Nemesis

It was impressive. Nemesis, genuinely, was impressed. Most idiots would freeze up in a situation like that, hell, most would scramble out of the way or at least try. The fact that this Sentinel (a dramatic title, really... made her wish she had told Nemean that she was The Fire, as corny as it sounded) held firm and managed to jab his halberd into her path in time to defend himself was admirable.

She probably could have stumbled out of the way, redirected her attack. The trinoceros could have been a bit more self-preserving. But in the heat of the moment, she didn't care: one of them was going to lose this fight and she didn't plan on dragging it out until the big demonic dragon bitch was told to shoot lightning at them. That ruined the entire point of it. The point of two bodies clashing in a fight so physical, so tactile, that every sensation was burning with unbridled adrenaline and sweat.

Hot, near-blinding pain raced through her chest as her weight fell down upon the Sentinel. Soft tissue split like butter under the blade, deep into the muscle and bone where her mass buckled over the weapon. He didn't have much time, but her violent crash was slowed long enough for him to weasel out from underneath her feet.

Her blood splattered, gushing, in a blistering spray that hit the already spilled oil and sizzled on contact, painting the arena in sickly, dark splotches of blackened crimson-- like a fire being consumed by itself. Her breathing, heavy and gasping from the pain, sputtered saliva with each blustering exhale.

She was close to him, still, he wasn't able to flee-- she believed-- with his halberd all but embedded into her ribcage. And she threw her head like a battering ram at him, uncaring and unyielding, throwing every sharp edge and point on her face at his shoulders, at his throat, his face.

As long as she made the fight quick, and messy, Nemesis fully believed she could withstand more than he could. Perhaps that was foolish, but the roaring of the crowd-- the one she ignored as nothing more than blood boiling to a drum beat in her ears-- encouraged every second of mindless violence she enacted.

{ 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 }

~ A REAL HEAD BANGER

{ DEFENSES }

~ ALL POINTS DEAD AHEAD

{ INJURIES }

~T'IS ONLY A FLESH WOUND (scratch on flank)
~RHINO ON A STICK (deep puncture wound)

@The Sentinel

Too many things were happening at once.

The first--and most alarming--was the fact that Nemesis hadn't slowed her slam downward at him. He barely managed to move aside, and then the stench of corrupted flame and a familiar voice was screaming--Mirac? That was--wrong, Mirac was not meant to be here; magic was not allowed! This new distraction was potentially devastating: as the Sentinel glanced back, Nemesis turned to swing her too-many-horns for his body once again.

The issue he faced now was that he'd lost his halberd--well and truly. Its broad, multi-spined axe head was lodged within the immense beast, and though it might have severed vitals or non-vital organs (he had no way of knowing) she wasn't going down--not yet. She was too big; had too much blood, too much vitality. It would take time to kill her, and in that time, he was now unarmed. And she?

She, with her weapons attached to her face--swords and a shield, right along her skull? She could not be disarmed. The best he could now hope for was to dodge and use what little agility he could, to-

-ah, but he did have his own weaponry, did he not-? It was a risk, though. He could aim for a kill, but she might well achieve it first, given the length of her horns and the power of her charge.

He didn't have time to decide; reflexes chose for him. Instead of trying to drive an arm-blade for Nemesis's eye--which could have also resulted in his death--his instincts drove him to flee, if temporarily; to dive aside, a mad and bloody scramble to get away from his attacker.

It was not the dramatic battle he'd have hoped for; his black and monstrous form was debased, scrabbling in the sand and throwing himself with obvious franticness this way and that. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. But if he were lucky, he could simply let his embedded halberd do the work, and... hope the axe-head had severed something useful.

Round: 4/?
Attempt: outmaneuver Nemesis
Defense: --
Injuries: sore ribs, ragged tear wounds across chest and abdomen

@Nemesis

Oh, come on! Nemesis was so close to winning! "KILL HIM ALREADY!!!" Bedlam shrieked down into the arena. "DON'T LET THAT DIRTY DOG DODGE YOU AGAIN! STOMP HIM TO PIECES! STAB HIM! CRUSH HIM! TURN HIM TO GOOP! STAB HIM! CRUSH HIM! TURN HIM TO GOOP!"

It seized a handful of fish churros, raised its paw, then hesitated for a moment and shoved them into its mouth instead. Then, chewing, it snatched a corn dog out of a nearby Ascent's claws. (The angel-dragon gave it an incredulous look, apparently too shocked to react.) "STOMP IT TO PIECES!" it shrieked again, and brandished the corn dog. "LIKE THIS!"

It threw the corn dog at its feet, and in a moment of brazen foolishness decided: why not? Its throat-eye was already mottled green with bruises and swollen shut, so what was the worst that could happen? Magic came flaring out as it stomped down a foot. And it turned out that the worst that could happen was...

The ground near its feet rippled, seeming to become a quicksand-like consistency. Bedlam gave a startled "eep!" as its foot began to get sucked downward, dropping its churros and struggling to pull itself free.

Vakornol was already hopping down after the sword even before Nemean had taken notice. Hell, it was hard to ignore a sentient weapon floundering in the sand and wailing for combat and blood. That, and the beam of fire shot toward one of the combatants—completely against the spirit of the whole thing.

"On it," the hound barked back to the judges before trotting easily and without any hesitation for Mirac's... sharpness. All things considered, she was just unfazed as she approached it. Who'd managed to make such a thing like that, anyways? Any swords she'd ever heard of being sentient were just facsimiles of it. Or something resembling it—like a stupidly ornate blade whizzing around a Master that was clearly no longer with this Nest.

... anyways.

Imprecise as her actual finger movements were, she could bend them just enough to attempt to pinch and hold the sword's mouth(?) shut with a hurried "shush. Come along with me now." Y'know, so she could get back to watching the ramping-up action.

Despite missing with her very smooth and casual attempt to dissuade Mirac from opening his mouth(? once again) she began to walk off, glancing over her shoulder. "D'ya wanna hop in the Deathmatch or something? No magic allowed and shit, but you can hassle Nemean about it."

Oh, that'd be funny. Vakornol could see it already.

@Mirac

Nemesis

The Sentinel was too fast, slipping away from her. He scrambled, wild and desperate, through the blood and oil soaked sand, and one of her legs buckled underneath her as the weapon embedded in her torso wedged itself between her ribs and the floor.

Nemesis spat bloody spit into the growing pool of fluids surrounding her, biting a hard hiss through her teeth. She forced herself back to her feet, body shuttering, but there was no way she could charge after the Sentinel-- not with a shaft nearly as long as her body jabbing out from between a handful of broken ribs. A growl huffed through her sweat-soaked body with another sharp jab of pain that kept her in the present.

The Sentinel was running, and she had to deal with the blade. So she didn't have hands to get the damn thing out, but she had plenty of teeth. To hell with it.

She didn't give it a second thought (if she had, maybe she'd consider how much blood loss she would have out of the gaping wound it was about to leave behind) as her jaws snapped down on the hilt, and threw herself on to her hind legs as she snapped her head back.

Her vision went white and as flesh was torn asunder, for a brief instant her consciousness lost as she let go of the halberd mid-spin and sent it through the air. The next thing she knew, she hit the earth with a splattering thud. The world swam around her as she tried to rise, her feet slipping through hot, putrid smelling ichor.

"Give up, Sentinel," she rasped, nostrils flaring as she picked his dark form out from the spots in her vision, "You cannot stop me."

{ 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 }

~ "GIVE" SENTINEL HIS WEAPON BACK

{ DEFENSES }

~ ALL POINTS DEAD AHEAD

{ INJURIES }

~T'IS ONLY A FLESH WOUND (scratch on flank)
~RHINO ON A STICK (deep puncture wound)
~BLOOD LOSS

@The Sentinel

His breath was coming in rasps, pained ones--each heaving inhale a spear of pain in his ribs. It felt as though they had cracked again, her impact from prior and all the battering and movement since having split the knitting bones.

Yet-... she looked worse. Bleeding heavily, hauling herself to pluck the long shaft of the halberd out with her teeth (and even in his state, still scrambling away, he noted the impressive fortitude this must have required). And--lobbing it his way.

She didn't have the body, the angle, to provide a forceful throw--the halberd was in a loose toss, more than anything. But that didn't mean that a falling axe-blade on a polearm nine feet long wouldn't chop right into him, if it hit--it wasn't a lightweight weapon. He flinched, twisting to try and bring up one spined arm in a clumsy warding gesture, hoping to at least knock it aside, off its path.

The impact was jarring--metal clanging off his forearm--but it didn't stab him, at least; it clattered to the sand and lay there, wisps of shadow coiling upward from it.

He glanced at it, then at Nemesis--who was speaking, but sinking to the ground, and yet-... And yet, she was still growling her warnings, her stoic swear that she would not go down.

The Sentinel turned, hand reaching out, grasping the halberd's haft in his palms; and he stood, slowly (a little buckled over, the other arm rising to clutch the jagged wounds across his chest) and glanced around. Their combined blood had soaked the arena floor, black and red, Oiled and--well, not; as he took a step back, he could feel the warmth still trickling down his legs. It requires... armor, he decided--once he was done with this battle, or--if she stayed down--battles, that would be the first thing he would do.

But in the meantime--Nemesis had spoken, and it seemed foolish to simply ignore it. Perhaps if he could keep her talking, she would simply bleed out faster than he would. Otherwise--he'd have to go to work with the spear, and hope she couldn't turn fast enough to counter him while wounded so.

"The Nemesis has already stopped," he declared, and then--in a deadpan tone, unaware of the phrase's origins--"The Tonka Truck is down."

Round: 5/?
Attempt: knock the halberd from stabbing him (with his own blade that's harsh)
Defense: --
Injuries: sore ribs, ragged tear wounds across chest and abdomen

This was one HELL of a fight, and Nemean was truly living her best life. Pay-per-view paled in comparison to this kind of shit. Every spurt of blood that came from pointy weapons was met with a shriek of delight from the sprite. Mirac was long-forgotten in the wake of an extended "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" ringing across the entire pitch at a deafening volume.

The Tonka Truck was indeed down, but she wasn't hearing any surrender except for the big lug telling the other guy to give it up, and wasn't that AWESOME? Nemean loved a motherfucker who refused to back down. Maybe one of them would die!

Just to make sure of that fact though, of course, the sprite lobbed her drink cup at Draconua, who'd somehow managed to fall asleep (though she'd probably swear she did NOT sleep because that was her NAME) amid the Chaos. "WAKE UP DRACCY! GET A L'IL BIT OF THE JUICES FLOWING AND GIVE THEM SOMETHING TO FINISH STRONG WITH! C'MON BABY! THEY AREN'T BACKING DOWN!"

For emphasis: "YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!"

________

Draconua has been called upon to present an arena hazard! The magic attempt will be considered a success, and the roll will indicate the severity of the hazard. Nemesis and The Sentinel must now double-post each round: one roll to continue the fight and then a second roll to avoid the hazard. The first to be struck by the hazard before fight's end will be returned to their chrysalis or killed by it, and loses. (Should both fail to dodge, the lower roll will be struck and eliminated.)

crk-SPLASH!

Fluorescent blue sputtered across Oily hide as a cup cracked on impact with her. It bounced up to smack into her cheek for good measure, getting caught against one of the otherwise kind of useless spines along her lower set of horns; and there it lay, even as Draconua jolted upright and instinctively snapped her teeth Nemean's way with a snarl.

She could lay into the Master later, though, when Vargas wasn't there to duly put her into her apparent place of being a nice, obedient little Chaos Monster.

For now, there was an arena to further trash, and ground to corrupt. A rumbling growl bubbled in her throat, much less spirited than some other hazard-creations from before (on account of sleeping, which she was not doing.)

Her tail thumped against the stands, and a crack split them in an instant, lunging for the combatants. Shelves of rock pushed up and down with puffs of sand, threatening to drop bodies into blackened pits or crush them between stone.

@Nemesis

Nemesis

Oh, oh... That was a good one... Nemesis felt consciousness leaving her, a stubbornness driving her to try and stand anyway. She barely held her head up to hear the Sentinel's one-liner sting her pride, her body quaking with the sheer effort to keep going with her life force gushing out of her by the second.

Then, the world exploded around her.

She clamored to her feet, lunging out of the way of a massive crater that exploded, tearing earth asunder around her, stumbling in a haze out of the way... and maybe toward the Sentinel, as though she would still fight. The shelves of earth that jutted out, coated in blood and oil and oozing with corrupted magic, brushed her massive form and she kept going, shouldering past the earth and refusing to be taken to her grave.

The world shook violently beneath her, and she stumbled forward despite this, avoiding being buried alive or worse. Through the chaos and the light-headedness, she lost sight of the Sentinel.

{ 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 }

~ SURVIVE

Nemesis

Nemesis staggered, the earth still trembling beneath her body that was growing heavier and heavier by the moment. Her limbs were slick with her own blood, and each breath was growing harder to bring into her lungs, but she found her balance and locked her limbs.

She would not fall... Even if everything inside her body was screaming that she would die. The thought made her laugh, as though this match was not fuel to keep her burning for... For... Her thoughts struggled, and she quickly abandoned any attempts to think.

This was no longer a battle of-- wits, if it ever was. And it hadn't been, not really. No. Regardless. Nemesis settled into a calm (shock, undoubtedly, settling in) and though she could not see the Sentinel through the haze, her ears flicked and she let herself instead react.

The first sign of something coming toward her, spear or other, she would react on instinct, to try and knock it aside and... survive, stay standing, as chaos descended upon the arena.

{ 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 SIX

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{ ATTEMPT }

~ STAND HER GROUND AND COUNTERATTACK

{ DEFENSES }

~ BRO WE'RE BARELY STANDING...

{ INJURIES }

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

~RHINO ON A STICK (deep puncture wound)

~SIGNIFICANT BLOOD LOSS

~SCRATCHES/BRUISING ALONG BODY

@The Sentinel