[DEATHMATCH] Abaddon vs Agate Two-Three-Six

A banana went flying through the air, smacking into the Agate's chest with a squash before falling to the ground, leaving behind a slime of banana-goo in the Gatto's fabulous feathers. Their head snapped toward the crowd, and the funky chicken crowed with laughter.

"You like an underdog, huh?" Gatto called, throwing their wings out and flashing their feathers as they stalled in the air for a moment. "It's not easy going up against a Champ, but the big lug's got spirit!" Hey, Gatto could admire their opponent, couldn't they?

... Though, they weren't sure there was any intelligence behind the bull's remaining eye. Maybe they were starting to underestimate their opponent. Hey, maybe outside the ring, Abaddon was a lovely companion for tea.

Right now wasn't tea time though, and the Agate planned on walking away from this encounter. That meant ending it, and quick, before the Masters' got bored. The original plan had been to outlast the powerhouse, because Gatto could survive anything the Masters would throw at them, but they liked their odds better against ending their opponent right now versus whatever horrible chaos would come from... Nemean's friend, there.

Gatto swept down into a dive, wings fluttering and tail ribboning behind them in a shower of long, flowing strands. Abaddon seemed dazed and disoriented, so Gatto risked drawing close, throwing their legs forward as they came down upon the bull's neck.

If their aim was true, they fully intended on piercing or slashing their spurs into the mighty bovine's throat... and if not, well, they were flying right into the horn-range of their angry foe.

ROUND 4/5

ATTEMPT: divebombing to stab abaddon in the neck with their spurs
DEFENSE: fluffed up feathers
INJURIES: damaged leg

Abaddon very nearly didn't see Gatto coming--in part because of one blinded eye, and in part past his daze. The arena was a hellish blur, a painful blinding series of flashes. The smear of the faces of the audience. The glare of the dancing overhead lights. And then the music, thudding past his aching head, seeming to time with the throbbing pain in his skull and horns.

It was only a flash of feathers and a sound--a flutter? a voice?--he wasn't sure--that alerted him. He stumbled, trying to come around to face his opponent, pain lancing through him. With the last of his rapidly-exhausting strength, he just sort of... threw his weight for Agate, a blind lurching single-hop charge that would either bring him down on Gatto, or faceplant him in the sand. Either way, he'd go down, and he'd stay down; the question was only whether Gatto would be beneath him when he dropped.

He heard his legs impact the sand, knees-first, felt his own bulk hurtle down--but he couldn't tell if he'd missed his mark or not. Dazed, he fought to stay conscious--at least long enough to see if he had hit.

Gatto had miscalculated, slightly, and they realized a split second too late, as their already injured leg connected with the bull's suddenly shifting weight, deflecting their blow and sending a shot of pain up their body with a squawk.

Already, the cockatrice's wings were frantically flapping to escape, and their tail lashed in a desperate attempt to change their momentum.

With a flourish of feathers, the bird swept back up into the sky as their opponent crashed to the ground, his heavy weight slumping in a plume of dust. Gatto's wings spread wide once more as they reached the apex of their flight, hovering for a moment above the arena and facing out into the crowd with a majestic, if somewhat accidental pose. Why, aside from a nasty sprain, they had escaped rather completely unharmed.

... Surely that was impressive, yes? Their mandible-flanked beak opened wide, eyes shimmering with pride and confidence. The smear of banana upon their breast was easy enough to overlook with how they held themself, but it was there all the same, worn like a badge of honor.

"Well, well, well! I think he's down for the count! Alright, my friends and fellows," the bird crooned, "Remember this face! You'll be seeing more of me soon, darlings! Remember this name: Gatto, Champion of the Hydra, and soon-- Champion of the Deathmatches!"

It was all for show, but the cocky bird still sold it for all the world like it was truly the only game that mattered to their dear heart.

ROUND 5/5

ATTEMPT: GET OUTTA THERE
DEFENSE: fluffed up feathers
INJURIES: damaged leg

Shattered horns smashed into nothing but blood-caked dust; thick legs swept at the arena floor, hooves struggling (and failing) to find purchase with which to lift him. Whatever neurological damage had been done by the impact against the wall was made even worse by Abaddon's crashing head-first to the ground. A grunt escaped him--heaving from enormous chest--and then a huff, a gasp; the black bull writhed uselessly against the floor.

His tongue, in an absymal cliche, swept from his panting mouth and tasted dust; nostrils flared.

The single eye blinked, and dimmed, and then his hind legs ceased their futile kicking as gemstone rose up to claim him. It was a brilliant chrysalis: ruby, red as blood, shining quite dramatically against Nemean's lights.

His last thought--if it could be called that--before the ruby claimed him was a sort of vague confusion, not really strong enough to be thought in words, but if he could have, they'd have been something like this:

Why did they bring me here? Why did they do-...
...this...

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas winced.

Well, he'd hauled the bull out here to see what it could do. The answer, apparently, was "not much." Vargas made a mental note: bull shapes were nearly useless. Brutish, not agile, stupid, and without defense. How disappointing--though, then again, the Agate had performed fantastically. Cunning, resourcefulness in the heat of battle? A fine hallmark.

"WELL DONE, CHAMPION!" he bellowed into the ring--for Agate had earned that title, time and time again. And the praise.

DEATHMATCH

"ADD MATADOR TO YOUR LIST OF TITLES, CHAMP!" Nemean yowled to the air above the ring. "Take a few victory laps 'round the arena, will ya?" she screeched, zipping in a tight circle for emphasis.

And while the agate was hopefully doing that—confetti and streamers tailing their every move—the sprite addressed the crowd at large with blaring (and triumphant, don't forget it!) brass instruments. "HEAR THAT EVERYBODY? THERE'S SOMEONE WHO KNOWS HOW TO PUT ON A SHOW! TAKE NOTES AND FEAR THE CUNNING OF OUR VICTOR: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGATE—" (A page rustled overly loudly, and she thumbed her cheek as if adjusting a pair of glasses...) "GATTOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Y'know. Like Spanish for cat, if Nemean was even aware of such things.

... anyways. Cue the sound of the overexcited little event organizer flitting back and forth atop Chadsworthington's head, spilling ample amounts of popcorn—thereby adding to the growing pile of garbage at the golem's feet.

Now, if Gatto took too long basking in their glory and adoring fans, then there might be a little bit of a fake fire lit under their ass. (In the most literal sense.) Along with that would be her plaintive cry for them to "take it to the backROOM!"

_____________

DEATHMATCH WINNER: Agate Two-Three-Six

Character: Abaddon
Age: +5 (11 Cycles - Capped)
Magic Level: +3 (Brawler)

ROUND 1
Attempt: -
Penalties: -

ROUND 2
Attempt: +7
Penalties: -

ROUND 3
Attempt: +19
Penalties: -

ROUND 4
Attempt: +17
Penalties: -

ROUND 5
Attempt: +6
Penalties: -

Total: 57

Character: Agate Two-Three-Six
Age: +5 ("27" Cycles - Capped)
Magic Level: +3 (Strategist)

ROUND 1
Attempt: +15
Penalties: -

ROUND 2
Attempt: -
Penalties: -

ROUND 3
Attempt: +15
Penalties: -

ROUND 4
Attempt: -
Penalties: -

ROUND 5
Attempt: +20
Penalties: -

Total: 58

NUMERICAL WINNER: Agate Two-Three-Six _{by ONE}