[UC/HD] Battle of the Pandaemonium Coast

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Karl Jak

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Ridley, pinned between the coastline, a hostile fortress, and a long 'round about' way home, found his situation compounded when the Hell Diver army marched up from the south.

"Make them bleed for every inch," the space pirate rasped as he rallied his battle-hardened soldiers into tight formations.

***

Battle Statistics

Unmade Carnaval: 430 Combat Soldiers
Hell Divers: 1430 Combat Soldiers

Note: Okay. Again, we have 3 days, and then this fight'll be resolved. All PCs are expected to post once in the next 3 days (the timer began whenever it is that I posted this originally).

Fighting takes place along the coastline, with the Pandaemonium Fortress to the east, its guns firing in other directions as the two armies clash within eye-shot of it.​

"The Apex Predators"
General -> Ridley
Lieutenant -> Urban Lich
430 Combat Soldiers

vs

"The Hell Divers"
General -> Doomguy, Altanis
Lieutenants -> Zenitsu, The Rock
1430 Combat Soldiers
Soldiers -> Majin Buu, Caboose, Musashi
 
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Ridley

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A mechanical whirr whizzed as Ridley’s eyes opened. Cybernetic implants augmented by hellish magic whirred and zoomed to give Ridley an enhanced view of the area. The Helldivers were coming. He could see them already, green blips in the distance marching forward with a determination from their previous ‘victory’.

The Dragon stepped forward, a puff of flame flaring from his nostrils as his scoff of disdain. The sound of clicking motors and whirring machinery accompanied his every step. Reinforced metal slid through his body in an inelegant fashion. Once, he had been called ‘Meta Ridley’ in ages past, mechanical augmentations applied to his body by eager space pirates ready to resurrect one of their best leaders. The technology had been cutting-edge, sleek and powerful. It had left him feeling light and eager, ready to kill with power flowing through every limb.

This new set of augments was far more crude in comparison. The steel was rough-hewn and in some places still stained with his own orange blood. Some parts jutted out of his organic portions, and the dull red glow that gave him vitality gave a vile taste to his breath. Every movement hurt as the metal in his body rubbed roughly against the living flesh it was attached to, and the faint, green vapours that exited his body with every breath felt the Reptile feeling a little colder than the moment before.

“My Lord Ridley…” The Urban Lich breathed, snapping Ridley to attention. The one known as Dresden had been switching between personalities now, as the unmaking snapped deeper into his soul. He preferred this one, though it seemed much weaker.

“Speak.”

“We’ve an hour before the Helldivers catch up. What are your orders.”

Ridley pondered the question a moment. “Gather the men and ready to charge. And Lich…”

The Pterodactyl looked the Undead Urban Wizard over for a moment. “We’ve enough time to add something to replace your severed limbs.”

“...Been missing the use of my digits.” Dresden snapped, back to himself for a moment. “Guess I’ll-”

Do nothing!” Ridley snapped. “And I’ll take your head if you try!”

Dresden’s face snapped to attention, though the look he gave was far from happy.

Ridley spat into the desert, convinced he could still taste the severed head of Luck Voltia.

“In my army, those who are strong, who kill and plunder, are awarded boons.” Ridley claimed. “I beheaded one of their champions. The mutant died severing their voodoo doll from this world. What did you do?” the dragon demanded.

The Lich’s gaze turned hard, angry, as he met the generals own. Then, the Unmade’s baked-in loyalty seemed to set in, and the tenseness in his shoulders slowly softened.

Ridley turned his neck, the whirr of unseen motors and gears accompanying the motion. “Bring me the carcass of a Helldiver worth killing. I’ll order the augmentations myself. Until then…”

The Dragon’s lips curled into a sadistic smile. “Rip and tear, until it is done.” He said with a mocking tone.

------

The Dragon’s eyes set on the front of the Hell Divers’ combined forces, and breathed a short puff of flame as he squared his shoulders.

They expected him to run or entrench himself, he imagined. It would be the mammalian plan. Here, however, was a coastline. He had no need - The Dragon had caught wind of their attack already. No, he would fight with the cliffs behind them and their enemies before them. The Unmade would drive them to fight on the beach, or drown in the waters below.

None would be spared.

The mechanics of his body beeped and clicked incessantly, as rotors whirred to life, feeling the dragons excitement. The unmade commander licked his lips, letting his tongue loll for a moment at the thought.

His mistake before was leaving the others to fight their own battles. His battle with their leader had let his men influence other parts of the battle where the dragon’s gaze did not reach.

His solution was brutal, simple, and effective.

The Unmade exploded to life from the cliff-side with a dash across. The infantry jumped to action, leaping from both the paths leading down adn from the clifftops themselves. Some of the creatures he’d brought landed hard, a few breaking limbs, but to the carnival, it no longer mattered. They’d been denied victory once, and it would not be denied again.

Ridley’s loping, grating frame emerged from the front of a group of Clownish horses, the hellish beasts decorated like a merry-go-round. The clanks of his metal body gave away his presence, as he lead the blitz - He would not let the General send his troops elsewhere.

The Lich reinforced his leader from behind, corpses of helldivers and Unmade alike following his command as he set them to work cutting off lines of escape. His was not the hand that would seal their fates, but simply to make it as difficult as possible for the enemy to break away.

Ridley Ran forward, striking the helldiver lines like a semi truck as he rushed in. the Dragon had no time for the fodder that stood tall for their turn to die, as he ran straight through the helldivers front-lines. The Dragon simply swatted his hand forward to send the helldivers flying whenever he couldn’t gore them aside with his steel-plated beak or simply run them over with his talons. The Pirate rampaged forward like a beast, But the wounds he left often weren’t fatal, leaving the Helldivers to regroup behind him. The Dragon turned to the side to gaze upon the re-grouping enemies as they readied guns - careful not to hit their own.

Ridley gave a smile, as compartments opened up on the dragon’s armored back. The sheer speed, ramshackle nature, and complete regard for any decency on the part of the unmade carnivals’ medical techs and engineers came as an acceptable trade-off for the sheer number of weapons the dragon now had at his disposal, as his payload floated from the dragon’s back.

Red balloons. The simplistic look and gentle floating would have made them seem positively ordinary, were it not for the orange glow radiating from them. The ensorcelled mines quickly found the nearest group of human defenders before rocketing towards them with the unmistakable whistle of a deflating balloon before exploding. The grenade-blasts left the helldivers lunging for cover, while a few had the time to notice as the smoke from the blasts warped and shifted, briefly, into the shape of a grinning crown with pointed teeth.

Ridley was not among them. He was already after his target.

The Dragon finally smashed through the last of the enemies between him and the enemy cabinet with a snarl, catching the group as they’d assembled.


“What this? Buu saw balloons! Buu wants!” A pink blob whistled, pounding his chest.

That’s the unmade general…?” Zenitsu questioned.

Musashi stood back, blades in hand as she studied the monster with a sign of disbelief, while The Rock gave a preparatory flex, posing before the battle began.

“I thought it was Puff, the magical dragon!”

“That’s not altogether an inaccurate moniker.” Altanis stated with a chuckle of amusement. “General Ridley, I presume? Though it looks like you’ve obtained… augmentations.”

The centaur put one, lazy hand on its side as it regarded him with mocking amusement. “You’ve made a grave mistake.”

Ridley ignored the taunting of the centaur, the preparatory talk-back of the two sword-wielders, and the buffoonery of the rest.

His mind was fixed on one target in the competition. The one that had made him bleed. The one who’d caused Ridley’s newest defeat.

Slayer!” The Dragon spat, servos humming and whirring as he tilted his head forward.

The Dragon dug his claws into the dirt, as his armor shifted, the armored balls around his shoulders opening up to reveal a set of arm-length missiles.

A Score of smiling rockets were sent in every direction, forcing the helldivers to jump or block the blasts in their own way, and Ridley gave a wicked grin.

He was done relying on pawns. The Hell Divers leaders would be handled his way!
 

Miyamoto Musashi

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Echoes of the psychic lightning that had once wracked through her still forced involuntary twitches off of the swordsman’s weary and worn body. Her lax grip on the hilt of a sword tightening unexpectedly, a cut held back by a fraction, driving the perfection she strived for, amiss.

Yet, there was no rest for the wicked. Or for Helldivers, for that matter. Victorious though they had been, and as much of vindictive, victorious pleasure she’d received from cutting off Kerrigan’s head clean off her shoulders in revenge, rest was not a part of her reward.

Rest, that she, Zenitsu and all the rest of them needed.

Rest, that they were denied, in favour of chasing after the newly weakened dragon that had left their supreme commander wounded. Similarly, her tried and true - slightly dear Lieutenant had been wounded as well.

But, their loyalty for the cause, as battered as they were, was unwavering. Their drive to fearlessly dive after their enemies burning in their souls, as they sought to extinguish the yet smoldering embers of the alien dragon.

And so they marched.


-----


They stood on the almost-familiar shores of Pandaemonium Fortress. Not far from here, they’d had their first true battle, forged their bonds for the first time in truth. Ahead of them, sand and past it? The Unmade, driven near the cliffside with nowhere to run to, anymore.

This would be their final battle - two armies would enter and one would leave. That was the belief the Helldivers held. Of course, the enemy would entrench themselves, dig deep and force the legion of demonslayers to bring forth their carnage to them.

Such was their adamant belief. After all, no one with what little men the unmade had left, would engage them directly, first. No one would be insane enough to initiate the battle with them.

And so, when the front lines began to rang with screams of cleaved and bitten soldiers alike, the wake-up call was a rough one. Helldivers fell in mass as the beast rampaged, blood spewing as the army sought to wake up from its confusion-wracked stupor.

They had backed a wounded animal into a corner.

And not just any animal.

A goddamn fucking space-dragon.

Great plan, in retrospect, really!

-----

Shinmen Musashi’s widened eyes betrayed her surprise, as she stared in disbelief at the new breed of space-dragon, crossed with a robot. As far as she had heard, the dragon was supposed to be a dragon - not a mechanized one.

And as far as she could decipher, the pirate had sailed here with all the effort of a skiff in a pleasant summer breeze. And the plunder he sought? Their Supreme Commander, as indicated by his singular demand.

And so as the missiles revealed themselves, Musashi and Zenitsu stared at the contraptions in awe - the pair hadn’t the foggiest what they were supposed to be, nor do. So as the cacophony of panic rang across their ranks as the propellers fired and the rockets flew, the pair found life in their legs, springing forth as a pair as they dove aside and deep into the sands, as the cacophony of explosions and screams threatened to deafen them with all their might, sprays of sand and freshly-turned glass propelled across the air and clinking off their armors.

The dragon roared, the freshest of soldiers surging in front of the pirate with guns blazing, rifles singing forth their aria of death as bullets bounced off the freshly fitted mechanicus. His head wiggled from side to side, the motions originating all the way from the base of his neck, before it shot forward, maws gaping open as the unpredictable pattern caught an unlucky helldiver off guard, swallowing the poor sod halfway down before those merciless jaws closed and bit their prey in half.

CLING CLING CLING CLING CLING CLING CLING CLICK CLICK CLICK!

In his death-throes, the poor soldier clutched the trigger of his rifle, firing the entirety of its magazine into the platings, bullet bouncing and clattering, before the gun ran empty and fell aside, spent and useless, much like its freshly deceased owner.

Clambering onto their feet, Musashi and Zenitsu exchanged a knowing glance. They’d face the rocket-dragon, together. Gathering themselves, the pair readied their blades as they charged forth, Zenitsu with his blade sheathed and the ronin with her blades drawn and in tow.

Oft Musashi had leapt for the skies, seeking for aerial victories, yet this time, her opponent sported goddamn wings. She wouldn’t be the Queen of the Skies here, regardless of whether she’d decapitated the Queen of the Blades previously.

Diving forth as the monstrosity clanked and whirred itself, swiping aside yet another swathe of their troops, she slid in the sand as her blades sought to slash open the back of his thighs - an area she’d perceived to be the least armoured location she could reach for now.

All the while Zenitsu charged forth, leaping as his blade flashed once more, seeking the beast’s wings. If Musashi couldn’t conquer the skies, he’d ground her enemies all the same.

But of course, if Ridley had been offable by a simple combination attack from a pair of sword-swingers, what good would he have been? He knew better than. His targeted wing fired forth, opening wide as the steel-encased spine caught the Samurai’s sword effortlessly. The force behind his wing-slash brutish enough to send one scrawny-built blonde flying back in style.

CLANGGG!

As for the ronin between his legs?

Wings.

Shit. Wings!

All the while he flapped them to send off the blonde boy, his wings flapped and leg muscles worked to send him skyward for but a moment, out of the reach of a ronin’s dual blades, and very much leaving one pinkette to be cleaved in half by a pitch-black, metal augmented tailblade as it swung down without mercy, leaving the attacker to in panic bring forth her swords in an attempt to stop it, only to be flung aside by the utter force behind the beast.

And so, the pair thudded into the sands, one after the other as they found their footing once more.

“‘Kay so….we're gonna need a better plan, Zenitsu,” pointed the ronin as she spat out the sand she’d freshly eaten, wiping sweat off her brow Ridley focused his attention on worthy targets, his one true target remaining to be their Commander.

“Right...right! Plan. yeah. Plan, we need a plan!” the boy stated, his confidence having received a fresh blow as they’d both found themselves flying despite their best efforts.

Why the hell did it have to be a dragon?
 

Ridley

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The Dragon gave a toothy grin to his ‘opponents’. The Dragon’s steel wings were unfurled with aplomb, as the augmented cyborg breathed in. A simple orange “100%” indicator flashing before his eyes gave him the signal to unleash a beam of white-hot plasma, sending the Doom slayer tumbling out of the way of his newly unleashed power.

Boom! Ch-chk! the Marine’s shotgun sounded, but Ridley smacked away the worst of the damage with a metal-plated claw, grinning as he flexed his new fingers tauntingly. His new frame was made from the marriage of Durasteel and Thorium, lovingly corrupted with necromantic spells. It would take more punishment than that to break the newly empowered titan.

The sudden, forceful interruption of Caboose’s armoured fist found entrance on the Dragon’s ribs though.

“That! Was for! The cookies!” Caboose yelled, and Ridley shrieked in anger, turning his head and snapping the professional dunce into his maw. The fool had escaped his notice amidst worthier opponents, but the shot to the chest had shaken the dragon’s core. The Chestpiece was still a rushed job, the bolts still imperfect, and even something as relatively uncomplex as Caboose’s armoured fist rattled the Pirate King.

“That Buu’s friend! You let go!” The pink blob of goo exclaimed, smashing the armoured tyrant across the face with a yellow-gloved pair of stretching arms, and forcing Caboose from his grip.

“Buu is gonna beat you up and make you into candy!” Majin Buu screamed, and threw a furious barrage of Ki Blasts.

Ridley glared at the beast as he focused his motors, and the whispers of the damned filled his ears as he activated one of the more exotic mechanisms of the armour. A blood-red sphere, barrier, filled with profane writing, hummed to life around Ridley, protecting him. The xenomorph snapped into motion, rushing down the surprised majin and pinning him under his grip, ignoring the blast of pink ki that left scratches across his metal headplate as he pinned the tub of bubblegum under his grip.

The dragon badly wanted to show the flabby demon how one properly consumed their prey, but a telekinetically fired Katchin blade was already headed his way, so the old wyrm chose to smack the blade out of the way using the pink blob as a make-shift bat, before launching it directly at the centaur general that had fired it.

Doom Guy was quick to follow up with the chaingun, and Ridley unfurled his wing, steel feathers blocking the chain gun fire. Still, a few of the feathers were blasted free, and the Apex Predator growled before charging towards his true prey.

He’d made it within ten feet of the slayer before he was stopped by a 2-sided attack. Musashi from above, and Zenitsu just behind. The two were clearly trying for a feint, distracting him with the pink-haired woman’s flashier charge before the runt rushed for an attack to his underside.

Unfortunately for them, Ridley’s eyes were on the sides of his head, so the reptilian had no issues seeing the feint from both sides

Ridley slammed the Swordswoman away with a flap of his reinforced wings, sending her flying off before trapping the runt under his back talon, crushing the youth under his weight.

The Doom Slayer had enough time to reload, though, and the chaingun’s roar forced Ridley to leap off the youth, jumping forward and over the chaingun fire…

Only to feel the power of the Rock smash into his side. The Apex Predator was smashed into the sand of the beach as The People’s Champ took advantage of his aerial clothesline to unleash a set of the People’s Punches straight into Ridley’s face.

Gears sputtered as Ridley looked up, undeterred, and the Drake grabbed the Samoan man in one arm, leaped into the air, and found his target in the Doom slayer, throwing the Lieutenant straight at his commander.

The Rock’s momentum was arrested in mid-air by Altanis, the psychic bringing him down to a safe enough speed to avoid the attack from lethal to just painful, but Ridley had accounted for that. Green circles closed into lock-on targets as he leaped forward through the sand, unfurled his wings, and fired a new set of missiles, sending the enemy running.

“You seem to be wearing yourself out, general…!” Altanis taunted, straining, before sending her share of explosive rockets into the water with a simple push.

Ridley looked to the general with a widening eye, before a mirthful grin spread across his figures, and he responded, for the first time, to Altanis.

No words, no song, no clever wordplay. Just an ugly, distorted laugh that echoed across the coast.

The Dragon looked around at the enemy, doing all they could to obtain mere scratches on his glorious form, and his mirth only grew higher.

who was really wearing out, here?
 

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Silent for the moment as the battle raged, the nearby Fortress suddenly started to belch munitions into its western approaches. The rapport of the heavy guns, concealed as they were in a variety of zany theme park attractions, drew the focus of the Hell Divers and unmade alike, as all felt a momentary flush of anxiety at the thought of the battlefield being actively shelled.

Instead, the guns fell silent within a half mile of the battle’s edge, and for the next hour or so, it was the usual type of chaos associated with a clash between these two particular forces.

The next wrinkle came when several hundred unmade soldiers assassins dropped their concealment-related parlor tricks and swarmed upon the enemy’s surviving leadership.

The Pandaemonium Fortress shelled the area around it, likely having detected movement through their own stealth bois.

410 Unmade Assassins and spies have joined the battle. Roughly forty of the most elite warriors have encircled Doomguy ( @Remilia Scarlet ) with the others threatening @Altanis and @Zenitsu Agatsuma .

All three of those parties have yet to post, so bear this in my while writing, so I can, in turn, then bear it in mind while factoring this into the ending.
 

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The sheer recklessness as the Unmade as they themselves into what seemed by all accounts a suicidal charge had momentarily stalled the momentum of the Hell Divers, leaving them confused and caught unprepared. They had fully been anticipating an enemy that took whatever shelter and fortification they could, in the face of being pursued and so heavily outnumbered.

They were met by the exact opposite of that.

It only stalled them for a matter of moments, before they renewed their vigor. But those few moments were enough for the unmade and their general to crash into the ranks of their foes, and scatter whatever formation they had to the wind.

The enemy general, this...Ridley, was indeed a threat. Even wounded and injured as he was, some deep-set primal savagery and unrelenting anger kept him going well past the breaking point and only seemed to push him on yet stronger than before. Altanis had seen it before, in such battles...some great beast putting on until-then unseen levels of power and fighting more fiercely and savagely than ever before, utterly defying the odds. When wounded and beaten back and driven into a corner, they fought like creatures possessed by some primordial element of raw, unfettered bloodlust.

It always heralded the same thing, though...such a beast was on its last legs, and would succumb to its mounting wounds all too soon. They would not go alone, and it would be a fight that would take a tremendous toll...but it was inevitable.

That was what Altanis saw, as the mechanically-augmented dragon tore through the Hell Diver ranks, scattering soldier and officer alike in his rush toward the commander. Seeming to brush aside every attack thrown at him, recoiling momentarily with every successful strike only to rebound with another surge of defiant energy.

His mocking laugh signaled that she had struck true. While their efforts so far might only be enough to cause the most minor of injuries, barely scratches compared to what he had given in return...it couldn't last forever. She knew this, had seen it happen far too many times to possibly count. No creature was truly invincible, in spite of what their pride and any level of perceived power might indicate.

Her focus was torn from directly combatting the mighty beast by the sudden appearance of more enemies. "Assassins, again...?" she hissed, rounding on the suddenly revealed foes charged upon her position. Deep in her heart, some measure of pride kindled. This was the second time, in such a pitched and chaotic battle, that the enemy assassins had singled her out as a target. They recognized, on some level, the threat she represented. That left alone, she would cause far too much damage to be ignored.

Their Commander, and other notable officers were similarly valuable targets, she knew. Though she had only a passing moment to witness it, she had glimpsed more of these formerly-cloaked warriors appear among the chaos and dive toward other targets. While the numbers arrayed against them might be too much to so easily bear, she knew...she knew it was a desperate tactic. The enemy was throwing whatever it could dig up at them, now, just trying to stall them and slow them down.

"Very well, then...if you want to throw your lives away so earnestly, I will not be one to deny you!" As the assassins swarmed her, threatening to drown her under a wave of ridiculous circus-painted death...she only sneered at them and with a wave of her hand as casual as brushing aside a curtain, the ground before her practically exploded. Like a massive fist of invisible force, something struck the ground and bored through it toward the incoming enemy ranks, scattering and crushing them like ragdolls.

It did little to actually stop their rush, as there were so many of them...but it broke the initial wave. The extra second it gave to the centaur was not wasted, as she whirled around and swept her clawed fingers out in a wide flourish. The air about her rippled and distorted, four thin lines of gleaming red mist sweeping out in a scything arc, and the assassins nearest her suddenly staggered back, as they were nearly disemboweled and had their chests torn open by the blades of psychic forces.

It was the last such free chance she got, before being nearly overrun by the swarming assassins. Blades and guns, claws and teeth, flailing appendages and other unholy things lashed and struck out, and the hellish general was quickly pressed back, nearly crushed down and flattened by the assault. The armor she had picked up so long ago from the castle's armory, already battered and ruined from the ordeals so far, only managed to blunt the assault and do very little to actually stop it.

In spite of herself...Altanis made not a single noise of pain, regardless of the attack she suffered. Her pride would not allow it; it would mean she was weaker than these vermin, and that they could best her. She clenched her teeth, biting down on the involuntary gasps and shrieks of pain from every claw or blade or errant bullet that struck her. Her unnatural biology spurred her on, nearly all of the blows being nearly superficial; only the blood she lost from it all was of any concern, and that served to deter her foes as much as her, scalding and scorching anything it spattered upon.

Another rippling wave of force struck out, scattering the carnival's minions by the dozen like leaves in the wind, only to have more leap in, their incessant gibbering, screaming and yowling drowning out the surprised warbling yells and shrieks of their injured, thrown allies. Numbers were a hard thing to overcome, and this...was proving to illustrate that all too clearly and brutally.

A new noise suddenly rose over the din around her. For a moment, Altanis thought she had finally begun to lose her mind...until the inarticulate yelling resolved into a clear sound, nearly in time with something — no, someone barreling through the unmade ranks around her, barging heedlessly through like an armored vehicle through flimsy barricades. The blue and green armored spartan ran through, head lowered and seemingly heedless of the scraping blades and claws that came raking down at him.

He bounded forward, nearly tripping over a fallen soldier, before making an impressive leap. He caved in the face of an unmade assassin with the butt of his rifle as he landed near the demonic horse-woman, and a quick spray of gunfire sent another one reeling back, as he leaped up and over....almost. The clumsy oaf instead landed on Altanis's back, with a quick "Hello again miss scary not-pony lady! Can you get made at me later when there are less yes-scary clowns trying to do not fun things to all of my friends?"

The hellspawn saw raw at that, the indignity of the situation nearly making her seize Caboose with her telekinetic powers and rend him limb from limb. But there were other, actual threats to contend with...and so with a tremendous effort she directed her fury upon them. All the noise she had held back so far was unleashed, in a blistering torrent of screaming as she struck out. Waves and blades of psychic force, compounded with the piledriver-like blows of her hooves pulverized everything within her reach, forcing the crowded assassins to draw back momentarily.

Caboose had by now shifted around to a proper sitting posture astride his general, and fumbled to reload his rifle. "Are you doing okay, miss Atlantis general-ma'am? You don't sound too good."

Altanis could barely muster the energy to be angry about his botching of her name. She spat off to one side, her eyes narrowed and leering as she looked around at the still-present enemies. "Why did you even bother to come to my assistance...?" she muttered. "As I recall, the last time we met, I said I would kill you..."

"But that was only if we were not on the same side!" the spartan said cheerfully, as he let loose a chaotic spray of gunfire into the unmade forces' clownish faces. "And we are on the same side, so that makes us friends. And even if friends do not like each other, they should still help each other to not die."

The tactician just let loose a noise somewhere between a disbelieving scoff and an exhausted chuckle. "You complete buffoon... Very well, then...your assistance is...appreciated."

"Yay, I am helping!"
 

Miyamoto Musashi

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Their combinations thwarted and ineffective, Musashi soon found herself alone against the mechanized dragon. Well, alone in the sense that they were not working together in the slightest. Inopportune attacks, misread timings and ill-planned encounters.

As the calamity of the battlefield escalated, assassins found their way in the midst of their ranks. The pink ball of bubblegum screeched “The Supreme General! Buu’s friend! I’ll go help!” And so it roll-bounced away, pink coloured ki blasts firing at the group of assassins that had surrounded Doomguy.

The man, the legend himself, cocked a shotgun in one hand and readied the chaingun against his free shoulder. He’d show them hell, tear them down with him if need be.

“Fight proud, Helldivers!” he announced, his voice booming over the cacophony of the battlefield. He was proud as hell of the achievements his army had achieved so far - especially watching a runt like Zenitsu grow into a man that carried himself with courage and determination. With naught but traces of the tremble-kneed, quiver-lipped coward in him, he trusted the man to see his unit through.

“Bring it!” He roared as his guns flared to life, bullets flying into their targets as casings fell silently into the sands.

-----

Smart. Cunning. Cruel. A predator reaching for the title of apex.

That was how Musashi would’ve described the mechanized dragon based on their short encounter.

Smarter, more cunning and far crueler than Kerrigan had ever been. He refused to underestimate his opponents the same way she had done. And so, Shinmen Musashi’s blades repeatedly found themselves untrue, whether it was due to his superior reach, size, armour plating or Musashi’s muscles spasming at an inopportune moment from the remnants of her battle with Kerrigan.

And so steel clinged, clanged and bodies thudded as Musashi clashed with the beast repeatedly, air, ground, side, other side, behind. She might’ve had the agility allowed by her small body - but she did not have the limb advantage.

Wings, legs, arms and a tail more fearsome than the scariest of spears. Musashi knew that there was no winning this one. Not alone, not bogged down and unrested as she was. Her muscles begged for mercy as she strained against the fatigue. Fatigue that the apex predator didn’t seem to be contending with.

And yet she still fought.

She!

A sellsword who was used to running at the first sign of an unwinnable battle.

What the hell was she fighting for?
Her eyes glanced to the sides, catching a glimpse of blonde locks and a clap of thunder followed.

Ah. That.

Stupid. It was stupid, irrational and unlike her to her very core. Yet she strove to see that the pretty boy, Lieutenant cute-man, would see it to the end. That, what little human their unit had built in this inhumane place, would emerge on the other side.

Ha! The swordswoman was distracted, the space pirate observed, grinning as its tail wound into a coil, disappearing from sight behind the creature’s massive frame. Yet Ridley saw no need to wake the woman from her stupor with needless words. What fools warned their opponents beforehand anyway?

His tail shot forward from between its legs, roaring through the air for its mark, craving to decapitate the distracted manslayer where she stood.

Thud.

Crashing into the sands, the swordswoman awoke from her ill timed daydreams as she found herself staring at the whitest, straightest row of teeth she’d ever seen in her life, with the buff, large man staring down at her.

“Whoa there! Close one, wasn’t it?!” he asked as he rolled aside and onto his feet, pulling the woman onto her feet with him.

“Have no fear, for The Rock is here!” the meatloaf announced, flexing his muscles with his thumb pointing to his face with pride. “I think it’s time for another tag battle, don’tcha?!” he asked, though his tone was hardly a question.

Musashi stood there in stupor. Since when had she started to clock out during battles?

“I… Thank you. Yes!” Her response brimmed with replenished vigour. She was not alone - and they’d show these unmade filth just how they wrestled.

A touching reunion, truly - nah. Ridley thought as his eyes notified him of that orange coloured meter once more.

100%.
He was ready.

The Pirate wouldn’t give them the time nor the pleasure of recovering as his jaws opened and the plasma surged forth once more, forcing the pair to dive aside and scramble for their lives as the beach grew more and more glass filled in the heat of the battle.

The swordswoman recovered before the wrestler immediately propelled forward, blades raised sky-high as she sought footing from a plateau of glass, springing into the skies once more, where the tail already awaited her, shooting forth to slice her in half before she would ever reach the mechanoid.

Her hair flew freely in the wind as the swordsman came down akin to a vibrant shower of sakura petals. The Vibrant Flower of Tengen sought for her seat at the Throne of Void once more.

Maneuvering her body, the ronin bypassed the perilous tail, her blades aiming directly for the head of the beast. With all the force of her momentum, her blades were brought down in a cross pattern toward his head, even as those pesky, clawed arms came forward to catch those frustrating swords.

Ridley roared, the pain brought forth by those pesky swords surging forth tearing its way through his body and joining the already agonizing state of his ill-installed modifications. Yet, he pushed through, throwing the pesky swordsman backward, cast toward her earlier saviour.

“Throw me!” she yelled in those split seconds as the wrestler flexed and took a stance. His muscles bulged as he began to gyrate mere moments before the flying pinkette would’ve crashed into him. His iron grip closing around her boots as he began to spin, rotation after rotation as the swordsman prepared, her blades at the ready

This one would be an entirely new one for him!
“Theeee Flyyyying Swordsman!” He announced with a booming voice as he let the spinning pinkette loose, sending her hurtling through the air at lightning speeds, whilst she screamed with all the joy of a madwoman.

Even the space pirate, cunning as he was, hadn’t expected this as she crashed through his defences, her blades reaching the hardened steel installed into his head with a magnificent clang.

His head rang, optics momentarily disturbed as his wings first furled, before unfurling with all the might of an apex predator. The woman was caught in the blast, throwing her back as the blades of his wings screeched and tore against her armor.

Musashi tumbled into the sands that softened her fall once more, yet from the force behind the dragon’s strike, she would surely feel it sooner or later. Otherwise, she might just have to praise the make of this armour.

“See?! We’ve struck a mighty blow! If we fight together, we will surely wrestle a victory from the jaws of defeat!” he exclaimed even as he pulled the ronin up and dusted most of the sands off of her.

He was right about one thing. She finally felt like they were making progress.
 

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What’d begun as a united front had broken into several smaller encounters separated by the punctuation points of the teeming masses. Carnival met Hell Diver all about the battle field, made all the more chaotic by reinforcements.

Their victory had seemed a sure thing, at first, when they’d begun their march here. The moment of their triumph had given the Hell Divers (or what remained of them) confidence, and they’d carried that momentum with them as they left the wartorn desert, their territory, and their dead behind them. No longer were they Coming Storm or Doom’s Marines or whatever the Hell else the other units had been called. After that tremendous storm of blood and death all that was left of their original forces had been condensed into a single marching unit. Hell Divers.

Oh, and how they dove. Right into Hell itself.

Somehow, throughout the battle Zenitsu had been separated from Musashi - when the reinforcements came, that was the moment, he thought. He could still see the Mecha-Dragon, of course - he stood taller than any on the battlefield, save for some of the residual trolls and monstrosities that remained...few as they were. Most had been obliterated outside of Eisenstadt.

In a strange way Zenitsu felt he’d grown to know them. The Carnivale were not the same as the Demons he’d hunted on Erde Nona. His army had been blooded on them, their first and second victories hardening them. And yet these Unmade ghouls persisted. Demons, at least, had a sense of self-preservation. There was none of that here. When he cut down one, it shambled back up if it had legs to walk on, or dragged itself onward with its arms if it did not. Only death would put these rabid dogs down.

When they approached they’d made the mistake of thinking of their opponent the way one might evaluate another military might...they had failed to see them as desperate cornered animals who would fight to the last.

So too would they, however.

Zenitsu tried to carve his way towards Ridley and presumably Musashi, but the Dragon seemed a million miles and a thousand bodies away. The Lieutenant had been surrounded, he and the ragged but battle hardened remnants of the original Coming Storm. Even Schnozz, shell shocked and missing an arm, remained with the Lieutenant.

A ring of Unmade had surrounded them, all pikes and cruel blades and pitchforks. The ring closed in, while the Coming Storm alumni formed a ring of their own shoulder to shoulder with their weapons brandished. Some favored guns, which they unloaded into the encroaching throng. Some favored melee weapons, which they readied, realizing that they’d be the last line when the river of ammo ran dry. Zenitsu was amongst those, his katana gleaming hungrily in the dying light of the day. He hoped the sun wasn’t going down on the Hell Divers…that they’d live to rip and tear their way through one more day, at least.

“Lieutenant,” Schnozz rasped. His voice had gone dry, after the desert, and the loss of his arm. He sounded and looked a husk of the man Zenitsu had marched out with. “Been an honor, Sir. If I die here, promise me this - that Lieutenant “Cute Man” Agatsuma will go on, and rip and tear through every brick of the Unmade castle.”

“Schnozz, I-”

“Promise me.”

Zenitsu sighed. “...I promise. But we’re going to make it out of here.”

His usually good humored mouth was a grim line. His entire body felt like one sluggish moving bruise after he’d been fried electrically back at the Battle of Eisenstadt Desert. He wasn’t moving quite as quick as he once had, and he felt the fatigue in a way he hadn’t after the first battle. The Siege had seemed a cake walk compared to that last bloodbath.

He was startled from his musings by the arrival of the Unmade death ring. They’d closed on, now, the time for carnage was upon them. With Musashi’s face in mind, Zenitsu plunged his sword forth, watching the words ‘Destroy Demons’ disappear up to the hilt in the chest of a troll. The thing roared in Zenitsu’s face, and once that would have unmanned him. Now, he felt nothing. The Lieutenant ripped his blade free and punched it through the soft flesh beneath the chin of the troll. He was rewarded with a shower of oil slick black blood that drenched him anew. The stench was rancid, foul like something long dead. He did not move from his spot, however. He remained shoulder to shoulder with Schnozz and a big brute of a Coming Storm soldier.

“DON’T BREAK RANK!” shouted Zenitsu, hacking into the neck of the clown-painted ghoul that replaced the troll before him. “RIP AND TEAR! UNTIL IT IS DONE!”

So it was that they hacked and slashed their way through the ring of death that closed in on them, and when one of the Coming Storm fell, they closed rank and stepped a little closer to one another. The reinforcements had closed them off from the rest of the Hell Divers, and Zenitsu wondered if this is where the Storm would end.

“Musashi,” he mumbled, slicing straight through an Unmade, and setting his eyes on the next that charged him. “I’ll find you! In this life or the next!”
 

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The legions of the damned at my command marched forward for the sake of the Fallen Arbiter. Darkseid’s herald had entrusted me with the mission of safeguarding his flanks, and I had no intentions of disappointing him. The fodder around me was unnamed and weak, and took little effort to dismantle even without the use of my arms.

My eyes flashed, and a gust of wind smashed a group of the soldiers to the ground. A group of night gaunts quickly pounced onto the downed Hell Divers, swiftly dismantling armour to tear at the flesh beneath. With another flash of dark power from my eyes, a dozen spears of dark energy coalesced and smashed through another squad, and the remainder were swiftly cleaned up by a group of abominations, the amalgamations of stitched-together corpses smashing into the lines with an array of rough cleavers, sickles and axes held by all too many limbs. The new arrivals might have been unversed, but my men were all evolved from the fighting, hardened creatures more than prepared to fight until the last ghoul.

A sinister smile crept onto my face as I looked over the battlefield and gave a laugh, enjoying the destruction of my lord's enemies. I took a glance at the dead and readied myself to raise more soldiers for Lord Darkseid’s cause, noticing a golden medallion that was left by one of the pathetic hell divers, a golden necklace with the shape of a heart…

Oh.

The world around me shifted, as I found myself back in my own body. The reality that had become my unlife forced itself back into my focus and the only thing that stopped me from retching at the sudden return to my senses was my own unnatural biology.

“And I thought Darkseid would encourage a good barf, with how many of his chosen freaks use combat vomit.” I quipped. Usually, a snappy quirk gave me a bit of a distraction from the horrors of the day, but it seemed I finally found the limit for laughter’s medicinal properties.

I could still feel him in the back of my head. Trying his best to claw his way up, retake my mind. The Lich. Darkseid had apparently decided my personality didn’t need to be quite so strongly preserved for him. That, or everyone eventually lost themselves in bad writing designed to make the heroes look cooler. That one made me wonder just how well my leader was doing, but something told me this was not that different from Ridley’s norm. Still, I somehow doubt that even Darkseid had a mental box capable of containing the weight of that massive ego.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” I snapped to myself, before looking back to the fighting. The boss had decided that ripping off The Hobbit and Aliens wasn’t enough, so he’d decided to become dinosaur Robocop too. I could still see the sheer volume of helldivers charging to protect their finest. It was a good play - not even the cyberdragon was immune to sheer force of numbers, and he knew it. It’s why he put me in as the goalie, and I needed to step up my game before the enemy scored.

The thought of his leader being ready to keel over brought the lich screaming at the front of my mind, but I forced him back, for now at least. This was going to take a lot more than screaming and forcing some procession of the dead or blast of dark magic… nah.

This was going to take a really stupid trick.

Fuego.” I snapped out, and fire roiled from my eyeballs towards the helldivers lines. I only caught a few of my former comrades - anyone who survived this much fighting with the unmade had figured out how to dodge - but they weren’t my main target anyways. The sand beneath them was.

A thick sheet of rough glass formed beneath the helldivers feet, and I stepped back to lean on one knee for the next part.

Dispertius.” I breathed out, focusing my power again as my eyes flashed in an unnecessarily dramatic display of glowy eyeballs.

The spell usually just creates a big crack in whatever surface I use it on, but against a sheet of glass? The explosion of glass shards came close to breaking a few ear-drums just on noise pollution alone. The explosion sent a couple more diving out of the way, and I reflexively tried to pull my hands up to my eyes to save my remaining spellcasting focus.

That didn’t work, of course, because Ridley is a smug prick, so I decided to focus on using what got me in this situation instead, and ran my mouth just a little more.

“Vento Giostrus.” I yelled, and a cyclone filled the front of my vision. With a smile and a nod of ‘go get em, boy’ I sent the whirling vortex of blades sailing into the middle of a helldiver formation running in to support their boys. Judging from the screams, the broken bodies, and the men still running, didn’t look like I got a strike, but definitely easy enough to pick up with a spare.

“Not bad for an armless wonder. Feels very Death Game over here.”

I looked back to see a familiar face. Karl Jak… or his unmade counterpart. Still looked like the same Karl, more or less.

“I’d give you a hand, but the evil overlord of the week’s put out orders against that I hear.”

“Hello Karl. Why are you over here?” I snapped back with a sigh. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate having another person capable of speech and quips around, it was just a matter of trying to keep what was left of our survival going here.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair in a second. I just need a bit of help with a couple things, buddy.”

“A couple things?”

“A dramatic entrance.”

I gave a sigh. Magical power did not grow on trees, but if there was one person who’d know how to unleash death and destruction on the band of psychos that usually populated DA, it was the guiding hand that had made this psychosis his business.

“Alright, I’m listening.”
 

Josuke Higashikata

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Everything at first remained uncertain about what friends will live and depart once this battle is over. It was tugging deep down in his gut if Caboose will have to say goodbye to his already made friends once again. He was not ready to repeat the process as he did a long time ago. That feeling became lifted away instantly when crossing paths with a familiar face. Excitement fills his body, making him believe his friends will never leave his side.

Not even if death attempts to split them apart.

Most of the fact about his exhilaration is coming from the ride of his life. He finally gets to feel what it means to sit on a back of a horse. Well, he knows not to speak out loud to his trusty, easily grumpy stead about calling her a pony or pony-related things. So, in the meantime, Caboose will try his best to impress general Atlanis. A way that he believes will blossom out their friendship significantly.

"Damn you, big buffoon, quite your useless pondering and attack!" Atlanis grabs Caboose's attention once more from his happy thinking thoughts, steering him back on the battle's process.

"Oh right! Sorry, I was thinking of the best things we can do with our frien-"

A swipe attempted coming from a bladed weapon cut off Caboose's talking after Atlanis dodged an incoming unmade clown assassin, rearing her centaur-self by standing on her two hind legs. She raises her front legs high above, making the enemy assassin fall flat on its face. The blue and green spartan holds on to dear life, not wanting to fall off and become engulfed in the chaotic battle around them. A sea of unmade and hell divers are mixed in the fray, fighting on the beach that is now staining sand with fresh blood. He tucks himself on her back, wrapping his arms and legs around her tightly, making her feel pressure applying around her centaur demonic stomach.

She lands her too-front hooves back on the ground, smashing the unmade clown's head by sheer force thanks to gravity helping her. Its gore, pieces of the skull, and brain matter spill over the beach sand, similar to smashing a pumpkin onto the ground. Caboose releases his legs and hands around Atlanis' main centaur body, spraying and praying the MA37 assault rifle that shakes steadily in his hands. Bullets fly over the heads of the incoming clowns, overwhelming where she and Doomguy stood their ground, heroically. Some KIAs were confirmed but, the number of misses he made outweighed his kills.

Imperfect as always, the blue spartan's combat can be wonky from time to time. The Hell Divers' general groans at Caboose's poor aiming, making her have to finish off the other clowns with her glorious laser-trident. She stabs multiple times, facing off two unmade clown assassins in front of her. He turns around and helps by fighting off other clowns that flanked them, either shooting or butting them against his rifle. Caboose tightly holding his MA37 rattles, the muzzle flashes brightly, shooting out 7.62×51mm bullets that penetrate some of the unfortunate clowns to be killed by not the smartest spartan on this island.

"No! It is not your turn to ride the not-so pony lady!" Caboose foolishly yells over the gunfire and the rest of the chaos that can drown out his cry.

When Atlanis got a split-second break from facing off the assassins that slashed out to spill her blood, she catches a glimpse where Zenistu and Musashi squared off against the Apex Predators' notorious vile leader, Ridley. When he turns his back to face his fighting prey, Atlanis eyes catch necessary devices lighting up that help power the space dragon's half-mechanical body and weaponry. She thinks for the moment, although focusing on more assassins that charge and hop around the two. This plan she was in the thought process with could work if timed correctly. Meanwhile, Ridley moves aggressively to attack and defend his position against the duo-wielding katana swordfighters.

Caboose still works on his part to help out by fending off Atlanis' blind spots. He reloads the assault rifle, fastening his last magazine cartridge in the gun's butt. Without hesitation, the blue Mark V spartan fires off and empties his last magazine carelessly. Bullets cease to exit the muzzle, and all the sounds the gun makes are unsatisfying clicking. "Well, that's just great, my pet rifle went to sleep!" he sounds off, batting his rifle to an unwelcoming assassin, hitting it on Atlanis' right side.

"Great, I obtained a maybe genius idea for you." The Hell Divers' demonic general speaks out over the battle's obnoxious cacophony.

"I like when people have ideas for me!"

"Caboose, you ever yearned to fly someday?"

"Yes! It's been one of my many wishes I have been saving for when I come across a genie." Caboose speaks up loudly, childishly, while trying not to let his best friend get killed.

"What about pressing buttons?" Atlanis says once more, violently stabbing off any clowns that dare oppose her greatness.

"And that too!"

"Excellent, today is your lucky day, oaf." She smiles madly, thinking her little idea might even get this idiot killed, but she doesn't intend to for purpose; only a tactic that can succeed is what she wants here to happen. The demonic tactician focuses on her telekinesis quickly, lifting the spartan off her centaur back, making him drop his emptied assault rifle. Caboose floats in the air a couple of feet above her, thinking how chaotic this idea could go down. Just the sheer thought of him now being lifted in the air by a mysterious force that resides in Atlanis currently makes him beyond excited. "Oh my god, this is so awesome! You do have magic! The nice blindfold lady was right!"

Ignoring his words, the demonic general focuses, aiming toward the general area where Ridley stands.

"Fetch this, you unmade prehistoric abomination!'" She mutters underneath her breath before throwing Caboose across the battlefield with her extraordinary telekinesis powers. She once again clashes against an unmade assassin, filling with rage to end all these pathetic unmade lives.


In this fantastic moment of Caboose's life ever, his brain slows the imagery around him. At the same time, airborne above the deadly battlegrounds, the Hell Divers and Unmade Carnaval clash with the marines ripping and tearing their enemy clowns to fulfill their motto. Other clowns got the satisfaction to murderously kill in Darkseid's name. This short moment in his mind felt as if it went on forever, having a slow-motion effect. A big dumb smile spreads wide, covering his face. Childish innocence washes over him, looking down at soldiers below him, dying in the hands of marines or clowns.

Some looked up, astonished to see a gliding significant blue spartan overhead of them.

Their reactions reflect off his Mark V helmet's golden shiny visor. Caboose remains soaring through the air, descending toward the horrific half-mechanical unmade beast. Ridley's focus remains on the Hell Divers pair of talented fighters, facing his back again to Caboose. His tail collides against the series of cold steel blades that ping off each other—getting closer to reach Ridley's exposed back, everything inside Caboose's brain that visualizes resume to average speed.

The glorious moment of defying gravity was over, now comes the fun part. The blue and green spartan slams against the unmade dragon's cold back, making Ridley aware that something made contact from behind. Caboose gets a good hold on the beast's back, holding on for dear life and facing at all the pretty flashing lights connected to technological devices, with some having buttons. The pair of wings on Ridley's back flaps in irritation, knowing well now that something is certainly not welcomed there.

"Man, can't wait to press all these buttons." He shudders at the chilling and satisfying thought of doing one of his most favorite things in the world. Ridley retracts his tail to make it defend against whatever grabbed hold of his back. This act made Ridley use his claws to strike against Zenitsu's and Musashi's swords.

"Touch."

Caboose wasted no time, starting off pressing a red button next to a panel, causing a missile to fire off within the missile pod without Ridley's approval. The missile flares and flies off in a short distance, causing a friendly fire incident that exploded a squad of unmade clowns to pieces. Pressing buttons is one thing Caboose is good, now becoming fun for him. Continuing to press multiple buttons sends satisfying waves within Caboose's body. The dragon's weapons were starting to malfunction one after another, now pissing him off entirely.

Ridley's tail thrashes in anger to swat off whatever is causing all the trouble back there. Another button pressed, this time was releasing the balloon mines floating away in the wind. They all scattered to random spots on the battlefield, exploding whoever was nearby them. Unfortunately, some Hell Divers soldiers became caught in the few blasts that erupted across the coastline. A roar booms loudly, escaping the space pirate leader's jaws showing his glistening white sharp teeth while fighting Zenitsu and Musashi.

"Now, where's the friend request button on this thing?" Caboose foolishly questions if a button of some sort exists on the advanced combat system that's bound to Ridley. Finally, the unmade dragon atrocity grabs the culprit off by bounding and constricting him within the tail's boney grasp. Ridley whips his tail forward to the front of him, releasing Caboose to go flying and crashing into the two swordsmen. His anger gaze strikes upon the three Hell Divers soldiers that scramble to get up. Another ear-piercing roar tears the trio of Hell Divers' eardrums that Ridley produces, having enough of playing their games.

Musashi and Zenitsu stand at the ready to attack or defend against their significant threat. Meanwhile, Caboose standing between the two, finally realizes the ferocious unmade monstrosity he now gazes in fear, face to face. Currently, he only had two words to say that fit this situation.

"Running time!"
 

Ridley

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Karl gave a wry grin as he adjusted his suit, The purple having a few splotches of Red and… other colors, despite his best efforts to keep it clean. He really wasn’t interested in going into the whole ‘unrecognizable warrior covered in his kills’ angle this time.

After all, here he was again, the cavalry, striking out at the first light, of the fifth day, at dawn, from the east. He was going to take the role of the kickass reinforcements here to turn the tide on the bright-eyed helldivers.

“For Lard Dorkside, and all that.” Karl quipped to himself with a chuckle, before stepping forward. He’d let the big dragon handle most of the opponents, especially considering his reluctance to handle the silly comedy duo. If Ridley wanted to deal with that much concentrated cheese, Karl would let him have his fun

Besides, Karl had just heard a perfect death flag, so why not capitalize on it! And it was yet again another edgy teenager throwing his life away in a death tournament, no less. After all the time he’d spent watching the dramatic deaths from the big screen, he figured he may as well indulge himself, just this once.

The Producer leapt straight up with his usual guard - perfect for the current situation - long enough for the lich to whisper the literal magic words.

Forzare

Karl was sent jumping forward, along with his men, by the blast of force, his guard landing far less than gracefully. Karl’s worry of breaking a damn ankle went down as he landed on the rare unbloodied patch of sand still sitting around the coast.

Karl brushed a hand through his hair, the action bringing a frown as he was reminded of just what condition he’d been left in. He decided to put that reminder into a ball of ki that smashed into one of the youth’s remaining soldiers.

The man fell, and Karl gave a lazy grin as Lieutenant Zenitsu turned to face him, serious glare radiating out “I don’t have time for you!”

The producer just gave a grin and a shrug. “Oh, I know, that’s what makes the whole scene work!” he replied. Not without firing a few bullets and putting the teenager immediately on the defensive, of course - unlike the average cartoon villain, he’d actually learned to fight and talk at the same time for occasions like this.

Zenitsu attacked pretty quickly, the Helldiver lieutenant clearing the distance with a leap from one leg and bringing his blade back for one of those powerful samurai slashes. Problem with using a sword is all those extra motions, though. Compared to the point-blank simplicity a gleaming red ki ball towards his general direction, Karl’s speed still won out, and left the kid staggering back.

“You won’t.. Stop me. I have to…”

Karl just gave a fatherly smile in response, before giving the kid a nasty kick in the side. Wouldn’t be enough to kill him by itself, but he knew the drill. Had to land the lethal blow after the scene was over.

“No, I get it, really, I do. That’s why I’m over here! You’re off trying to meet Musashi, and I’m sure you’ve built some heartwarming rapport through the whole match. This is probably after you’ve built up a real relationship, a dynamic duo. That’s what makes this moment work!

Karl followed up by smashing Zenitsu in the side of the face with a nasty haymaker, and following it up with a slash of his knife that Zenitsu managed to half-dodge. The blade cut a thin trail of blood across the youth’s side.

“I read both your profiles. You’re the typical under-achiever who makes something of himself at the crucial moment, she’s the happy-go-lucky type full of energy, so I’m guessing she started giving you a lot of confidence fighting through this battle.”

Karl brought up his gun and fired, the youth dodging the shot as he tried to re-gain his balance, and Karl responded with a shrug before smacking him with the butt. Nothing really beat a good pistol whip for cracking a few teeth, and he swore he heard it as he struck Zenitsu in the face.

“So think how it’s going to be when the fight breaks and one of you is dead. What kind of story is going to unfold for your girlfriend when she finds out she just decided to care about someone, and he’s died fighting the unmaking. Or, maybe it’s what causes her to fall in this battle. It’s tragic. It’s meaningful. It’s damn good TV.

Zenitsu tried to rise, pushing himself up. “You’re… insane!”

Karl gave a chuckle. “No, kid. That’s the wonderful people who keep coming to my event year after year. I’m just a storyteller.” Karl added, adjusting his jacket before putting a foot down on Zenitsu and drawing his pistol to end it with one more bullet.

Plasma exploded, flames whizzed through the air, and Karl Jak felt the burning sensation that informed him someone had tagged in, crumpling.

“Every. Brick. Lieutenant.” Schnozz called out through the din, and Karl cursed under his breath. If he’d known the kid had gotten a sidekick, he’d have got rid of him first. He’d actually gotten blindsided by the tried-and-true ‘sidekick steps up’ problem.

This was about to take a lot longer than he’d thought, as he slunk back behind his guard of Jason replicas. He supposed if anything, he should have left them to the teenager killing. It was a lot more thematic.

The thought was interrupted by the sounds of a bestial scream on the other side of the battlefield, and looking at how some of Ridley’s men were retreating… Well, he’d continue this battle from a safe distance.
 

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Bile mixed with the blood pooling at the chin of my helmet as I watched the enemy escape me, ire overwhelming my core as I slowly marched forward without thought. I was pissed, my teething grinding against each other as streams of blood escaped from the corners of my grimace. Pissed at the dead around me, wordless agony that decorated the landscape with the morbid sight of broken people. Pissed so many of them were once my men, reanimated by the black sorcery of the unmade. Flashes of the halls of Phobos intermixed with my sight, zombiemen crawled unaware of their own deaths towards me with weapons in hands. Before I sent splatters of their brains against my armor with each pump of my shotgun. Even the wound I had placed on the creature was only due to the demonic weapon I had locked to my belt, a victory robbed by my despising it and the seductive whispers it held. Seething hatred left my hands shaking, and an overwhelming desire to wrap them around the space dragon’s thin neck and shake it until there was a corpse in my hand. My legs moved on their own in this strong need to kill, despite the bloody wound from the enemy commander’s jagged teeth.

I had become confused in anger, barely any thought to my actions, and I had fallen into old habits. I stripped ammo from anything in my path, long belts of machine gun bullets and pouches of shotgun shells disappeared into my backpack without a word. My gun was aimed in front of me, the presence of my shocked and confused allies and troops did nothing to deter my drive. Had this been the first day on this goreslick island, I’m sure they’d had stood there and let me go alone. With the battle bond we had forged in the fires of this event, they followed in similar grim determination.

There was no stop for us, no retreat back. We chased down the undead carnival unceasingly, only forced to rest when soldiers were falling to their knees. It was my hope that this monster would have no chance to recover. As we faced off against the remnants of his force against the backdrop of the clips faced out into the sea, however, it seemed their final stand has headed by a wholly upgraded leader.

Though the space dragon was already stopped across the edge of the demonic in appearance, the dark plates riveted onto the thin and broken frame of its body tipped that complete. Metallic wings fused together with the remains of the old flesh, eldritch runes and curses etched in blasphemous scripture etched into every square inch. A hellish and sadistic arsonal that matched it’s wielder, all secondary as it skittered like some shadow stalking vermin to batter and flay anything who dared to get close. It looked very much like something that had dragged itself from the forges of the Umbral Plains, like those when I had first picked the path of no peace against the dark lords who had wronged me.

It called me out, and in that moment I knew I was marked for death. It, or I, would be left to stand knee deep in the dead.

My chaingun roared as I placed concatenated fire down on the Unmade commander, spent casing flickering from my sight as bullets flew true. The beast seemed undeterred, the metal carapace deflected shot after with little to slow it down. It still raked across soldiers as they attempted to hold back the rest of the Unmade from piercing through our line, and only the combined efforts of our best troops and officer staff could we even contain the pirate’s frenzy. It’s hatred for me seemed unrelenting, but I shared that same loathing for it. My shotgun came next, buckshot scrapping sparks off the demonic lizard, while I forced myself to move to keep the monster’s attention away from the others.

Zenitsu and Musashi danced their blades across the armor of the monster, even the few bloodied wounds they could make purchase seem to encourage the space dragon. Altanis directed her furious energy against everything in apocalyptic blasts that rendered the enemy troops to paste and force the enemy commander back if only for a moment. Caboose and Buu unleashed ranged attacks across the battlefield, keeping this personal battle separate from war around us. and the Rock was going to let the unmade army know what he was cooking. As my bullets seemed to plinked across the armor of the dragon, my fury rose as I saw them risk themselves. Memories of screams from the radio while I secured the hanger burned like an old wound, and I almost robbed myself of my focus before I noticed a short knife about to take my neck.

Assassins, guess I had almost fooled myself into thinking this would be an honorable fight. I had to shift away from the weapon, before another was ready to plunge into my chest. My leg weakened, a moment where it seemed the blow would take my heart, before the clown assailant was reduced to cinders by an energy blast. A big tub of fun appeared by my side, Buu’s padded hands pushing me back up to full height before he turned to watch my back.

“Buu here to help! Help friend Flynn! Big sneaky meanies gonna go boom!” his childlike shouts welcomed as they followed up with more rapid fire ki attacks. My own chaingun kept up, out flanks covered as we tried to fend off the hidden attackers.

“Buu, when we get out of this, I’m buying you the biggest bag of candy I can find.” I offered him, a moment of relief from my beating heart as I turned clowns into mince meat. This almost worked too well, as I felt a gummy arm wrap around me in a tight side hug. A punch sent another flying off into a pile of them like bowling pins, and showing even with one arm he was nothing to underestimate.

“Really! Buu happy! Buu do really good!”

Any smile I was about to give was killed as a shadow loomed over us, and I pushed Buu away as the dragon’s spear-like tail nearly impaled both of us. The failed attack was followed with a sweep of it’s claws, and I felt a tear go through the armor at my stomach and exposed my abs with a slicing wound.

I stood against it, reaching for my rocket launcher. It had no intention of letting me grab it, and the dragon charged in with mouth wide to finish me with a sickening snap and crunch in it’s jaws. I had no time to recover my other weapons, and I reached out to grab the tips of it’s mouths. I was forced back, the beast’s strength greater than mine, but I managed to drag my feet though the sand and keep up right as it attempted to snare me. As this range I could smell the horrid stench of it’s previous meals, but more alarming was the glow of plasma weaponry about to rip my face off at close range. With a boost from my boots, I managed to clear away before a beam of hot death vaporized everything behind me. I grabbed onto some alien organic vent in the side of its head, shotgun in the other hand, and I pointed that barrel right into those hellish eyes to finish this fight here and now.

*Click*

Shit.

A wing spike thrust into my chest, tossing me onto my ass with ease with a new hole in my torso. I scrambled up, sand caking against the gore on my armor, and cracked the knuckles in my gauntlet fists as the dragon made a beaconing scratch towards me. It seemed this last fight would be dealt in melee.

Fine by me.
 

Altanis

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By now, with everything that had gone on, there were far too few of them left. The original band of revenge-driven freaks and outcasts that had been, for some ungodly reason, personally requested by the (at the time) Lieutenant placed in charge of "Something Wicked".

They had only ever been a few hundred strong, even at the start of this damn event. Now, though? Now there were barely two dozen left, after all the losses they'd suffered. Too damn many had died even before they got to their first real battle, on completely pointless shit and bad luck.

They'd even lost one of their best, in Faurin, the levelheaded marksman. The voice of reason, helping keep them focused and patient.

But he was gone now.

He was gone, along with hundreds. They finally got the chance to join the fight, in that desert the other day. And barely five minutes in...

Crunch.

One second he was there, helping to sight in the enemy numbers and direct the nearby troops...then there was just a messy, Faurin-shaped smear of blood in the desert sand, and a slavering blood-drenched monstrosity standing on what was left of his scraps. That particular monster had been killed with overwhelming violence, but it was still too little, too late.

Since that moment, Jean-Ray Morgans had done nothing but see red. She hadn't exactly come here to try and find a friend, or make nice with anyone else...just to fucking murder as many of these clown-painted fucks as she could get her Arbiter-damned hands on. She'd put up with the grating personality and questionably leadership of her Lieutenant-turned General for the sole reason she seemed to hate the unmade almost as much as Morgans did herself, the only fact that kept her from ditching at the first chance she got to throw herself into the circus tent.

And along the way, she had found exactly what she didn't want. She had started to begrudgingly talk with the others. Figure out why they were here, how much they were out for blood. Learn their names. Mannerisms. What they were about.

All completely fucking pointless.

Now every time she blinked, she just saw them again. Getting blown apart by artillery fire. Pieces of them spinning through the air. The ashes left behind with every explosion. Blood spatters and frantic screams for help that would be too late as they were torn apart or run down by these floppy-shoed and pointy-haired freaks. All tinged in red and black and white in her vision.

Muddled by a hazy film of tears, born from equal parts rage and grief she was too fucking angry to actually let out, but still there. Lingering in her head, as if taunting her. You're next.

Fuck. That.

There might have only been 20 of them left, but that was enough for one last rush. One last charge to do what the fuck they should have done right from the beginning. None of this patient, take it easy, find the enemy and engage them with proper strategy horseshit their leader had kept spewing...nah. The time for that was long gone.

Morgans' face twisted into a manic scowl, as she drew the absurd design of her weapons of choice into hand. Overly-large, powerful handguns...an obnoxious amount of extra weight and reinforcement added to them, and a plasma-edged knife affixed under the barrel in place of a laser sight. The exact definition of what some edgy kid would probably say was 'cool', but was just utterly ridiculous for anyone who cared about having a proper weapon.

She didn't care, though. All she cared about was something that fucking worked.

Though she and the last gasp of her former 'friends' had their stealth fields up, they were being anything but stealthy as they went. A headlong, breakneck dash through the worst of the fighting. A shotgun blast to tear the head off a clown here, a grenade lobbed into the gibbering maw of some unmade freak there, a knife planted in the back of a rampaging brute here. They weren't subtle in the least.

But they didn't need to be; the 'stealth' only needed to get them far enough.

Twenty of them started the suicidal rush. Eleven of them finally broke through at the end, bearing down on the undead and unmade form of the man formerly known as the Urban Wizard...Harry Dresden.

The armless lich rounded on them with a sneer splitting his face wide. "Really? Not even a full dozen of you, and you thought to come after me? What were you even thi—" He was silenced as a gunshot nearly put a new hole in his head and he realized almost too late that his new guests weren't even going to stop for the usual 'heroic banter'.

That was a problem.

He leaped back, the shredded remains of his duster flapping in the wake of his movement and scowled, baring his teeth, before snarling, "Defendarius!" A shimmering dome of light erupted around him, the incoming barrage of gunfire and thrown blades ricocheting and bouncing away harmlessly. As he skidded to a halt, leaning forward into the force of his next spell, he howled out a wordless and discordant noise that might have been a laugh. "Fulmin—"

CRACK-CRUNCH


The urban lich was silenced as the berserker-rushing form of Morgans bore down on him, crashing right through his shield, and drove her heavy, gauntleted fist directly into his jaw. The energy-wreathed fist crackled and sputtered, the sound of splintering teeth and splattering blood forming a messy, grisly and all too visceral half-second long symphony before both combatants went down into a tumble.

The urban lich was thrown backward, toppling ass over teakettle into the sand. Morgans just pitched forward into a graceless sprawl, her own swing overbalancing her to such a degree she rolled and flopped almost drunkenly in the sands, losing her trademark edgelord pistol in the process.

Around and behind her, the remaining members of her suicidal charge — now reduced to a mere 6, from the nearby unmade forces who had swarmed to join the fight against such few, easy targets — did their best to last as long as possible. Every second they stayed up and fighting was one more second they had to bring down one more of these fucking Ringling Brothers rejects.

The unmade Dresden rose up with a whining rasp of distressed bones, spitting out a mouthful of busted teeth and a sharp, screeching roar of fury.

"You didn't even have the fucking decency to die fighting these god damn freaks!" Morgans screamed at him, pushing herself up to one knee. The arm she had punched him with was mostly numb, now. Only a faint tingling ran up through it, and her fingers didn't want to make a proper fist.

She lunged forward, heedless of the sudden roar of "Infriga!" and the ground in front of her suddenly frosting over, sand and rock turning to slick, sharp ice. She noticed it, of course; her boots frosted over and nearly stuck, and it was only the sheer tremor-inducing adrenaline coursing through her body that gave her the strength to rip free and keep rushing straight at him.

For a moment, the urban lich recoiled, his eyes lighting up with an all-too-human response: mingled fear, surprise, and awe at this sheer level of stubborn resistance.

Then it was gone, and his snaggletoothed maw ground together in a leering grimace. "Laqueas!"

Morgans crashed bodily into the lich, throwing her full weight into a tackle that sent them both crashing into the frozen earth with a sickening crunch. Around her throat, a gleaming cord of blue-white energy shone like fire, its ends tightening and constricting under the force of the unmade wizard's will.

Gritting her teeth, blood leaking from the corners of her mouth, Morgans lashed out with a headbutt, catching the undead magus's skull between her forehead and the ground. It was hard to tell what the resulting crack was...her skull, his skull, or the ground.

Blinding, searing pain erupted and filled Morgans' skull, as everything momentarily went white. Everything was filled with a high-pitched, droning whine as her vision slowly returned, shot through with hazy sparks of white.

The soul-forged garrote around her throat had loosened enough to let her suck in desperate breath. Her last one, at this rate...but it was all she needed.

She grinned, a blood and vision grin as her broken hand shot down and seized the lich by his bony neck. "Do you remember," she rasped, her free hand reaching for her ragged overcoat. "What our mantra was, as Hell Divers?"

The lich's eyes went wide, and his distorted maw went wide as his foe ripped away her ragged cloak, revealing the absolutely preposterous number of explosives and grenades she was strapped with. Shrapnel and fragmentation, incendiary and liquid fire, plasma and disruption. All of them rigged to a single pull cord, now clutched in her shaking hand.

"Rip and tear, you traitorous magical jackass!"

In a desperate effort, he redoubled his mental strength on the garrote, trying to strangle the life out of her as he mustered up another spell. But he stumbled over his words, the proper form of bastardized lattin slipping and sliding through his broken teeth.

"Un...til...!" Morgans' lone, visible eye went wide, pure manic energy as she ripped out the pullcord with all the strength she had left."...it is...done!"

The explosion of dozens of grenades and whatever other ridiculous ordnance the deranged woman could carry all going off at once was a devastating blast, the resulting hail of shrapnel utterly annihilating the last stragglers of her allies who had accompanied her, and leaving only a smoking, shredded crater behind.
 

Ridley

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Sea and Sand had become stained with an array of colours, the elite ranks of unmade still quickly proving that they, too, could bleed, no matter their unnatural powers. His men were elites, powerful beasts and monsters, creatures that could rip apart most entities with their bare claws or hooves, and they were losing.

Ridley growled savagely, fury rising in him, before giving out a massive scream, the commanding roar echoing through the Coastline. Ridley was furious - not at the prey ahead of him, but at the predators who should have been beside him. The cattle had grown bold by defeating his generals with sheer force of luck and numbers. They’d lost respect for their superiors and they’d lost sight of their place in the order of things.

Ridley gave a wicked grin as he viewed the rest. Luckily, there were a few weapons he’d had installed specifically to make some use of his worthless comrades.

Doomguy strode forward, and gauntlet met claw as the two dueled for a moment in single combat, knuckles smashing away claw swipes as the slayer showed his power.

Ridley had no intention on playing fair though, as the imprint of a cannon pushed its way out of his shoulder. With a mechanical, high-pitched whine, a blast sparked to life. A bright blue sphere built in front of the cannon, drawing on Ridley’s innate ki and compensating for his lack of manipulating skills with mechanical skill.

Doomguy ducked just as the Kamehameha blast soared through the air, digging into the earth before exploding near a section of unmade and Helldivers locked in fierce melee.

“Buu knows that one!” The pink abomination screamed out, but Ridley had no time to gloat, as the Slayer charged forward, his pair of ronin striking from both flanks to force the Dragon to divide his attention and defend himself from three sides.

Inwardly, the severed heart of Untotto beat fiercely within Ridley’s power core. Sparks were released from Ridley’s frame as he gave an echoing screech. A charge of some unnatural energy flew through his body, unfamiliar to a creature that had never known the taste of magic before. Ridley dug his hands into the ground, a yellow glow accompanying his glare, and the rabble were all forced to leap back from a cascade of small thunderbolts that formed above them. Ridley kept the bolts lasting with a vicious grin, chasing down his opponents, but he’d forgotten his fourth annoyance.

“Relying on the strength of those who already fell? It seems quite unlike you, General Ridley.” Altanis taunted mockingly, before throwing a spear the size of a small ballista. Ridley was forced to roll to the side, the sudden motion breaking his connection to Untotto’s mana, and the spell faded as the Tarutaru’s heart fell dormant once more.

Altanis was quite wrong, of course - he was utilizing pieces of the unmade. The unmade had not faltered, and had not fallen. These little contributions proved the truth of their power, and a reminder that none avoided service. He demonstrated this with a smile, as a compartment hummed, and his chest glowed with psychic power, the now-transparent container holding a sickly green brain connected to familiar tendrils that could be mistaken for hair.

Ridley thrust a hand forward, and the sands of the coast exploded, buffeting the whole group with psychic energy and covering the visible area in dust.

The space dragon was quick to capitalize and grab onto the corpses of the damned, helldiver and Unmade alike. He buffeted the defenders with pieces of the dead from every direction, but while it occupied most of the group, the Doom Slayer was quick to casually slam one aside and simply walk through the next, before slamming his fist directly into Ridley’s jaw with a scream of unreasoning rage. The Slayer jumped up and grabbed onto the top of Ridley’s beak before slamming a metal fist directly into Ridley’s eyes, and the pirate screamed as glass cracked against the Slayer’s raw physical force.

Ridley’s response was to peel the slayer off with metallic claws, the talons of the great lizard dug into the praetor armor and wrenched the slayer off, and the Dragon gave a grin as he pulled one talon up to push up the slayer’s helmet and finally slice open his soft neck.

Musashi and Zenitsu had other ideas though, sliding in from both sides. And Ridley’s smile fell to an exasperated glare. The space dragon billowed both wings outward, intent on smacking away their counter as effortlessly as he did the first time…

The both of them Slid under with practiced ease though, Hand-springing up beneath the pirate and utilizing the critical moment to leave cuts across the inside bones of his armoured wings. Slicing katana cut into the vulnerable joints, breaking through cables and flesh. It was nothing more than a flesh wound, caution indicator aside, but the move pushed Ridley’s rage and he was quick to slam Zenitsu away with one talon and slash for Musashi with the other, freeing the slayer.

A psychic push kept the Ronin from taking fatal damage, and before Ridley could follow the attack up, he was overwhelmed by a host of attacks. A bright pink ki blast forced him to bring up a wing to block it, and blinded him to Caboose’s support with the Ma5B, bullets smacking into vulnerable joints.

“Seems your fellows weren’t up to the task of holding our soldiers back.” Altanis taunted with a tsk and a grin.

Only to be met with another Draconic laugh.

Even in straits like this, the prey had moved according to Ridley’s design. They had associated discretion with failure.

Ridley hadn’t roared to embolden his men earlier. he was just clearing the blast radius.

The sound of a collar beeping accompanied the humming of a display. Ridley had a total of six power cells in his body. The fighting so far had emptied one.

The air grew dry as 3 green pips suddenly disappeared in his HUD, and a loud humming whirred from his body. Sparks began to appear and fizzle around him as the air itself ignited, and the coastline behind the Space Pirate started to boil.

“Move it!” The Slayer yelled. Ridley flexed his claws for a moment, Before leaping into the air, his wings carrying him high above the insects beneath him.

Fire burned and literally bubbled from the Dragon’s mouth as his HUD flared.

Nova bomb at 100%, General Ridley.

The Dragon’s glare focused on the coastline before him, and He screeched his dominance, before exhaling.

A blinding orange beam blasted into the beachfront, and spread, as a carpet of plasma expanded to cover a massive radius.

The Space dragon gave a feral smile before diving down, keen to pick off the survivors. The power issue was for another time.

Ridley has used an application of Focus to fire a big plasma beam and burninate the beachfront, and fly a bit.
 

Karl Jak

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Face to Face
“Apex Predator” vs “the Hell Divers”

The beam cut a horrifying, deadly swath through the line of Hell Divers. People shrieked as the flames ate through their armor and burned them alive before they hit the ground.

The Doom Slayer had been destined to be at ground zero for the spectacle, but a last-minute intervention by an oversized, pink monster saved the marine’s life at the cost of Majin Buu being incinerated into ash.

As the fires dissipated, Ridley came thudding back to the ground as his soldiers moved through the wide, searing scar burned clean through the Hell Diver army. At the helm of a diminished unit, the space pirate rolled forward, his eyes glued on the coverage provided by the forests and trees to the south. No longer encircled, their only option was to fall back, fill the ranks, and break whatever remained of the green army.

With the Doom Slayer still reeling and many of the other survivors still stunned at the veracity of their foes, the withdrawing unmade forces found themselves confronted by one last hurdle. With Altanis once more drawn into a scuffle with Karl UnJak, Ridley smiled at the group of soldiers, led by a young man and a female samurai. Hobbled but lacking none of his fury, the space pirate merely sneered at the tandem and their retinue. “Run.”

“You’ll die just like your friend,” Musashi replied as she adjusted her stance.

Ridley bared his teeth in some ghastly mockery of a smile. “Destroy them.”

The forces behind the space pirate moved forward like a wave of gibbering, shrieking bodies. Musashi and Zenitsu lost one another almost immediately in the ensuing fracas.

While she wanted to fight alongside her ally, Musashi had more immediate threats. Slowly moving backwards, she lashed out with coordinated strikes at the monsters who threatened to overwhelm her. Behind her, the troops fired in quick spurts, none of them willing to threaten the life of the woman. For a moment, it seemed like there would be no issues, but then the shards of ice started to rain down overhead.

Swinging overhead to bisect a javelin-size shard of ice before it landed behind her shoulder blades, Musashi leapt backwards with none of her normal grace, crashing into a group of soldiers who were quick to step in front of her. While acting nobly, they were quickly torn open by ravaging, icy winds as the Urban Lich pursued the ronin. Barely thirty feet away, Zenitsu and his soldiers fought to stall Ridley, whose own group of soldiers were some of the battle-hardened monstrosities on the island.

The lich stalked forward, shrugging off a pair of attackers before Musashi’s katana cleaved through its torso. With a final ghastly curse, the creature sent a burst of flames and electricity into her chest, causing her to hurtle backwards. The soldiers around her scattered, broken and demoralized despite what would otherwise have been a stunning victory.

Musashi groaned, but even though her vision was blurry, she saw a familiar face crouching over her.

“You’re okay,” Zenitsu assured the woman. “I’ve go—”

A beak full of gnashing teeth bite halfway down the teen’s torso, splattering his blood across Musashi’s chest. The samurai, woozy from the earlier onslaught, lost consciousness as a sneering Ridley made his exit.


***

Battle Update

After a few days of vicious fighting, Ridley and a very small contingent of soldiers manage to break through Hell Diver lines and escape south. Karl UnJak has slipped off as well, after a scuffle with, I assume, Altanis (they're best friends).

The Hell Divers receive a message from the nearby Fortress.​

Casualty Reports

Unmade Carnaval:

The “Unmade Host” (the Predators + the arrivals) suffers 780 loses.

Ridley’s various injuries are now just one Insane Injury.
Karl UnJak suffers a Major Injury.
Urban Lich is dead.

Hell Divers:

The Hell Divers suffer 600 losses.

Majin Buu is dead.
Zenitsu is dead.
Altanis suffers a Minor Injury
Doomguy suffers a Minor Injury
Musashi suffers a Minor Injury
 

Karl Jak

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Face to Face
???

The mortars fell the moment the space pirate was within an eyeshot of the Hell Divers.

Ridley, even as the remaining soldiers seemed to quite literally evaporate around him, pressed onward. There would be more bodies to replace those who had been lost. The Hell Divers had won a numerical victory, but the dragon knew that their hearts and wills were broken.

They would take the long road, but victory would be assured.

And then the remaining unmade soldiers suddenly burst into living pyres around Ridley, and even the space pirate was temporarily rattled as he quickly tried to process the sight of about a dozen soldiers erupting around him.

Something sank into the side of Ridley’s face, and the dragon felt the world twist a little. A quick motion yanked the feathered dart from his flesh, but the figures that approached were barely coherent.

“Well, Colonel Mustard, it looks like the South will not rise again.”

“Let’s just get this back to base quickly.”

The Unmade Carnaval have lost 60 soldiers to withering fire + assassins
Ridley has been captured by Babylonia.
 
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