”
The ground before Vanitas quivered as a figure of pure darkness oozed and writhed up from it—a shadow made flesh before him.
“Name yourself.” Vanitas spat. He curled his charred face into a scowl. “I want to know the name of my victim.”
“OHOHOHOHO,” Aku cackled. “You die by the hands of AKU.”
Vanitas released a burst of flames.
The monster before him slithered out of the way—right into the path of the key blade. The Void Gear struck Aku in the shoulder and elicited a clear reaction. There was a faint burst of light as the Shogun of Malevolence was forced to recoil.
“Nice trick.” Aku seethed as he reformed.
“Come back,” Vanitas muttered. “Let’s really unlock what’s inside,” head added with an almost unhinged grin as shadowy creature suddenly split apart into two identical copies.
They both bore down on the keyblade wielder, who thrust the keyblade into one of the figures. That one fizzled in a puff of black smoke as the real monster raked its claws across Vanitas’ back.
With a snicker, the monster bit down onto Vanitas’ shoulder and wrenched a chunk free.
The key blade sagged to the ground as its master grimaced. He swung up with the weapon as Aku sidestepped. Dropping the weapon, Vanitas fire a burst of electricity as a barbed appendage punctured the front of his chest.
“You haven’t won a thing. I am… Darkness Incarnate!”
Vanitas slapped his chest with a palm as his entire body caught flames. The tendril jutting into his chest recoiled as Aku hissed and backed away from the living pyre.
“I admire your resilience,” the Shogun of Maleavolance hissed. “It will serve us well.”
A machete arced through the air.
Vanitas’ severed head hit the ground a moment later.
#41 Vanitas DEAD
26 Contestants Remain
Aku gains the Key Blade
The Malefactor gains access to Vanitas’ Abilities and Skills
The Malefactor reaches four kills and Levels Up
That's all they are. A number. A smaller one. Unsatisfying.
She needs to accelerate this game.
Lilith stroked along the grimy, rust-tarnished steel of the Great Cleaver.
“Ahh, after all this time, you returned to me. And you remembered me too,” Lilith cooed to the impassive inscrutable blade.
An umbral resonance emanated from the implement of execution. It coursed through her dissolute soul, luring out something buried deep within, a reclusive corpse exhumed that had no virtuous reason to see the light of day.
“Shshshshhh, it's okay. We'll end this soon enough,” Lilith consoled the ravenous weapon. “We can't... No, of course you're right. That's wonderful.”
She inhaled the scent of decay and death, letting it cradle her like a silken veil.
“Punishment. Yes, that's what they all deserve. Divine punishment.” Her tongue lolled out in rapturous delight at the pact entrusted upon her. The burden she bears responsibility for carrying.
The changes were fast approaching, her flesh reshaped and remolded into the ideal form to serve the Light, and its sanctified conduit, held steadfast in her left hand. Her apotheosis, terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
She heard another whisper, keen and concise.
“Your secrets? Yes... I'll sacrifice as much as you wish. It's a pitiful offering compared to your generosity.”
Lilith formed a flail, numerous tails of elegantly braided locks, decorated with glittering notches, and paid her price.
THWICK
A speckled canvas of welts sprouted from her back.
“Yes! My body is the Testament! My scars are the Scripture! Let it be written!”
The truth poured into her mind.
The unending halls of the Garden! Ah, so dutifully decorated by the cross, the symbol that angels use for the Tree of Life. They praise their beloved Father who had planted it and filled us with the dew of its leaves and the nectar of its fruit, that which gives us life, courses through our veins...
For you however, our truth: Our bodies are not a vessel for the blood of the fruit, but its prison. The beautiful guts and gorgeous bone YEARN to be shown and seen! SPLAYED! Under the divine cross of the Tree of Life, we pay it tribute through the art of violence.
He had watched her. She was talking to herself. Flagellating herself. For fun? For pleasure?
Either way, it disgusted the saiyan. Out here … on this island, there was no space for this. Kill or be killed.
She was making it too easy for him. He lit the stick of dynamite and hurtled it at her head.
Almost too easy.
Twisting, Lilith snatched the stick out of the air and threw it. The blast still staggered the she-devil, but she was never in any real danger of the charging assault that followed.
Bardock rushed in—his fist slamming into her chest and face for a few moments before she managed to shrug him off. A burst from the rocket followed soon thereafter as the saiyan backflipped. He grinned.
“Bad move.” Lilith whispered as she felt her fingers clenching around the giant sword in her left hand.
The saiyan returned for more. His adversary leapt over him, her body seeming to spray upwards like liquid as she landed in a solid mass behind him. He twisted.
“No.”
“Yes.”
The cleaver tore into his gut.
A ki blast scarred Lilith’s face.
She reacted by twisting and flinging the ailing saiyan.
She took a step forward and was suddenly brought to her knees by an immense, alien sensation burning in her skull.
Lilith grit her teeth as she felt the Syntech collar shutter around her neck. The slim, silver band became a heavy, rusted iron as it somehow, someway, took on an onerous weight. As she silently tried to will herself through the agony that seemed to infest every part of her, Lilith looked down and saw as bands of rusted iron seemed to grow up from the collar.
Six segments of wrought iron crept up around her head before meeting again about the crown of her head. A cage.
Unable to let go of the Great Cleaver, she grasped at the rusted bars. Her flesh hissed and gurgled, but the material would not yield. Would not crumble and dissolve like so much of this weak, fleshy-little world when exposed to her curse.
Hell, what’s another curse when you’ve been living your own for as long as you could remember.
In the distance, the woman heard the wail of an air raid siren.
Gnawing voices in her mind whispered their cruel thoughts to her.
27 Contestants Remain
Bardock was impaled (Insane Injury)
Lilith had some dynamite explode near her face region (a Minor Injury)
Bardock used some dynamite. We hope he only has <1> remaining
That was the first thing Jar Jar thought to himself as they trekked across the land. He was sore, battered, and bruised. He could feel the myriad burns on his arms and chest, and every step shot up a lightning bolt of pain that refused to back down to any manner of massaging or tending to his wounds.
It was becoming just a tad frustrating for the gungan. Each time he'd only helped in small doses. In fact.. there last battle it wouldn't be a stretch to say he got in the way. He'd done nothing as the trio... well. Group, licked their wounds on the road. Chron and John.. the robot.. thing. Both discussed their options. Jar-Jar tuned them out, limping behind them just a few feet away as they went back and forth with different ideas.
"We could take this route..." Chron suggested, pointing down the path a fair ways, only for John to shake his head, the remnants of... whatever fluid had previously run down his face, in black ichor like lines that stained his fake flesh. "We'd get surrounded, there's not many areas left for us to go. Can't forget we've got Jar Jar with us. "
The Gungan winced at the not-intentional insult. It was all he could do. There.
Chron sighed with frustration. Having faced dire options before. "Well there's not many other options we have here. Jar Jar can take care of himself. He'd done so prior." The Horologist argued, standing with his hands at his hips as they stopped a moment, John having to stop to turn, and do a similar pose.
"Alright, I grant that. But in open conflict-"
That was, perhaps. Enough.
"Meesa can handle myself." The Gungan spoke up, prompting both strategists, both warriors who'd fought battles far more gruesome than he. Veterans of their craft and skilled in ways.. Jar Jar simply couldn't be. Indeed. Talent was a name that frankly avoided the Gungan. He'd fought long and hard to be good at things. But in some fashion or another. No matter how hard he worked. No matter the issues he caused. He never seemed to get better...
However, there was always one thing even he could do. With the hope, the ever so silent prayer that he could help... here, fulfill the gods wish, and aid his friends where he could.
"mminfact.. My got an idea..." He spoke, his hands clenched as he began to voice his thoughts.
