Dante's Abyss Spectators

[Karl Jak]

During the contest, the preshow facility will remain open to all the watching public and those present, as well as triumphant primes waiting for the remaining match ups to conclude.

Anyone may post in this thread, but I'm not giving out free (Bonus/'Participation') OM for this thread unless you are a participant writing your character here between rounds (because your fight finished early and you wanna stay sharp or whatever).  So if extra OM was going to be your incentive to write in here, please don't.  Go write an actual collab story in another verse. Spectator thread is a privilege, not a right, and I'll close this if I feel like it's serving no genuine storytelling purpose.

That said, all areas of the Preshow outlined in the original Preshow thread are still present.

[Dust]

Hayaidesu made her way through the crowds of the rest of the onlookers, her mind clear as clear and an edgeless pool. Betting circles had already formed in the corners and as the fights began she could hear the desperation in people’s voices as their picked fighter took a blow and they begged the monitors to explain why this was happening to them. Of course, shortly afterward these people are escorted away to the bar or whatever room the tossed garbage in.

She found a seat next to one of the monitors and after considering the chair itself for a moment she finally sat in it with some caution. With a rigid bag she and folded legs, she placed her hands on the table neatly for a moment before struggling with whether to have them overlap each other on the polished surface or in her lap. She went back and forth a few times before finding it much more comfortable and natural for a ninja to lay her hands over her thighs.

Her accomplishment today was quaint and simple but made a small smile grace her face. Not that you could see it.

All around her the world began to fade away as she tried to focus on the monitors, specifically the stage with Taloc in it. She had memorized the other competitor's faces and names and promised herself she’d take as many notes as possible in her mental notepad for her friend. There wasn’t much a lowly secondary like herself could do for him, but maybe this would be a good effort.

She occasionally looked at the other fights but wanted also to send her Prime partner good vibes. Eventually, it became too much to look away and she folded her hands in prayer to ask for the gods to smile on Taloc and his teammate.

As she did, the image of her own master came to mind, and she no longer looked at the monitors, just stared at the past beyond her table as loud voices and bodies formed a cage around her and her tiny table. It was an all too familiar reminder of her place and how pointless she was in the grand scheme.

“...”

[Kopaka]

Despite his best efforts to muffle and suppress his natural dispensation of frigid air, Kopaka could tell his presence in the room was starting to make some of the other spectators uncomfortable. Granted, they were all secondaries and as such were slated to be pitied and marginalized...but if given the choice Kopaka would have preferred to avoid any potential liabilities for attention. The Toa's job here was quite simple; stay close enough to any Prime loiterers and collect their biometrics for later use in tracking and killing them. Regardless of his stated allegiance to the Empire, the biomech did recognize his personal penchant for the activity of bounty hunting.

At the moment, he was wrapped in a heavy, brown tarp cloak that brushed against the ground when he walked. A low hood almost concealed his entire face, leaving him only with his other senses to keep track of other people in the room. Had he been wearing the Kanohi Akaku, it would have been trivial to peer through the thick fabric obscuring his eyes, but the great mask of power was currently tucked under his back, so he could maintain a less notable profile.

Granted, he was also aware that been the only person in the room wearing an extremely heavy cloak would attract suspicion, regardless of his actions or repressed ability to chill the air, but at the very least, he hoped to be too much of an imposing unknown for the casual observer to approach. Presently, since there were no Primes in the room to sniff out, Kopaka contented himself with perusing the ongoing matches.

There were certainly several that piqued his interest. For starters, it seemed as though that effluviant abomination Pennywise had been able to return to life in time to join in the festivities. He seemed to have become slightly more cunning since their last encounter, and in a perverse turn of fate, Kopaka almost found himself rooting for the drooling buffoon. The Toa wouldn't be surprised if It simply turned around and swallowed Its ally whole at any moment, the poor creature.

Elsewhere, Skeletor stood astride none other than the self-proclaimed lord of bounties, Kuzuru. Kopaka quickly scrolled through the other live feeds of the individual battle, using his mental uplink to Syntech's streaming service, but did not locate Weiss Schnee. Ah well. Partaking in highly spectacular battles to the death was not her style. Neither, he supposed, was it his style. The first time he had ever partaken in such a competition had been on the direct order of an Imperial supervisor. Perhaps that was why he had...well...nevermind. Skeletor and his sadistic companion seemed to be doing just fine against their sun-haired opponents.

Finally, and most tantalizing of all the fights, was a skirmish between the Kings. None other than Mickey Mouse, Kopaka's most hated and elusive rival who had, more than likely, completely forgotten that the Spirit of Ice even existed. Still, that did not diminish the fact that every slash, every bruising punch inflicted on the diminutive Prime fed the darkness writhing inside of his soul. When Gilgamesh bound up the rodent in chains, Kopaka actually began to chuckle softly. My yes. The pain in those eyes. The guilt that Gilgamesh assailed Mickey with...it was so tantalizing. If Mickey happened to cross paths with Kopaka after the conclusion of his fight, would Kopaka be able to resist doing the same?

Kopaka took a deep breath and steadied himself. In time, dear one. In the Omniverse, everyone eventually gets their turn...

[Ash]

One moment she was tossed into the grass in her ring, the next they all were in the hallway once more. Where the others headed to the infirmary or whatever other corner of the complex that they chose to limp off to and lick their wounds, Ash turned to walk the opposite way, clutching her side.

Not a stranger to failure, as her mother reminded her daily of what a complete disappointment she’d been.

Ash was a gamer and won games. Anything outside a monitor, a controller, and Jacking-In, it was a toss-up. More than one occasion her mom was greeted with a battle-worn and beaten daughter at the end of the officer’s firm grip. Several times has Grayson looked upon her with pity and distress after walking into the interrogation room and finding her covered in bruises before it was a permanent color change to her skin.

Her quick tongue got her out of a lot of trouble, but it also got her into it too.


In short: You win some, you lose some.


She felt more pain from the places she landed while being tossed about than the scorch mark on her right side, but she considered the idea of tending to them all eventually. At the moment, however, she’d been the least damaged of them all. Even Jak had suffered more than her. As good meatshields should.

“Hey, babe~!” Daxter said loudly enough to catch her attention. He stood at the corner, leaning on the wall in that cool dude waiting for his girl kind of way. “How you doin’?” He teased. She smiled when he winked at her.

A shadow came over her at this point, she watched as Daxter straighten up and stood on his own feet. This caused her to look back, turning around completely and watch as The Dark King ripped out the dagger from his chest and with large clawed fingers hand it over to her delicately. He took on a remorseful look that she thought was strange as he spoke. “I failed you.”

Sweet sentiments and the like, Ash fought not to roll her eyes. The Eco-Warrior shrank back down to his normal form, looking as sad as Desman did on most days, and she held back the sighs. All these people and their emotional bullshit, “For what?” She said sweetly, leaning in, bracing herself on his shoulder and kissing his bronzed cheek. “You did great out there, your fans will be proud.”

Then as if on cue the paparazzi returned, “Dynamite Kid!” A chorus of voices called out, flashes of light sprang at him and her, blinding him a bit and forcing his bloody hand up to shield his eyes.

Before he could fight it, Ash slipped away and Daxter was on his shoulder. “Hey, there’s enough to go around!” His chipper voice said, clearly enjoying the attention. “First question, first question!”

“Kid! How did it feel to be back in the ring?” One snagged the chance right out of the air.

Jak was still looking around for the demoness he’d been talking about when asked the question, it was as if she’d vanished in thin air. He even caught the view of more cameramen approaching the winners of their fight, but before he could see how that went, Daxter smack his face lightly.

“Jak, focus.”

“Right,” Jak said, lowering his goggles so that he could see past the flashing lights and camera glares under the industry level of lights. “What was the question?”

The storm demon didn’t linger very long after they were bombarded with cameras. She instead slipped away and out of the light, letting Jak deal with it. Someone else might wonder why she didn’t ham it up in front of the camera, but questions weren’t her thing. Maybe if she’d won she could afford to be cocky, but the truth of the matter is she liked to pick her attention time. And right now she could use a drink. She also wouldn’t mind a firm lap to sit in, maybe Kanda was around?

Ash slipped into the bar area where she could hear the most activity, people were screaming and drinking, and having a good time between blows. She found Kanda, but not in a seat where she could slide up next to him, but on a screen. His stern face sent a much-needed chill down her spine. She apparently has tuned in just in time to watch him kick poor Desman around. She'd be lying if she didn't admit to enjoying it a bit. Then again, she loved watching men assert dominance, especially when there was a clear alpha present. She hoped the dark-haired - rather it was grey now - man would rough her up a bit now.

The scanner flashed to life over her eyes as she watched her boyfriends fight, observing plenty of information about them all from the comfort of a lounge. Apparently, she and Kanda had a great deal in common, power... Speed. Skill. Though, she was sure if she knew how to fight with a sword she might have a chance at beating him. Beside him came Mickey Mouse. She quirked an eyebrow as she realized who that was. Omni found the small fighter interesting, but while he was defeated like this she couldn't understand why. And of course, Desman. But she knew everything about him. "So that must be King Gilgamesh." She said to herself, laying eyes on glorious golden armor, rippling gold magic summoning weapons, and finally his handsome features and gold hair. All of which turned her off. If only because she had a thing against blonds.

She turned away long enough to collect a strong drink and find a seat among the secondaries. With scanner still activated she began to observe fights. Not just Kanda's though he had most of her attention, Victor's as well. The Bandit who's name she did not know as intimately as she knew her anger. As well, Dane's - which did not look like a fight, so much as a trailer for yet another Jason movie. Meanwhile, she's already reconnected with the monitors and the saved data, her cyberdeck began storing the recorded files, she would not come out of this empty handed for sure.

[Jak Mar]

Jak knew loss. Every year the same thing, he had gotten so close but yet so far. He’s lost his friends, some family and more. For the loyal fool he was, he was beaten up, thrown down and stabbed more times than he had counted.

The eco warrior stared at his hands, they were covered with blood from the dagger that had been stuck in him. Daxter waved at Jak as to see why he wasn’t answering questions to his loyal fans.

The healing process would be slightly painful as he placed his hands over his wound and summoned om to heal the wounds he had. It took a bit but the blood was now gone left from the dark king.

A fan yelled out while the eco warrior placed his goggles on his face to avoid the blaring glare on his face.

“Kid, how did it feel to be back in the ring.”

Jak cleared his throat “It was a experience… something about the fights change how I feel every time.”

“Will you have any surprises out there for opponents?”

Jak bit back the bitter feeling of disappointment in this DA and tried to lie “Well I’m not done yet, Dynamite hasn’t shown all his tricks yet.”

“Smile for the Cameras, Dynamite Kid. Daxter was wearing a black da shirt that showed “Dynamite Kid #2018 DA” which he was trying to sell to some fans that mobbed him for it.

Orange Lightning smiled “Ladies, Ladies there’s enough shirts out there for all the fan club.”

“Line up in a straight line and you can get the eco warrior’s and mine’s autograph for just a cool 5 om!”

“AHHHHHHH!” A mob of fans started to run into line after shirts were bought forcing Jak and the ottsel to keep signing fan autographs for the longest time.

After the cameras and fan club cooled down and walked away, Jak took the time to search the room while he started at the winners of their match getting pictures and things.

He placed a “mask” on, playing on him not having emotions. He had to do this to avoid bringing on pain from anything else. Lingering, he left a hole in the surface of the DA wall, leaving Syntech workers to clean up his mess. There goes his perfect control.

The eco warrior eyed Daxter and said “Dax, go spy on our next opponents.”

[Ricter]

Limping wasn’t a feature that encompassed him, fights lost only left him with a mild pain in his pride and maybe a stinging sensation here, with a bruise or two there. All of which seemed to vanish after an hour or so, including the bow to his self esteem.

Yet this time around it wasn’t a loss, they had actually gained victory, yet the term ‘they’ was to be put lightly. Cell did about 90% of the work, he could have done it all himself with little to no help from the weasel given he was eliminated first and managed to handle both the darkness infused power of both Jak and Ash.

He felt it, it was a deep sensation of uselessness, or disappointment in yourself. Like a parent seeing your report card and expecting far more from you, so just like a child he’d say nothing when coming into the hall. Victory came at a price for some, for him it was almost all the time, especially when it felt like he couldn’t assist at all to what happened.

Cockiness wasn’t what he normally felt, if anything this sensation was normal when it came to helping others in battle. Win or lose, delusions of not doing as much, too little, or just not stacking up to expectations was the life he had lived long before coming here to this universe. It was the life of someone who was devoted to supporting others, as both a doctor for his job, or a paladin in the arena.

Yet, those titles though were not what he felt like he lived up too, not even close. Finding a nice bench to rest now as he placed his paws into his face, contemplating, wondering how he could improve or over all make the outcome much better than it was. He was asking for a lot on that front but Ricter had to get better, at least for his partners sake.

“Hey! Over here!” His attention was grabbed, looking up to see camera-man and reporter, only one, looking interested in him but his expression towards them showed annoyance and some fatigue. Both Mental and in relation to his body. “How was your first ever fight in the Abyss?”

Like every other. His mind speaking the words he had no courage to say to the reporter. “It was exciting! I never expected to face such strong opponents, but it was surely something to remember!” The mustelid gave a chipper expression, hiding his inner turmoil.

“Did you feel like you were impactful when paired with someone so skilled in combat?”

No, he could have survived most of the attacks thrown his way with out me being there. “Yes! It was hard keeping up with Cell’s rhythm but I think I helped as much as I could in the end.”

“Whats your plan for the next match up?”

I don’t know, maybe I’ll just stick to being a big meat shield or something. “Probably sticking to protecting my partner as much as need be.” His eyes drifted to a lulled state, inwardly knowing that he didn’t truly matter much but he’s grown to live with it.

“Alright then, thanks for the quick interview, good luck in the next few matches!” A nod was given as the one reporter would make their way off towards Cell behind him who was getting much more attention than himself. An earned flock of both fan’s and those who wanted a fresh scoop on the match from the man who took out two opponents at one time.

In the background Ricter would just sit there, watching for a few seconds before closing his eyes and just sighing. Questioning himself more than any reporter could ever dream of doing.

[Cell]

Ah, this was more like it. The attention he so richly deserved was finally being given to him. Reporters with pens and pads and rolling cameras surrounded him, firing off questions about the battle. Cell stood with his arms folded, eyes closed and wearing a self aggrandising grin.

"How do you feel after your first win?" one said, pen poised over paper.

"It's all par for the course, really," Cell said as smugly as he could. "When you are the perfect being, winning isn't all that surprising. More like a birthright."

Cell continued to smile but his teeth were clenched behind his lips. The ending of the battle played out over and over in his head. The chainsaw blade penetrating his chest and tearing his arm apart, the knife sliding through his cheek, the immense last ditch effort he made to secure the battle... it had all been too hard. He may not have reached his perfect form yet, but to struggle like he did to claim victory was beyond insulting. Why was it so difficult? Was he weak, or were his opponents strong? Worse, would he have to actually rely on his partner to get him through this tournament? Cell didn't rely on anyone.

"How do you think the next fight will go?" another asked.

"As well as this one, maybe better," Cell said, keeping the facade alive. "I've yet to show everyone my true potential. I wouldn't want to go unveiling it so early in the competition. What would my adoring fans have to look forward to if I did that? No, I understand the value of holding one's cards to their chest. This isn't my first televised tournament. No rookie mistakes from me."

Were the ogre and elf possessors of some arcane knowledge that the bio-android didn't know about? How did she turn invisible, and how did her attacks seemed more fluent and precise than his own? He had the combined skills and battle sense of the greatest warriors ever to step foot on Earth and yet an afterlife administrator with a sharp knife ran circles around him. Not to mention that elf - what sort of dark magic did he wield to transform from that non-threatening form to that monstrous creature?

"Can you give us some insights into your combat strategies?" a reporter asked. "Do you have any secret moves or manoeuvres you would be willing to share with us? Anything involving you and Ricter?"

Cell opened his eyes and focused on the humanoid weasel not far from him, who sat in relative silence compared to him. To be fair, he had fought admirably and his fur was made of tougher stuff than the bio-android would have expected. Plus his sword that let him heal by stabbing his allies was out of the ordinary and surely deserving of more attention. Yet Ricter seemed downcast. Normally Cell wouldn't bother with the feelings and emotions of anyone except himself, but this wasn't a normal situation. As the first fight made abundantly clear, Cell couldn't fight two opponents at once - not in this universe. He would be depending on Ricter to shoulder his weight of the fight, and if the weasel was sad or losing confidence in himself, it would adversely affect the bio-android's standing in the competition. 

In order to keep a firm grip on the tournament, he had to - he grimaced - make someone feel better about themselves.

Cell chuckled. "Strategies? Why would I give an edge to my competition just so you can get better ratings? You can all wait for the next fight like everyone else. Now if you'll all excuse me, I need to confer with my partner about our next match."

The ultimate creation of Doctor Gero pushed through the throng of reporters and strode over to Ricter. The weasel lifted his head as Cell approached him. How was Cell going to do this?

"So... uh... good fight," Cell said awkwardly, looking away.

"You think so?" Ricter said. "I think I could have done better."

The bio-android shook his head. "No, you... uh... did a great job. Just... superb. Really... top notch." Ugh. I think I'd rather fight Gohan again. "And the way you stabbed me with your sword? Very... unexpected. In a good way, of course. It was lucky you started healing me as fast as you did, because if another second had gone by, I might have - oh, but that's not the productive area of conversation, is it?"

"Well, uh, thanks," Ricter said, unsure of what Cell was trying to convey. "You did amazing out there."

Cell shrugged nonchalantly. "In other news, the sky is blue. But just... be confident. You guard my back and I guard yours. We stick together -" Man I feel like punching myself in the throat right now - "and we'll win this thing."

[Ricter]

He could tell he was forcing it, how? Easy, his gawking bravado and egotistical manner of seeking attention and presenting himself perfectly was what he’d expect from Cell normally, to even engage him in conversation seemed out of the norm for him. Plus the topic was about his feelings no less?

Maybe the bio-android just wanted to win and thought a peep talk would smooth it out, ensuring his victory in the finals so that after he’d be discarded like a used tissue. That sensation was fairly normal when it came to him, yet he welcomed his attempt.

Surely Cell wasn’t some Dr. Phil of conversations, especially when it wasn’t about how amazing he was, however his own wish for adoration could easily over shadow his own. Ricter held no wish to become famous for this endeavor, but if it was to fulfill his own desires and Cell’s aim for glory then it was better than nothing.

“Alright.” his tone was low, like speaking to someone who might have gotten a D- on a test and his teacher was telling him to do better. Eyes open now the mustelid would sit back, his sword was sheathed and at the side of the bench, to make sitting comfortable for him.

“Listen..” The large green amalgamation would speak up, causing Ricters larger ears to perk up, twitching.

“As much as I’d love to fight on my own behalf, I at the very least require you to be focused. So long as your doing your best to complement my skill winning will be simple.” His words seemed to have little impact at first, Ricter not saying anything back but soon giving a soft smile a nod, looking a bit more chipper.

Ah, I’m mildly impressed I managed a positive reaction, maybe after I defeat the rest of the competitors I can master the art of motivational speaking. Give some of these peons a glimmer of hope to even becoming a fraction of my greatness.

“You don’t have to try so hard.” The weasel’s comment came sudden, his smile lulling into just a small smirk but all the same Cell could clearly hear what he had said.

“’Try’ is a term I use rarely, only ever to describe my opponents shortcomings.” Sharp as the point on his tail, yet just as egotistical as one could ever hope to be. Maybe not to that extreme, but he was up there, Gilgamesh and him could probably have a battle about who looks best in the mirror and it would go on for days.

Smirking more, it cracked into a smile and almost stifled laugh while looking back up to Cell. Sky blue pools as bright and big as you’d see on some adorable animal, the sight was almost stomach churning for the bio-android. “Still, thanks.”

Grimacing he would scoff and say nothing for a second but eventually throw a rebuttal. “You can thank me when you’ve lived to see second place, for now we have a climb to make and I don’t expect to see any trip ups during it.”

Pulling the leather sheath into his lap he would seem back to his average self, sure he still felt reservations about his usefulness, but if he could get Cell to even imagine treating him like a partner than he had something going for him.

“I’ll do what I can, honestly I didn’t expect to survive all those slams and hits. Seems my pelt got tougher coming into this place.” On quick inspection of his fur, it looked normal, and as fuzzy as you could imagine, not as iron clad as he felt when taking certain attacks from both Ash and Jak.

“I noticed, you can take quite the beating.” Ricter of course didn’t know wither to take that as an insult or a complement but here’s to hoping for the positive one.

“Uh, Thanks? Well, anyways, the matches are still going, we were the first to get done, I think who we could be fighting is on- that screen.” Pointing to a screen in the room that was on the middle far left it would show Taloc and Mokoto vs Kerrigan and ‘Ass Kicker’.

A rouge, bug lady, a human with blue hair, and a big woman with an even bigger hammer. Just as much of a gaggle fuck as their own pairing, but Ricter only half paid attention as Cell glanced over, being the fighter that he was a bit of information on their opponents wouldn't hurt.

Instead Ricter was focused on alchemy, manifesting a bowl and beginning to grind up the herbs and flowers he had inside of his pouch. Feeling as if he needed to keep busy right now while they were both doing nothing.

[Kopaka]

The biomech lingered inside of the doorframe as the first limping batch of gladiators returned from their fight. Ricter, Ash, Cell, and Jak Mar...a handsome collection of initial signatures, especially in the case of the blue girl. Kopaka recognized her quite well from her previous listing on the EPD blacklist. He watched the sensuous woman plant herself at the bar and scroll through ongoing fights before settling on the same skirmish that occupied his primary attention.

He could not tell which of the contestants in the Mouse's fight concerned her the most, but Kopaka had to assume it was the Prime known as Desman. Reports from Coruscants Ultramarine division (borderline inscrutable as they were) indicated the scarlet-haired brigand as one of the storm demon's associates. What was more interesting, however, was the confirmed banishment of Ash to the Underverse, and her apparent escape.

The Underverse held a special fascination for Kopaka, as it was one of the few facets of the Omniverse that had gone without his personal scrutiny, till now. It appeared that puffed-up, self-proclaimed prophet from last year's Abyss had been right, after all. What had his name been? Bah, it was irrelevant now. The point was that Kopaka had a reason to engage in conversation with the woman. He approached her slowly, his smothering brown cloak brushing against the floor.

"Silent stranger in a hooded robe approaches PC in a bar...sorry bub, my questbook is topped off." the woman sighed, not bothering to turn around. Kopaka advanced, regardless. He hovered at the corner of the counter, nothing but the slightest glint of sickly yellow beneath the hood to mark an identity.

"This one makes no assumptions." Kopaka murmured. His voice was quiescent and patient? but with a buzzing, digitized ring.

"Yeah, well, this one needs another drink." Ash snapped, scrolling through Syntech's scandalously expansive menu of bourbon.

"Thou hast walked the Underverse. I wouldst hear thy story." 

Ash was determined to remain unbothered...but...Kopaka wasn't going anywhere...

[Retane]

As Dante's Abyss finally got underway, the party of nine made their way to some seats. Dante, Probitas, and Reatus sat in the front row of their section. Jack, Airyonna, and Alaina places themselves in the middle. To fill out the back three were Triumpht, Dante and Krosst. Barely ten feet away they caught sight of Daxter, who was already hyped up from the start of Jak Mar's match up. The childrens' attention, while mostly focusing on Retane's match, glanced periodically at a few other matches in between.

Airyonna looked to Jack Frost, who shrugged his shoulder's, almost as if to say he was confused. She laughed at him and offered a sly grin. She knew deep down that this made him uncomfortable, and he came for purely for support. She was excited though, because it was her first time being so close to the action and while Jack had once been a participant she wanted to see as much as she could. She felt it would make her closer to him. Deep inside, she wanted to see Retane get slapped around and put in his place a bit more, but she would never say that out loud. At the same time, she had grown fond of the green one, as well as his children.

The Guardian of the Horsemen squeezed the Kunochi's hand as he watched his close friend throw off the robe and he saw the bulge on his back shoulder. He hated the thing, and knew what it felt like to be the recipient of it's powers. It was demonic, and he knew that Retane knew the potential cost of using it, still the Namek wasn't afraid of it. Jack shuddered thinking about it.

Triumpht shouted out and pointed at the Merc with a Mouth as soon as he caught him on screen. The young Namekian had never met Retane till recently and was indifferent about his feelings, but, it was Deadpool that had been there to show him the way as a mercenary. Deadpool had explained to him that it even seemed like Retane was in the same profession as the Merc, and never talked bad about, though they once met head to head. Even if DP and Retane wound up against each other, Triumpht knew he would cheer for Deadpool.

Krosst pointed with Triumpht, almost mocking him, but, his attention focused on everyone at once. He was happy his family was back together as a whole, but sad, because he felt everyone elses emotions. Triumpht and Naturae had never met Retane, until that brief moment, and everyone else still seemed to feel things that he wasn't accustomed to. He shook his head and looked to Jack for help.

Dante pointed up at their father as he took on the blonde one known as Broly, and it was Reatus and Proitas that flinched at the 'slam'.

"That's how you do it!" Shouted Arith as he strolled through and sat behind them all.

Everyone glanced back and noticed he was wearing a shirt over his armor that read, 'Who the fuck is Makato?' Inirtias, with a disturbed look on his face, sat next to him. He wore a shirt that read, 'Makato Who?'

"Who are you", Triumpht was the one to ask.

Arith grinned beneath his helm and chuckled, "You don't remember me? I'm like your doula, or fairy godmother, or something!" The Lythian shook his head, "The respect these days, I swear!"

Jack snickered, and Krosst mimicked him. Reatus and Dante grinned as they remembered the Golden Warrior.

"Shouldn't you two be out there with him?" Frost was Curious.

Inirtias shook his head, "Told us to stay out of this one. Had something to prove. He even told me I wouldn't have to kill."

The Guardian furrowed his brow and looked to his partner with confusion, "That's not li-

"Not like Father?" She watched as Retane seemed to purposely miss full collision with his fist to his female opponnent.

"It's our fault for coming here," Reatus sighed.

"It's not that", Inirtias tried to explain. "He's blocking us from most of his thoughts, but I think he's worried about something. I don't know what is is but I know he had huge emotions from seeing you guys."

Naturae nodded and looked back at the fight, , "I'd like to meet him again, if I could. Guu has told me little about him, and all i know of him are the Dante's Abyss Footage and rumors. They seem bad some times, but still i feel as if he truly loved me."

The Lythians glanced at one another and nodded, "We can make this happen!"

THis doesnt go to bonus RP

[Ash]

Ash placed another order in. She then finished her first drink while putting her eyes back on the screen but her focus not as clean as before she felt the eyes of whoever this was burning an eager hole into her body. She side glanced back at him, taking advantage of the lack of pupils that no longer showed. Her eyes landed on the oversized trench colored coat and several glowing lights peeking out of the shadows of his hood. Her scanner ran a diagnostics over her, several numbers flashing across her screen, their meaning only apparent to her.

The woman before him took another slow drink of what was left in her cup, pulling the cold glass back off her pierced lip and placed it against the table top under her arms. Her head turned so she now she could see him full on, her jaw sitting on her bare shoulder, the clothing she had summoned prior to the fight hung in shreds by her chest and waist.

She decided against a smile in favor of just inspecting him a bit more. But while her resting bitch face would have normal people running, this creature remains. Her new company has planted himself in a place where he could watch her every move as well as become a harder target of an attack. Not that she was allowed to attack him anyway, nor she has any desire. Yet.

“The Underverse?” She spoke before looking back in her drink’s direction, the bartender was there switching out her cups. She flashed him a genuine smile before letting it flop into nothing, as a gesture that the NPC was more important than this rando.

Ash took a long sip of the alcoholic beverage.

When she was done she took on a much friendlier appearance and smiled at him. She swung on the stool so she faced him, her upper weight pressed on the bar while her legs stretched enticingly in the clearing behind her. “Okay, Sure. I’ll spill. But what do I get in return?” She asked, revealing the crystal glass still in her hand as she swirled it in a stereotypical bad guy kind of way, her tail dancing behind her.

After all, a girl like herself had to make the most of what she had to offer. Especially when he seemed so strong-willed about getting the information.

[Amber Veritz]

The faunus took a seat in the congregation area where should could relax until her next round started. Initially, she wondered who she would get to break next. The satisfaction of winning her first round fight welled in her momentarily as she let out a soft sigh. She looked over to her partner, Broly, who sat across from her.

“Yo.” She called out plainly. “Good shit out there man.”

“You’re not too bad yourself for your size.” The giant of a man returned. He crossed his leg in front of him and sat back. “I expected you to be less than what you really were. You’ve got some power in those tiny arms of yours.”

The faunus giggled and flexed her toned biceps. She didn’t look as jacked as him, but he certainly couldn’t deny that she was otherworldly-strong.

“We didn’t really get a lot of time to talk before the fight began, so just for clarity sake - Nice to meet you. I’m Amber Patrica Veritz! Faunus, Huntress and Patron of Atlas of the Frozen Fields.” She explained after sitting up in her seat. “Who are you?”

“Broly, The Legendary Super Saiyan.” He replied.

“I’m glad I got a partner I can work with, Broly. I hope we make it far.” Amber said eagerly, already seeming pumped for the next fight. “We’re both pretty beaten up, though. Maybe we should have played it a little more defensively and reserved out strength. I was already forced to you my trump card.”

“Yeah, I heard that senzu beans would be available after fights to restore our wounds.” Broly said nonchalantly, not realizing that she wouldn’t know what a senzu bean even was.

“A bean? What?” The faunus asked confused. Her ear twitched along with her questions.

“They’re like beans that are capable of restoring a warriors condition to pristine. No fatigue, no wounds.” The Legendary Super Saiyan said, looking around to see if he could find a Syntech employee.

“Then what the hell are we waiting for, let go find them!” The faunus said jumping up to find one of the employees and zooming into the adjacent room.

[Broly]

Broly lounged back further in his seat and waved off his younger teammate. 

“No need.” The Sayian said with a laugh just as his wife materialized in front of him holding two cold cans of Pabst Omni-Ribbon. 

Handing her husband his beer Emilia reached into her pocket and removed two beans. Reaching over to Amber, the faunus cupped her hand and the blonde Saiyan dropped one into her outstretched grasp.

“Eat it. You’ll feel much better.” The blond woman said, knowing exactly what they were, as she hand fed her husband his before taking a seat next to him.

Crunching the bean down Broly immediately felt his wounds closing and his stamina being restored. Cracking the beer open he took a long swig of the cold liquid before leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

“She may have fought just fine," motioning to Amber, "but you fought like shit Glendale.” Emilia said with a smirk, taking a sip from her beer as Broly opened one eye to glare at her.

“I kicked your ass several times back on Vejita.” He rebutted.

His wife cackled at the remark, wrapping an arm around her muscular husband. Amber had taken a seat next to the married duo.

“He fights like shit now but lemme tell you. Back during the war he’d be taking on fifteen to twenty fighters at once with no problem. I once saw him use one of our busted-up tanks as a club.” Mrs. Glendale laughed while telling her story, taking sips of her Pabst Omni-Ribbon beer as she went along regaling the younger woman with stories of their youth.

Broly just cracked a smile and took another long drink. 

"My wife ladies and gentleman."

[Demetri Malius]

The half undead spawn seemed to vibrate with intensity as she watched her father on the large screens alongside the other spectators. Every moment she seemed to let out either a violent phrase.

"Kick his ass Dad!"

"Yeah fuck her up!"

"Shitty muscle dudes!"

"I hate this animal bitch!"

Many more filled the room as numerous others began to question whether or not anybody was watching the child. There was a lot of concern over her language, but it was clear nobody cared enough to do anything about it. If anything, so long as she didn't throw too hard of a tantrum the Syntech employees would be fine. That was until, the final callout.

"And there it is folks, Victor Wolfe taking down Amber Veritz with him with the Katana lodged in his chest."

"FUCKING SHIT THIS CRAP IS RIGGED."

Eyes opened wide as suddenly the girl everyone had kept an eye on became even more fierce. She leaped at the screen and attempted to scratch it, leaving a dent in the screen.

"Child, what are you doing, I'll have you know that Syntech requires that no damage be enacted upon our employees or property!"

"Fuck off! You guys rigged the fight! Fuck that Broly dude and Amber whoever! My dad should have won!" She bared sharp fangs and prepared to pounce at the employee, who quickly strung together the words that saved his life. 

"If Victor Wolfe is your father I can bring you to him, he is in the infirmary right now."

The feral girl paused for a moment. "Fine, but if you're lying I am gonna eat your face."

"By all means."

Without further complication, the employee led Valerie to the infirmary, passing through the rooms until coming upon the one that had her fathers name on the patient care tag. She immediately rushed in.

"Dad! It's okay! I know they rigged your fight, but you're gonna beat up the rest of the losers in the arena I bet!" 

She stopped as she saw her father's wounds, even with regeneration, they were fresh and the Prime was in a daze.

"Ugh... damn it." The assassin coughed out more blood, his regeneration soon finished closing up his wounds, but much of the damage was internal.

"Hey honey, is that you?"

"Wow, dad they fucked you up!" Valerie jumped onto her father and hugged him.

"OW, not so hard, honey, getting stabbed through the chest really does something to your hug resistance. At least I gave that one chick a taste of her own medicine..."

"I know Dad! IF you want I can go scratch her up some! I won't mind if they throw me out."

"I admire your willingness to sacrifice for me dear but I don't think it would make much of a difference. After we get out of here maybe you can help me send them to the depths of hell, but for now, we still have some work to do." He ruffled his daughter's brown hair, looking into those signature red eyes. "How about you go ahead and scout our next opponents and see if we can prepare to make them beg on their knees next round?"

"Okay, Dad! I'll do what I can!"

 Valerie quickly left the room and headed into the hall, scrounging around for whoever was left from the battles.

"Well, she's gonna be a handful." Victor chuckled and motioned at the Syntech employee taking care of him. "Don't mess up or you'll have her to deal with, maybe get me some pain meds, hmm?"

Victor is in the infirmary and his daughter is roaming the halls for anyone that wants to interact with her.

[PepsiWhirda]

Whirda's victorious grin faded as a familiar tug on her navel heralded her transport from the arena.  Through a whirlwind of color and sound she tumbled, before arriving on unsteady legs in the familiar corridors of the Syntech facility she now called home.

“One step closer,” came again the preternatural rasp of her shadeborn alter ego before its presence faded.  With its exit, so too fled the adrenaline that had sustained Whirda through the battle.  While not seriously injured, a profound fatigue seeped into her very core—a callous reminder that victory against any opposing Prime came at a steep cost.

She replayed the skirmish in her head.  Their opponents, in defiance of Whirda’s sharp instincts, had proved formidable indeed.  There was no doubt she and Yuuka had been their betters, but the battle had pushed even mighty Whirda to the precipice of defeat, forced to rely on her foul counterpart to complete the vicious business of their victory.  

Yuuka.  The reminder of her companion’s reckless tactics called a scowl to Whirda’s sharp features.  In many long minutes of relentless combat, the most stinging wounds Whirda had sustained had been at the hands of her own ally—not their foes.  And on top of that, she had been forced to expend monumental energy coming to Yuuka’s defense when the young magician had unleashed her most potent attack. 

As if in response to Whirda’s heightening anger, a flash of light delivered a charred and limping Yuuka to her side.  The woman seemed not to notice her at first.  One eye had swollen shut from the impact of her staff-wielding foe’s final assault.  Petals from the wildflowers still limning her battered form drifted to the floor at their feet, torn and smoldering.

The Youkai noticed Whirda then, a weary grin creasing the mass of bruises that had once been her delicate face.  “A fine fight,” she said, “you are—”

Whirda seized Yuuka by the collar with one hand and slammed her into the wall, blasting the breath from her lungs.  A cloud of sickly sweet aroma filled the air, dizzying Whirda, almost as if the very flora wreathing her green-haired companion had risen to Yuuka’s defense.  Whirda brought her face up close to the woman’s, the sheer intensity of her gaze sending a shiver of fear down the normally unflappable Yuuka’s spine.

“If you ever strike me again, in error or otherwise,” Whirda warned coldly, “it will be your final mistake.”

“It was necessary,” Yuuka protested, despite her better judgement.  “You were outnumbered, your reactions magically slowed.”

Whirda did not relent.  “I feared them not,” she spat.  “The only attack I fear is the one I cannot anticipate—the one that came from your weapon.”

Yuuka opened her mouth to reply, but before she could a swarm of people came around the corner and surrounded them, all talking at once.  Some of them held devices like the one Whirda had seen in the Syntech tent in Costa Del Sol, while others thrust unfamiliar weapons—short, mace-like things with meshed metal orbs at their tips—into Whirda’s face.  Instinctively, she flinched back and relinquished her hold on Yuuka, drawing her daggers in the face of what she perceived to be new foes.  If anything, her actions only intensified their rabid glee.  They crowded in closer, their voices blending together into a single unintelligible blur.

“They are microphones,” Yuuka said gently.  “To record your words.”  Whirda did not reply, but slipped her daggers back into their sheaths.

A woman’s voice emerged from the cacophony.  “Whirda Windstrom!  Becky Mills, Omniverse News Network.  Huge fan.  Do you mind if I ask you a couple questions about your big win?!”

Whirda fixed the woman with a stare so chilling it would have set a seasoned Prime back on their heels.  But Becky Mills was a journalist, not a Prime, and the stare only heightened her enthusiasm.

“That’s perfect,” she gushed.  “Try to look into the camera, so the viewers can enjoy that classic Whirda intensity.”

At a loss for words, Whirda glowered at the spectacle.  She turned and shouldered past Yuuka roughly, stalking down the corridor toward her quarters.  The green-haired Youkai watched her go with a troubled frown.  She wondered, and not for the first time, if her partnership with the brooding Prime was a blessing, or a curse.

[Bandit With No Name]

The woman awoke in the flash of light, immediately thrashing up from her back, her arms whipping around violently as several burly men moved in to restrain her.

With a sweep of her arm one of the thick, bald men slammed into a nearby wall, and a firm punch to the ear with her now free arm crumpled the other.

Her wild eyes darted about for a moment before she realized where she was and fell back into the hospital bed with a pained sigh.

Noticing she was holding something, she lifted her hand to see a still clenched fist in it, severed at the wrist. A black glove was wrapped around it, and she immediately recognized it as Makoto's. “Heh. Nice,” she said, sweat beginning to roll down her pale forehead.

She shifted slightly, then winced as the bedsheets caught something and twisted it about in her ribs. Reaching down she pulled free the foot long dagger from her side, instantly feeling a warm flow gush forth from within her. “Probably should have left that in,” she rasped.

“Probably not, you were technically dead for a few minutes already,” a doctor said flippantly as she speed-walked into the room, the sound of a chaotic ER roaring behind her before the door shut. “We're busy enough with the end of the first round, you shouldn't make it any harder for us.” She held a large pad up and tapped a few parts of the screen. “Looks like you've got about three minutes until your heart stops, so please place your toys in a tray and we'll get to work.”

She looked up to see the nameless woman already unconscious, her arms look at her side with a trophy in either hand, a dribble of spit hanging from the corner of her mouth.

---

Kerrigan lounged in a seat on the periphery of the nexus of the facility, idly observing the primes and spectators rush from room to room with an elbow planted on her crossed legs.

More than a few of the interviewers had come to see her, asking their inane questions, and she had gotten all that she wanted from them. Fans bustled and snickered from afar, but her commanding presence and even more commanding expression of disinterest had kept them at bay.

A blob of bright pink hair elbowed it's way through the roving masses, and an n irate voice shot, “Excuse you!” but the person who owned it didn't seem too invested in their complaint.

Caret sprinted up to the titanic woman and there her arms out to hug her, only to halt her advance in the knick of time. Balanlara followed after her, weaving through the crowd with the faintest of a smile on her lips.

“THAT WAS AMAZING!” Caret screeched. “You were like, ‘Hahaha, you weren't expecting THAT, were you?’ and then you were all BWUAAAAAM and threw all that stuff at the guy and then he was like, 'HIYAAAA,’ but YOU were like, ‘You think I didn't expect that?’ and then you had your crazy snake things be like, 'HSSST,’ and shoot him with a bunch of crazy needles?” Each one of her elaborate recountings was punctuated with a dramatic gesticulation and thematically appropriate face, her voice twisting into poor impressions of each speaker.

Kerrigan started at the bouncing mechanic and perked an eyebrow. “Indeed,” she replied with all the enthusiasm of a lounging cat.

“Anyways,” Caret sheepishly replied, now ashamed if her childish enthusiasm, “it was really cool.”

The Eldar stepped up to her side. “It was quite an engaging match,” she said with a silken tone that bounced through Kerrigan's mind in a way she couldn't help but recognize being similar to her own. “Such passion. Such pain. An excellent display.”

“It was a shame we had to watch it on a screen,” Caret lamented. “I figured if we came we'd at least be able to sit in the stands. They were empty anyways!”

“Indeed,” Balanlara concurred, “it would have been favorable to be closer to the action.”

Kerrigan seemed happy to allow the secondaries to speak but when they turned to her she offered a sly smile. “Unfortunate for them that they had to meet us so early in the competition. Those that make it to the finals will last least be spared the embarrassment of being ejected in the first round.”

“Damn straight,” the bandit boomed as she sauntered through the doorway, adjusting the black glove around her right hand, flexing her fingers in the new leather. “Poor dudes never had a chance.” She adjusted the new sheath on her hip and grinned devilishly at her partner. She plodded over to get friends, throwing an arm over either shoulder. “But serious, glad we put in a good show for the dudes back home.”

“I cannot believe you pulled that stunt,” Caret said incredulously.

The woman boomed out a laugh, “Hey, a ring out is a ring out. They never said dying was a disqualification.” She tilted her chin up towards Kerrigan, “How's that little dude doing, anyway?”

The Queen of Blades unfolded her legs and swung to her feet. “The zergling?”

“I guess?” She shrugged, “The smaller one that rode my fat ass to Valhalla.”

“Mm,” she hummed noncommittally. “It is fine, I suppose. It will be fully functional for our next fight.”

The nameless woman unslung herself from her companions. “Can I see it again? Give a treat or some shit for being so fucking awesome?”

The infested woman blinked and waved her hand dismissively. “I suppose.”

The metal flooring of the Syntech hallway shuddered and trembled for a moment before ripping open on a spray of sparks and wires. Long, blade tipped stalks emerged from below, followed by a snarling head as it gnashed and clawed through the infrastructure.

“Holy shit,” the woman guffawed, kneeling down beside it as it thrashed its way fully from the ground. “I love this little bastard! He's so goddamn cute!” She looked up to the Queen who had just summoned her vassal. “What's its name?”

Kerrigan chortled, “Name? Why would it need a name.” She rolled her clawed hand as she elucidated, “It's alive. it serves me. That's where everything important about it begins and ends."” She sighed, “Besides, it is just another tool of the Swarm. The Zerg do not have names.”

“Daw, bullshit!” the warrior shot back, teasing. She slowly extended a hand towards its head as she spoke, it snapping and hissing as she did so. “Every pet needs a name.”

“Is that why you've got one?” Caret snipped, but the bandit ignored her.

“It's not a… pet,” Kerrigan said with a slight edge. “It is a zergling.”

The meter tall monster lashed out and bit down on the marauder’s arm, a trickle of blood springing forth instantly. She jerked back, sliding it along the ground as it refused to let go, instead whipping its head around ruthlessly. “But look at it!” she said, wincing as she attempted to wrest control of her limb, eventually thumping it between is myriad eyes. “It’s so friendly!”

Kerrigan's eyebrow perked up. “If that’s what you think.”

“Here,” the nameless woman retrieved a small tin from her belt, opening it to reveal a well-used cake of white grease. She smeared it onto her fingers and hastily drew over the creature’s textured head. When she was finished, something akin to her own warpaint was left behind. “Now it knows it’s special. And I'll call it, uh...” she paused and looked to the rep behind her for guidance. Neither seemed much to say, and she ran her finger over her chin. “Zergling. Um.” She snapped her fingers, “Zig! Its name is Zig.”

She glanced between the collected group. “Get it? It's like short for Zergling. Right?” after a long, wordless pause she sheepishly grinned and threw her thumb towards the food court. “Drink?”

[Mickey Mouse]

Fresh air was nice.

Sure, the arena that hosted his climactic battle against Gilgamesh had been ‘outside,’ but something about the manufactured locale had seemed particularly artificial, and that included the air the fighters heaved throughout. Mickey appreciated the welcome change of air not marred by the throes of battle as he stepped out of the preshow facility and into the large, wide open park just outside the doors.

The sun dipped below the horizon, signaling the end of the first true day of Dante’s Abyss. Rumor had it throughout the facility that Karl Jak—ever the arbiter of spectacle—had something truly ‘fabulous’ planned out in the park for the conclusion of the first evening. As much as Mickey suspected it might have something to do with blood and gore, knowing that man, the mouse was content to give it a shot. He’d already been proven wrong about Gilgamesh’s lack of a heart—why not Karl, too?

The gilded king had his torments, no doubt. But Mickey Mouse would eat crow—somewhere, beneath an exterior that thrived on material riches and treated others like the actual dirt beneath his feet, he loved his people. Mickey could empathize with that.

When he’d finally reached the hill on the far side of the park, he conjured up a picnic blanket and laid back, letting the last few sun’s rays beat down on his face—and his newly regrown ear. What would be next? More fighting, for certain, but who would they face? Certainly there weren’t many people Mickey could come up against that were loaded with as much baggage as he and Gilgamesh.

Mickey’s eyes flickered open as the sun disappeared. He rolled on to his side, deciding, perhaps, to take a nap, when he spotted the blonde-haired King seated in the grass just a few feet away.

He sat up. “Hey,” he started, calmly.

“I’m not here to speak with you, rat,” Gilgamesh spat back without facing him. “I’m here to see what glorious show Karl Jak has prepared for his king.”

“Right,” Mickey nodded, “I gotcha, pal. No worries.”

Gilgamesh scowled. He hesitated before launching into his next small tirade. “I—“ he paused, “—I am not your pal. I never will be your pal. You’re a mongrel and a cur, and you always will be.”

Mickey frowned. A long silence hung in the air, until finally Gilgamesh broke it.

“You tried to kill me,” he noted, finally facing the mouse. “I thought better of you. I thought you had rules.”

Mickey turned away. “I thought I did too,” he said, sadly. “But... I guess something I’m learning is that some rules are made to be broken. Especially here. It’s not like how it was in my old home. I haven’t been adapting very well—I think because I always sorta figured it wouldn’t be a long stay—and I’ve gotta get better at it.”

“Hmph,” Gilgamesh scoffed, “Well—at least death would be better than banishment.”

“I’m really sorry about that, again,” Mickey replied. Gilgamesh waved a hand and made some noises that signified he didn’t want anymore apologies from the mouse, and Mickey couldn’t blame him. The damage had been done. That demon mark—it was burned into his skin, potentially forever. Kanda had spoken about saving the boy’s soul, but... how much was left to save? And how much had the Underverse and its undoubtedly evil denizens already eaten up? Besides, even if Gilgamesh’s soul was whole and intact, Mickey didn’t know what he could do to save it. It wasn’t within his realm.

He knew a true hero would try anyway.

Was he a true hero?

He reached into his pocket and dug out the banishment circle he’d intended for Karl Jak. Nearby, the gilded king visibly tensed at the sight of the thing.

But before Gilgamesh could even sputter out words of protest, Mickey had snapped the circle in half. He tossed the two halves down the hill and watched them roll until they were too small to see. The New Babylonian eased his body.

“There,” he muttered just loud enough for Gilgamesh to hear, “now it can never be used to inflict suffering upon anyone. Death over banishment.”

“Death over banishment,” Gil agreed.

Above their heads, the sky lit up with streaks of purple and blue. Meteors pulsed through the nighttime air, their luminescence showering the park with the most convincing imitation of natural light the mouse had ever seen.

Against the dark blue backdrop, the intermingling streams of cosmic dust betrayed what lay deep within the heart of the man who’d brought them all here. The purpose seemed primitive on the outside, but underneath, a universal truth about holding the powerful responsible for their power snaked into being. Once a year, Karl Jak gathered the strongest primes in the Omniverse together and forced them to confront their own mortality.

Less sinister, perhaps, than what Mickey’s original perspective was, and less pandering to the proletariat than the mysterious female Bandit’s postulation. But, the mouse would admit, perhaps a... necessary reminder.

Mickey gazed up at the dancing sky. “When you wish upon a star,” he hummed, “makes no difference who you are...”

“What are you doing, rodent?” Gilgamesh interrupted, glancing over at him.

“Hm? Oh, just a little folk song from my homeland,” the mouse explained. “Cute little tune.”

Gilgamesh scowled.

“Your king demands you sing the rest,” he ordered.

“Huh?” Mickey’s brow quirked, “You know I’m a king too, right?”

“Sing, mongrel.”

Gilgamesh did not deign to look at Mickey Mouse again. The expectation was clear, and for this moment... the mouse would concede. After all, he quite liked the song. He took a deep breath and began again.

“When you wish upon a star...”

[Shantotto]

A bright flash of light, the feeling of tumbling through space, both were feelings every good Black Mage experienced

Shantotto found herself beaten battered and bruised for the first time in her long life, the lesson was.... exhilarating, her arm painfully dangling, lifeless at her side, broken remains of her staff, little more than embellished wood. Still tightly gripped in her fingers

The mage’s head was cloudy following the thunderous kick delivered by the buffoon “Lord Zedd, nothing but bone in his head.” The mouselike mage walked dejectedly towards the spectating area, the pain in her body, little more than a reminder of her own failures.

In it, were several fighters who clearly been in fights already, some a green alien looking creature seemed high on the spoils of victory while others such as the seductive demoness seemed to be drowning their sorrows in liquor.

The witch from the library was there, bloodstained clothing gave little guess to the outcome of her match. And the furry creature that had approached seemed almost depressed to have won.

“What a twist. The chance of me losing did exist.” the mage said as she finally took notice of her partner standing behind her. Clad in dingy alabaster white clothing befitting a clown the mage had taken a liking to calling “It”

Before the pint size woman could open her mouth the clicking sounds of camera as members of the media took notice of the duo.

“What went wrong?”

“What is your plan to recover from this defeat?”

“Why do you rhyme nonstop?”

Shantotto normally would not pay attention to the media, and this time was no exception. At least until one question set the mage’s fury alite.

“How did someone like yourself expect to match the might of beings who have experienced this level of combat before?”

Rage was not an emotion the tarutaru was used to letting out, such a fiery emotion had landed her in trouble numerous times before.

“When it comes to magic, I am the very best, just you wait and see me surpass this little test.” The mage replied, venom lacing every word.

With that she moved to the bar to order a drink from the seemingly endless list of concoctions.

Picking a fruity drink with a strange name the mage was handed a tall glass, nearly half as tall as she was, layers upon layers of colored liquor filled the drink, small bits of fruit artistically arranged to give it a feminine flare.

Not far from her, the blue fleshed demon sat downing yet another drink, and even further away was an assassin looking woman who seemed to draw a crowd of followers. Taking a sip from the tall cylindrical glass the mage felt the warmth of strong alcohol filling her body with bliss.

The sudden appearance of the king seemed to liven up the atmosphere, as he made demands of a one eared mouse creature, commanding it to sing. It was whimsical to the already tipsy mage

[Marisa Kirisame]

As Marisa groaned she alleviated some of the pain in her gut by making her back go straight up as she walked over to find the strongest alchohol she could find; and fuck anyone who told her she would have to be at least sober for the fight. Her rage had simmered while she took the time to let the wounds heal themselves. Then, the paparazzi came into the bar and started to surround the duo that had entered recently.

She mentally thanked the Dragon god for not being bombarded with questions, before a person walked up to her with a pencil and a notepad. "Hello ma'am might I have a interview with you and your partner?" Marisa sighed before giving a half hearted agreement. The person smiled widely as they thanked the witch and her partner.

"Alright so first question, you took a nasty blow back in that last fight. How do you feel, and do you think you can win this next fight?" the reporter asked with a slight smirk.

Did she think she could win? Marisa took this question seriously as her win lose rate was almost perfect causing her to scowl. In the end she made her mind and spoke clearly. "Well, it's up to luck I suppose. Fate has always been fickle and it will continue to be."

The magician took another drink of the sweet liquor as the woman asked another question. "Alright so next question, I could feel some animosity between you and Ms. Kazami. Is there some unknown grudge fight between you two?"

Marisa laughed as she heard that question. "Well if you mean having fought her a good handful of times while back home then I guess you could say maybe. Thing is I stole one of her spells; and she has always seemed to have a sort of slight venom towards me." Marisa soon had her immortal smile, and as such no matter how hard she was brought down it always seemed to find a way to reach her lips.

The reporter started to write quickly as she put the "whole" truth down. Damn reporters and there need to make things exciting. "anything else you oversized piece of tabloid?" Marisa snarked at the reporter quietly before smirking as she didn't pay the insult any mind.

"Um not with you I don't." Marisa nodded before leaving Dongja to the wolves of news and went back to drinking. Seeing there "King" enter the bar they sighed before watching his actions with an interested look because of course she had no real want to be in this faction but of course they had to just rope her into this bombshell of a group, but she would just keep that little tidbit to herself and away from prying ears and minds.

[Albert Wesker]

Somehow or other...she had won. Well...they had won, really. Cerise and her partner. Even more unbelievably, the little snake was the last one standing.

As the fight ended, she just sank down to her knees, breathing heavily as the swirling shroud of darkness which had helped give her fighting extra punch slowly died down. One hand clutched at her chest, where a sharp pain had grown into an even more persistent throbbing ache. Like someone had stuck a knife made of hot coals under her skin. She only had a few short seconds to dwell on that unpleasantness, before there came a swirl of light. Her one good eye was left nearly blinded, squeezing mostly shut as the reptilian pupil contracted to a razor-thin line.

When she hesitantly opened her eye again, she was out of the arena. Back in the main facility. "It's over, then..." she whispered to herself. "The first round, at least." A heavy sigh escaped her, making her entire frame shake as the deep breath sent a fresh reminder of her condition, signed affectionately 'shattered ribs'. They'd won, without a doubt, but only just so. A narrow margin, and it had left them in this sorry state. Lifting her head, the faunus slowly gazed around until her sight settled on the form of her partner. It was hard to tell, given how ragged and disheveled he had already looked before the fight, but he really did look like warmed over hell after that. "If you're still awake...say something," she said softly.

The crash mage was looked to be in even worse shape than she was. In an entirely different league as far as power went, but he'd also been on the receiving end of an entirely different league of beating and violence thrown in his direction. He managed a cough, and a groggy groan as he shifted to get a metal arm under himself and try to get up. "S...something..." he managed, shaking his head as he raised it from the ground. She was far from a doctor, but enough experience at seeing people getting up after a thorough beating told her enough. His eyes weren't focused properly, as he blinked, head craning this way and that. "Did we...?"

"Y-Yes." Cerise had managed to regain her feet by now, though one hand remained clutching at her chest. "We won." She forced a smile, and nodded briefly.

The relief on the haggard looking man's face was immense and immediate, as he let out a heavy sigh. "Good...good." He shifted his posture, boots scraping on the ground as he heaved himself up onto unsteady legs. "For a minute there, I was worried we wouldn't make it."

"It was close," the young faunus admitted. "If you hadn't rushed in at the last minute there, it would have gone the opposite way for sure."

The crash mage just laughed at that, flesh and blood arm rubbing at the back of his head. "I'm sure you could have handled it!" His merriment was short lived, however. His injuries reminded him that they existed with a sharp knock, and he let out a pained wheeze as his posture sagged.

"Enough congratulating ourselves for now, though." Cerise put on a grim expression, collecting herself for what was likely to be her greatest challenge until the next match: walking. "We should go and get patched up, before the next match."

The ace mage just lightly tugged at the tattered remnants of his cloak and nodded in silent agreement.

In unison, the mismatched pair shuffled off...and barely got half a dozen paces before the inevitable happened. At an event like this, there was coverage. With coverage, came the most terrifying of all obstacles, even more fearsome and arduous than the current foe of simple movement: the media.

Their distraction trying to get words and impromptu interviews from the various primes as they returned from their fights (or at least the ones who were awake enough to offer sensible words, anyway) had them spread thin. But like termites, they seemed to just keep coming. Turning and spreading and finding ways to be everywhere. Including right in the way of the disgruntled and exhausted pair. With an energy that would have been exhausting even if they weren't already so beaten down, several of them closed in, questions firing off one after another. A veritable broadside of queries, camera flashes sounding and flashing instead of the deafening and blinding boom of gunpowder.

To their credit, with her unfortunately keen senses, they might as well have been cannonfire.

There was the expected mass of queries. "How did you do it?" "What did you think of your opponents?" "Thoughts on future matches?" "Why are you competing?"

Cerise just cast her gaze down, shaking her head. "No, no, I'm sorry...I don't want to talk right now..." she mumbled.

Gildarts, to his credit, just heaved a heavy sigh and pushed forward, shouldering his way through the crowd with as much care as someone of his strength could, leaving the young snake to trail along in his wake, quite grateful for the ease of egress from the unpleasant scene.

They weren't satisfied with that, however, and kept at it. "If we could just have a moment of your time—"

"I said I don't want to talk." Cerise's tone was much sharper now, and colder, as she looked slightly over her shoulder.

"We understand, of course, and we won't take but a few seconds, please—"

Cerise stopped, and turned to look back over her shoulder fully, visible eye wide and staring. A low hiss bubbled in her throat, and dim light flickered in the eye sockets of the skull ornament in her hair. "I don't." Her voice had gone hard as steel. "Want." Cold as steel, too, with a razor edge to match. "To talk." The hiss rose to prominence, with bared fangs at her final words.

The tension hung in the air for a split-second, leaving the few gathered there speechless. A short reprieve, but enough for the small snake to give a light cough and hurry to catch up with Gildarts, hiding her face again by looking down.

They escaped and slipped off without further incident, leaving behind a renewed, rabid surge of voices as everyone gathered there gave their own input on what had just happened.

"Don't let it get to you," the fairy tail mage said softly, turning to look down at her. A metal arm alighted gently on her shoulder, and he gave what was clearly meant to be a reassuring smile. "Wouldn't want to get in trouble for wrecking the place."

Cerise just smiled sheepishly. "I know...people like that just get a little under my skin." She chuckled weakly. "Besides...they're not employed by Syntech. I checked their badges. Wouldn't have been any trouble if they had kept persisting."

That drew a grim smile and a shake of the head from Gildarts. "That's...uncannily sharp, to make an observation like that in such a short time."

"I wanted to make sure all I had to worry about was property damage." The girl tilted her head slightly, smiling sweetly. "You know. Just in case."