Day One - Part 2

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
#04 Retane & #06 Jack Frost vs #24 Pepsiman

The pair walked in silence from the scene of their former victory. They made for greener pastures, with the hope of finding some other poor chump terrorize. Their journey took them closer to the edge of the island, where they were just by the ocean.

And that was why, when Retane and Jack Frost made their way down to the shore and saw the strange man in blue/gray spandex, they shared a faint grin. They recognized the figure from the preshow—he was the figure they saw on all the vending machines and in the various low-quality advertisements that bombarded the public access terminals in the Syntex facility.

As they stared down at him, the man in the suit turned, tilted his head, and waved one of his muscled hands at them. “Salutations! Do the two of you require hydration today?”

“Something like that,” Retane muttered as he stepped forward and rammed the bladed end of the glaive into the man’s gut. Pepsiman let out a gasp as the blade was torn out of his body, and with it, a steady stream of blood. “That’s a shame,” the namekian muttered as he reached out and grabbed the binoculars hanging around the man’s neck. “I expected your blood to be carbonated or something,” with a grunt, he tore away the fancy-looking device from Pepsiman, who stumbled backward toward the water’s edge.

“I… I only wanted to keep you hydrated…” He muttered weakly.

“Save it for someone who cares,” Retane sneered as he moved in for the kill. Before he could slash open the man’s throat, Pepsiman threw out his hands, and the ocean behind him suddenly surged forward. As the water passed over the spandex-clad hero, it turned brown and started to fizz with delicious, hydrating carbonation.

Retane and Jack Frost could only exchange frustrated looks before they were swallowed up in the wave of water-turned-Pepsi and bashed against the shore. When the sugary, caramel-colored flood faded, their intended prey was gone. “Good enough for now,” Retane said as he glanced down at the binoculars. “We’ll hunt him down later.”

[spoiler]Pepsiman used Pepsi Flood!1 (-1 SP)
Pepsiman has a stab wound through his abdomen and stomach – Mortal Wound – Pepsiman will die in 48 OOC hours if he does not receive treatment.
Retane has the Binoculars[/spoiler]

[Samus Aran]

Samus awoke after a fuzzy couple of hours of not quite sleep, tucked into her far more protective Varia suit. She found that she was absolutely starving.

The others were discussing something. “I don’t know if you’ve seen her, but she needs medical attention,” Harry was saying. “If that wound gets infected, she won’t last the week.”

“We’re all worse for wear,” came the almost comically high voice of Mickey Mouse, “… But the last time we went for one of these items, we were lucky to get out alive. We might not get so lucky this time.”

“Hmm …” Erza stroked her chin. “We can’t be the only ones with injuries.”

Samus cracked her back and the others turned to see her stretching up. “I’m fine,” she grumbled. “Tsss …” She suddenly doubled over from her stretch, holding her bare torso. Before anyone could ask her how she was, she interrupted: “What are you all talking about?”

“You missed the announcement,” explained Harry. “They’re going to drop a package at the Lighthouse. Food and medicine.”

Samus’s eyes widened, then her shoulders slumped. “Great. So there’s going to be a battle … over medical supplies.” Though her scowl was only faintly visible through her visor, the bitterness in her voice could not be hidden.

Nobody had anything to say to that. Samus drew her sword and rested it across one knee as she sat back down, cross-legged. Mickey scooted across to her.

“You seem very attached to that sword,” he observed.

Samus grunted. As she turned the blade, it glinted in the orange light of the dying sun. After what seemed like a few moments, she spoke up. “Something about it calls to me. There’s something special about the blade.”

“Is it magic?”

Samus chuckled, then realised that the ridiculousness of what Mickey was saying was probably reversed where he came from. Of the entire group she seemed the only one who came from a magic-less background. “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. She felt too embarrassed to share what she felt about the sword. The mouse’s sincerity was disarming, but she felt no such ease around strangers. Even outside of backstab-laden survival arenas.

But she looked at the mouse, and then did something that she couldn’t even explain. She took the sword’s hilt and pressed it into his hands. She said nothing but saw the expression on his face. “Do you see what I mean?” she asked.

Mickey was quiet for a few moments. Then he rose up, lifted the sword as she had once done. “I think so,” he said. Then he swung the blade lightly, cutting through the air with almost zero resistance. He raised it up and stared into the metal. Samus saw that he understood and smiled.

“Keep it,” she said.

Mickey blinked. “But this is your weapon. I can’t take it.”

Samus shook her head. “I think you’ll put to better use than me.” She looked across to her left shoulder. “I can barely move this shoulder right now. Let alone swing a sword.”

“But …”

Erza cleared her throat loudly. “You’re a marksman, right?”

Samus looked up. “Yeah.”

“Can you use this?”

Erza was holding out a gigantic yellow striped gun that it can only be described as a ‘cannon’. In fact, it was easily double the size of Samus’s own arm cannon. Samus reached across to it.

“Where’d you get this?”

“It was my starting weapon. We only got the hammer from that air drop earlier,” Erza explained. “Are you gonna make me hold this all day? It’s a lot heavier than it looks.”

Samus gingerly took it between her left hand and arm cannon, cradling it as though it were a baby. “What does it fire?”

“Some type of shrapnel. Bit random for my taste. Seems to have a secondary function as well but I haven’t tried it yet.”

Samus didn’t believe in karma. But she did believe in superheated shrapnel fired from an oversized barrel at close range. So she picked up the flak cannon and affixed it to the barrel of her arm cannon. It clicked into place, and a progress bar popped up on the corner of her visor as it integrated with the weapon functions of her suit. Its weight was reassuring. In the hands of most others, such as gigantic weapon would be unwieldy, even impractical, but the oversized shoulder pads of the Varia suit supported it perfectly. Samus breathed a wordless prayer as it finished integrating and she was able to view the full weapon specifications. It had a mortar launcher.

She looked at Erza and bowed her head. “Let’s go get that medkit,” she said, somewhere between a growl and a purr.

[Doomguy]

There's not a lot you can say about rations that hasn't been said a thousand times before. Well, you could say they're good, that would be unique. it would also be a damn lie. It was only through an experience of eight years, give or take a few months worth of leave and "special occasions", that I managed to taken in the bland lumpy slurry with little in the way of either grossed reflexes or unhappy comments. One bland meal is the same as every other one. The only real solace I could garner in that moment was that, at that very moment, some if not most of the primes had the same meal as I did and those that learned their first taste of an MRE, particularly those prim and proper ones who lived a life of luxery, now suffered how I once did. Yes, its wrong to enjoy the suffering of others, but it was the only thing that put a smile on my face as I ate that chili breakfast. Meals Rarely Edible make sadist out of anyone. I packed up what I didn't use for future use and went back to over-watch.

The long stretch of time that I waited for either a new moon to rise or one of the victory-sighted primes to cross my line of sight eroded my will to keep my eyes open. I drooped occasionally into sleep, my armed tightly holding onto my weapon, only to be jolted back by honed reflexes by either the subtle crackle of disturbed grass or the wind through leaves. Or the blared announcements of that shit-eating Karl Jak, who more and more I imagined that I would place mt hands around his neck and strangle the life out of him with each of his calls, the heartless jackal lauded each death and additional hazard. In this method I manged to get about a three hours of rest in the twelve hour span that I held my ground against the loomed yet never arrived threat. Once the contestants had been thinned, then I could get some sleep. Sets of twenty winks was bad enough.

The last attempt at rest was not ended by something inconspicuous or Jak's blatant ego masturbation, but tiny droplets hitting the few spots of exposed flesh on me. Rain. While the brief moments of pitter-patter on my skin felt good to this southern born soldier, it quickly turned from spring showers to the sheets most know and hate. the kind people like to see from the inside of a building, less when you're stuck in it. the tree I was under offered little protection, and clouds seemed to have spawned under the domes that the audience watched from. The only rain I've had to deal with in the USSMC was the acid rain of Venus, deadly as it was dense; but still thought of those who have not had to fight in the rain, unable to see farther than a few yards while you watched for the enemy. How many of the primes had been in these conditions, or had even killed before. I felt sorry for them, as they had to sacrifice their innocence for whatever goal that compelled them to join this hellhole. I would have tried to had to keep them safe from these horrors, and now I had perpetuated it.

But it was for the mission. This short suffering would be compensated. That's what I told myself.

As I kept myself seated under the torrent of rain, Karl was on the mic again. I gave the sky above me the middle finger as he shouted out where the head popping areas were next, but I stopped when I heard what he said next. Hurricane. Winds that could rip trees from the ground, rain as thing as fog, and the shores swallowing up the land in heaves and waves until there was nothing left. On a smile island like this, the only safe spot would be the high ground, and if I sat there I would be up to my chest in shark infested rapids. My hand was forced, and I couldn't help but frown that I was giving up my tactical advantage. No matter, I had a plan, and I would stick to it. the march would be long and perilous, but I was ready. That's what I told myself.

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
#26 Doomguy vs #01 Android 18

With the news that a hurricane was about to hit the island, the marine made his way to somewhere safe to wait out the storm. Thus far, his story had been one of him versus the island, and he was confident that he was winning.

All of his common sense told him that buildings would be killing zones. There were too many primes left on the island, and not enough structures to safely house all of them. Hoping to continue his trend of avoiding senseless confrontation in the opening day, the marine headed south, leaving behind the rains that seemed to plague only the northern half of the island. How real was this island? How long had Karl Jak spent obsessing over all the stupid little details of this place?

As those thoughts swirled in his head, the marine scrambled his way up as the plains gave way to increasing sloping hills. Eventually he could himself pulling himself up small cliffs as the hills turned into small mountains, with the granddaddy of them all still looming in the distance before him.

Pulling himself up onto a relatively large ledge, the marine turned and glanced back at the distance he had covered. Although he had some elevation, he couldn’t spot his former location and wondered how far he’d gone in such a short time. Before he could settle on a location, a crossbow bolt smacked into the back of the faintly glowing armor that the marine wore.

“Heh,” Doomguy muttered as he turned around to see a beautiful blonde woman with cold, dead eyes and a crossbow. “Not what I expected,” the marine added as set his bag on the ground. “Nice firepower, but I’ve got better.”

Doomguy’s collar flashed as he willed his plasma gun into his hands and opened fire on the woman.

Clenching her teeth, Android 18 rushed her opponent. She found the trigger as the plasma rounds slammed into her chest, hip, and thigh, killing her momentum and causing her to hit the ground in an awkward mass. To add insult to injury, her crossbow bolt once again struck the marine’s unique armor without the slightest indication that he had felt a thing.

“Sting?” Doomguy asked as he lined up his neck shot.

“Not as much as this,” Eighteen muttered as a white aura shot up around her. Doomguy pulled the trigger, but the woman slipped out of the stream of plasma bursts and kicked his knee out from under him. The marine hit hard on the floor, and by the time he had spun to gun her down, she had already leapt off the cliff.

Doomguy scowled as the rifle in his hands blinked out of existence.

[spoiler]Android 18 used Tier 1 Transformation ‘Android Upgrade’ (-1 SP)
Doomguy used Tier 1 Super Move Plasma Rifle (-2 SP)
Android 18 has a string of very nasty plasma wounds across her side and upper leg – all counts as a Major Injury (+8 Damage)[/spoiler]

[Ganondorf]

Ganondorf’s search through the forest was an unpleasant ordeal, to say the least. As he walked, the sun had moved overhead, beating the Gerudo with tropical beams of heat. His armor, furred and heavy, only exasperated the situation. Sweat poured down his body, every cut and bruise he had received since arriving on their accursed island reminding the Dark King that they were still there with a fiery persistence. He tried to find a suitable analogy for his anguish and the only thing that came to mind was the day, back in his youth, he had stumbled into a Death Ant hill. Worse than all that, however, was the wound in his shoulder. Every movement of Ganon’s arm sent jolts of pain through his nervous system, and it was only through sheer force of will that he wasn’t doubled over in pain, let alone keeping the pain from showing on his face or bringing tears to his eyes.

And as if his constant state of agony wasn’t enough, the Gerudo King was having trouble finding edible flora in the area as well. Once again, he found himself cursing Omni for bringing him here, cursing Karl Jak for enticing him, and cursing this island for his long run of bad luck. It seemed as though for every windfall that came his way, he was blindsided by yet another setback. With every success, some new failure reared its ugly head. It infuriated the Dark Lord, a feeling only made stronger by the heat and pain.

Then, as though to prove the Great Demon King wrong, he suddenly saw a familiar plant. It was nothing particularly filling, just a simply stand of basil, yet the sight threw a little light on Ganondorf’s world. The large man moved to gather up some of the herb, but before he could take hold of them, a scream in the distant drew his attention.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seated upon the river bank, Link absent-mindedly tossed the fishing line into the water, a fresh worm pierced upon the hook. As the invertebrate plopped into the water with a faint splash, the Hylian youth thought back to all the time he’d spent at the Lake Hylia fishing pond. Times when he could forget about the devastation that Ganondorf had wrought upon the land and enjoy the simple pleasure of a fishing pole and a quiet day. The same man who had made such an escape necessary for him was also his closest ally on this island. Every time Link thought about it, it boggled his mind that in any eventuality that such a thing might occur. The Demon King was pure evil, and yet here Link was, a Hero supposedly, joining forces with the same man he had locked away all that time ago.

While this makeshift fishing line was unlike the rod he had used before, the Hero of Time found that it wasn’t hard to get used to. In fact, it seemed he was as good at this as he was in Hyrule. In short time, a few fish lay beside him on the bank, and the Hylian was just preparing to look for Ganondorf when a roar suddenly issued from the tree line. His blue eyes darted back and forth, looking for the source, his hand moving by instinct for a sword that wasn’t there. Could it be that Ganondorf had merely lured him into a sense of complacency just to ambush him? It would be just like the Demon to play Link for a fool like that. Yet, it was not the great Beast Ganon, which rushed from the woods towards him. Brown, large, and furred all over, the bear that charged him was smaller… though no less deadly.

Watching the behemoth move ever closer, Link’s eyes shifted to his bomb-launcher, which lay not far off. He dove for it, hoping to reach his sole means of protection before the beast was upon him. But it was too late. The creature slammed into the Hero of Time and he screamed out in pain as he suddenly became a ragdoll in its grip.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With a swiftness belying his great size, Ganondorf sprinted towards the sound of the scream. He knew to whom that shout had belonged to. And for a moment, he had considered leaving the boy to his fate. Yet even before he had finished considering it, the Gerudo had been moving through the forest. Perhaps it was because the boy was his sole ally on this island. Or perhaps it was because Ganondorf had given his word to the boy. It may even have been because Link had saved his life many times already in the Abyss. But, if the Dark Lord was being honest with himself, he knew that deep down it was because he was beginning to grow fond of his longtime enemy.

The Demon King burst through the foliage bordering the river shore, and he saw just why Link had screamed. A massive bear was manhandling the lithe Hylian like a cat playing with a mouse. Without thought, the Gerudo rushed the beast, driving his shoulder hard into its side and freeing Link from its grasp. He didn’t know what had provoked the animal into an attack, but he could not allow it to harm the boy, not when he relied on him and his weapon so greatly.

Nearly as soon as it fell, the bear was back on its paws and returning to bring the attack to Ganondorf. The Gerudo braced himself and managed to just barely catch the creature in his arms as it forced the wind from his lungs with a bone-creaking body slam. Biting viciously against the Dark King, and bringing its claws into the fray, Ganondorf found himself being driven back before its feral might. New cuts and bruises were added onto the ones he already had, and blood streaked his armor, both from the cut gums of the bear as he gnashed down on him, and from the wounds he was receiving. Still, if only he could hold out a few seconds longer… YES! Ganondorf chuckled, a deep hearty sound from deep within his lungs and, using a last ditch burst of strength, freed himself from the beast with a crafty slip to the side. And before it could reengage the Gerudo, a whoosh passed right by his ear and straight for it.

The explosion threw Ganondorf back, and brought its own slew of pain and injuries. Yet, when the debris cleared and the Gerudo could see once again, his lips turned in a satisfied grin as he saw what damage Link’s weapon had done. The beast lay on its side, its body a mass of blood and burns and its neck twisted in an unnatural position. It groaned pitifully, somehow still clinging to life despite its wounds, and Ganondorf moved closer to the beast. Link, once more slinging his bomb-thrower, moved beside him and asked querulously, “What are you doing?”

In a gruff voice, no doubt made harder from his own pain, Ganondorf replied, “Putting an end to the beast.”

Link seemed taken aback at the callous words. “Why not just leave it be? Yo-WE don’t need to kill it!”

With a sigh, the Gerudo turned to his companion and explained, “What? Leave it be to suffer through a slow, agonizing death? We don’t need to kill it? No. You have it wrong, boy. He HAVE to kill it. It’s the merciful thing to do. Sometimes the most heroic thing one can do is to grant someone in suffering a quick death.”

Firani drifted through his mind as he spoke these words, a constant reminder of the truth of his words, and the pain of that truth. Link fell silent, staying in place as Ganondorf finished his movement and placed a golden-gauntleted hand upon the beast’s throat. He leaned in close, unafraid now that the bear had been subdued and whispered something softly to it before his hand closed down on its trachea, the sharp points of the gauntlet tearing through the flesh like tissue. It was over in second, and Ganondorf calmly wiped his hand clean on the corpse’s remaining fur and turned to find Link staring at him.

“Did I not say,” Ganondorf said with a meaningful look, “That you needed me for these hard choices?”

[Darth Vader]

(Shortly after the encounter with Neal...)

For the first time yet in this contest, Jon had killed a man, and the very thought of it still loomed at the back of his mind now as he trudged through the dense, damp forest, his own concuss now biting at him in a certain light.

Jon hadn't got a good glimpse of the man before he'd shot him down - he wasn't really able to, in fact. The hat he wore as well as the long coat masked his features incredulously, and he'd had his back turned to him during most of the fight. Jon could tell he was young, though. Not too young, but about his age, the bastard predicted. He'd pleaded with Gilgamesh to leave the lad be and try and slip past him unnoticed, but the King of the Sands wouldn't stop to hear it; he was charging right for him with a limping Blackfire in tow before Snow even had a chance to finish. With no other choice, the bastard set himself up on a curved slope of a hill, and procrastinated right up until the time was right to take fire.

One arrow pierced through the boys lunged, then his head, and in an instant it was all over.

Jon sighed. How many more people would he have to kill? When would it all end. He felt a longing to survive and keep going, as well as protect his friends and those he felt as though he could trust, but how could he do that without killing and getting his hands bloodied? Snow could find no moral line or compromise for himself, and it left him stuck very much in the middle of things.

Jon kept his bow slugged under his arm as he walked. King Gilgamesh had ordered him forward on his own to scout ahead a little bit, to make sure the path was completely clear of threats and other contenders. He kept walking, navigating through the maze of long trees and green bushes, until he paused, a rotten stench hitting his senses.

The smell of... death?

Jon moved up some more until he reached a clearing; a parting in the woods form. He began to draw an arrow from the quiver at his back as he stepped out from the foliage, eyes narrowing as he caught quite the gruesome scene splayed before his eyes.

A wild stag layed limp and dead on it's side, it's tongue rolling out from it's maw. An adolescent-looking wolf pup was making a feast out of it's withering remains, having worked it's teeth quite the way through the stags belly, and into it's flesh. Jon took some steps closer toward the animal, a look of disgust present on his features, and as he did the pup's ears twitched, and it spun around to gnawed, canine teeth, blood and bits present around it's mouth where it'd been eating away at the dead stag.

It growled lowly. Though not as huge or lumbering as Ghost or any other direwolf, the pup was still moderately sized enough to be a danger - large enough to pounce him and perhaps do some injury. It's growling on heightened as it skulked closer and closer toward Jon, it's paws dipping and head bobbing slightly as it prowled for it's newly found prey.

Jon took some steps backward, slowly raising his arm as he knocked the arrow he was holding into the bows quiver. Pulling back onto the strings, Jon brought the bow up to about his shoulder level, keeping the bows visor tilted slightly to the ground as he loosely let fire.

Chinkkt!

The arrowhead stabbed into the muddy ground near the wolf, and the pup whimpered and reared with fear and surprise, turning around it dashed away from the shooter. Jon lowered the bow back to be under his arm as he watched the wolf flee from sight and vision, stepping forward where the stag carcass was splayed.

He reached down to pick the arrow from the ground, first, planting it back into his quiver for later re-use. Jon doubted he'd need it again, and he'd always have some fresh arrows to fire whenever he needed it. Caution never hurt, though, and he didn't WANT that to be his ultimate downfall. As he stood back up, he took once glance at the carcass. A gaping hole sat where the wolf pup he chewed through him, even making it through the bone structure and the ribcage. Gross..

Jon shot one look around the area to make sure everything was clear, and with a nod, he turned back on his heel, moving off to where he'd left Gilgamesh and Blackfire. He didn't want to be away from them for too long; he was much vulnerable without allies, here, and it was easy for anyone to get the drop on him when he least expected it.

That, and that fucking stench was starting to become a bit unbearable.

[Mickey Mouse]

Mickey’s fingers tightened around the Master Sword as the foursome began their trek through the forest. Something about the blade felt altogether familiar to him, though he could not quite place his finger on what it was. A weird type of energy surged through him, and he felt altogether reunited with the magic that the collar had stripped of him. Deep down, he knew that he still probably couldn’t summon the powers of Light in this gruesome arena, but he felt reinvigorated by the Light within this sword. And with the blue-hilted sword in his right hand and the energy-firing glove strapped on to his left, he knew that he would be able to defend his new friends from whatever stumbled upon them.

He struggled to believe that night was already falling again. It seemed like such a short time ago, he and Erza had been making their picnic, watching the sunrise. A lot had happened since the black-haired man had thrown that weird bomb thing between them, breaking up their little party. Things had gotten… significantly more intense, to say the least. Now, as the mouse looked around their motley crew, he saw a pretty burned-up Erza and a bounty hunter that still clutched her side where she had been mauled.

Samus seemed to be in a little bit better spirits, though, since affixing the Flak Cannon to her armor. Mickey knew that it had to be a relief, once again holding a weapon she felt comfortable using. Though it wouldn’t have surprised him if this was some futuristic-looking swordswoman—heck, at this point, barely anything in the Omniverse surprised him—she didn’t really look the type to go around all medieval. Mickey, on the other hand, much preferred the sword to having to worry about aiming. Sure, he shot spells from time to time, but most of his skill was in his swordplay. After all, he hadn’t trained in the Country of the Musketeers for nothing.

Their train weaved through the woods, Harry and Erza up front, Samus in the middle, and Mickey holding up the rear. The mouse quickened his pace just a bit, trying to get even with the armored bounty hunter. “Samus!” he called out, catching up to her, “Samus, I just wanted to say—”

“Don’t,” the bounty hunter shook her head, glancing down at the two-foot tall mouse, “If you can use it better than me to defend the group, that’ll be thanks enough.” She turned her gaze back toward where they were going, and Mickey smiled meekly. For a couple of moments, the pair walked in virtual silence. The forest grew darker and darker above their heads as the sun continued its descent. Soon, it would be tough to make their way easily, but they knew they couldn’t stop moving. Not with that storm on its way. They had to find better shelter.

Mickey turned and looked behind the group, making sure they weren’t being snuck up on, and then let his gaze fall back on the bounty hunter. “But actually, thank you,” he insisted, letting his eyes fall to the ground.

Samus laughed a bit.

Mickey grunted. “I’m not funny,” he scowled, looking away from the woman. She shook her head, still chuckling.

“A little,” she stated simply. “Where did Omni find a walking, talking mouse swordsman, I wonder?” Mickey’s eyes went just a little bit wider at the mention of the man—was he a man?—that had abducted him from his homeland. He supposed that he should have realized that Samus, Erza, and Harry had all been abducted too—after all, that’s what it meant to be a “Prime,” apparently—but the thought hadn’t registered until right now.

“From a very nice land,” Mickey reminisced, thoughts of his realm springing to his head, “that I miss very much.” All of a sudden, even the Master Sword couldn’t keep him from feeling just a little bit sad.

“We all miss our homes, Mick,” Samus replied, and though he couldn’t see the woman’s face through her visor, her tone made him imagine that she wore a frown to match his. Mickey wondered, idly, how long the bounty hunter had been here; just a few days, like himself, or even longer? Did the pain stay this present?

After a few beats of silence, Mickey asked the question he had been too afraid to ask, though he had wanted to ask someone—anyone—for days. “Do you think we’ll ever make it back?”

Samus stopped in her tracks, averting her gaze from the mouse and looking down at the ground. For a few moments, she didn’t answer, but she knew that the mouse needed her to say something. “I don’t know, Mick,” she shrugged, “but I’m starting to think it’s less and less likely.”

Up ahead, Harry and Erza had stopped, too. “Hey, no time for stalling,” Harry called out to the now very-depressed pair a couple of yards behind them, “We gotta keep going.”

The mouse and the bounty hunter hurried up as much as they could, closing the gap between the two of them and the two in front. Once again, Mickey let his grip on the Master Sword get even tighter. He felt like its power was rushing through him, invigorating him. All of a sudden, his collar beeped ever so slightly. He reached up with his armored hand and touched it, his eyes flitting around to make sure no one else had noticed the noise.

They seemed none the wiser. Mickey did not know what had just happened, but he had a feeling he was about to find out.

[Jak Mar]

After leaving one area for hopefully another area that was safe, Jak had figured out a way to carry his weapon and supplies with one arm. He kept walking, avoiding the pain of his left arm and winced. He had to make sure his allies were ok and that they found a place to stay away from the giant hurricane that Karl said was coming. Part of his clothing was ripped from making a makeshift bandage and he looked over at Delsin and Dr. Mcninja and thier new ally. "Guys... will you be alright...?"

He was surprised he still actually cared for anyone considering he had killed for mercy, not to kill just to kill. He had to live with what he did. He'd deal with the whole "horrifying experience" later.

As Jak and his allies made it to the building, Jak took the time to bend down, wincing. He took his good arm and took some more bites of the protein items from his MRE. Hunting had helped over time at least.

Jak noticed Delsin and looked over himself and eyed Dr. Mcninja... If you are a doctor, perhaps you can try to help us?"

[Jak Mar]

Jak looked over at the Doctor and pulled himself up with one arm, it took longer but he got up. "Look, I'm in... no position to be questioning you guys... But I swear if we stick together... there's more of a chance we can pull this out.. .

The man tried to force some encouragement out of his mouth to get the team to get their heads together. There was a loud noise, did you guys hear that? "

Jak had more on his shoulders than he thought and the MRE had at least contained a bit of a strong coffee, which he'd never tried before, but it served its purpose.

[Dr. McNinja]

After he heard Karl’s announcement, Dr. McNinja sighed and sat down for a bit. He took out the map and realized he hadn’t eaten anything all day. He took out one of the MRE’s, and scowled.

“Omelette du fromage,” Dr. McNinja muttered, “Very funny.”

Dr. McNinja fans, read “A McNinja in the Omniverse!”

He tore it open and set up his dinner (breakfast?). Having poured the water into the packet, he opened his map while waiting for the meal to “cook”. Crossing off the new danger zones, he scratched his chin over his mask. A thought came to him.

“If this is anything like the Hunger Games, Karl wants us to kill each other. He said he was happy to see us get dirty. So…”

Doc traced the squares with his fingers, and nodded firmly.

“Well, that’s quite obvious. He’s trying to trap us in. With the hurricanes and… Oh!”

Dr. McNinja grabbed his map and spread it on the ground in front of his allies.

“Alright, strategy time. Aero, I’d appreciate your experienced comments. Jak, Delsin, your input would also be great. Let’s be honest. I don’t know about Aero, (oh yeah, Aero, you should show us your weapon) but way I see it, between the three of us, we don’t have too many in-combat weapons. We have my claws, and Jak has explosives. But, but! We have one thing up our sleeve.”

Doc pointed at Delsin, who nodded. "The mines."

"Exactly. In the meantime, we should stay defensive and tend to our wounds. I'm sure you guys have noticed, but Delsin, your head hurts because... well, to be brutally honest, your skull is fractured. And Jak, you've clearly noticed your arm is broken. Trust me. I'm a doctor."

McNinja stood up and thought about the medkit. Given that it was probably a first-aid kit or something, it was probably not going to help much. On the other hand, this was not only the Omniverse, but Dante's Abyss. Karl Jak probably put in goodies in there that could cure cancer.

On the other hand, others would have realized this, too. He knew Samus Aran was still in the battlefield, and, well, if she was anything like she is in the games, they would be screwed. Link and Ganondorf seemed to be working together, which was definitely a plot twist-

BOOM

Jak muttered, "There was a loud noise. Did you guys hear that?"

"A deaf man could've heard that. Something's going down. I wonder if anyone died. Or... Maybe..."

Gears turned in McNinja's head. He wasn't very badly injured. Aero seemed, well, fine, and he was experienced. He'd done this before. Jak and Delsin, he could only assume, were still able to fight, though he didn't know how good their hand-to-hand combat was. They hadn't gotten any loot from their battles, which were mostly fruitless, but maybe...

Maybe playing it safe wasn't necessarily the best option?

Mjolnir was a nice trick. As was the medkit. Each of these little "packages" were just big battles for the audience to watch. But they sorely needed that damn medkit.

What to do?

[Gildarts]

Finally, he heard it. The immediate prance in Karl's beckoning voice, whose delighted tone mixed halfway between a soothing melody and a soft snicker. It sounded like the game master was having fun, and had Gildarts been given the opportunity to see Karl's face during the announcement, he was sure there would only be layers upon layers of the same.

Half of the announcement didn't make sense. There were too many numbers, letters, and names, and the out-of-the-loop Prime couldn't find the significance in any of them. The "fallen" was the only sliver of news that transcended past his current situation and a curve marked the corners of his thin lips. He hadn't heard her name. Even in this inferno of murder, with the delivery of death, there was good news.

Danger-zone? The severity of the threat transcended from the sputtering speaker, his ears had filled with rain and by now he felt his joints rusting. What's that?

The crackle of thunder erupted overhead and the only answer he received came from the gentle pattering of water that poured in great streams to the ground. The taste of dewfall hung in the air and Gildarts soon found that he was no longer thirsty.

Lastly, Hurricane Karl was announced to bombard the gulf, but the soaked Gildarts thought the meteorologist was a little late on the weather forecast.

"Couldn't have mentioned it sooner?" His own voice responded as yet another wet splash of mud greased between his soggy toes. It had been sunny when Gildarts was on the beach and didn't need shoes, yet now that he had set out on his lengthy trek, there was an oncoming hurricane aimed at him. The experienced mage wasn't one to complain, but it certainly seemed like the bloodthirsty spiders were less of a problem than this.

One bare foot squashed into the rain-soaked ground and the unrelenting lone wolf lead on, surpassing every obstacle Karl could throw at him. But first, he would have to step out of this slop Karl called a storm.

An incessant gurgling followed and the oblivious Gildarts, for one reason or another, could no longer make out the sound of Karl's praising remarks. Bits and pieces of a jagged, ever-incomplete puzzle remained loitering in his still mind all while the pounding of rain forced his arctic, drenched body to its breaking point.

His slick-backed auburn hair was frazzled, his soft yet harnessing gaze remained dampened, and the stubble of his beard bubbled with chilled drops of drizzle.

Very... Eventful. He told himself before slowing his pace, and raising his staunch shoulders. "Well, well, what do we have here?"

The man had followed the gravel road into the town he didn't know existed. Each step brought him closer and closer to destruction, there was only a question of whether he would be assigned the destroyer, or the rubble that would be crunched underfoot.

...

Eager to get out the rain, his joints creaked as he approached the nearest building with intent to take shelter from the imminent storm. Danger hung in the cautious air around him and yet the flood of relief had never been a better reward.

On the floor, he dripped streams of water that splashed in fresh puddles that had accumulated from an open window and a leak in the ceiling. Copper wires flicked with stray bolts of static and dangled dangerously close to the pools below the two board-less leaks. He made a mental note of where not to step and kept a keen eye on the electrical wiring as he shed his drenched cloak and smiled at the remaining warmth of the room.

[Guu]

Eventually, Guu managed to convince the rubber pirate to give it a rest. He sat around, chowing down on some of the meat he packed up from earlier. Desco milled about as Guu pulled out the map to try to figure out where they’ve wound up.

As she was picking up the general direction on the compass, she could feel the pitter-patter of droplets on her head. Desco was quick to shield herself with Yogsothoth; wrapping herself in it for warmth. Guu shapeshifted into her winter outfit. It was unusual that the clothing would keep her warm at all considering, but it worked. However, poor Luffy, while his arms were protected, his coat did very little to cover his chest. As the rain came down harder and harder, there was little the pirate could do to protect himself from the elements. Eventually, he was visibly shaking in the cold.

“Are you going to be okay?” Guu asked concerned, cocking an eyebrow slightly.

”I-I’m awe-awe-so-some!” He lied.

The pink girl walked up close to him.

“Let me help you.”

She moved in for a hug, and as she did, her body turned flat against him. He felt as the image of her slithered up his legs, across his hips and onto his torso where she transformed into an incredibly snazzy cold-weather jacket that held tightly against his chest. Luffy looks on impressed, checking out his new threads.

”Woah! Bubblegum, this is amazing!” He said excitedly. ”I feel warmer already!”

However, suddenly, his face turned into one of pure anguish. His hand violently claw at his chest, even rubbing against the ground in a futile attempt to widen the surface area.

”ITCHY!” He yelled.

“And it’ll remain itchy if you don’t do as I say” She said, voice coming out of no where. A hand grew out of his chest. “Go that direction, and don’t go too fast. You nearly lost Desco several times earlier.”

Luffy headed the designated direction, and as he did, he felt his itches vanish. Her hand disappears into the fabric, as her head appears on his back

“Is this pace good enough for you Desco? The head asked. The demon child nodded in response. The head disappeared into the fabric. “I’m sorry for this, but you’ve been way too out of control. Had to tone it down a notch. I’ll get off you as soon as we reach our destination.”

However, much to Guu’s surprise, Luffy responded with a laugh.

”You’re so cool, Bubblegum! How can you do all these things amazing things?”

”What... how are… ugh…” The jacket was now red scarlet in color.

[Victor Wolfe]

Rain, Wolfe hated the rain, it always made his job harder. Rain would erase the footprints and other signs of movement that he would often rely on to track his targets, and if he could not find someone he could not kill them. That created problems for him as he prided himself on results.

Rain would also make it harder for him to use his natural skills, the mud would sink his feet in and prevent him from moving as quickly as he could, even to the point where he could pull muscles due to his ability to quickly accelerate. it also would weaken his vision creating a haze, making it much harder for him to spot the crucial weak points he would target to end fights as quickly as was humanly possible. If he could not assassinate an important target quickly then they could call for help, trapping him by blocking his planned escape route.

New problems for survival were also present, the rain could create the problem of hypothermia, if he got to soaked his internal temperature could drop, getting a cold in a survival game did not sound fun , it would also make cliffs more dangerous as the footing would be much more loose, something to keep in mind if he ever passes near one.

Looking to the sky Wolfe saw what appeared to be a rather large storm rolling in, perhaps it was time for Wolfe to find shelter before high winds and bone chilling cold push him into an early grave. " Imagine the irony in that combat having no part in my downfall, ended by a slight breeze." Wolfe laughed to himself. He noticed what looked to be shelter in the distance and headed towards it, hoping to avoid the worst of the weather.

[Blackfire]

The reality of knowing she was nothing more than dead weight; merely a meat shield to increase their chances of survival, hurt more than her physical wounds. Even worse, she was no commoner, no throwaway – piece of trash; she was a queen, although in her current state, it was hard for any of them to actually, believe that.

With every ounce of effort, Komand’r attempted to rise to her feet.

“Your grace – let me help yo-”

“Guaaaargh!” she exclaimed painfully. “Don’t…” She used her hand to brush his hand away. “If I cannot stand on my own…then…” Her teeth, which had lost their whiteness, grinded together. “….I truly deserve to die.”

“Your grace,” replied Jon. His tone was weak and defined his reluctance to refuse her wish; nevertheless, he took a couple of steps backwards out of respect, admiration for a woman he hardly knew much about.

The wounded monarch clutched the handle of her shovel and then thrust the metal into the he island’s soft soil. The force elicited a scream from her crimson, stained lips. The shovel vibrated continuously, along with her left leg, which felt like jelly. It was like someone trying to make the piece of spaghetti between their fingers stand on a dinner plate. After a series of failed attempts, that person realises, ‘I just can’t do it.’

“Kill me,” growled Blackfire, who after deciding it was pointless to continue wasting the little amount of energy she had left, let herself crash, back first to the ground.

“Your grace!” screamed the noble, Jon Snow.

Backfire looked up at him emotionlessly. “My time is up.” She shut closed her eyes hoping to ease the pain of failure. “Summon your King…a-and tell him to make it quick.”

“No!” Jon refused, but when he attempted to pick her up, she slapped his hand away. It was weaker this time, but with enough force to restate her wish. “We will get you medical help and fix y-”

“It has to be your King,” she continued. As there was no medical kit in range, it was pointless bothering to continue to listen to him babbling on. “Death at the hands of anyone else…would add further to my feeling of mortification.”

====

“Get up, Blackfire!” a deep voice from above her commanded.

Blood rushed to Komand’r’s head while it slowly rose. The blood for her hairline, split into two trails and then entered into each eye, simultaneously, worsening her already, blurred vision. Meanwhile, blood dripped from her nostrils and lips, going down to her chin. There were two Tyrand’r’s before her, but as he marched, closer to her, her vision improved, the two men were merging one.

Komand’r diverted her attention to the sky after another around of thunder roared from the capitol’s grey sky. Immediately, the light rain transitioned into heavy rain. What’s the point? she wondered, allowing her head to sink to the finely trimmed, green grass belonging to one of the four training fields of the Myand’r Royal Palace. No matter how much I try, I will never be able to defeat Lord Tyrand’r After all, he was the same person who had taught her everything she knew.

“Get up!” he barked once more. Now he was standing over her.

She ignored him.

“Get, up!”

Not even bothering to waste another ounce of energy to raise her head and look him in his eye, she declared, “You win,” and then after squinting, due to the irritation of rain constantly splashing into her eyes, concluded, “While I live to fight another day.”

“Fine answer, however, there may come a time when you will not be given that luxury. A time will occur when you will not be given a choice.” He dipped his head, observing her sternly. “Such as now.” Tyrand’r lifted his right leg as high as he could and then with a lot of force, thrust his foot against her abdomen causing the teenage girl to shrill in pain. Her eyes bulged and red veins emerged from many corners while his foot continued to rest there. To make matters worse, he lowered until his right elbow rested on top of his knee.

Tyrand’r’s heart thumped from the guilt of watching her squirm in pain. His heart told him to relinquish his foot from her abdomen while his head told him not to ease on the pressure. His heart wanted to show her mercy while his head wanted to continue demonstrating the true definition of ‘tough love’.

“What is this?” Tyrand’r enquired curiously, making note of hands that struggled to remove his black boot from her abs. “You cannot even shift it,” he chuckled. “Not even slightly.”

“P-Plee…ease,” she wheezed, eyes completely red.

“Please,” he mimicked. “Or did you just mutter – ease?” He shook his head in disgust. “What if your father were present to hear you say that? Pardon me, my mistake. Your father already has low expectations of you.”

Suddenly, Komand’r’s look of desperation transformed into a menacing expression. Her glary, red eyes filled him with encouragement. “Look at you,” he continued to goad her , lazily directing his left hand towards her. “Everybody thinks you are pathetic. You a Tamaranean Princess, yet you are incapable of flying. You are the first born child of King Myand’r, yet not air to the throne.” Tyrand’r tutted. “What a shame. I was wrong for thinking that you were willing to stand up for yourself.”

Komand’r shook her head frantically in denial, eyes tightly shut. The only things that had kept her from committing suicide were her mentor, Lord Tyrand’r, and the opportunity to rise above her millions of oppressors.

“I thought you desired to prove them wrong; prove to them that the pain and suffering you have experienced because of your disability is your source of power and what makes you grow stronger, day by day.”

It was, she remembered.

Suddenly the pain took a backseat to her drive, her goals and the opportunity to turn her desires into reality.

====

Komand’r remembered who she was – how she had become Queen of Planet Tamaran in the first place. No, she was not weak and she had to prove that to them all. She had to show them how great and mighty she was. She had to demonstrate to them the true meaning of determination. She had to show them that no matter how many times people knocked her down, for as long as there was breath in her, she refused to quit.

Reminiscing the past, she remembered, it was her determination to achieve her goals that had given her the power to slowly and gradually lift Lord Tyrand’r's boot from her abdomen, just as it had given her the power to rise to her feet now. Even though she was using her weapon to support her weight and leaning her other hand against a tree to help maintain her balance; at least she had risen; at least she had finally shown them that she refused to quit.

Most of all, she had proven to herself… “If the mind can perceive it, the person can achieve it.” Those were Lord Tyrand’r’s words.

Thank you, Lord Tyrand’r. Regardless of her condition, the damage, the uncontrollable trembling, she reminded herself, I will find and kill him, for my pleasure, your pleasure and for the satisfaction of our entire race.

The queen was not ready to fall.

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
#05 Gilgamesh, #33 Jon Snow, #45 Blackfire, #40 Tartaros, #32 Galel $ #31 Okor vs #19 Ganondorf and #18 Link

The three metal men had been reunited at the clinic. In the almost twenty hours since forty-six primes had been dropped onto the island, the building had seen more conflicts than most locations. With its sinister barricades, boarded-up windows, and the caltrops and Czech hedgehogs that adorned its halls and the grounds around it, the clinic looked nothing like the quaint little building where people used to go to for treatment. It had been transformed into a bunker for a trio of space marines, and they were dead-set on defending their little piece of the Abyss.

Now reunited, the trio remained together at all times, unwilling to get surprised without having the support of one another. So as they made their rounds of the building, they paused in what had once been the lobby to assess the situation once again. Before speaking, Okor took a moment to glance around at the room. Was this the same place where he had fought that ‘ninja’ for control of this structure? The desk where Dr. McNinja had been passing the time was long gone—its wood being put to better use covering some of the shattered windows.

“This will do,” the plague marine declared as he looked at his battered foes. Despite their wounds and mutilations, they yet lived—proof that the three of them were superior to the rest of the common stock pulled together for this ‘contest.’

With a dull thud, something smacked into the reinforced doors of the clinic. The trio of marines exchanged looks before Okor, the sturdiest of them, made his way over to a peep hole near the window. A glance to the outside world revealed a white ball lying on the barren earth a few feet from the door. Although the ball itself seemed mundane, it had what looked to be a face painted onto it with… blood?

“What is it?” Tartaros asked as he hobbled over to his compatriot.

“I’m not sure,” Okor muttered as he pulled away from the peep hole and slid the piece of wood back over it. “Some sort of sphere.”

“Could it be a bomb?” Galel asked as the three space marines all stood silent, pondering what to do.

“I volunteer,” Tartaros declared as he made his way over to the reinforced doors of the clinic. He looked back over his broad shoulders at his allies. “Isn’t much I haven’t seen yet,” he said, although his voice seemed to waver as his hands worked the improvised ‘lock’ that kept the door shut. With a gentle push, the entrance swung open, spilling some of the dying sunlight into the clinic. To the north, there were storm clouds brewing over the island, and beyond the forest was the city where Tartaros had left so much of himself earlier in the day.

‘Looks Clear.’ The space marine signaled his two allies as he stepped forward to collect the ball. Okor had been correct—it seemed to be little more than a harmless sphere with some sort of war standard emblazoned on its somewhat soft surface.

Before he could relay that parcel of information, the rocket screamed out of the forest and blasted the Iron Wolf. The impact blasted apart the marine’s power armor and hurtled his broken, battered form backwards. Okor and Galal both dove out of the way to avoid the shrapnel that erupted from the shattered wall and door.

The plague marine, with two functioning legs, was up to his feet first. His immediate attention went to Galel, who was cradling his previous injury but otherwise seemed all right. Glancing over at Tartaros, Okor—staying crouched down to avoid any more missiles—made his way over to his ally. Most of the other space marine’s power armor had been destroyed, leaving behind a battered and bloodstained chest embedded with shards of twisted, super-heated steel.

Through it all, the heavy, broad chest was still rising and falling as the marine refused to relinquish his grip on the mortal coil.

“A marine doesn’t die on this back,” Tartaros screamed through the blood pooling in his mouth as he planted his stump into the ground and somehow managed to pull himself up into a seated position on the floor of the clinic.

“Enemy boarding party!” Galel bellowed as Okor turned his attention to the entranceway of the clinic. From across the smoldering threshold, a dark-skinned titan and a smaller man dressed in green strode into the bunker. The shorter prime held a very simple-looking rocket launcher, while the taller individual held the white sphere in a giant hand.

“Take them out,” Ganondorf muttered as Link shouldered the rocket launcher and squeezed back on the trigger. Okor threw himself out of harm’s way and came running at the pair even as the missile punched through the a window and blew apart what had once been a doctor’s lounge. The space marine threw out a plague-coated fist and caught Ganondorf in the side of the face, staggering the king, who winced as the fetid grim burned at his face and beard. Grimacing through the pain, the Gerudo retaliated with his own savage punch that nearly toppled over the marine.

“Nice to see someone I can look in the eyes when I kill,” Ganondorf declared as he cracked his knuckles and pressed the attack against the marine.

Link took a step forward to join his ally in battle, but before he could find his aim, a metal club created by twisting together the legs of several gurneys crashed into his skull. The impact threw the young man off balance, leaving him wide open as the Psyker swung back the improvised weapon for another go. He never got a chance to finish the motion, because a ball smacked him in the side of the head. The Hylian looked over and saw a smile flash across Ganondorf’s face before he turned to resume his fistfight with the plague marine. With a scowl, Link tore out a piece of twisted rebar from the wall and swung at Galel, who swung his own weapon. For a few brief, chaotic moments, the pair dueled with their lamentable attempts at swords.

Their skirmish drew to a close the moment someone launched an arrow that punched through the wall to their left. Two sets of eyes moved over to the glowing arrowhead protruding out from the brick. Neither Pskyer or Hylian was quick enough to clear out of the way before the explosive went off, sundering the entire wall in a terrifying ball of fall and debris. Link was thrown clear to the other side of the lobby, but the bulkier mass of warrior that was Galel Baraz had too much on him to just go hurtling through the air like a green rag doll.

The Psker rolled backwards and groaned. He grabbed the first soft thing he saw—the Hylian’s bag—and pulled it over his head as what remained of the wall collapsed onto him.

Ganondorf and Okor were far enough away that they avoided the concussive force, but both had to turn away as the flash of heat washed over them. When he felt the initial gust of super-heated wind flush by him, the Gerudo latched his hands around Okor’s shoulders and smashed the plague marine into the wall. As his opponent slid to the ground, Ganondorf heard the thud of armored boots behind him.

“What now?” Ganondorf muttered as he turned to see a bloody, half-alive man in the blackened remnants of a power suit glaring at him.

“…bang.” Tartaros pulled back on the trigger, releasing a burst of bolts from a rifle that he could just barely hold steady in his hand. The Gerudo’s eyes went wide as he tried to get out of the way, but even though his foe’s aim wasn’t what it used to be, a handful of rounds tore through his armor.

But he was the Great Demon King!

After stumbling and nearly losing his balance, Ganondorf let out a roar and charged.

Tartaros had stopped shooting by then…his good hand was dangling uselessly at his side. His good leg quivered, but he failed to let it give out from under him. With a smug, blood-smeared grin, the space marine stood tall as the gauntleted fist smashed through his skull.

As Tartaros finally fell into a smoldering, bloody heap, Ganondorf let out a long breath just as someone started to clap behind him.

“Link?” Ganondorf asked as he turned around to see Gilgamesh and two cronies staring where the front of the clinic had once been. The gilded monarch sneered as he continued to clap at the heaving, bloodied Gerudo.

“Nice show.” Gilgamesh chuckled as the black-haired man next to him knocked another arrow into a high-tech bow. “Put down this rapid animal.” The king barked as Jon Snow took the shot.

With its blinking tip, the high-explosives arrow zipped through the air, but as it did, a green mass moved to intercept it.

A beat later, a second explosion rocked the shattered clinic. Gilgamesh grinned from ear-to-ear as the light from the blast faded to reveal…

An untarnished Hylian shield!

“What!” The gilded king screamed as the shield faded away to reveal a smirking Link. From behind the young man, Ganondorf stood back up and sneered at the other ruler.

“You’re still not better than me,” the Demon King said, and to punctuate that, he spat his own blood across the room at Gilgamesh.

“Already sick of all the saliva today,” Gilgamesh screamed as he threw down his bag. His two allies and pair of foes watched in mild interest as the gilded king proceeded to remove his large, golden chestplate. While the armor had a terrible thud as it hit the ground, everyone’s attention had already moved on to the glowing red tattoos that covered Gilgamesh’s chest. Throwing his head back, Gilgamesh started to laugh as the glow of the runes intensified. The floor beneath the man started to splinter as his power surged to new limits.

In front of Ganondorf, Link held out his hands and summoned a small mask. As the Hylian placed the mask upon his face, his normal features vanished in a flash of light. The young man in the green tunic was replaced by a blue-skinned humanoid with fish-like features and fins that jutted out from his wrists. From the back of his head, his hair had been replaced by another exaggerated fin.

Ganondorf shrugged and threw back his head. The Demon King’s body surged outward as his features became those of Ganon. Once the pig monster was in action, it leapt over Link and stampeded the glowing Gilgamesh.

With the rocket launcher slung over his shoulder, Zora Link dashed forward the moment he saw Jon Snow move for another arrow. The bastard frowned as he was forced to dodged out of the way of the fish creature’s fist and the long fin that followed after it. His strength and speed surging to new levels, Link quickly followed up with a second punch that found its mark. As Jon Snow fell backwards, he pulled out an arrow and let it loose with the finesse of a pro. Rather than eat an arrow, the zora retreated as a cackling Gilgamesh managed to find the leverage he need to throw Ganon out into area in front of the clinic.

With Blackfire at his flank, the king casually advanced against the sneering, one-tusked creature. Before moving to confront the monster, Gilgamesh turned to look at Blackfire. “Give me that,” he barked as he tore the survival shovel from her hands and shoved her. “I’ll put it to better use than you will.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Gilgamesh turned right into the oncoming path of Ganon’s massive hand.

The impact threw the glowing king to the ground and knocked the air from his lungs. Before Gilgamesh could recover, Ganon’s shadow fell over him.

“You’re the useless one,” Blackfire shouted as she grabbed the shovel and swung at Ganon before the beast could strike. The shovel slashed open the creature’s palm and stopped him from crushing Gilgamesh, but in the process, Blackfire made herself the focus of Ganon’s ire. Before she could offer another snide remark, a giant fist shot out and closed around her thin waist. As her feet left the ground, she started to hack at Ganon’s arm, but her strength was already failing her wrecked body. A giant fist slammed into her face, and the shovel dropped to the ground.

It was then that Ganon dropped her, but before she hit the earth, he snatched her around her legs. With a grunt, he swung her up and impaled her scrawny body through one of the horns that jutted from his shoulder.

“Damn it,” Gilgamesh seethed as he scrambled to his feet. “This is over,” he declared as he reached a hand back. Behind the gilded king, a portal opened and produced the handle of an elegant weapon. With a fluid motion, Gilgamesh tore Ea free from the portal as her blade started to glow the same shade of red as his tattoos. “Enuma Elish!” Gilgamesh screamed as he thrust the sword at Ganon. The boar roared defiantly as the energy blast slammed into his chest and sent him on what the other king knew to be a one-way trip into the forest.

“Trash,” Gilgamesh seethed as Ea vanished within his hand. The king turned to see that Jon Snow and Zora Link were still engaged in an almost elegant game of cat and mouse. Each time the archer tried to line up a shot, the aquatic warrior would throw him off balance with a thrown chunk of debris or use his speed to close the distance for an erratic slash or jab. Most of the Zora’s attacks, however, did little to stagger or wound his foe. It wasn’t until Gilgamesh came rushing at the pair that Jon turned his eyes and lost his delicate control over his ‘dance’ with Link.

At that moment, Link sprung forward and smashed a brick against Jon’s upper arm, causing the man to grimace and drop his weapon. If not for Gilgamesh rushing at him, it was possible that the Hylian-turned-Zora could have stolen the bow, but a swift kick from the gilded monarch ruined Link’s plan. The aquatic prime hit the ground hard, and before he could get upright, an arrow sank into his thigh.

“Finish this,” Gilgamesh barked as he and Jon walked slowly toward the fallen man, who was clutching at his new wound. Jon Snow fell back a few steps, and this collar started to flash. As the Bastard summoned strength, his ally kicked Link in the middle of the face and laughed as the Zora writhed in pain for a few moments before pulling himself upright. “Pathetic.”

“Better think twice…”

Gilgamesh looked over to see that Ganondorf was stumbling from the forest. One of his arms hung limp against his massive body, but in the other arm, he gripped a familiar weapon that glowed a vicious shade of red.

Ea.

“How dare you!” Gilgamesh screamed as he came running at Ganondorf.

“Enuma Elish!” The Gerudo roared as the thrust the sword forward and struck his rival with a colossal blast of red energy. When Gilgamesh finally hit the ground, he made no effort to stand as he watched the giant monster explode out from the clinic behind Jon Snow. Ganondorf rushed to Link just in time for the two of them to receive a thunderous punch that threw them both from sight.

Rather than press the attack, Jon Snow rushed to aide his king.

[spoiler]

#40 Tartaros DEAD
#45 Blackfire DEAD

37 Primes Remain

Link used Tier 1 Super Move Hylian Defense (-2 SP)
Link used Tier 1 Transformation Zora Link (-1 SP)
Gilgamesh used Tier 1 Super Move Enuma Elish (-2 SP)
Jon Snow used Tier 1 Super Move Fist of the Wun Wun (-2 SP)
Okor used Tier 0 Super Move Necrotic Punch (-1 SP)
Ganondorf used Tier 1 Transformation Ganon (-1 SP)
Ganondorf mimicked Tier 1 Super Move Enuma Elish (-2 SP)

Okor has bled more and cares not for his +4 Damage (Minor Injury)
Galel has suffered a broken right arm, bruises to his neck and spine, and all of his wounds are bleeding once again – Major Injury (+8 Damage)
Jon Snow has a nasty cut on his right arm – Minor Injury (+3 Damage)
Gilgamesh has dislocated his left shoulder and suffered extensive bruises – Minor Injury (+5 Damage)
Link’s formerly dislocated shoulder is now broken. His leg also had an arrow through it, which will make walking unpleasant – Major and Minor Injury (+10 Damage)
Ganondorf’s left arm is broken in a few places, his face is partially disfigured from the filth punch, and he’s generally going to be miserable – Major Injury (+8 Damage)

Okor/Galel get the Banishment Serum from Link
Wilson and the Shovel are there for New Bablyon or the Space Marines[/spoiler]

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
#05 Gilgamesh & #33 Jon Snow vs #31 Okor & #32 Galel Baraz

The scene inside the clinic was as bad as the chaos outside.

While he felt no pain, Okor knew his body was beginning to fail—his limbs were taking longer to respond to his command. The plague marine had to half-drag himself over to the collapsed portion of the structure’s exterior wall. He still heard the sound of fighting outside and the rumble of the earth as he threw away chunks of stone, twisted metal support beams, and shards of broken glass. As the fighting outside calmed down, he pulled away a chunk of debris to reveal Galel Baraz. Although broken and battered, the Psker was still breathing.

Space marines were truly a force to be reckoned with.

“I’ve got you,” Okor muttered as he scooped a hand under the other prime’s torso and helped to unearth him from the pile of rubble.

“Behind… behind you,” Galel muttered before an arrow sank through the Psker’s heart. The marine known as Galel Baraz let out a groan as his body went limp in Okor’s hands. For a moment, the plague marine felt nothing, but once that subsided, the emptiness was replaced with rage. Clenching his fists, the last survivor of the space marines placed his ally’s body on the ground and turned to look at his killers. He saw a man in golden armor standing next to his assassin—a somber soldier with a high-tech bow and arrow.

“Surrender your possessions,” Gilgamesh demanded. “And you can drag that carcass of a friend out into the forest without us tearing you to pieces.”

“Unlikely,” Okor shot back as he rose up to his full height. A beat later, the shovel smashed into the plague marine’s skull with enough force to smash away the apparatus that covered the lower part of his mouth. The machinery tore away along with the rotten flesh and bones that had once served as his jaw. With a gurgling hiss, Okor retaliated with a vicious, plague-laden punch to Gilgamesh, breaking the king’s nose and doubling him over in pain.

The plague marine plunged a mangled hand into his bag and pulled out a handgun made of the purest gold. His finger went for the trigger, but from the corner of his eye, he saw the archer knock and arrow. “My king!” Jon shouted as he loosed the arrow.

Okor pivoted and pulled the trigger.

The Bastard let out a weak scream and fell over as his buzz saw-tipped trick arrow cleaved off the plague marine’s arm. Even as his putrid blood started to sputter from the wound, Okor willed his failing body to retreat into the clinic. Gilgamesh, hand clamp over his face, could only watch through his bloody fingers as the marine escaped. Glancing to his left, the would-be King of the Endless Dunes looked into the pained eyes of Jon Snow as the man trembled next to the corpse of the other space marine. He had his hands gripped around a wound, but it was clear that he couldn’t get it to stop bleeding. Whatever color Jon may have had on his face had already drained away.

In the span of a few minutes, the fortunes of New Babylon had gone from golden dreams to the sour and harsh reality of the Abyss. Gilgamesh was certainly a king, but his kingdom was one of death and ruin.

[spoiler]

#31 Galel Baraz Dead

38 Primes Remain

Okor used Tier 0 Super Move Necrotic Fist (-1 SP)

Okor has been dis-armed – Major Injury (+8 Damage)
Okor has been snickered at by the ghost of Alain -- Story Injury (+0 Damage)
Karl bitch-slaps you in the face if you think the preceding line is actual fact -- Story Injury

Gilgamesh has a broken nose and some loose teeth – Minor Injury (+4 Damage)
Jon Snow has been shot with the Golden Gun – Mortal Injury (+16 Damage) – He will die within 48 OOC unless he acquires the Stimpaks or Medical Kit

The Pyramid Head Helmet and Banishment Serum are there with Galel’s corpse, choose who gets them.
The Golden Gun has been used and is now useless outside of rp fodder.[/spoiler]

[Erza Scarlet]

Erza slowly slipped into consciousness, some nondescript nightmare fading away into the reality of a refreshing afternoon siesta in the middle of an arena deathmatch. Still, it was somehow relaxing either way. Perhaps it was the security of two guards with overkill weapons sitting watch, one of which Erza trusted with her life, at least the renewable one she had here in the Omniverse.

Hair in my mouth... But jaw hurts too much to spit it out... she thought lazily as she continued laying there, not wanting to reveal her status of having woken up for fear of being forced to actually get up. She played the hair in her mouth with her tongue for a moment, collecting it all into one wet clump, before steeling herself to move her lips and spit it all out at once. She flinched as her jaw cracked with pain. At least all of the scarlet strands were clear of her mouth and she could return to her peaceful slumber.

This was, unfortunately, brought to a sudden end as Erza's thigh came into sudden contact with cold metal. Her leg jerked back reflexively as she spun onto her side only for her face to stop less than an inch from Samus' visor. She yelped, scrambling backwards and tripping over one of the duffel bags before the events of earlier in the day came back to her.

Erza sighed in relief. No giant evil darkness-powered robots headed for the guild hall today. She brushed the dirt off, completely oblivious the bemusement of two confused guards and a very groggy Caterpie, and turned back to again face the sleeping Samus. From what she'd seen in that brief moment, the fully-armored one was actually quite beautiful. Did she not breathe the same sort of air as the rest of them? Or perhaps she simply preferred the additional protection. [/i]Either way,[/i] Erza thought with a grimace,[/i] that can't be a comfortable way to sleep.[/i]

And it was showing. Well, perhaps Samus was just having a nightmare similar to Erza's own, or could feel the pain in her abdomen through the light cover of sleep, but either way she was not sleeping soundly. Since Erza had jumped away, she'd already rolled back over again, and her wrist kept twitching. She needed this rest more than Erza did herself, but it didn't seem to be doing her a lot of good.

Erza spun back around to face Harry, Mickey and Pazo. "Welp, I'm awake now. Uh, wanna talk strategy?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Erza and Harry continued to walk in silence. Neither of them was overly talkative, but it was mostly because after breaking up Samus and Mickey's own increasingly depressing exchange, it didn't feel as though there was much of anything to talk about. It was a little while until Erza could muster the courage to break the settling gloom.

"So, uh, you're a wizard, Harry? And Samus isn't?"

Glad to be done with that atmosphere, Harry was quick to amiably respond. "Yup! By your tone it seems you're also from a magical background." Erza nodded slowly, keeping her eyes ahead and scanning for threats. "Samus isn't... From a place that even has magic, I think. But, they're high-tech enough to make up for it." He gestured at Samus a few meters behind in her Varia Suit. So like Edolas, then. Maybe.

"So, she doesn't have magic inside her at all? That sounds... Horrible, to be honest. When we were dropped here, it was as though I'd lost my connection to my inner self, and it's only a little better now that I've got this baby." She hefted the weighty hammer forwards for emphasis before returning it to her shoulder. "So does she... Always feel like this? Is this normal where she's from?"

Harry chuckled quietly for a moment. "I mean, she's certainly got SOMETHING powerful in there. She's certainly quite a strong woman. But I don't think it's magic, exactly."

Believable, but strange. In Erza's home world, one's magic was usually a direct manifestation of the heart and soul of its wielder. Perhaps, in others, people just had to show their "magic" in other ways. As far as Samus's heart, perhaps she'd seen it in her gentle watch over that Pazo pet of hers. It certainly wasn't worth anything here, but it seemed happy under her care nonetheless.

"I think I can accept that." She turned back to the forest ahead. They would certainly not be the only Primes headed this way; there was only so much in the way of hurricane cover, after all, and her placement at the front of the entourage meant she'd be one of the first to fall under fire if they ran into others. She needed to stay focused. And again, the conversation came to a screeching halt. But that was okay, because this time, the tone by the end had been just a little bit higher.

[Monkey D. Luffy]

Plip. Plip. Plip. Plipliplip. Plikipikipikipiki!

The biting prattle of nipping droplets scoured the peninsula, or more appropriately, the battlefield. Bustling explosions, clanking blades, and guttural outcries fractured through the splintering rain from afar. The flooding drizzle served only to further spread crimson plashes as the theatrical domain of death grew soaked and stained by sanguine ooze.

Though exalted by his freshly forged band of marvelousness miscreants, Luffy felt uneasy. Distracted, the rubber captain withdrew into the recesses of his own memories, impaired by a brief spell of grim-laced sorrow.

With unmarred concentration, Straw Hat could hear the voices of his old nakama, smell the sultry grub they frequently feasted upon, feel the thwack of of their scolding backhands. He missed them, yearned for them. Balling his soaked palm into a sealed fist, mugiwara pledged with firm devotion.

"I won't let it happen again," The pirate murmured, gazing straight ahead as if consumed by his own thoughts.

Tilting her head, Desco lifted a single brow at the devil fruit eater. In kind, Guu morphed her visage upon the living overcoat she'd melded into and draped over her stretchy cohort. "What was that? Talking to yourself there dum-dum?" The imp goddess inquired, lurching her head slightly outwards from the boy's chest.

"I promise, I won't lose any more of my friends, or let them slip from my hands. I'll protect you, both of you," Luffy returned, raising a fist to meet his narrowed peepers. "It hurts too much, not knowing if I'll ever see them again. Not knowing if they're alright. Not knowing if they even remember me after I was kidnapped from my own realm!"

Krakow!

A crack of gunfire off in the distance forced Straw Hat to anchor in place, fixing his attention toward the directional source. "That could have been one of you, damn it!" Luffy's disheartened prattle elicited confused and concerned simpers from the dainty demon and dame.

"I came here to find answers about my nakama, but I won't let you two, my new friends, get hurt for my own selfish desires. Count on me, believe in me, I won't let you down! We'll make it to the top together! YOSH!"

The captain's uncharacteristic grimace arched into an broad, orthodox grin. Guu and Desco flushed red in the face, whether by flattery or abash was unclear, but their bull-headed companion's resolution bore into them.

"Desco feels the same! We protect each other until the end!" The demon child yapped in reprisal, wrapping one of her myriad tentacles around the youth and bracing for a hug.

"That's been our plan from the start, idiot," The ambrosian goddess scoffed with nonchalant inflection. Though Guu hadn't revealed such, she was, as a matter-of-fact, uplifted by the boy's surprisingly tender heart. The pink-haired princess pegged him as a kooky meathead full of bravado, but now cradled warm sentiment about the passionately headstrong pirate.

Fwoooomm!

The pressing downpour now coalesced with turbulent winds, practically shoving the trio forward with forceful gales. Had Desco's demonic 'chair' not privileged her with the ability to float she may very well have been swept up by the tempest. A cataclysmic storm was brewing; they could not afford to dally any longer.

"We need to seek refuge now. We're done for if we get caught up in this," Luffy's sentient 'jacket' decreed, imparting mugiwara full responsibility.

"Guys, there! I see a shelter! Let's hurry! Come on Wriggles, jump on my back! I'll slingshot us over!" The captain hastily instructed before tossing both arms forth. His elastic limbs stretched to staggering lengths as Luffy clutched the bulky trunks of mirrored trees. Tugging back ever slightly, the captain absolved his foothold and snapped forth.

"Gomu Gomu no . . . ROCKET!"

[Blink]

When Blink awoke, the sun had gone down. She couldn't tell how long she had been asleep, but it felt like a long time because it hadn't even more sunset by the time she passed out. It had just started to rain at that point too, and it was pouring from the sky now. Her green eyes shifted to look around the small little hidey-hole she was bunking in. They found the purple-haired fighter that was still awake, standing watch. Blink sat up in her spot, realizing quickly that her clothes were soaking wet. Their little spot underneath some bunched-up trees hadn't done a whole lot to shelter them from the upcoming storm.

"You still awake?" Blink asked, wiping her eyes.

"Yea," came the response. "Barely. Did you get any sleep?"

"Yea," Blink repeated back to her. "How long was I out?"

Violet shrugged. "Hour, maybe. Not long. We need to start moving. Jak said that a storm is coming. I'm barely holding together in the rain here. There's no way we can sit out a storm."

Blink glanced upwards, through a gap in the tree branches above her. She could barely see at all through the darkness, but the moonlight helped a little bit. The wind was a bit strong, but not too bad yet. The real movement came from the rain hitting it hard. She wasn't sure if this was a natural storm or something that was man-made just for the television show. It would make sense for them to create a storm themselves, if they could. It was a good way to force everyone into the same spots. "We'll have to either find a building or high ground. You've gotta think most people will be looking for a building."

"If we find high ground, all that's going to do is keep us from getting flooded," Violet pointed out. "The storm is still going to suck."

The pink girl nodded her head. Her body shivered a little bit, causing her to squirm. It was starting to get cold. It made going to high ground sound like a terrible idea. "I don't like the idea of braving the storm, either, but..." she frowned a bit, "I feel like everybody is going to be finding buildings. I don't think it's a good idea. We'll have to deal with the storm and a fight."

Violet didn't answer her. She seemed to get lost in her own thoughts. Blink shifted onto her knees, pulling out her map to glance at it. As she did, she thought about how the rest of the game was going. Thus far, only a few people had been eliminated. For some reason, she went into the game thinking it would be all action with very little downtime. But thus far, she had only run into two people; one she briefly sparred against and one that already had most of his body in the grave. She wondered how long the downtime the last.

She looked up at Violet, remembering the woman had experience. "How long does this last? The quiet."

The lavender-haired girl turned her head, breaking herself of her thoughts. "It feels like it lasts forever. And when it's over, it feels like it went by way too fast." She sounded almost sage-like as she spoke, as if she was remembering her own horrible stories from this game. "It always starts like this. Little scuffles break out. People get hurt. Some people die. But towards the middle of the game. Around the third day...that's when it gets serious. There are less spots to hide and the really dangerous people get their hands on the really dangerous weapons. You really separate whose here for a camping trip and who might actually have a shot at winning. But nobody...and I mean nobody comes out of it in one piece. By the time there's only a few people left...everyone is going to have a story. Everyone will have been through Hell."

Blink listened intently. This was the first honest piece of information she got about this tournament since the day she signed up. This didn't feel like an advertisement or a tall tale. It sounded like reality.

"The people that die early are lucky," Violet said under her breath. "Compared to what's awaiting us. And I mean that."

Violet turned back away from her, looking out into the rainy abyss. Blink didn't know what to say. What could she say? She had a rough life back as an X-Man and Exile, but she'd never been in a game like this before. Violet had seen some serious stuff. "We've gotta get moving," she finally suggested, breaking the silence. "You want to get a nap in first?"

"Nah, I'm good for now," her companion said. "Let's do it. Quicker we move, quicker we can get out of the rain. One way or another."

Blink agreed, moving into a squatting position so she could crawl out of the little naturally-made hut they had found. The game had still not really started for Claire Ferguson. She had been in a very strange camping trip so far. She was wet, hungry, tired and covered in dirt. But compared to what others most surely had encountered, things had been very tame for her. She wasn't sure if she had an advantage because of her lack of injuries or a disadvantage because of her lack of experience.

As she followed Violet out into the rain, she couldn't but feel like a bit more secure in her position knowing this woman was with her. She had made the right call teaming up with someone, and she was lucky it was someone like Vi.

[Okor]

Okor sat crouched in the fortified structure, wrapping his remaining arm over his battered ceramite. Shame. That was the chief feeling wracking him. Out of the three proud Astartes that had stepped into this competition, reveling in the bonds of brotherhood, the glories of days long past, only he remained. It was what he was. The last killer standing. When the sons of Sanguinius claimed the nine others in his squad, he had remained, his bolter barking irradiated shells into their ranks before the orders came to give ground. Acidic bile dripped from his jawless maw, the belcher's gland producing a corrosive substance that hissed away at the rockcrete substance beneath his feet. He stumbled to his feet, his necrotic stump still flailing in cohesion with his ceramite-clad appendage. He looked through the boarded window at the battleground which had claimed his brother. Already, rain was starting to pelt the ground, a torrential downpour scouring the bare earth. He made a pitiful wheezing, hissing noise, a pale, warped reflection of his previous boisterous laughter. What a lovely day. I do hope the mortal enjoys it as much as I have. He turned away from the window, looking towards the battered corpse of Tartaros. He wrapped his hand around the marine's pauldron, and dragged him into the more fortified room, leaving a trail of slick blood behind him.

Dropping the corpse, Okor clasped a piece of rockcrete in his armoured hand, and straddled the body of his brother. Some rituals had to be obeyed, even in this strange land. Bringing down the piece of stone on his fellow's breastplate, it barely dented the armour. Clang. He brought it down again, smashing it against the steel. Clang. Again. Clang. Again. Clang. Clang. Clang.

Several minutes later, Tartaros' torso was laid bare, battered steel pushed to the side of the area of interest. He gurgled sadly, looking at the ruined mass of bloodied flesh that was once a noble face. He clasped a sharpened stake of steel in his hand, a crude instrument, the only thing capable of penetrating what was needed in this clinic. Very little else would have any effect on the skeletal structure of a marine. Unable to speak any final words, or anything that gave this any ceremony, save a single, blood and parasite infested tear, Okor began to tear of Tartaros's flesh and bone, seeking out the geneseed buried in his body.

It took fourteen minutes to free the organs. His lone hand was covered in blood, as was everything else in the surrounding area. The sacred organs were secured in a medical freezer, which would have to do. He leaned against the solid wall as the noise of rain filled the air. That bastard would pay. He gripped the bloodstained, bent shiv, gurgling in a pantomime of laughter. He would pay.