- THE LEVIATHAN -

...He had to admit, he liked this one.

It was hard to outright encourage it, of course--because he also liked the Labradorite, and honestly, he didn't want the Labradorite to die. But he liked the bird's attitude, its fire and fearlessness, its utter ruthlessness.

"IT IS CUNNING," he called down to the oily black creature; "GET ITS STONE FOR THE FORGE, IF YOU CAN. I LIKE IT! BUT DO NOT LET IT DRAW YOU INTO WEARING YOURSELF OUT."

But he cast a wary glance, too, Draconua's way. "...STILL, YOU MAY NOT HAVE MUCH TIME!"

Advice from the stands wasn't against the rules. Even when it came from the judges.

However much it would be worth.

I'd of blown the scoundrel up
Watch his head and heart hiccup
Erupt in tinsel and blue cinders
turn August into winter

"Oooohohoho, you're a poor shot, Vee!" It knew that. But somehow having the bird repeat the thought back at it was worse. Made it more tangible, more visible. Put it up under the spotlight along with the two of them. And all it's other flaws, for that matter.

Because it was losing. To a bird. To a creature who it should so easily be able to crush, to feel the ribs break in its-

I need to focus on the fight

Because the fight was going on long. Way too long. And the audience was getting restless and angrier still. This needed to end. It needed to end now.

"Seems we're not a fan favorite, are we, Vee? Tell you what, I'll help you out. I'll take a little trip down there... and, if you can catch me, you'll have been made the victor!" What?

It watched the bird land- a good distance away, at that. A trap? He would fly away the second it got close enough to be a threat, it was sure. But he was injured. And it needed to catch him. It needed to end this now.

In the water, this would have been no trial- it was swift and agile underwater, practically made for it, if only if it were intelligently designed. But on land? It was a lumbering mass of oil and spikes. A fish out of water, almost literally.

Still, it would try.

And it would fail.

A foot slipped in a puddle of it's own oil, and down it went. no nononoNoNoNoNONONONO Limbs flailed out, trying to catch itself, but to no avail. It landed on the ground with a gigantic thud, letting up a cloud of dust and leaving it perfectly open to attack.

@Pratap
Round: 4/5
Attempt: Close the distance!
Defense: beeg, back spikes, goop.
Injuries: Scratched eyes

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

attempted gore

Wh-- "MY STONE? WHAT WOULD YOU DO WITH MY STONE?!" Pratap simply had to call -- perhaps its final question before death inevitably came for i--... uff! "Oh dear," the raven's voice came out in a sort of confused, concerned tone. Pratap theatrically winced, as Vee managed to trip over its own black oil.

"Oooh dear." A tone shift and a pitch change, Pratap's voice dropped to a sweet, venomous tune. He floated over to the fallen beast, landing beside its head. Taunting at its worst and finest. "Was that the one who trained you? The purple... thing, up there," Pratap's voice was but a whisper, and he glanced wearily in Vargas's direction. "Has it never fought a bird before?" Only a further continuation of Pratap's cruelty: taunting, floating, an untouchable figure of authority that only pretended to be nice, that blamed other people for Vee's issues. A condescending, patronizing, cowardly jerk.

"This ought to be a good lesson." And with that, Pratap would attempt to plunge a talon into one of Vee's eyes and gouge it out.

ROUND 5/5

86%

ATTEMPT: gouge out one of lab's eyes ;_;
DEFENSE: oh absolutely none this is a free roast chicken
INJURIES: chonp'd wing = pain & worse flight control ):

@V-Labradorite-One

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

death

violence

gore

I'd of blown the scoundrel up
Watch his head and heart hiccup
Erupt in tinsel and blue cinders
turn August into winter

This time, the chatter of the audience flew right over it's head. All it could focus on was the shame, which hurt more than the rough fall did. It fell in front of all those people, Vargas and the other members of the forge.

The bird floated over to it's head, and red, watery eyes (watery from the pain, only the pain) watched him. "Oooh dear." Concern. Fake concern. "Was that the one who trained you? The purple... thing, up there," It was hard to imagine Vargas as a purple thing. Even saying as much felt.. dangerous. It wasn't sure if vargas would punish for something as trivial as insults, but it wasn't sure that he wouldn't, either. "Has it never fought a bird before?" It hasn't. Labradorite hasn't. It knew that wasn't what the bird had meant, but that's the thought that came bubbling to the surface. Labradorite had never fought a bird before, and now look at what a fool it had made of itself.

"This ought to be a good lesson." A talon way too close to it's eye. It jerked back in instinctual, primal fear, a roar bubbling out of it. Then, it saw prey, injured, nearly within it's reach.

CRUNCH.

That was all it had needed. One single, good, solid bite. Bones shattered between it's teeth. The taste of metal coated it's tongue and dripped off it's jaws. It felt life and the warmth that came with it dissipate, leaving behind only feathers and meat and bone and stone. It looked up into the stands. At Nemean. At Vargas.

I did it.

@Pratap
Round: 5/5
Attempt: CRUNCH! THAT! BIRD!
Defense: beeg, back spikes, goop.
Injuries: Scratched eyes

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

death

gore

gore written in grey italics.

Pratap had never felt such shame and fear in having spoken too soon. He met the tragic fate of prey, falling from the high ground, crashing into the earth. What do they call that, an asteroid or a meteor?

CRUNCH.

Guess there wasn't enough time to google it. The first few moments, as you probably could have guessed, were agony. Bones crushing, fragments piercing muscles, flesh, and nerves, laceration after laceration in every part where feeling remained... sloppy murder was, evidently, much more painful than a clean-cut neck bite. But after that moment, after the spine-chilling raven shriek rings out across the arena, after it gets cut off early... that moment passes.

Now the agony is Vee's to bear.

And you know what? Props to it. It had passed that test of strength, held that ball of fire in its mouth 'til the fire gave out. And it hadn't burned! ...Not yet.

The final part of Pratap's journey would be carried on in death and rebirth. He would find the answer to their question to Vargas... he would become it.

ROUND death/5

0%

ATTEMPT: die
DEFENSE: ehehe chikken
INJURIES: chonp'd entirely

- exit via Die. -

( GM tag time! )

DEATHMATCH

The heavy music cut off as that fateful blow came into motion, a dramatic sting rising and rising and rising... CRUNCH!

"YES!" Gone was the churro, thrown aside and surrendered to a fate of being eternally lost in the seats, because Nemean was flying out of her seat.

Whether or not the crowd went wild at the sight of a kill, the sound of an audience thundered around the stands. The bass thump of music erupted back into being, somehow triumphant even with the sprite's frenzied shrieking of "BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!"

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! THERE IT IS, EVERYBODY!" She rallied with a pump of her fists and no small amount of lights-based pyrotechnics. Haloed in the light of at least a hundred fireworks, Nemean howled. "WINNER KEEPS STONE, AND OURS IS CLEAR: THEEEEEEEEEEEEEE LIVING SHADOOOOOW!"

Golden eyes practically sparkled as she ogled in Vargas's direction: "did you see the way it CRUNCHED on that sorry little thing? PERFECT! And I'd just started getting BORED!" Was that look... impressed?

Pink wings buzzed as she clapped her hands. "ALRIGHT, CLEAR THE STAGE! We've got another DEATHMATCH TO HOST! EAT UP, BUDDY!"

_____________

DEATHMATCH WINNER: V-Labradorite-One

Character: Pratap Age: +5 (11 Cycles - Capped) Magic Level: +1 (Fledgling ROUND 1 Attempt: +16 Penalties: - ROUND 2 Attempt: +10 Penalties: - ROUND 3 Attempt: +19 Penalties: - ROUND 4 Attempt: +8 Penalties: - ROUND 5 Attempt: - Penalties: - Total: 59

Character: V-Labradorite-One Age: +5 (12 Cycles - Capped) Magic Level: +3 (Brawler) ROUND 1 Attempt: +14 Penalties: - ROUND 2 Attempt: +10 Penalties: - ROUND 3 Attempt: - Penalties: - ROUND 4 Attempt: - Penalties: - ROUND 5 Attempt: +19 Penalties: - Total: 51

NUMERICAL WINNER: Pratap

- THE LEVIATHAN -

"YYYYYYEEEEEEES! WELL DONE!" Vargas roared, jolting up from his seat atop the bench. Which was stupid; where was he going to go-? It had been reflex--he was just EXCITED, okay?

"That bird and its stone belong to you, now! To make use of... or to wear as a trophy." He paused, "grinning" down (his rigid face matching his frame of mind, for once). That poor damn bird. Arrogance and fire, and arrogance it hadn't been able to live up to--it had played with another's fire and it had lost. But he still admired it, and its design. It was a lesson learned like so many through the Deathmatch, and the Trials, and all the olden days: through death, weeding out the failures so that the triumphs--like Labradorite--would survive.

Would thrive.

This one was proving capable, indeed!

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

gore

I'd of blown the scoundrel up
Watch his head and heart hiccup
Erupt in tinsel and blue cinders
turn August into winter

The shriek almost wasn't as bad as the way it got cut off abruptly, leaving only the ravenous roar of the crowd to fill the space. And there were the (quite literal) fireworks, the applause, the praise. It swelled under the approval and immediately felt a pit in it's gut. Well. There was no time for any of that- the next match would be starting soon.

It bite down harshly, letting everything from the stone 'collar' up plop onto the dusty arena floor. It swallowed the broken, bloodied mass remaining in it's mouth. It then bent down, carefully detaching the stone from the neck stump of the bird and storing it in it's cheek. It left the head were it sat, to decay into oil. Maybe Nemean would want the skull that's left over? She seemed like the kind to have a glittery, rhinestone-encrusted skull throne to set her lacy cushion on top of.

It made it's way through the fighter's pit, back up to the stands. It didn't know what it was doing. It needed to get it's eyes looked at, before it was it's turn to fight again. But it wasn't in the fighter's pit, looking for Maximus or one of the other healers. But it wasn't. It was sitting on a bench, hiding amidst the crowd, staring at the Golden Pallasite it'd spat into the palm of one of it's claws. There was no more remaining blood on the stone, it was now just a spiky chunk of ruddy rock. Insignificant if you didn't know what it'd come from.

This was it's stone, to do with whatever it wanted, now. It wasn't sure what exactly that meant, really. It would examine the stone in its claws while it waited for the next fight to begin.

....If it gets my gills, and it's wings, it could be a decent scout. We need more of those.

(Exit Labradorite!)