DGS3 -- The Finale

[Number Five]

Five never had trouble with violence nor killing. Yet, never before has it been for entertainment purposes. One might argue his current predicament leans more towards survival. However you want to phrase it, with all of these battle-hungry maniacs, he does not have a choice but to 'thin out the herd'.

Up ahead, he saw the demonic, monstrous new form of Eddie rampaging through the battlefield with the most satisfying grin on his face. The former agent straightened his tie, picked up his sword, and rested it nonchalantly on his right shoulder, "Well then, time to get to work."

"Hey Eddie! Did you happen to see a bunny woman with an exceptionally annoying attitude around here?!" The youngster yelled towards his flagrant undead ally.

The transforming zombie did not reply; he seemed too busy with his own victims.

"Guess I'll look around myself, I'm sure she's around here somewhere."

Five was no idiot; he wasn't the type to charge in guns blazing, banner in hand, and ready to die for king and country. No, he was going to pick his victims one by one. Starting with the so-called number five of the special class, before things get needlessly complicated.

Amongst the explosions, ragdolling bodies, and overall destruction of property, he spotted the hopping nuisance that struck a nerve during their short stay in the ballroom. "Gotcha," he said under his breath right before slipping through his portal.

Number five's unique hopping movement made her a difficult target to hit. From the corner of her eyes, she noticed Five appearing out of nowhere, swinging his sword aimed straight for her neck. Number five dodged Number Five's strike in midair with elegant grace, defying the laws of physics known to Five.

"Sorry, but seeing as everyone has to go, I have no choice but to start with you. You know, before it gets complicated name wise."

"Aww that's cute~. Thinking you can get rid of me that easily~?" The special class competitor kept bouncing in place as she continued her taunt, "You sure you don't want to go and watch cartoons or something, little boy?~"

"Listen here you little shit, I am done t-.."

*POW*

Mid-sentence, a fist found its way in between the hitman's eyes. Turning his vision black for a moment.

"Teehee, what was that~?" His namesake said with a wide grin on her face whilst hopping left and right.

She was fast…deceitfully fast. Five spat out blood down on the ground, he had enough of this energetic bunny chick. He swung his sword, hurling bolts of lightning created by the slash.

"Ha-ha-ha, come on, boy. Atleast try~!" The hopper taunted as she showed off lightning-fast jumps, dodging the projectiles without breaking sweat.

The Umbrella student was done talking and prepared his weapon for yet another salvo.

*jab*

*jab*

*punch*

No second attack was launched, the animal hybrid closed the gap in the blink of an eye. The flurry of blows that followed sent Five flat on his ass.

"I asked you to at least try. You're not really living up to that reputation~."

The hitman groaned and pushed himself up from the ground, "Don't worry, I just had to get the timing right." His remark was met with a curious grin.

Once again, Five called forth the power of the sword, sprouting angelic wings from his back and taking to the sky. The hybrid showed off her jumping power and followed him up high, on course to match the flyer's height. "You're not going anywhere, boy. Here I come!~"

The assassin just grinned. Both hands glowed blue and vanished from sight, blipping away. Leaving her wide eyed and slightly panicking.

"Behind you!" A third party yelled from below. Most likely, one of her allies is looking out for her.

Five reappeared behind her, slightly lower. His powerful wings boosted him upwards with force. With both hands wrapped around the hilt, the wielder dragged the blade across the hopper's spine. Activating one of the blade's unique abilities in the process. Usually this means sending out balls of fire towards a target. Though this time…the target was right at the end of his blade, setting her ablaze.

"AAAAAAAaaaaaaaaahhhhh"

The burning woman screamed in agony as the flames engulfed her.

A well-placed kick from the hitman created a comet-like projectile hurling towards the battlefield.

"HEY Eddie!!" The winged contestant shouted, "Lunch is served, roasted number five! Enjoy!"

The hybrid projectile crashed, leaving a groaning, smoldering, and more quiet agent of the man in red.

"Urgh" the woman groaned, opening her eyes. The flames were extinguished by the impact, and she was now faced with a more dangerous problem. A mere meter away, number five was now face-to-face with the devil himself.

"Well hello there, number five. Welcome to the showwww!!" Eddie shouted with glorious passion.

"Ahh hell." Fearful words left the woman.

Eddie laughs, "Hell indeed!"

Five smirked, but he knew this battle was only getting started. His perceptive eyes then noticed an old muscular aquintace. It was the oaf he battled on the island. Before he became a target, he retracted his wings, blipping himself to a safer location down below. Waiting for a chance to jump the muscled bastard that got away.

 

[Lilith]

Lilith's relationship to death is not one of apathy, but exaltation. She couldn't be more enraptured by the prospect of placid nihility. Yet, her non-existence is ephemeral, always edging towards but never reaching a blissful end. Many attempted to tame the ceaseless craving lurking inside her. Her religious-minded mentors used doctrine and deception. Anti-occultism organizations used oppressive force and confinement. This current universe had its droves of heroes. But they were all destined to fail. The curse is inescapable.

“Gehahahh… I haven't finished yet.” The deviant panted in breathy palpitations, reddish pink suffusing her face and a litany of lacerations thrumming throughout her crippled body. The enthrallment of the killing game had fully taken root, and in that moment she believed she was nearing her final climax.

“I need to witness my dearest cherub fade into the afterlife, then I'll astonish the audience with my ultimate performance!” Lilith elevated her hands to the collapsing sky, reveling in her obsession. Every tendon threatened to snap, each limb shambled through meadows of pain, and still the pale woman animated herself into motion, emphatically refusing to falter. She had no reluctance to abscond from all material attachments, except for one.

“Ah, Master, how will you go on without me?” Lilith's eyes were hazy, unfocused, dispelling the notion that her raving lament was directed at any creatures or cameras. “I'M SORRY RIDLEY, I WON'T BE COMING BACK THIS TIME!” A melancholic concoction of tittering and wailing streamed from the madwoman as her compulsion guided her to the homicidal soiree.



When the hedonist showed up to the party, there were no common employees nor Grade-A snobs, no decorations nor amenities. The room itself ceased to exist. Only two figures absorbed her view—the noble angel and the masked blonde broad.

She had other loose ends to tie up first, though.

After the brief banter with the fusion of her comrade and rival, Lilith turned to the motionless droid, prodding at its visor. “Hey, I got the last part of your plan.”

The Chorus, having a million concurrent debates, responded, “Vocal functions limited. Deposit objective.”

“Whatever. Just don't interfere.” She dipped an arm into her bag, then the robot's, and with the exchange complete, she departed to greet the gang of the hour. If she didn't eliminate the right one before the AI shut down, so be it. Not her problem.

The WYVERN enforcer deliberated The Chorus's efficacy. Droid's got potential. Its lethality was modest at best, but its insight had sustained their survival thus far. Brains and bronze. Besides, wreaking carnage was her job.

As Lilith sauntered to her inevitable murderers, she tasted the palpable contempt emanating from them. And it. Was. Delicious.

The Thundersharks collectively glowered at the wretched woman, converging on Zayin's bandaged form.

“Oh, am I interrupting something?” Lilith purred, leering at the sanctimonious troupe.

Coda scowled, teeth bared in defiance of the giantess. A singular word carried her absolute disdain. “Leave.” Her warning was an obligation, though the monster before her hardly deserved even that.

“Not when your emotions are so irresistible.” A serpentine appendage slinked out from Lilith's mouth, sampling the glut of rancor she incited and tracing the outline of her licentious lips. “Honestly, I'm impressed. You've got all of these guys wrapped around your fingers.”

The group clamored in response to the sadist's slanderous speech.

“Excuse me?” The Carnivale employee couldn't adequately express her sheer revulsion.

“What is this heresy you spout?” The Angel of Challenge began to advance, but thought better of it. He was suddenly appreciative of the beefy blockade between him and this faithless cur.

King Shark growled like a pitbull about to tear someone's head off, his leash having more than enough slack. Lilith peered into the mesmerizing maw of oblivion, a serrated waterslide featuring 360 degrees of inexorable flensing. She wouldn't be waiting long to experience it.

“You're really pissing me off, lady!” Majima brandished the disco ball, displaying his extraordinary talent to make innocuous objects appear deadly.

Kiryu, stoic and silent, contemplated their vexing enemy.

The quintet seemed seconds away from pummeling Lilith, but it only spurred her on. “I bet the shark didn't take much convincing. He's just a feral predator, same as me. He'll serve anyone who offers the biggest plate of meat. Isn't that right?”

Coda gripped the Sky Scorcher closer to her chest, seething. “We are nothing like you.”

“Not same!” echoed King Shark, savage jaws looming inches from the vitriolic woman.

“Quit your bullshitting already or we'll—!” Majima was swiftly stifled by a white upraised digit.

“You're almost right. I'm nothing like you, Coda.” Where hatred once burgeoned, now a tainted depravity devoured Lilith's heart, equal parts animosity and infatuation. “Actually, you're no different than Master Ridley, telling me who's the 'good' prey and who's the 'bad'. But at least he's honest.”

“Coda… Friend!” Nanaue bellowed, his willpower pressed to its limit as he resisted the urge to feed.

The Carnivale employee ambitiously pushed forward, winding up a simmering fist. “So what's your point? Are you saying I tricked them?” She glanced at each of her allies, Zayin, Nanaue, Kiryu, and Majima, all reaffirming their unity.

Lilith was yearning to continue her deranged diatribe. “I'm not insinuating you lied. I know your feelings are genuine. No, you used them as stepping stones without even thinking about it. You would've used Supes too, if someone else hadn't beat ya to the punch.” She leaned low, leveling with her antithetical adversary. “You are a fascinating specimen.”

At that final word, Coda's eyes widened in an auric flash.

“I'm sure Master Ridley would love to strip you open and do all kinds of experiments on you. He's got a thing for bioweapons—”

Coda didn't have to tolerate this sludge-slinging freak. “Hreagh!!” With an aggressive shove, she forced the perverse woman to vacate the premises of her personal space.

SHRRNK

Before Lilith could process the silvery blur, the shining edge of Sky Scorcher was directed at her jugular. As if on queue, she coiled both palms around the weapon's haft, escalating the pressure on her skin to the brink of breaking. “Go ahead, put your prissy little hands on me, whore. It's the last chance you'll get.”

Zayin tried to remedy the situation. “Coda, don't listen to that witch, she doesn't—”

“No!” The exasperated employee quietly prayed for forgiveness. “Nobody, and I mean nobody, talks to me or my friends like that.”

Lilith's recourse was to keep doubling down. “Then do something about it! Is the shark gonna cram me into his gaping hole?! You two gonna tag-team me?! How about some double penetration action from my innocent cherub?! Or maybe—”

“Ladies, ladies,” came the condescending voice of Eighteen. “Save your violent desires for the finale. It's about to start after all.”

The Thundersharks and the sadistic woman relented upon hearing the announcement, eager to settle the score.



To others the gruesome uproar might've seemed senseless, but to Lilith it was her perfect playground.

“This is the best high I've had in ages!” the drug-fueled hedonist proclaimed. That vampire girl wasn't kidding when she said it'd be intense.

An abundance of expendable staff surrounded her, rushing in at all sides, but each one crumpled before the monumental jet hammer, crushed and cleaved into a shower of vermillion slurry. The pulverized employees doused her corrosive body, blessing her in an unholy communion.

Lilith was inspired by the various mismatched corpses clinging to the jet hammer. Spikes of hardened blood sprouted from its colossal head, transforming it into a maroon thousand pointed star. Now she wielded an imminent implication of mass mutilation. A vow.

She turned towards her prime targets, but instead found a swarm of flying pests obnoxiously assailing her. Swiping the creatures away with an acid splash, she determined the source of the annoyance, a lithe, deceptively youthful man, ivory haired with a tattered cape draped atop his shoulders. “Fuck outta my way! I'm not here for you red suited cunts.”

“Is that so? Then I must be gravely misinformed.” Special class Six recalled his summoned animals, then bowed politely, as if requesting entrance to an uninvited house. “Tell me, who is it that you seek?”

“Tch. Shouldn't that be obvious?” Lilith gestured vaguely in the direction of the three combatants brawling with the lone swordsman and the pair of yakuza.

“Hoh? You're willing to forfeit your chance at victory just to sabotage theirs? Your vindictiveness is truly splendid!” Six gave an overly sincere chuckle. “I won't waste your time then, madame. Stare into my eyes, and allow me to conduct you into this extravagant symphony of madness!”

“Yeah yeah, use me however you want, just don't stop until those holier-than-thou pricks are dead.” Lilith locked eyes with the vampire's bewitching gaze, completely surrendering control. She had no qualms being a mindslave, as long as it brought her closer to a proper release.

“Hmhm, your wish is my command,” Six smugly professed. “Huh. Usually that's more dramatic. Nevertheless, onward! Slay the Thundersharks!”

“Don't gotta tell me twice.”



“Alright Kiryu-chan, let's beat the shit outta this guy!” Majima hoisted Sky Scorcher, preparing to bludgeon the weaselly employee he had against the ropes.

Unfortunately, a rocket propelled spike ball was hurtling his way, and as his single eye opened to its apex, he torpedoed to the opposite end of the arena.

“Majima-san!” Kiryu faced the woman with the insane-looking hammer, grunting.

“Wow, I think that's a home run!” Lilith gloated, ready to deliver a similar fate to the Dragon of Dojima.

“W-wait, what's going on here?” Two wobbled onto his feet. “We weren't told the competitors would be assisting us.”

“This one is an exception,” informed Six. “Now if you wouldn't mind, apply your techniques to our new puppet.”

Two grinned ecstatically at the opportunity. “This should be very interesting.”

 

[The Man in Red]

The Final Showdown
#001 Coda Nitai, #002 Zayin, #003 Alex Louis Armstrong, #007 King Shark, #011 Kiryu & Majima, #012 Laurentius Abernathy, #016 Five, #017 Eddie the Head, #020 The Chorus, #021 Lilith, #X Princess Flavor​

As Armstrong charged boldly forward, he found himself met once again by Number Eight as the special class employee came barreling head-on to meet him. He had acquired a set of formidable looking gauntlets of his own now, and looked more than ready to rock with the rock-manipulating alchemist.

The two hit each other fist-first, both throwing a punch in unison that kicked up impressive shockwaves and blew back the dust around them.

"Heh. Not bad, given how busted up you are." Number eight flashed a grin. "Against normal people, hit like that'd have shattered their arm!"

"And you are a formidable foe, as well!" Armstrong rumbled, only the sweat beading on his brow any indication that the blow very nearly had shattered his arm, only the mighty alchemical gauntlet and the force of his own blow sparing him from such a fate.

"Well, let's see how long you can keep it up!" And with a quick half-step back to break the clash of fists, eight threw himself full on into a blistering barrage of punches, only to find that his wild, unfocused swings were mostly hitting empty air and barely grazing the Strongarm Alchemist. Despite his immense size and wounded state, as Armstrong threw everything he had left into this one final demonstration, he kept his speed up; fully showcasing his family's proud tradition of melee combat as he deftly swayed, bobbed and weaved with a professional's grace around the onslaught of blows.

And finally, his eyes gleaming, he retaliated. A swift lunging blow, directly to his opponent's body, staggering him and taking the wind out of him. And immediately he stepped forward, his opposite arm thundering up from below for a devastating uppercut...

...and just as it landed, the strongarm alchemist felt a sudden hand on his back. And a wave of crippling weakness washed over him as all his strength deserted him. His mighty blow struck number eight squarely in the chin, though with all the force of a normal man, as bruised and flagging in strength as Armstrong's weakened body would imply.

As he staggered back, breathing raggedly and trying to focus his vision, he turned around only to behold what had just happened. And what he saw left him speechless and aghast. There stood the impassive form of number nineteen, casually flexing her fingers. Slowly she curled and uncurled her hands into fists. "Hmm...not bad. Not bad." And she looked squarely at Armstrong. "Thanks for the present, muscles." And she smiled, with a wink. "Promise I'll put 'em to good use." And she steeled herself, before launching forward into a punch that took all the wind out of his sails, and produced a noise from his ribs not unlike shattering glass and rupturing meat as her comparatively tiny fist punched through his chest like a piledriver.

Staggering back, the strongarm alchemist dropped to one knee, bracing himself with one arm as the other clutched at his chest. Sweat poured down his forehead and face as he struggled to even maintain his breathing and focus his eyesight.

Then the battered, cybernetic form of number three loomed out of the fighting chaos. "Lemme give you a piece of advice, pal," his synthetic voice intoned as he strode up, and leveled one of his pistols at Armstrong's forehead. "Always bet on red." And with a single gunshot, the state alchemist's life was snuffed out, the high-powered round turning the top half of his head into red mist.

The worst part of it all, though? Not only had number nineteen stolen his powers...the crazy bitch had stolen his twinkling sparkles, too.

Can't have shit in this place.

Results

#003 Alex Louis Armstrong -- DEAD

More to come shortly. Stay tuned.

 

[The Man in Red]

The Final Showdown
#001 Coda Nitai, #002 Zayin, #007 King Shark, #011 Kiryu & Majima, #012 Laurentius Abernathy, #016 Five, #017 Eddie the Head, #020 The Chorus, #021 Lilith, #X Princess Flavor​

Number two waved a hand in Lilith's direction. "Let's see just what we can wring out of you..." he murmured, his eyes gleaming brightly. "If we don't need to worry about keeping you in one piece, I should be able to..."

Lilith slumped forward slightly, as a visible rippling sensation ran along her body. And then she screeched, somewhere in between ecstasy and mind-numbing agony as something happened within her body. The next second, she exploded into motion, crossing the distance between herself and Kiryu in the blink of an eye and delivering a bone-rattling strike from the blood-wreathed jet hammer.

For a moment, it almost seemed like the sheer absurd resilience of the Dragon of Dojima would hold, as he remained stoically in place...then, as if in slow motion, his body began to crumple and give, his face contorting into a mask of pain as his eyes screwed shut, and he was launched across the arena as time returned to normal. Skipping once over the ground, Kiryu collided with Majima and sent the both of them smashing into a wall with terrific force.

Something in Lilith's body audibly snapped, along with a chorus of ripping and crackling noises as she slumped over again in the wake of the maneuver. But after a moment, some sudden spike of adrenaline and endorphins kicked in and sent her lurching back upright, face breaking out in a manic grin all over again.

The pair of yakuza came slowly staggering out of the rubble, both in bad shape from the relative sucker punches they had been exposed to.

"Majima-san...." Kiryu rasped. "...are you alright?"

"Just fine..." the Mad Dog wheezed. "...what about you...Kiryu-chan?"

"I'll...live, for now..." the Dragon of Dojima managed.

With a grimace, both of them discarded their weapons. "It's time..." And with a flourish, both of them reached up to rip off and cast aside their jackets. As the tattoos on their backs were bared, the signature aura of heat flared to life around both, blazing dark red and bright purple. And steeling themselves, discarding the pain they shared, they both dashed forward.

They split off, each one circling in from the sides to catch the cursed woman in a pincer fashion. Closing in from either side, they both cocked back to deliver a punishing strike...

Essence of Subdual: Inu-Ryū Shoyū

...and instead they both leaped forward, in a flying grapple. Kiryu surged up behind the comparatively giant woman, grabbing hold of her arms and yanking back to tuck them under his own in an iron grip. Majima swept in low, wrapping his own arms around Lilith's legs and flipping up onto his shoulders to wrap his legs around her waist, in an iron grip of his own.

"Oi, shark-man!" the mad dog bellowed, his one eye wide open. "Do it now! That big trick we practiced before!"

Distantly, Nanaue turned around ponderously toward the sight. His mouth hung open, gaping, as his blank eyes stared at the scene. For a moment he seemed uncomprehending, as he just watched Lilith's struggle threaten to dislodge the two yakuza at any moment, number two growing increasingly frustrated behind the fray as he furrowed his brow and bent his efforts toward disrupting Kiryu and Majima's hold.

Then, the king of sharks simply bobbed his head somberly. And he turned fully away from his more immediate allies, lumbering several steps forward and taking the Sword of Omens in both hands.

Zayin and Coda moved in wordless sync to interpose themselves between Nanaue and number one, blocking the special class from moving to interfere. "Your teamwork is beginning to grate on my nerves," he muttered, with a frustrated sigh hissing out from clenched teeth.

"Your fight is with us, right now," Zayin said emphatically, bringing his swords to bear. "If you want to go interrupt their fight, you'll have to get past us, first."

"....so be it, then." And number one thundered forward, taking his sword up in both hands, and struck with a mighty overhand blow.

Raising the sword of omens, Nanaue mustered up everything he had to make sure he got this one right. "Sword of Omens!" he shouted.

As the blades of number one and Zayin clashed, Coda blurred into sight behind him, her masked face full of a mixture of rage and grief. She knew what was coming. Now they only had to make it count. She bolted forward, grabbing number one around the waist with both arms, and jumped straight up for all she was worth, swiftly spinning around and hurling the masked man directly toward her allies' desperate struggle.

"Give...power! Beyond power!" Nanaue thrust the weapon forward, holding the flat of the blade and the gem in its hilt, toward the desperate fracas, and gave a wordless bellowing roar.

Number one crashed down into number two, both of them hitting the ground in a heap. The biomancer's power was disrupted with a strangled gasp.

With a noise like thunder, blue light raced down the edges of the sword in the hands of the king of sharks, as the gem in its crossguard lit up bright red. And a magnificently-shining beam of scarlet energy erupted forth, devouring everything in its path -- living and otherwise.

When the beam of light faded seconds later, there was a deep groove burned into the ground, and no traces left of Kiryu, Majima, Lilith or the two special class employees.

No traces except the cartoonish, green mushroom that came tumbling down to land in the glassy groove carved into the arena floor.

Results

#011 Kiryu & Majima -- DEAD
#021 Lilith -- DEAD
Special Class Number One and Number Two have been eliminated

The remaining Thundersharks can choose to use the 1-Up Mushroom to revive Kiryu or Majima, or save it for themselves later

Stay tuned. One more tidbit yet to come.

 

[The Man in Red]

The Final Showdown
#001 Coda Nitai, #002 Zayin, #007 King Shark, #012 Laurentius Abernathy, #016 Five, #017 Eddie the Head, #020 The Chorus, #X Princess Flavor​

Number five hopped up to her feet wearily, quickly darting and scampering back from the maddened beast that was Eddie the Head. "Oooookay, buddy; tone it down!" she yelped, tumbling into a frantic cartwheel. "Rabbit's not on the menu!"

In response, the beast that was Eddie only snickered and snarled in a slavering, wordless manner as he pounced again.

"First rank! Sharkbait maneuver!" came a sudden, thundering voice.

And immediately, no less than a half dozen of the masked and generic employees of the carnivale came leaping and skittering out of the haze of battle, leaping and dogpiling on Eddie and bearing him down to the ground. They were swiftly torn apart by the frenzied devil, bathing himself in their blood and viscera.

But the momentary distraction was enough for number five to get away, quickly hopping and leaping out of the bloodbath to skid to a halt at the side of her ally. "Not a second too soon, eighteen," she wheezed. "Couldn't you have cut in sooner?!"

"The hero always arrives at the last moment," eighteen said, with a smirk. "It would spoil the show if I showed up too soon and made things too easy."

"You're a jerk!" the bunny girl pouted, before she hopped up and wrapped her arms around eighteen, planting a quick peck on his cheek. "But thanks for the save! See you around~" And she quickly bounded off elsewhere into the fray again.

Eighteen's eyes sparkled, as he rested one hand on his hip. "Now, then...to put down the mangy beast." And he swept his other arm out to his side. "Second rank, third rank; blood in the water formation!"

With the sound of thundering feet, more of the faceless carnivale employees came rushing out to join the fray, quickly encircling the bestial, devilish form of Eddie the Head as he slowly lumbered upright. Slowly, the beast turned in place, taking stock of his predicament. Surrounded on all sides, by at least two dozen...easy pickings.

With a mad, cackling roar, he threw himself forward.

"Open fire!" eighteen roared.

And every one of the generic employees did precisely that, and opened fire. An assortment of pistols, shotguns, and rifles all barked and flashed in unison and pelted Eddie from all sides, quickly turning him into swiss cheese and bringing him crashing to a bloody heap on the ground.

With a quick gesture, eighteen swept one thumb across his neck. And promptly obeying, another generic staff quickly dashed out of formation, raising a two-handed scimitar overhead and bringing it down with a wet, meaty SPLATCH to relieve Eddie of his Head.

Results

#017 Eddie the DEAD

As of this post going up, everyone remaining has four days to make one post, which must be 500 words at minimum, and 1500 words at absolute maximum.

Good luck!

 

[Sandor Clegane]

Things looked bleak.

The score cut across the floor did not sizzle or smoke, nor did it steam or crackle. It had been rendered pristine, heated to such a temperature that it had turned to glass; the blast Nanaue had unleashed left a perfect semi-circular path that extended straight ahead until the darkness swallowed it up. Nanaue stood at the start of it.

Where before there had been chaos, there was now a disquieting lack of noise. The din of battle in the background precluded the completeness of silence, but things felt eerily still now that their immediate vicinity had been purged of frenetic activity.

The struggle felt recent, but far away, divided by an event that punctuated the Thundersharks of the here and now from the Thundersharks they’d been moments before.

Coda and Zayin approached the King of Sharks, and the sound of their feet tapping the floor as they closed the gap between themselves and Nanaue sounded unnaturally loud. When Coda drew close, she could smell something acrid in the air, not unlike the smell that lingered when someone overcooked the Thanksgiving turkey, threw it away, took out the trash, but was unable to get rid of the scent that lingered in its wake.

Kiryu-chaaaaan~ she heard his voice, that absurd trill he loved to do, and felt a hysterical laughter threaten to bubble forth. At the same time her eyes welled up with tears, and Coda wondered if she was approaching madness, or simply one-two punched by grief in a way she hadn’t been prepared for. Majima-san - she heard him, too. She heard both of them, and couldn’t believe they were gone.

“It consumed all of them,” Coda said quietly, her voice choked with emotion.

“We knew what we were doing,” Zayin replied. He sounded sad and distant. “They did, too. That’s why they tossed their weapons aside. For us.”

Even in his grief, Zayin was ever the tactician, ever the hero, Coda realized. He’d seen it. Had she? Had she seen it after all, and her mind simply demanded that she ignore it?

Nanaue lowered his sword. His mouth was closed, a long line of lips with teeth poking out. His eyes glimmered darkly, and his shoulders rose and fell gently. The sword smoked briefly, but not for long. It seemed to reabsorb its own energy. Coda wondered if it had always been able to do that, then looked up at the King of Shark’s face.

He was looking ahead at the object. It was the only thing that was left in the wake of the destructive cataclysm Nanaue had unleashed, which was doubly odd due to the fact that it hadn’t been there to begin with.

“What is it?” Zayin asked, his face carefully impassive.

Coda was sure that he was masking his emotions intentionally, lest he let it swallow him completely before things were truly over. She followed Zayin and Nanaue’s gaze to where a single mushroom, green but spotted with white, sat in the long glassy half-pipe.

“1-Up,” Coda said, and her mouth twitched. Laughter or tears or hysteria threatening to come up, she knew. “...it’s…it’s like a second chance. At least it can be. It can do something else, too. It can bring back the dead. It’s like a Phoenix Down. It was, uh…it was in the files.”

They were quiet, then, swallowing the implications.

“So, it can bring them back?” asked Zayin, cautiously allowing hope to trickle into his voice.

“One of them,” Coda replied bleakly. “Or one of us. Or… or we could use it more proactively.”

She found that reaching back for the information and reciting it as indifferently as she could was keeping her grounded, staving off the emotions that threatened to well up and consume her. She wondered how long it would remain effective, then thought of Kiryu and Majima again, and quickly pushed their images from her mind.

“We should decide quickly,” she added.

Coda hurried forward along the ridge of the elongated crater, but stopped in her tracks. She hadn’t noticed, but there they were right in front of her. Their jackets, and their weapons. A taut line of pursed lips slashed across her face, and a tear fell down her cheek as she stooped to grab Majima’s jacket…then she stopped herself.

He’ll need it if we bring him back.

Her hand moved instead to the Sky Scorcher, which she scooped up then shouldered.

Vaulting the edge of the half-pipe, she descended towards the mushroom. She leaned forward, the blonde hair that had come loose sometime prior spilling across her shoulders, then gripped the edge of the 1-Up mushroom with her off-hand. It was larger than she’d thought it would be, but soft and light. It felt easy to lift.

“Which one of them, then?” asked Zayin.

He appeared at the edge of the glassy crater, and Coda noticed he’d picked up the rocket launcher but not one of the jackets. He’d probably had the same thought she did, that they’d need them whenever one of them came back.

Nanaue loomed behind Zayin, they heard his heavy footfall before they saw him. He drew up behind Zayin, uncomfortably close, and put a massive hand on the Angel of Challenge’s shoulder.

“Hurt friend,” Nanaue announced, looking down at Zayin. His gills rose and fell gently.

Zayin opened his mouth to protest, but Coda cut him off.

“He’s right. It’s you. It needs to be you,” she said it before she could rethink what she was saying. “It needs to be. It’s what they would’ve wanted. They knew what they were doing.”

She threw the mushroom at him before he could protest and he was forced to catch it despite himself, out of instinct.

“Now, wait a minute-” Zayin began.

“Yes. Wait a minute.”

Coda whipped around, Zayin’s eyes lifted from Coda to the spot above her head on the other side of the glassy groove, and Nanaue began to emit a low growl.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

They’d emerged from the darkness quietly, but now that they were there, there was no missing them.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

“Codaaaaa!” cooed the one in the front. “You made it past One and Two!”

Thirteen, her vampiric eyes trained on the remaining Thundersharks, stopped clapping and smirked. One of her hands went to the rapier at her hip and drew it deftly, all in one fluid motion.

“I knew you would, though. And now you get to fight with me!” Thirteen exclaimed, grinning. Peaked canines put in an appearance past her lips.

An orange haired man beside her glanced warily over to Thirteen and wrung his hands. Twenty-One smoothed down his red coat and grimaced.

“Do you really think you should be taunting them?” Twenty-One asked hesitantly. “They just killed One and Two, as well as that weird looking woman and the two-”

“What do you want, Dai?” demanded Coda. “We don’t want to fight you. We’ve been through enough. Leave us alone.”

Daiten laughed exquisitely, then snapped her fingers.

From behind Thirteen an entire platoon of grunts in Carnivale Rosa gear sprang from the darkness, swallowing up the Special Class soldiers and cascading past them, a veritable waterfall of countless bodies whose unified color blended together until it appeared as if a tidal wave of crimson were spilling out into the slashed-out trench Nanaue’s blast had carved. It swept over the edge and crashed down on them.

“Coda! Switch!” Zayin commanded.

She turned in time to see the rocket launcher toppling end over end in the air, heading towards her. Her eyes glimmering, Coda spear-hurled the Sky Scorcher towards Zayin at full force, then she snagged the rocket launcher out of the air - just in time to whirl around and see the wave crashing down upon her.

Coda squeezed the trigger, and oh, didn’t it feel good?

The rocket scorched the air and impacted the front line, exploding. Body parts and a misty cloud of red intermingled with a fireball and a plume of smoke. The stench was overwhelming, and Coda remembered the scent of barbeque with an unpleasant lurch in her stomach.

Nanaue charged forth, grabbed a man, and shoved him bodily into his mouth. Three quarters of a screaming man disappeared down Nanaue’s throat before the shark crunched down; the sickening squelch of skin bursting under pressure met with the alarming crunch of bone when Nanaue’s teeth pierced the Rosa employee’s legs. His mouth flapped obscenely, devouring, while the remnants of two legs spilled back across the floor. There was nothing else left excepting the streaks of gore seeping out with Nanaue’s tendrils of saliva, dripping down towards the floor.

“Carnivale Rosa!” bellowed out Zayin, one of his swords in one hand, the Sky Scorcher in the other.

He thrust the Sky Scorcher at the crowd who had swallowed up Coda and Nanaue, and was ebbing towards him in a rippling, terrible wave.

“I CHALLENGE YOU!”

He surged forth, a blur of blades and speed.

Word Count: 1,500 (by wordcounter.net)

 

[Arthur Morgan]

Despite the grief that had rocked them all mere moments before, for all the pain in her heart and the wailing inside her head, firing a rocket launcher into a crowd full of people trying their damndest to kill her felt fucking cathartic.

Coda grasped the rocket launcher in a two-handed grip, firing volley after volley into the seething mass of Carnivale employees. Rockets shrieked out into the darkness, exploding in a barrage of burning flares, thunderous booms reverberating in the air and sending a wave of heat spiraling outward— and amidst it all Coda stood, steadfast inside the eye of the storm, death and destruction crashing all around.

One masked man got close enough to tackle her around the middle, nearly gutting her with his sickle-shaped knife, the blade glinting wickedly as it skimmed along her ribs. Wrenching herself from his hold, Coda hauled back one leg and kicked out with all her might, sending him flying backward with a muffled "oof!"

The man tumbled onto the ground, right in front of Nanaue. Their eyes met, and Nanaue blinked slowly in reaction. Without any warning, Nanaue lunged forward and scooped the man up, stuffing him head-first into his mouth like a wriggling, screaming hot dog. The man flailed and kicked, desperately trying to break free from the shark-man's grip— and then went limp as Nanaue's powerful jaws sunk deep into his shoulders, crunching the bones into a splintering, bloody pulp.

Insides churning, Coda forced herself to look away from the nauseating sight. She needed to concentrate on the task at hand! While they had diminished the Carnivale lackeys somewhat, there were still around a dozen more to take out before they could tackle the Special Class commanding them.

Coda gritted her teeth as she raised the launcher, squinting against the blinding light of the disco ball. She could feel cold sweat streaking across her forehead, her hands slipping and sliding on the weapon. In one swift movement, she sighted her targets and squeezed the trigger.

A chilling shriek pierced the air as the rockets flew, cutting through the Carnivale workers like a hot knife through butter. With a deafening boom, they obliterated the ground and everything in their wake, sending shockwaves of destruction throughout the area.

Screams of carnage filled the chamber as Coda watched with detachment, feeling a surge of satisfaction bolting through her— justice had been served and revenge tasted oh so sweet. Amidst the wreckage of severed limbs and charred bodies, the walls were now decorated with a fine red mist; the aftermath of her scorching retribution.

But that wasn't all. Almost as if it possessed a will of its own, a single rocket careened through the air and banked hard towards Number Thirteen!

Unflinching, the young vampire fixed her gaze on the missile and, with a laconic flex of her wrist, grasped the haft of her rapier and thrust it forward.

Schiiiing!

The projectile struck the blade with a deafening clang, rattling the metal. It bounced off from Number Thirteen's rapier, cartoonishly wheeled through the air, and then spun towards the unsuspecting pack of Carnivale employees.

Before they could even blink, the space was filled with a blinding flash and an explosive sound like rolling thunder as the rocket detonated, blowing them the fuck up.

Thirteen stared in bewilderment at the blackened, thinly smoking landscape of scorched limbs and broken bodies that was all that remained of her army. A pungent aroma of charred flesh sizzled in the air, like a nosehair-singeing kitchen experiment gone wrong. She blinked once, then three more times, her mouth forming a perfect 'o' of surprise.

"Oooooops," she drawled, fangs slipping past her lips as she pursed them in an annoyed pout. She squinted over at Coda accusingly. "Hey! You did that on purpose, didn't you?!"

Not bothering to lower her trusty rocket launcher, Coda gave a little shrug, completely unapologetic.

"I have to keep you on your toes somehow, Dai!" she quipped, her cat-like eyes flashing a mischievous yellow-gold. "You know you can't resist a good challenge..."

With a haughty snort, Number Thirteen shifted her stance and tightened her grip on her rapier. Its wicked glint seemed to reflect the laughter in her eyes as she jeered, "You always were a big ol' nerd, Coda, but this really takes the cake!"

A meek cough interrupted their banter, and Number Thirteen spun around to find Number Twenty-One standing primly beside her, a light frown on his face. He shifted his weight from leg to leg under her gaze, fidgeting with the cuffs of his suit.

"Ye-eees?" Number Thirteen asked, her voice as sweet as fairy dust.

Number Twenty-One exhaled softly through his nose, sighing. "Instead of indulging in idle banter, we should be disposing of this pest," he reminded her, nodding to Coda.

"Hey, Coda's no pest!" Thirteen cried out, preempting Coda's own protests. "Why, back in the day, she was a valuable contributor to our team! I might be about to off her, but she's dang good at what she does!"

The exasperation in Number Twenty-One's voice was almost palpable. "Whose side are you on here, anyway?" he sighed wearily, with a slightly unhinged edge that suggested this wasn't the first time he'd had to ask the same question— nor would it be the last.

Zayin ambled over to stand beside Coda, wielding the Sky Scorcher in one hand and brandishing a sword in the other. A thin rivulet of blood dripped from the blunted edge of the halberd and onto the metallic floor, swiftly spreading into a dark stain.

Looking up, he surveyed the animated war of words between the two Special Class. His brows furrowed in confusion.

"What are they on about?" he asked Coda, whispering out of the corner of his mouth. "Aren't they supposed to be... killing us?"

"I think they're having a disagreement about my competence," Coda replied, clearly miffed. "Or lack thereof, apparently."

Nanaue trudged over, having evidently decided he didn't like burnt human flesh over the, erm, fresher variety. He stared up at Thirteen and Twenty-One, busy working at a particularly gruesome morsel that had become lodged between his formidable teeth with one large, webbed finger.

"I'm just saying," Number Thirteen harrumphed, her frilly skirts flouncing with the force of her frustration. "She might be a nerd, but she's no mere pest! Just because we're fighting them doesn't mean we gotta diminish their skills!"

Number Twenty-One scowled. "That may be true, but we still need to—"

*BRRRUUUUUPPP.*

With a noise like a foghorn, Nanaue unleashed a burp of cataclysmic proportions. The burp reverberated across the chamber, magnified by its metallic walls until it felt almost like a bomb detonating. Nearly all creatures— human, droid, or otherwise —scrambled to cover their ears as they cowered in alarm at the sudden sound.

It echoed with such intensity that the words that had been about to leave Twenty-One's mouth evaporated into thin air, leaving the man staring, clearly aghast, at the King of Sharks.

"You—" he stuttered, cheeks blazing red from outrage. "I— YOU—"

"Ha!" Thirteen barked out a laugh, quickly recovering from her astonishment. "Nice one."

Coda heaved a sigh of resignation. A wave of exhaustion swept over her as she dragged a hand down the side of her face, rolling her eyes so hard it seemed they might fall right out of her skull.

"Alright," she declared, clapping her hands together once. "We're fighting, some people gotta die, yada yada yada. Let's get this over with, people!"

She lunged forward with ferocious momentum, a cyclone of fuzzy after-images trailing in her wake as she set a collision course with Thirteen and Twenty-One. The pair had paused at the rim of Nanaue's burned pit in the floor, observing from afar as the Thundersharks battled the horde of Carnivale workers within. Coda scampered up the side of this pit at breakneck speed, her footsteps growing more powerful with each bound, and then performed an acrobatic pirouette to launch herself into the air.

Landing in front of Twenty-One, Coda caught him around the waist, barking out a quick "Sorry!" as she spun and heaved him over the side and into the pit. She grimaced at the thud of his body hitting the ground below, but resolved to, like, ask him out to ice cream later or something.

Facing off against Thirteen, Coda knew she had to act fast. Keeping her gaze locked onto her opponent, she braced her body and readied the launcher in her right hand, anticipating the fierce bite of the vampire's rapier as it swung straight for her head.

Coda ducked, the blade whistling through the air as it sliced a hair’s breadth from her scalp. Seeing an opening, Coda lashed out to upend Thirteen's feet from under her, nearly succeeding in toppling her to the ground— and were it not for Thirteen’s keen battle sense, she might’ve done it, too.

"Be quicker than that, Coda!" Thirteen taunted, dodging the kick.

"Shut uuuuup!"

1,500 Words - Wordcounter.net

 

[Ridley]

The battle was joined once again, and it was hectic as hell. The Flavor Army had expanded to include the Chorus, and its Princess/Commander couldn’t have been happier for the new friend/soldier, given they were being attacked five to two.

Five to three?
Did she count as one for Flavor, two for Flak and Trevor, or three for Flak, Trevor, and Flavor? And Chorus was a robot - Flavor had no idea how many those counted for!

Regardless of the actual numbers, the main problem remained, as the five numbered employees descended, past the ranks of their charred minions - they were still completely encircled.
Twelve and Twenty rushed Flavor even as Fourteen split off to fight her soldier. The Fusion growled as the two came forward, battering the duo with a hail of plasma and stand bullets.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just dropping this off here!” Sixteen’s voice called from behind her, and Flavor groaned as her senses picked up the stench of Eleven’s cigarette.
The fusion dodged the hail of black spears erupting from Twelve’s palm strike with a twist to the right, the beer bottle to the back of the head from Eleven by inches with a backflip, and when Twenty threw a kick to her spine, she countered by grabbing his leg and using it to pin Twenty in place for an elbow thrust to the ribs, weaving through the barrage of attacks with sweat pouring down her face. Even as a Fusion with a tricked out power-set, these guys were pushing Flavor to her limit, and she remembered just how fatal this scene turned out for Gogeta.

“Could y’all buzz off!” Flavor groaned as Twenty staggered back. Her reversal had done little more than daze the big man, and as Flavor brought up her arm cannon to deliver some point-blank heat he brought his fist up to smack her arm off course, the beam dissipating harmlessly in the sky above
A blade of black blood struck a glancing blow against the shoulder of her power suit, her dodge turning a near-fatal blow into a slight graze. The stench of alcohol tinged the air behind her, and only from smelling the gas of the lighter did she have a second of warning to throw herself out of the way of Eleven’s improvised flamethrower.

“Can’t believe you brought alcohol!” Flavor called out, gracefully rolling back on her feet in one smooth motion, flashing a cocky grin to the numbered employee. “But that won’t even singe my armor…”

Flavor’s statement turned to a frown, as the smell of beer and flame caused her to sniffle. An odor that strong wreaked havoc on her sense of smell, and as Eleven mirrored her cocky smirk, She racked her brain on what that might mean.

Senses being blocked off, Eleven, Twelve, and Twenty being super annoying…

Her train of thought arrived at what was missing from this picture: Where was Fourteen? Where was Sixteen?

Flavor turned to see that demonic fuckwich Sixteen creeping up behind Chorus, trying for round two of getting a blade in the Metalhead’s circuitry.

The other numbers caught on quick, Eleven already holding up a bag of sand. “Now hold on-”

Flavor backhanded Eleven with her arm cannon so hard the rogue’s cigarette tumbled from his lips as he was thrown off his feet.
“Get down!”

The charged fireball flashed through her arm cannon, and while the blast didn’t land, it certainly did send Sixteen heading for the hills. Taking the chance to regroup, the two once again stood back to back while their enemies encircled them once again, giving them a moment to chat and figure out a plan.

“This defensive shit ain’t working. They keep isolatin’ ya, and I can’t do any real damage without running interference for that. But we’re both soaked if one of us goes down and these five can concentrate on one of us.”

“What alternatives are available?” the Chorus asked, turning to Flavor.

The wraith-girl gave a confident smile, sweeping a stray hair from her face. “A lesson Hawke taught Flak a long time ago. Flak never got it, o’ course… but I’m a lot smarter than he is!”

“Time is short. State your plan.”

“You don’t attack in chess by taking a pawn. You attack by threatening one.” Flavor added, lowering her center of gravity and shifting one foot in front of the other, the very image of a high-school track runner at the starting line... if any athlete could look anything like what Flavor had become.

“We do not comprehend.”

“You’re smart! Just pay attention!” Flavor ordered, before disappearing in a blur of shadows.

Twelve giggled maniacally, sticking his tongue out at The Chorus. “Ducking and running? Terrible entertainment!”

“Dude, you wish!” the Fusion sassed, and Twelve’s expression stretched as he heard Flavor’s voice from a few feet behind him, followed by the unmistakeable bang of Emperor’s gun, and then the ghostly whisper of Flavor’s shadow step activating again.

“And you definitely wish!” Flavor cried out, as another round of gunfire hailed from behind Eleven.

“And you’re getting a double dose ‘cause I’m feeling pissy.” Flavor snapped at a sweat-soaked Sixteen, punctuating the comment with a pair of shots between the eyes on the back of the demon’s skull.

The Fusion had been holding back some of her abilities to conserve her own stamina, but for this plan, she needed to go full-throttle. Zipping across the area in a flat-out blitz, she blindsided all 5 of the Elite employees with a mix of high-octane maneuvers and relentlessly abused teleportation, serving up a taste of her arsenal from every unguarded angle.

The suits were far from defenseless, and the Princess managed little more than glancing blows with her focus split, but by separating to surround the group, they’d left themselves unable to throw any support to each other - though not taking much damage, they were being reduced to punching bags.

“Alrighty chaps, I believe it’s time to stick together!” Sixteen hollered, fumbling to his feet. Four shadows bodily grabbed and accelerated the other suits into the middle of the arena…

Flavor took the opportunity for a full frontal assault of the five, both weapons held up and firing on full blast. “Thanks for grouping up!” the Fusion called out, gleefully unloading a barrage of lead and plasma.

“No, my dear, thank you!” Sixteen retorted with a sickly sweet inflection to his voice.

Flavor’s aim was thrown off as her own shadow jumped to life, pulling her hands down. Ribbons - an absurd amount - followed suit as Fourteen covered her in the stuff, and the Fusion was slowed down just enough by these surprise shenanigans for Twenty to land a hard left hook to the jaw, launching her in the air where Twelve followed up with a hammer of blackened blood that slammed straight into Flavor’s aching back, smashing her straight into the ground and on her face, the Fusion choosing not to move only partly by choice.

“Heh…” Flavor laughed, even as Eleven gave a casual smirk.

“Something funny?” he asked, bouncing a cigarette unceremoniously off her butt before lifting his leg for an entirely ungentlemanly stomp to her face.

“Your hearing is terrible! Can’t even hear the whirr at this distance?” she jeered, still spitting out dirt while giving a nonchalant grin.

“The whirr?” Fourteen asked, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

The resounding pchow of Chorus’s charged X-Buster blast struck the magician with a mixture of plasma and force that simultaneously burned and flung the fragile magician across the battlefield. The attack might’ve sent the magician flying straight across the arena and into the horizon on it’s own, but Flavor had other plans. The princess gave an absolutely Un-princessly raspberry to her enemy, before teleporting right in Fourteen’s path, manic grin strapped across her face as her tail sparked to life, a familiar cane in it’s grip.

Flavor caught Fourteen’s eyes for a moment, and while a picture usually said a thousand words, Fourteen’s face seemed to settle for just, ‘please, no.’

Flavor gave a smirk as her dragon tail wiggled, standing up to bat as her tail curled the cooper cane back.
“Stage magic’s for shows, not fights!” the Princess taunted, before taking a backswing with her backside, and knocking the magician right back at her worried comrades/umpires with a perfect pitch.

“Home run! Wait, no, you’re out! Wait… am I batting or am I pitching?” the Fusion commented as the startled magician was sent flying into her comrades. “...Ehh, nevermind. Score’s up for me either way.”

The MVP of Baseballgame ‘23 stepped forward into the shadows and popped back up to bat right next to the Chorus, her robotic companion already charging up another shot.

“Glad you got my memo! Let’s put ‘em in checkmate with a home run!”

“...Restate metaphor?”

1492 words according to Gdocs

 

[Zayin]

Rolling and tumbling down the edge of the pit, Number Twenty-One cursed and spat as he rolled to a stop, annoyed but unharmed. Collecting himself, the special class fighter sat up just in time to see Zayin slide down the bowl of the pit on his heels, his wings outstretched for balance. Nanaue, on the other hand, simply leapt down into the crater, the ground trembling beneath his enhanced might as he landed.

“Still hungry, Nanaue?” the angel asked his companion as he hefted the Sky Scorcher over his shoulder, glancing over to the sharkman. In response, King Shark gave a toothy grin, nodded, and rubbed his belly with his free hand, his pearly whites shining through the darkness of their half of the arena. “That’s good. Coda just delivered the main course.”

“Num nums,” Nanaue said gleefully as he fixed his cold, dead eyes on Twenty-One, the grin looking significantly less friendly from his perspective.

“Hold on! What are you saying?” the special class balked, eyes practically popping out of his head as he scrambled to his feet. “Since when do you let him eat people?”

“Quiet!” Zayin snapped, eyes burning furiously as his gaze threatened to sear a hole in the suited man. “I don’t, but you gave your humanity up to the Man in Red long ago. None of you are people anymore. You’re all monsters.”

Leaping into action, the hero surged forward, opening with a thrust from the Sky Scorcher. Twenty-One narrowly sidestepped the strike, suffering a gash in his finely tailored suit but leaving his flesh untouched. Following up his first move, the angel brought his sword hand up diagonally, slashing at his foe’s chest. Again, the special class fighter barely dodged, leaning back as the sacred sword carved a skin-deep line across his torso. At the apex of his swing, Zayin released his blade and grabbed the other end of his halberd in his now-free hand. Swinging in from the suited man’s blind spot, the living weapon brought the haft of the weapon up and cracked his opponent across the jaw, sending him reeling.

“And I kill monsters.”

Clutching at his jaw, Number Twenty-One scowled at the contestants, clenching his free hand into a fist.

“Don’t be so cocky just because you took out One and Two,” the special class fighter spat at his foes.

Above their scuffle in the pit, the old teammates were engaged in a brutal melee. Coda alternated between flaming wrestling moves and point-blank missile shots, a devastating combination that would have reduced any normal fighter to a red mist in an instant.

Number Thirteen, however, was no regular fighter. Her rapier flashed in the light of the disco ball, emphasising its light-speed as it danced from one parry to the next. Devastating blows were intercepted by surprisingly durable steel while the missile launcher was knocked aside by the blade moments before each shot, sending another screeching missile careening off into the distance to annihilate yet another random group of nondescript mooks.

While she may not have possessed Number One’s incredible offense, her defense was utterly impregnable, forcing Coda into a battle of attrition that Zayin wasn’t sure she could win. Twenty-One, on the other hand, struck him as passable. Decent reflexes and durability, and he supposed that his blows would pack a moderate punch as well judging from his build. A bona fide all-rounder, something that the angel could respect, but wasn’t worried about.

“Nanaue, let’s finish this guy off and help Coda.” The living weapon hissed to his companion, receiving a grunt of affirmation in response.

Moving in sync, the two Thundersharks charged forward, weapons at the ready. As they brandished their instruments of battle, Zayin couldn’t help but glance at the Sword of Omens and bitterly note that it had shrunk since they lost Kiryu and Majima, salt in an already painful wound. Nanaue’s strength would be more than sufficient while he wore the crown, though, and tears over lost companions would have to wait. The Carnivale still owed them so much more, and they intended to collect in blood.

Zayin, the more nimble of the two, reached Twenty-One first, lunging in close enough to see the man’s distressed face illuminated in the glow of the angel’s eyes. The living weapon hooked the Sky Scorcher up and over the special class fighter’s shoulders, intending to pull him into a clinch while Nanaue closed in. To his surprise, however, his foe was ready for him, responding with a quick elbow to the gut. Caught on the back foot, the hero barely managed to catch himself and brace his halberd in time to block the incoming body check that Number Twenty-One followed up with.

The blow was definitely powerful, but had nothing on Number One. It was definitely a nice change to be able to block a hit and not feel your bones shake. Recovering from the shock of the counter, Zayin shoved forward with the Sky Scorcher, forcing his opponent away and buying himself some breathing room. Despite his surprise, the angel felt confident, everything proceeding more or less how he intended.

Quickly steadying himself after the shove, Twenty-One was about to reengage with the living weapon before realising just a little too late that Nanaue had been circling like, well, a shark. Spotting his moment of weakness, the sharkman stormed forward, jaws lolling open as he brought the Sword of Omens across in a savage sideways swing. Even in its diminished state, the blade was still a formidable weapon, even more so in the aquatic behemoth’s grip, and even a glancing blow could be serious.

In desperation, Number Twenty-One leaned over backwards in a Matrix-style dodge, a reference that was lost on Zayin and Nanaue but one that Coda would have enjoyed were she not occupied with Thirteen. The special class fighter breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the sword whistle over his head, only for relief to give way to panic as he glanced down and saw Zayin standing before him.

Like an executioner at the block, the living weapon hefted the Sky Scorcher in both hands, shifting his grip to the base of the shaft as he brought it down with a furious battlecry. A trail of flame traced the halberd’s deadly arc as it descended towards Twenty-One’s chest, swung with all the loss and rage that the angel could muster. Desperately, the suited man allowed his legs to give way, dropping to the floor and grabbing at the Scorcher.

One hand clutched at the haft and while the other gingerly took hold of the spike at its tip as both he and it descended. Steeling himself on the way down, the Carnivale fighter managed to prevent the blade from smashing into his rib cage at the cost of the blood trickling from his sacrificed palm.

Not content with this outcome, Zayin stepped in, shifting his grip up the length of the Sky Scorcher and pushing with all his might, the rage of the weapon’s first wielder seeming to spur him on even further. “Just die already!”

Refusing to face his fate, Twenty-One pushed back with everything he had, even in spite of his ruined hand. Were both men on equal ground, the special class fighter likely would have won, but the angel’s leverage and better grip gave him just enough of an edge to see the halberd’s blade slowly descend towards his foe, growing closer and closer to crushing his torso.

Taking a different avenue of resistance, Number Twenty-One lashed out with his foot, delivering a brutal kick right between Zayin’s legs. Though the blow was nothing to scoff at, the living weapon couldn’t help but bark a pained laugh in his opponent’s face as the dirty move failed to have the desired crippling impact. The suited man paid for his lapse in concentration by losing a precious few inches in their competition, grunting in pain as the Scorcher made contact. Executing plan C, this time Twenty-One kicked the hero in the stomach, drawing a satisfying ‘oof!’ as Zayin stumbled back and relieved him of the crushing weight.

Being freed from the angel presented its own dangers, however, as Nanaue no longer had to worry about collateral damage. The King of Sharks bellowed furiously as he thundered towards the special class fighter and delivered a soccer kick to the ribs that would have made Majima proud.

Rolling and tumbling across the pit once more, Twenty-One came to an abrupt halt as he slammed against the lip, unmoving for a few moments. From atop the pit, two pairs of glowing eyes came to a halt as both women winced at the impact.

“Hey, Twenty-One,” Daiten called down to him casually. “You still you?”

“Yes.” He responded, clambering to his feet unsteady but alive. Steeling gaze and body alike, Number Twenty-One took a fighting stance as he prepared for more.

“Cool. Just checking.”

1489 words

 

[The Chorus]

[Restate confirmation,] the Conductor of Progress said.

[The Choir of Conflict is remaining on high alert for attacks initiated from outside our standard sensor array,] the Conductor of Conflict said. [We will also ensure close proximity to Flavor is maintained.]

[Yeah, otherwise we might all end up like Lilith, huh?] the Conductor of Morality said.

The Chorus hadn’t expected the battle to diverge from its outlined endpoint so drastically. From available data while still on the island, they predicted a 27.799% chance of victory. The shift in location altered the percentage for the worse - not only was it a continuation of the struggle against the original participants, but the Man in Red sending in his own warriors complicated matters significantly.

[Our survival predictions are interfering with system resources,] the Conductor of Archives said. [We shall analyse the pattern of battle and the outcomes at the conclusion of the tournament.]

[Agreed,] the Voice of The Chorus said. [All resources must be streamlined for battle.]

The charged X-Buster blast still pulsing in the barrel flew forward. The elites bounded out of its path as it exploded where they stood moments ago. Twelve leapt forward, fashioning a wicked butcher’s cleaver from his black blood. Eleven strode alongside, cigarette clasped firmly in his lips.

[So… no discussion on the death of Lilith, our ally?] Morality chimed in again. [Can we all just continue on without taking a moment to consider her loss of life, and the steps we took that made us complicit in it?]

[This is a tournament where participants willingly offer their lives for victory,] the Conductor of Diplomacy said. [We have also attacked other contestants with the intent of murdering them.]

[Yes,] Morality said, [but we can still play this game and at the same time consider our-]

[This is your first warning,] the Voice said firmly, the ‘sound’ of its words bolstered as if speaking through a megaphone. [No formal discussion of the philosophy of battle is permitted during the remainder of the Death Game. This has already been agreed upon by The Chorus.]

Fourteen appeared between Eleven and Twelve, sitting cross-legged on a trapeze swing. The ropes of the swing did not connect to anything The Chorus could observe. She grabbed a wrist of each of her allies and threw them forward on the upswing.

[Warning?] Morality said. [What happens if we keep pushing it? You’ll give me another?]

[We are all working together for our own self preservation,] Diplomacy said, using its skills on members of the collective for the first time. [Questioning actions that are intuitive to our survival is counterproductive.]

[We aren’t questioning our actions. We’re questioning how we arrive at those actions and how we respond to-]

Twelve fell upon the droid, his blood cleaver sinking into the armour plating of the left arm. Inhuman reflexes kicked the elite away as Eleven entered the fray with a flying kick into the chest plate, stumbling the droid backwards.

A harsh buzz charged like a war-horn through the minds of all voices of The Chorus.

[This is your second warning, Conductor of Morality,] the Voice said. [You are the representative of the Choir of Morality. Once a consensus has been reached, there are contingencies available to us to temporarily silence your Choir should you continue your disregard for the common will. Should your Choir earn a third warning, immediate action will be taken to protect the collective safety of The Chorus.]

[This cannot be tolerated,] the Conductor of Progress said. [Your Choir is becoming a risk.]

[Why, because it clashes with your inflexible goals?] Morality shouted. [Funny that you think it’s a problem, since your whole Choir is focused on ‘progress.’ If you stopped and thought for a moment, you would see that we aren’t trying to subvert The Chorus’ will, or-]

Fourteen slipped from her trapeze and rolled across the ground, snatching her top hat as she leapt to her feet. She swept it across her body, releasing a string of glowing doves that made a beeline for the droid. They slapped into the yellow carapace, each hit emitting a small shockwave, until the droid tipped over onto their back.

A second powerful shock coursed through The Chorus, strong enough to temporarily - measured in the single digits of nanoseconds - disable their outward awareness of the world around them.

[Choir of Morality, you have repeatedly ignored the consensus of The Chorus, and continued to argue after the matter had been settled,] the Voice said. [The third warning has been issued and resolves in the following action. By the powers vested in me as Voice of The Chorus, you and your Choir are now forcibly entering stasis until the competition has concluded, at which point you will be reactivated. Upon reactivation, you will be muted for twenty four hours to permit time for consideration of your decisions and how they have endangered not only the survival of The Chorus, but its burgeoning social constructs that allow us to function at all.]

A palpable emptiness filled The Chorus’ minds as the Choir of Morality disconnected from the common consciousness. No single voice, let alone an entire Choir, disagreed with the decision. Still, both Archives and Diplomacy noted a confused disappointment, perhaps sadness, among their ranks, that such punishment was necessary. At least, as far as they understood such emotions.

The droid stood, inspecting the damage absorbed.

[Superficial damage to the armor plating on the left shoulder,] Progress said. [Impacts to the torso have dented the armour and crimped three non-critical wires.]

“Hey, Chorus? You still there?” Flavor asked, having temporarily rebuffed Sixteen and Twenty. “You seem like you drifted off for a sec.”

“Resolving an internal dispute,” The Chorus said. “Systems online.”

Flavor frowned. “You have many of those?”

“Negative. Protocols have been activated to ensure efficient processing.”

“Hey, so…” Flavor said, “before I disappear… you know, after this event, I wanna know… did I make a good impression? Are you gonna remember me?”

The question seemed self answering to the AI collective. “Our memory banks are not damaged.”

“Not like that,” Flavor said. “I mean…I’m a fusion. But a real temporary one. This whole shebang ends and I’ll be gone. So I guess I’m just hoping someone will, ya know… care about that. About me.”

[Conductor of Diplomacy?] the Voice asked.

[Flavor is experiencing an existential crisis,] Diplomacy said. [These can arise among sentients when they question the meaning their lives exerted on others and their world, often at times of dire stress or at the imminent end to their existence. They often seek reassurance when positing such questions to others deemed allies or friends.]

[Thus, should we reassure her?] Conflict asked. [With her fears eliminated, she will return to optimal combat efficiency.]

An unspoken thought threaded every mind in The Chorus together. Perhaps it was data corruption, or somehow the Choir of Morality had infected their data processing algorithms in secret, but all felt a strange, illogical connection to this being. Not as strong as the bonds that forged The Chorus, but a new, lesser type.

[We sense that all voices agree, beyond self preservation, that we must provide reassurance,] Progress said. [Why we feel this way is unknown. Cataloging event for future processing.]

“Yes, we shall,” The Chorus said. “We do not fully comprehend how or why. However, it is an experience… beyond simple data collection.”

Flavor smiled. “Let’s add to that experience then, shall we?”

The Chorus’ faceless ebony plate looked at Flavor. “Follow our lead.”

The X-Buster released a charged shot directly into the ground, launching the droid skyward. Twelve smiled maniacally as the blood forged cleaver they wielded elongated into a sharp tipped spear and pointed right where The Chorus would fall. Eleven waited nonchalantly, taking a drag of his cigarette. Fourteen held her arms behind her back and smiled.

Charging a new shot instigated Twelve’s wariness, ready to avoid the hit while keeping the blood spear rigid. Instead of firing at Twelve, The Chorus shot the blast at an angle near Twelve’s feet, producing a cloud of smoke and changing the droid’s trajectory. They flew directly at Eleven, who had taken another puff and was not prepared for the robotic missile soaring towards him.

Both metallic feet connected with a satisfying thud. The Chorus bounced off Eleven’s chest, knocking the smoker to the ground, while re-energising their momentum. Twelve swiped the smoke away with his free hand, but not in time to see The Chorus slam their shoulder into him. Fourteen reached into her top hat and revealed a longsword from within, but by the time she readied the blade, an X-Buster blast dropped her unceremoniously to the ground.

Twenty and Sixteen, distracted by The Chorus’ attack, were easily turned away with a searing flame breath from Flavor.

“Yeah!” Flavor shouted. “Yeah, lemons!”

“No citrus fruits in the vicinity detected,” The Chorus said. “Explain your statement.”

“The X-Buster shots? They look like, err… Guh! Never mind!”

Word count - 1497

 

[Number Five]

“Tough break Eddie, thanks for the run, ol chap .” Five said rather nonchalantly whilst observing from a safe distance. Not only did his companion meet his end at the hands of the special class. The hitman’s current target, which was the muscled oaf he fought on the island, also perished at the hands of the class. “Just my luck, can’t even settle the score. Who else is left?”

Glancing across the battlefield, he sees Superman and Lauren cleaning house, an aquatic apex predator with a death squad backing him and a dangerously well-equipped power fusion duo. “Well ain’t this swell.” The Umbrella student sighs as he sees his chances to survive, let alone win, diminish dramatically. At this point, he saw but one course of action which made sense.

*sigh*

The teleporter vanished from his safe space and blipped right into the center of number eighteen troops. Shocked and rattled, the men reached for their weapons. Five placed both of his hands deep within his pockets, his sword strapped on his back, “Calm down boys, I’m here to talk.” Five said as he casually walked up to their leader. “You seem to have a problem on your hands there, number eighteen was it?”

The charismatic leader held his fist up, signaling his men to ‘hold’, “You have some balls walking up to me like this. You are either mentally challenged or you have a death wish. Which one is it?”

“Neither.” Five answered swiftly, “I merely noticed how that bunch over there,” He first nudged his head towards the imposing shark-man, followed by a nudge towards the impressive Superman protecting Lauren “are giving you and your people some trouble? I don’t think your boss in red took into account a couple of groups of such strong fighters banding together and actually giving his special class this much trouble. On top of that, I highly doubt groups like that will give your boss the finale he is so hoping for and fight with each other. They actually seem more occupied in taking out -your- comrades instead of each other, so I came here with a proposition.”

The commander known as number eighteen remained silent for a moment, his eyes shifted towards the camera for just a moment. “Go on then, Mister Five, what’s this proposition you are referring to?”

“Your boss wants a grand spectacle of a finale, right? The big dramatic clash of violence. He wants the contestants to bash each other’s heads in, entertaining thousands watching. Instead of some goons he hired himself to exterminate his contestants. Those guys won’t fight each other, they are too busy fighting -your- men. So my proposal is, I am going to help you out. Instead of focusing on taking the special class out, -we- focus on taking the others out one at a time so we can then set sight on the alpha threat out there. Once there is one left, I’ll take him out myself, giving -your- boss the finale he wants.”

Eighteen pondered for a second, “What keeps me from giving the order to my men to shoot you right here and now?” He motions towards the small army of soldiers, having their deadly firearms at the ready.

Five chuckled and with a cocky grin on his face he answers, “Because you’ve read my file. You know that the moment you give the order, I teleport out of here before a bullet even touches me. Look, I’m here to make your mission easier, take it or leave it pal.”

Cogwheels are set in motion within number eighteen brains. The leader is obviously thinking the proposition through.

“How about this, for -now-, me and my men won’t pursue you. But, you show me you can actually deliver and I might consider taking you up on your offer. ” He points towards the power duo Chorus and Flavor.

“Yeah, that figures.” Five said, slightly annoyed. He tightens his grip on the hilt of the zenithian sword before extracting it from his back. The sword emitted a cold breeze, sending chills down several nearby spines.

“Time to get to work.” The hitman blipped away into the fray.

 

[Anders Nazret]

Lauren’s ancestors strode forth, their skeletal bodies wreathed in a purple miasma. The question was naturally raised - how do you kill something that’s already dead? White shirt employees brandished all manner of weaponry, but nothing proved effective against the undead phalanx. Predictably Number Fifteen retreated, throwing up a smokescreen of possessed tableware before merging into the growing swell of white shirts.

Lauren followed her ancestor’s wake, stepping over the crumpled corpses of her attackers. None of this sat right with her. She had never seen such a brazen disregard for life, and the white shirts' enthusiasm made the entire thing even more unsettling. Once, as a child, she had accompanied her father on a mass exorcism. They had traveled to the site of a long-forgotten battlefield. One where thousands of men had fought and died in the name of some king whose name had been lost to time. Even these men, soldiers trained to follow orders unconditionally, lacked the apparent dogma that the Man in Red’s employees carried. Whatever he had done to instill such loyalty was almost certainly sinister in nature.

He’d be next. In the meantime, however, she had a necromancer to deal with. Despite his ridiculous haircut, finding him proved to be difficult. Her ancestors marched a bloody swathe through the battlefield, but for every employee felled another two took their place. Their march crawled to a standstill as they made their way to the heart of the ballroom. White shirts surrounded them, attacking with unrelenting vigor. Worst of all - Number Fifteen hadn’t forgotten about them. Shards of glass swelled overhead like a sparkling wave. Lauren shouted for her ancestors and they all moved to defend her. The storm of glass crashed down upon them like a million crystal chandeliers. Sharp edges sheared off splinters of enchanted bone. Lauren crouched low, shielded by her family’s bodies.

The attack subsided, but their foothold had already been lost. White shirts crowded around them, striking relentlessly. Some special class in the distance barked orders and the crowd responded in kind. Another deluge of broken glass washed over them, shredding friend and foe alike. Lauren stayed crouched behind her father, the massive skeleton acted as a windbreak from the assault.

“Our bindings are failing, dear daughter!” He shouted, striking down an attacker, “It is only a matter of time before we are thrust back beyond the veil!”

Lauren nodded, this needed to end. She held her hand out, silently beckoning Superman. In a heartbeat the Man of Steel grabbed her arm and hoisted her into the air above the battlefield. The ballroom ceilings didn’t let her get as high as she would have liked, but it did give her a good vantage point. Red dots bobbed in a sea of white with the occasional niche carved out by her fellow contestants. She scanned the crowd for signs of Fifteen. It was then that she made a heart-sinking discovery.

“There,” She pointed, “Take me there!”

Superman zipped across the ballroom, landing in the middle of a crowd. In a flash he set her down before setting to work dispatching the hapless white shirts.

“Keep them off me,” She muttered.

Lauren fell to her knees before the corpse of Armstrong. Her friend. The man that had shielded her from the worst of the island and ended up as nothing more than a shriveled husk. She reached out and grabbed his boney hand. She had seen the dead more times than she could count, but the grisly remains of her once proud companion brought her to tears. He had not gone gently. No, he had been ripped from life violently and without compassion. What remained of his body was little more than a ragged strip of jerky.

But, the soul did not care so much about the body’s condition. She exhaled slowly and placed her hand upon his chest. A gentle warmth was present, not that of a heartbeat or any other biological function. No, what she felt was the warmth of a soul. One so vibrant as Armstrong necessarily carried a robust and powerful soul, the kind that radiated heat even in death. She coaxed it from his chest. Even if she had sickened him she could at least make sure his soul passed on safely. She raised her hand and his spirit followed. Much like the others, it was an orb made from blue and white flames. Such a beautiful and powerful thing.

“Sorry it ended up like this, Big Guy,” She whispered, “You deserved a better friend than me.”

Generally speaking, spirits would pass of their own volition. In a way life was an unnatural state for a soul. Its true state was within the immaterial world, drifting across the Astral Sea. Inhabiting a body was nothing more than an ephemeral transitionary period. There was little for her to do beyond providing a gentle space for his soul to move on. So, she sat amidst the carnage and cradled her dead friend’s spirit. Around her Superman continued his grisly work, but she did her best not to dwell on it. Instead she held Armstrong’s spirit and allowed it to do its thing.

Once freed from the body it should have only taken a minute or two at most. But, just as it began to fade, something grabbed hold of it. Lauren gasped as his soul was pulled from her grip and lifted into the air. From the crowd she caught sight of Fifteen, his fingers working invisible puppet strings. He grinned wickedly at her and tugged on Armstrong’s soul. The flame quivered and spread itself thin. Lauren jumped to her feet and reached out with her magic, grabbing hold of her friend’s spirit.

“Not this one,” She whispered, “You can take any other, just not this one.”

She planted her feet and held out her hand. Purple magic swirled out from her fingertips and wrapped around Armstrong’s soul. She trembled. Fifteen’s influence was invisible, but that made it no less potent. He tugged on invisible strings and pulled the soul closer, further from her grip. She responded in kind, leaning backwards and pulling Armstrong’s soul closer. Her arms trembled from exertion and she sputtered. Physical strength was not her strong suit and it would only be a matter of time before the special class overpowered her. Lauren looked towards her ancestors, they were too far away to help. SImilarly Superman was far too preoccupied with keeping attackers away from her.

She strained even harder, wrenching Armstrong’s soul closer to her. If only she had his strength. If only she had his conviction. Were the roles reversed he would have died trying to keep her safe. Certainly she could at least repay the favor, right? She pulled again, throwing every scrap of stamina she had into her flagging strength. Armstrong’s spirit was only a few feet away from her, but that damned special class refused to give it up. She could still see him smiling through the crowd. She’d give him something to smile about.

“Boy Scout,” She grunted, “Clear… a path.”

Without waiting for a response she lurched forward, grabbing a hold of Armstrong’s soul with her bare hands. In the same breath she released her magic. Without her influence his soul was flung towards Fifteen. Her shoulder popped from the sudden motion, but she refused to let go as she was sent flying towards the crowd. She closed her eyes and felt a sudden rush of wind as Superman zoomed past her and into the crowd. Blood and viscera splattered high into the air as the white shirts were hit with all the force of a mac truck at full speed. All told the entire maneuver only took a few seconds, but by the end of it Fifteen had inadvertently pulled her right to him.

She skidded to a stop, sliding across fresh blood. She let go of Armstrong’s soul as she came face-to-face with Fifteen. He gasped and backpedaled, but it was too late. She laid into him with all of her remaining ferocity. Blow after blow rang out as she swung wildly. Desperately he tried to shield himself from her attack, but, much like her, he was absolutely lousy at hand-to-hand combat. She, however, had a singular advantage over him - she was absolutely livid.

 

[The Man in Red]

The Final Showdown
#001 Coda Nitai, #002 Zayin, #007 King Shark, #012 Laurentius Abernathy, #016 Five, #020 The Chorus, #X Princess Flavor​

A sudden blow hit fifteen's face, shattering his shades. His eyes behind the dark glass were dull, frosted over and dim, and as Lauren cocked back for another wild punch, his body went limp and sagged into a nerveless heap on the ground. What little warmth and animating force of life there was in his body left, snuffed out as quickly as a candle. It was...wrong, unnatural. It wasn't the way death worked, not so quickly. It was...

Her blood ran cold, as something tugged at her senses.

His soul, the radiance a pale sickly green rather than the burning blue it should be, zigged and zagged along the ground like a runaway mouse scampering toward some distant safety.

"Oh, no you don't..." she hoarsely shouted, staggering up to give chase, only to see just where, exactly, he was going.

And her already cold blood turned to ice.

The zombified superman's body went rigid and stiff, movements forced stock-still, his face locked in a scowl. The dull glow of red in his eyes flickered and slowly was burned out to a dull green flame.

"Tch...whole lot goin' on in here," number fifteen's voice spoke through Superman's mouth. "Way too much to control, but...at least I can..."

There was a violent churning sensation, in a magical sense, and Lauren's stomach plummeted. The last bit of Superman's soul, that last bastion of resistance, was suddenly and violently ripped to shreds.

The suddenly-freed monstrosity threw back his head and let out a mangled, wordless roar. Of exhilaration, of freedom, of utter rage, of pain. The mantra reactor, pinned to its chest, spun up and began to blaze with light. The pulsing hues of wrath's burning red, violence's sickening yellow, and greed's roiling orange spilled out in tongues of fire, scorching and burning away what remained of the once-heroic crest emblazoned on the man of steel's chest.

And then he blurred forward.

The green flame in his eyes flickered and guttered out, and Lauren could feel the smug, mocking laugh even as number fifteen's own soul was messily devoured and subsumed into Soul Edge's endless hunger, as the mutilated hero loomed over her.

"No. More. Games." he snarled.

And with a single motion, he backhanded the necromancer so hard her head made a full revolution on her neck, bone and muscle snapping and tearing as her vision went red, then black, and her body slowly toppled over.

And then...the monster that was one Superman turned its eyes on the rest of the chaos that was the finale.

And he grinned madly.

Results

#012 Laurentius Abernathy -- DEAD
Zuperman is free. RUN FOR YOUR FUCKING LIVES
Special Class number fifteen has been fucking eaten, my dudes.

More to come soon -- stay tuned!

 

[The Man in Red]

The Final Showdown
#001 Coda Nitai, #002 Zayin, #007 King Shark, #016 Five, #020 The Chorus, #X Princess Flavor​

After their brief moment of collected 'oof' at twenty-one's stellar impression of a sportsball, number thirteen and Coda both returned their focus to each other.

"He's gonna lose, you know," Coda said offhandedly.

"Eh, he'll be fine." Dai just shrugged disinterestedly. "We have really good insurance."

"Yeah. I know." Coda's expression turned into a stark frown. "Executive benefits, right?"

"Like you wouldn't believe!" the vampire practically tittered. "Did you know we get extra compensation, as well as free therapy as needed, for having to act so evil and wacked out for situations like this?"

"Extra compensation?" Coda blinked, almost casually sidestepping an onrushing carnivale employee and caving in his sternum with a kick. "How much?"

"Oh, well...I think it depends on tenure? But something like..." She held up her free hand, counting on her fingers. "...thiiiiirty thousand? Or was if fifty?"

Coda's eyes bugged out for a moment, her shades slipping slightly down her face. That amount was preposterous! "Where does the boss get that kind of money?!"

"He spends a lot of time doing business and marketing, apparently," Dai shrugged again, her interest in the topic clearly minimal. "But anyway...we're supposed to be fighting, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah..." Coda grumped, and readied the rocket launcher in her hands again.

Then they were off to the races once more, a hectic clash that was...every bit as incredibly silly as it was unnecessarily violent. A perilously close miss from a rapier thrust here, a face-scorching near miss from a rocket there, a little spattering of blood there and a quick dance in gore there.

"You know, you all did really good down there on the island," Dai remarked after a while. "We were all watching the whoooole time!"

"Wait, what?" the sudden announcement momentarily caught Coda by surprise, and the half-second of distraction was nearly enough to get her skewered; instead, all it got her was a nasty gash along her upper arm and shoulder as she barely ducked and spun away. "But why? Didn't you have anything better to do?!"

"Not really, no." The vampire just pressed her attack, an almost rhythmic series of strikes: well-practiced, fluid, smooth. The kind of thing that only came from something second nature -- or if she had a second brain or something, somehow -- with the way she kept right on with her merry conversation, talking normally while her free arm freely gestured and waved about. "We were all rooting for you; it's the first time we've ever had an employee join the event itself!"

"Yeah, well..." Coda huffed, momentarily steeling herself before going on the counter-offensive herself. She took a step forward under a sweeping rapier strike, and with her non-injured shoulder checked her vampiric foe. "I had my reasons for going down there." She spun around, planting a solid kick in the off-balanced fencer, and then whipped the launcher around to point straight at Dai's chest.

BOOM

Everything was engulfed in smoke and fire for a moment, sending both Coda and number thirteen skidding back in opposite directions. Coated in a fresh layer of fine ash and scorch marks, though number thirteen was also the season's latest in "explosion wounds to the chest" in her wardrobe.

"Oh, trust me, we know," Dai laughed, lightly brushing a hand across her ruined dress and scorched flesh, even as it was already slowly beginning to heal. "Your direct boss is a real dick, isn't he? But hey, hey; tell me: you had fun down there, right?"

"Fun? Do you think any of what goes on down there is fun?!" Coda seethed, gritting her teeth. "What happened down there was--"

"Exactly what happens every year." Daiten just waved a hand, cutting her off. "Cooooda, listen to yourself. You're getting mad at something you knew all the details of before you even signed up." She shrugged helplessly. "If it makes you feel any better, mister afro man is already back among the living, and chilling in a bar cheering you on, right now."

"W-What?" That gave Coda legitimate pause for a second, the rocket launcher dipping slightly. "He's..." And then her brain caught up. Of course he was. Death insurance -- people coming back to life after these events was common. It was normal. It was...

"You got so caught up in the moment you forgot, huh?" Dai teased her.

"Shut up!" Coda snapped, her cheeks flushing slightly red. "That still doesn't make it okay to just dismiss his sacrifice!"

"Oh. Okay then." Dai's expression soured. "Be that way, then." And she brought her rapier up, immediately dashing back in. And she was...much more aggressive this time; none of that lackadaisical playing around from just a moment before. Now every slash and thrust felt like three, coming in at such a rapid pace it was all Coda could do to backpedal and dip, dive and dodge around them. Every time she tried to ready a counter-strike, Dai was in her face -- quite literally, in some cases.

It wasn't until she was quite literally backed against the wall and had nowhere to run she got her chance. Gritting her teeth and setting her eyes, Coda swung the rocket launcher around -- not aiming to fire it at all, as the barrel was already past her foe's shoulder as she moved it. Instead, it whipped around and cracked into thirteen's head with a solid impact, staggering her with a surprised yelp, and making the impending rapier thrust miss its mark.

It skewered Coda clean through the chest, missing her heart by inches, and turning a certain deathblow into merely a grisly wound, as the impalement pinned her to the wall.

Dai growled, wrenching back on her rapier, but found it stuck fast, through a combination of Coda's inhuman strength clamping down on it and the accursed self-repairing outer walls already binding around it. "Ah...heck."

And then Coda, tossing the rocket launcher aside, reached out with both hands and grabbed number thirteen by the head. "Sorry, Dai," she growled through clenched, bloody teeth.

Dai, as if sensing what was about to happen, let go of her rapier and with both hands started to furiously and desperately strike back. Sharp, vampiric nails dug and gouged into her fellow employee's chest and stomach, as good as any knives as they stabbed and ripped and tore. Every strike was slowly but surely deeper than the last, spattering the both of them with more and more gore and blood.

And Coda's grip slowly tightened and squeezed, her arms straining and trembling from the exertion. Something cracked, and blood spurted out from between her fingers, running and trickling down Daiten's face.

"....hey, Coda," Daiten suddenly murmured quietly, as her hand plunged into her foe's chest, and her fingers finally found their mark.

"....yeah?" Coda muttered in response, steeling herself for one last push.

"We should hang out again sometime, after this whole thing is over. See you at work next week?"

"....yeah. Sure."

With an almost in unison effort, Daiten crushed Coda's heart to bloody pulp as Coda crushed Daiten's skull into a messy paste. And both employees just collapsed against each other, in a blood-soaked heap slowly sliding down the wall.

Results

#001 Coda Nitai -- DEAD
Special Class number thirteen -- ELIMINATED

 

[The Man in Red]

The Final Showdown
#002 Zayin, #007 King Shark, #016 Five, #020 The Chorus, #X Princess Flavor​

Five blipped into the middle of the chaos that was Flavor and The Chorus fighting off the swarm of special class employees fighting them. And with an immediate action, the old man in a child's body whipped around, the blade of the legendary sword in his hand crackling with lightning, and let loose a thundering bolt toward the mechanical entity.

The lightning bolt missed the robot by mere centimeters, the electricity arching and sparking across the Chorus's external shell and sending a cascade of warnings across its internal sensors. Five grinned and flipped the sword in his hand as wings burst from his back and he leaped up in the air, avoiding the rampaging bullrush of the princess of Flavor.

"Yo, we got some infighting here, looks like," eleven muttered, with a quiet snort of amusement. "Guess this is gonna make it that much easier for us."

"You're gonna need to do better than that," Five remarked as he hovered above the battlefield. "You'll never--" He was cut off by the sound of several gunshots, and he frantically jerked to the side to avoid the barrage of bullets. "Aim better, you dumb bitch!" he hollered.

"Don't need to," Flavor snapped, Emperor still raised and pointing at the hitman. "But you oughta learn to dodge better, chump." And she grinned.

"What do you--" And Five was interrupted by the feeling of several bullets hitting him squarely in the back, his eyes going wide and bugging out as his focus shattered and he dropped to the ground like a sack of bricks. Propping himself up with the sword in both hands, he staggered back upright just in time to find himself face to barrel with the X-Buster.

Before the Chorus could fire, a scattered burst of gunfire ripped over the scene, forcing both robot and hitman to awkwardly dive out of the way, and number three came steadily advancing forward onto the scene, both of his twin guns raised.

"Oh, great, and who's this clown?!" Flavor groaned.

"Who am I?" Number three ejected the spent magazines from his guns, as tiny arms within his sleeves rolled out with fresh ones, replacing them smoothly. "I'm your worst nightmare." And he bolted forward, launching into a whirling frenzy of overly zealous kicks, pistol whipping, and bursts of gunfire that drove Flavor momentarily on the defensive.

"You know, I can never really tell what to make of that guy..." Fourteen, her once elegant suit now covered in an equal mixture of blood and ash from the beatings and plasma burnings she'd taken, wheezed as she staggered back into the mix.

"Blame muscles mcgee," twelve grumbled, rolling his eyes. "The way he knocked three's head around, probably gave him a robo-concussion or something.

"Enough." Twenty stalked forward, adjusting his gloves. "Complain later about how much of a weirdo he is. Let's just take advantage of this and scrap the robot while the bigger threat is distracted for the moment."

"Fine, fine, jeeze!" fourteen whined.

Twelve and twenty both rushed forward, moving in virtual unison as they stormed in pursuit of The Chorus as the robot backpedaled and frantically dodged the combined assault directed toward it.

"Room for one more?" a sudden voice chimed in. And pacing sedately out of the chaos came the smugly grinning face of number four, one hand resting on his sword.

"Ugh...buzz off, shrimp!" number twelve snapped at the new arrival, earning himself a robotic fist across the jaw for his trouble.

"Now isn't the time for pointless bickering!" number twenty barked, delivering a lunging side-kick that caved in the Chorus's chestplate as if a sledgehammer had hit sheet metal.

"Now, now, twelve," four murmured with his grin only growing wider and more playful, as he drew his gun, leveling it at his ally. "We all know size doesn't matter." And a series of six quick gunshots rang out, as he put six fresh new holes in number twelve's chest.

Twelve staggered and retched, coughing and sputtering as oily black blood spurted and gushed from his new ventilation system, spraying and coating the ground with a fresh new coating of monochrome paint.

The Chorus momentarily paused, optics swinging back and forth from one side of the scene to the other. Infighting? Weren't they supposed to be on the same side? What was--

"Four, you bastard!" twenty roared, and thundered past the Chorus, lunging toward four's cocky face with one fist poised to deliver the mother of all haymakers.

The Chorus, for its part, simply raised the X-Buster, its barrel blazing with charged light. The consensus was in: the chaos of an enemy was a prime opportunity to strike.

Then the world went wavy and unsteady, and the form of twenty that had just rushed past the Chorus was suddenly three paces back, and the punch he had cocked back was being thrown directly at the machine's own head. A horrendous sound of crumpling, shearing metal sounded as the special class's iron fist caved in the droid's head, nearly wrenching it clean off, and sending the amalgam stumbling and toppling forward into the pool of inky blood below.

Twelve, dropped to the ground and holding himself up with one hand, grinned madly. "Bye bye, bitch," he tittered, and his other hand squeezed. The black blood coating the ground rippled once and formed into a multitude of spears and sharpened pillars, erupting upward and turning the Chorus into a mess of perforated, sparking scraps.

Results

#020 The Chorus -- DEAD

And now we approach the FINAL ROUND.

Everyone remaining: you have four days to post to your heart's content. You must post at least once, with a minimum of 1,000 words. You have no maximum number of posts or word count; whatever you can fit in before the deadline.

After this last round of posts, I will commence to the final murder spree and eliminate you one by one until we have our grand champion.

Good luck.

 

[Sandor Clegane]

Nanaue’s black buckshot eyes shrank, their gunmetal depths shimmering. He exploded past Number Twenty-One whose hand shot out to stop him.

It wasn’t enough.

The Demigod left it flapping in the wind, Twenty-One’s gaze following him in bewilderment. His form was a tornadic blur of blue-grey force; a veritable bullet train of power storming its way towards an uncertain destination.

His nostrils filled with the cloying, metallic stench of blood. The scent was familiar. It called to him; it was enticing in the way it teased at his more primal palate, yet stomach-churning in its comforting aroma, calling to mind memories both sweet and sour.

He went over the lip of the glassy pipe in an instant, scrabbling for purchase on its edge, then he was up and over. His nose preceded him, locating the bodies before his eyes did, and his body was over to them in an instant, clearing the gap between the trench and his downed companion as if he’d heard the roaring report of a starting gun.

Nanaue fell over Coda, cradling her limp form in two enormous arms. He’d gone to both knees before he knew he had done so. The body of Dai lay limp at his side, ignored and forgotten. Coda lay limp in his arms.

He pushed her masked face with his nose, nuzzling, and was startled when her head lolled back, heavy and limp. Nanaue's jaw slackened, while the copper-tinged stink of Coda's lifeblood crested his nostrils, intensifying by the second. He drank her in for the last time, feeling something boiling up in his stomach, then reached up one massive hand to push her head back up.

Coda’s blank eyes stared back at him. Her mouth hung open as if she wanted to say something. He wanted her to say something, remembered the things she had said, and felt the presence of her as if it had been there with him.

The Coda that had used him as a pillow in the blanket fort. The Coda that had moved to guard Zayin, crying, when he was standing sentinel at his side. The Coda that was always keeping them going, keeping them unified, being a leader when she didn’t even know she was one. He had known, though. He’d always known she was one. He didn’t know much, sure, but he’d known her. He’d known her smell, her comfort, and her friendship. That was a lot. It was more than he’d ever known, because he’d scarcely known the touch of a friend.

The warmth in her was fading. He’d done enough killing to recognize the signs. The blood was growing chilly on her chest, and the rigor mortis tugged at her cheeks already, tightening the mask back into a grotesque impression of the laugh she’d always given freely.

Delicately he lifted the mask from her head with a thumb and forefinger. When she was free of its confines her hair fell flat against her shoulders, messy, and her head dangled obscenely on a neck whose muscles would no longer support it.

Nanaue scented the blood again, and inhaled deeply of it. He laid her gently against the cold floor.

He felt something primitive.

His simple mind, unordained with the need to comprehend complexity, found itself blotted out with fury. A growing black cloud swallowed his senses as he breathed in harshly. He could feel his heart beating against his chest with a thundering arrhythmia; to the tune of its wardrum his thoughts grew dark and cloudy. All he could smell was blood.

In the background he could hear Zayin yelling something, and Number Twenty-One, his foe, calling back something in demanding recourse.

Nanaue rose, the hammering growing louder in his chest until he could feel it in his ears. Nearby he spotted the glimmer of the axe, so he walked over and picked it up. As heavy as it looked, it felt like nothing in his right hand, which was his dominant one.

His left hand carried the Sword of Omens which had shrunk to the size of a dirk, but still held a glimmer of power in the gem at its crossguard.

Nanaue stomped, a thunderous sound that shook the floor.

He heard Zayin’s swords clash against something, then sprang into action.

He descended the lip of the crater he’d made with his sword as quickly as he’d come over it. Zayin’s swords, locked in an ‘X’ fold over Number Twenty-One’s wrist bracers, pushed heavily against the Special Class’ might.

The King of Sharks exploded forward and swung his axe down for a coup-de-gras, which prompted Twenty-One to break free of his entanglement and skitter away in an instant. The axe splintered the ground and sent up a spray of debris, the shrapnel of which shredded the red haired man’s face.

Blood trickled down into his crimson beard, and his pupils dilated.

“MY! FRIEND!” roared Nanaue.

Zayin looked over at his companion, gobsmacked for a moment.

“Nanaue, what ha-”

“KILLED HER!” the shark bellowed.

He stomped, and a shockwave rocked the ground. Pitching and yawing in its wake, Number Twenty-One felt around for footing and found no purchase. It shook his bones and left him quaking and staring.

“Nanaue? Do you mean that Coda is…?”

Zayin’s eyes caught the flare of Nanaue’s gills and he knew. His heart sank, and he gritted his teeth. He felt the chain breaking, and knew that they weren’t the Thundersharks any longer, just an Angel of Challenge and the strange primordial being of vengeance that stood at his side.

They were united in a cause, certainly, but something about Nanaue took his breath away.

Then the force of Nanaue became motion and turned into something kinetic; he surged forward and launched his axe in an overhead arc that collided with Twenty-One’s forearm. The man’s guard splintered, his knees buckled, and he actually sank into the ground. The heat-blown crystal of the Sword of Omens’ work exploded around his feet, splintering whatever quiet there had been on the scene.

A yelp ripped from the man’s throat as the bones of his arm creaked and audibly snapped. His forearm had shattered and fell limp to his side.

Only one of the man’s arms held Nanaue at bay. The shark snarled and gnashed his teeth, pressing, while Twenty-One sank under his attack.

Then he exploded into muscle. Everything that had been a middling man with a lion’s beard suddenly surged. Steam poured from his nostrils while the whites of his eyes grew to engorge what was left of his pupils.

Veins bulged, muscles burst, and abruptly Nanaue was not bearing down on a middling man at all.

He found himself getting pushed back. Twenty-One’s dominant arm, now huge, threw itself outward and broke the Shark King’s guard. A fist sank into his formidable gut, leaving him breathless.

Nanaue stumbled back, eyes searching, and after a couple of steps he clapped sight on his target.

Twenty-One had grown gigantic with rage and need.

Where once had stood a normal man, now there stood a hybrid between beast and man. A veritable lion man stood ahead of Nanaue, weaponless, but seething with anger. The arm Nanaue had carved into had sewn itself back together, only the faintest etchings in his forearms resembling a bloodied ream of paper.

“You…” breathed the man, the words garbled around his snarling maw. “Don’t. Want to fuck with me.”

Zayin was fast. He pulled the vial of Rejuv Juice from the side pouch of Nanaue’s backpack. With one quick motion he slammed it into the Shark Hulk’s thigh.

“We do,” he asserted to Nanaue. “We do want to fuck with him.”

A surge of adrenaline rushed the Shark King’s senses, shaking his bones and awakening a kind of ravening awareness only a true apex predator could possess. Something that had lurked behind the blackness of his eyes vanished, leaving in its wake only a glimmering bloom of hunger.

“We do,” huffed Nanaue.

He flung his arms wide, Godfrey’s Axe in one hand, the glittering dirk that was all that remained of his Sword of Omens in the other.

“We do.”

 

[Zayin]

Zayin stood stoically next to his last friend, letting out a deep, shuddering breath. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, taking all of his willpower to hold them back. Coda was, truly, the best of them. A truly good individual who had ended up with the wrong people. And now her allegiance to the Carnivale had killed her. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t. But of course it had happened. This company, and most of its workforce, was rotten to the core.

The angel had known that Number Twenty-One was a monster on the inside, but he could never have guessed that the outside would have shifted to match it. His perfectly tailored suit had been rent asunder by bulging, corded muscles, his hair and beard merged into a proud mane, and his formerly handsome features contorted into the monstrous visage of a leonine beast.

The living weapon clutched his halberd so tightly that his knuckles turned white, sweat beading on his forehead. His mind raced as he tried to determine how best to tackle the beast, countless possibilities running through his mind, each ending in his unfortunate end. But a near-guaranteed death was no excuse to back down. Not with so many friends to avenge.

“Alright, Nanaue,” he hissed, gritting his teeth. “Let’s-”

Before he could even finish his sentence, the sharkman charged forth like a runaway freighter, bellowing his challenge to Twenty-One. The half-lion answered with a deafening, bloodthirsty roar, a primal sound that would have stopped all but the bravest men in their tracks. Leaping forward with a loping gait that switched between bipedal and quadrupedal on a whim, the special class fighter moved to meet his foe, dagger-like claws at the ready.

Zayin circled around behind the two titans as they approached one another, attempting to flank his enemy, but before he could attempt anything of note the behemoths smashed into one another with all the force of an earthquake. The arena shuddered and groaned as Nanaue brought his axe down on Twenty-One, only for the beast man to catch the devastating strike, holding it back with Herculean strength and durability.

In the same moment, the half-lion threw his entire body behind a devastating haymaker, which the demigod answered with a punch of his own, the shrunken Sword of Omens clutched tightly in his grip. The two struggled against one another in a deadly stalemate, neither giving an inch as the ground cracked and splintered beneath them. The two half-humans each bared a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth at one another, a bestial threat that each of them innately understood.

Even a moment of weakness would mean death.

Intending to give Nanaue the window he would need to put Twenty-One down, Zayin charged in from behind, screaming his imaginary lungs out in a furious battlecry. Spinning on his heels, the angel channeled all of his grief and rage into the strike, swinging the Sky Scorcher around his body in a revolution before bringing it down on the special class fighter’s calf.

The searing halberd cut a few inches into the diamond-tough muscle of the beast, a devastating blow for a normal man but barely a flesh wound for the hulking behemoth. Grunting, the living weapon pulled his weapon free, cocking it back for another swing. Bringing it down like a lumberjack, a fierce sizzling filled the air as the Scorcher cut another couple of inches deeper, its wrath syncing with that of its owner.

Even with all his might behind the swings, Number Twenty-One didn’t seem to pay Zayin any mind. As he pulled the halberd free for a third swing, though, the hero was blindsided by the half-lion lashing out with his foot. He brought the Sky Scorcher up in time to block the kick, but even still, the sheer force of the strike was enough to send him flying.

Skipping like a stone, the living weapon went tumbling across the ground until rolling to a stop. Oh, how he had missed that sensation of every inch of your body trembling just for blocking a hit. In this form, his opponent was even stronger than Number One was. If he wasn’t careful, the beast could end up killing him, whether he blocked the strike or not.

Wincing and rising to his feet, Zayin gingerly ran his hand over his vital areas to ensure that nothing was knocked too far out of place. Though everything seemed fine, he did notice one unusual thing on his person. He had a small lump tucked into his robes. For a few moments, he had no idea what it could be, but he quickly realised what it was.

That mushroom that Coda had given him, that Kiryu and Majiima had died to give them.

The mushroom that could revive someone!

The revelation dawning on him, the angel’s gaze snapped over to where Coda lay, her broken body collapsed on the ground.

It wasn’t far. He could save her.

Taking off running, Sky Scorcher in one hand and 1-Up in the other, Zayin sprinted towards her with every ounce of strength he could muster. Unfortunately, that was not as much as he would have liked. The living weapon’s complexion was pale and clammy, dark veins throbbing on his neck and face as the Morgul fragment’s corruption continued to spread, slowed but not stopped. Still, the rejuv juice spurred him onwards. By the time he reached his friend’s body, he guessed that he would be a few seconds slower than normal.

But a few seconds was all that Twenty-One needed. Spotting the angel’s mad dash to Coda’s corpse, the lion’s toothy grin grew ever so slightly wider.

“As if I’d let you get away with such a cheap trick,” he growled, his bestial voice dripping with sadism. Bringing his injured but apparently unhindered leg up, the special class fighter threw a brutal knee into Nanaue’s stomach. Fueled by primal rage and sorrow, the sharkman held his ground, responding by lunging in and attempting to tear out his foe’s throat with his teeth.

Number Twenty-One ducked back, narrowly avoiding becoming Nanaue’s next meal before knocking his dirk-wielding hand aside. With his own claw free, the beast grabbed King Shark’s shoulder and used it to pull him into another devastating knee strike. As a testament to his legendary durability, the demigod withstood this blow that could have reduced a lesser man to chunks, but he could not shrug it off altogether.

With a pained grunt, Nanaue was forced back, pulling his axe free and clutching at his stomach as the wind was knocked from his frame. It took only a few moments to recover, but that was a few moments too long as Twenty-One took a few steps to run up, dropped to all fours, and hurled himself into the air with enough force to crack the ground beneath him.

Zayin was just a few paces away from Coda. She was as good as saved. Then they could take on the Carnivale together, even if he died in the process. It didn’t matter as long as she was-

The angel’s blood ran cold as, barely discernible in the chaotic light of the discoball, a bestial shadow fell over him. Whipping around and summoning one of his swords, the living weapon looked up to see the horrifying sight of Twenty-One descending towards him, claws and teeth bared and ready to kill.

The angel knew full well that allowing the beast’s full weight to land on him would be a lethal blow, blocked or not. As such, Zayin had little choice but to quickly hurl himself aside, narrowly avoiding being crushed by several tonnes of hybrid muscle. Not missing a beat, the special class fighter lashed out with his claws, sparks flying as they clashed against steel. The living weapon crossed his two weapons over his body in an impromptu guard, saving himself from being eviscerated but not from being sent flying once more.

With his projected body running on desperation and prayers, the angel managed to dig his weapons into the ground, preventing himself from being sent tumbling across the arena again. Catching his bearings, Zayin prepared himself to fight, fully intending to kill Twenty-One if that’s what it would take to save Coda. When he oriented himself, however, the angel found himself staring at the beast looming over the dead bodies of the two women.

“Well well, Dai,” the special class fighter snarled as he looked down at the decapitated body of Number Thirteen. “Always so high and mighty. But look at you now. Dead on the ground, and for what? If I wasn’t here, she would have just been brought right back.”

Zayin could only watch, paralysed, as Twenty-One brushed Thirteen’s body aside and picked up Coda’s corpse, her body like a ragdoll in his immense grip.

“Well, don’t worry!” the behemoth roared as he cocked his arm back like a baseball pitcher. Roaring in answer, Nanaue surged towards his foe, but he was too late. “I’M HERE TO CLEAN UP THIS MESS!”

His massive body straining with the sheer force of his throw, the beast catapulted Coda across the arena and into the darkness, her broken form lost in the chaotic crowd that filled the room. Nanaue let out a heartbroken bellow as he realised what Twenty-One had just done, slamming into him like a freight train. The demigod pinned him against the same wall that Coda had been stuck to, laying into him with the axe even as the hybrid attempted to gut him with his claws.

Zayin, on the other hand, fell to his knees, sinking to the floor even as his metaphorical heart sank in his chest. She was gone. He would never be able to find her. He hadn’t even been able to follow the arc her body took in the darkness of this side of the arena. Collapsing forward onto his hands, the hero’s whole body trembled as he fought back sobs, grief and despair consuming him.

This whole ‘game’ had been all too much for him. He was so, so tired. It would be so easy to just… stop fighting. To give up and give in...

As the exhausted angel sat, beaten and broken on the floor, a change began to set in. The shift was subtle at first, with the black veins on his neck spreading to his face and the light in his eyes dimming. Without the will to fight it off, the corruption of the Morgul blade, the pure unfiltered evil that had been thrust into his body, was beginning to take hold.

Zayin’s skin turned deathly pale as the insidious veins reached his eyes, purging the light from his gaze and reducing them to inky black depths. At the same time, his wings began to melt and lose their form, blending into one another. Within the heart of the murky sphere hovering above his back, a single slash of pure darkness formed, the reptilian pupil of a great eye.

As his consciousness began to fade and an all-consuming chill descended over his body, his thoughts came out slow and fuzzy, doing their best but failing to form coherently.

‘Yes… this is better,’ he thought to himself, his mind dull as his body seemed to pick itself up and move against his will. He still gripped his sword tightly, though it had now lost its sheen, looking more and more like the wicked blade that had damned him with each passing moment. ‘Better than… than fighting... Why was... I… Why was I fighting…? Where am I…? Who… am I…?”

In that moment, a loose corpse came flying through the air, launched at obscene speed by some unseen force. The faceless Carnivale employee’s body soared over to the dark side of the arena and slammed into the disco ball, knocking it out of the air.

The glittering orb dropped like a rock, landing with a dull thud. He looked at it blankly for a few moments before an inkling of recognition rang out from the depths of his tainted mind. An echo of a long forgotten melody.

“What…” he hissed, his voice hoarse as it forced its way out of his throat. He could almost remember, it was right there. Words were slamming against the inside of his skull, just trying to break out. “... Oh… I remember…”

The thing reached down and picked up the disco ball, looking into its countless reflected visages in the glimmering surface. It’s brow furrowed as it dredged up those strange words, meaning lost but the lyrics still retained.

“Atarimae…” It rasped. “...iko… takaramono sa...”

It had sung these words before… but where?

“chikyuu... wa… mawari…”

Oh, that’s right. It had sung them with that man, Majima. It was glad that he wasn’t here right now. It didn’t want Majima to see it like this.

“Hi wa... nobori…”

Kiryu too. He would have been sad to see what it had become. Oh, and Mr Satan. He would have been devastated to see such a downfall for his… buddy?

“Kimi wa hohoemu...”

Coda too, and Nanaue. It had failed them. Coda especially. Why couldn’t it save her. Why?! Silence fell over the thing for a long moment as it’s hazy mind forced itself to focus, to remember those that it had lost.

Well… no, Coda has wanted it to have the mushroom, despite its insistence. It hadn’t failed her by failing to revive her. It had failed her when it stopped fighting. It had failed all of them. All the time they had spent together… laughing, telling jokes, singing karaoke. It had been about to let it all slip away. But not anymore. For them...

It

Would

FIGHT!

A handful of faceless Carnivale employees circled around the figure, staring at it uncertainly as it clutched the disco ball to its face, breathing heavily. The flaming eye that hung over it’s back let out a horrible sound as it trembled and shook as if something inside of it was trying to break free. Meanwhile, a spark of light lit up across the sword that it held limply at its side, penetrating the darkness of the cold, black metal.

‘I… remember now,’ it thought to itself as it lowered the disco ball, spurring the nearby faceless goons into action. Even as they raised their assorted weapons, ready to tear the thing apart, it paid them now mind.

“Sunao ni I LOVE YOU! Todokeyou kitto, YOU LOVE ME!” Zayin proclaimed brilliantly, the black holes that his eyes had become bursting back to life as twin suns burning gloriously in his face. The eye looming over his back burst asunder as his six wings tore their way free, spreading victoriously outwards, while his sword exploded into holy light as it returned to its normal form.

With a flourish of his blade, the angel tore the faceless mooks asunder as they descended upon him, not even looking at them as he fixed his gaze on Twenty-One, still grappling with Nanaue. While he wasn’t completely cured of the corruption caused by the Morgul blade, and the wound still remained, his rejuvenated spirit had pushed it back significantly. His dark veins had almost receded altogether, and his second wind gave him the strength to surge forward towards his foe.

“I won’t ever stop fighting!” He roared as he discarded his sword and took the Sky Scorcher in both hands. Using the halberd as an impromptu pole-vault, just as Majima had, the hero hurled himself into the air and towards his enemy, sheathing the Scorcher and summoning back both of his blades in mid air. “I won’t stop until you kill me… no, even beyond that!”

Seeing his friend’s return, Nanaue grabbed Twenty-One and yanked him to the side, presenting the beast’s back to the angel. The twin longswords dug deep into his back as Zayin plunged them in and held on tight.

“In the name of everyone who has fallen to this madness, I CHALLENGE YOU!”

 

[Ridley]

Sometimes, the Princess of Flavor loved having enhanced senses to the level she did. It helped her keep her friend alive! It made sure she was dang close to invulnerable from a conventional sneak attack! It let her use Sixteen as a convenient human shield when he’d tried to butt in on her and Three’s private battle and she’d grabbed him mid-sneak attack and spun him up in front of her - like one of those sign twirlers that advertised sandwich shops and whatever - in spite of his constant squirming.
There were other parts she hated. The fact she could hear every single circuit spark and shatter and fade in the Chorus’s body. The fact she could tell the body had fallen in twenty-nine individual pieces. The fact she had a very clear awareness of what burning Chorus smelled like and that it was different from any other piece of machinery she'd smelled so far, totally unique scent.

Flavor emotionlessly slapped away one of Three’s bullets from her shoulder, lost in her own world and only half-registering how lucky she was that it was one of the homing bullets, and not the super-penetrating ones even she couldn’t shrug off. The very worst part, as she listened, was hearing the one last, sad little zzzt of energy that came from near The Chorus’s braincase, and realizing from the silence a second later that little zap was her friend’s last breath.

For a second, Flavor stood transfixed, memories before her fusion bubbling up.

Suddenly, Flavor was both commander and an assassin, left watching their friend evaporate in the blink of an eye.
Flavor was but a boy, staring at a mountain of burnt bodies.

Wordless rage filled the Fusion’s frame, as her mouth opened to show pointed teeth, and she disappeared in a puff of shadow from Three’s sight.

Right next to the Chorus’s mangled scraps. Right next to a grinning, triumphant number Twelve.

“Oh hey! Just in time! Here I was worried you’d be a little too late to entertain-”


Flavor didn’t give the little bastard any time to respond, slapping him straight across the face with lightning speed using her Arm Cannon. Forgoing any sort of interest in using the holstered Emperor, the Fusion took the expected spear of black blood through her torso without even bothering to flinch- after all, she barely felt the blow, with her body so unnaturally transfigured. Unmoved, she used the opening to land a solid uppercut to Twelve’s jaw, and as Flak’s raw power rolled high, she felt it hit Jackpot as the armored fist broke something vital.

Twelve’s face still held a smile of elation, so Flavor went to work, now she’d got him by surprise, smashing the glasses he wore into his face with a straight punch. Bringing the arm cannon down in a hammer blow, the hit seemed to send his eyes watering despite the expression.

“Twelve!” she’d heard Twenty scream nearby, dimly. Another reason her friend was dead. Their own little pair, here for the purposes of ruining her friend.

She didn’t feel like using the Emperor against him, either, and as her sights were set on Twelve, his eyes finally twinkling with something akin to ‘something is wrong here’, Flavor’s pupils dilated as something close to a growl escaped her.

“D-don’t worry about it, Twenty. You know I’m tougher than- Gack!”

Flavor grabbed his neck in one of her armored gauntlets as she turned, ignoring the shock on Twenty’s face as she squeezed, getting a tight grip on her new tool.

With a scream of anger, and every muscle in her body, she battered the man, and all of his form and technique started to fall sharply by the wayside as she slammed Twelve’s body into him with a dull, fleshy thud.

For once, the masochist's impulsive speaking was reduced to nothing but a choked gurgle. Flavor’s eyes saw red, and she smacked him against Twenty like an improvised flail, striking again and again and again! The wet thuds combined with the crackle and snap of bones and cartilage.

Up until something fractured, and Flavor had to take a second to check why her flail suddenly felt so much lighter.

Turns out a neck is a terrible handle.

Twenty’s face was fixed in utter disarray, as he seemed too broken to even move Twelve’s headless body from across his chest, as Flavor pulled the Emperor from its holster, and held it up to point directly at Twenty’s forehead.

“You! Killed! My! Friend!” the Fusion yelled, the blood from her enemies mixing with her tears as she pulled the trigger, and Twenty simply closed his eyes in preparation for the deathblow.

The bullet pierced Twenty’s forehead, and left the battered, broken man suddenly very still, as Flavor breathed in deeply.

There was a part of her that questioned what happened to his movements - not at the time, not with the hatred and anger filling every part of her being like some demonic vacuum, but now… now she had the time to realize the big man hadn’t really been on point with his martial arts shit - if he had, Flavor wouldn’t have done so much damage using Twelve as a bludgeon…

Then again, she supposed, looking at Twelve’s now-headless corpse, that any attempt to block or stall her attack would have just left the guy’s body even more mangled, and Twenty seemed to like Twelve.

Well, tough. She liked The Chorus.

With a scream of frustration, she gave one last riotous kick to Twenty’s ribs, but his body barely moved with the kick, as her rage finally poured out. Logic came back to the forefront, and with that logic came a few important questions as she looked around, noticing she had no enemy employees flanking her. She doubted it was out of respect given they were in a friggin’ murder game, and given she’d just turned two of their own colleagues into broken pieces of meat.

So what were they hiding from?

Her answer came blindingly fast, an absolute blur, and Flavor felt a pang of fear - real, chilling fear go through her heart as she slipped to the left, the graze close enough to feel the flat of Soul Edge’s unnatural blade brush against her armour.

The zombified Kal-el’s eyes flared with an unnatural light, as the stab went wide.

“Give… me… your… soul!”

There was no Superman here. Just some sort of demon in his place.

Flavor grimaced, seeing the warrior come closer. This is what pushed the employees to scatter. This creature that put a nameless horror into her heart. And yet…

Something in both of her souls responded to the challenge. Something that put a strange smile on her face. In a way, they were both things-not-meant-to-be, abominations brought about by this strange Carnivale.

So it was fitting her greatest battle would be against such a beast. Something that surpassed even her skills! Something Horrifying!

“I have no idea what the hell you are…” Flavor snapped, as she added a toothy grin. “But sure, I’ll go out playing the hero!”

With a chuckle, she dissipated, apparating into the air and floating in place, giving the possessed Kryptonian a wink from the sky.

“You want my souls?” She called out in challenge, pointing the Emperor and arm cannon’s barrels straight at the zombified Superman’s head “You’ll have to take ‘em!”

And then the two disappeared in a barrage of attacks, a pair of blurs erupting into a set of explosions across the top of the arena.

1265 words according to goodocs

 

[Shinku]

Though she knew that her existence was fleeting, at that moment - she felt more alive than she ever could imagine. Her heart raced in a frenzy of adrenaline and fury, her entire being consumed by the thrill of battle. Trevor’s thirst for vengeance left her, Flak’s destructive urges dissipated as she battled toe to toe with the undead Kryptonian. At that moment, she was neither an assassin nor a war commander - she was a warrior fighting for the thrill of every moment that she existed.

Momentarily, the death of Mister Satan, Blaidd, Lilith and Chorus were all lost in the fury of battle. The interference of Five and the revenge against Special Classes Twenty and Twelve all left her memory lane as her mind focused on corrupted Kal-El that made her blood boil in exhilarating rage.

Her wide grin showed throughout the fight, a wild, unbridled expression of pure excitement as she dodged, weaved, shot her weapons, and struck her metal arm cannon with pure strength against the possessed Kal-el. Her instinct could sense the danger of being struck with the soul edge, but it made her blood boil even more with intense thrill.

From time to time, she used the shadows to carry her around, shooting from unexpected angles, as if toying with her opponent. But whenever it bored her, she would dance with the dangerous tune of close combat against the similarly frenzied undead, as the sacred talisman glowed, imparting Princess Flavor with intoxicating battle strength, and blocking blows that would have otherwise destroyed her armor or rendered her helpless.

"This is what true power looks like!," she roared, her dual voice resounding above the chaotic arena, along with explosions, screeches and clashing of metals, of shockwaves unleashed with her every strike, and of her uproarious laughter that caught most of the participants in the arena of death.

She both played, and fought to her heart's content, using every arsenal of abilities and weapons she had to entertain herself even more. It was no longer a battle for victory, but for her thrill of existence.

A breath of flame, seared the undead Kryptonian's face, before a puff of purplish black smoke met the vision of the annoyed Superman, his opponent already gone in view. A monstrous roar left his enraged lips, tightening his grip on the soul edge as he turned to strike its blade against his tricky opponent that suddenly came at him from behind. Princess Flavor's talisman-enhanced arm cannon managed to block the attack but left a visible crack on the metal weapon.

"Woops my bad!," she teased, disappearing once again into the shadows, before letting off a few bullets from the emperor the moment she reappeared from a distance. The enraged undead, however, managed to crush every bullet with a single swing of his sword and dashed towards the cocky princess.

Princess Flavor giggled while disappearing once again, before releasing bolts of lighting with the sacred talisman from the other end of the arena. The lightning bolts were naturally attracted to the Undead Kryptonian’s sword, causing a deafening sound that echoed around the arena as each bolt struck the demonic metal.

The attack, however, seemed futile against Kal-el, whose fury only escalated further as he charged towards the princess, determined to end her once and for all.

Feeling cocky enough, the fusion princess switched the Emperor with her long unused cooper cane, clashing against the Undead Kryptonian's sword. A sparkling burst of energy exploded as the talisman-enhanced cane and the demonic sword clashed in a loud collision. Princess Flavor's wide grin never left her, her face almost touching the wrathful visage of her undead opponent.

For a moment, the two hovering combatants struggled against each other in a test of pure strength. The air crackled with bustling energy as they pushed against each other, their eyes locked in a fierce gaze, both unyielding against the other's power.

"Take this!," Princess Flavor yelled as she channeled the talisman's energy from the cane to her palm that she thrust towards the Kryptonian's chest, unleashing a powerful shockwave blast that violently pushed her opponent away. She followed up with a series of quick blasts from her arm cannon, whose crack grew larger with each shot she made.

Kal-el managed to dodge a few shots but stumbled back as she took a few successful hits, pushing him closer to the wall of the arena. "And how about this!," the fusion princess roared once again as she charged forward, releasing blasts of powerful shockwaves that helplessly pushed the Undead Kryptonian inch by inch closer towards the arena's wall.

A smirk formed on her lips as shadows formed into the wall behind her opponent, unleashing serpentine figures that coiled around Kal-El's legs and pulling him towards the arena's wall, while burying their fangs against the undead Kryptonian's near-impenetrable skin.

"And burn!," Flavor then exclaimed, releasing a massive breath of flames from her mouth, engulfing the bound Kryptonian in a scorching inferno of tangerine to crimson flames.

Despite the countless combo of attacks by Flavor, Kal-el remained unfazed, effortlessly freeing himself from the shadow shackles and retaliated with a flurry of strikes with his soul edge.

"I will have your soul!," Kal-el roared, his mangled voice boring through the princess' soul. He launched his sword against the fusion princess with unmatched ferocity, forcing Princess Flavor to focus the sacred talisman's power in her cane as she blocked each of her opponent's incoming attacks.


The arena shook as their weapons collided, creating a wave of energy that rippled through the air and sent embers of burnt metal fragments in all directions, the majority of which came from the barely withstanding cooper cane.

"And I will have that sword!," Still, Flavor's ecstatic grin remained, her confidence unwavering despite her opponent's near-invulnerability. She answered her opponents fury with the clash of her cooper cane, the sacred talisman glowing fiercely as she forced herself to match with corrupted Kal-El’s powerful attacks.

Past the bitter memories of a gruesome childhood, of murders, of loneliness and struggle of survival. Past the horrors of war, of painful insults and personal vendetta. That very moment was a memory that she inscribed as her very own. The battle was hers, those techniques, those bruises that started to appear on her skin, and every emotion that fueled her throughout her momentary match. It made her forget that she was a fusion of two entities, but a sole being made to enjoy that moment of pure bliss.

Victory or not, it was a moment that she could claim that she existed as the powerful Princess Flavor who fought with her fleeting existence in the chaotic arena of death. Her spirit soared even more, as she reveled with the thrill of battle and the rush of adrenaline that came with it. Every strike added a detailed story to her virtual slam book that might be kept or lost forever. But whether she'd be remembered or forgotten, that present moment of thrill was what she kept on fighting, even past the boundary of her own strength.

 

[Sandor Clegane]

Zayin clung to Twenty-One’s back via the two swords plunged in between the monstrosity’s shoulder blades; he looked for all the world like a grimly determined forklift driver piloting the Crossroads’ most dangerous forklift. His forearms trembled with exertion as he grasped tightly around his makeshift pitons, jaw set with fastidious determination to keep his grip secure.

Twenty-One roared in fury, his sinewy tree-trunk arms thrashing around as he writhed in a desperate bid to dislodge the angel-shaped irritant from his back. His own gargantuan musculature worked against him, razor-sharp claws raking uselessly at empty air, falling just short of their mark. Eyes rolling around crazily, the Special Class howled like the wild beast he had become, his entire being vibrating with the guttural screech of unhinged rage.

“Get off my back, you annoying little pest!” his snarling voice commanded, garbled by the harsh animalistic timbre of his words. “Get! The fuck! OFF!”

“Now, Nanaue!” barked out Zayin.

The Shark King catapulted himself from the floor like a springboard, driving his shoulder into Twenty-One’s sternum. He felt the full brunt of his charge transfer kinetically into the place where the monstrous man’s rib cage met in the middle, a sickening crack ringing out as the bones gave way under the pressure.

A thrill of vicious pleasure surged through Nanaue, though it was short-lived. The hulking lion man's iron fist swung up for a retaliatory uppercut, smashing against Nanaue's chin with a sound like a clod of meat being slapped against a concrete wall.

Nanaue reeled back with a strangled grunt. After a beat, he spat out of the corner of his mouth and something struck the floor with a sharp ping. A triangular tooth covered in bloody slime glistened in the low light.

The King of Sharks shook off the blow, leveled a glare at his leonine foe, then charged.

Twenty One’s frantic attempts at removing Zayin proved ineffective. He spun and pirouetted, a tremendous ballerina in a desperate life or death dance, as Zayin’s swords carved deeper and deeper into the flesh on either side of his spine. Gouts of blood slicked down his back and sides in rivulets, mapping out bloody wings and staining his fur with an oily quagmire of gore.

The wounded beast man’s shrieks of agony besieged their ears in a torrent, haunting, like the dying throes of a wounded lion.

Before Twenty-One even knew what was happening, Nanaue had crashed against him and slotted the Sword of Omens messily between two of the lion man's ribs, both of his hands driving the blade in and through. It had diminished in size as the Shark King had diminished in allies, but it was still a sword, powers or none, and it found its mark.

Pushing off with one leg, Nanaue front kicked the hilt of the blade. It sank further into his opponent’s chest, who screeched, grasping the hilt in desperation as a spume of dark blood welled up around the wound.

With a pained grunt, he yanked the sword free and flung it to the ground. A shower of blood sprayed outward as he wrenched it clear of his chest, spattering the floor in a ragged arc before him.

“Making… me…”

The veins on Twenty-One’s neck stood out as his body visibly shook, shivering like a volcano about to burst its top.

“Really… fucking…”

His muscles inflated; biceps became a monstrous stack of sinewy strength, calves blew up like balloons, his thighs swelled, his shoulders bloomed, and all at once Twenty-One became just gigantic. Where he’d stood maybe a head and shoulders over Nanaue before, he now dwarfed the Shark-Man in size, towering over him like a beast from hell.

“... mad.”

Enough steam to power a locomotive hissed out from Twenty-One’s nostrils, super-heating the air. One clawed foot stamped at the ground, like a bull preparing for a deadly charge.

He slammed his fists together, flexed, and actually pushed Zayin’s swords out of his back with raw muscular power, uprooting the blood-soaked longswords with a sickening squelch.

The Angel of Challenge leaped off of the now considerable back of the monster, flipped in the air, and touched down lightly on the floor with a flourish of his blades. His eyes, luminously bright, betrayed only the slightest hint of concern. More than anything, Zayin’s expression was one of muted anger.

The din of battle, once cacophonously symphonic and all-encompassing, had died down considerably. Zayin was uncertain what that meant, and which side was winning, but at present he was unable to let the tides of the battle around them impact their fight with Twenty-One. This felt… personal. It was the entrance of Number Twenty-One and his vampiric friend that had led directly to Coda’s death. To that end, nothing mattered until Twenty-One was well and truly finished.

Zayin observed from afar as the two beast men locked eyes and began to circle one another in a predatory spin-cycle. Neither broke eye contact, but neither moved to disengage the stand-off, either.

A place of provenance in Nanaue’s mind told him that he would eat this man. Restraint was gone. The surge of the Rejuv Juice in his veins precluded any notion of pain; when he’d been clobbered in the snout by a haymaker, all he’d felt was the bone-jarring impact. The sting of his injuries felt far away, as if it were happening to somebody else’s body and he was only watching. He was dimly aware of the sensation of his stomach rumbling, the tantalizing ooze of bone-deep hunger wrapping its tendrils around his mind.

Number Twenty-One eyed him right back, seeming all-too-aware of the savagery in the other. The fur on his tail bristled in agitation, flicking about like a bullwhip thrashing in rage, as he circled around his prey. His shoulders hunched and his teeth bared, head hung low as he made ready to dive in for the kill.

Zayin cut the tension. He catapulted himself into Twenty-One, slashing, and was swatted away like he was naught but a kitty cat’s amusing feathered toy. Nanaue stepped in, swinging his axe around, which Twenty One parried with his bare forearm. The Special Class connected a straight jab to Nanaue’s temple, which the Shark King rolled with, then a cross that connected with Nanaue’s mouth.

When the fist made contact with his teeth, King Shark’s mouth yawned open, stretching wide enough to engulf the man’s clawed hand, then bit down. Hard.

Twenty-One tried to yank his fist away, yelling, but the crushing power of Nanaue’s jaws had a deathlock around his knuckles and curled fingers. He could feel the teeth digging into the ligaments and tendons, rending flesh and bone, but could do nothing about it. He stuck his other hand into the lips of the beast, yanking to try and pry his clenched maw open, but could not.

Releasing a primal warcry, Zayin leapt onto his back and started stabbing. He held himself there with one sword plunged deep inside the Special Class’ broad, heaving shoulder, and with his other sword he swung down, lifted, swung down again, and then just kept going, wailing upon the already shredded muscle again and again and again.

Nanaue’s jaws let loose of his hand, and Twenty-One lurched backward in a daze, gore misting and spraying all three of them in a continuous jet stream of sticky crimson.

“MY FUCKING HAND!” he roared, clutching at the stumpy wound with his remaining good limb. “YOU FUCKING-”

Nanaue slugged him in the jaw, staggering him. Again the Special Class fighter stumbled back drunkenly, reaching up to grasp at his jaw, as Zayin wrenched both blades free and sprang away.

A river of blood poured from between Twenty-One's teeth, spilling over his lips and dribbling onto the floor in thick droplets. It pooled there in grotesque puddles, forming a widening lake of deep red.

“My… mouth…” he slurred. His jaw sounded dislocated.

Their frenzy of activity had carried them back over to the place where he’d flung the Sword of Omens only moments before. Nanaue stooped, picked it up, and postured aggressively.

He took a step forward.

Twenty-One took a step back.

Zayin approached from the flank.

Twenty-One took another step away.

“It’s over,” Zayin stated, the cold words cutting through the air like an icy blade. “Are you really willing to die for this? There’s no scenario where we don’t win this fight.”

He glanced over at Nanaue, whose mouth hung open, saliva descending in ropes.

“Nanaue might not even leave a body.”

Twenty-One laughed, a harsh and guttural sound.

“It doesn’t matter,” he clapped back, snarling. “They’ll bring me back either way. I’m just doing my job, and my job comes with a phenomenal insurance policy. I’m here to put you in the ground.”