Nemesis

Nemesis couldn't resist joining what was basically wrestling on steroids. An excuse to beat others to a pulp? Literally any time someone made a noise in the Forum of Orion, she somehow stumbled into it, and then broke into a big, doofy grin.

It was time to break some goddamn bones.

Nemesis waited behind the doors, stomping her foot through the sandy earth with an air of impatience. Any minute now, and that big wall would open and out she would go, to face whatever beast, monster, or babe lay beyond.

"LADIES AND UGLIES!! WE GOT A TREAT FOR YOU HERE, FOLKS!! IN ONE CORNER, WE HAVE THE ONE, THE ONLY,
THE TONKA TRUCK HERSELF,
NEMESIS!"
Nemean's high pitched voice squealed, and the trinoceros's ears laid back with a snort. The doorway opened, and light peeled in from the open arena before her. She began to trot forward, feeling the heat of the crowd as cheers and shouts came from what was the audience. She paced around the arena, huffing and swinging her head, expectant and not... entirely unlike a show horse about to unleash some havoc upon the arena.

"AND IN THE OTHER--"
She had started to hear the buzzy screech of more from the DEATHMATCH-MAKER herself, but something in Nemean's tone had the tank of a gembound seeing red already. Whoever lay beyond that door as her competition, she wasn't going to give them a second to size her up.

Her trot on to the stage turned into a charge, her head low and prongs aimed forward at her foe as he was set to come out to face her.

{ FIGHT STATISTICS }

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S E N T I N E L v. N E M E S I S

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ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE

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{ ATTEMPT }

~ CHAAAAAAARGE!!!

{ DEFENSES }

~ ALL POINTS DEAD AHEAD

{ INJURIES }

~THIS IS WHAT PEAK CONDITION LOOKS LIKE

@The Sentinel

And in the other.

"...WE HAVE THE SKULL-FACED HOUND, THE HARBINGER OF DEATH, THE SSEEEEENTINEEEEL OF THE BLACK SPIIIIIRE!" -Elaborated on, and most certainly not by him. He was not here out of a blood-hazed rage, a desire to fight, or even on his Master's orders: he was here simply to gain a ranked title so that others of the Forge could not command him and thus disrupt his ever-important sentry work.

Work that consisted, mostly, of The Sentinel standing silent at the Aperture, staring down an empty tunnel.

Interrupting that? Unforgiveable.

So here he was, stepping out, blinking in the spotlights--each time they passed he was near-blinded, so that he almost missed Nemesis barrelling towards him.

He had taken stock of the other fighters as they'd gathered, careful to note down what he'd considered potential strengths and weaknesses, in the hopes of saving himself that half a second's worth of time. Unfortunately, the only thing he'd really come up with in regards to Nemesis was a mental note of "avoid the horns, and pray it does not get paired with me." He'd already fought Abaddon, and nearly lost; he certainly hadn't won, and this thing was even bigger, even nastier looking than he. The Sentinel had, at least, learned a few tricks from that fight.

Shadows swathed him; they swathed his black metal halberd, too, and whispers seemed to shroud them both. As she charged, he attempted to step aside, to move quickly out of her barrelling path--and to thrust the spiked point of his halberd back toward her. It would be a quick jab, deep if he could manage it but brief--nothing that'd get his weapon (he hoped) torn away.

His dodge was... barely enough; he felt the arena floor vibrate with the thunder of her feet as she swept just past him, the wind of her gallop almost enough to unbalance him on its own. And around him the sounds of the crowd, the flash of the spotlights, the dust, the screeching music--he struggled to pull back, to rebalance himself and focus on Nemesis alone.

To not get trampled into bloodied dust.

Round: 1/?
Attempt: Step aside and stab Nemesis with the halberd
Defense: --
Injuries: mildly sore ribs

@Nemesis

It was time! This round was her mother against well, she wasn't sure but they were as good as dust to her! The Tonka Truck herself was a nice touch! Hestia knew immediately who that was and came trotting over as far as she safely could to watch this next fight unfold. She wasn't tending to anyone's wounds just yet so she could easily leave her station with little to no fear of being called back. While Hestia was here as a healer, she was maybe here as a cheerleader first and foremost for her mother.

Though she found it somewhat humorous that the opponent had barely made it out of the doors with their own introduction and her mother was already charging! She had spirit and Hestia cheered it on! Orange and red hues dancing across her body in a way to mimic her mother's very own colors. She was a walking Pro-Nemesis advertisement and look she even had sound!

"Go mom! You can do it! Crush them to a pile of muddy red dust!"

Hestia wasn't one to yell, but she was one to cheer! And she was going to give it her all!

Oh, now this was a match. The trinoceros practically exploded from the gates, and no moment was spared to her opponent before she began her charge. Vakornol knew not of what a Tonka truck was, but it must be something powerful if it was paired with such a beautiful specimen.

Yes, the Revenant was a fan.

Let the Sentinel be denied praise either. His design was a solid one, even if his mind was... absent at times. Formidable armor, a powerful, looming stance—paired with an ever-sharp halberd? This was tank against precision. It could seesaw in either direction.

Vakornol poured part of a slushy into her mouth, set the cup down, and bellowed, "BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!" as the Sentinel sidestepped the first attack and drove the spear end of his weapon forth.

Nemesis

Oh, but this two-legged freak was quick on his feet, wasn't he? Nemesis got only a moment to scan the slick, upright, oil-black pelt of her foe before he side-stepped just in time to avoid being gored by several sharp points all at once.

A split second, and that fancy weapon of his was already making contact with her exposed side. The blow was glancing, whether intentional or due to him being knocked off balance, it barely drew blood as it slipped across her thick, tough hide.

It was enough to draw a bellowing laugh from Nemesis, as the sorry bastard drew first blood. "HAH! GOOD!" Seemed like she was going to have to take this serious. Her head swung, reorienting herself, and she pushed herself forward along the shaft of the halberd, driving herself into the narrow space between them.

His reach would matter little if she pressed in, and she drove her horns forward with the intent to stab him or-- at the very least-- to drive him back into a wall.

{ FIGHT STATISTICS }

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S E N T I N E L v. N E M E S I S

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ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE

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{ ATTEMPT }

~ CLOSE SPACE TO GORE

{ DEFENSES }

~ ALL POINTS DEAD AHEAD

{ INJURIES }

~T'IS ONLY A FLESH WOUND (scratch on flank)

@The Sentinel

Even his empty heart was feeling the adrenaline thump--fear? Was it fear?

He did not really have time to wonder. All he knew was that the behemoth before him was shifting, twisting, moving for him.

A plan--if vague, instinctive--was forming in his mind. Do as much damage as quicky as possible--and then avoid her. If she were bleeding (and he were not) then it was only a matter of time before exhaustion and blood loss took her.

He hoped.

The chanting of the crowd was a distant roar as he gathered himself, as he tensed down and inhaled, bracing. There was the power that Emuh's visit had granted him: could he use that to turn the tables? To take this monster's goring horns, and inflict her damage on herself? Limited, of course, but--at least it wouldn't be him.

At first he made no effort to dodge the strike--braced as he was--and it was only as Nemesis shoved right for him that he realized nothing had happened. It probably looked to her--and onlookers--that he had braced as if he'd though the could physically repel her ton and a half weight, somehow; it was only a last-second scuffle to one side that prevented him outright dying. But her horns caught across his chest, his abdomen, thudding over healing ribs, leaving deep tracks of torn flesh that at once bled Oil.

The Sentinel wound up on his back, stunned, a pained wheeze of air sucked into his lungs.

Round: 2/?
Attempt: Damage reflection mode
Defense: --
Injuries: mildly sore ribs

@Nemesis

Nemesis

If the Sentinel thought that he could face her head on in such a fashion, he was about to get a very nasty wake-up call. There was no way for her to know, of course, that his legendary ability had failed him. She simply felt a grim satisfaction as her horns raked through his chest. The stench of oil was not anything like that of blood, though the heat of it still burned through the air in a way that sent a thrill racing through her heart.

The heat of battle was the same, be it the peril of gembound or valkhound.

He fell upon the floor at her feet, knocked down by the blow, and her eyes were wide and wild as she stared down at him. "Yield, Sentinel of the Black Spire," she demanded in a low grunt, rearing back to raise her forelimbs. She sent her weight crashing down toward his still-recovering body. "Yield!"

Only his plea of surrender would save him, unless he had another trick up his sleeve... Unless, gasping for breath, he could roll out from underneath her before she crushed him under her immense weight. In close quarters, his weapon was a detriment more than an aid, and she saw it now for what it was: a crutch.

So what would he do? Give up? Or fight twice as hard in the face of the impossible? "YIELD!" Her voice bellowed.

{ FIGHT STATISTICS }

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S E N T I N E L v. N E M E S I S

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ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE

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{ ATTEMPT }

~ STOMP THE DOG MAN (PIN)

{ DEFENSES }

~ ALL POINTS DEAD AHEAD

{ INJURIES }

~T'IS ONLY A FLESH WOUND (scratch on flank)

@The Sentinel

Had he not been so wounded, The Sentinel might have tried a simple dodge: a roll away from her bulk. A bulk that seemed to hover there, slowed, giving him time to see the light gleaming off her hide, the sheen of blood where he'd struck her, the measured ferocity in her eyes. Her words were heard, but not yet understood--there was no time to really listen to their meaning. Beyond their sounds, he was calculating.

Not cold, logical--but last-ditch grim reflex. The wind was knocked out of him already, and he bled--no time, then, to roll--but he still had his halberd. As she crashed down toward him, he jammed its butt to the arena floor, lifting it as vertically as he could beneath her; the next seconds would dictate if she would crash her own weight down to impale herself upon it, whether she would throw herself aside at the last instant... or whether The Sentinel would be crushed utterly beneath her.

Round: 3/?
Attempt: last ditch attempt: impale nemesis on the way down
Defense: --
Injuries: sore ribs, ragged tear wounds across chest and abdomen

@Nemesis

Mirac had been enjoying the show. He enjoyed the dogs of hot wrapped in dough, and the stick meats. He'd been content to watch the fight, screaming at the top of his lungs that he 'KNEW THE FIGHTER DOWN THERE' But things were taking a turn. And before Mirac knew it, the Sentinel was about to get crushed by the full weight of the trinoceros. "NO!"

His jaws tore, white gum and glistening black blood dotting the stands around him. And when his jaws snapped shut again, with a clap like thunder, the hum of his oilstone spread. A cold burn spread across his jaws, void black flames licked his teeth, searing his jaws with chilling pain and Mirac opened his jaws.

A thin stream of void-black flame exited his jaws, arcing for Nemesis. "WIELDER!" He cried, freezing flames still licking at his vulnerable maw. He tried to force his way through the crowd, dropping into the arena with a plop into the sand. He spat the grains from his teeth, and blinked them from his eyes. "WIELDER!" He repeated. "WIELD me! You may not FALL to this creature! She is less SPIKEY and MURDEROUS than you! Together we are INDOMITABLE!"

"speak" think

@nemesis @the Sentinel

"Now THIS is good!" Nemean cried, hands in the air. It had it all! A giant, rampaging beast! A guy with a sharp pointy weapon! BLOOD! The fighters weren't evenly matched, but she was still pleased with her remarkable skill at matching them up because their styles clashed WELL together.

Her bets were on Nemesis, though. Look at those horns! Those FEET! Look at-

AND THEN, FROM THE STANDS!!!

"HEY! HEY-! YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" she yelled, sweeping out a finger to point at Mirac. "NO MAGIC ALLOWED! SOMEONE GET THAT OFF THE STAGE! I MEAN OUT OF THE RING! THE ARENA! THE DEATHMAAAATCH!! I mean, it's hilarious, but throw it out. WOOOO! CHAOS!"

A shame it was too big for her to wield. Heck, it'd probably eat her!

@Draconua (or vakornol) would you like to do the honors