07-05-2018, 10:52 PM
“Enough!” the chibi Erik retorted.
Just as Desman’s eyes flashed cyan, the mage’s body radiated a bruising purple; the hand placed on his head went through it, splashing a mist of violet energy into the air as it exited from the back of his cranium. Erik drifted to the right, unphased. His body returned to its normal color.
”Well, I guess I won’t have to waste energy saving him this round,” Deadpool quipped.
Punctuating Erik’s counter, the mercenary corkscrewed around, and planted his foot into Desman’s ribs. The redhead curled like a cooked shrimp, retching and cradling his side before collapsing.
Deadpool returned his attention to Gilgamesh, who stood no more than a couple yards away away, disgusted with his partner’s disobedience.
“I told you to focus on the lunatic,” the king said. “Now look at you, you poor fool.” Eight golden portals swirled behind him, shimmering through the gentle cascade of snow; crucifix-shaped hilts of swords protruded from each of them.
”So, Erik, is your king always so self-centered?” Deadpool asked as he unsheathed both katanas.
The boy stood to Deadpool’s right, energetic blades manifesting from his fists. “He’s self-centered, yet generous--compassionate, yet dangerous; even his rivals revere him.”
”Let’s leave the rhymes back in round one.”
The mercenary cocked his swords back and rushed Gilgamesh, snow spitting out from under his boots (glorified white galoshes, with latticework attached to the soles); Erik followed close behind, if for nothing else, to avoid being dragged along. . . like a Desman. When they got close enough to swing, they did. Deadpool slashed left, then right, while Erik slipped under one of his arms to thrust a dagger forward at crotch level. Yet none of their blades could even shear the fur from Gilgamesh’s Inuit parka, or challenge the metallic cup protecting the king’s jewels. A trio of longswords materialized into the form of a triangle, blocking both of their attacks.
Erik gasped, hard and abruptly, right before Gilgamesh backhanded him to the ground like a pestering fly.
”You’re skilled enough to conceal your moves from me?!” the mercenary inquired. His eyes were wider than jar lids.
Gilgamesh grinned with delight. “No mortal man could ever wish to hurt a God-King, like myself” He reached over his shoulder and grabbed the hilt to a sword, pulling it from one of his portals, then swung it at Deadpool.
”My parka!” Deadpool screamed as his right arm separated from his clavicle, blood staining the powdery ground. ”I was gonna try and persuade Karl into letting me keep this outfit!” He dropped to one knee, grimacing; his katana carved a bed for itself in the snow as his left arm fell to his side.
“That’s right, mongrel, kneel before your king, and beg for mercy.” Gilgamesh raised his sword above his head to execute his enemy.
Deadpool looked up, and glared at Gilgamesh. ”I’m not a mongrel, I’m Deadpool.” In one fluid motion, the mercenary bounced to his feet, jumped into the air, and twisted around like a dreidel; while sticking out his right foot, he began butchering the name of his own Hurricane Kick: ”DYSLEXIC FLU KICK!” His foot belted the king’s face four times, each subsequent strike more jarring than the last.
When he landed, he stole a moment to watch a staggering Gilgamesh clench his face with his left hand. Blood poured from his mouth, staining the fur on his zipper trim, and the crisscross pattern on the bottom of Deadpool’s boot faintly showed between his fingers. The portals behind him dissipated to dust, and assimilated into the wind. Same went for the longsword in his right hand.
“My face!” Gilgamesh cried, “you bastard!”
The mercenary chuckled. ”You’re still the same egotistical blonde with a god complex that I vaguely remember from three years ago.”
“Silence!” The king removed his hand from his face, then shot a glance towards his partner, who now slowly returned to his feet. “You, be of some use!”
With a tug on the cord latched to his waist, Gilgamesh launched his partner at the mercenary, but the effort was a failure. Erik had intercepted Desman’s flailing, rag-doll body by shooting a purple ring of energy at him. It collided into the redhead, knocking him on his side; then it ricocheted into Gilgamesh, exploding against his parka, and putting him on his ass.
”Quick, throw me my arm,” Deadpool said to Erik, while gesturing towards the lifeless limb a foot away from him. ”I don’t have enough space left to fully grow a new arm from my chest.”
Erik’s amber eyes paced frantically until he located his partners’ detached arm. It still firmly held the katana in its grip. He snatched it from the earth with both hands, and underhanded it over to the mercenary, who jammed the arm back in place; not even a flinch wrinkled his mask.
Just as Desman’s eyes flashed cyan, the mage’s body radiated a bruising purple; the hand placed on his head went through it, splashing a mist of violet energy into the air as it exited from the back of his cranium. Erik drifted to the right, unphased. His body returned to its normal color.
”Well, I guess I won’t have to waste energy saving him this round,” Deadpool quipped.
Punctuating Erik’s counter, the mercenary corkscrewed around, and planted his foot into Desman’s ribs. The redhead curled like a cooked shrimp, retching and cradling his side before collapsing.
Deadpool returned his attention to Gilgamesh, who stood no more than a couple yards away away, disgusted with his partner’s disobedience.
“I told you to focus on the lunatic,” the king said. “Now look at you, you poor fool.” Eight golden portals swirled behind him, shimmering through the gentle cascade of snow; crucifix-shaped hilts of swords protruded from each of them.
”So, Erik, is your king always so self-centered?” Deadpool asked as he unsheathed both katanas.
The boy stood to Deadpool’s right, energetic blades manifesting from his fists. “He’s self-centered, yet generous--compassionate, yet dangerous; even his rivals revere him.”
”Let’s leave the rhymes back in round one.”
The mercenary cocked his swords back and rushed Gilgamesh, snow spitting out from under his boots (glorified white galoshes, with latticework attached to the soles); Erik followed close behind, if for nothing else, to avoid being dragged along. . . like a Desman. When they got close enough to swing, they did. Deadpool slashed left, then right, while Erik slipped under one of his arms to thrust a dagger forward at crotch level. Yet none of their blades could even shear the fur from Gilgamesh’s Inuit parka, or challenge the metallic cup protecting the king’s jewels. A trio of longswords materialized into the form of a triangle, blocking both of their attacks.
Erik gasped, hard and abruptly, right before Gilgamesh backhanded him to the ground like a pestering fly.
”You’re skilled enough to conceal your moves from me?!” the mercenary inquired. His eyes were wider than jar lids.
Gilgamesh grinned with delight. “No mortal man could ever wish to hurt a God-King, like myself” He reached over his shoulder and grabbed the hilt to a sword, pulling it from one of his portals, then swung it at Deadpool.
”My parka!” Deadpool screamed as his right arm separated from his clavicle, blood staining the powdery ground. ”I was gonna try and persuade Karl into letting me keep this outfit!” He dropped to one knee, grimacing; his katana carved a bed for itself in the snow as his left arm fell to his side.
“That’s right, mongrel, kneel before your king, and beg for mercy.” Gilgamesh raised his sword above his head to execute his enemy.
Deadpool looked up, and glared at Gilgamesh. ”I’m not a mongrel, I’m Deadpool.” In one fluid motion, the mercenary bounced to his feet, jumped into the air, and twisted around like a dreidel; while sticking out his right foot, he began butchering the name of his own Hurricane Kick: ”DYSLEXIC FLU KICK!” His foot belted the king’s face four times, each subsequent strike more jarring than the last.
When he landed, he stole a moment to watch a staggering Gilgamesh clench his face with his left hand. Blood poured from his mouth, staining the fur on his zipper trim, and the crisscross pattern on the bottom of Deadpool’s boot faintly showed between his fingers. The portals behind him dissipated to dust, and assimilated into the wind. Same went for the longsword in his right hand.
“My face!” Gilgamesh cried, “you bastard!”
The mercenary chuckled. ”You’re still the same egotistical blonde with a god complex that I vaguely remember from three years ago.”
“Silence!” The king removed his hand from his face, then shot a glance towards his partner, who now slowly returned to his feet. “You, be of some use!”
With a tug on the cord latched to his waist, Gilgamesh launched his partner at the mercenary, but the effort was a failure. Erik had intercepted Desman’s flailing, rag-doll body by shooting a purple ring of energy at him. It collided into the redhead, knocking him on his side; then it ricocheted into Gilgamesh, exploding against his parka, and putting him on his ass.
”Quick, throw me my arm,” Deadpool said to Erik, while gesturing towards the lifeless limb a foot away from him. ”I don’t have enough space left to fully grow a new arm from my chest.”
Erik’s amber eyes paced frantically until he located his partners’ detached arm. It still firmly held the katana in its grip. He snatched it from the earth with both hands, and underhanded it over to the mercenary, who jammed the arm back in place; not even a flinch wrinkled his mask.
Quote:WC: 849 (google docs)
Erik uses t1 defensive super, Psi Form, to counter Desman’s t1 offensive (given consent via Discord)
Gilgamesh used Gates of Babylon: Golden Swords (both functions)
Deadpool used t1 power-up (+2/+1/+0/+2 ~ 3/6/3/6) -1SP
Deadpool used Tatsumaki Senpukyaku
Erik used Psi Chakram
Deadpool exhausts 1 SP to partially heal his arm (its reattached and functional, but mobility and range of motion are limited)
Deadpool used 2 total SP this post (2/6)
Erik used 1 SP this post


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