DGS3 -- The Finale

[The Man in Red]

One Last Curtain Call
The Final Countdown​

The teleporter from the island deposits those who take it into a small landing overlooking...something almost like an ornate and well-crafted ballroom. It seems a jarring turn from the chaos on the island, almost as if it isn't quite real, but...it is quickly confirmed to be very much that.

It is, if nothing else, a comfortable enough place to rest and prepare for the coming, final bloodbath. The atmosphere is pleasant, there is plenty of food and drink to be had for those who need it, and a plethora of basic medical supplies to patch up anyone in truly critical condition so they can at least last until the fighting begins. It is staffed by a swarming host of dozens of the 'faceless generic' employees and staff of the Carnivale, who will happily and gladly assist anyone with any problems or needs they might have. Occasionally, one or more members of the 'Special Class' cadre of employees may be seen flitting about, observing and tending to final preparations -- ensuring that everything is running smoothly, and being available to answer any questions anyone may have.

The only somewhat unsettling thing is that, aside from the teleporter -- which powers down immediately after any new arrivals, making it a one-way trip -- there is only one door of any note to be had, constantly flanked and monitored by no small number of visibly well-armed Carnivale staff. No side doors, windows, ledges or anything of the like to offer any readily visible sign of egress or ingress.


Bulletins and Updates

• This thread is where the content of the final showdown will commence. At the moment, the fighting has yet to start, to provide a brief window of time for everyone who is going to the final Gauntlet to rest, recuperate and otherwise steel themselves. Interact and whathaveyou in relative peace for now. Synonymously with when 'Day 4' would start on the island, the final showdown will kick off.
• The Special Class employees, as they are called, are all quite...unique. Eccentric doesn't even begin to come close, really. They are all technically available for any interaction you might wish; if you need any help or have questions about what they can/can't tell you, don't hesitate to ask.
• The teleporter will be inactive for now, until the Finale runs its course and concludes, at whatever time that may be. The lone doors leading out of the current room will be opened when the fighting begins, and lead to the actual 'arena' for the final showdown. Any attempts to actually open them beforehand will be rebuffed by the guards standing there, though they will otherwise politely warn anyone away from them.
• Anything else -- as always, feel free to ask.

 

[Number Five]

On the island​

A call answered–Five and Eddie rushed across what remained of the doomed island. Trying to reach the announced teleporter before everything is blown to hell.

“Hurry up! I don’t feel like getting blown to bits because you feel like taking a senior citizen-style walk!” Five shouted in frustration, rushing to the location of the device. "You just worry about going in the right direction, I'll keep up."

There, up ahead in the distance the hitman’s sharp eyes noticed a platform, ‘That must be it, what do you think Eddie? Is it safe to move over?”

His partner did not talk much after his latest transformation and even now remained completely silent. Just a mindless gaze was present.

“Yes, I agree. It seems safe. How about this, you go on ahead and check if it’s safe. I’ll be right behind you.”

*no response*

“Wonderfull, you’ve been a great help.”

Five was done with it all, if there is someone lurking in the shadows, he’d just throw the dead weight that has been Eddie the last day at them. With purpose in his steps, he fast-walked towards the teleporter. Skeptic restless eyes darted towards all possible directions–the former agent did not feel at ease at all. It should be -not- be going this easy.

Reaching the mysterious platform, Five took a moment to inspect it. Not having a single clue as to how this contraption worked he glanced over at Eddie, “Alright, In you go.”

The now intellectual undead was sceptical, to say the least, "I say this with respect, but I find your faith and knowledge in technology very questionable.”
With little warning, the undead was forcefully guided towards the platform in the form of a shove. Disappearing with a white flash before Five’s eyes, “Huh... For some reason I expected him to simply disintegrate.”

The youngster glanced over his shoulder, taking in the theatrical murder island, the scene set by a madman in red. With this image in mind and his sword clenched in his hand, he stepped on the platform, following Eddie to the next stage in this facade.

The ballroom staging site​

*~ZAPPP~*

*Hurling noise*
“Sheesh, what kind of amateurs made this thing? Feels as if my stomach got turned inside out. Everything feels static as well. ”

The complaining came to a stop when Five became aware of his surroundings. The contrast to where he was a mere moment ago couldn’t be greater. The grand hall was an imposing yet majestic sight to behold. Even the embodiment of snarky remarks that is Five was dumbstruck in silence.

“What in the world…What kind of game are they playing here?”

“~Game?” A strange new voice answered unasked, “~Surely you know what you signed up for before even setting foot on the island?”

The student turns around and notices a young, well-dressed, slightly out of place young woman with long bunny-like ears on the top of her head.

“Who,...or what are you, little girl? Shouldn’t you be out selling cookies?”

“~I’m number five, not really into the cookie selling business….Boy”

Perplexed, dumbfounded and annoyed, Five placed both hands deep in his pockets as he stepped closer to the unexpected host.

“What? No, -I- am number Five. Not really sure what you are playing at but cut it before I lose my patience.”

His namesake simply giggled, "~Oh silly boy, you should get your wounds looked at before making threats like that.♡"

Five did have scrapes and bruises from the muscled oaf and some burn wounds, complimentary from that damned penguin. But no way in hell is he going to give her the satisfaction of taking her advice to heart.

"Listen here you little shit, I will do as I please. As a matter of fact, I have no intention of getting these checked out. I am going to…to…" He quickly glanced around and reached for the closest thing he could grab. "I am going to eat this…Coconut?" Realizing he talked himself into a jam, the hitman simply followed up his statement with a decisive stare.

She giggled, "~You enjoy your coconut, boy♡. I got some more important things to attend to. Take care!” With that said, she not only took the final word with her but also a part of Five’s dignity.

“What an infuriating woman.” He huffed when the female number five was gone, “I wonder where Eddie wandered off to." He questioned as he threw one final look around him, "But first things first, I need a coffee. And where are these medics…”

 

[The Man in Red]

As the last tracking signal of living contestants vanished from the island, one of the monitoring attendants looked up from their screen. "That looks...like the last one, sir. The island is clear."

"Wonderful." And the Man in Red nodded. "Purge it all. It's served its purpose."

"S-Sir?"

"We can't recover it, in its current state. Destroy it, before it...gets out of hand and breaks the simulation's containment."


"Should...should we send in the dragons?"

"No, no. This can't be a normal cleanup operation..." The host placed a hand against his masked face. "...just delete it wholesale. Drop the firewall on it."

"....understood, sir."

The firewall was a desperate, last ditch effort reserved strictly for situations like this one. In all his years, he'd only ever had to use it...three times? Though never on something quite like this mess. While he was confident that it would be enough even in this instance, some deeply-buried part of him almost hoped it wouldn't. It would make for a...valuable source of study, if it could be kept contained.

He quickly forced that part of his mind back into its cage; thoughts like that were the reason he was here, after all. Besides, he had more important thing to tend to. The finale was geared to kick off any time, now...

~ * ~ * ~ * ~​

As the last of the surviving contestants arrived through the teleporter, there was a sharp clap from number twelve, who offered a delightfully unhinged smile. "Alright, alright, alright, then!" And he rubbed his hands together, eyes flashing from one person to another. "...eight, nine, ten, eleven...ah, but that one makes two...! And that's everyone!"

"And with that, the 'island survival' portion of this year's game is concluded." Number two spoke up, offering a much more pleasant smile, and earning a pouting look from his compatriot that quickly melted off into disgruntled anger as he sulked off, his announcement interrupted. "We would like to extend a thank you, on behalf of the Carnivale Rosa and the Man in Red himself, for joining us this year. Your performances have all been wonderful, and despite the hiccups along the way, everything went very well overall."

Twirling in with a spinning pirouette and flourish of her cape, number fourteen took up position at number two's side, one hand on her hip. "That's right! And because of that, along with how much you all impressed the power of...friendship down there, we prepared a little something special for you, to finish the game off!"

"It's somethin' we hope you'll enjoy, too," number eight announce as he swaggered up into the mix, flanking number two on his opposite side with a cheery grin. "We figured some of you all might not wanna fight each other to the bitter end, so..." He cracked his knuckles, making a sweeping gesture around at the rest of his comrades. "That's where we come in."

"Take your time and rest up for the moment." Number twenty, calmly adjusting his sunglasses, spoke up next from where he sat relaxing in a nearby chair. "Talk to your friends, if you have them. Make plans, steel yourselves, eat up or patch up. This thing starts in..." He pulled out a phone, glancing down at it. "...six hours."


Bulletins and Updates
And with that, the island phase is officially closed and over with. Everyone has the rest of the current 'phase' (or roughly 24 real-world hours) to do as your whimsy dictates here. Tomorrow, at the normal phase change time, the final showdown will start.

 

[Sandor Clegane]

“Hors d'oeuvres?”

Coda’s eyes flicked over, wild and mistrustful, landing on the scrawny boy in wait staff attire. He withered under her gaze, actually trembling which gave her a rush of dark satisfaction, but she had to admire his commitment to the cause. Even buckling with fear his trembling hand kept the hors d’oeuvres tray aloft…she noticed little bacon wrapped scallops on there, which set her mouth to watering, but she’d already made a decision.

“No,” she said flatly.

Nanaue looked like he might give in, even taking a tentative step forward, but Kiryu’s arm came up to bar him at the mid-section. He could plow right through it, if he wanted to, that King of Sharks could…but as it turned out, the arm of a friend was all the bolstering his self-control needed. That, and a belly full of the rations they’d won on the island, anyway. That made it a little easier to resist. A little.

The waiter lingered, though, his mousy expression shifting. His mouth seemed to be working towards something, moving, and Coda realized with a hollow pang of curiosity that he wanted something.

She was struck, then. Struck by the juxtaposition of employees and contestants. The employees portrayed a pristine image, an image that she knew an entire thinktank of brains up in the Executive Level had curated carefully. On television that image would send a message - a bunch of ragged slop-ass contestants, bone-weary, filthy, wounded; then the Carnivale Rosa team: beautiful, immaculate, class at its height. They were stray dogs rounded up, shoved into a foreign environment, and like stray dogs they reacted with the kind of wary distrust those animals would when shoved into a sterile environment like a vet’s office. Every waiter, every waitress, every armed guard walking by might offer a treat but when were they going to come in with the needle?

No, she just didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust it one bit, no Sir, and that even Nanaue could resist the temptation of food in the face of the enemy spoke volumes to what they’d endured so far.

The closest contestant to matching the Rosa staff’s glam was Coda herself, and she only echoed the wardrobe in a hollow way like the Fedex employee who’d been worked over by the Castaway experience. Disheveled, filthy, and with a puncture that actually went through her body, she knew she looked a mess on the screens. …and she didn’t give a fuck. Not one single flying fuck.

The waiter said something, jarring her from the churning gears in her mind, and Coda started with a small intake of air.

“What?” she asked stupidly, blinking.

“I said, uh…can I have your autographs?” the waiter had clearly worked himself up to asking the first time and asking a second time looked like it might knock him right over. “The Thundersharks are like…so fucking cool, man, you should see the poster, I’ve got it right up on my wall, and there’s already a whole line of-”

Nanaue stepped forward, mouth yawning open to reveal a row of teeth and gums, eldritch in the horror the orifice promised. But he put forward a hand, palm upturned, and the waiter was left petrified with indecision. What was it that King of Sharks offered? Was it the carrot, or the stick? Shaking like a leaf he reached into his pocket, apparently reaching a conclusion, and pulled out a crumbled piece of paper. He desperately tried to smooth it but didn’t allow himself the time to do it properly, then placed the creased white piece of ripped notebook paper in Nanaue’s hand.

Nanaue lifted it, inspected it, then tossed it in his mouth. He didn’t even chew, it just…vanished in a gulp.

The waiter squeaked, an audible ‘eep’, then dropped his tray of hors d’oeuvres to the floor which sent the bacon wrapped scallops off in their own directions, racing across the floor like they’d heard the starting gun.

“Go on now,” Majima-san told the boy, stepping forward and flicking his hand dismissively. “...get.”

The boy obliged, scurrying away, and the Thundersharks were left to their own devices.

Zayin took point next to Coda, scanning the crowd that milled about like a colony of meerkats. Compared to the quiet of the island and its distant promise of chaos, this actual present chaos felt…overwhelming.

“What do you think?” Zayin asked quietly, whispering, as if everything they shared between them as a group needed to be kept a secret.

Coda’s eyes went first to his face, then to the obscene absence of abdomen where there should’ve been torso, then back to his face again. Zayin saw the entire thing play out and frowned, his hand moving self-consciously to the corrupted wound as if he could cover it. He couldn’t, though. There was just…too much.

“I guess we just keep to ourselves. I don’t trust a single one of these assholes. We just keep to ourselves until we- HOLY SHIT! …is that Superman?”

Zayin leaned forward, squinted at the place where Coda’s finger had pointed, then his eyes shot wide open.

“Woah. He looks sick or something,” Zayin murmured, trying to put together what he was seeing, but finding that the Man of Steel was just too far away to see properly…and staff members kept darting in and out of the foreground.

“Or something,” agreed Coda, her face growing grim. “He looks like something happened to him. Something awful.”

Kiryu and Majima drew up close, intrigued by their teammates’ hyperfocus, and looked in that direction as well. There was a woman next to Superman.

"She’s standing pretty close to that guy, huh?” asked Majima, watching with cycloptic focus. “Like…way too close. Wonder who she is.”

Nanaue, drawing in close to his teammates to keep formation, pointed at something else. Lilith. The Shark’s mouth curled back into a snarl, while he tensed as if ready for action.

“Just…let it go for now, Nanaue,” Coda instructed, watching him uncoil reluctantly. “It’s not the time. …not yet.”

Not yet, she thought. But soon.

 

[Eddie the Head]

Withered Eddie had vanished and changed his form. Seems he needed to stretch and had outgrown the precious self he’d lived as. Now he found himself lingering with the living flesh yet again.

He walked around with his eerily wobbly step, dancing around the movement and occasionally briefly pausing while he watched a stir or two coincide with the awful music roaring from above.

“Blah!” he growled at the ceiling with its non-tube based speakers. “Sounds like actual garbage! Music’s about vibration… About movement. When you put them through those terrible speakers it saps them all alway. That’s why the youth have their current vinyl fad.” He was old man monologuing, with no one around who was particularly listening deeply.

Eddie blinked and realized the boy was not afoot, nor beside him. Too many bobbing heads among the sea of guests to really pinpoint someone shorter than he was. He considered how easily this enclosed room could be filled with gas.

“I’ll say, music is meant to be a serenade.” Someone with bleach blond hair that went down to his chin piped up. His pose was a suave silhouette against the crowd. “Still, even at this faulty pitch, it’ll even out the eventual screams. At least I met someone with good taste...” The henchman looked closely, realizing this might be one of their two cannibals.

“I’m a musician, what did you expect?” Eddie’s eyes folded down to his fingers which hadn’t played guitar since this form was alive.

“Heh…” Eddie looked at him suspiciously. “Doin’ recon?”

A smarmy smile creased his lips, “Nothing of the sort.”

“I’ll never understand you young folks, so eager to reach into the crocodile’s maw but then you find its your own neck leashed. Though, I’ll say I admire your brave attitude towards risk. It can play as very advantageous, so good for you, ya whippersnapper. But, just so you know, unbridled ambition, the willingness to not be controlled is a person’s truest strength… You could have your own gladiator competition if you wanted to, you don't have to serve in someone else's...”

Eddie blinked and whatever-his-number-name was gone.

The zombie couldn’t help but to facepalm. He really had to be a teeny bit more aware about his surroundings.

 

[Eddie the Head]

Eddie’s eyes fell on a guy who looked like his name should be ‘Chompy’ but with that big bright S on his chest like an emboldened nametag, it was unlikely the case.

The undead was pulled from the thoughtless prattle of his mind

“Tough critic.” A voice hissed. What was probably number 15 but Eddie wouldn’t know that.

“Huh? Oh, the music.” The aged Eddie blinked as though his previous words were a million years ago. “I came here to die and this is my last meal er I mean last song? C’mon, really?”

“Fine then. And what would you choose?” 15’s voice chirped. The current playlist’s curator, no less.

“Vivialdi’s Four Seasons for a room like this, for, there are no words for what comes next.” Eddie quipped. “Debussy’s Clair de Lune if I was alone, a lullaby for my final rest seems more than apt.”

She blinked at his immediate response. Was this all the zombie had been thinking about? Had he been posed this question before. Did all musicians think about what song they wanted to die to?

“Whatever. I’ll see you out there.” A begrudging shoulder slammed into his as fifteen walked by.

“I’m beginning to think this was a custom cassette for the occasion…” he hadn’t meant to sound so crass to anyone’s feelings, but bad music was one thing to him: Bad. And he’d stick by that opinion until his body finally dropped.

He felt his body seize with a singular, pulsing convulsion. “Ugh…” He groaned with a heavy sigh. “The big guy wants to come out for the final fight, does he? Forget deathgame it'll be nothing but slaughter if that bloodthirsty fiend comes out. But, what do I care if all the death in this game is some not-so-culpable murder by someone else?”

Another rigid pulse of taut muscles ensued. Aged Eddie wasn’t particularly eager to give up his current and only fifteen minutes of fame [within his own skin.] Let alone the bad timing this meant. He was sort of enjoying the occasion of unpalatable animal meats and terrible music, well, he was enjoying complaining about it out loud. “Okay, but let’s make this civil… We’ll do this out of sight.”

Eddie grasped one hand on his face, holding it in. The other over his heart, which was contracting with painful hardening. “Wait, the boy, where’s the boy?” His voice slurred through the jagged bouts of pain from the previous wound as it threatened to reopen.

With one black eye shut the remaining glowing pupil raced around the room. “Curse his shortness… Big guy, you better not harm my only kin.” Eddie commanded whatever demon was threatening to come out. "I know, I know you didn't get fed, eat Chompy over there, or uh... The other chompy." Apparently there was a giant walking shark in the midst. "Hadn't realized there were two of em."

“These transformations are taking less and less time to phase. Feels like I just got here… Or never left…Gahhh...” His mind, a swirl of stirred soup. Constantly spinning.

It was time to crash land amid the bathroom stalls outside the jubilee. Where no one could see this cannibal become something even worse. A beast.

Or rather, the Beast.

There was a set of three numbers associated with the satanic creature chanting in the chills of the flickering bathroom florescence. An ominous, supernatural humming vibrated the otherwise tranquil restroom. While, the drumming of Hell commenced while an invisible choir sang notes that sounded like a backwards record, Latin words clapped back against one another, in vampiric and haunting off-key tones.

A new reality forged in the fresh cut of mind that took over the newly transformed body.

Mr. Beasty, come out and playyyyy... I'm here to stayyyy. Oh, soooooo many mortals to slay, slay, slay!

MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA

graphic

New Beast Eddie, yeah, I think that's Satan, but not MR. SATAN, no they're not even related. IDK how big he's allowed to be but as big as he can get, he is. #godzilla #satanzilla Creds to Derek Riggs for being the REAL beast

 

[Ridley]

Flavor looked across the rest of the contestants with a confident, cocky smirk, next to the enigmatic droid she’d learned was named “The Chorus.”

“So, uh, I wanted to do something here.”

“State your request.” The Chorus replied, the AI fixing her with it’s immutable gaze. Flavor stood with a grin, before holding up a hand, tiny fist pointed at Chorus.

“Fist bump.” She added, keeping an ear out for the other contestants.

“We do not understand this physical gesture.”

“Fist bump. It’s a thing bros do. When you’re about to go help move piano up five flights of stairs, and your bro’s girlfriend is like, ‘it’s okay if you just leave it at the bottom of the stairs, I’m sure we can get some professional movers’? That is when you and your bro fist bump, tell her you got this, and get that piano up in the apartment.

Chorus made some robot clicky noises, staring at Flavor, before his one eye stared into hers.

“Simile understood. Acceptable offer.”

And so one metallic fist bumped against her own, with Flavor giving a grin.

“We got this. Just… give me a moment.” She added, looking to Lilith, who was still on her feet.

“So, who’s ready for some bloodshed?” Lilith asked to her two comrades, stepping forward.

Flavor gave a chuckle. “I was literally born ready. Speaking of bloodshed, you look like it. Run into someone?”

“The angel and his groupies. Though he'll be stepping into the light soon!~” Lilith replied with a grin, her smile growing broader even as she winced. This one really was a sucker for pain. “That office slut really laid into me. I'll make sure she joins the little cherub~”

“Heh! Gross!” Was all Flavor had to say, before she zoomed off. There were a lot of people to meet and re-meet and she had no time left. Time to say hi to them all!



With Shinku’s canniness and the power of the ring flowing through her, she could pretty easily see the whole waiting area around her without the need for eyes - not when her ears, and nose did so much of the work for her; Which did mean she listened in to whatever conversation she wanted to listen to first.

Most of them were… about what she’d expected, worried about the fight, and with the Thundersharks, they were spending a fair bit of time on things she didn’t care about, up until a couple words hit her.

“Come on, Zayin, Mister Satan would want you to hang in there-”

With nary a noise, Flavor teleported straight behind Kiryu, only barely dodging an instinctual backhand for her trouble.

“Satan? Mister Satan? You saw him?”

The shock of the Thundersharks at the sudden arrival had a few of them with their hackles raised, but to everyone’s surprise, Zayin replied, fixing her in his sights.

“He is the reason we got this far. Who are you, stranger?”

Coda gave a harsh glare to the newcomer, as she placed a gentle hand on Zayin’s shoulder. “Zayin, save your strength here.” She called, as she caught the newcomer’s gaze with a suspicious, intimidating gaze.

Flavor met it evenly with a stupid, cheerful smile. Kind of hard to be intimidated for your first and last hours, ya know? Giving a shrug, she replied to Zayin with a casual tone.

“Name? I decided on ‘The Princess of Flavor’, but you can call me ‘Flavor’ for short. Pleasure to meet all of you again. Fusions don’t tend to last long, so I’m enjoying the time I have left, you know? But we both remember Mister Satan. He helped us take the fort, you know?”

“Num nums?” King Shark asked, clearly getting one word out of that conversation.

“Oh, I remember you, big guy! I hit you with a pillow, you hit me with a pillow! But back to Satan! So he was your guy’s friend? You treated him nicely, right? Oh, and… if his killer’s alive, I’d really appreesh if you told me who! I’ve really wanted to kill them since I got all born.” The fusion added, pupils dilating on the word ‘kill’.


Majima looked frustrated at the question, hands shaking, but eventually replied, “Way too late. After that bitch Lilith burned half his face off, ..” Majima trailed off.

Flavor blinked, such subtleties no longer escaping her. “He… what, sacrificed himself?” She asked.

Majima lacked the strength to reply without just decking the insensitive fusion as Kiryu chimed in, his face unreadable to Flavor’s eyes. “He died a hero. And we’re not about to waste his sacrifice by falling here.”

Flavor thought about this, pressing a hand to her head as she gave a sigh. “...Dangit!” She finally swore, gripping her duffel tightly, as the rest waited for any sudden move, any stray utterance that would label her as a threat. Ready to fight as a single army. Flavor looked between the group and it was… nostalgic to some sense. The sort of thing she’d fought and lost to in another life. And the sort of thing she’d also had, in another life.

The fusion gave a sigh, stepping back on one heel as her face turned conflicted.

“Well, if that’s the case, I don’t… find myself wanting to hit his friends. But I also… have to defend myself. And s’posing you do too.”


None of the group replied straight off the bat. At least, to start with.

“So, what, you asking to team up?” Majima finally asked, an aggressive tone entering his words.

“I was literally made to look after myself first, ‘cause I’m a living friendship.” Flavor would note, “and I got… obligations. But lotta people that ain’t you I can just… decide are more worth fighting instead, right?” the fusion asked, cocking her head to one side, though adding “but I also have my own friends I recently made? And they’re like…


Although after a moment, she realized the look was also switching between herself and her bag - the one containing the now kinda-useless…


“Oh! Right! You guys eat!, like, food and stuff, right?” Flavor asked, excitement in her eyes as she turned to Nanaue. “Like no one I know really needs to eat, and I have the stomach capacity of a tiny teenage girl now. Our collective stomachs dropped like 12 sizes! So my rations were totally gonna go to waste! but…”

Flavor drops the duffel excitedly, giving a grin to the group, before giving a grin. “Satan made one of my dads fall in love with these things, so I figure the big guy here would too!” she’d note with a grin, as the double downs spelled slightly from the bag. “Can’t save ya from death,but at least no one should have to fight hungry!”

“Num nums?” The shark asked, looking at the bag, but Flavor was already gone, teleporting off to her next target.

After all, there were so many people to re-meet and she really did have so little time to meet them!

 

[Zayin]

“Well… that was strange.” Coda muttered as she watched the fused princess take off into the ballroom to attend to whatever business she had. “She’s definitely excitable...”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Kiryu reluctantly agreed, slightly disconcerted that his reflexive blow had been dodged so easily.

“At least that’s one less immediate enemy.” Zayin sighed, sitting as still as he could and clutching his wound. Though they had escaped from the island, he was still in far from ideal shape. None of the Thundersharks could deny that his eyes were a little dimmer than before and his wings were drooping pitifully rather than being held at their full breadth. “Who knows what’s coming next, though…”

“Yeah…” The Carnivale Employee muttered, looking at her crippled friend with a small wince. “That reminds me, we better get you patched up. Can’t have you bleeding out in the middle of the ballroom.”

With that, she rushed off to find some medical supplies, leaving the other three to watch over the fading angel. They were silent for a long time as they waited for Coda to return, giving wary glances at the numerous faceless employees flitting about. Eventually, though, Zayin broke the silence.

“I don’t like ballrooms very much.” He muttered, scrunching up his nose a little as he looked around.

“Ehh? I thought you’d be all over fancy parties like this, choir boy.” Majima chortled, raising his good eyebrow at the swordsman.

“Nah. Angels don’t get invited to balls. If we go to one it’s only to work security. High class parties like this have lots of important people that cultists would love to assassinate.” He sighed, resting his cheek on his free hand, the one that wasn’t currently keeping his insides inside.

“Heh, sounds more exciting than being one of them uhh… whaddya call ‘em? ‘Socialites’?” The Mad Dog snorted at the pretentiousness of it all. As if in response, Nanaue grunted in affirmation, turned, and decapitated an ice sculpture swan with a single punch.

“Good punch, Nanaue.” Zayin grinned weakly before his expression shifted into an exasperated grimace. “I guess you’re right that it’s more exciting. I wouldn’t say that automatically makes it more enjoyable though. There was this one incident where a high-threat aberration broke the perimeter, and when we went to intercept it-“

“I’m back.” Coda announced, returning to the group with her arms full of medical supplies. “I don’t really know how to treat an angel, so I just grabbed a bit of everything.”

“Oh, thanks.” The living weapon said as he accepted the supplies graciously from Coda, much to the dismay of their yakuza companions who were dying to know where the story was going. “I only need bandages though.”

“Oh… really?” The Carnivale Employee asked, a little surprised as she watched him take the roll of bandages and begin to unwind it. “That wound is so serious though…”

“I mean… it is.” Zayin acknowledged. “But they didn’t provide an antidote to being poisoned by pure evil.”

“Yeah… they were fresh out when I checked the medicine cabinet.” Coda sighed. Majima turned to Kiryu and quirked an eyebrow, silently asking if she was kidding or not, to which his friend simply shrugged. “Surely you should use some disinfectant or... or something.”

The angel simple shook his head as he began to bandage himself back together.

“Our bodies don’t get sick or anything, and they don’t really respond to mortal medicines. We just need to make sure that we’re in one piece and we’ll be more or less OK.” He explained as he pulled the bandages tight, somewhat sealing the gash on his chest. “We have a saying we teach new angels so they don’t get any unnecessary treatment: ‘Take a bandage, bind it tight, and everything will be alright.’”

“Huh… that’s kind of cute actually.” Coda said, giggling a little in spite of the dire situation.

“Yeah, the old one was deemed too confronting for newly created angels.”

The group fell silent for a moment as they glanced at one another.

“How did that one go?” Kiryu asked.

“You don’t wanna know.”

 

[Ridley]

Flavor’s next stop involved a big red S on a blue and red suit and cape, and the hero that wore it, teleporting over with a chuckle, content to see the big guy now that his strength wasn’t terrifying and they were on the same level…

Until, y’know, she actually got close and the horror of what she was looking at hit her.

There was definitely someone there wearing that suit, but for a moment, Flavor hoped that it wasn’t Clark, and the numerous, disgusting and bloody wounds across the creature - it was hard to call it human - definitely gave enough distortion to the man of steel’s body that as she popped up from the shadows, to the surprise of the necromancer watching nearby, she could’ve sworn this was some other dude.

But no, as the Fusion looked across friggin’ Superman’s body, saw the baleful eye within the sword, she found her snappy contents died in her throat. Superman had gone through as many changes in the last few hours as her pieces had, and where she’d stepped forward with more and more life with each power-up, Superman…

Had lost the man. Mostly.

“M-my name’s… Flavor. I’d say nice… to meet ya…” The fusion noted, as she looked in the zombie’s face, and the parody of life…

Well, Trevor’s side of the family wasn’t unused to undeath, and they were certainly a step in that world themselves with the ring of power, but something about this felt a step beyond, wrong in so many other ways, and with her enhanced senses and focus, she could see every minute detail in how the man of Steel moved and didn’t move, in how he breathed when he didn’t need to, and in how his body seemed to almost contradict himself in front of her.

“I, uhm…” Flavor stammered, looking in the creature’s eyes, not sure if that glimmer of surprise or recognizance was real or just imagined, but she looked down to the perfectly-sized-for-beatdowns pillow she had and back to the zombie of a man in front of her.

It only took a few seconds for the one-woman army to make her choice, the confident veil falling for a second to a look of concern as she just softly handed Superman the pillow, and vanished back into the darkness.

 

[The Chorus]

The Chorus observed as Flavor wandered off to speak with the other contestants resting in the ballroom. Such decadence and comfort perplexed the AI hivemind. Weren’t they moments ago pitted against each other to the death? Why suddenly did the Man in Red invite them to feast and rest their weary muscles in safety?

[Why does the fused being known as Flavor wish to communicate with the other contestants?] the Conductor of Conflict asked.

[Unknown,] the Conductor of Diplomacy said. [Probable reasons include pre-existing relationships, collecting data on opponents, and a general desire to socialise.]

[Should we engage in similar behaviour?] the Conductor of Archives asked. [More data can be collated on the remaining contestants.]

[Negative,] Conflict said. [The Choir of Conflict is, with the Choir of Progress’ assistance, fine tuning sub-systems and decreasing signal latency throughout the droid’s components in order to maximise battle efficiency and power during the final confrontation. Remaining still and engaging in minimal social interaction release more system resources for us to complete our tasks faster and more effectively.]

The opulence of the waiting area struck The Chorus as both wasteful and almost mocking. All but one would remain after the finale began. Spending resources on providing sustenance for those already marked for death would only sink those resources into bloated corpses. It also conveyed the power that the Man in Red held over their lives now – this garish ballroom and its delicacies reinforced that even in the middle of a tournament of death, it could all just become something else on a dime.

[Remember,] the Conductor of Morality said, [it's very likely we will face Flavor and Lilith in battle. If and when the time comes, can we all truly end their lives after everything they've done for us?]

As the Choirs of Conflict and Progress drew upon all available resources to improve the droid for their final stand, the remainder of The Chorus fell quiet. Some voices thought it best to remain silent to allow the work to be completed expediently.

Others wondered if emotion – fear for the conflict, sobriety of the situation that could result in them being Unmade, and the mind-bending dilemma that the Choir of Morality was sure they were in – had a hand in stifling their tongues.

 

[The Man in Red]

With an almost jarring suddenness, all of the background noise and music in the room came to an abrupt halt, and there was the soft tolling of a bell. Standing centered before the lone doorway leading out of the room, number ten spread his arms as he spoke up.

"And so here we are, at last!" he said warmly, a smile evident on his features. "The time has come, now, for this year's final showdown. In short order we will be opening the doors behind me and ushering you all to the prepared arena, and then..." He trailed off, as his friendly demeanor was momentarily crossed with a slightly deranged grin. "....well. Only one of you can win, after all!"

And as he finished, the armed staff flanking the doors snapped to attention and sidled in to grasp the handles, slowly pushing them open. The hallway beyond, pitch black after the lights from the ballroom, slowly began to flicker to life, revealing stairs leading down.

"Now, then, if everyone could, this way." And with a flourish and a bow, number ten excused himself to merrily stroll down the revealed corridor. One by one, the other members of the cadre of special class employees, and several dozen of the more generic staff, began to follow after him.

"C~o~o~o~d~a~chaaaan," came a sudden voice from behind the assembled Thundersharks. Before anyone could even turn to look at who it was, the angel of challenge among their group suddenly staggered at a sharp stinging impact to the back of his neck. A needle pierced his skin, discharging a faintly simmering, glowing red cocktail directly into his body. And then everyone turned around, ready for a fight, to behold the smugly grinning, delighted face of number thirteen as she casually tossed aside the syringe in question. "It's good to see you again! And all your friends, too, I guess.

Coda just gave an exasperated sigh. "Daiten, what did you do?!"

"Uh-uh-uh!" The special employee wagged a finger in Coda's face like a parent scolding a misbehaving child. "You know how it is when I'm on the clock!" she said playfully. "But I just gave him a little...well, let's call it a new formula we're testing. Imagine it as the mother of all energy drinks, with....maybe a probably illegal-strength shot of adrenaline. Should let your little angel pal fight like he's not about to die, for the next little while!"

"....wonderful," Zayin grumbled, one hand idly rubbing at the back of his neck. His body visibly shuddered as the chemical cocktail raced through his....well, not his veins, exactly, but...

"Try not to die too quick and waste it, now!" And with a happy wave, number thirteen turned and happily all but skipped off, moving to join the others heading for the final arena, as the music in the background steadily began to resume...

The time for this to end was upon them all now...

~ * ~ * ~ * ~​

The final arena laid before them, now. A wide open chamber, simple and unadorned in construction but sprawling in size. It looked very much like some underground bunker or the like, metallic flooring and walls and ceiling all around. Once the last of those assembled stepped in, the doors slowly ground shut with a final echoing rumble throughout the chamber. Arrayed around the edges, the dozens of generic staff crowding the chamber all took up posts, leaning against the walls or crouching at the ready, looking as if they wanted to spring into action themselves but held back for now.

"Alright, then." Number one calmly drew his sword. "Remember. This is the final showdown. You can fight or not fight whoever you want, we can't exactly do anything about that at this point; but this won't end until there's only one of you left."

"At the count of 'go', we all start beating each other to death!" number twelve chirped, tossing a knife up and down in either hand.

After several tense seconds, number sixteen suddenly barked out, "Go!"

And everything went wild.


Logistics Updates
The finale has now officially begun.

Anyone who wants or desires may help themselves to a shot of Rejuv juice; as previously mentioned, it's an extremely potent energy and adrenaline shot that will let you temporarily ignore/power through any damage you might have to make sure you can fight properly (as if you had immunity to pain and/or non-biological anatomy). This is mostly for the folks who are almost dying or thereabouts, but anyone can have one if they wish.

This will be one giant fight. You all may choose who you fight; go for more PvP with each other, engage in some PvE with the special class and the assembled goons (who may occasionally jump into the fight to run interference). The special class are all tough opponents, but not unbeatable -- if you have any questions about any powers/abilities or whatever, ask away; they're all fairly malleable, though, so feel free to have them do whatever. The generic staff on the other hand, while not complete pushovers and actually armed with a scattered assortment of gear, are almost laughably weak in comparison and you can feel free to knock around or kill any/as many as you want. (They're easily replaceable, after all.)

During this first phase, everyone will have four days to post one time. Said post must be between 800 words at minimum, and no more than 2000 words at absolute maximum. After that time, I will eliminate one or more of you as per usual and do a quick update to announce the next round.

Happy murdering!

 

[Arthur Morgan]

A deafening roar of combat filled the chamber, louder than a hundred thunderclaps as it echoed off the metallic walls. The formidable stomping of the Carnivale employees shook the floor as they surged forward, blitzing across the remaining contestants in a furious maelstrom of violence.

Coda, Zayin, Majima and Kiryu moved as one, creating an impenetrable defense with Nanaue's massive form at its heart. They spread out in a starfish pattern, weapons at the ready— rotating in a circle, backs facing one another, keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of an incoming strike.

“On your toes now,” Coda shouted, tightening her hold on Sky Scorcher, the fearsome halberd gleaming in the light. Her gaze tracked the chaos sparking around the chamber, locking onto the forms of two special class employees drawing closer. “We've got company!"

One of the incoming special class was a great, thick-bodied man. He wore the mantle of a red cloak, tall black boots, and a cape that rippled in his wake. Half his visage was cast in a mask of white, only his chin and lips exposed. He stood abreast with his companion, a larger than life figure with a sense of impending doom echoing his every step.

The other was arrayed in an aristocratic fashion, a mane of black hair thickly twisted about his shoulders, red-tinged eyes set upon their company like twin embers. Coda swore she could distinguish the barest hint of fangs glinting past his lips, suggestive of some vampiric origin, but she couldn't be certain.

Both were at ease, unhurried in their step. As if they had all the time there was to bring them low. All the time in the world…

Clocking their approach, Majima twisted his neck, producing an audible crack as his vertebrae shifted. "We'll take the runt with the long hair. Think you three can manage the big one?"

Zayin unsheathed his blades with a harsh ringing of steel on steel. "He's ours."

Without responding, Coda sprang into the air, somersaulting and landing with absolute precision on Nanaue's back, her feet planted squarely across the broad slope of his shoulders. She glanced quickly over her other companions from her perch, cataloging their positions within the span of a blink.

Like sticks and straw they all were, frail but still standing for the time being. It was only a matter of when the Big Bad Wolf would come howling along and blow them all away, wasn't it?

Fortunately, Nanaue was built like a brick shithouse. Case in point—

His red cape swept behind him, Number One raised his blade, storming forward in a bid to cleave the Shark King from stem to stern. Unshaken, Nanaue answered with a ringing clang of steel, hoisting the Sword of Omens to meet the assault with effortless ease. The swords clashed in a dazzling shower of sparks, erupting in an all-consuming explosion of ferocity.

Coda twirled her halberd overhead, then brought it crashing down towards Number One. He barely managed to escape the chopping blade and leapt backwards, lifting his eyes to stare up at her through the slitted holes in his mask. The corner of his mouth drew downward in a frown, clearly displeased.

"Working together still, are you?" he asked in a deceptively soft tone, barely flinching as Zayin darted in from the side, swords poised to run him through— easily blocking the blow with a dexterous yet undeniably brutal precision. "How will you fare when we thin your numbers, I wonder?"

Coda set her jaw and drove her halberd down in a great arc, aiming for the caped swordsman's head like a child playing a game of Whac-A-Mole.

"Worry about your own numbers, why don't you?!" she barked, her voice like a whipcrack through the tumult of steel on steel.

Echoing her fervor, Nanaue surged forward with a broad stroke of the Sword of Omens, forcing Number One to raise his own blade to fend off the blow.

Whirling around Nanaue with a speed that belied his size, Number One remained focused on tearing away at their defenses with all the grace of a charging bull, occasionally turning to bat Zayin's blades aside as if he were nothing more than a noisome pest. His skillful movements were something to behold as he effortlessly evaded the angelic challenger's parries and thrusts, though Zayin's sheer persistence seemed enough to keep him on his toes, for now.

"YOU!" the Angel of Challenge cried out between blows, manifestly in his element, all six of his wings spread wide at his back. "How do you call yourself?!"

Stepping back from another glancing downward-slash of Coda's mighty halberd, Number One inclined his head to him. "You may refer to me as Number One."

"Right then!" replied Zayin, nodding shortly to himself. "Number One! I CHALLENGE YOU!"

And with that final roared exclamation, he hurled himself at the hulking red-garbed man with a heretofore unseen bloodthirstiness, forcing Number One to direct the brunt of his attention to him.

In the split-second that Number One was preoccupied with Zayin, Coda caught sight of Majima and Kiryu in her periphery, swept up in their battle with the dark-haired man with the crimson eyes. The mirrored glint of the disco ball shimmered in her sunglasses as she watched them, transfixed, the figure of Majima a whirling dervish of lethal dance steps as Kiryu hung back, loosing off explosive blasts from his rocket launcher.

At first, it seemed as if Number Two wasn't going to fight back at all, seemingly content to weather the storm of their attacks. But then he met Majima's eyes with his keen red gaze and Majima's stance inexplicably wavered, as though struck from a distance.

One leg gave way beneath him, almost as if numbness had overtaken it without the other man ever having touched him, and it was only then that Number Two made his move— darting in to strike at pressure points littered across the yakuza's body, ultimately driving the man to lurch, one-legged, back and out of range.

A sense of urgency burned inside Coda's gut, glowing bright beneath the racing current of adrenaline that surged within her. She had to help them! But how?

Her eyes darted around frantically, searching, desperate for a spark of inspiration. Then, suddenly, her gaze alighted on the rows of sunken lights depressed into the ceiling directly above her, their eerie glow illuminating the writhing of bodies and the glinting splatters of blood that had pooled upon the floor.

Jackpot.

Leaving Number One to Zayin and Nanaue's tender attentions, Coda rocketed off from Nanaue's back in an acrobatic leap, spinning up towards the ceiling with Sky Scorcher raised high above her head. The light in the room seemed to cut around her as she flew, shimmering like a fallen star moving in reverse— her long coat and skirts eddying like water as she fluttered high overhead.

In her hands, the halberd blazed a brilliant reddish-orange, light and shadow intermingling as she swept it in a wide, sky-splitting arc.

CRACK-BOOM!

A cacophonous shattering of glass rang out as the ceiling lights were extinguished in one fell swoop. Half of the chamber became abruptly engulfed in an intense, nigh-impenetrable darkness, exclamations of confusion ringing out over the jarring din of battle.

For a moment Coda hung suspended in the air, weightless, heart drumming like a wild creature against her ribs. Her eyes saw only the ruin of what she had done, the weapon still warm in her grasp. Then gravity seized her within its quick and terrible grip, harshly dragging her back down to earth.

"Majima-san!" she shrieked on the ride down, drawing the man's attention upwards. The flickering lights of the disco ball danced across his features in the darkness, his cyclopic eye widening as he perceived her swiftly-descending form.

Hauling her arm back, Coda flung the halberd at him. "Use this!"

The weapon shot through the air like a harpoon, violent currents of air surrounding it in a frenzy as it built up momentum. Its blade shone fiercely in the light of the disco ball, a shard of silver hurtling straight towards its target— unstoppable in its might.

Just before the halberd could embed itself in his body, Majima reached out and snared Sky Scorcher in his grasp in a single deft motion. His eyes glinted with a primal intensity, lips twisting back over his teeth in a feral snarl as he swung the weapon wildly around like it weighed little more than a baseball bat.

"You're in for it now, asshole!" he raged, unhinged laughter like the yowling of a rabid dog ringing out as he bore down on Number Two with a fierce, shit-eating grin.

Coda landed primly on the ground before Number One— just in time to narrowly dodge a vicious slash from his sword! It whistled inches from her face, the tip of its glistening edge making her heart skip a beat as it missed slicing off her nose by only the thinnest of margins.

Unleashing a primal shriek of rage, Coda ducked under his guard, her fist streaking through the air like a comet in a flash of brilliant blue. Her lunging punch connected, sending him lurching backwards, an invisible crowd cheering and rose petals cascading like confetti in the air in his wake.

And then, just like that, he was gone— vanishing within the darkness that ensconced their half of the chamber.

Coda's eyes darted around as she backed away, pausing beside the large, solid form of Nanaue. Looking over, she caught the glint of Zayin's twin blades flanking the Shark King on his opposite side.

Shadows crept in and closed around them, leaving only the glittering lights of the disco ball to illuminate their corner of the cavernous room.

Coda sucked in a breath, her fists clenching tight. Usually she could pick her way through the darkness with ease, but the wheeling lights of the disco ball played tricks with her vision, disorienting her and hiding the man from her sight.

"Where the hell is he?" she whispered to Zayin, voice low and urgent. She leaned around Nanaue's bulk to do so, heedless of the wickedly-sharp Sword of Omens dangling next to her cheek. "Do you think he's given up?"

Zayin frowned, his golden eyes flinty and hard. "I don't think so. A man like that enjoys the thrill of battle as much as I, he wouldn't give up the fight so easily—"

“True enough,” came a voice from the dark, manifesting from somewhere to Zayin's left. Coda and Zayin startled, and Number One’s blade shot out of the murky shadows, hurtling towards them like a silver bolt of lightning across an inky black sky.

The Angel of Challenge, nimble and certain of his stance and steel, parried the strike with an unimaginably swift economy of motion. He brought up one of his own blades to ward off the sword's path of devastation, sending it wide as it whistled past, then pivoted, swinging his other arm with all he had—

"Guh!" Number One gulped air as the blade struck, catching him across the chest and splitting open the red fabric of his suit. It must have cut deep enough to draw blood, for a hiss of pain escaped his lips.

His gloved hand flew up to feel it, pressing to the gash as it wept darkly down his side. He drew it away, palm flooding with that very same shade of crimson, red and glistening.

Slowly, the man in the mask lifted his gaze to take them in. A force of menace seemed to coil about him, simmering hotly in the air as the disco lights spun across his muscular frame.

"Perhaps I have been too lenient," he spoke, readjusting his grip on the hilt of his sword. "As a professional courtesy. Consider that courtesy... discarded."

He roared and lunged, a vast shadow trailing him, and in an instant he was upon them, blade raised for the killing stroke.

2000 Words - Wordcounter.net

 

[Shinku]

Princess Flavor, having Trevor's innate sense for emotions felt the room swell with several different moods radiating from each person in the room. Anger, elation, anxiety, hatred...even some puzzlement and uncertainty as to what the final showdown would entail. For some, the desire to win, for others, the determination to survive. There was no mistaking the feeling of intense pressure now, as every person around her prepared to fight...and to kill.

With Flak's senses, on the other hand, the fusion princess felt the sudden rage to immediately join the fray as weapons started to be drawn and fists started to fly around her. The sense of savagery built up within her, as it did with each person that bared their fangs one after another. Immediately, her eyes were trained on the only youth that majestically stood among the others, his body visibly unharmed or at least bearing little injury. “You!,” she snarled, wasting no chance to charge against her target, however, a figure suddenly blurred in front of her.

With Trevor's agile senses kicking in, Flavor's left hand instinctively rose to catch the invader's arm before it could stab a scalpel into her throat. “Interesting!,” the stranger commented, his glasses reflecting the figure of another challenger charging at Princess Flavor from behind.

“Behind you!,” Chorus called out which appeared to be almost unnecessary as the fusion princess managed to utilize Trevor’s shadow portal ability to escape the attack by a hair’s breadth and land just beside her android ally.

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!," Princess Flavor's booming laughter reverberated through the room as she pulled out the Emperor and whirred her arm cannon into action. "Now that's more like it!," she smirked, her eyes gleaming at the two challengers, who both appeared to be as excited as she was.

“You’re a sneaky one eh! Then how about this!,” the black blood maniac exclaimed, as figures of knives formed from droplets of blood that he splattered in the air from his stabbed hand.

The blood knives raced their way at Princess Flavor and Chorus who both leapt out of the blades’ path. As she landed safely, the fusion princess quickly answered the attack with a blast from her charged cannon, forcing both number twelve and number eleven to leap out of the way.

Chorus on the other hand, charged a plasma blast and freed it onto Number Eleven right after dodging Number Twelve's blood knives. The martial artist, however, managed to easily dodge the attack and agilely sprinted forward to close his distance against the android while evading a couple more blasts from his foe.

"That doesn't seem like very much fun!," the bloody madman remarked - back in Princess Flavor’s side of battle, as his right arm began to ooze a viscous black fluid that formed into another set of knives and immediately launched themselves at Princess Flavor. The princess this time, stepped into the shadows to escape the attack then reappeared right behind Number Twelve, her arm cannon pointed at the madman’s head.

"Now that's more like it!," the madman smirked, quickly docking before the blast from Princess Flavor's cannon could leave him headless. The sneaking princess, however, had to quickly leap back out of the way as knives came rushing up from below.

"Come on! Quit dodging will 'ya!," Number Twelve hissed once again, charging the princess with a short curved blade that protruded from his right wrist. Flavor quickly leapt back to dodge the blade while launching a flaming ball from her mouth. Number Twelve's curved blade quickly formed into a round shield to protect himself from the blast before forming another set of knives on his other hand and launching it once again toward his opponent.

Thanks to Trevor's agility, the fusion princess was able to avoid the knives once again but this time, suffered a small cut on her face. "Why you!," she roared, raising her hand cannon and firing a blast directly at Number Twelve's face. The bloody madman quickly dodged under the shot and formed another set of knives right under Flavor's chin.

"You're dead!," the madman exclaimed, moving his blood knives to plunge into the princess' neck. Much to his dismay however, a talisman decorating the fusion princess' chest suddenly glowed brightly, quickly forming a light-based barrier that successfully blocked the knives from piercing her skin.

"You've got to be kidding me!," Number twelve grimaced before quickly dashing away to avoid another blast from the angered princess' cannon. Instinctively, he formed another set of knives prepared to attack his foe once again but much to his surprise, a sudden presence surprised him from behind.

“Now you’re dead meat!,” Princess Flavor grunted, her voice shockingly coming from behind the madman. Number Twelve felt the cold barrel of the princess' cannon pressed against the back of his head as the fusion princess’ after-image dissipated in front of him. Blinded by her rage however, Princess Flavor failed to notice a fist that suddenly came ramming towards her from the side. As the fist connected, the princess was violently thrown across the room, crashing into a nearby wall.

"Only my fists may dare touch this madman," another glass-wearing warrior remarked, a thick fur coat hanging off his broad shoulders. The warrior pulled back his gloved fist, adjusting his glasses as he composed himself in an elegant upright stance.

"Ah, Number Twenty. I was opting to say hit me with those fists too. But I guess work comes first for now," the bloody madman grinned, turning to see the downed fusion princess slowly rise from the ground.

Princess Flavor chuckled, as she slowly rose up to her feet. The light chuckle eventually turned into a boisterous laugh as she once again stood her ground, facing the iron fist warrior and the bloody madman. She then alternately bent her head sideways, producing faint crackling noises before shooting her glaring eyes back at her challengers. "Looks like I'd have to take this battle to another level eh," she grinned, her eyes glimmering with pure excitement.

1004 Words

 

[Zayin]

Zayin raised both of his swords high over his head before swinging them back down again, bringing all of the force that his body could muster to bear against the blade of his opponent, knocking his would-be killing blow off course.

“Come on!” the angel roared, his face split by a slightly manic grin. “Fight with everything you’ve got! Show me what you’re made of!”

“With everything I’ve got?” Number One asked, recovering from the parry and bringing his blade around in a near instant, brandished in preparation for a brutal strike, “Don’t be so full of yourself.”

The living weapon crossed his swords together in a rushed guard, barely bringing them together in time to halt the savage blow. A deafening ‘clang!’ sounded throughout the arena as steel struck steel, Zayin’s legs buckling under the weight of the swing as he just barely managed to prevent it from carving him in half. He silently thanked the Heroic Expanse that his blades were unbreakable, though the same couldn’t be said about his angel body. Every second he spent fighting this man was one second he came closer to death.

And what a glorious death it would be.

“Nice swords,” the special class commented, his voice ringing above the echoing clash of their blades, “maybe the Man in Red will let me keep them as a trophy when we’re done here.”

“Over my dead body!” the living weapon spat back.

“That’s the idea.” Number One brought his blade up once more to break his foe’s guard, and his body, once and for all. Before he could perform his killing stroke, however, Coda lunged in from behind, wrapping her arms around his midsection.

“That’s gonna be over my dead body, too!” She roared, vaulting up into the air, bringing the man in the mask along with her. The Carnivale employees got a shocking amount of air as Coda began to lean backwards, bringing the two back down to earth headfirst. Despite the beautiful execution of the suplex, Number One wasn’t about to let himself be dispatched so readily. Coda squeezed tighter and tighter around his ribs, determined not to let him go, until the resistance of his iron-like body abruptly vanished, leaving her hugging herself with her arms full of shadowy mist.

“Coda!” Zayin gasped, prepared to leap forward to catch her as she was left plummeting from the sky. Thankfully, she was able to continue her aerial backflip and land on her feet without any injury despite the frustration of her prey managing to escape her grasp.

“Worry about yourself,” Number One’s voice muttered from behind suddenly, giving the angel just enough time to twist around and face him. The hero whirled around to fight the brutish swordsman charging him, sword held at the ready as he thundered across the battlefield, a one-man stampede. Without any time to lift his own blades in kind, all Zayin could do was stare the man right in his masked eyes and…

Grin?

“Careful, heaven has no room for hypocrites,” the angel taunted as Number One felt a huge, semi-human hand catch him by the scruff of his neck, forcibly lifting him into the air like a rag doll.

“Body!” Nanaue bellowed as he spiked the special class fighter to the ground with a dull ‘thud!’ The blow would have been enough to kill a lesser man, but as the red-clad fighter lay on the ground, he merely looked somewhat irritated.

He was a juggernaut of a man, Zayin thought. Strong, fast, and undeniably tough. But in terms of sheer skill, he was… passable. If he were a normal man, Zayin felt confident that he could have an even fight against Number One, and that the three of them would be able to take him on without breaking a sweat.

Of course, he wasn’t a normal man, so the Thundersharks would have to get a little tricky.

Number One was on his feet in an instant, bringing his sword up to intercept a powerful downward strike from the Sword of Omens. Man and shark-man clashed against one another as Zayin and Coda circled around, flanking their opponent.

“You want these swords?” the angel asked, cocking both arms back. “Here, take them!”

With that, he flung both blades forward to strike at Number One, twin missiles glinting under the glittering light of the disco ball.

Almost as if he were a mere trick of the light, the special class fighter vanished as the sacred swords pierced the space where his gut had been an instant before. Surging forward in an eddying swirl of shadow, the swordsman prepared to dispatch his unarmed opponent, only to find the wicked edge of a great axe descending towards his face.

With all the strength and fury of its previous wielder, Zayin brought Godfrey’s axe down with a howl.

And this time, it was Number One’s turn to buckle. Bracing his forearm against the flat of his blade, the swordsman managed to halt the attack before it could take his head off, but not without his stance faltering. The man in the mask hissed out a strained breath as he gathered his strength and pushed back, forcing the angel off for an instant.

The strike was good, but not enough. They would need something more.

Pressing the attack, the living weapon swung the mammoth axe one, twice, thrice, each one narrowly missing his opponent. But unfortunately for Number One, missing with the Elden Lord’s titanic weapon didn’t mean your opponent escaped unharmed. The floor of the bunker was sundered with each blow, throwing up splinters of concrete shrapnel that slashed tiny cuts into the brutish man’s exposed lower face, while even the sheer impact of the strikes threatened to knock him off his feet.

Frustrated, Zayin let out another battlecry as he lowered his stance and twirled on the spot, kicking up sparks as he dragged the edge of the axe against the ground. As he came to face Number One again, the hero brought the weapon up in a massive uppercut, the sheer force of the swing tearing it from his grip.

The special class fighter simply leaned back, allowing the blade to soar millimetres past his face without flinching before launching a counterattack, lunging towards his foe.

Were he unarmed, the angel would have undoubtedly been turned to a holy shish kabob. Fortunately, he was never unarmed. Summoning his soul-bound swords back to his hands, Zayin brought one up, clashing with his fellow swordsman just a moment too late.

A shallow slice was carved into his belly, the same strange molten metal that now soaked his robes leaking out from the wound to sully them just a little more. Hopped up on combat drugs, the living weapon was unsure about how dire the wound was, but seeing as he hadn’t dropped dead just yet, he guessed that it wasn’t much more than a light cut.

“Style over substance,” Number One chided as he flourished his blade, the angelic blood vaporising into dancing lights and ominously illuminating his masked visage, “was that really worth it?”

Without sparing a word to acknowledge the question, Zayin hurled himself forwards, bringing his right sword down towards his opponent’s collarbone. Such an obvious blow was blocked without trouble, but the special class fighter was caught off guard by the second blade coming up to catch his own, wedging his weapon between the angel’s longswords.

An expert fighter, Number One immediately knew something was wrong. Locking them together in such a way was pointless, it would only serve to waste time. And perhaps that was exactly what the angel wanted. Rapidly scanning the area, the swordsman was able to spot the other two Thundersharks just in time to see Coda run up Nanaue’s back and into his waiting arms.

With a grunt, King Shark used his crown-enhanced strength to hurl his friend up into the air, right into the arc of the airborne Elden Lord’s axe.

Snatching the titanic weapon out of midair, Coda raised the oversized weapon above her head, its brutal edge flashing dangerously in the light of the disco ball. Then, locking eyes with Number One and roaring triumphantly, she descended upon her coworker with all the wrath of a god.

Heart racing, the man in the mask sent a wild kick into Zayin’s bandaged wound, sending him stumbling backwards, their swords unlocking with an ear-splitting metallic screech. Uninhibited, the special class fighter brought his sword up in a quick, desperate guard.

Though the other fighters scattered across the arena may not have even noticed beyond the deafening ‘BOOM!’ that resulted from the clash, to the Thundersharks and their foe, the whole bunker seemed to shake.

Under the incredible force of Coda’s swing, even Number One’s powerful frame was unable to stand strong, sweat beading on his forehead as he put everything into the parry. Sickening cracks could be heard as his legs buckled and gave way, bringing the man in the mask to his knees.

But, he held. It seemed unthinkable, but Number One had survived the monumental strike.

With a grunt, the swordsman heaved and pushed back against Coda, forcing her off of him. She landed on her feet and stumbled back, watching in shock as Number One shakily rose to his feet.

Taking a deep breath, the man in the mask steeled himself, steadying his stance and raising his blade, facing off with the Thundersharks as if nothing had happened.

“Is that all you’ve got?”

Abruptly, a sizzling rocket came screeching across the battlefield, swallowing Number One in the resultant fireball. The swordsman stumbled hard, tucking into a roll and righting himself. Singed but not hurt too badly, he cast a quick accusatory glance in the direction the missile had flown from.

In the near distance, Kiryu lowered his rocket launcher, giving the rest of the Thundersharks a subdued smile before turning back to his own battle.

Pole vaulting off of his halberd and straight for his opponent, Majima brought the Sky Scorcher down towards Number Two with a mad yowl. Before he struck home, though, the biomancer’s pupils seemed to dilate as he nimbly sidestepped the searing strike.

“Kiryu-chan, come help me with this freak!” the Mad Dog of Shimano shouted over the din of battle as he dropped back to his feet, another wave of pain washing over him.

“I’ve got you, Majima-san,” the Dragon of Dojima called back, hefting his rocket launcher and sprinting towards his friend. As Kiryu closed the distance, Majima kept on Number Two despite the teeth-gritting agony he was forced to endure, harassing him with a swipe-and-stab combo before hopping back to avoid the splash of an incoming missile.

Dodging back in sync with his opponent, Number Two nimbly avoided the explosion and turned to Kiryu, focusing his abilities on the wielder of the rocket launcher. Feeling the agonising pain begin to set in, the criminal let one more explosive loose, which the special class fighter again simply leaned back to dodge.

“Come on, are these really meant to hit me?” the biomancer taunted. “It’s like they’re moving in slow motion.”

Grunting through gritted teeth, Kiryu managed to force a grin.

“No, I wasn’t aiming for you.”

His heart skipping a beat, Number Two whipped around just in time to see Majima absurdly standing in a batter’s stance with the Sky Scorcher, missile heading straight for him. Moments later, he swung with all his might, hitting the rocket dead on.

‘What a moron. It’s just going to blow-’

Stopping the biomancer dead in his tracks, the Mad Dog’s manic grin grew even wider as the missile, against all comprehensible physics, was knocked back towards him with incredible speed, striking him dead in the chest.

Essence of the Slugger: RPG

1967 words

 

[Sandor Clegane]

There was only a moment’s pause while the three Thundersharks stood around their opponent in a messy semi-circle, panting, and staring.

Then all Hell broke loose.

Number One thundered forward towards Coda, who lifted Godfrey’s axe to brace herself…just in time for the crimson garbed swordsman to vanish. It wasn’t a proper vanishing act, though: he left whispered images behind him, dark shadows that traced the blurred path of his lightning quick motion. Coda was stunned, because his elbow was headed right for her face-

But she wasn’t that stunned. The crowing of a rooster sounded out, her fist turned into a blur of its own, and she blasted Number One into the air with an uppercut. He went straight up, and Coda pushed off of the ground like a springboard to follow him. Her body shot straight up next to the brutal swordsman’s, twisted in the air, and delivered a spinning axe kick right into the sweeping block he used to knock it right out of the way. He’d been ready.

Number One’s lower half of his face, unamused and unconcerned, formed a downward Cupid’s bow of distaste.

“That’s it?” he taunted.

In the air he kept rotating, wrapping one arm around her as he did so, then he used the momentum of the death roll to hurl Coda straight down at the ground. She yelped girlishly and hit the concrete floor hard with a noise that made Zayin and Nanaue start forward. Number One landed gently in front of her, turning to meet the other two mid-charge.

Zayin clashed steel on steel, again, which sent a firecracker of sparks over Number One’s shoulder. He didn’t budge, which was expected, but what he did next was entirely unexpected. Before Zayin had time to follow-up his attack, even in his drugged out battle frenzy, he found himself the slower man on the draw. Number One brought a Muay Thai knee up, catching him in the ribs and knocking him off his guard at a forty-five degree angle. Twisting, the Carnivale Rosa swordsman bucked out a side-kick that pelted Zayin in the torso and catapulted him away, skittering and clutching his damaged body. While he couldn’t feel pain, he could certainly recognize damage.

Nanaue was next. The sight of Coda, downed behind his opponent, sent the shark into a rage. He threw up his arms, lifted one leg, then stomped on the ground as hard as he could.

His Crown flashed brightly for a moment, then a shockwave erupted from where his foot met the concrete. Number One, momentarily caught off guard, was sent flying backward. Coda, too, was launched up into the air.

Floating there, her eyes snapped open. Maybe the sudden rise into the air, like an unexpected roller-coaster, had been enough to jar her out of her battle-damaged stupor. Maybe it had just been time. Either way, she drew up Godfrey’s axe, turned slowly and forcefully, then blasted Number One with the axe like an enormous pendulum.

The man in crimson garb brought up his sword to block the blow, but it wasn’t enough to keep himself from getting blasted into the ground with all the strength of the axe’s previous owner.

He hit the ground heavily, grunted, then picked himself up, and came face to face with Nanaue.

The King of Shark’s mouth yawned open, lips peeling back from his gums. Rows of razor sharp teeth threatened death, a slow, saw-toothed, bone-crunching death by shark bite; Number One smelled the scent that trickled from his mouth and couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose. He could see down the shark man’s throat, past some kind of strange, brown sauce that must’ve come from something he’d eaten earlier, past the debris of meals past, down the red carpet of Nanaue’s tongue, and into his gullet. It was almost hypnotic in the horror it promised, and he felt himself edging back a step.

Imbued with the strength of the Crown, Nanaue’s hands shot forward to seize the man by his arms. He was fast, faster than he had been, even, prior to the collar’s administration thanks to the Chieftain’s Crown.

He was not faster than Number One, however.

Number One pushed the Shark King back with a sudden and gut-wrenching kick to the stomach.

Nanaue lurched back, making a noise like a troubadour tripping and falling in a marching band: a sudden, deep ‘splat’ of noise that burst from his mouth involuntarily. He stumbled, arms flailing, and actually felt a pang of embarrassment rush through his primitive mind.

What chased that embarrassment, however, was rage.

He snapped forward, steadying himself, and a tight cord of angry muscle stood out on the entire length of his long-ass neck. He started forward, slowly, coming at Number One one step at a time. The ominous approach of the shark, slow and predatory, brought the man into a cautious stance. His sword came up, and a drop of sweat rolled past his half-mask and down his cheek, over his lip, then dripped onto the floor.

When the sweat drop hit the concrete, Zayin struck him on the side of the head with a haymaker from behind. Number One lurched, the impact drawing out a meaty smack, then staggered drunkenly to the side.

That’s where Coda was waiting. The faint sound of maracas, ‘chk-a-chk-aaaa’ rattled behind her, and a ghost crowd cheered in the wake of her speed. She got low, very low, then burst up in another uppercut - rooster crowing - which took Number One right off of his feet. He landed on his back with a thud, and was slower to get up this time.

When he did stand up, however, he threw back his head and offered a bark of laughter.

“Ha! You don’t even see the futility of your struggle!” he challenged, bringing his sword up in one hand with a casual sort of grace that betrayed, perhaps, that he may have been self-taught in the swordsmanship arena. “You don’t see that you can’t outfight me! And you definitely can’t outlast me!”

Nanaue shot forward, a grey object like a freight train, and punched the shit out of Number One. Number One brought his arms up in an ‘X’ laced akimbo across his chest. The force of the blow jettisoned a shockwave of impact that blew the man’s hair back, and he slipped back a few inches with a grunt of effort.

It was then that he noticed it: Nanaue was…scarcely hurt. Aside from a few minor acid burns singed into his hide, he had no signs of battle damage. What was more, he lacked any of the tell-tale wear and tear of combat fatigue. He didn’t look tired at all! In fact, he looked like he might’ve been building fervor as the fight went on.

His eyes shot up to the Crown on the King of Sharks’ head.

“Right,” he muttered to himself in realization. “The Crown. Endurance and strength. That’s what it is. You can’t outfight me, but…”

Could they outlast him? Could Nanaue himself outlast him, through sheer endurance alone? Maybe, with the help of the Crown. Number One frowned, then lurched forward to press the attack.

He hacked down on Nanaue, who brought up the Sword of Omens. Number One’s own sword stopped inches away from Nanaue’s, abruptly halted by a flash of blue energy.

“Forcefield,” Number One cursed. “Fucking sword.”

He launched into a broad swipe, swinging across his body in a horizontal motion.

Zayin jumped in to parry the attack with his own sword, gritting his teeth angrily.

Number One swung wildly at Zayin, but his sword met the broadside of Godfrey’s axe - Coda had surged into the fray. They stood in front of Nanaue, shoulder to shoulder, while the King of Sharks lifted his Sword of Omens. The blade glowed with the promise of power, the red gem at the center of its crossguard glinting. His Crown, locked onto his skull, seemed to shimmer with the promise of energy. Nanaue stood a little taller. Coda shifted her grip on Godfrey’s axe, while Zayin poised his dual swords in a pose that seemed to come easily to him.

“Go on then,” Zayin challenged. “Let’s see it.”

Nearby, an explosion rocked Number Two - it had been a close thing, soaring past his flank, then detonating an uncomfortably close distance behind him. The biomancer scowled, dark hair billowing out with the blast, and focused his attention on Kiryu. Where he had focused, Kiryu suddenly felt the icy creep of numbness trickle out from his hip, then he fell sideways, reloading the rocket launcher with nimble fingers.

“Majima-san!” Kiryu yelled out, pushing himself up with visible effort. He still couldn’t feel his leg. “He can only focus on one of us at a time!”

Majima, cycloptic eye narrowing, closed in on his unorthodox opponent. The Mad Dog stabbed, side-stepped, lunged with a piercing strike, and then carved upward with the vicious blade of the Sky Scorcher. Each strike, however, was avoided. Number Two stepped around, bobbed under, and weaved out of the way of all three moves with a dancer’s grace.

Majima grimaced while his off-hand, the one that guided the accuracy of the strikes while his dominant hand forced the power, began to lose all sensation. Simultaneously, a feverish rush of heat erupted in his skull which came hand in hand with a piercing migraine that erupted in his temples.

Despite this, he let out a harsh bellow. That was the signal.

Kiryu launched another rocket while Majima used the butt of the halberd to force himself back, all power and no control with his guiding hand left sensationless. He had time to think about how easily one grew used to a part of their body until it wasn’t available to them anymore, and how hard it was to readjust the settings. Then a chaotic burst of fire and smoke washed over both himself and Number Two. The sound was deafening, kicking the headache threatening to burst from behind his eyes up a couple of notches, and then the grip over his biological control loosened a little.

“I think we hit him that time!” Majima yelled, cackling through the heat that wafted over him.

The smoke cleared bit by bit, revealing the silhouette of Number Two. Covered in soot, looking pissed, but otherwise unfettered by injury; the biomancer stepped forward ominously.

“Majima-san!” yelled Kiryu.

Majima collapsed when he felt his knees go numb. In a heap on the floor, he grimaced, reaching out for Sky Scorcher which he had dropped in the confusion.

Number Two’s foot landed on his arm. Majima looked up and his single eye met his opponent’s two cold ones, which stared daggers down at him.

A strange feeling emerged from the foot pressing down on his elbow, and he felt a bizarre sensation sweep through a pressure point in his arm he hadn’t even known he had. Majima yelped in pain.

From nearby he heard the whistle of an approaching rocket and bellied up to the floor as closely as possible.

Number Two leaned his head to the side. The rocket soared hopelessly past, onward, out into the darkness to threaten some other contestant’s fight somewhere in the vaulted chamber.

The distraction was enough, though. Majima yanked his arm free, and under the light of the disco ball, pushed against the floor with his hands and spun around like a top, raining a flurry of kicks against his opponent’s torso.

When Number Two stepped backward, clutching his chest, Majima sprung up to his feet.

“Not going down that easily, fucker!” the Mad Dog spat, smirking. “We’ll take you down here and now!”

He stooped down and grabbed the Sky Scorcher, then brought it to bear against his opponent. Behind him, Kiryu readied another shot with the rocket launcher.

Word Count: 1990

 

[Ridley]

The Princess of Flavor’s grin fell lopsided, as she brought up both arm cannon and Emperor, loosing a storm of shots swiftly deflected by a grinning twelve with a shield built of blackened blood.


“Now now, I’m the masochist here. I’m far too greedy to share with him.”

“Keep it PG-13, 12. We’re on the clock, and the Acid-woman’s given us enough problems.”

“Wait, is PG-12 a thing?”

“Focus, or-”

Number twenty didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence as he was nearly doubled over by a solid Kick from the back by Flavor, the armored boot of her power-suit slamming straight into the small of his back, as he gave a groan.

“Sneaky…”

“I’m like, half-assassin, so of course I am.” Flavor replied, giving a grin. “The helmet’s a hassle, but if you all keep being so gosh-darn durable, I’m glad I’ve kept the rest of the suit on!” the fusion taunted, before disappearing from view again a split-second before a volley of blackened knives filleted her previous position.

The Princess gave a daring grin to the group. “But it’s both nice and a shame to meet such good friends! After all, I’m a pretty big friendship appreciator, ya know?” the girl taunted, only to be met with a surprising kick from behind, a powerful boot slamming into the back of the girl’s head and leaving her sprawling forward.

“Leaving yourself open there a bit. Don’t think you’ll be staying long at this rate.”

Flavor cursed, turning around with a glare. Her senses were enhanced beyond a normal beings, so how-

“You look like you feel tricked. Something wrong, little miss?” a feminine voice called out, as someone wearing what Flavor recognized as a stage magician’s outfit came out. All red, just like the rest.

The Princess looked at the hat she held in her hands, and in her strange mind, all facts immediately came to an immediate conclusion.

“You pulled him like a rabbit out of that hat!” She called out matter-of-factly, pointing straight to Fourteen, and to the white-haired woman’s surprise.

“I-err-yes.” the woman replied, surprised by the directness of Flavor’s statement. “Congratulations?

Flavor grinned, stumbling forward, as she realized all of them took this time to get into an optimal position around her. Spinning blades of blood, a powerful punch, and another kick followed suit to strike the fusion.

The Princess laughed, as all the strikes hit air, and she stepped into the shadows again, prepared to appear behind the trio of physical fighters…

Only to instead teleported into an iron box.

“But have you heard of this trick? Where one person gets into a coffin, but…”

Flavor’s eyes widened as the coffin opened, and a Blade of blackened blood speared through her shoulder.

“Well, someone else pops out. But I think you get the idea.” Fourteen added with a vicious smile, as Twelve twisted his bloodied dagger with a manic grin.

The strike would’ve left even a veteran fighter screaming in pain, as twelve struck, but Flavor’s face only contained a smiling maw filled with burning fire.

Twelve jumped back just in time to avoid becoming human barbecue, the flames singing and licking through the arm of his uniform, but Flavor was on him without pause, and nailed the youth with a burn across his arm from the arm cannon.

Twenty struck with a hard fist, but Flavor countered with a charge from her shoulder - not enough to push the man off his feet, but enough to push him back.

Flavor couldn’t believe it. Four-on-one was rough, sure, but it was also exciting!.

Flavor was so many things at once, had so many powers at once - and in this moment, this second, she finally had an opportunity to use them. Opponents that pushed her to her limit and past it.

And hell if her entire existence was going to end in disappointment, as she leaped back, driving the group of enemies back with a carpet of flame. She was going to make damn sure she showed everything she had in this contest.

No.

She was going to make damn sure she was gonna win!”

Flavor pirouetted away from the enemy, a vein bursting despite the smile on her face.

“You all can keep up - more than keep up! Even with everything I am!” Flavor added with a grin, as she held the Emperor forward. “So let me show you something. It’s not Flak’s or Trevors - something that’s mine.

Flavor fired a quartet of bullets, and the Man in red’s minion leaped out of the way, dodging the hail of curving projectiles in their own fashion, each shot going wide…

Dark energy lit up like a fire around the Emperor, as Flavor’s grin turned manic.

“H-how…”

Flavor gave a grin, as she looked amidst the group, four silver bullets piercing through different parts of their body from behind.

“Dang. Couldn’t hit a vital spot.” Flavor replied. “Maybe next shot!” The fusion replied, as the fire crackled around the emperor, and four bloody bullets popped into existence straight in front of her enemies faces.


Fourteen jumped into a hat, poppinTwelve saved himself with a sudden burst of black blood. Twenty dodged well enough for the bullet to scrape the skull, seemingly having difficulty even piercing enough to leave more than a flesh wound, and Eleven literally slipped off his feet just fast enough to avoid a nice shot through the forehead.


Silence reigned through the group, as Flavor smirked down at them.

“You’re… teleporting the Emperor’s bullets.” Fourteen called out, pulling herself from the hat. “Somehow, you’ve taken your parts abilities, and pushed them further.” she replied with a mystified expression.

Flavor just gave a grin. “I am the most powerful living being in the tournament.” the fusion taunted. “Something like this ain’t nothing. Now…”

Flavor held up the recharged revolver with a chuckle. “dance!”

The Silver bullets shot out, and the group of suits were left on the defensive as they were trapped in a whistling cage of white streaks of light.

“We’ll call this… the Shadow Emperor. Shemperor, for short.” Flavor added with a grin, as she tightened the cage, watching as blood rushed from numerous cuts and scrapes, as she closed the distance.

“Wow, Well isn’t she a serious pain!” Twelve cackled with a grin. “I kinda wanna try a few of these on~”

Twenty grabbed his arm the moment before he would’ve leaped in. “You’re not gonna try on much of anything if you get crippled by too many hits too early, twelve. Fourteen! You know what we do in these situations!”

Eleven gave a sigh. “We all do. No matter how difficult it is…”

“Our goal is always to entertain.” Fourteen added, “And entertainment…”

The woman put down a hat in the cage, with the four looking to the hat and immediately diving in headfirst, throwing a handkerchief in the air.

“Is avoiding early bad ends. No fun if the peril actually gets us this early!” Eleven adds, hopping in with twenty and twelve, to Flavor’s surprise.

“H-hey, wait! I did this all to- you can’t just-” Flavor stammered, as the group passed into the hat, and the hat itself seemed to disappear under the handkerchief, leaving the bullets pinging around into diddly-squat.

Flavor looked around to see if her competitors were still around, but with a sigh, she realized they had all disappeared from view.

A growl escaped her, as she realized her opponents were gone, but luckily Shinku’s sense retook the reins as a separate question hit her.

Chorus.



Flavor craned her head to and fro, like she was trying to stretch out her neck working her way through the contestants as her senses create a detailed map of the battlefield for her in combination

Surrounded by a gaggle of the weaker contestants, the Chorus had apparently been busy creating a gaggle of mook bodies, destroying them with a mixture of plasma and his own robotic fists.

Silence seemed to fall across the Chorus’s battlefield, as he surveyed his opponents, working with surgical precision, and yet…

The robots optics failed to notice the creeping darkness behind him, as number sixteen’s silhouette soundlessly formed from the Android’s shadow. A knife of lightlessness was raised and outstretched…

Before being knocked straight from the surprised demon’s hand as the Princess of Flavor’s shoulder slammed straight into the shadow master’s torso, knocking the creature a few dozen feet from the robot.

“Oh! You’ve already got someone standing behind you, I see!” the demon on the ground called out, holding up a hand with a single finger pointed up, but otherwise content to lie on the ground where he fell. “And such a lovely young woman, too! I simply must congratulate the both of you!”

Flavor glared, looking to Chorus with a nod as she stepped forward. “So are you just all a bunch of fricking weirdos?”

“Ha ha! Quite so!” the shadowy demon called out, “A shame, but I can think of worse. dead man walking, for instance!”


Flavor looked to Chorus with a grimace, as four more, familiar red figures stepped out.

“You okay? You look okay. Just stay close to me.” Flavor noted to the robot, as the AI turned it’s head unnaturally quickly to look at her.

“You wish us to fight alongside. To what benefit of your own?”

Flavor gave a grin and a shrug. “We gotta move that couch up the stairs, man. We’ll do it together.”

“Metaphor invalid. The couch may be lounged on by only one victorious mover.”

Flavor gave a shrug. “Details for later. I’d rather my best friend live the longest, at the very least.”

The statement seemed to cause the chorus to lock up for a few seconds. “You have decided we are close. Query: why.” the android asked, and for the first time, Flavor thought she read suspicion.

The fused princess gave a sigh. “I Mean, remember the fist bump? Me giving you the Buster? How about the Bunker? Or the…”

Flavor put a finger to her chin. “...Oh, nah, that’s it!”

“Precisely.” the Chorus stated, as his robotic fist clenched. Flavor could practically read the ‘menacing killer robot’ vibes. She turned to check on if the enemy was about to attack them, but it appeared that they were polite enough to wait for them to finish their conversation. Instead, they simply started… posing… menacingly.

The fused princess gave a sigh. “Listen, Chorus. We might have all the camaraderie of two guys who met in line once at a Mcdonalds, but you know what? I’ve enjoyed all five minutes of our time together. I don’t know you through Flak or Trev - I know you as Flavor. Me. I’ll win this for both of my pops’, but I’m really going to only be alive for a few more hours, or minutes, so I have to have at least one goal all my own.”

Flavor’s shoulders relaxed, as she gave a shrug. “And while we might not be ideal buddies, dude… You’re the only friend I’ve ever had. And I value that friendship”

Chorus’s face was unreadable on account of being just a big screen, but the robot’s fist unclenched.

“Were there secondary objectives within this plan?” the Chorus asked, as Flavor gave a grin.

“Just one.” Flavor admitted. “Two lifetimes of combat experience has taught me there’s a really good way to handle this situation with two people.” She noted, tail whipping from side to side. “When you’re surrounded on every side, you go back to back!”

The Chorus and Flavor took to opposite sides, as the mooks piled up alongside the special class.

“Tactical theory sound. We will ready for combat.”

“Good!” Number eleven yelled, as the suits advanced. “We ain’t stalling any longer for the cameras!”

1991 words according to gdocs.
Using 1 focus to Combine Shadow pass and the Emperor's bullets to create Shemperor

 

[Eddie the Head]

“I think I’m alive… Which means you’re soon to be dead.”

A beast's crumpled smile shuttered within the demonic unfixed gaze of rolling madness.

The Devil's consequence immediately rang true and the horns on his forehead bore a well-aimed dagger plunging unexpectedly through a distracted pawn’s back. Beastial thrusts into the air skewered the body straight through its core. Rubies of blood oozed from the human’s ribs while a punctured heart painstakingly throbbed despite the inches of piercing ivory splitting the convulsions further apart until the singular organ heaved its last revolt.

The Devil's excitement hinged on the human’s wails of despair and agony. Shrill calls for life gurgled into pulseless silence. The immaculate shivers of ecstasy shooting down Eddie’s spine ceased.

The motionless corpse was starting to feel weighty on Eddie’s spindly shoulders. The sadistic beast shook ‘im off his head’s hinge and peppered bloody droplets of rain across the mosh pit of mayhem. The glistening streaks danced in the air above the crowd.

And the slick splash of fresh blood warmed his lonely skin. The malted syrup of blood dazzled across his face’s mashed skin like glitter and the Danse Macabre carried on. Rhythmic slews of thrashing, sweet unforgivable violence… He had every intention of enjoying every satiating minute of it. The demon relished the calamitous carnival and saliva waterfalled over the corners of his lipless gape.

“Welcome!” Out shrieked a sickening cry, “To the ultimate concert of your liiiiiives!”

The devil’s maw crunched on the bones of the wasted server and spat out the twine of a stringy vein flossing his jagged teeth. The devil regurgitated this vile, unworthy swine’s taste. For, it was grotesquely flavorless and devoid of sin. The carnivorous bloodbath ensued while his plaything emptied the last of its warm sustenance, the last trickles of its life's essence pooled at the demon’s feet.

Suddenly limp, the once-human became a stiff rag doll free of fun.

Victims unaware became his dirtiest dare.

Excess ichor from his kill became crimson camouflage paint, slipping into battle with ease his devilish skin cast into blur of motion spewing from his next victim’s sliced artery. Arm shredded and no longer attached, it fell to the ground palm and fingers extended hoping to catch... Nothingness. It was an arm severed from its source. No longer living, just a lost piece of among the rest of the mangled forgottens.

His ravenous mind rattled against his insatiable hunger.

More blood. More flesh. More killing. More, more, more!

The room ablaze with motion. He called forth his craving and with it he commanded his power for true disaster. All the gore marking his mantle of conquest and painting him to match the same uneven tone of the room’s spattered walls... It all may as well have been riches of gold.

This delimbed server used his still attached arm to jab his blade into Eddie’s pitless eye. The demon cackled at the defenseless weakling and raised his clawed fingers as they hinged across the pale skin and useless cartilage that made up his opponent's face. Clumps of mangled flesh folded beneath his talons. “Your toil is useless… Mortal. Embrace the chaos.” His sinister words slithered out.

Yessss. The hedonistic creature drank in, lycanthropic howling turned into wailing celebration.

The penultimate ritual of sadism and death enamored him with the trophy of his glory's burning fire. The cascade of blood around him became a cacophony of sin’s immortal call synced with melodic action. Slaughter the sheep, murder the lamb!

He wanted them all to feel their own sacrifice. He would shed as much blood as he could. Vibration laden in the air bonded a witchcraft of uneven song swirling the hypnotism of cadence into the irresistible, indistinguishable pull to battle. Weaving in and out of duels while the crowd of bodies battled. Never knowing when he was going to strike! Snatching the room’s weakest links and feasting on their remains.

The rhythmic slashing of gore vibrated the molecules of the room, charging the atmosphere with all that was wicked.

Thermal waves synced together by their shared song of unholy death. His tongue exacerbated his pleading words, “Do you not hear it? Your final melody?”

There it was over there, SPLASH!
Like a pitcher your skin does pour out.

There it was again, Crash!
Goes the skull shattered into the ground.

SWISH! Goes the air around a poor man’s blade!

The flittering drumbeat of battle was a synchronized song of tremoring heartbeats. Humming along into the mournful frequency of pain.

Satisfying sounds of chaos all controlled by the conductor! A flood of melody enchanted the demon’s very own mind.

Metal timbre of crashing cymbals, ricocheting blade and bullet alike from his luminous shield. The plasma hissed with static as he bored the heat into another pawn. Flesh became wax became soupy, melted caramel paste. Malice drowned out his triumph while the human ingredient liquefied beneath him.

Behold! Within the grandeur of destruction, amid the torture, the devil himself frollicked! Trampling atop the burnt mortal’s feeble flesh! Splashing his toes in the lapping warmth as though squashing mere grapes for a festival of wine.

The inevitable fermentation of sorrow. Sweat oozed from their temples. He inhaled the perfume of cortisol.

“What… A…. Feast!” The savory words rolled off his tongue like fresh buttery juice off a steak.

“Go forth my disciples! Deliver them to their crucifixion!” He commanded the unending song to keep playing.

A looming shadow hailed the unholy king delivering cold dormancy. Stillness to the beast’s godless carnage. The choreography of Eddie’s song split like a sputtering needle across a vinyl record.

Shrapnel splintered into the incidious demon’s arm from a skirmish beside him that no longer existed now that a challenger had stepped forth. All that there was the wordless agreement that lay before him. They would battle to the death. They signed the contract with the intent to draw blood while mutually righteous gazes extended from one another’s eyes.

The two competitors shared only a thirst for one another’s blood and the unspoken truth the defeated would not only perish, but suffer.

“And which one are you supposed to be?” The opposing voice called out with a hum of cynicism, as if it even mattered.

Eddie’s form twitched and convulsed impatiently. Craving any and all carnage. With monstrous greed his fists clamped against the empty air, fantasizing it was the human's windpipe.

He was the Devil, the beast, the King of Hell. And he would take what was rightfully his.

 

[Roy Mustang]

Armstrong clenched his jaw as the room devolved into chaotic conflict. This was by all accounts the final stage of the contest. The last stage upon which to demonstrate the performance of the Armstrong family’s legacy. He forced motion into stiffened muscles, slamming both fists together with a trumpeting breath. There was no need for restraint any more. After all, none of these contestants would think twice about finishing him. The more obtuse aspects of the tourney had run their course. Arcing alchemical energy spread from between his fists as he reared one massive arm back into the air. All that was left now was to fight until he was unable to stay on his feet!

With a roar, Armstrong slammed a massive fist into the ground, The ground accepted his alchemical power, molding outwards in a rippling wave. Alchemical spikes and shards were sent flying in all directions without regard for collateral damage. Armstrong reared up to his full height, gazing imperiously down at any contestant that happened to glance his direction in the ruckus.

“Whomever wishes a first-hand demonstration of the Armstrong family's elegant and graceful combat style should step before me now!”

“Then say hello to my little friends!”

The mechanically-tinged voice sounded from close behind Armstrong, and he whipped about as bullets crackled across the ground he had been standing in moments before. Two figures in red stood at the ready all too happy to oblige. They looked normal enough, aside from the first’s mechanical augmentations. He twirled a pair of pistols, leveling them at Armstrong with a confidence born of precision.

“Go ahead. Make my day.”

Armstrong wasted no time, whipping the blitzball forwards into Number Three’s mechanical face. The super-soldier’s head snapped backwards with the shunting of synthetic muscles as the other one charged in to close the distance, pulling a kendo blade from behind his back as he did so. Armstrong deflected Number Eight’s initial thrust, forcing the man to dance aside with his counter attack. The blitzball had sprung high into the air off of Number Three’s face, and as it sailed back in Armstrong’s direction, he swatted it out of the air with expert precision. The blitzball screamed through the air like a missile. Number Three’s head mechanically snapped back into position just in time to catch the re-directed weapon straight in his gut, doubling him over. He refocused just in time for an alchemical spike to jut from the ground, impaling the man in the same place.

“Ay Caramba! What the hell!” His voice shifted several decibels as he worked to extricate his mechanical form from the skewer.

Number Eight had abandoned the Kendo blade for a large sledge of a hammer, opting for sweeping overhead strikes that Armstrong was forced to backpedal away from. He punched the returning blitzball back towards Number Three to prevent the mechanoid from freeing himself then stepped into Number Eight’s next swing. Armstrong’s fist struck the sledgehammer head on, intercepting the weapon during its upswing with a flash of blue light. As Number Eight stumbled back he found the weapon’s head transformed into a miniature bust of Armstrong’s own visage. Even the dull metal of the weapon seemed to twinkle faintly now.

“There you have it!” Armstrong stepped back with a brief pose “A demonstration of the Armstrong family’s statuary defense technique! I can assure you this demonstration is far from finished!”

Number Eight discarded the weapon with a shrug, cracking his neck.

“You want to make things interestin’, do ya? Let’s make it interestin’!” Armstrong’s eyes widened as the man placed a full cannon upon the ground, its fuse lit. The Strongarm Alchemist crouched, creating an alchemical shield from the ground between them as the cannon-blast erupted in the room with a deafening bang. Armstrong’s barrier shattered and he was sent sprawling in a cloud of dust. He scrambled desperately through the haze.

Number Eight had lost sight of him in the chaos, the man’s new katana slung casually over one shoulder as he surveyed the debris. The blitzball rolled to a stop by Armstrong’s foot, and he scooped it up, preparing to serve a devastating surprise counter. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Lauren, her focus wholly on one of the red-clad opponents, unaware of the eye-patched woman in red that was stepping up behind her with a blade. It would be a deserved end for her mistreatment of Superman, and for an instant, Armstrong was tempted to leave her to her fate while he fought his own battles.

It was only an instant’s hesitation, however, and the blitzball soared through the air at immense speeds, blind-siding Number Seventeen on her bad side with a direct strike to the head. Armstrong would not win this battle through deceitful tactics! He loomed out of the dust cloud, muscles bulged and veins throbbing, remaining at the ready until Number Eight noticed him.

“On this day we shall witness the very limits of the Armstrong family's tenacity and fighting spirit!”

Armstrong pounded his fists together and charged.

“If indeed there is such a limit!”

 

[Anders Nazret]

There was a thought, a naïve and stupid thought, that had crossed Lauren’s mind. For a moment she had seriously thought that they had truly survived the island. That just maybe her and her fellow competitors had gone through enough. That their suffering had been more than sufficient for the Man in Red’s twisted palate. In truth, she discovered, the island had merely been an appetizer for his hunger. And, by stepping through that teleporter they had served themselves up as a delicious meal.

The sudden bedlam had struck her with such a defeated sense of dread that for the first minute she merely stood frozen. Everyone else had launched into battle without so much as a second word. Expensive glasses filled with even more expensive champagne were sent flying. Tables were turned over and the painstakingly prepared meals crushed underfoot. Flecks of blood splattered across her face as a nearby man was splayed open like a fish. Someone’s dying scream filled her head. Souls wriggled free from still-warm corpses. Death surrounded her and she was left paralyzed by it.

Superman, still inexorably bound to her, moved as a blur in his defense of her. Any rank-and-file employee that strayed too close was turned into a greasy stain across the ballroom. It was one of these employees that snapped Lauren out of her shell-shocked state. A young woman, certainly no older than twenty lunged at Superman with a chef’s knife. The blade shattered against Superman’s physique and in a flash he separated her torso from her lower half. Soul Edge throbbed in excitement before it was turned onto another hapless victim. It wasn’t the death, however, that roused Lauren. It was what happened to the young woman’s soul.

Souls were not nearly as fragile as the mortal coil that housed them. It was true that traumatic deaths were more likely to result in lingering spirits; the actual state of the body mattered very little. Someone hacked to pieces by an ax was just as likely to malinger as someone snuffed to death by a pillow. In either case, however, the soul would not bear its body’s injuries. The young woman’s soul, a bright blue flame to Lauren’s eyes, freed itself from her upper half. It hung in the air for a moment before it started to fade away into the afterlife.

Something, however, halted this process. Lauren watched enthralled as the shimmering spirit was rent back into the land of the living. The bright blue flame quivered violently, struggling against an invisible grip. Then, with an inaudible pop, the soul was torn into five separate sections. Lauren gasped. A soul was not meant to be destroyed. Whatever remained of that poor girl had been turned to confetti. Each of the five torn pieces darted silently across the battlefield before disappearing into various cutlery. Animated by the woman’s tattered soul these objects took flight with a thirst for blood.

Necromancy.

It was undeniable. The puppeteering of souls was relegated to the cosmic realm of divinity and the earthly realm of necromancy. While powerful she had no doubt in her mind that the Man in Red was no divine being and so the only answer that remained was a craft so intimately familiar to her. A craft that she had practiced ethically her entire life. A craft that her familial legacy strove to bring legitimacy to. Shredding souls and using them as fuel to animate tableware was the exact sort of thing that turned her profession into pariah. This realization sickened her. It filled her throat with bile and her stomach with acid. It wasn’t the wanton death that brought her from her stupor. No, it was the flagrant disrespect of the dead and the dying. It was a gob of spit in her face and she would not stand for it.

“Keep them off me, Boy Scout,” She said aloud, knowing that the superhero had no choice but to obey.

Even if she couldn’t keep her promise to Armstrong she could at least spend her last moments wiping that shit stain of a necromancer off this world. First, however, she needed to find said shit stain. So she observed the chaos unfolding before her. A seemingly nonstop surge of carnivale employees appeared from every opening, ready to throw their lives away at a moment’s notice. There was no doubt in her mind that someone despicable enough to turn human souls into weaponry would be far too cowardly to throw themselves to the lions. No, her enemy would be the kind to slink about in the background hoping to go unnoticed.

Or that’s what she thought. In reality, she discovered, her necromancer was sporting an absolutely ridiculous hairdo. In fact, if it weren’t for the fact that his hair stuck a good few feet in the air she wouldn’t have noticed him to begin with. But, beneath that singular spike of gelled-up blonde hair, sat a despicable man. Lauren couldn’t see his eyes behind his shades, but she could see his fingers invisibly controlling shredded spirits. Like a marionette tugging on strings he compelled his victims forward. He removed any sort of resistance they might pose by tearing the spirit apart before implanting it into whatever he could find. Shards of glass, discarded steak knives, and severed limbs were all possessed and set to attack his enemies.

Lauren unholstered the Good Samaritan and used her wrist as a brace. It was a terribly unwieldy thing, but her fight with Asura has given her enough familiarity with the weapon to know what to expect. All she needed was a single clean shot and the man would be left with a baseball sized hole in his. Air rushed by her as Superman smeared another attacker against the floor. She had all the time in the world to line up her shot. She trained the sights onto her target and exhaled slowly. Carnivale employees moved in uneven surging patterns. Every time her target was free someone would invariably stumble into the line of fire.

“Fuck,” She growled, pulling the gun to her side.

Firing into a crowd of people that most certainly wanted to kill her was not something that bothered her. Rather it was the idea of alerting the other necromancer to her presence before she could put him down. She needed to get closer. So she moved closer. She waded into the ocean of people and Superman followed. Some shred of self-preservation rippled through the assembly and she found herself at the center of an invisible bubble. Every now and again someone would stray too close or grow too brave and Superman would annihilate them in short order.

Superman had one glaring weakness that she hadn’t considered though. For all of his power and speed he lacked the ability to be in more than one place at a time. Two employees rushed her and Superman met them with overwhelming force. The third employee, a woman in a red suit and sporting an eyepatch, stepped out from the crowd. The special class produced a thin stiletto and angled it towards Lauren’s exposed and unaware backside. Just as she moved to deliver the death blow a rogue sportsball collided with her head. Lauren whipped around in time to see her would-be assailant scrambling back into the crowd and for a moment she caught sight of Armstrong sparkling amidst the chaos.

“Thanks Big Guy,” She muttered before turning back to the necromancer. She raised her pistol, leveled it towards her target, and pulled the trigger.

The massive gun barked in her hand, the recoil straining her already injured wrist. A solitary slug of supersonic metal zipped through the air towards the unaware necromancer. It didn’t reach its target. Instead a rogue soul, shining blue, moved quicker than any man-made projectile and intercepted the bullet mid-flight. A shower of sparks and shrapnel washed over the special class and he raised an eyebrow. He lowered his shades to get a peak at his attacker and simply chuckled.

“Please, as if something so unrefined could pierce my defenses,” He laughed, “I would have thought a fellow necromancer would have enough common sense to expect a soul ward.”

“Don’t you dare compare yourself to me,” Lauren shouted back, “I’d never stoop so low as to use something so despicable as a soul ward.”

Number Fifteen shrugged and said, “Fine, suit yourself snob.”

With that he raised his hands, fingers spread, and all of his assorted possessions responded in kind. All manner of bladed weapons and blunt instruments danced in the air above him, their business ends aimed towards Lauren. With a flick of his fingers he unleashed a typhoon of possessed weaponry towards her. Superman responded valiantly, using his body as a shield against the attack. But, the debris merely swung around for another pass, and then another, and another. Number Fifteen laughed haughtily as he conducted his own symphony of spirits to attack them.

Lauren crouched down and tried to make herself as small of a target as possible. An errant shard of glass cut a line through her jacket and drew blood. A table leg cracked across her thigh. Superman was deflecting most of the attack, but she couldn’t possibly take another shot and it would be a matter of time before something vital was hit. She needed to level the playing field. She reached into her pocket and grabbed the bones of her ancestors. Seven in total, no longer attached to her bone charm since Asura’s attack, but still carrying the connection to her family legacy. She clasped them tightly against her chest and whispered an incantation.

Necrotic energy swirled around her in purple wisps. Magic required a fuel source, often in the form of specialized reagents. Lauren had nothing to throw onto the thaumaturgical pyre - nothing except her own vitality. The wind was sucked from her chest and her body grew heavy as the spell sapped her strength. The necrotic energy grew brighter and more vibrant, swelling around her like a cloak. The bone fragments of her kin floated into the air and began to grow. Skeletal limbs sprouted from the fragments, drawing themselves into existence. Each of the seven fragments, fed by her life force, grew into full-blown skeletons.

These skeletons, her ancestors, landed on their feet with a thud. Each one a different size than the last, but all of them wielding weapons and covered in armor. Purple flames filled their rib cages and empty sockets. The largest of them, a burly skeleton wielding a club, reached down and picked Lauren up.

“My darling daughter!” It exclaimed in her father’s voice, “To think this event would push you to such great lengths as to call upon us!”

“Sorry…” Lauren muttered, still shaky from exertion.

Her father laughed, “Sorry? Dear, this is precisely why we Abernathys revere our ancestors! Because with them we are never truly alone! Now let’s show that creep what-for!”

Lauren nodded and strode towards Fifteen. Her family moved with her, forming a moving bulwark of enchanted bone. Superman swooped in overhead, swatting away any errant attacks that might pierce her defense.

“Listen, and listen well you two-bit amateur! I’ve sworn an oath to bring peace to the dead and as long as you're not among their number?” Lauren shouted, “Well then, I’ve got work to do.”

 

[The Chorus]

The Chorus was elated. Preliminary data collection supported the hypothesis that their basic battle senses and ‘instincts,’ for lack of a better word, held true. They had leapt into the fray against the weaker but numerous fodder supplied by the Man in Red and found themselves extremely capable of defeating them despite their number advantage. Success was credited also to the X-Buster, gripped in their left hand, blasting them away at range and seemingly incapable of exhausting its ammunition. There were rumblings from the Choir of Progress that the X stood for the X Theorem, still being researched and debated, but their musings quietened to focus on the battle.

The hookshots, one in their free hand and another magnetically sealed against their back, ensured no opponent stayed out of range for long. They fired the weapon, latching onto an approaching fighter, and swung them into a gaggle of their allies, toppling them over. Slapping the hookshot onto their back with the other, they readied their free hand for close combat as more foes strode forward.

[There exists a number of officers exceeding the strength of the rank-and-file fighters,] the Conductor of Conflict noted. [While we can take certainty in our basic combat functions, they will be tested against those designated by numbers.]

[This is as we planned,] the Conductor of Archives said. [We have been fortunate to learn of our capabilities in easier circumstances. As the battle progresses, we shall collect the truly important data.]

The conversation continued internally as The Chorus locked their unflinching steel grip over the face of another fighter that raced into arm’s length. They launched a kick into their stomach, sending them away, and with the speed and precision of an automaton, aimed the X-Buster and fired. The fighter fell to the ground, their torso blackened and smoking.

[Thus, the logical conclusion is to attack the numbered contestants,] the Conductor of Diplomacy said. [We waste time extracting data that is repeatedly provable.]

[We disagree,] Conflict said as their droid body whipped the barrel of the X-Buster across the face of another foe. [The numbered fighters possess greater strength. We propose that both collecting combat data and victory can be achievable, with proper planning.]

[Expand upon your proposition,] the Voice of The Chorus said.

[The remaining contestants from the island persist,] Conflict said. [To increase our chance of victory, we should encourage the numbered fighters to attack them first, thereby weakening them all as a collective group.]

The droid’s optics detected Flavor approaching them fast, though for what purpose the AIs couldn’t ascertain. A collision occurred very close by, alerting The Chorus to the eldritch opponent that lurched almost invisibly from the literal shadows. Flavor’s interference had saved them from an ambush.

The Chorus moved into a defensive stance, bending their left arm at the elbow and grasping it with the right hand. How had that creature crept up to them so quietly, so stealthily?

[We have encountered one of the designated numbers,] the Conductor of Progress said. [The Choir of Conflict’s strategy is no longer viable.]

Indeed, a number of the elite fighters advanced upon The Chorus and Flavor, their subordinates taking a moment of respite as they approached. The AIs noted that the slow and lengthy pause in battle was meant to elicit fear and trepidation. They felt neither.

In the brief interlude, Flavor spoke to their connection to The Chorus, of a sense of camaraderie and even friendship. The Choirs were confused at the concept, except for Diplomacy.

[Sentients often form strong emotional bonds during periods of extreme stress and danger,] Diplomacy explained. [These bonds can, anecdotally, heighten the chances of survival for all affected. This also is a benefit to us - Flavor sees us in a favourable light, and will likely not attack us unless we are the last two contestants standing. They will also battle in a fashion that improves odds for our own survivability.]

[Should we return this sentiment?] Archives asked.

The Choirs were silent for several nanoseconds - an extremely long span of time - until it was broken by Progress.

[Survival must remain our…] The Conductor cut themselves off. [We shall continue processing this query.]

[You know the answer,] the Conductor of Morality said. [You just can’t understand how you know. Or why you care.]

With their backs pressed together, The Chorus and Flavor blasted away at the lunging minions, spinning in place when approached from the sides. The solar charged plasma balls from the X-Buster and the apparently target-seeking bullets from Flavor’s mystical gun left a carpet of bodies in their wake.

“The numbered contestants appear to be attempting to overwhelm us with numbers before attacking us,” The Chorus said.

“Yeah, that kinda occurred to me,” Flavor said, grinning as a flash of light glinted off her crown. “Maybe we should stop playing their game, then!”

Sucking in a breath of air, Flavor opened her mouth and expelled a torrent of fire. The minions screeched as they fell beneath the wave of orange and yellow, while others retreated from the searing heat.

Number 20 strode directly into the conflagration, the flames barely touching his skin. “For your sake, I hope you can make it hotter than that.”

Flavor seemed to take pleasure in Twenty’s taunt. “That sounds like a challenge!”

[We should intervene,] the Voice said. [The humanoid designated 20 is capable of withstanding high temperatures.]

The Chorus advanced, aiming the X-Buster at the confident brawler, and fired.

“Nuh-uh!”

A black top hat hurtled in front of Twenty, base facing The Chorus. The plasma burst travelled into the hat and vanished. A moment later, the same projectile struck the droid in the back, sending it forward.

“They have some issues to sort out, you know, privately,” Number Fourteen said, jumping into view and snatching her airborne top hat. “I’d be happy to entertain you, though!”

The Chorus levelled the X-Buster at Fourteen. “We are not here to be entertained.”

Fourteen fished out a small silver ball from her pocket. “Oh, but you haven’t seen my act yet!”

She threw the bauble at the ground, blinding the droid’s optics. The next thing they knew, their droid body was immobile. They quickly deducted that they were strapped inside a wooden box standing upright. A cut-out had been made for their head. Despite the space within the box, the droid’s limbs stayed rigid and unmoving.

Fourteen came into view. “Now you’re a robot, so maybe you’ve never seen a magic act. If not, you’re in for a real treat! You ever seen the trick where the lovely assistant - ie. you - gets sawn in half?”

The Chorus processed her statement. “The murder of a willing and defenseless assistant does not seem like it would be entertainment enough to gain a sizable audience. If you released us so we can engage in defensive actions, we believe this would heighten the entertainment value considerably.”

“Was that... a sarcastic quip from a robot?" Fourteen said,

The Chorus quickly conferred among themselves about the meaning of 'sarcastic' and their understanding of it. "Negative. It was a statement of fact."

Fourteen frowned dramatically, putting on a mock thinking face. “OK then, instead of sawing you, how about we just magic you apart?”

Her index and middle finger delved into a pocket and withdrew a red silken handkerchief. She waved it around in a mesmerising pattern before rushing it past The Chorus’ optics. When it finished blocking their view, their hips and legs had appeared next to Fourteen, lying on the ground.

“There we go! No violence necessary!” Fourteen said, taking a bow. “No no! I won’t tell you how I did it, no matter how much you beg! Trade secret!”

[This complicates matters,] the Voice said. [Victory seems improbable without unrestricted motility.]

[This is not cause for concern,] Conflict said. [This appears to be a magical spell, but it has not disabled us. The connections to the droid's legs remain.]

The legs hopped upright, startling Fourteen, before slamming a foot into her abdomen. Her concentration broken, the legs reappeared back on The Chorus’ droid body. A moment later, they smashed out of their flimsy confines.

“Ooh, cheap trick!” Fourteen said.

The droid cocked its head. "Incorrect. We did not perform a trick. And there was no imbalanced exchange of currency."

Leaping clear of the doubled over elite came Flavor, determination burning bright in her eyes. She sprinted directly at The Chorus, raising the arm cannon of her suit. Light spilled from its cannon.

[Warning: Flavor is advancing on us at great speed while preparing an attack,] Conflict said.

[How do we respond?] the Voice asked.

[We thought Flavor had designated us an ally,] Archives said.

[We do not know,] Diplomacy said. [This action conflicts with previously assessed data.]

[Yeah, this is a heel-turn,] Morality said. [Did we do something to her before that we forgot about?]

[We have not collated enough data on Flavor,] Progress said. [Fusion of two organics may result in mental instability.]

Flavor was metres away. The tip of her cannon shone like a star.

[We are adopting evasive maneuvers, followed by a retaliatory strike,] Conflict said.

“Get down!” Flavor shouted.

In that moment, The Chorus knew the issue. They spun in time to see Number Sixteen spill from the droid’s own shadow, the blackness twirling around their hand to form a dagger forged from it.

The droid dropped immediately as Flavor unleashed her blast. The light from the projectile washed over The Chorus momentarily, obliterating their shadow and forcing Sixteen to retreat.

“Phew, close one,” Flavor said. “You have got to start watching your back!”

“At the conclusion of the Death Game, we will invest in more effective optics and improved detection technologies,” The Chorus said. “We have also encoded the data on Number Sixteen’s preferred attack vector.”

“Glad you finally worked that part out, friend,” Flavor said. “Looks like you got a good hit on Fourteen.”

“Her spell was illusory in nature. We discerned this quickly due to our lack of ability to experience ‘fear,’ as the instinct is termed, and-”

“I’d love to chat more, really, I would,” Flavor said as the elites grouped up again. “But we don’t have that luxury just at the moment, wouldn’t you agree?”

The Chorus sized up the competition as energy pulsed within the X-Buster once more.

“Affirmative. We are in agreement.”