[Round 3 - C] Erik Vrell & Deadpool vs Cell & Ricter

[Deadpool]

Deadpool floated aimlessly through space, drifting farther away from the thick of the fight. The grasshopper’s beam of energy sent him traversing a belt of ice and rock, half conscious and half singed--it felt as he had sunbathed in triple digit temperatures, and then lathered himself in Bengay. Occasionally, he would collide with some of the belt’s debris, and bounce another direction, like a slow-motion pinball; each time, he groaned.

Perhaps his time had passed; perhaps Dante’s Abyss was for younger fighters. He was a regenerative immortal, sure, but even those fell victim to time, just as everything else. Fighting against a younger, more evolved, biological weapon had humbled him. How could he combat a physically more destructive version of himself? He possessed no beams of energy, named after an Hawaiian king; or means to dramatically increase his speed; and his ass was tailless, incapable of absorbing (or fucking) other lifeforms.

Oh nonsense, this ass is capable of fucking, Deadpool mused as he shook his insecure thoughts, all night long, like Lionel Richie.

”I got cool guns,” he mumbled, ”and red is more aesthetically pleasing than green.” Then he glanced at his waist. ”Plus, I own one of the only weapons made in the Abyss.”

The mercenary flipped around, and planted his foot against the closest surface--a wingless fuselage, drifting amongst the belt of rocks. Without gravity, he ricocheted off of the wrecked spaceship, but as he did, he pressed the button strapped to his left palm, igniting his jetpack thrusters. Flames burst from the bottom of the jetpack, which was ironically positioned above his ass; he giggled like a prepubescent boy.

Deadpool closed in on the other combatants, their figures gradually becoming more vivid.

Erik seemed to be handling his own well, considering the circumstances. His body was battered, but not beaten; his eyes still blazed with confidence. Willing himself from the meteor, he shot into space, grasping his right arm with his left.

The sexualized carebear took pursuit, but his green partner didn’t. Instead, he crumbled to one knee, cradling his abdomen with both arms. Perhaps he had the grasshopper confused; perhaps he wasn’t as perfect or evolved as he originally appeared.

”Boy, did you pick the wrong time to become idle,” Deadpool quipped. He reached for his waist, and snatched his Furbypool, pressing the button by its ass. ”Maybe I’ll see you again . . . in another dimension!”

In one winding throw, he hurled the adorable explosive towards Cell, ignoring all sense of physics that he barely knew. He hoped that somewhere in Karl’s Omniphysics, gravity flashed at the most opportune times, which would descend the explosive directly upon Cell.

He was wrong.

His strength carried the explosive a solid ten yards (a solid fucking ten), but then it slowed to the pace of a turtle, and veered off target, into the vastness of space. Furbypool’s two glowing eyes twinkled like dwarf stars as it cartwheeled away.

A highly sensitive explosive, wandering around the battlefield.

More importantly, energy wasted.

”Well, that didn’t go as planned.”

WC - 540 (Google Docs)

Deadpool used Tier 2 Power-up, Super Serial for rest of round (form stats - 5/7/3/8) [-4 SP]
Deadpool used Tier 2 Offensive Super, Furbypool* [-2SP]
0 SP remaining

The Furbypool never reaches its intended target. Instead, its floating around. It explodes upon contact with anything.