DGS3 -- Day 1, Phase 4

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The Man in Red

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Day 1, Phase 4
Night Phase: 0000 to 0600​

"Well, well, well! Hello once more, and good evening, to all you survivors down there! It seems like your numbers are finally beginning to thin out a little; what fun! This little competition might just be starting to get interesting, now. So with that in mind, let us take a moment or seven to appreciate and remember the fallen...."

#013 Kevin
#005 Mid-Boss​

"I'm quite sure they will be missed dearly. Makes you wonder who will be next, though, doesn't it?"

"Ah yes, and lest I forget... Someone's finally found one of a set of special little treasures down there. Dragon Balls, I believe? Only six left to go, now. Happy hunting!"

"Mmm....and yes, about those special guests? We've worked up a little something....special for them, that should help you out when it comes to fighting them off, should you run across one." The Man in Red here seemed...equal parts pleased disappointed. "Rest assured, they won't be able to just keep wandering about as they wish soon enough."

"And lastly, make sure you keep alert and advised to the following new dead zones, as they will be going live tomorrow!"

A 7
A 9
B 4
B 9
B 10
H 1
H 2
I 1
I 2
I 6
I 7
J 6
K 3
K 4
K 5
K 8
K 9
K 10


NPC Movement Updates
Mid-Boss quietly decomposes in the rain...
Mister Satan takes pride in his new honor guard. Surely they're here for the Champ's protection, and nothing else, right? RIGHT?!
Blaidd the Half-Wolf slinks off into the woods, licking his wounds and carefully plotting for his next engagement.
Kiryu & Majima discuss with their companions the finer points of trying to prepare sushi from scavenged ingredients on a death island.
Superman soars above the swampy hills of the island, steeling himself for what's to come.


Bulletins and Updates
  • Bosses Update -- No changes from the last time. They are still as angry and threatening as ever for the moment.
  • Weather -- The rain will steadily intensify into a vicious downpour throughout the night, making things even darker and more treacherous than they would otherwise be.
 
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The Man in Red

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THE NAZGUL COMES
#009 Vitallion​

Vitallion stumbled uncertainly along through a wooded mountain pass. His breath was ragged, rattling and wheezing. Every fresh breath in lit his insides on fire, and every breath out sent fresh flecks and speckles of blood misting into the air. It was a miracle he was still alive, he knew, but dogged perseverance and stubborn pride kept him going.

If he could just manage to regain some momentum...find a fight he could win, then maybe...

The legatus never saw the wraith coming. Didn't even hear the rattling, rasping breath over the pouring rain.

He only felt the piercingly cold, white-hot sting of a blade as it suddenly burst through his chest from behind.

The shadowy wraith fell over him, burned and crumbling rags bearing him down to the ground as the blade in his chest twisted and jerked, ripping up and through his body like a sawing arc of lightning. Stars danced in the commander's vision as his world turned red, then black, growing dimmer and dimmer by the second.

The hooded face of the crumbling, broken wraith flowered next to his ear. "Your world...is dead..." it hissed at him, as the blade tore free of his body, carving through the gap between neck and shoulder.

In some final, desperate act of spite and vengeance, Vitallion didn't die immediately. He roared out, bitterly and venemously, as he used his still working arm to force himself up, throwing the wraith off. He staggered around, dropping on his foe to pin it down with his body weight. And with his good arm, he clenched his hand into a fist...and began to rain down blows upon the grim specter.

Punch after punch, each one hitting with bone-jarring force. The cracks and snaps were impossible to tell if they came from his own splintering hand and arm, or from whatever passed for something solid in the shrouded form of his foe.

He struck again....and again...and again.... His eyes went dark, glazing over, and his breathing stopped...but his body kept swinging, blow after blow after blow...

....until he finally stopped, and his fury cooled under the icy rain. As he finally went still, arm cocked back mid-punch, the shadowy figure of the wraith gave one final, rasping breath....before its clawed, gauntleted fingers went slack and its terrible sword tumbled from its grip.

Black vapors and mist roiled and hissed out from what was left of its robes, ash and crumbling matter piling up as its being disintegrated. Leaving only a rasping, rattling whisper on the wind, and a gleaming speck of silver among its sodden ashes.


#009 Vitallion -- DEAD

The Nazgul has been defeated. It has left its prize behind for anyone to claim.
 
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“...and so they started making it with lower sodium,” Coda explained, walking and talking, and gesticulating all at once. “I mean, you can still buy the original, but you can buy the lower sodium version, too, now. And there’s a spicy version as well. All of it tastes like vegetables, but they’ve got a range of options.”

Nanaue’s head bobbed enthusiastically, though whether or not he’d voluntarily consumed a vegetable in his life remained in doubt. Glossing over that fact, Coda gestured at Nanaue.

“See? He gets it.”

Hercule glanced over at the massive shark who, feet slapping against the ground in tune to the beat of the rest of the march, towered above the next tallest member of the procession: Mister Satan himself. Though they’d been together several hours, now, and the tension of their initial meeting had waned in the wake of Coda’s rallying speech, a wary apprehension still lingered on the World Champion’s face.

“So, what is he, like…dumb or something?” Hercule whispered to Zayin, hand covering his mouth conspiratorially.

Zayin looked over at Nanaue then back at Hercule.

“Yes.”

Majima popped up between the two of them, slinging his arms around either of their shoulders and grinning wolfishly.

“What’s all the whispering over here, hm?” he demanded, raising an eyebrow. “Secrets don’t make friends, you know.”

Kiryu appeared on the other side of Hercule, marching dutifully, and chimed in: “That’s right.”

Coda, bringing up the rear with Nanaue, frowned.

“Hey. Are you guys even listening to me?”

“Well, yeah! You’re bouncing an elevator pitch for vegetable juice off of us. Is that about right?” Hercule bounced back, looking over his shoulder at the blonde, who flushed.

“It’s not meant to be an elevator pitch! I’m just talking about something I like! You know, the way people do!” she hastened to catch up to the rest of the group and took flank on the other side of Zayin. “You guys don’t ever drink vegetable juice? Or pay attention to sodium content?”

The Angel of Challenge shook his head.

“...I drink vegetable juice,” Hercule admitted, stroking at his mustache. “I was just poking fun. You’ve gotta admit, you were getting a little…”

“Too into it,” added Majima, nodding sagely and removing his arms from Zayin and Hercule’s shoulders. “Starting to sound like a nerd.”

Nanaue thumped up along Coda’s other side and nodded. “Nerd.”

Her mouth worked its way into a tight downward bow of unhappiness behind her Luchadore mask. She looked from Majima to Nanaue, and let out a ‘hmph’.

Then they walked quietly in a horizontal procession: Nanaue, Coda, Zayin, Majima, Mister Satan, then Kiryu. A line of fighters, nearly all of them armed to the teeth, and as mismatched a batch as ever there was, but united for the time being. As they walked, King Shark’s sword arm pumped in time with his stride, and Coda couldn’t help but eye the weapon again. Since they’d united it had blossomed into a full-size weapon, and she was sure she’d seen the glimmer of dormant energy in the gem on its hilt, now. Earlier she’d thought she’d seen it, but now she knew it. Something was in there, some kind of power, and…was Nanaue the guy to wield it? Wouldn’t be polite to ask him to hand it over, and she had her own dormant power to handle, so maybe it was just as well this way…

But Zayin, on the other hand - wouldn’t a powerful sword do one better in the hand of a powerful swordsman?

Her eyes, veiled once more behind her trademark sunglasses, roved up to Nanaue’s. Beady little black coals with an odd warmth behind them, if nothing else. She couldn’t help but smile a little bit to herself. Yeah, that was his sword. For better or worse.

The wind blew high and cold, prickling up goose flesh on the human skinned members of the crew. Up above a light rain drummed a slow tempoed bossa nova on the canopy of leaves, but few of the droplets found their way past the trees’ embrace. For now, they were safely ensconced in the forest. Below their feet the crunch of a layer of dead leaf patina made stealth difficult, while Nanaue’s unchecked style of movement made it all but impossible. Still, with the manpower and firepower the group boasted, there was an easy comfort in forgoing stealth in favor of their intimidating lineup moving at leisure. It felt natural.

“...do they make a low sodium version of the spicy kind?” Hercule asked, after awhile.

Coda grinned. “As a matter of fact…”

The rain steadied, then worsened, but they kept pace and then sped up towards their destination.
 

The Man in Red

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SUPPLY DROP SKIRMISH
#003 Alex Louis Armstrong & #012 Laurentius Abernathy VS #010 Princess Flak & #006 Trevor O'Skully VS #015 Chaos Agent Rory​

"And here we have it!" Armstron grunted, as he heaved the supply cache out of the muck. It had been a chore to find, in this downpour and with it more than half-buried in mud and gunk.

"Hope this will be worth it," Laura muttered, pushing her glasses up and uneasily hefting the almost comically large bulk of the revolver in her hands.

The state alchemist worked to get the cache open, brows furrowed intently, before it finally clunked open with a pneumatic hiss.

And at the same moment, his soldier's instincts went on high alert and his mighty muscles tensed. He lifted his head a mere fraction of an inch, brows furrowing...and then hurled himself aside, grabbing hold of his ally and tucking into a clumsy combat roll through the mud, shortly before a massive fireball struck where he had just been, sending up massive plume of steam and scattering superheated muck every which way.

"Bwahahaha! You see that, pal?!" came the ecstatic voice of Princess Flak, as she came merrily tromping into view, steam and smoke still billowing from between a maw of fanged teeth. "That was awesome!"

Behind him, Shinku came slowly pacing into view, the hooked staff in one hand and the gleaming form of Emperor resting at his hip, other hand hovering near it. "Yes. I saw," he murmured quietly.

Armstrong rose up to one knee, releasing his grip on his ally. "I feared this might not be as simple as it first appeared," he rumbled. "Let us see who's teamwork shines brighter, then!" And he surged up to his feet, one arm flung out to his side as he shed his officer's coat and bared his rippling, sparkling musculature for all the world to see before thundering forward through the rain.

"Aw, yeah!" Flak bellowed, a charge of energy building up in the buster cannon on her arm as clawed fingers of the other curled around the delicate talisman she had swiped from that purple-haired weirdo. "Go-time!" And she lurched ahead, stampeding eagerly in to meet the alchemist in GLORIOUS MELEE COMBAT!

~ * ~ * ~ * ~​

Shinku and Laura both heaved a simultaneous sigh, before slowly turning to regard each other.

"Is he always like this?"

"Unfortunately. Is she always like this?"

"Unfortunately."

With a shared grimace they, too brought their weapons to bear and the rainy night erupted with gunfire.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~​

.....meanwhile, a certain penguin came carefully, warily sliding through the water and muck. Low to the ground, slipping and paddling along quietly to stay out of sight. "That's it, you crazy d00ds...you all just keep beating each other silly, and make this easy for me..." he muttered. He wasn't gonna get in the middle of that mess anytime soon, especially not without the crunked up power of his already sorely-missed grape juice.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~​

Princess Flak and Armstrong collided with each other, one meaty forearm crashing against the comparatively tiny forearm.

"C'mon, buddy; you and me! Muscle off!" Flak practically cackled. "Let's see your best!"

Armstrong's expression remained firm, even as one eyebrow curled quizzically. "Forgive me, madam; but it is an Armstrong family rule to never engage in such grossly unfair contests!"

Flak's face looked momentarily puzzled, before she slowly looked down at herself. And remember. The shrinking. The smallification. The sudden being a small, hot lady turtle dragon thing. Her expression soured as she looked back up to her foe. "Muscles, schmuscles, then! I'm gonna break your face!"

Armstrong scarcely had time to process the word, let alone form a response, before he was on the receiving end of a skull-rattling headbutt, throwing him back from the clash with blood fountaining from his nose.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~​

The weight of the Good Samaritan was unwieldy and awkward in Lauren's hands as she desperately tried to keep it aimed and on target. But with every shot threatening to break her wrists, it was hard. Especially trying to desperately scramble around to avoid getting gunned down where she stood. Those seeking bullets or whatever they were were a nightmare and a half.

Shinku, for his part, was having...a rough time for entirely different reasons. The rain and mist was making it hard to see and judge where his opponent was, her dark clothing blending in frustratingly well with the almost pitch-black night. To say nothing of the fact that getting in close enough for her to get a clean shot off with that monster hand cannon would probably end him then and there.

Still, though, he did have at least a few tricks up his sleeve if things got truly desperate. He just had to time them right, and he could end this decisively.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~​

"That's right, come to papa Rory!" the penguin quietly murmured to himself as he pulled himself upright near the now-opened cache. Inside of it, he saw...something that disappointed him initially. "The heck is this, mang?" And he reached inside, pulling out...what looked like the key fob to some fancy car or something, complete with an attached keychain figurine of some crazy looking robot or something. "Aw, come on, d00d. Not cool."

With a shuddering in the earth, the hulking form of Armstrong suddenly crashed down next to him, sliding along through the muck to come to a stop just out of arms' reach.

"....oh. 'Sup, d00d?" Rory said nonchalantly.

Armstrong's head jerked over to look at him, eyes wide and face confused. "You again? But when did you..." He trailed off, gaze snapping down to the trinket in the penguin's flipper and to the now-empty cache. "....you devil!"

"Nah, mang, that ain't me! We just play cards every third Sunday!" Rory squawked, and did his best zoidberg as he skedaddled away from imminent danger.

"Come back here, you fowl--!" Armstrong's tirade was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Shinku, quite literally materializing out of the shadows and sweeping the hooked staff in his hands about to take the stromgarm alchemist's legs out from under him, even as he turned and aimed Emperor behind his back, firing off a volley of several shots.

Rory honked desperately as he dove for the waters, sliding away and squeezing his eyes shut. "C'mon, d00d...! C'mooooon....!" Weak, guttering sparks and flecks of purple flickered around him before slowly igniting into a familiar aura. A faint touch of grape flooded his mouth. "....aw, yiss, mang. One last sip."

The bullets of the seeking gun hit the ground around him, pinging and reflecting off of his crunked out aura of awesomeness. Not enough to fully protect him, as the spikes and flashes of white-hot agony that lit up along his hide where the bullets ricocheted off, but enough to prevent him from being gifted with some extra ventilation.

"Not so fast, pal!" came the bellowing voice of Princess Flak, as the angry she-turtle suddenly came crashing down from above. A scathing blast of plasma erupted from the buster cannon on her arm, and engulfed the sliding penguin wholesale, blasting him away and on a smoking trajectory through the air.

Coughing and sputtering as he went, Rory clasped the sweet loot he had scored tight to his chest. "C'mon, d00d...reveal to me your secrets...what do you do?!?" and he hammered at the buttons on the key fob wildly, seeking something to aid him.

....and then he found it. A sudden sound of an almost comical car horn honking, as the eyes of the ridiculous little figurine lit up bright gold. A tinny, grainy voice came from a tiny speaker, "IRON PIRATE!" And then the absurd little figurine detached, tumbling and spinning to the ground....and rapidly expanding, growing and growing and growing, until it towered above every other competitor and loomed even above the trees as it hit the ground with an earth-shaking tremor.

Raising one arm, it caught the penguin with one giant mitt, bringing its other arm out in front of it with fingers splayed wide. A sword erupted out over one shoulder, as its eyes once again blazed with light. "FRAAAAAANKY SHOGUN!" An explosion of multicolored fireworks went off behind it, sending smoke to the winds, as Rory scampered and skedaddled to relative safety within the atrocious automaton's cockpit.

The ensuing cacophany of loudspeaker-amplified penguin honking and maniacal cackling, as the giant armored behemoth went on a bullet and missile-spewing rampage, was enough to send the other competitors fleeing for their lives.


Armstrong used one application of Focus
Princess Flak used one application of Focus
Trevor O'Skully used one application of Focus
Chaos Agent Rory was a cornered penguin, used one (free) application of Focus, and re-ignited the last scraps of his purple drink for one final hurrah

Armstrong suffered a nasty bloody nose (Story Injury) and a head-rattling that will probably leave him seeing stars for a while
Rory suffered several glancing and grazing bullet wounds (Minor Injury), and a nice plasma bath (Minor Injury), both thankfully blunted by the last sippy of his purple drank powers

Rory wins the Franky Shogun
 
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The Man in Red

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FACE-OFF
#004 Michael Myers VS #014 Superman​

The masked killer stood stock still in the swampland among the hills. Only his head moved, slowly following one of the cameras disguised as a bird as it darted among the trees. It was the only sign he was even still mentally present.

Then he cocked his head to one side, as if suddenly listening for something...then bringing the shield on his arm up to bear just in time to block a sudden impact. The blue and white ball hit the shield with a resounding impact, producing a WHOOSH-ing shockwave that sent the nearby trees swaying and bowing in the wind.

Then the owner of the thrown ball came whooshing onto the scene only a scant few moments behind it. And the impact of his fist into the same shield sent it crashing into Myers' head, and sent the killer staggering and stumbling aside from the sheer force behind it.

"You..." the man of steel spoke flatly. "Michael Myers... I read your files before this 'game' started." His hands clenched into fists as he slowly descended down to the ground and retrieved the blitzball. "I was concerned that everyone I ran into here would be too hard to bring myself to fight. Too close to innocent. Too much for me to actually go all out." His hand tightened around the ball, making it squeal alarmingly and look ready to burst.

"....but I don't need to worry about that with you."

And then he was off, his sudden momentum explosive as he closed the distance between himself and Myers like a rocket. A series of lightning-fast blows, each one producing a devastating, meaty WHUMPH of impact as they crashed into the masked killer's face and body, steadily pushing and forcing him back. Superman's face was locked into a grim, stoic scowl the entire time.

Then Myers retaliated. Just the faintest twitch, the barest move of his head, tilting it to one side, and one of the blurred punches missed its mark. He seized the chance, grabbing his foe by the forearm, and driving the rim of the shield on his other arm into his foe's gut. For the second time in a day, the man of steel was staggered and winded, a sharp grunt gasping out of him.

Then Myers squeezed down with the hand grasping the hero's arm, and twisted at the waist. Swinging the man of steel around like a sack of potatoes, he took a single lurching step and smashed him into -- and through a nearby tree, earning an explosion of splinters and soggy chunks of wood, before he completed his turn and flung the kryptonian across the swamp, skipping him across the muck like a rock across water.

Superman tumbled to a stop, one hand digging into the mud to catch himself. Heaving deep breaths, and wiping at the blood on his chin with the back of one arm, he slowly lifted his face. There was cold fury in his eyes, his expression twisting into something...horrible and ugly, as his eyes lit up red. "Guess I really will have to go all out, then..."

A searing beam of red light lanced out from his eyes, tearing a burning arc across the ground in front of him...and carved a smoking, charring line across the body of the masked killer, tracing from his right leg all the way up to his left shoulder. Not a sound was made, even as flames visibly licked and sputtered along the burning edges of his jumpsuit, charred flesh oozing and sizzling beneath like meat on a grill. The killer just slowly looked down at the gruesome wound, head tilted to one side, then back up at Superman...only to see the swirling blue and white of the blitzball filling his vision.

An echoing THA-WHUMP reverberated through the valleys and dips among the hills as the ball hit Myers' masked face, the shockwave of impact rippling out through the terrain and staggering the serial killer, bowing his head and torso back.

Superman was right behind it, low to the ground, and with one clenched fist cocked back. He swung upward as he drew in close, only to have Myers react with uncharacteristic swiftness again, bringing the gleaming shield in his grasp to bear to intercept the punch.

The shockwave of impact was even more monstrous, and for a moment the rain in the immediate area was blown back and quieted altogether....before Myers was launched from the ground, flying off at a high angle into the distance, as Superman dropped to a knee, his hand trembling and shaking as blood dripped from cracked, bloodied knuckles.


Michael Myers used the Fire Emblem
Superman used one application of Focus

Superman was used to do a bit of gardening, and suffered for it (Minor Injury), and had his left hand shattered from punching too hard (Minor Injury)
Myers got laser'd something awful across his everything (Major Injury), and will probably smell like a backyard barbecue for a while. He also kind of got launched into fucking orbit (not really) and had his shield arm royally fucked from absorbing the blow (Major Injury)
 
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John Connor

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(Dramatic end. Dun Dun DUN!)

Both warriors lay dead in a final fight to the finish. Near the dead body of the Nazdil, lay something interesting and whoever was near could finally claim the prize.

A frigid wind and rain peppered the dead bodies as blood ran from both the Nazdil and Vatallion’s body.

Anybody could pick up the Blaster rifle from the dead body.

For a moment, he swore he could feel his god touch him from beyond the grave and he mourned the loss.
 

Lilith

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“Vvhhhuhuhh… Fffahh…”

The cruel courtesan perched atop a lanky pine tree, shuddering in bliss as she fondled her fresh wounds. She treasured the pain she received, sparks of perverse pleasure surging across her chest.

“I thought I was lacking something. Seems I've made a new rival!~” she proclaimed to the expanse of drenched wilderness.

“That was just a bit of foreplay, my little cherub~ We'll meet again soon.” Lilith's tongue lolled out, tasting her own lips.

“That angel was an amateur with this. Much better in my hands.” As if to illustrate her point, she hefted the mighty steel shaft of the rocket propelled hammer. Marveling at her new toy, she spun it around and performed a few practice swings, side to side, then a full sweep.

At the base of the tree, an unsuspecting auburn-furred fox curled up to its tail, waiting out the virulent rain pelting the land.

With an explosive KKSHHOOOOOM!, the fallen woman plunged from the elevated branches, and like a bright blue comet descending from the cosmos, she walloped the defenseless animal as effortlessly as pricking a balloon, feral viscera splashing every which way. Carmine liquid seeped into her leather straps.

“Not as satisfying as I thought it'd be.” Too easy. If she didn't have to scrape and claw for her kills, what was the point? But this spectacle wasn't completely useless. She'd scavenge the lump of pancaked blood and organs, dumping her water bottles and beginning the tedious process of cramming it in.

From up ahead, a synthesized voice called out. “Greetings, I am pleased to see you safe. Would you like some assistance?”

“Oh it's you.” Lilith jammed a flesh-coated finger into a plastic container. “Yeah sure, why not.”

And thus the pair cooperated on the seemingly inane macabre task.

Its metal palms now coated with a fresh sheen of guts, The Chorus inquired, “What is the significance of storing these remains?”

“I'll need it when the collar turns off.” Rather than explain, she tossed one of the empty bottles into the air, flicking her wrist as the clawshot launched out to split the plastic in half.

“Based on prior data, we can infer your stratagem.”

“Cool. Anyways, these claw things- I just call it the Whiplash- won't do a whole lot for me then.” They only marginally compensated for her diminished dexterity after all. “You can have it. Suits ya better anyhow.”

“A rational choice. We are grateful.”

“Uh-huh. Let's hurry up then. Can't keep an angel waiting now~”
 

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Pouring from a bruised and midnight sky, sheets of rain pounded a relentless tattoo against the unyielding cylindrical hull of the Iron General. Lightning flashed, illuminating the grim determination of its square-jawed profile, glaring off the massive conical drill-bit that served it as a pompadour. Its eyes shone forth like searchlights, two piercing pools of golden radiance keeping unblinking vigil over the night. The mighty machine waded, unhurried, its titanic form merely waist-deep through the roiling black center of a storm-swollen pond. The behemoths massive, brightly-colored forearms churned the waves with every step, raising roaring clouds of freshwater spray in its wake.

Nature unleashed its fury, and the Iron General, Franky Shogun, did not care.

“FUCK YEAH, D00d! WOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Nestled, safe and warm inside the padded cockpit, with two empty MREs (fish sticks, which at least showed someone at the Carnivale had made an effort) and three empty water-bottle scattered around his webbed feet, Rory was on top of the world.

He had been beaten, blasted, and burned. Shot up, cut up, and even called a couple names. Most of his coat was gone, only small patches of singed plumage remaining on his sides, hips and face – but the plasma-burns had cauterized the bullet wounds, as well as the weeping, still-burning gash across his back. The bizarre little folds on his flippers, the cilia and the apertures for the tentacles which gave him the powers of manual dexterity usually reserved for creatures with fingers, were exposed in all their fleshy and disturbing glory. One eye was still swollen nearly shut, and his beak had a crack in it. Everything stung – but that was all relative, mang. If everything hurts for long enough, then the hurt kind of stops mattering!

Rory was also riding the mother of all endorphin rushes. Functionally, he was high as a kite, and, now that he’d eaten something, getting higher with every passing moment. There was a crash coming – but that was okay! This thing even had cruise-control!

The Iron General was amazing: Wearing the pair of quite stylishly snazzy golden shades which the penguin had found waiting for him on the slightly-overstuffed and frankly too large for a bird pilot-seat, Rory could interface remotely with the machine’s systems.

It was all at his flipper-tips: Hull-Integrity, Armor, Cockpit dynamics – and Weapon Systems.

Rory threw his head back, sticking his damaged bill straight up in the air, and cackled aloud, a barking honk that trailed off into a cough. He slumped for a moment, but the sheer joy and the brain full of endorphins buoyed him right back up.

A hyper-alloy katana, wrist-mounted gatling launchers, bottomless missile-batteries – the list just went on. Yeah, it was a little clumsy, not exactly the most ergonomic robot in the universe – but Rory liked that. It had his body-proportions, mang! Well, maybe not the enormous forearms or the super-broad shoulders, but the cylindrical torso and the spindly legs was one-hundred percent what Rory was used to working with. When he plugged his flippers into the padded walls and took direct control of the robot’s movements, it just felt right.

Nobody had let him near technology like this in at least fifteen years.

Although Rory would disagree if asked, there was a very good reason for that.

“WHO’S GOT MUSCLES NOW, BUFF-D00D?! WHO’S GOT MUSCLES NOOOOOOWWWWWWW!? IT’S ME, D00D! RORY’S GOT THE MUSCLES! AND I’M COMING TO BLOW UP YOUR HOOOOUUUUuuuusssse!”

As the Iron General strode unstoppably forth, dark water cascading around its noble and brightly painted metallic form, a mendacious penguin’s cries of triumph and power-mad glee were carried with it, lost amidst the storm and the night.
 

The Man in Red

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SUPPLY DROP SHOWDOWN
#001 Coda Nitai & #002 Zayin & #007 King Shark & #008 Mister Satan & #011 Kiryu and Majima VS #020 The Chorus & #021 Lilith​

"And it should be riiiiight...." Lilith murmured as she swept the branches of a tree aside. "....there." And her eyes lit up as they fell upon the sight of the supply cache. She gleefully approached, kneeling down to wrench it open, while the Chorus slowly paced up beside her, keeping a weather eye on their surroundings.

"We have company," the robot announced after only moments.

"Yeah, yeah, gimme a second, almost got this..." Lilith grunted.

"I do not think we have a second."

With a sound like rattling maracas, the form of Coda suddenly appeared right next to the cursed woman, her reptilian-slitted eyes glowing a bright menacing red. "Olé." she said flatly, and then with a sudden momentous sound of flamenco music, she threw a vicious, burning uppercut, trailing the fiery afterimage of an angry rooster, that quite literally rocked Lilith's world and sent her flipping head over heels away from the cache.

The Chorus quickly leaped back out of the way, as Zayin came dashing into the fray. Arms held out to either side, a burst of angelic light flowed down to his hands before bursting into the form of his swords. A forward leap, and he spun into a deft double-strike at the robot, both blades glancing off the gauntlets of the clawshots as they were brought into a hasty block.

"You are the one that Lilith stole her current weapon from," the robot buzzed. "And you do not seem the type to steal from another as she did. How did you acquire another weapon?"

"I prayed really hard, all day today," the angel of challenge growled, stepping forward to deliver a quick one-two slash-thrust.

The combination was interrupted by lashing tendril of blood and acid, smacking the blades off-course. "Not so fast there, choir boy. Forget about me?" And the leering, grinning face of Lilith suddenly re-entered the fray, dripping viscous sludge in her wake as she raised the jet hammer, flames belching out of its backside.

A bellowing roar answered the cursed woman, as the hulking shape of Nanaue came crashing out of the trees and charged directly into her, hitting with a football tackle like a runaway sword and lurching after it into a two-handed upward chop with the gleaming sword in his hands.

Mister Satan, knelt in a crouch near the treeline on the opposite side, grinned as he raised his own weapon. "Alright, and now it's time for the champ to shine!" And he took aim through the sight, before pressing the trigger and letting fly with a rocket that consumed the cursed woman in an explosive blast. "Gyahahaha!"

The Chorus was rapidly on the backpedal, the clawshots being used as much to deflect and barely divert blows as they were to launch and propel itself around the arena to avoid more. "This situation does not seem to be going in our favor," it announced after one such bare avoidance.

"It's about to get worse." A stern voice spoke up from behind the robot, as the looming form of Kiryu Kazama asserted itself.

"Contestant number eleven. Where is your partner? And your weapon?"

"....he's everywhere." And with a snarling stomp, a bright yellow aura blazed up around Kiryu's body. "And I don't need a weapon."

A staccato beeping of alarm emitted from the Chours, as the machine hastily scrambled back out of reach of a lunging grab from the enraged Yakuza.

"Are you sure about that?" a voice practically purred, as a sudden dampness closed around the brawler's midsection, which swiftly proceeded to grow burningly hot, and start audibly sizzling.

"N-Nani?!" He grit his teeth, struggling against the vice-tight grip, as he craned his neck to look behind him, seeing the nightmarish form of Lilith, barely humanoid and dripping acidic sludge everywhere, including the long tendril that was wrapped around Kiryu.

Behind her, Zayin and Coda both rained out a series of lightning-quick pummeling blows into her, which only seemed to make her already crazed grin grow wider and more pronounced, the look in her eyes growing more and more unhinged.

"....oi. Swamp Bitch." Majima's tone was practically dripping with venom as he suddenly appeared on the scene, using the sky scorcher as a makeshift pole vault to leap up and over Kiryu. "Hands off! Kiryu-chan is MINE!" And the haft of the weapon lit up with sparks and flame, as Majima's remaining eye practically vibrated in its socket. An inhuman, yowling noise, more at home from something like a wild dog or even a hyena, left his throat as he came crashing down with an earth-shaking blow, the legendary halberd slicing clean through the acidic whip entrapping Kiryu.

Snarling wordlessly, Lilith surged forward rather than falling back, the jet hammer in her hands blazing to life as she took it in both hands and swung for the fences.

"Majima-san!"
"Kiryu-chan!"

Both Yakuza nodded in unison, and time seemed to move in slow motion. Kiryu slid into place, his muscles tensing like steel as his expression hardened to a stone-cold mask of focus, the aura around him blazing more intensely like a raging inferno.

The jet hammer struck him square in the chest, producing an immesne shockwave that blew out through his back. Blood spurted from his lips and down his chin, but his stance never broke.

ESSENCE OF TAG-TEAM

Another high-pitched, canine yowling noise came up as Majima flipped and vaulted over Kiryu's back, landing a whirling kick that wrapped his legs around Lilith's head and twisted. Hoisting himself up and around to land a seat on her shoulders, he grinned madly and spun the halberd around, swinging it down for all he was worth to jam the bladed end into the cursed woman's mid-section. It hit with a wet, sucking SPLAT of impact, only earning a faint grunt from the nightmarish woman.

Kiryu lurched into action, throwing his entire body weight into a flying dropkick, both feet connecting with the haft of the halberd and driving it in deeper, a shockwave of gold and pink flame ripping through her body to burst out the back, and sending her staggering back to drop in a heap on the ground, as Majima deftly flipped off her in an agile dismount.

Both Yakuza, one wiping blood from his chin and the other acid from his pants, paused to shar a fist-bump.

Coda dashed by in a blur behind them, closing in on the Chorus with mania in her eyes. Baring her teeth in a silent snarl, she crashed into the mechanical entity with a lunging punch, explosive blue energy blazing around her fist, as distantly an unseen crowed cheered and rose petals danced in the rainy air.

As the robot struggled to regain its footing, one of Nanaue's massive feet came flopping down on its chest. "Bad machine," he growled shortly, raising the Sword of Omens in one hand. "Shut down now!"

"I refuse." With a burst of strength, the Chorus threw the giant shark-man's leg off, and shot out one of the clawshots into a nearby tree, yanking itself to momentary safety.

Among all the chaos, Mister Satan slowly crept and tiptoed along toward the prize they were all here for: the supply cache. "C'mon, c'mon...just a little further, don't get noticed...!" he whispered to himself.

"Don't get noticed by who, broom-head?" Lilith growled practically in his ear.

The world champ went white as a sheet and his eyes threatened to leave the zip code, let alone his skull, as he jumped away from her, frigid sweat breaking out on his already drenched face. "I-I-I-I uh, y-ya see, it's uh...." he stammered, words failing him momentarily.

"Uh-huh. Sure. I see." Lilith said flatly, and then lashed out with a scything tendril of blood, catching the martial artist mid-ramble across the face, sending him flipping and spinning sideways to land in a muddied heap on the ground, face a blank and bloodied mess, with his eyes glazed over and empty. A white puff of steam exited his mouth as his soul threatened to head for the hills.

"Mister Satan!" Zayin shouted, as he leaped over his fallen comrade, brandishing his swords at the cursed woman. "You witch!" he snarled.

"Ooooh, well, look who it is again!" Lilith cackled, turning her full attention to the angel. "Here to take some revenge for last time?"

Zayin seethed, tightening his grip on his twin swords.

"Here to dole out some divine punishment, huh?"

Zayin's eyes narrowed, and he grit his teeth.

"Come on, then!" And Lilith raised the jet hammer overhead. "Do it!"

"....you know what?" Zayin lifted his head to meet the cursed woman's gaze. "Fine, then. Be afraid, heathen." And he lunged forward, launching into a dizzying flurry of swordplay before the bulkier weapon could be brought to bear. Hacking and slashing and thrusting, sending showers of goo and gore splattering every which way.

The noises Lilith made weren't entirely of pain. And somehow, that disturbed Zayin more than most things so far.

The Chorus latched onto the casing of the supply cache with one of the clawshots, hauling itself over to it. Skidding to a stop, it reached down into the casing, extracting its contents. "What is this? This does not look at all like a weapon." The gleaming, sparkling orb of reflective glass hung awkwardly in the air as the robot tried to make sense of it.

Coda blurred into sight again before the robot, crouched and posed to strike once more. Somewhere in her mind, a raging inferno lit up, and it was like a dam broke all at once. A voice, as if from some unseen soccer announcer, shouted with immense gusto, "INTENSO!"

And Coda's body erupted in a golden glow, as she swept the Chorus's legs out from under the robot. Grabbing the off-kiler robot by one leg, she spu about and hurled it skyward, then leaped into the air after it. Grabbing hold of the flailing machine before it could save itself with the clawshots, she spun around once...twice...three times, then flung the Chorus ground-ward again. With a wordless shout, Coda flipped herself around and came crashing down herself with a devastating body slam that packed power far beyond her diminutive size, splintering andcracking the ground with a flash of green light.

The Chrous emitted a series of electronic beeping and hissing sounds, as several electrical pops emitted from various points along its frame, and the prize of the hour went flying from its hands.

"Got it! Got it!" Nanaue bellowed, slowly stumbling backward with his free hand held up over his head. And he did, indeed, got it, catching the gleaming ball in one of his giant hands. "Go time, now!" he roared and turned to thump his way away into the woods.

Kiryu stopped to hoist Mister Satan onto his shoulders, sparing a glance at Zayin. "Oi! Angel! Time to go!" he shouted, before turning to make tracks of his own.

Zayin grunted, looking reluctant to fall back, even as he was already panting heavily and splattered nearly head to toe with sizzling acid and blood. "No...not yet!"

"Zayin!" Coda pleaded, coming to a halt just behind. "Come on!" And she grabbed him by his hair, quite literally dragging him off as she raced away from the scene.

"Later, suckers!" Majima taunted, blowing a rasberry as he struck an arcing blow through the ground, kicking up a screen of mud and rainwater to mask his own quick departure.


The Thundersharks win the Disco Ball

Lilith used one application of Focus, and one (free) application of Focus from being cornered
The Chorus used two applications of Focus
Coda has used one application of Focus
Zayin has used one application of Focus
Mister Satan has used one application of Focus
Kiryu & Majima have used one application of Focus

Lilith takes an immense battering and beating, but absorbs most of it with her...frankly, nightmarish biology (Major Injury overall for tracking purposes)
The Chorus takes several powerful impacts (Minor Injury overall), and suffers several internal shorts and electrical damage from being Frog Slam'd hard enough to shake the earth (Minor Injury)
Zayin suffers a multitude of acid burns and general physical battering trauma across most of his entire front side (Major Injury for tracking purposes)
Mister Satan has half of his face burned and melted off, and suffers awful cracking and fracturing of his skull (Insane Injury), and perhaps worst of all, his magnificent afro is scorched and singed beyond recognition (Story Injury)
Kiryu takes a jet hammer directly to the chest, fracturing and cracking several ribs (Major Injury)
Majima suffers from severe acid burns to his legs and family jewels (Major Injury)

Weapon reveals I forgot about:
Majima has the Sky Scorcher
Coda has the Spirit of Lucha
Mister Satan has the Rocket Launcher
King Shark has the Sword of Omens
 
Last edited:

Arthur Morgan

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Spirits of Vengeance
The edges of nightfall descended like a curtain upon the island, rendering the entire world in black shadow. Freezing sheets of rain poured down all around them, drumming against their skin like icy needles as they ran off blindly with their spoils— the disco ball's mirrored surface glimmering brightly within Nanaue's grasp, silvery and scintillant even under cover of night.

While Coda and Nanaue emerged largely unscathed from the battle, it was a different story for the others. Majima and Kiryu sported fresh wounds all over, yet still managed to limp along at a dogged, determined pace across the rocky terrain, clearly having weathered worse before. Poor Mr. Satan, though— he seemed to have been dealt the worst of it, having taken quite a beating during their fight. Looking over her shoulder, Coda could see that he was nearly insensate due to the severity of his injuries; having to be half-carried, half-dragged by Zayin, who struggled beneath his weight as they trudged uphill.

Ahead of them lay an open meadow at the foot of the mountain, flanked on either side by dense clusters of trees. It was towards this small patch of forest that they fled, seeking cover under the canopy of leaves.

Coda stopped abruptly just before the treeline, throwing a wild glance at her allies behind her, then beyond— quickly scanning the rain-shuttered plateau to ensure they weren't being followed. When it became clear that their foes had elected not to give chase, her eyes blazed like twin hot coals in the darkness, burning with a mixture of fury and triumph.

Seconds later, she passed under the welcoming darkness of the trees, following in the wake of her wounded allies.

“Alright!" Coda quipped, voice low but commanding, gaze darting around as she took stock of the situation. "Zayin, please prop Mister Satan up against that tree there. Yes, that's it, perfect. Now, stand aside. I'll need to... examine him."

Kneeling before Hercule, Coda's eyes widened as she took in the grotesque wounds that had been inflicted upon him. Acid burns and fractures ravaged the right side of his face, the yellowish-white bone of his skull peeking through the mess of shriveled, burnt skin and melted flesh. What's more, the man appeared to be barely conscious, his head lolling uselessly to one side, chest rising and falling with shaky, shallow breaths.

His eyelids fluttered faintly, a groan of abject misery leaving his lips. He mumbled something then, the words coming out terribly slurred from between his half-ruined lips. Coda couldn't quite make out what he was saying, but it sounded suspiciously like "I'll give you... hhhnrk, one more chance... to back off..."

Gosh, was he actually continuing the fight inside that no doubt horrendously concussed head of his? Coda could scarcely believe it, though considering his contestant profile, it seemed... awfully typical of him.

The blonde-haired woman sat back on her haunches, her fingers pressed against her lips in contemplation, seemingly uncaring of the trace remnants of blood and acid staining them. There was no denying the severity of Mister Satan's wounds. It was clear, at least to her, that he would not, could not survive another battle like the one they had just endured. But oh, what to do, what to do…!

She surveyed the scene, taking account of her companions and mentally tallying up their injuries in her head. Her eyes swiveled towards Kiryu, and even in the murky, rainy twilight she could make out his disheveled figure, one arm cradling his ribs while the other was braced against the trunk of a nearby tree. The man was clearly battle-worn, but his face...

Kazuma Kiryu's face was smooth and unyielding as granite, barely hinting at the agony wracking his body. Only the faintest lines of strain around his eyes told the true tale of just how much their last battle had affected him.

At his side stood Majima, who had— quite miraculously —acquired a pair of new trousers that were neither battered nor melted by that dreadful woman's acid. He stood with a distinctly bow-legged stance, clearly mindful of his freshly tenderized nuts.

As she glanced at Zayin, though, she gave a startled jolt as her gaze locked with his. His golden eyes brimmed with shining sorrow as he stared down at Mister Satan's crumpled figure, features racked with an unspeakable, profound regret. The kind of regret that no gentle words of forgiveness could ever hope to wash away, his cross to bear for all eternity.

“Friend hurt?” Nanaue inquired, looming quite suddenly at her side. Coda hadn’t noticed the shark man hovering at her shoulder— couldn’t even begin to fathom how he'd moved so quickly and so silently, enough to get the drop on even her. Perhaps she was losing her touch.

“Yes, Nanaue,” Coda said uneasily, keeping a watchful eye on his imposing figure. His nostrils flared, round black eyes staring directly into hers as she spoke, keeping her tone carefully even. “Friend hurt.”

Coda heard a long, drawn-out hiss behind her, and despite every instinct inside screaming at her to avoid turning her back on Nanaue, her gaze snapped back to her patient.

Mister Satan's eyes were screwed tightly shut, breathing labored and intense— the sort of breathing that someone does when they are trying to ignore the pain wreaking havoc throughout their body, grappling with it, instead of simply feeling it.

"There, there, Mister Satan," said Coda, softening her voice to nearly a whisper. "It's alright. We've managed to get away, for now. Everything... everything will be alright."

Mister Satan, looking like a cat who ate a stinkbug, grimaced in agony at her words. His eyes cracked open to slivers, teeth clenched as he fought to keep any embarrassing reputation-damaging sounds from escaping.

"Doesn't feel like it," he managed to grit out. The man had to pause and pant for breath between words, voice ragged from pain. "B-but it'll take... more than that... to keep down the champ...!"

"That's the spirit," Coda soothed him, tone perfectly cool and measured, though not unkind. Her eyes slid to Nanaue, gauging his mood, before she moved to retrieve a bottle of water from her duffel. "Hold still, now. I'm going to clear your wounds of the acid... it may sting a bit."

Ripping off a bit of material from her cotton dress shirt, she soaked the patch of cloth with the bottle of water. Then, with cautious and delicate motions, she began to mop at Mister Satan's wounds, painstakingly extracting the disgusting acid from where it had eaten away at his features and much of his scalp. It was grisly, rotten work, but... someone had to do it.

As she dabbed around the worst of it, Mister Satan gave minute flinches, his mustachioed visage a mask of both agony and humiliation. He appeared almost to be ashamed of her assistance, averting his gaze and turning his face away, like he couldn't stand to be accepting her help. Like he was afraid to be perceived as weak, embarrassed even.

"I know, I know it hurts," Coda murmured, quiet enough to go unheard by their other companions. "But please, sir, don't fight it. There is absolutely no shame in feeling pain, or even a little bit sorry for yourself— especially right now, after what that ugly creature did to you. It's part of what makes us human. Just keep your chin up and let the pain flow; eventually it will become more manageable."

Advancing cautiously, Zayin crouched at her side, gingerly stretching forth his hand to clasp Mister Satan's arm. Despite the wounds marring his body, a strange luminescence seemed to emanate from his skin as he fixed his fallen ally with his clear, bright gaze.

"I am with you every step of the way until you are standing strong again, my friend," said the Angel of Challenge. "You can count on that."
 

Shinku

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"This cursed rain!," Trevor murmured under his breath, before shaking his head and moving forward. Could it actually be the rain, or was he making an excuse for his failure to win the battle that they just fought? Or perhaps the trampling of his pride for being snatched off an item they worked hard to obtain?

The heavy rain continued to pour incessantly, drowning the assassin of shadows in his melancholic defeat. Gusts of wind blew against his face, carrying with them the stench of corruption and decay. He lumbered behind his companion, his thoughts flooding with regrets of what could have been.

"There's a penguin in a robot now! That's awesome!," suddenly came Flak's ecstatic voice, in contrast with his or her companion's dull mood.

Trevor lifted his head, dumbfounded at the general's speech. Aside from the fact that he was still getting used to the latter's new voice, he couldn't piece out what was there to celebrate with the fact that they had a good item taken from them.

"Err...shouldn't we be worried about that giant thing?," Trevor eyed his companion, raising an eyebrow at princess Flak's untimely enthusiasm.

"No need to worry pal! We got each other's back!," Flak cheered, giving a heavy tap on Trevor's back. "Robot or not, we just smash them all cause we're the Flavor Army!," he continued, lifting his fist in the air.

Trevor shook his head, though inside he couldn't help but admit that they'd been doing well so far. Moreover, the way Flak handled his battles wasn't something he could look down to. "Of course," he sighed, before letting off a wry smile and marching forward with his companion. He took comfort in the never-missing gun on his waist, matched with the hooked cane that held him thus far in the game. They still ought to win, and a single mistake wouldn't be the end for them now, would it?
 

Eddie the Head

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This post has a theme song:

With Eddie’s pre-fragmented madness cracked all the way open, Five felt as though he were looking into a Pandora’s box of the human psyche. The zombie fiend had succumbed to darkness. His eyes pale hues of chaos. Sharp slits parting the dismal night.

Shadows. Hunt. Play. Thrash. Hunger... Feed. The monster began to think in savage animalistic desires. Beyond that of words, ol' Ed had fallen into the category of despised village beast.

Each knew what would be done for survival. The two foes pitted against one another. The constant patter of rain left the air awash with waves. Petrichor thick in the air. Heavy was the scythe held too close to their necks. The deadly thrill thrummed on amid the mounting tension.

The creature’s mouth gaped revealing rotted teeth. Saliva slithered down his chin and mingled with the cool pungence of trickling rain.

Despite the chilly cascade, unimaginable stillness wrinkled against the forest. No animals scuttled past. No calm breeze floated by. It was just him and the monster. All he had was a blade to keep it at arm’s reach.

The hunted- or Five-’s small frame was beginning to shiver uncontrollably. Steaming breath seethed in little gasps from his lips. He’d attempted to use the static of his blade for some shred of luminescence but was immediately zapped by the idea. His eyes were batting rapidly against the waterfall that his eyebrows had no power against. Amidst this flood and darkness, the boy was blind and his predator still remained invisible. Slinking in the shadows while he felt his spunky heart slowly crawling closer to despair.

“I can keep th-th-this up all night!” the boy exclaimed to the hollow abyss that absorbed his words within the silencing applause of rain.

Another inhale, his shuddering rattled more than a skeleton’s empty bones. Five exhaled a defeated groan unified by utter misery. His tweed uniform was soaked through and instead of warmth fabric it felt like soggy parchment clinging to his skin like paper mache. This. Fuckin’. Sucks.

Amid the heightened choral drums slapping against the ground in watery flops, Five’s shaking meant he couldn’t see straight. In fact, he was worried he was starting to hallucinate. Were those branches or claws in the night? But he couldn’t hunker down, he had to watch his back. He’d charged his wings for a swift escape just in case an attack would take hold but this only meant more waiting.

Just there!
His mind exclaimed while his heart skipped a beat. Thick black poured on into the pitchless night. However surely, he’d seek the wicked creature’s taunting smile through a zap of lightning in the night. Illuminating like a popped flash of snapping a photo. The unrelenting banging of thunder followed as the picture developed in his mind.

Fragments of bark, soaked leaves gleaming in the silver stream of a living, fluid picture. Dashes of movement from the incessant droplets lashing all over his distorted line of sight. His arms swept his body full circle around in a disoriented lurch. He exhaled and lamented, wishing this dread that had weaved a pit in his stomach would soon be over.

Another luminescent spark sprouted from the looming clouds in a violent cutting slice.

There! His eyes processed some movement which he quickly rationalized. Surely he had seen a hunched form lurking behind the textured bark of a tree. Swiftly, the boy lunged forth, sword poking tactless through the air. One steady swing was all it would take. He just had to be lucky enough to land one first.

He only felt where his sword sloppily plunged through empty air. A pressure eventually landed on a solid material that had stuck his blow. It was not flesh, but rather felt like his blade had collided with a tangled vine.

Vegetation, that immediately looked like a hand reaching out to seize him mere inches from his face. Five lumbered back in shock, tripping and falling into the mushy soil ass first. Yet no grasp seized his neck. The boy's own fingertips squished against sticky mud his hilt still glued to his palm. The blade, raised as a beacon of triumph, albeit lonely in the air. His target, nowhere to be found. All those monstrous shapes… Were ones his mind had formed.

Five exhaled, feeling a bit of relief as he pressed into the muddy ground and the teeniest lick of peace disintegrated leaving his core feeling cold.

“No, I don’t think you can...” A voice ominously called back, hissing around the press of airborne water. “What’ssss the matter? Gonna catch a cold?” Eddie couldn’t have that. It would taint his meal.

Tch. You’ve been biding y-your time. F-fight me already.” Five seethed as his wavering voice betrayed him. Within, he held strength. Resolve. All infinitesimal. He was hardly doing a good job showing it. "You're nothing more than a discount Freddie Kruger." Who was already a lame horror movie villain.

The intellectual refused to look at the unspoken thought, yet it remained. Fear was irrational, but the thought that wasn’t was the unhopeful consideration of Would I be ready?

The slow plops began to sound more and more like goopy blood surrounding him. The distant, imaginary horror tempted him but not enough to make the hitman leap out of his skin.

“Come on Ed, don’t make me do this to ya-” Five pleaded.

Ah, but it is I who holds all the cards…” Eddie chided back almost playfully with a voice that prowled amid the shadows. “I’m hungry Five, you wouldn’t deny an old man a meal, would you?”

“Uh, I’m sure on some level I relate to this with my lifelong coffee addiction but lemme tell ya, this coping mechanism of your inner evil is very anti-zen.” Five offered a disapproving tsk.

Yet again, the boy’s ears filled with empty air. The void around him was a swirling blackhole, all life seemed to suck around him only to suddenly be gone when he breached the edge. The chills began to spill in his blood, veins seized with shock while his body threatened to crumple like a paper ball then and there.

Five was a seasoned young master with the willpower of a million moments passed. He would endure another. And another… And another… He grit his teeth while the shadows played tricks on his mind. Each rumble from the sky quaked against the ground and trained his instincts toward the wrong direction. Swaying trees above swarmed his mind with flocks of leaves. Ceaseless motion was his enemy.

The boy closed his eyes since it couldn’t possibly get any darker. Still, behind his eyelids he felt the monster’s gaze upon him. The untold threat playing while time stretched by his body’s cortisol measures. Pain flared in his fingertips, which refused to lose the sword but the hardened grasp was making any other movement too stiff.

Agony... Dread… Five’s muscles were begging for relief. He demanded in a caterwaul. “JUST COME OUT HERE! I’M SICK OF THIS!”

Yes… I will. In time. For now, Eddie just needed the boy to grow distraught enough to make a risky mistake. Something so simple as fumbling his sword. Enjoy the quiet, while I lay waiting. It is yet the witching hour.


"Mwawhaahahaaha."
 

Dr. McNinja

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Peter had been marching west for some time now. The rain pattered off of his armor, like little taps on the outside of a car. Rainy and dark - perfect environment for a vampire like him. Perhaps tactically a little unsound - his armor was glowing quite vibrantly in the deep shadows of the trees Peter marched between.

Meanwhile, Peter had finally figured out how to activate the communications array in the armor. One must forgive him - he is naught but a medieval sorcerer, and was only just becoming used to smartphones, let alone an incredibly advanced military suit from space.

But now here he was. On the heads-up display on the inside of Peter’s helmet, a small screen was open with an image of Dr. McNinja.

“Hey, I saw you got shot up by that meathead,” Dr. McNinja chirped, “How are you feeling?”

“I won’t lie, pretty crappy,” Peter responded.

Real-Peter appeared next to Dr. McNinja. “And you really are okay with being a clone?”

Dr. McNinja rolled his eyes. “I told you, the clones I make don’t have existential crises. Usually.”

Clone-Peter nodded. “Also, the more you ask me that, the less okay I get about being a clone that’s specifically designed to die.”

“Well, who knows?” Daisy said, “You might survive.”

Clone-Peter laughed bitterly at that, gripping at his side. Doc grimaced at Clone-Peter’s reaction.

“Have you applied water to the burns?”

“As much as I could spare.”

“And your power armor?”

“Seems to have regenerated the parts that were damaged,” Clone-Peter nodded, “I’m still beat to hell, though.”

“Better than when I was there,” Doc said, “I had a croissant.”

Both Peters and Daisy loudly rolled their eyes.
Daisy scoffed. “Yes, yes, we all remember your ordeal with the croissant.”

Doc leaned in. “It’s a good thing we managed to get in touch, though! You sure this isn’t breaking any rules?”

Clone-Peter shrugged. “My head hasn’t exploded. Also, I don’t think the Man in Red would give me a power suit with a working communicator if he didn’t want me to use it.”

Real-Peter shrugged in response. Daisy watched him with amusement.

“It is so weird looking at the two of you,” Daisy said.

Clone-Peter swallowed. “Miss you, Daize.”

Daisy gave Clone-Peter a sad smile, subtly moving away from Real-Peter. “You too, Pete.”

Ah, yes. Now Clone-Peter was truly feeling a clone-based existential crisis. This clone thing really wasn’t all that bad. Some of his vampire weaknesses were gone now! Admittedly, that may be the dampening collar. But the worst part of all this was knowing that he technically didn’t have a Daisy to go home to.

Maybe Doc could make another Daisy.

Was that too much?
 

King Ghidorah

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It’s a little-known fact about penguins that they don’t sleep for hours on end like most other terrestrial creatures: instead, they micro-sleep throughout the day, subsisting on a series of five-to-ten minute naps.

This was also true for Rory’s people, advanced though they might be from their Antarctic country cousins – but even taking that into account, his sleep patterns were a little fucked.

The penguin didn’t know when unconsciousness had taken him, but he awoke within the cockpit of the Franky Shogun, his snazzy new shades still resting firmly upon his battered bill, still upright and with his head tucked, as was tradition where he came from. The little padded chamber reeked of fish-sticks, something an awful lot like roasted turkey, and, inexplicably, the faint scent of pomade.

Everything was pain. Worse, everything itched - the cloying itch of a body that has too much healing to do not enough resources to do it. With the initial high of acquiring his hot new ride gone, Rory’s injuries were catching up with him again.

The diminutive mech-pilot honked mournfully: “Aw, D0000-hooood. My poor bod!” and, tottering slightly, poked at his shades, shifting to a HUD view piped directly from the Iron General’s steely gaze.

The mighty machine was standing atop a nearly-submerged little island, the comparatively-spindly mechanical armature of its enormous legs set in a wide stance of proud defiance and its enormous bright blue fists clenched at the ready. Lightning flashed, illuminating the cheerful yellow stars painted on its spherical red shoulder-housings.

Rain was still bucketing down. Even through the robot’s sensors Rory could barely see a hundred meters through the downpour. Still, he took some small comfort from the fact that, of everyone on the island, he was probably the only one who had a safe, dry place to rest.

He tried to stretch, then thought better of it, tried to use one of his feet to scratch at his itching wounds, but was instantly rewarded with stabbing pain.

“Gaaaaahhh!! Balls! Shitty shit shit-balls! I need to get some medical attention or something, mang. At least some ointment. Does this robot have ointment?”

He rooted around the cockpit, but found no joy. With the rubbery black flesh of a naked, bruised and blistered flipper, he poked at a console, then at his shades. Menus and readouts flickered across his visual field.

The robot did not have ointment.

Right. Okay. There was a solution to this – he just had to find someone who did have ointment, or other suitable medical supplies. Find them - and pursue reasonable negotiations from a position of strength.

The pained penguin poked again at his eyeware, and turned a dial on a console. With a cartoonish stretching noise, the padded walls closed in, - close enough for him to thrust his flippers into the concealed interphase ports within.

There was a moment of searing agony as his ravaged flesh made contact – but that was fleeting.

On the sinking island, the Franky Shogun turned its mighty head, its searchlight gaze piercing the dark, panning across the raging water.

To Rory, right now, the best thing about the Iron General was that it felt no pain.
 
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Zayin

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Zayin clenched his fists as he watched Coda tend to their fallen comrade, equal parts worried, regretful and furious. He could have killed Lilith there. He should have. But he failed. He fell short and Mr Satan paid for it. The angel did his best to put on a brave face in front of the others, but his (non-existing) insides were turning in knots.

“Hey, Zayin, could you get me some water for him?” Coda spoke up, snapping him out of his distress.

“Huh?” The living weapon asked, blinking at her before registering what she said. “Oh… yeah, sure thing.”

Slowly walking over to his duffel bag, the angel crouched down and rifled around inside, searching for a fresh bottle of water. As he did, his stoic yakuza ally glanced towards him, taking his attention away from Nanaue attempting to convince Majima to provide him with unlimited jorts, clearing his throat quietly.

“How is he doing?” Kiryu asked. His face was stone-cold as ever, though the swordsman briefly thought he caught a look of concern on his visage. Zayin pursed his lips for a moment as he considered the question, debating how best to answer it.

“Well… he’s alive.” He answered finally, giving a little sigh. “He’s in bad shape though. That monster didn’t show any mercy. I swear, the next time I get my hands on her…”

The brawler nodded silently as his comrade trailed off, anger giving way to guilt on the angel’s face.

“And how are you doing?” Kiryu said. Zayin looked at him quizzically for a moment before touching his face, his angelic features marred by acid burns, his expression turning to one of surprise as if he had just realised he had even been hurt.

“Oh… with Mr Satan in his condition, I almost forgot she even got me. I must look like a mess. I imagine I’m better off than Majima though. That one is something else.” The living weapon cringed, replaying the yakuza’s daring move in his mind. Though he had no genitals himself, he knew well enough that you didn’t want to expose them to acid.

“Yeah…” The Dragon of Dojima sighed, shaking his head a little. “But, I didn’t mean your injuries, sorry. How are you feeling?”

A little surprised, Zayin opened his mouth to give a typical bravado-filled reply before he caught a quick glance at Mr Satan’s acid-eaten form and visibly deflating. He didn’t even have the marginal relief of thinking ‘He’ll be fine, I’ve seen people survive worse’. The champion’s condition was genuinely one of the most severe he had ever seen, though that certainly spoke to his resilience. Tapping the water bottle on the ground a couple of times, the angel sighed as he glanced from the dirt to his companion.

“Have you ever felt like you let someone down.” He asked desperately. “Like… you weren’t strong enough and someone got hurt because of it.”

“I have.” Kiryu nodded, sadness creeping into his otherwise level tone. “I know it isn’t easy. But you need to forgive yourself and focus on what’s in front of you. Otherwise it could easily happen again.”

The living weapon was silent for a long time as he mulled over the yakuza’s words. There was wisdom there. Even if the angel was shocked with how incapable he had found himself in this contest, things would only get worse if he let it get to him. He had to break out of that spiral while he still could.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He nodded, rising to his feet. “Thanks, Kiryu.”

The brawler gave his comrade a smile smile and a nod as he turned back to Majima and his debacle, with Nanaue currently peering through the Sword of Omens in search of a secret pants supply. Having no interest in intervening in that situation, Zayin speedwalked over to Coda, handing her the water bottle.

“Ah, perfect. Now, easy does it...” She said, taking it from him and unscrewing it, gently offering Mr Satan a sip. Already looking a tiny bit better, the champ gratefully accepted the water, carefully downing a small sip with his companion’s help.

“Good. Very good.” Coda said before glancing at the angel. “Thanks for that. What took you so long though.”

“JORTS!” Nanaue cried in frustration from behind them.

“Actually,” She said. “Don’t answer that.”
 
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