Zone C -- Megacity One

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
"Graw" vs "The Humble Sage"

Word Limit: 800
Posts Per Player: 2
Time Limit: 20 hours 
Random Elements: On

Future Warrior posts first.

Timer starts now.

[The Future Warrior]

The more the old man went on, the more Graowr's spirits sank. He wasn't going to do it. She looked around with a worried expression as the white sphere sprang up around them. Just like what Batman had given to God Enel. "So...we have to fight after all," she said, wearily. She sighed in resignation and her hands disappeared, into her malleable body. Like into thick, viscous liquid they sank right in, and drew out two items. An old, battered and worn hockey mask. And an extravagant, ostentatious hairpiece. "If that's the way...it has to be." And she put them on.

Behind the eyeholes of the mask, the majin's eyes flashed red.

She hunched forward, both of her hands clenching into fists as she let out a surge of power. Her aura flared up around her, erupting into a dark, scarlet-pink cascade. Bright red runes crawled over her body, flashing into being and glaring, visible even through her ragged clothes. She stared up at the sage. "...then let's end this."

She disappeared in a flicker of movement, crossing the distance between herself and the old man in the blink of an eye. The battered, bruised eyes of the old man went wide, his battered form lumbering back to try and put distance and get out of reach. She didn't move to follow, but her arm snapped forward in a blur, the limb stretching unnaturally as her closed fist collided with the chest of the sage, sending him toppling over backward. In the blink of an eye, the majin was on him, one leg lifted up in preparation for an axe kick.

The old man rolled aside, springing back to his feet in a surprising display of nimbleness. There was a grim, set expression on his face as he rose up, twirling a cane in his hand like a blade. He wobbled on his feet slightly, waving the cane to and fro. "You caught me off guard..." he rumbled. "But now—" He didn't get to finish his statement, the blue demon vanishing abruptly. No warning, no sound, no flicker of rapid movement like before. Just...gone!

Only his exceptionally keen senses gave him any warning at all, just enough to dive desperately to the side. No sooner had he done so than a bolt of energy rocketed through the space his torso had occupied just an instant before. He came up to his feet again in a crouch, his eyes narrowed and wary. "Fine, then...no words!" And he rose to his feet, resolutely marching forward.

Graowr did not move from her position, rather merely lowering her outstretched hand. She stared at the sage as he marched in closer, cane at the ready. Behind her, golden light shimmered, the air wavering and seeming to solidify. Numerous hilts of weapons emerged, blades of all form and size. She grasped at one blindly, without looking at it, and bolted forward in a blur. This time, the sage was ready.

Blade met cane in a ringing clash. The sheer force of the diminutive demon's strike left the older human reeling, but he didn't let the surprise leave him open. Twisting and pivoting, his cane flourished and danced, meeting the blade strike for strike and blow for blow. Physically, he couldn't hope to keep up forever. In terms of strength and speed both he was more than outmatched. But he had the edge in skill. The strikes were wild, savage, formed from rote memorization and repetition rather than true technique. Effective, but predictable. He parried and deflected, dodging and diving, letting himself be driven back. His arms stung, the ache reverberating up the aching limbs all the way to his chest, but he kept up the staunch defense.

Until he got his chance. A grating ring of steel on wood, and the cane caught against the crossguard of the blade. A deft twist, and the wooden weapon came down, clinking the majin in the side of the head. It was a glancing blow, only staggering her rather than injuring her, but the surprise of it was enough to jar the sword from her hand. It fell to the white non-ground, vanishing in a swirl of golden dust.

And now she was disarmed. She staggered back, hands clutching at her head as a ringing sounded in her ears, and the old man pressed his advantage. A series of sharp thwacks and strikes, battering and pushing her back, raining down in well practiced blows. The old man's free hand drew back, flames sparking to life in his palm as he continued to poke and batter with his cane. Mere moments passed before his onslaught redoubled. Clattering cane and fiery fist both struck in a well-choreographed dance, battering and singing the blue girl. With her head ringing, she couldn't react.

800 words on the dot, according to wordcounter.net

Used the Hockey Mask and Gilded Hairpiece.

Graowr used T1 Power-Up: Runes of Babylon for the round. 0/3 SP remaining

Artifact + Power-up Stats:
ATK: 8
DEF: 5
SPD: 5
TEC: 3

Moves Breakdwon:
-- Graowr used Burst Movement to close in and Malleability to land a punch
-- Graowr used Teleportation to vanish and appear behind the Sage, launching an Energy Shot. His Enhanced Senses alerts him to the sound of the charging with enough time to dodge.
-- Graowr used Gates of Babylon: Golden Swords and Sage used his Dueling Cane
-- Epic dueling action
-- Sage leverages his higher skill to land a Perturbing Strike and disarm Graowr
-- Sage brutalizes a disoriented demon with a stick and a flaming hand with his Dueling Cane and Failed Magician: Gout of Embers

Description fo Gates of Babylon: Golden Swords and Runes of Babylon can be found here: http://omniverse-rpg.com/showthread.php?tid=1313

[Strazio Rockwell]

And just like that Strazio was thrown back into the furnace. For all of his untethered rage he could not stand against the flames for very long. He stumbled back and swatted at the millions of burning pinpricks that chewed at his flesh. A corner animal trapped in a melting cage Strazio scrambled to find an exit. In his desperate flailing he slammed against a solid wall. The mage pressed his palms against the wall and fired two shotgun blasts of energy. There was a sudden change in pressure as smoke escaped through the openings and into the outside world. Still in “oh-fuck-it’s-hot-as-fuck” mode Strazio fired several more shots in quick succession. He stumbled through the opening and fell on his face outside. Fire still clung to his body and he did what he could to extinguish the blaze.

“A little too hot for you?” clowngirl’s voice called to him.

Strazio watched as the obnoxiously outfitted girl stepped through the smoldering threshold. Before the white-haired mage could respond she threw up her palm and unleashed yet another jet of flame. Outside of a confined space Strazio could move freely and he began to roll across the ground as the flamethrower chased him. Eventually he was able to scramble to his feet and dive behind the rusted remains of some foreign vehicle. Finding cover did little to abate Clownpiece’s assault and she began to bathe the car in flames.

The Avatar’s arm began to spark and glow as he dumped magickal energy into the limb. Shafts of white energy traveled down his shoulder and across his fingertips before joining in a wicked dance of destruction across his forearm. Button-sized chunks of flesh were atomized and repurposed into raw destructive potential. The air around him vibrated and hummed. He took a deep breath and stood.

“Fucking stop it already!” The mage shouted and unleashed his attack.

A cylinder of roiling white eradication tore across the battlefield. It carved a path through the air towards Clownpiece. Acting on pure instinct she dove to the side, but it was a few seconds too late. The shaft of magick caught half of her body and slammed her against the pavement. It continued beyond the glancing blow and carved a path into the heart of the apartment complex. That was the straw that broke the architect's back and the structure came tumbling down in a waterfall of brick and mortar.

Strazio used the charged up version of breach and will take 1 pt of self-inflicted damage

[Illidan Stormrage]

Illidan groaned and sat upright, the bones in his neck cracking as his head rolled from side to side. His bare feet padded on the floor beside his bed and he stood up, arms stretched and popping. Aside from a few pulsing bruises on his side from the little fairy's icicle attacks, his entire body felt refreshed and renewed. He breathed deep and let it out in a slow gust through his mouth.
 
How long had he been asleep? He had barely slept since arriving in the Omniverse, but to think he had been so exhausted was surprising. How had he managed any shut-eye, especially enough to feel totally rejuvenated, during a death tournament? Surely someone would have snuck up on his prone form and slit his throat?
 
His warglaives leaned against the far wall, their slick steel edges coated with a thin layer of blood. Memories of battle rushed back to him as he seized his millennia-old weapons. That human boy, Dust, assisted in a battle with a midget fairy with influence over ice. She was small and fragile, but her will outclassed her dire situation. She may have died at their hands, but for all of her ridiculous posturing and feeble visage, her determination was admirable. Illidan had fought many and killed many who dwarfed her combat ability but not her attitude.
 
"Dust!" the night elf called, realising that the human was nowhere to be seen.
 
Only silence greeted his voice. He was alone.
 
"That blasted human must have run off while I was out of it," Illidan said to himself. He couldn't fathom a reason for the desertion, considering Dust had an advantage allying with the night elf. Perhaps he feared reprisal for his cocky, gun-sure attitude and bolted. That seemed the most likely explanation.
 
In any case, Illidan wasn't going to win any death tournaments and get the praise and respect from Dracula by sitting around a safe house pondering the inner workings of an adolescent human's mind. He kicked open the door and fled, searching for his next target.
 

Illidan moving from Safehouse C -> C21

[Todd Ingram]

As if taken straight from an old western movie, the two masked heroes had a standoff. Batman's cape was being lifted slightly by the wind which found its way through the dusty streets of the city. With the rest of Deadpool's squad breaking off it was just him and Batman left. The dark knight once again relied on the ancient art of intimidation, which he perfected over the years by pummeling villains into submission. Even in his banged up state he still struck an impressive figure.


"Sooooo, which rejected second-rate comic did Omni steal you from?" The seemingly cheerful mercenary asked. It seemed he was itching for a fight.


Bruce remained his stance, combined with his deep voice the attempt at intimidation continued, "I'm Batman, and I'm not in the mood for talking."


Instead of being intimidated the man in red and black spandex started whistling the classic tune of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. The dark knight's last nerve was already trembling. All the stuff he went through on the island achieved one thing, and one thing only; putting Batman in a bad mood.


The merc's whistling was finally at its end, instead he decided to attack the Bat, with words, "You're a real ray of sunshine aren't ya? A tall dark broody middle-aged man in a bat-suit. Someone must have seriously fucked you up when you were a child. Was it your uncle? Daddy? Granddaddy? Did someone touch you in a naughty place when you were still Batboy?!" From behind his back he pulled out a plush teddy bear. With his finger  "Show Dr.Deadpool where the mean man touched you."


Batman's patience ran out, another idiot. Why were over half of the people which he met on this island complete idiots. The dark knight took it upon himself to take care of at least one mentally ill person. Even with his body in the worst shape it's been in since a long time, he still had enough juice left inside of him to take down one more delusional maniac.


The merc was ready to get things started, "Come on, my guns are gathering dust over here. We're doing this or not?"


The dark knight was ready to oblige and headed towards the comedian. Closing the gap between them, Batman send two batarangs ahead of himself. "Finally!" Wade shouted excitingly "Come to Daddy!" Deadpool took a fighting stance. Both Batarangs were flying clearly towards him. Dodging them was child splay. Bruce managed to close the gap, and with his one good fist he took a shot at him. He might have been an idiot, but he was a skilled idiot. With a fluent motion deadpool's core muscles waved his upperbody side to side, avoiding Bruce's punches. It was obvious the dark knight was hurt, a single half-powered punch was enough for Wade to counter it. He balled his fist and threw it at Batman's face.

Bruce got knocked a few feet back. Blood was pouring out from his nose. "What the hell was that?"
"What, you mean this?" The loudmouth asked as he followed his punch with a spinning kick right against Batman's jaw.

Bruce got knocked down to the ground, hard. He didn't expect to be coughing up dirt quite this fast. Whatever this clown was doing, it had to stop. It did help the guy's ego was boosting his cocky behavior even more.

Deadpool started circling around the grounded bat as he started his little speech. "See, you know what your mistake is Batsy? You made the wrong friends. Bad friends have bad influence you know. You could've gone places, big places. But instead, you will have to settle for tasting my boot!" Wade lifted his right foot, ready to stomp down upon the vigilante's head. NOW! It was the moment Bruce was waiting for. A quick swoop kicked out Deadpool's leg from underneath him, allowing gravity to bring him down.
"Woah!" Wade shouted as his back hit the ground. His fall was immediately followed by one of Batman's punches. The hooks on his gauntlets tore rips in the uniform. "Dude! Watch the threads." The dark knight didn't wait around to hear what was coming out of his enemy's mouth next. He quickly jumped on top of Wade and started brutally punching.

Deadpool didn't even put the effort on to block he first punch, a clean hit right against his face.
"Would.."
Second punch...

"You.."
Third punch...

"Stop.."
Fourth punch..

"Punching.."

Fifth punch...
"my FACE?!"

There was no sixth punch, Wade was done playing with the man. His knee forced its way against Batman's back, forcing him off. Batman observed as the mercenary got up and drew his weapons. Was he finally getting serious about this?

787words
Batarangs used (10/12 left)

[Sterling Archer]

My heart sank as the tallest of Murder, Inc. strode forward, the remainder of his compatriots barely sparing me second looks before turning and leaving. Was one dude waving a shotgun really enough to spook the rest of them?

The ginger-haired oldtimer strode forward, looking more than a little rattled and in major need of a shave. Despite his various injuries, either mental or physical, he stood tall. “I will be your opponent,” he said simply, his bassy timbre echoing through the empty street.

Before I could effectively unload a salvo of sass, my lungs seized within my chest and knocked me into a coughing fit. I inhaled frantic breaths, desperately working air into my lungs. “H-hold on a sec,” I choked out.

“Do...do you need a minute?” my foe inquired, forehead wrinkling as his eyes widened. Whatever dramatic tension there had been was now thoroughly deflated.

“No, no I’m good,” I finally replied, blinking tears from my eyes as I stood tall. “Sorry, I just ran like...all of the blocks.” I shot a glance over his shoulder at his departing comrades. “I’m guessing there’s no chance you’ll let me chase after the rest of the Sinister Six, huh?”

“None,” came the curt reply.

Well, I tried.

“Sorry, Blue,” I muttered aloud, grasping my Z-staff in one hand and stowing my other guns in favor of the submachine option. “But it's time to buzz the tower.” A goofy grin crossed my face as I spoke the words. SO cool.

“I request that we move this clash away from my comrades,” Scruffy announced, striding toward me. “They’ve suffered enough in this hell.”

“Hell is empty, pal,” I replied, clapping a bloodied hand on my bare chest. “All the devils are here.”

As my rival opened his mouth to reply, I lowered the barrel of my MP40 and opened fire, dousing the dope liberally in a storm of lead. He at once dashed right and away from the flurry, brandishing before him what I realized to be a completely metal limb in an attempt to deflect what he couldn’t avoid. I could spare only a second to snicker at the maneuver before an unforeseen force exploded outward from his location, the shockwave knocking me off my feet. I fell hard on the pavement, my already-concussed noggin bouncing painfully off the tar. In an instant I felt the reverberation of heavy footfalls as the auburn oaf tore toward me, leaping into a high arc with his non-metal fist brought to bear. Having no time to evade, I tensed as he landed upon me, the blow falling square in my gut.

Nothing.

“That’s it?!” I exclaimed, breaking into laughter. “My geriatric mother hits harder than you!”

I applied a boot to the bandaged chest of the unkempt weakling, managing to barely heave his heavy ass off of me by bracing against the pavement. As he began to steady himself, I took the opportunity to roll sideways and up onto the sidewalk, scrambling behind a parked car. Thinking quickly, I dropped my present firearm to hang by its strap and pulled free my Lupara, making a quick check to ensure it was loaded. Even if he hit like a woman, I didn’t want him any closer to me than he had to be.

Sadly, I soon found that I had miscalculated. With a deafening boom the Buick at my back was rent in pieces, tossing me effortlessly through the plate glass window of a department store. I toppled through a clothing rack, flailing wildly before landing unceremoniously among a pile of partly-clothed manikins. I stifled a giggle as the smoke began to clear, lifting myself from the pile of faux women. “Ladies, ladies, please.”

With speed that I had not yet seen from my foe, he soon came rampaging across the sales floor like a bull in a china shop. A playful grin crossed my face as he neared, my chest puffing out as he pulled back his fist once more. “Go ahead,” I challenged. “I’ll give you a free one.”

Mistake.

His fist struck home with all the force of an out-of-control locomotive, forcing a fine spray of blood and dead air to escape my lungs as his hand threatened to perforate my abdomen. My eyes bulged as my body went limp, folding into a C-shape around his arm before being knocked backward yet again, this time through a perfume display. Glass cruets shattered into fine particles and embedded themselves into my back as I fell with a dull thud. A moment later I got shakily to my feet, spitting a mouthful of blood.

“The FUCK was tha-”

The words weren’t more than halfway out of my mouth before something in my chest detonated, slamming me backward and over the checkout counter.

798 words.

Archer was silly and sassy and then shot Gildarts with his MP 40.
A few bullets hit, but a good portion were absorbed by Parry. Archer was then tossed by Parry’s effect.
Gildarts tagged Archer with Detonate. Archer predictably got overly cocky and kicked him hard in the stomach before readying his shotgun.
Gildarts blew up a car with Disassemble – Crash!
Archer idiotically took a Crushing Punch to the stomach.
Detonate then went off. Clean-up needed in Health and Beauty.

[Jak Mar]

The eco warrior’s suit may of looked straight from the dry cleaners on abandoned Karl Street, but he gritted his teeth. His unlikely ally, the mercenary was challenged by a black caped hero.

But what was different was there was a bug-like creature yelling something about perfection and muttering something about a blueberry.

“sssss... ooo who are y...ouuuuu, some rambo look alike?” Cell mumbled , hissing.

“Who the HELL are you and why did you get in our way? Jak snarled.

The blonde eyed her allies and frowned “Hey Bugman, you’ve been hiding somewhere way out in the weeds, well I’m Fuckin’ glad i found some friends.

Cell frowned “Oh come on, it’s not like I’m a frog or anything.”

The maid frowned “We don’t want to hurt you.”

Erika frowned ‘Let me rephrase that in a way you can understand.” “F..U..C..K You..”

Jak’s eyes wandered on the green spotted bug man as he noticed the creature’s tail. He remembered Damas’s warning earlier pounding through his head “ A warrior never turns his back on his enemies.”

Tamsin went in for the first shots, moving while Jak opted to go long distance, pelting the “frog” creature with blaster shots.

Tamsin was coming at Cell with her knifes as she masterfully dodged the arrogant creature, who took his sweet time laughing before he got back into a defensive position.

Dawn’s demonic form came at Cell with ferocity and roughness trying to tear a new one at the beast who screamed “perfection”.

Jak’s cleverness came into play as he scanned the ground.

“Suck on this, Bug.”

Jak threw a ball of dirt into Cell’s eyes, hoping it at least bought him and his group some precious seconds.

Cell’s tail proceeded to move and search for a target but his tail awkwardly hit the dirt in question and he ended up tasting “a mud pie” as most people would call it anyway.


“Yuck….”

Jak didn’t wait and stand around while Cell would try again with his tail sucking. Just standing around is like being a sitting duck. As the eco warrior rolled backwards, he once again rinsed and repeated his process. Just as Jak strategically retreated back to shoot some more, this left room for Dawn to cut off Cell’s tail. Erika kept Cell at bay while Jak kept pelting Cell with eco bullets.
^
(Master Acrobat+ 3 speed)

Tamsin yelled “Come on you two, hold him as fast as you can!”

Blood started to squirt out from where the bug’s tail area was as it was starting to be cut more and carefully like a trained surgeon trying to fix an important problem.

Dawn growled “Focus on me you damn BUG!”

Jak kept moving and pestered Cell with a fury of blaster bullets, a orange light coming from it.

The tail was cut more as Jak and Dawn had fierce determination to keep the focus on them.  

Cell couldn’t stand whatever was happening and turned seeing Temsin cutting his tail. It was already getting to be too late as his tail was flopping half off almost like a dead fish. “What are yo-

Jak used Blaster (Already on him)
Tamsin used Crescent Moon Knives
Dawn used Her Fists

Fight scene explained:
Jak and Dawn are holding off Cell while Tamsin cuts part of Cell's tail off.  Jak goes ranged and distracts Cell with his Blaster. Dawn is matching fists with Cell.

521 words according to wordcounter.net.

[The Humble Sage]

The Sage pressed the attack as best as he could. The strange warrior was off-balance, this was an opportunity he could not waste. Dueling cane struck ribs, head, arms, but the Sage could not shake the feeling that he was doing very little damage to his foe. The strange putty she seemed composed of gave too easily, molding to his strikes, dampening their effect. Could he even hurt something this malleable?

The sharp contrast in their ability to endure blows became apparent, as the girl recovered her stance, planting one foot and bringing the other knee up into the Sage face. The wearying scholar was lifted bodily out of the air and though he managed to land in a crouch, his already injured jaw had definitely broken. How long could his strange blood keep him in one piece?

Questions continued to plague the Sage as he tried to reorient his blurred vision. He needed to focus, without control of this fight he would be utterly decimated by the sheer power the girl possessed. The Sage forced himself to concentrate, blocking out the buzzing in his ears. He refused to pay attention, as the clefts he had bashed into his foe reformed with a disturbing simplicity. Her scouter pinged, noting a visible rise in power as the Sage’s form took on years in the matter of seconds.

The ancient warrior approached with a shuffling stance, watching for his foe to make a move. He didn’t have to wait long, the blue warrior charged in again, still silent. The Sage prepared to punish the clumsy assault, but he paused, instead electing to leap backwards for distance. Something about the warrior’s footwork had felt wrong. Indeed, the moment he would have stepped in to strike the Majin pulled to a halt, one hand full of strange magical energy. Without pausing she fired it at the Sage, who landed prone to evade the blast as it soared over his head. Still on the offensive, the bubblegum warrior fired more magical shots, the Sage doing his best to dodge. He couldn’t keep up the momentum however, and several of the blasts rammed into him, the constant barrage slamming him back into the sloping wall of the Isolation verse.

With a grunt, the Sage rolled himself backwards, managing to get his feet planted against the wall. He bent backwards and leapt, gaining surprising airtime as he sailed over the barrage. The girl’s face was hidden by the perforated mask, so he couldn’t read her expression, but the fact that she blocked his midair strike instead of attacking spoke to her surprise. The Sage landed in a roll, muscles still sore from being fried in the massive hands of that sanctimonious vigilante.

He forced himself back up, and summoned a purple shape in one hand. He approached the warrior, strikes aimed more to occupy his foe than to deal the most damage, his spell tugging at limbs to hamper her abilities. He was playing for time, he needed an opening in her guard. The blueberry monster’s speed and strength were uncanny; it was little wonder this warrior had nearly won the contest. The Sage was barely avoiding more than glancing blows.

Mercifully, he spotted his opening, a backhanded swing that left her right side undefended. He yanked hard on the arm and though the weight barely slowed Graowr, her eyes flickered towards the unexpected tug for a second. The Sage struck, a savage blow to the side of the head, caving in part of the moldable flesh and cracking the hockey mask slightly.

“OW!” came the indignant shout from his foe, and before the Sage could react she leapt into the air, landing a punishing kick to the side of the head, that sent the Sage tumbling into the wall once again.

He got to his feet, preparing to fire a frost rime to keep her at bay, but he couldn’t focus through the horrendous ringing in his ear, and the sparks fizzled to nothingness in his hand. His power was failing, he simply had nothing left to give. The years of experience and strength fled him, as the Sage returned to normal. He struggled to stay standing, his fractured foot spiking pain through the whole leg. The limb locked, and the Sage’s attempt at a stance crumpled, causing him to drop to one knee. He hadn’t even gotten a good look at his foe, She wouldn’t have been this disabled by his strike though. He needed to recover quickly, or he was in trouble.

Almost unconsciously, a book appeared in his hand, and he held it open. The words faced Graowr and black scythes of ink surged from the pages, hacking and shredding at the surprised Majin.    

790 words according to MS word.

Sage uses dueling cane a bunch, because that'll work. X)
Graowr uses knee to the face, it's SUPER EFFECTIVE!

Sage activates T1 powerup: Borrow the future for this post only (1/5 SP remaining)

ATK:1 --> 3
DEF:3 --> 3
SPD:2 --> 4
TEQ:5 --> 6


Graw tries to get tricky, but the Sage reads the attack.
Graw uses Energy Shot, which the Sage reads with Insight and manages to dodge.
However he takes several hits from the numerous Ki blasts she follows it up with.

Sage uses Master Acrobat and Basic Super Jumping to close the distance with bubblegum Jason.
 
The Sage uses Failed Magican: Burden Blade and TEQ to keep from getting too hurt while he waits for an opening.

Sage uses the charged form of Burden blade to create an opening and uses Perturbing strike.

Graowr uses mimic to return the favor, though her pertubing strike is a bit more painful. (Jeeze how is this guy a scholar with the number of headwounds he keeps getting?)

Sage tries to use Failed Magician: A Dash of Frost-Rime, but he doesn't realize that he's overtaxed his manapool (canceling the spell and preventing him from accessing any Failed Magican moves until a minute has passed.)
Sage's powerup runs out, and he is just generally running out of steam to keep fighting people like this.

ATK: 3 --> 1
DEF: 3 --> 3
SPD: 4 --> 2
TEQ: 6 --> 5

In an effort to defend itself/it's host, his bibliomancy activates T1 SA: The Pen is mightier thant the Sword! (0/5 SP remaining)

back to you, Your Blarghness.

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
Strazio Rockwell vs Clownpiece

Battles of Syntech Island No. 17 had been afflicted terribly without bouts of explosion and haze.

Strazio Rockwell, his body suffering from self-inflicted mutilation, charged into the fallout kicked up by the collapsed apartment structure.  He had spotted the girl just before the chain reaction had collapsed the structure and threatened to fill their lungs with particulate matter.

Crumpled just in front of what had once been the structure, Clownpiece tried to summon an attack to fell the erratic warrior.  Instead, her adversary smashed into her—crushing her against the pavement with the weight of his battle-ravaged body.  Grimy, blood-stained hands grabbed at her hair, and a moment later, her vision went blurry as her skull fractured against the pavement.  Peeling Clownpiece’s now bloodied head from the pavement, Strazio smashed it back down—his teeth clenched hard enough to draw fresh blood from his gums.

“Die, you fuck,” he seethed as he spotted signs of life in her little form.  “I said die!”  He bashed her head down once more.  After the fifth consecutive impact of skull against pavement, the back of Clownpiece’s skull had been broken open like a watermelon, turning the ground into a morbid tableau of blood, brains, and flecks of shattered bone.

Strazio Rockwell marched onward.

[spoiler]

#17 Clownpiece DEAD

Strazio takes 4+1 5 points of Accumulated Damage.
[/spoiler]

[Gildarts]

Agent Dutchess had collapsed into a shelf near the register where a flurry of stuffed animals fell on him, when his eyes opened Archer could only scream, “AHH! GET IT OFF!”

Gildarts stared blankly as the Malefactor cackled, Ha! What a complete wimp! While the suited-man’s hands fearfully batted away a chibi alligator, Archer then stood up, drew his pistol and emptied his clip… Into the stuffed animal, “DIE!”

“I-it wasn’t alive,” Gildarts pointed out.

“It is the PRINCIPLE. God, what about that part do you people never understand?!” the agent exclaimed shaking off the invisible fibers of gator from his expensive suit.

For all his talk, I think he can only say one coherent sentence at a time before needing five more minutes to think of his next punchline, the Malefactor intruded, I bet he battles the same way.

With the clouds of stuffing properly eviscerated from the defenseless plushie, Archer turned back to notice that the mud-covered mage’s ginger hair had a twinkle reflecting from the fluorescent gleam above. His ripped bod was glowing with streaks of crimson tattoos through the dried cracks of swamp; the pungent scent of chemicals leaked into the mage’s nose, golden liquid spilled through the mage’s pocket. Gildarts pulled out the pierced canister, spritzed a bit on and then nonchalantly tossed the empty aerosol aside.

“Swampstain McSkidmarks! You don’t scare me, I mean, you’re beefy, but are you beefier than the Rock? His muscles are insane. Am I right?” Archer exchanged his clip and started to fire his gun, two of the shots painfully punctured flesh before a curtain of violet shielded him from death.

The bullet engraved mage seemed flummoxed too, but he trusted the magic to guide him into his next barrage. A glowing arch of gold appeared like wings behind the crash mage and a fleet of javelin, spears, and swords began to plop and hover forth. Quivering as they waited at the ready for the Ace’s command.

The obnoxious gunslinger’s eyes widened, “What? A portal that opens up a billion swords? How do you people even think of this shit?”

The law of evasive maneuvers also called “survival” caused Archer to hop behind the desk and flee for his life as many serrated edges battered at his heels, the blades shredded everything with immense force and slashed through obstacles, scanners, and cheap cork woodwork, flinging shards of plastic into the air.

Claymores fell upon the battlefield standing erect like Christian tombstones, the massacre of swords stabbed directly through stuffed toys just as Spartans had been slain with blades carved into their chests.

The blaze of attack seemed to end and Archer looked down to find everything was in place… Except… The agent looked down, exclaiming, “What are you trying to do, make a prime shishkabob with my manparts?! What is WRONG with you?” a sword was just an millimeter shy on making contact with the converging seam of his polka dot underpants. “Oh you're dead."

The emissary loaded up his shotgun behind his pierced shelter and launched upward with a springing jump, a spray of birdshot clinked off of the ginger's metal arm but a good fraction bulldozed into the mage’s abs spattering the dead air with blood. The gaping bullet wounds throbbed like blistering sores in the mage's flesh and lead entombed between muscle itched with still singing heat of gunpowder.

Schwarzenegger seemed unstoppable, Archer was tossed back head-first into the hilts of spears and swords by a relentless telekinetic blast and Gildarts slammed his fists into the pinned agent faster than Archer could recover from a hangover.

The alcoholic roused to the taste of blood on his tongue, “Forget this, I’m gonna INSTA-KILL this bastard!” Archer swiftly dodged Gil's incoming fist. From Archer's hand, Walther released a fusillade of bullets at Gildarts, the gung-ho man's free hand extended inches from Gildarts’ silver wristlet.

First, the godlike prime stopped the handsome man in his tracks by rocketing his steel fist directly against the man’s feeble jaw, CRACK! Chains sprung out of a summoned portal and wrapped around the agent’s yearning wrists, delivering him straight into the ground as his ego tasted dirt.

“P-please, give up, I don't want to go all out,” Gildarts slurred, his request was forthright. Usually, they didn’t listen.

“Givv up? Ar-you kiddin’ me?!” he muffled through a swollen mouthful and spat aside a pearly tooth, “This ish the perfffect setup fer my Houdini act!” Archer said cheerily despite how the chains continued to painfully crush against his limbs. While the braggart dominated the conversation, Gildarts was the one who was truly commanding the fight.

Miss Mal couldn’t believe this bitch was still talking despite his mouth hanging open wider than his fly, Uck! I hope the slackjaw chokes on his own tongue.


[spoiler]

799 on the nose!
Gildarts equipped the -Gil-ded Hair piece adding +2 to his attack stat (and giving him full reign of Gilgamesh’s roster) ULTIMA GIL ATTACK! :gild: :gilgamesh:

Gildarts used the spray tan item for +2 HP (after archer punctured it with a bullet)

Transformations: Runes of Babylon (T1 power up) Since i didn’t post it at the beginning of the round I’ll just do it for 1 post, ie 1SP for now. Glowing tattoos!!!!

Runes of Babylon(Tier One Power Up):
ATK: +2 (on top of.. Yes, the hairpiece’s +2)
DEF: N/A
SPD: +2
TEC: +1

Used SP this fight 1.
Total used SP 8/9

Moves and Actions:

-Archer uses his special pistol (Walther) and fires at gildarts
-who counters with an ability he didn’t “know” he had. A purple shield, King’s Barrier
-Gil used Gates of babylon (While gildarts hasn’t a clue how to aim, his TEC is up a bit more, which I think helped him with aiming in Archer’s general direction)
-One blade stabbed too close to archer’s precious junk, (also slicing the side of his thigh) but the checkout counter protected him from most of the barrage. (you feel a breeze now…. Down there… *awkward*)
-Gil used wall, Archer briefly lost consciousness when he hit head first, and gil scored a few punches until Archer came to… probably from internal bleeding
-Archer finishes out his clip in a rushed attack, hoping to end this OP prime with one single all out move (“project Insta kill”) reaching to yank his wrist explosive off
-Gildarts used crushing punch with his steel arm into Archer’s jaw and dismantled the agent’s efforts. It is … Probably broken but you can still “talk” though it is entirely more difficult and he probably can’t close his mouth.
-When archer reaches out for Gil’s bracelet hoping to make him explode
Chains of the Heavens (kinky?) Oh archer, this is *just the tip* #AJTTOTD

Malefactor is NOT amused. ;D  #sasscounter?

Have fun with the next one mark ! Make all the chained references

#THEROCKROCKS YES I PULLED THE ROCK CARD #hype
#lowkeyATELOSspartanreftoo
#refed predator cause of archer’s ties to him

:hee: I had fun as archer but my next post will be more gil-themed.

[/spoiler]

[Strazio Rockwell]

Well that was disappointing. Strazio had hoped to find at least something worthwhile on the girl’s corpse. All he found instead was disappointment and 2nd degree burns. A little over half of his hair had been incinerated and the rest of his body was covered in various scrapes and burns. He was about to leave, but stopped and turned back to her corpse. Strazio rummaged through the girl’s backpack and found her Syntablet. He opened the map and scanned the island. Endgame was coming fast, and he had yet to find anything beyond a length of metal chain.

“Fuck,” he muttered, things were about as sideways as they could be.

He started towards the heart of the city. As he walked he checked through the list of remaining combatants. Only one name mattered to him. GAMZEE MAKARA ELIMINATED. The name threw fish hooks into his heart and throat. Anger welled up inside his gut, and he cursed himself for not being able to protect his apprentice. Even though he blamed his own weakness he also blamed that damnable “God” Enel. For about the third time this competition he made a solemn promise to beat the snot outta the delusional lightning man.

The avatar came to a strip mall and took a break inside the ruined halls of consumerism. He wandered through the stores and eyed the strange and wonderful artifacts of the 21st century. He stopped at a clothing store and glanced through the outfits. After a few minutes deciding he settled on a set of jeans and a shirt emblazoned with the word SLAYER. The shirt seemed appropriate, he figured, it even had a picture of some foreign warrior on its back. With a fresh set cloths and a sour disposition the Avatar of Rage set out to crack a few more skulls.

moving C2 to C20

[The Future Warrior]

Her head was ringing. Still ringing, buzzing. She couldn't focus. Staggering back, she dizzily watched as the old man tried to ready another of his strange attacks. The momentarily lapse in her focus, for the second time, after the dizzying whack to her head caused the burning runes covering her body to fade, fizzling out to little more than sizzling scorchmarks, and then gone altogether. She staggered half a pace sideways, drunkenly, as the old man produced a book. As he opened it, her hands clenched into fists. The words formed into scythes, and she reached a hand into her torso. The inky blades surged forward in a torrential rain, and she pulled out a metallic can.

A purple barrier leaped into view in front of her, shimmering and translucent. The inky scythes hacked away at it, as the blue girl cracked open the seal on the can. She drank it hurriedly, sputtering on the fizzy liquid. The shimmering purple barrier cracked. The pitch-black ink-blades started to tear it apart. The majin let out a short, wordless cry as her aura flared to a higher intensity. The violet energy field cracked, splintered, and broke altogether. A few of the words of slicing death made it through. Then her arms crossed forward, over her torso, and her aura was sucked inward. A dense, only semitransparent dome of energy locked around her. The hail of raining scythes hit it, bouncing off like drops of water against a smooth glass dome.

For several seconds, there was an even standstill. The words pelted the dome shield. The dome shield held out. The Sage struggled back up to a standing posture, breathing heavily and supporting himself with his dueling cane. His smashed jaw worked itself, achingly, into a grim frown.

A crack appeared in the energy barrier surrounding the bubblegum-like abomination. The eyes of both fighters flickered to it, then back to each other. Another crack. Then several more. The word-talons began to stick, embedding themselves in the barrier. With nary a noise, the diminutive demon hunched her shoulders forward slightly in focus, her eyes narrowing behind the battered, cracked mask adorning her face. Behind her, several more golden portals flickered to life, swords slipping out of them. Three blades floated down, darting into the fray.

They weaved, struck, deflected and blocked as many of the hail of blades as they could, even as the majin's barrier finally shattered. The hail began to peter out, leaving a smoking haze of burned ink and golden dust in the air, as the respective attacks ended. When the action ended, there was only silence. The smoking haze cleared, and there was nothing. Only a charred stain on the white ground, and a crumpled beverage can. The red and white Pepsi logo glimmered in the white glare of the isolation verse.

The Sage looked this way and that, struggling forward a pace. Where had she gone? Was...that it? Had he overwhelmed her?

Chhh chhh chhh ahh ahh ahh.

The sage's keen senses alerted him again just in time. The rushing of air as something charged him very, very fast. He ducked low, scrambling aside spider-like as a weapon occupied the space his head had called residence just a moment before. All jet black and gold, sinisterly glowing red runes adorning the 'blade' of the weapon, its three sections spiraling constantly. The thrust was devastating, sure to have split the old man's head clean in twain. As it was, all it had done was shear off a hank of the old sage's hair.

The man of learning scrabbled backward, desperately trying to regain his feet as he ducked and dodged frantically against an onslaught of stabs and lunges. His poor posture afforded him precious little room to maneuver or effectively bring to bear against the attack, making him frantic in his dodging. He could see the strikes coming. They were even rougher, more telegraphed and predictable than before. Perhaps slower and less vigorous, but with clear, open bloodlust and intent to kill. Even the small blue demon was tiring, but she wasn't holding back. True to her word, she wanted to end this.

The sage feinted left, trying to bait out another strike. Whether out of dumb luck or a sudden spike of cunning, the majin didn't fall for it. She hopped back, flickering in a burst of speed, and landed on her feet, the strange, spear-like weapon in her hand spinning more rapidly. Red sparks danced off of it, coursing along its length and spitting out of the hole at its end. Graowr spoke up, her voice quiet. "I'm sorry."

Without any more words, she struck. A lightning-quick thrust, and the weapon discharged. Sparks flew, and red light blazed, the energy rocketing forward.


[spoiler]

799 words, according to wordcounter.net

Runes of Babylon expired. Current stats:
ATK: 6
DEF: 5
SPD: 3
TEC: 2

Moves/action breakdown:
-- Graowr uses The King's Barrier to buy time to drink a Pepsi. 2 SP restored; 2/3 SP remaining
-- Graowr used T1 Super Defense: Super Guard; 1/3 SP remaining
-- Graowr used Gates of Babylon: Golden Swords' second function, summoning three swords for defense
-- In the ensuing haze, Graowr uses Teleportation to disappear, and summons Ea for a surprise attack, which the Sage hears coming in time to dodge, if only barely
-- She attacks with an onrush of strikes, harrying and pushing the Sage back
-- Eventually, the Sage tries to make an opening for a counter attack; Graowr doesn't fall for it
-- Graowr leaps back for distance, and uses T1 Super Attack: Enuma Elish; 0/3 SP remaining

The King's Barrier, Gates of Babylon: Golden Swords, Ea and Enuma Elish can be seen here: http://omniverse-rpg.com/showthread.php?...2#pid18152

[/spoiler]

[Handsome Jack]

Well, I'm fucked three ways from Tuesday, aren't I? Between Dawny Trump laying into me, Susie Q taking cheapshots on my tail, and Ears blasting away with his little plasma rifle, I've taken quite a beating. Dammit... I had only planned to hold them off a little while Graowr slipped away to finish this thing, but now... Now my tail is flopping around like a dead fish and Blondie is grinning at me like a five-year old about to burn an ant with a magnifying glass. Right now, all I got on these fools is that none of them can come close to my speed. It's probably the only reason I'm still alive. But it won't save me for long if they keep up this teamwork bullshit. I DO have a little idea, but... it's gonna fucking suck.

I form a ball of ki in my hand, and Erika reflexively leaps back to avoid the attack. Too bad I'm not aiming at her. Instead, I shove it directly down at my feet. The road explodes in a fireball of dust, asphalt, and debris. Blondie squints into the mess and spots a me-shaped shadow. Too bad for her, the punch she throws only hits an After-Image. While she's busy wondering why I just vanished under her blow, I spring my trap. A green tail whips out of the cloud, knocking Jak's weapon airborne, the shoulder-strap of the thing getting caught on a nearby streetlight. Tamsin throws a couple of knives, the blades sinking deep into the damaged appendage. I give her a ki-blast straight in the face for her trouble, her little daggers clattering onto the street as the attack startles her more than anything.


As the cloud of dust disperses, the gruesome sight of my own severed tail held in my own hand becomes visible, the bandages that had once covered my other hand blown apart the ki-blast I'd sent Tamsin's way. It hurt like a son of a bitch. Both my hand AND my tail. Not like I had much choice though. The latter had been practically cut off anyway. If I'd left it as was, it would only slow me down. The former... well, that last attack had ruined what little had been left of the thing. Frankly, that hand doesn't even exist anymore, just a smoking nub at the end of my arm. Still, the plan worked, right? I don't have much time to gloat over my success, though, cuz Erika quickly realizes that what she hit wasn't the real me, spots me, and comes back to kick my shit in. I drop my tail and focus on avoiding her attacks.

One on one, I think I could have taken Blondie. For all her strength, the girl is green. Not like ME green, but she's inexperienced. Strong enough to break a concrete wall with a single blow, but not skillful enough to land a hit on someone with my speed. But I can't keep this up forever. Eventually, the bitch WILL connect, or her pals will get back into the mix. And one hit will be all it'll take to put me down. I just ain't in any kind of shape for a fight. Hell, I've been lucky so far that her pals hadn't recovered yet. Amelia Bedelia was busy gathering up her knives, her face still steaming a little from the blast I'd given her earlier. Meanwhile Hipster Legolas was balancing atop the streetlamp while he untangled his gun's shoulder-strap from it. I didn't have long until they rejoined the fight. Time for drastic action.

The Bitch goes in for a jab, I sidestep and my good hand whips up quickly. My finger extends and...

“Hold up a ssec, wouldja?” I say, before dropping my hand and digging my phone out.

She's caught off-guard. What kinda guy stops a fight to answer his cellphone, right? Well, you'll see. I type out a quick message on Twitter. And OH is she pissed! Why the fuck hasn't she attacked me yet? Curiosity, maybe, but hell if I know. I finish up quickly enough and smile, my hand dropping to my side.

“Alright, you finished?” She asks impatiently and I nod. But before she can throw a blow, I take hold of her shoulders and draw her into my body. An electrical shock surges through us both, and while I'm used to it by now, she sure as hell wasn't expecting that. Blondie staggers back under the assault, her legs shaking, and that's all the opening I need. When she regains her senses, I'm already booking it as fast as my little green legs can push me. Like I said, they may have numbers on me. They might be stronger and healthier. But good luck catching me, bitches.

800 Words according to Open Office.

Cell realizes he's proper fucked and drops a Ki-Blast at his feet to create a smoke-screen.

Erika attacks an After-Image, and I use that opening to disarm Jak of his Blaster with my Tail.

Tamsin throws two of her Fangs of Gelidus into my Tail, but I hit her in the face with a Ki-Blast and cause her to drop the other four.

Cell is revealed to have ripped his Tail off and exploded his Crushed Hand to attack Tamsin with that Ki Blast.

Erika goes back in for the attack while Tamsin and Jak recover their composure.

Cell uses his superior speed to avoid her attacks, but realizes this is a losing battle.

Cell distracts Erika with a quick Tweet, then shocks her with his Tattoos to stun her.

He uses the minor stun to GTFO.

Cell is currently trying to escape the fight.

[Deadpool]

Aware that he had lost the offensive, the white Black Panther (or maybe rip-off of Moon Knight? Let's Stick with Black Panther—he's much more astute than Moon Knight) retreated a few meters backwards to increase the space between them. He stood on the opposite side of Karl's Parkway, in front of a line of parked cats, preparing to take a defensive approach.

”Nice moves,” Deadpool replied, ”but you should go back to Wakanda for additional practice.”

The mercenary unholstered his right handgun and raised it towards anti-T'Challa; taking quick aim, he squeezed the gun's trigger thrice in succession—POW, POW, POW. A fusillade of twisting lead thundered as it tore through the air, leaving spat shell-casings rattling against the asphalt.

The Marvel wannabe failed to display Black Panther's agility while escaping the rounds, but did so with sharper technique—he rolled out of the way, using his cape as a means to absorb the friction of the pavement. The volley of bullets struck the maroon Nissan sedan behind him, shattering both side windows into a thousand pieces.
 
Deadpool scowled. ”Who the fuck still wears capes anyway, the caped-crusaders?”
 
Anti-T'Challa was on one knee, glancing over his shoulder at him. “I take it that you spend more of your off-time creating jokes than practicing your craft.”
 
Before the mercenary could readjust his sights, he snatched his previously thrown weapon from the ground, and hurled it at him. The oddly shaped boomerang whirled end-over-end right passed its target like a badly thrown first-pitch at a ballgame.
 
Deadpool watched it soar over his left shoulder. ”HA! he taunted. ”And your aim is worse than Xavier, and he's crippled.”
 
The white Black Panther merely pointed at Deadpool's other shoulder.
 
The boomerang had taken an elliptical orbit, U-turning back towards its target; just as the mercenary turned, it ricocheted off of his pistol, stealing the firearm from his grasp. Both weapons flew in different directions.
 
Anti-T'Challa seized the moment, and charged. His cape flared upward as he stretched a fist into Deadpool's stomach—an assortment of gurgles flushed out. Enticed, he drove deeper, until he felt the uneven surface of a spinal cord. When he retracted his punch, he did not hesitate; his idle fist whipped around, and treated the mercenary's face like an angry teenager treated a wall . . . by trying to put a whole in it.
 
Deadpool backpedaled with the staggering feet of a boxer who wasn't all there anymore. His face was fine, but the pain in his gut reminded him of those starving nights he had as a child. He went through the storefront of a fast-food joint, crashing into, and dispersing, a couple of chairs and square table before banging his cranium into the checkered floor.
 
”This guy must not be a fan of jokers,” he muttered, massaging as scalp. He could already sense the lump forming on his crown.
 
Standing in the broken pane of glass, the white Black Panther attempted to emit his threatening posture again. His shadow extended across the eating area, and created a silhouette on the far-end wall.
 
”Que shitty theme music, huh? Deadpool said, snickering.
 
“Que this,” Anti-T’Challa replied, retrieving a pistol from his utility-belt; sticking from the muzzle was a grappling hook.

”A fucking grappling hook?” His eyes widened. ”Well, shit. Call me Ishmael.”
 
A hollow clicking noise launched the four-pronged piece of metal. The cord attaching it to the gun slithered like a sperm tail until it bound the mercenary’s arm, latching onto one of its tines.
 
Deadpool grimaced; while the cord tried to reel him in, his forearm was set ablaze with pain. It felt like Juggernaut was trying to set a record for the world’s greatest Indian Burn.

He wanted to scream—oh, he wanted to shout every goddamn expletive that jumped to mind. Yet, he refused to give anti-T'Challa the satisfaction.

Swiftly, he unsheathed a katana with the arm he had free, and detached himself from the grappling hook. The remainder of the cord flailed like the neck of a beheaded snake until collapsing to the floor.

But before he could start unraveling the hook from his arm, Mr. Opportunist was ready to attack again. The white Black Panther closed the distance between them, and dipped down to deliver another gut-churning punch

Semi-colon, but the merc' with a mouth was ready this time.

Deadpool parried it with a sidestep, then swung his sword. The strike landed, but did not draw blood; instead, sparks geysered from anti-T'Challa's gauntlet as the blade clashed with its teeth.

Whoever this imposter was, his skill level was unquestionable.

I know not all that may be coming, the mercenary thought, but be it what it will, I will go to it laughing.

785 words by wordcounter(dot)net

Summary
Batman picked up one of his batarangs, and recycled it use.
DP has 1 pistol knocked from his hand--whereabouts: on the street somewhere.
Batman lands some punches.
Batman used his grappling hook to wrap around DP's arm, ripping some flesh, but the merc' cuts the cord with his katana.
DP tries to use a katana to slash Batman, but it's caught in his gauntlet.

[Strazio Rockwell]

Strazio sat on a park bench and chewed on a granola bar that he had stolen from clowngirl’s pack. He thumbed at the collar around his neck. The silver-plated choker beeped every once and again. On the edge a red LED clock ticked down, a timer that would reset upon reaching a safehouse. Such an inconvenient ultimatum, and as much as he enjoyed the downtime he much rather preferred the pulse of combat. The Avatar finished his granola and tossed the wrapper aside. He stood and started down the park’s main path.

He had to admit, it was one helluva park. Giant oak trees provided ample sage over the gentle sloping path. Strazio passed by a tennis cage and then a miniature golf course, not that he knew what either of those were for. He speculated that the tennis cage was some sort of gladatorial arena, while the miniature golf course was some sort of miniature battlefield where generals played out mock wars. Strazio continued through the park. He passed by a playground and stopped to inspect the strange installation. It looked like some sort of obstacle course, but there was no clear start or end point. After a few minutes of curious exploration the prime decided it was best to continue on.

Once all of this was over, he thought, perhaps it was time to take a stroll through Coruscant and learn the ways of “modern” man. He stopped and chuckled at the thought. Even in his home universe he had shied away from cities. Not that his isolation was by choice, but rather the fact that magus were pariahs of the highest order, put to death on sight. And while this was most certainly not the case in Coruscant, the thought still rubbed him in a strange way.

Moving C20 to C21

[The Humble Sage]

The Sage’s eyes widened as red light tore into his side, blasting a hole just below his left rib. The white floor arena stained black as his inky blood tried in vain to seal so large a gap. The Sage staggered back against the wall for the third time, barely able to stay up long enough to even contest the girl. He needed a different tactic.

“Sorry?” he coughed. His lungs were apparently still functioning, though he could not say the same for the rest of his organs. It was astonishing he hadn’t passed out yet. Just what was happening to him?

“You’re doing quite well at this, no need for hesitation.” The Sage spoke huskily letting slip his dueling cane. The wooden weapon clattered to the ground. His opponent glanced at the discarded stave then back at the wounded Sage.

“You could end it right now.” The Sage said, arms open. The girl had already expressed a hesitance to fight him, he needed time to recover some semblance of his energy. The Majin stood at a short distance, close enough that she could easily strike before he recovered his weapon. Her strange blade poised, face unreadable behind the cracked hockey mask. She did not finish him. The Sage almost felt bad. This ploy was not moral, playing on her mercy, but he needed a chance to recover. The sucking sound of his inkblood trying to cover too large a wound echoed off the walls. The Sage’s vision was leaving, pockets of the white background overlaying with the blue skin of his foe.

“You are already dying.” She said finally, sword discorporating as she eased out of her combat stance. The worst part was, the aging scholar knew that she was right. He had finally reached the limit of his body’s bizarre ability to recover, burned though the miraculous power like a winter’s supply of firewood. He couldn’t allow it to end this way, a tired old man people waited around to watch die. With a growl of pure denial, the Sage pushed himself up from his stupor. The future warrior dropped into a crouch as her foe rose unsteadily to his feet, one hand filling with raw flame, the other pulling out a set of leather bolas.

“Then why don’t we cut to the chase!” he shouted, voice harsh with dried blood. He closed the distance with all the speed he could muster, catching the Majin’s first punch in his flaming hand. The sheer force of impact sent him staggering backwards, but not before he had wrapped her other arm with the leather straps of the bola. He forced himself to stay upright, dodging the follow-up kick, he sidestepped past his foe, yanking on the bola straps and twisting one arm awkwardly behind her to limit the Majin’s options. Grawor’s face was still unseen behind that soulless mask, and only her red eyes could be read to gauge how she would deal with this move. Her answer was to elbow the Sage with her unrestrained hand, causing his grip to slip. The Future Warrior’s follow-up punch swung around and the Sage’s defenses were wide open. The blue fist rammed into the Sage’s gut…and slipped into the hole that the blast had earlier created.

The combat paused for an instant, the Sage suffering immense pain, while Graowr decided how to handle accidentally punching through somebody’s torso. She could feel her hand free in the air on the other side of her foe, and had to repress the instinct to wiggle her fingers a little. This was just a little bit awkward.

“Uh…” She began but before she could say anything, The Sage reached out, hands scrabbling at the hockey mask that hid her face. It was giving her power and hiding her plans, if he could just get it free from her face, he might stand a chance. The infernal mask of the murderer remained firm on the Majin’s face however, and his efforts failed to pry it loose.

“Hey! Get off!” Graowr shouted in surprise, arm stretching as she backed out of reach. The Sage ground his teeth, fighting through the pain as he advanced, his foe’s putty arm still lodged in his body.

“This WILL end!” he growled, hand ablaze. He cupped the infant fireball in both hands, and brought the interlocked fists across in a two-handed punch to the majin’s face. Her neck twisted unnaturally, and a fresh spasm of pain wracked his body as she withdrew her arm from his stomach. Sight fled, and the Sage staggered backwards. He was still looking in Graowr’s direction, still had his arms up to continue fisticuffs, but he no longer seemed focused on her. His voice was distant, more confused than anything else.

“Have you not killed me yet?”

800 on the dot according to MS word.

Sage has no defense to enuma elish and takes the blast as best he can.

Sage stalls for time, playing poor Graowr's desire not to just kill defenseless old men.

Sage's manapool recharges, and he uses Gout of Embers, (and kind of sort of bola shot?)
Graowr's ATK means that Sage's attempt at a grapple fails utterly and she accidentally punches through his stomach.

GrapeWar's mallieability allows her to put distance between them while she decides what to do about her arm.

Sage uses a classic comic book move that probably isn't all that useful in a real fight, (but it looks cool and this one's on fire)

Growler pulls out her arm, and the Sage's body is basically shutting down.


That should be all I believe, a wonderful last fight!

[Karl Jak]

(It is Day 6 -- Early Morning)

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
Graw vs The Humble Sage

Clad in the hockey mask and wielding the sword of the Tyrant of the Dunes, the Graw creature looked at the broken old man.

His question hung in the air.

“Why would I do that?”  Graw asked as she stepped forward and slammed the pommel of Ea into the center of the Humble Sage’s chest.  The broken, beaten combatant toppled over, and after a few moments of silence, his unconscious form was taken back to Syntech.

[spoiler]

#28 The Humble Sage ELIMINATED

Graw takes 8 points of Accumulated Damage.

Graw receives all of Sage's loot.



The Humble Sage will wake up in 2 OOC days – fully recovered – and be able to teleport to his location of choice.
[/spoiler]

[Sterling Archer]

“Wait unthil you thee my daring esthcape,” I slurred mockingly, blood-tinged saliva dribbling from my lips. This wasn’t the first time I’d found myself chained, though never by someone quite so butch.

“P-please,” the spray-tanned ginger stammered, flexing his metallic mitt. “I d-don’t want to kill you.”

“Hocus Po...no,” I muttered. “Bibitty boppity...no, thit!”

“I-is that a surrender?” the bandaged brawler asked, cocking a brow.

“No, thut up,” I grunted, pulling the chains tight. “I have thomething for thith.”

“If you d-don’t relent, I’ll kn-nock you unconscious instead,” my foe muttered, raising his prosthetic.

Oh, fine.

“Klaatu barata...FUCK YOU!”

With all the strength I could muster, I swung my legs in a wide arc, using the portal as a fulcrum. My hip plowed painfully into my captor’s armored shins, knocking his feet from under him. With his focus broken, I felt the chains go slack around my wrists as he fell heavily beside me on the linoleum tile. Without a second to spare, I sprang upon him and brought a fist soundly across his unshaven mug. One, two, three. One for Blue, one for Cell, and one for me.

Despite my insistence, I could deliver him only a fraction of what he deserved before I felt iron digits grip my throat, threatening asphyxiation for what felt like a full minute before tossing me across the ruined sales floor. As I skidded to a stop beside a display of sporting equipment, I saw a familiar flash of gold, a pair of ornate spears soon ripping toward me. My half-drunk mind was capable of comprehending the threat, but not moving my heavy limbs out of the way in time to avoid a spearhead tearing a chunk out of my calf as I barrel-rolled behind a volleyball rack.

So, he wanted a piece of me?

“TURN AN’ BURN!” I belted, scrambling to my feet and leaping from behind the display. I let loose a swarm of lead wasps with my left hand, unloading two servings of buckshot with my right. Hobo Superman staggered backward as the pellets hit him, a wall of purple light materializing in front of him to soak up the wrath of my MP40.

“Y-you’re leaving m-me little choice,” the amputee nearly growled, dispelling his barrier and raising a tanned fist as if to threaten fisticuffs.

“Yeah-” I felt the air seem to tremble, my snarky response lost as a net of slashing force bore down on me, tearing long lacerations across my exposed chest as the volleyball display popped like bubblewrap. Tiny knives dances across my flesh, crimson blood dribbling free from the fresh wounds. “The hell even are you?”

“The v-victor,” my foe commented solemnly, dashing forward with his fist reared.

I did not want another of those.

I hauled bloody ass up and over the checkout counter, scrambling to take up Zedd’s staff. I’d need any help I could get at this point. Narrowly dodging another strike from the rampaging redhead, I darted down the length of the counter, grabbing up an unbroken bottle of Fabulous: by Karl Jak from among the shattered glass, ignoring the ridiculous portrait on the bottle. Feeling the familiar warmth of that damned bullshit portal on my back once more, I spun on the spot, pegging the perfume at the idiot’s domepiece.

“W-what is this?” Scruffy sputtered, coughing as the bottle shattered against his face and covered him in noxious cologne.

“Fabulouth,” I lisped, raising my staff high. “Becauth you’re worth it.” I brought the staff down with prejudice, lips curling into a sneer. I had him.

CLANG.

“Oh, COME ON,” I complained, the staff now bent at a comical right angle. Did that skinless freak buy this thing at a costume shop?

Seconds later, my incensed and now incense-d opponent found his bearings, this time putting his fists clean through the durable oak counter like it was papier-mâché. I could issue naught but a squeak in response as he grabbed my wrist and flung me overhead, burying me a foot in the building’s foundation. Blow after blow fell across my previously handsome face, pounding my cheekbones into something more closely resembling a fleshy bag of broken safety glass.

“I d-didn’t want to have to d-do this,” Scruffy said, shaking his head solemnly.

“Neifer did I,” I choked out, coughing a mouthful of blood from my numb lips. “You’re not the only one wif a holy relic.”

The burly warrior paused, eyes widening with shock. “W-what do you h-have?” he asked, inquisitive eyes not two feet from my own.

I pulled myself shakily to a seated position, numb fingers reaching into my knapsack. Me eyes widened as I gripped around the glassy surface. “Behinth you!” I gasped.

“Wha-”

The sentence hung unfinished as I smashed the aged wine bottle over his head.

800 words.

Running out the door so I can't do a full recap, but the Z Staff and old wine bottle I had are both not real weapons so treat them as such.

[Todd Ingram]

Batman parried three more strikes of the merc's Katana. His gauntlets have been proving more than useful in this battle of steel. Bruce had to admit that this man was well trained, well armed, and well off of his rocks. Change of plans, create an opening to escape, regroup and survive this ordeal. Bruce's mind was working overtime, focusing on the battle at hand and assessing his best strategy.


A well performed unexpected acrobatic kick struck the dark knight right in his chest, stopping their exchange of blows and forcing Batman back. At this point it was sheer power of will that kept the wounded vigilante standing. He had to go for one final offensive, putting all his energy in a final salvo of attacks before it was too late. He grabbed three batarangs and send them flying towards Deadpool. Two were thrown with deadly precision, they forced Wade to actively dodge both projectiles. The third one was sloppy, barely having any killing intend behind it. It was too good for Deadpool to pass up. As if plucking a feather out of the sky he caught the batarang between his thumb and index finger.


"I am sooooo keeping this as a souvenir." The merc screamed excitingly.  It didn't take him long after to notice there was something different about this one. This deduction combined with Batman's grin was enough to make Wade's ass-crack sweat. A high level electric shock was sent through the merc's body, forcing it to shake uncontrollably . The electricity's origin was the modified batarang, Bruce knew Deadpool's ego wouldn't pass up an opportunity to catch one of his iconic weapons. Now, there was an opening, he had to use it. Batman rushed towards the twitching Merc.


"o-o-o-oh shit" The mercenary tried to speak properly but the high voltage surging through his body made it almost impossible. He attempted to throw a punch at the charging vigilante. With his current state it was quite easy to catch the flying fist for someone as well trained as Batman. He held Deadpool's fist tight, releasing yet another chock through the body of the merc. The used smoldering capsule was ejected from his gauntlet. Bruce decided to finish his salvo with a frontal kick to the chest, ejecting Deadpool from the restaurant through the same window the entered.


Batman slowly followed, tired, beaten and hoping it would all be over soon. Bruce observed a kicked down Deadpool get up as if nothing happened, "Now -that- was a shocking experience. Get it Bats? Shocking experience? Man I crack myself up sometimes."


The obviously annoyed voice of Batman yelled through the empty streets, "Do you ever shut up?!"


"Woah woah, whats with the attitude? And here I thought we were having a friendly little spar."


Bruce reached for another set of batarangs, taking up his usual aggressive stand. Skillfully he moved the metalic projectiles between his fingers. An impressive sight for anyone lucky enough to see it. Batman finished his little show and got ready throw his iconic weapon.


*BLAM*


Intense pain shot through his already injured shoulder. Screaming in pain Batman fell to the floor.


"Yeah, that looked great and all, but guns are so much more fun and effective!"


Bruce's shoulder was burning, he had to get out, NOW. He grabbed one of his smokescreens and threw it at infront of him, vanishing from sight.


"Oh wow! You're really like a ninja aren't you? How about you just come out and we can finish this? I hate to see someone suffer like this. Wel…not unless I intend to make them suffer, you know."


Through the smoke Batman crawled his way to a safe spot, out of sight for Deadpool. All of his wounds were finally catching up to him.Bruce was no fool, he knew there was a good chance this foe was going to be the end of him. Every fiber of his being was telling him to run and find a safe place. This foe was strong. Perhaps he could've beaten him if his body was in a better state, alas a broken hand and a wounded shoulder made that specific task a whole lot harder. It seemed the loud mouth gave Batman a moment to catch his breath. Either the man had some shred of honor within him or he wasn't done playing with him yet.

used:
Batarang
Shocking grasp
Electric batarang