Colosseum - Championship - Shang Tsung vs Bandit

[Storyteller]

The final match loomed on a crowd fed on a diet of blood, violence, and death for the last few hours.

Down below, the arena had been transformed into something from a nightmare journal. Half of the arena was a rolling field of dying grass, dotted with partially withered shrubs and flowers. A river ran the length of the battle area.

At the center of the Colosseum, the ground swelled a few yards higher. It was at this point that the landscape changed from dying grass to red dirt and dust. A giant, squared archway loomed high over the rest of the building, casting a shadow upon a small portion of the crowd. The Black Gate was a large structure made of nearly indestructible black stone. A large altar stood at its center, nearly two stories above the ground. Stone stairs extended from both sides of the gate.

On the western side of the Black Gate, the red landscape was dotted with fires that seemed to burn without needing fuel. Every now and then, some fissure or hole in the ground would spew lava or something that looked and smelled too much like blood for comfort.

The blue river that ran the length of the zone turned from clear water to burning red lava the moment it passed the gate. The river of lava curled through the zone before ending in a large bubbling pool. Even the air on that red side of the gate felt heavier and more oppressive.

From his viewing area, Victor von Magnus let out a sigh as he looked at the details. He had seen them all himself so many years ago, when the fate of the Omniverse hung in the hands of the Kingdom of Camelot. To see the very place where hundreds of young men and women had died replicated for the purpose of scenery felt strange and uncomfortable. Did the people in the crowd not realize how close it had been to the entire Omniverse being consumed by Diablo?

Down below, Shang Tsung and the Bandit with no Name stood on opposing sides of the altar, their expression neutral as they waited for the sound that would start the final combat.

Judges - Gildarts and Minato and a third(?)

Bandit posts first and may do so at any time after 8 PM CST 12/17/2015

Please refer any questions to that thread.

Word Limit: 750
Posts: 3
Time Limit: 48 hours
SP use is enabled. SP does not regenerate between rounds. Injuries may occur. Neither injuries nor SP use are factored into judgment, only the quality of writing

[Bandit With No Name]

The stillness of the arena was almost unnerving as the woman stared down the long, dark chute that led to the killing field. The crowd’s anticipation was strung tight, like the strings of a guitar waiting to be played. She took a long breath and forced the butterflies that fluttered in her chest back down, slapping her face back and forth between her hands.

“Alright,” she said solemnly, “let’s do this shit.” She looked to the nervous looking guardsman that had been her escort to the gates and nodded. “Hit it.”

The young man, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen, shook his head. “I dunnae know if this be a ghood idea, m’laidy!” he stammered in a thick Scottish accent. “I think tha’ o’r lord will take such jest poorly!”

Scowling, she took the man by the front of his breastplate and jerked him in, staring him down past her fresh corpse-paint. The boy swallowed hard when he smelled her liquor-tainted breath, and flinched when she growled, “I ain’t in ‘jest.’ It took me over an hour to set all this shit up.” She narrowed her eyes and shoved him away, his body slamming into the wall with a clatter of his armor. “I said hit it.”

The young guard nodded and quietly stammered back, “As ye wish it, m’lady.”

The hush of the Black Gate was suddenly broken when a female voice seemed to echo from nowhere. The audience collectively gasped when they realized what it was saying.

“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK, NOT A SINGLE FUCK,
NOT A SINGLE SOLITARY FUCK
COZ I DON’T GIVE A FUCK, MOTHER FUCKER!”

The enthusiastic anthem blared, and the bandit stepped into the light.

A pair of canisters erupted into a shower of crackling pyrotechnics, heralding the woman’s entrance with a display of over the-top -dramatics. Draped in a bright-red boxer’s robe emblazoned with a large, white skull that was framed by a hot-rod fire decal, she trotted to the rhythm of the song’s angry drumbeat, tossing a few light jabs into the air.

About halfway to the altar, she pushed the hood off of her head and looked up, taking in the cheers and jeers of the adequately riled-up onlookers. The sound of the people was near-deafening, and the lyrics of her walk-out song were almost drowned out. She reveled in the moment, appreciating the fact that thousands of eyes looked upon her now, expecting of her, no, demanding of her, a gloriously entertaining battle. She thrust both fists up in the air and the cacophony of their roar was lifted with them.

She tossed the robe to the side and jogged up to the stairwell, quickly sprinting up the steps until she reached its peak. Stepping onto the flat platform, she bounced back and forth, getting a feeling for the final place of battle. Looking back down to the pit she has ascended from, she nodded to the guard, and the music slowly faded away.

The crowd slowly quieted itself, and once again waited in hushed anticipation for her opponent to enter the ring. It was then that the sky went black.

Darkness consumed the arena and screams began to echo from the seats all around them. A single light suddenly gleamed, drawing the attention of every man, woman and child to the chute opposite the one the bandit had come from.

A gong sounded, and a distant announcer yelled,

“TEST YOUR MIGHT!”

To the excited beat of steel drums, Shang Tsung entered the Colosseum.

The ancient warlock strode in to the sight of flaming skulls erupting from the ground, casting eerie green lights over his grinning countenance. He wore nothing out of the ordinary but his posture: arms politely folded behind his back, back straight, and chin raised high, informing every one of his fans that he was prepared to do battle.

He calmly ascended the stairwell, his gaze never moving from his opponent. When he finally moved into the ring, he unfolded his arms and coolly stepped into a fighting stance. The spotlight that had magically illuminated him died out with the supernatural darkness, and the crowd put their souls into their applause.

“Nice entrance,” the bandit scoffed, brushing a bit of dirt from her shoulder. “I wonder where you mimicked that idea from?”

“Well, I’m not one to be outdone,” he hissed back, his voice more like a snake’s than a man’s.

The woman laughed and flipped her deadlocks from her face. “We’ll see.”

“Yes,” he purred, “we will.”

The final contestants, the last among thirty-two, stood on opposing sides of the altar, their expression neutral as they waited for the sound that would start the final combat. Then the gong rang.

800 words exactly.

[Shang Tsung]

In many ways, the sorcerer found some solace in ending his tournament experience fighting the most normal thing he’d seen so far—a dirty, smelly woman with a sneer on her face and an animal glint in her eyes. After the dragon, the femme fatale-wannabe, the false child, and the maniac, this didn’t seem too far from left field.

Although the echo of the gong had since died away, neither finalist made their move.

“How would you like to begin?” Shang inquired after the pregnant pause lingered into something that was starting to make the crowd antsy.

Bandit reached over her shoulder and slung forward an extremely modern-looking rifle that exuded a faint red glow from its barrel. In response, the sorcerer held out a hand and telekinetically summoned his handgun from the inside of his robe. Faint streamers of green smoke wafted from the tip of the weapon as Shang thumbed the safety and waited for the woman’s move.

Instead, the greasy woman snickered and reached for her other visible weapon—a large hammer with what seemed to be an engine constructed around part of its head. Once it was in its master’s hands, the machine parts started to thrum and belch black smog into the air. Never one to be counted out, Shang holstered the pistol and held out his hands. There was a brilliant flash of light before the shimmering Day’suis appeared in his grip.

The appearance of the giant hammer in her adversary’s grip actually elicited a grin from the bandit’s painted visage. When she spoke, there was some sort of forced Southern twang in her tone. “All right, all right, all right.”

Just like that, the bandit rushed forward, her grimy, calloused hands feverishly squeezing her hammer as the engine roared its approval. For his part, Shang relaxed back as the head of his weapon started to glimmer.

The sorcerer swung the moment he got that first strong whiff of the woman’s ‘perfume’—a strange blend of grease, sweat, and old leather.

You’re mine.

A smile flashed on Shang’s face.

His weapon discharged its solar-infused blast—

—and a split second later, the vagrant’s hammer erupted outward with its own energy-laced shockwave.

Neither prime had been prepared for the other’s maneuver, and in that dazzling mixture of red-yellow heat and light, both were knocked from their feet and thrown backwards like toys discarded by a fuming infant.

A pair of giant hammers thudded against the stone floor of the altar as their owners, both now smoldering and throbbing, scrambled to their feet.

Despite the familiar copper taste that now coated his mouth, the sorcerer made it to his feet first. Before making it two paces, the ground in front of him fountained upward as it was struck by concentrated laser bolts. Shang grimaced and dove sideways as pieces of the heated stone shrapnel peppered his legs.

As he rolled, his hand found the Desert Eagle, and before he had finished the evasive motion, he started to return fire.

Each soulfire round filled the air with the wailing chorus of damned souls and left ghostly trails of green hanging in their wake.

For her part, the bandit didn’t seem shaken by the theatrics, but the idea of the bulking rounds blasting holes in her painted face was something altogether different.

Bandit dropped back onto her haunches and squeezed off a few more rounds before having to roll away to avoid the counter fire. Once upright, she set her focus on her weapon at the center of the altar. Shouldering her gun, she jogged forward and sprayed death in her wake.

Rather than contend with superior firepower, Shang dove toward the stairs in a quest for cover.

With the way laid open, Bandit moved forward to claim both prizes. Laying off the trigger of her weapon, she crouched and reached for the handle of her sledgehammer.

Before she could close her metal hand around the bandage-wrapped handle, she paused at the sight of her hammer jiggling on the ground. A beat later, the entire thing was sliding and bouncing to the other side of the altar of its own accord.

Stooped on the stairs, Shang sneered as the hammer came into his outstretched hands, and one violent motion later, it was spiraling down to the ground.

“Well [i]fuuuuck[i] you,” the woman shot back as she grabbed the Day’suis. In a flash of sunlight, the weapon vanished and reappeared in Shang’s hands. “I repeat. Fuck you.”

748

[Shang Tsung]

The crowd roared its approval as Bandit stampeded forward and slammed shoulder-first into the abdomen of the sorcerer, throwing them both from the altar and down fifteen feet to the barren earth beneath them.

A dull thud welcomed both warriors when they smashed into the ground. Shang felt his spine flatten on impact, while the bandit’s skull was her first possession to crumple against the unyielding red floor of the arena. Although there were stars spinning around her head, Bandit shoved away from the equally dazed man and rolled onto her stomach. Once her knees and palms were beneath her body, she shoved herself upright and lurched onto her feet.

“Wasn’t exactly the plan,” the woman slurred as she looked around for her rifle.

“It’s better to just go with it,” Shang muttered as he threw out a palm and launched a screaming skull of fire at his opponent.

Bandit’s eyes went wide as she toppled backwards, the skull soaring high over her painted visage and exploding against the underside of the altar. When she regained her posture, she scowled at Shang, who merely twisted his fingers around and summoned another projectile from the ground in front of his grimy adversary.

The second skull clipped Bandit’s chin, throwing her head back with an audible pop before the slightly redirected fireball exploded a few yards overhead, showering her with tiny embers.

Stumbling back, the woman clamped a hand around her neck and started to knead her skin like dough. “I don’t know if I should be upset or not, that kind of felt good,” Bandit smirked as she tugged at a yellow bow on her forearm. “Now then.” With a swift motion, the vagabond snatched the yellow loop of fabric from her arm and threw it forward.

Through some sort of twisted magic, the fabric shot out, expanding to cover the distance in the blink of an eye. Shang tried to move out of the way, but before he could, the ribbon wrapped around his neck. With a swift motion, Bandit removed any slack from the fabric, and the sorcerer’s eyes went wide as his breathing was cut off. For a moment, Shang twitched and gurgled, but after a few seconds, he dropped the façade and just glared at the woman.

“I know, I know.” A smile spread across the woman’s painted face. “I’m not that dumb.”

Before Shang could offer a rebuttal, the bandit grabbed the ribbon with both hands and wrenched back, pulling the monk from his feet. Before the red dust could settle around the man, he was being dragged across the ground like some sort of lassoed farm animal, and unlike grass, the ground he was forcibly traversing face-first was rock and rough dirt. By the time he’d shaken the haze away, he could already feel fresh wetness on his face as he bounced off a rock that hooked his lip and tore a deep gash into it.

Grabbing onto the rock as it slid under the rest of his body, Shang grunted as the ribbon wrenched at his neck. His free hand reached down to the metal handle hanging from his belt, and once the lightsaber was in his hand, he slashed through the ribbon. As the fabric fell limply to the ground, it quickly slithered back to its master, who quickly tied it back around her forearm. A beat later, Shang was on his feet again, his face a crimson mass that dripped and oozed blood all down his chest.

“You’re a prime, you can handle it.” Bandit remarked, glancing at the blade in the sorcerer’s hand. A thought must have crossed her mind, but she quickly shrugged it away as she suddenly shouldered her rifle. The weapon smacked against her already bruised shoulder as it discharged a condensed bolt of red energy.

Shang stepped back and lifted the energy blade.

With a crackling hiss, the bolt of energy struck the lightsaber and ricocheted up into the force field, causing the people in that section to all recoil in momentary shock.

For a moment, Bandit flashed a brief smile, but after that momentary display, she fired again. Rather than leave it at that, the woman kept firing—the rifle bucking in her grip as it spat fiery death at the sorcerer.

Try as he might, Shang Tsung couldn’t defend against all the bolts. After redirected the first several attacks, one clipped his shoulder, knocking him off balance before the next struck him in the gut.

750

[Bandit With No Name]

Haplessly fired lasers continued to fly around Shang Tsung as he doubled over, the hole in his flank still hissing as the flesh cooled. He bared he teeth in frustration and anger, then looked up to his opponent with a malevolent glare. Swatting a few more bolts from his path, then inhaled deeply. An orange-red glow filled the back of his throat, and trail of black smoke foretold what would come next. With an other-worldly roar, the sorcerer belched forth a turbulent cloud of white-hot flame.

Though the fires didn’t quite bridge the gap between them, the sudden brightness and heat caused the woman to recoil, shielding her eyes with her hand. When it dropped, Shang’s grinning face was only a few feet away.

Instantly dropping her rifle, she stepped to the side, narrowly managing to avoid a thrust from the humming plasma weapon. Stepping in, she managed to grab both of his hands, holding the tip of the lightsaber away from her body, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her opponent. Deftly twirling it into a reverse grip, Shang thrust it backwards back into the brawny marauder, her armor crackling as it passed over and through.

A few protruding segments were instantly sheered away as the two wrestled for control, stepping forward and back and the bullied each other for position. With a snarl, she lifted her foot and slammed it back down on top of his, and an audible crack could be heard. Taking advantage of his temporary distracted, she threw and elbow back, snapping his head backwards.

She pried the deadly saber from his hand and instantly dismissed the blade. “That’s enough of that shit,” she quipped, then flung the small steel tube across the arena, far enough that it bounced off of the unseen wall that surrounded them. She began to turn back to the warrior monk, “Now what were we sayi-“

The woman was interrupted as a long strip of metal punched from her gut, her blood glistening over the tip. She stammered, wide eyed, as she tried reconcile the garble of information that her mind and body were feeding her. “Hrrhk?” was all she could manage staring down at the injury, the tarkatan blade shoved from her lower back out of her abdomen.

There was a strange beauty in the way that the crimson trickled over the gleaming silver, forming sluggish eddies as it ran through the gentle channel down its center, cascading from the tip and into the red-brown soil below. The majesty lasted only a moment however, and the sorcerer tore the weapon back through the path it had come.

It was only through confused instinct that she managed to lift a gauntlet up and block Shang Tsung’s follow up, defending against an attack that would have taken her head from her neck. She staggered forward and quickly fell in an uncontrolled heap onto the ground, the majority of the muscles that allowed her stand having been sliced in two.

Frantically she searched the arena floor, and then slammed her fist entirely through the rifle that lay on the ground beside her. With a crackle, the energy cell ruptured, and the air was filled with an ever-increasing pitched whine.

The soul-stealer leapt into the air for the coup de grace only to be caught mid-air by a blanket of bright-red. The force of the explosion carried him along with it, only releasing him to be flung through the air, his back crashing into the stone pillar of the Black Gate. He fell to the ground limply, but almost immediately began to stir.

In the crater that had been created, there lay the fataly-wounded woman with no name. “Omni damned magical assholes,” she grumbled to herself, the delicate presence of desperation in her whisper. Unchecked tears welled up in the corners of her eyes, the result of her body’s almost instant descent into complete failure. Despite the fact that parts of her were still actively on fire, she rolled to the side and tried to get to her feet. With a willful heave, she was up on her one good leg.

She took a single, shaky step and fell with a cloud of dust. Face down in the dirt, she propped herself on one elbow, but allowed her head to hang, her dreadlocks covering her face. “Fuck…” she whimpered, “I guess it’s really over.” A faint smile crossed her lips, “I guess I did ok. I got pretty far.” He smile grew into a grin, and her grin into a laugh. Soon, she was cackling into the ground, her bloody back heaving up and down with every breath.

She heard the sound of footsteps to the front, but she didn’t bother lifting her head yet. “What are you laughing at?” the sorcerer asked, his voice calm and assured.

Her laughter trailed away, and she let her bleary eyes find his. “I’m sorry.”

The man was taken aback, “What? What do you mean?”

She shook her head softly, “This wasn’t my best you know. I really dropped the ball, man.”

His eyebrow perked, seemingly unimpressed with her confession. “Oh? And what should have I expected?”

The toothy grin returned. “To lose.”

He chuckled and folded his hands in front of himself. “Oh, is that so?” He stepped back and whipped his arms down, the blades that had killed her flashing from his forearms, “Then let us finish this the right way. Fight me.”

The crippled warrior shook her head. “Nah, man. We both know it’s over. I can’t win in this condition.”

A thin smirk glided over his lips, his snake-like eyes narrowing into slits. “And you won’t retain your honor, trying to fight me to the bitter end?”

She laughed to herself, then jerked as a muscle spasm reminded her of the horrible wound she carried. “I figure I’d rather go out my way that kicking and screaming. I’m not trying to make your victory cheap, I’m just tired. I don’t got it in me to put every ounce of piss and vinegar into a fight I already know I’ve lost.”

The Kombatant sighed, and his weapons slid back home. “I see.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I dunno, I was… distracted or something. I didn’t really get to show you everything I’ve got.”

“I’m sure,” he hissed sarcastically, his every movement punctuating his self-confidence.

The woman shifted slightly, then winced heavily, the pain of her injuries suddenly catching up to her. “It’s… it’s ok. Good work.” Her voice had already begun to soften, the pool of blood beneath her spreading in every direction. She blinked, her eyebrows growing heavy in her ashen face. “Alright, I don’t got much time left, I don’t think.”

The monk stared down upon her wordlessly.

“Oh, ok man, c’mon, help me out here.” She beckoned him down, “Help me sit up at least, you fucker.”

Shang Tsung scowled and pursed his lips incredulously, but again said nothing.

“It’s not like…” she faded for a moment, head dropping towards the ground “… like I can’t fight.” Her irises locked with his, and for a moment his sorcerous eyes could see into her soul. “Let’s get this over with. You won.

“Now kill me, you fucker.”

[Shang Tsung]

Whoever she was, the woman had an admirable tenacity.

Stepping forward, he offered a hand to the grievously injured warrior and pulled her up to her feet.

“Well then,” Shang muttered, staring into the woman’s face. “Nice to meet you…”

In response to what was a clear question, the woman shrugged her shoulders.

The sorcerer scowled as he backed up a few paces from his adversary. “You need a weapon?” He asked as he reached for the sheathed sword that dangled from his side. With a fluid motion, he wrenched the blade free and gently tossed it to the bandit, who managed to catch it and flip it upright in her wobbly hands.

“How many weapons do you have?” She grinned as fresh blood oozed down the corner of her mouth.

“Enough.” Shang Tsung replied as he held up an arm and twitched faintly as the tarkatan blade slid free from his flesh.

Rushing forward, the sorcerer swung high and was met by the sword. Although the woman held firm for a few moments, her strength started to ebb once more. With the bandit preoccupied, he brought his other hand forward, but as the blade slipped out from his other forearm, his opponent twisted out of the way.

A victim of his own momentum, Shang stumbled and caught his balance. He turned just in time to have his own weapon slash down his face and chest. Teeth clenched to hold back a shout, the former monk blinked as blood marred one of his eyes, clouding half his field of vision in crimson.

“Told you…” the woman paused to spit out a mouthful of blood and wipe off her chin a moment later. “Told you I can still fight.”

“Point well taken,” Shang mumbled as he threw out a hand and hurtled a flaming skull at the woman’s chest. An incoherent curse filled the air as the bandit lurched to the side and gracelessly collapsed to her knees. As she turned to look back, she found herself staring right into the cold eyes of Shang Tsung as he buried his arm blade down through her right lung.

Fresh blood gurgled out of the woman’s mouth as the sorcerer’s other hand slid under her arm pit and yanked her up to her feet. The tarkatan blade retracted back into Shang’s arm as the jian hit the ground with a dull clang.

“Just get this the fuck over with,” Bandit replied. “Before I’m tempted to gouge your eyes out. You know how hard it is to resist gouging someone’s eyes out?”

Without a quirky retort, Shang shoved the woman back and swiped the other blade across his gut, tearing open her stomach as rivulets of blood rushed down her chest and mouth.

Hands clutched to her gut to keep her organs in check, Bandit tipped over and hit the ground with a dull thud, her eyes surprisingly sharp as it became harder for her to breath.

“Been here, done this.” Bandit remarked as Shang stooped down and turned her eyes toward his.

“Another time,” he muttered before dropping her head down. When he spoke again, it almost seemed half-hearted, as if a part of him lamented what could have been. “Your soul is mine.”