As soon as it heard the screech somewhere beneath the snapping of it's own spines it clambered back onto it's feet. It wheezed softly, the exhaustion and pain finally getting to it. The pain now enveloping their back was hard to ignore, but they had to ignore it for now at least.

They had a deathmatch to win.

It stared down at the crumpled Agate, it's expression as unreadable as it's kin tended to be. Oil cascaded down it's back, contrasting beautifully with the neon red blood oozing sluggishly from the acquired injuries. You already won. They can't fight anymore. You won.
It stepped forward.

Its foot landed next to Agate, crushing it's other wing, maybe more depending on how they were sprawled out. It tried not to recoil, stepping back from the bird. Its gaze turned upward, towards the stands.

I won, right?

ROUND 5/5

ATTEMPT: Stomp the Agate
DEFENSE: Spikes, oil(?)
INJURIES: Tired from prev. fight, back wounds, broken back spikes

@Agate Two-Three-Six

The Agate couldn't possibly hope to move out of the way as the Labradorite's limb came slamming down upon its opposite wing, crushing it against the fragile ribcage of the cockatrice. There was probably more in the way of broken bones than surviving ones at this point-- at least, that's what the dizzying agony told Gatto as they struggled against the haze.

They had tasted death many times: this was what it tasted like. Sharp, coppery on the tongue, the numb of shock giving way to the thicker suffocation of nothingness pulling around at the edges of consciousness.

Gatto had survived so much, to die here and now... why, it seemed unthinkable. Their gemstone could save them: there was no worm to devour their corpse whole, and no grim reaper sweeping through to turn the stone to dust, as there was in the Hydra's unforgiving trials. Perhaps if they opened their maw and called forfeit, they could buy enough time to start the process... before the Labradorite shattered their life line.

"You win!" The Agate croaked, a ragged, gasping sound forced through punctured lungs, spitting up blood to even squeeze out a breath from punctured lungs. "I give, I yield, have mercy Labradorite... You win, you win... you bested a Champion, you..."

And then, with one last spasm of fractured wings and a jerk of the neck, the stone at the base of the wing the winner had nearly struck began to spread, desperately trying to save the Agate for another one of the Master's games.

ROUND 5/5

ATTEMPT: forfeit or chrysalisize
DEFENSE: nah
INJURIES: badly broken wings, crushed by oil-dog, covered in oil

@V-Labradorite-One

agate exit via chrys baybee

DEATHMATCH

Nemean had been clapping, off and on, cheering and whistling and shouting for blood. She'd been particularly enthralled at the whole murderous-cowboy-on-bucking-bronco reenactment, hooting her deafening approval. And now-

"A FORFEIT! -And a smart one, at that! Sick timing-" (Nemean quickly consulted her notes, shifting a tiny spotlight over to illuminate them) "-DEFIER OF DEATH. Oh that's good, that's ACCURATE! Anyway EXCELLENT JOB, AND WE HAVE A WINNER! THE LIVING SHADOWWWW! ...V-LABRADOOOOORITE-ONE! FIRST OF ITS STONE, HELL YEAH! RING IN THIS NEW ERA OF MONSTERS!"

A huge fanfare rose, trumpets and trombones and, for some reason, trilling flutes. Not that there were any, of course. Illusionary red balloons rose in the hundreds from the sands of the arena and the seats, rising to burst into golden confetti that showered over the arena. "Y'know what," Nemean's voice--amplified--hollered over the music: "THIS was a pretty metaphorical match, or whatever! THE OLD GUARD VERSUS THE NEW! Good to see some of you old Champs still out there fighting, and good to see the new dudes don't totally suck! WOOO!" Nemean considered, even as a lazy point of one finger brought sweeping spotlights to illuminate the Labradorite's Oily hide. "AS A CELEBRATION, FREE CORN DOGS FOR ALL!"

As the match concluded, corn dogs began to rain from the sky.

_____________

DEATHMATCH WINNER: V-LABRADORITE-ONE

Character: V-Labradorite-One Age: +5 (16 Cycles, Capped) Magic Level: +3 (Brawler) ROUND 1 Attempt: +17 Penalties: - ROUND 2 Attempt: - Penalties: - ROUND 3 Attempt: - Penalties: - ROUND 4 Attempt: +13 Penalties: - ROUND 5 Attempt: +9 Penalties: - Total: 47

Character: Agate Two-Three-Six Age: +5 (66030 Cycles, Capped) Magic Level: +3 (Strategist) ROUND 1 Attempt: - Penalties: - ROUND 2 Attempt: +11 Penalties: - ROUND 3 Attempt: - Penalties: - ROUND 4 Attempt: - Penalties: - ROUND 5 Attempt: +14 Penalties: - Total: 33

NUMERICAL WINNER: V-Labradorite-One

@V-Labradorite-One @Agate Two-Three-Six

- THE LEVIATHAN -

This one he had watched with bated breath, leaning tensed from the stands to stare at each detail caught in the flash of spotlights. If he could have grinned, he would have. He liked the Agate well enough: it had a cheerful defiance in the face of death he approved of, a determination, the sort that carried one through pitch-black horrors and out the other side sailing smooth.

And then there was Labradorite: of his own circle of spawn and kin, quiet Forge monster, half-aquatic beast.

He didn't quite know who to root for, because he would have cheered on both; and so he did, in his own way, with the occasional "BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!" that was so traditional here. But the fight didn't last all that long, and it--for better or for worse, he could not decide--wasn't as bloody as he'd quite expected. Oh, Gatto lost a wing to a break, to be sure--but there was no disembowelment, no torn-away heads. Just a few short moments of twisting and thrashing, brief but skilled strikes, and an end to it.

Vargas was secretly pleased.

"WELL DONE, BOTH OF YOU," he bellowed, approval rife in his tone--relief, however, hidden.

He offered a stern nod down to Labradorite. "YOU," he declared, "will be rewarded." Then he rocked back, haunches dropping back onto his stone seat.

(also exit)