[Semi Final] Bandit & Kerrigan vs Mickey Mouse & Yu Kanda

[Karl Jak]

Mickey and Yu Kanda exchanged smiles as they looked out onto a very busy Fight Area.

"Oh, boy, Coruscant-y." The mouse spoke softly as he glanced down to see they were standing above some type of industrial waste pit.

"Brace yourself," Yu whispered as he pointed with his sword toward the far end of the stage.

On the other end of the heavily decorated Colosseum, Bandit smiled as she looked at the sleek turrets and parked fighters that adorned their staging area. "Not a truck, but it'll do."

Word Limit: 900
Posts: 2
Time Limit: 48 hours
Random Elements: On
Damage Meter: Off

Time limit starts at 12 pm CDT on August 7th, 2018

Colosseum: Battle of Coruscant – ‘Hijacked right from the minds behind the Camelot Colosseum. You are fighting in a duplicate of that classical stone arena that has been modified to replicate the historical ‘Battle of Coruscant’. The floor of the Colosseum has been replaced with a fifteen-foot layer of toxic, polluting chemicals, not unlike those that blanket all of Coruscant. Exposure to these magic toxins will immediately cause the prime to develop a fever that quickly leads to boils, nausea, and lightheadedness. Even after leaving the chemicals, these effects linger. Being in the Dante Verse means you will be affected, and there is no work-around, regardless of whatever reason or loophole you try to create (#DantePhysics). The area at the bottom of the battle zone is littered with the floating remains of broken ships, so there are weapons to be salvaged if you wind up down there.

The action takes place on a series of elevated steel platforms that float twenty to thirty feet over the foul toxins below. These platforms vary in size, shape, and elevation. A few have little shacks or steel barricades on them. There are hooks beneath most of the platforms and a few of them have little springs on them to launch primes around.

There are also four turrets dispersed amongst the elevated platforms. These can be manned by primes and cannot be destroyed by them. Two of these are Coruscant-origin (so they look like turrets from a Star Wars capital ship). The other two are demonic and fire streams of hellfire.

On one side of the battle zone stands the standard of Diablo’s army. Beneath the standard lies a hellish armory of daemonic blades, guns, and other assorted bits and baubles stands. On the other end of the zone is the foul colors of the Empire and an armory filled with their various weapons, both long-, short-, and melee-range.

Stipulations: Special environmental hazards. Bonus weapons and machinery to use.

[Bandit With No Name]

“Chh,” she bandit spat, planting her hands on her hips and looking around at the smoky waste below and the dangling platforms. “I’d except more out of Karl.”

Kerrigan’s eyebrow peaked, “Is the arena not to your standards?”

The woman shrugged. “I mean, I guess it’s fine, I’ve just already killed somebody here.” She paused for moment, staring off into the middle distance. “Did I kill her? Mami Tamoe…” she rubbed the bright yellow wrap around her wrist and huffed. “I can’t remember. Whatever. I kicked her ass and jacked her ribbon.”

She toed the edge of the platform and peered over to the opposite side of the arena. A wide grin grew on her face and she waved dramatically. “Yo Mick! Good to see ya buddy!”

The mouse offered back a meager wave.

She pat Kerrigan on the shoulder playfully and thumbed her nose. “I know that guy. I think I’ll do the friendly thing and shake his hand before I kick his lily ass.”

Kerrigan’s eyebrow peaked curiously. “Such sportsmanship,” she said sarcastically and strolled over the the massive turret. “I think this environment will suit a multi-faceted stratagem.”

The bandit winked and pointed at the Queen. “You got it, boss. I think we on the same wavelength.”

Kerrigan swung into the seat and grabbed the handle, the machine cocking with a loud CHA-TUNK. “Aren’t we always?”

Stepping up to the jump-pad, the marauder snerked. “We’re the image of everlasting friendship.”

With that, she sprang into the sky and the bright yellow ribbon unfurled itself from her wrist, snapping onto the bottom of one of the nearby floating chunks of metal. She swung downwards, her toes dipping into the noxious fog below before she arced up, released the ribbon, and slammed into center stage. She waved her arm, inviting her friend to join her. “Come on Mick, shake to a good match?”

With a spring-assisted leap, the childhood icon landed a few feet away. “Uh, hey there pal,” he added a muffled laugh out of reflex. “How ya doin’?”

The woman bobbed her head. “Pretty decent my man, pretty decent. Kickin ass and stealing shit. Ya know, the usual.” She tilted her head to the side, “Lookin’ a little down there, bud.”

The mouse exhaled, and his lip wobbled slightly. “The last round was, uh,” he giggled nervously, tears welling up in the corner of his eye, “it was hard.”

She was taken aback for a moment, and glanced back to Kerrigan on the massive gun with an expression of deep confusion. “Oh shit dude, what happened? You ok?”

Mickey’s gloved hands pressed over his face and he gasped out a wet, heavy sob. After a moment he managed to choke out,“Susie died.”

The titanic woman immediately rushed to his side and took a knee, her armored arms taking the mouse and pulling him into her chest. She laid her head on his shoulder without a word, and felt the wetness of his face through her blood-stained shirt. She could practically feel Kerrigan’s agitation, but in that moment, it didn’t matter.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered into his massive ear. “I’m so, so sorry.”

His thin arms squeezed into her, and she squeezed back. For a time they stood there, and the silence of the arena devoured them. Then, a tiny squeak.

“Um, Butt Kicker?” he mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“Your spikes are stabbing me.”

The woman let go and took him by the shoulders. “Oh shit, you ok?”

Mickey sniffed, wiped away a tear, and nodded. “Yeah. I’m ok. I’ll be ok.”

She nodded, and looked into his eyes. “Whatever happened Mick, whatever it was. It’s not your fault. I know you would never willingly put somebody in danger, and I know you did everything you could to save them.”

He shook his head. “No,” he glanced away with a heaviness in his heart that couldn’t be whisked away with simple words, “but it’s alright.”

“You know, you don’t have to go through with it.” She gripped his shoulder firmly. “This is all just some stupid game for a TV show. You don’t have to finish this out.”

He offered a faint smirk. “No. No I gotta finish this.” He shrugged. “I dunno, it just feels… right. I wouldn’t want to quit on her. Not now.”

The woman clenched her jaw. “Right.” She stood up and took a step back, then offered out her hand. Narrowing his eyes with resolve, Mickey stepped forward and took it. Their gazes locked, and both shook.

“You sure you wanna do this?” she asked one last time.

“Yeah,” he said firmly, a tiny spark of joy in his voice, “for Susie.”

The bandit took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. “Alright.”

Her hand crushed down into his and she yanked him forward, smashing her forehead into his oversized nose. While he was stunned, she reeled back her left arm and slowly growled out, “Craaash…”

The stunned mouse’s eyes went wide as the metal knuckles rushed towards his jaw.

“PUUUUUUNCH!!!”

An absolutely catastrophic explosion rang out, consuming them both in a cloud of blinding white magic, a shockwave blowing dust from every surface in the arena.

Mickey cartwheeled violently over the battlefield, a stream of smoke following. The bandit watched as he flew away, sniffled, and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

“I fuckin’ love that guy.”

[Mickey Mouse]

Thank goodness the Bandit had struck first. Mickey didn’t have the chutzpah. He careened through the air. Nothing seemed to matter.

How could it, after that?

“You don’t have to go through with it.”

Was that true? Would Susie forgive him if he just couldn’t? The Bandit’s words were comforting, but they couldn’t shake the demons plaguing the mouse every second since Susie’s pigtail slipped from his fingers. He’d bought into this game’s sadism, and she’d been caught in the middle. And paid dearly for it.

He couldn’t help but think that if he’d just left the sign up booths, she’d still be alive.

“Are you trying to fight in this game?”

He’d let other forces overtake his own instincts, and because of that, Susie was dead.

Forever.

His guilt overtook him as he plunged into the toxic waste.

Above, a surprised Bandit waved. “Good fight, buddy.”

Kerrigan appeared behind her, arms crossed, glancing down at the break in the noxious fog where Mickey Mouse had fallen through. “Hmph,” she scoffed, “Weaker than I expected.”

The Bandit’s smile sagged. “Yeah, I didn’t think he’d—”

“No matter,” Kerrigan interrupted, whipping her gaze toward their opponents’ territory. “We’ve got another to crush.”

Kanda mounted their demonic turret, his body shaking. He wept as he switched it on, aiming it at the no-named woman and Kerrigan. It went against every fiber of him to traffic with mechanisms of Diablo, but he’d just watched his tragedy-stricken partner choose to accept fate. He could’ve lived to fight another day, but didn’t have the will.

Before this, Kanda might’ve resented the mouse king, written him off as a weakling and a coward. But he wasn’t—he was strong and noble, and if this was his chosen death, the exorcist would accept those wishes. He owed the mouse that much respect.

And he would destroy the women across the chasm from him in Mickey’s honor.

He jammed the trigger, expecting lasers, or flames, or at least something normal; instead, scores of souls, charred from years of torture, erupted from the turret’s mouth, scattering with a cacophony of the most disturbing screeches any of the competitors ever heard. The Bandit covered her ears; Kerrigan watched with a scowl as they refocused on their targets and charged at them.

* * *

Underneath the goo, Mickey Mouse sank.

The weight of his body dipped slowly through the slime. If he hadn’t been so numb, he might’ve felt the burning of his fur beginning to disintegrate.

This pain was nothing. His heart ached worse.

He hoped his time in the Omniverse was at last over. Please, he begged, his thoughts echoing in the empty, guilty void that was his mind, take me away and don’t bring me back. He hoped, for once, that the Bandit was wrong. Maybe all primes didn’t return. Maybe Omni could pick and choose; maybe he’d spare Mickey the torment of another however-long in this place…

Free me.

He spread his arms, welcoming death. The toxic waste burned with even the slightest movement.

Then, for a moment, death greeted him like an old pal. His eyes opened, but instead of toxic waste, he saw a dark figure staring down. A small, dark figure that was somehow everlastingly bright, a living hyperbole. He stared up and fear overtook him.

“Hey, Fella,” the creature said, disarmingly friendly.

“Don’t make me go back,” Mickey pleaded.

“Oh-ho-ho,” the figure chuckled, “...come on pal. You know you gotta.”

Mickey’s face scrunched.

I don’t wanna.

Okay.

…

…

Okay… okay…

Breathe.

His heart beat. Tha-thump, tha-thump.

Dang. Still going.

“Still going!” the little guy nudged. Within the hood, Mickey could see a cheeky, familiar grin spread beneath the hood. “I know. Ya wonder why,” he nodded. “Can’t tell ya, pal. You just gotta do it.”

“I don’t wanna,” Mickey Mouse wept.

“But I will.”

* * *

The Bandit sank beneath the force of the banshees.

Kerrigan batted the spirits away easily and soon thrust Yu Kanda from the turret’s seat, swiping him with her wing blades. Blood gushed from a chest gash as the Queen’s spindly fingers wrapped around his throat and surged psychic energy into him.

“You… won’t… win,” he stammered.

Kerrigan rolled her eyes. These drama queens.

“Fool,” she barked, “I already have.”

She squeezed. The killing blow was here, but just before the light left the exorcist’s eyes, a pillar of Light energy smashed between Kerrigan and her prey, knocking them both off their feet.

The Bandit With No Name looked up, amazedly, then heard the swooping of a carpet and the familiar, springy touchdown of yellow sneakers.

She spun. “Mick!” she shouted. “Thank fuck!” Met by a keyblade whacking her abdomen, she doubled back, clutching her stomach. “Ooooooof,” she exhaled, “ya got me there, killer.”

She looked at him. His eyes were a deep, ugly shade of yellow, his fur mostly burnt off; barely enough shreds of his clothes remained to keep him modest. Boils sprouted from all over his body, alternately oozing puss or spilling blood. He didn’t resemble your run of the mill Saturday morning mouse anymore.

“You look rough, dude,” she quirked.

“Thanks, Butt Kicker,” a renewed Mickey chuckled.

“Look, Mick, I don’t mean to criticize,” she snarked, “but you’ve said that twice now, and it’s Ass Kicker, okay?”

“Yeah, nice try, but I’m not falling for that,” the goody-two-shoes mouse smiled.

The Bandit smirked; Mickey Mouse lunged. It was on.