[Round 1] Erik Vrell & Deadpool vs Dave Strider and Kenpachi

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

The butchery of Dave’s duplicates was mercifully interrupted as Erik felt the stinging kiss of steel across his back, a meager rivulet of claret staining his azure cloak as he spun around to meet the frenzied gaze of the seemingly forgotten shinigami. A second slash came an instant later, tracing a thin trail of scarlet diagonally down his ebon tunic.

”I knew I forgot something,” the masked merc chuckled, using the moment of distraction to un-skewer himself and retrieve his blades. ”Murdering kids is just so much fun, ya’ know?”

“Douchey ninja wannabe / You’d better keep you eyes on the real emcee,” Strider rhymed, smoothing a sweaty blonde lock into place before flicking his Timetable with a flourish. A pair of clones appeared as the beat dropped, each facsimile mirroring a blow that the mercenary had blocked moments ago. “Gonna feel the heat of this fire / I’m God-tier, ain’t nothing higher.”

“I got cancer kid, so my rhymes are the illest,” the jumpsuited hitman retorted, deflecting the strikes with his katana before letting loose a few pistol shots. “You think you’re cool, but DP is the chillest.”

Kenpachi’s lungs flooded with liquid fire, knees near-knocking as he pressed the assault. His muscles ached, limbs feeling more so comprised of something akin to jelly than sinew. The disheveled samurai felt a veritable deluge of sweat pour down the small of his back as he feverishly aimed yet another calloused fist at the diminutive diviner’s flabbergasted mug. For all of his fervor, though, the boy had suffered little more a smattering of small cuts and wales from the shinigami.

“YES!” Zaraki howled, gasping through a cheshire grin. “This is better than I could have imagined!” the towering swordsman cried out, head swimming as his heart thrummed an erratic, staccato rhythm. His hand trembled like a wilting leaf, barely able to keep an adequate grip on his sword as his stomach performed unruly somersaults in his gut. Even if it was just a cheap deception, the boy had offered him the sole thing he had desired, far more than any prize of this Abyss: a challenge. “LET’S GO!” he commanded, taking hold of his jacket and kimono and tearing them free at the waist to expose his scarred chest, daring the cleric to attack. “Pray to your ‘God of Death’, and make me feel alive, boy!”

Abruptly shaking his attention free of the deranged deity’s caterwauling, Erik Vrell bound backward several feet, footwear skidding against the smooth stone tile as he took a few seconds to fall into a low stance and conjure a set of ethereal blades. Mustering his courage, he dove back into the fray as his unhinged opponent followed suit, Vrell surgically driving his ghostly weapons into Zaraki’s vitals. To the chagrin of both parties, the blades elicited little more than a sigh from the taller combatant.

“Peh, pity it seems like your spell hasn’t done much to my resilience,” Kenpachi stated sourly, almost disappointed. “You’ll have to try harder than that!”

Let’s trying something with a little more bite, then, the telepath offered, forcing the words directly into Kenpachi’s psyche as he narrowly avoided a sandal to the gut. Erik extended his hand as he strafed, hurriedly summoning a violet halo around his palm. His digits clasped shut around the ringlet as he finished the conjuring, taking off in a sprint before the barebacked brute could render retort.

"Ugh, enough with the alliteration,” Deadpool called from across the arena, the loquacious loudmouth lamenting as he parried a strike from the chronomancer’s broadsword. “Oh, COME ON.”

Putting some distance between themselves and the pair of rhyming swordsmen, the robed ronin took off after Vrell. He sprang nimbly across the arena, quickly closing the gap, nodachi in hand, like a hungry lion at the heels of an antelope. As the two skirted the edge of the arena, Erik took notice of the predator at his rear, spinning in place and banking the whirling blade expertly off of the far corner of the brick barricade. The chakram rebounded off of the sturdy material, returning back in their direction to chew a deep laceration in the side of Kenpachi’s neck before colliding with--and taking a sizeable chunk out of--the arena. Blood poured freely down the shaggy swordsman’s exposed torso as his insane grin widened further.

“Why’re you smiling?” Erik inquired, stopping dead to gulp down labored breaths as he drew his soot-hued blade in anticipation.

“I think I owe you this,” Kenpachi began, pausing to take up a formal stance. “Who again did you offer your prayers to earlier?” he asked, vibrant aureate energy spilling from his pores. He displayed his marred sword before him for a few long seconds before slowly raised his free hand, finally taking hold of the cloth-clad tsuka with both mitts. “‘Cause I ain’t forfeiting my title.” In one smooth motion, the Death God reared back before bringing his zanpakutō down with finality.

849 words via Google Docs.
Kenpachi did some swording
Erik used Psi Blades and Psi Chakram

Using Ryōdan (Tier-II Super Attack) on Mr. Vrell. (2 SP)