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gore

violence

DEATHMATCH

"AND HEEEERE... WEEEE... GOOOOOOO!"

The music jumped into a deafening clamor, a roar of bells and trumpets and drums that clashed entirely with itself while filling the arena with a thump of primal energy. The spotlights swept the arena, which was nice because the workers hadn't really been able to. More literally, that was. The debris of the whole day's worth of fights now littered the sands: thick patches of bloodsoaked sand that they couldn't quite get out, shards of chrysalis, patches of defiled and burned ground, what looked like shreds of body part. That wasn't even to mention the glitter, confetti and bits of food and trash that had all mysteriously "fallen" into the ring. (Nemean took no blame for this.)

Anyway-... Back to the spotlights. They illuminated the door of the arena, and Nemean's voice crowed out, again amplified by magic.

"THIS IS IT, MONSTERS AND MURDERERS! OUR GRAND FINALE, THE FINAL FIGHT, THE LAST STAND OF OUR FINAL SURVIVORS!"

They'd been healed, and told to come out separately for their introductions, this time. The Sentinel, in particular, had been warned against doing another "surprise attack" as Hunter entered: Nemean had explained that while this was pretty cool and okay in a normal fight, it'd be "totally anticlimactic in the last battle," whatever that meant.

So she waited for each to emerge, and she gave them a full, crowd-roaring introduction.

"IN THIS CORNER, we have the MURDEROUS MARAUDER, the VANQUISHER of the LIVING SHADOW, the DEFEATER of the..." Nemean winced. "Long one." She took a breath. "...OF THE PHYSICAL, INDOMITABLE DEMON OF CANIS, MASTER OF BATTLE, DEALER OF DEATHBLOWS. THE CONQUEROR OF THE GRINNING HORRORBEAST..."

Drums rolled... The spotlight fixed on Hunter's emergence into the arena.

"THE HUNTERRRRRR OF WILD BEAAAAASTS!!!"

The hiss of the crowd--half real, half illusion--rose to a roar.

For a moment the spotlight lingered, igniting Hunter in flaring light. Lights flashed around the arena, showing snapshots of Hunter's previous fights: of Hunter punching Faceless in its... uh, face; of Hunter leaping up and grabbing a ledge to barely avoid a gout of black flame; and of a spear splintering into oily Labradorite's throat. All the while Nemean waited for him to move, the lights following him, the music roaring, the applause cranked up to eleven. And when the spot was clear, she turned the light to the door again.

"AND NOW FOR HIS OPPONENT..."

A hush fell, the drumroll starting up again.

"IN THE OTHER CORNER, WE HAVE... THE SUBJUGATOR OF THE TONKA-TRUCK, THE CRUSHER OF THE CATAWAMPUS, THE ABSOLUTE DECIMATOR OF THE UNKILLABLE, THE UNTOUCHABLE, THE FORSAKEN REVENANT..."

Silence lingered for a beat as the Sentinel stepped in, and the crowd roared once more.

"THE BLACK HOUND OF CHAOS... THE SENTINEEEEL OF DRAAAACOOOO!"

Now the blinding spotlight was on him, and Nemean realized belatedly that he really was blinded. Chaos light, or whatever, and all that. She snickered and shifted it away, to illuminate the center of the arena. And all the while new images hovered around the stands: the Sentinel leaping aside to avoid the last charge of Nemesis's horns, the Sentinel snapping his foot to strike the Catawampus in the head, and his halberd ripping into Vakornol as she entered the arena.

Nemean took a breath, and continued.

"In our search for the biggest, the best, the strongest, fastest, and cleverest monsters, these two have proven their worth! Is it any coincidence that we have two two-legged beasties winning battles with spears in hand? Are we seeing a new most-efficient design for the first time in MILLENNIA? IS THIS THE NEW META?? We may be making HISTORY HERE, folks!"

Nemean sat back, and flicked a switch. It didn't do anything, but it was timed with a snap of her fingers that dimmed the lights and quieted the roar of the fake part of the crowd-sounds, for a minute. Flicking a switch just made it look cool. "KEEP IT DIRTY. KEEP IT BRUTAL. PROVE WHICH OF YOU IS THE ULTIMATE KILLER... AND WHICH IS ONLY SECOND BEST. ALL EYES ARE ON YOU TWO... READY... And..." The drums began a heartbeat thud, rapidly quickening into a loud and rhythmic slam.

"GOOOOOOOOO!"

The bloodied arena waited. And in the quiet, Nemean began the chant:

"Blood. Blood. BLOOD. BLOOD. BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!"

@The Sentinel @Hunter

Black feet stepped onto soft, hot sand. He could feel his weight sink ever-so-slightly in, but beyond that, it was difficult to pick one sense-overwhelming pattern from another. The sound was deafening, the roar of words and crowd and music. And his eyes were quite simply blinded. The Sentinel, touched by the power of Chaotic light, saw perfectly in the pitch dark and horribly in the light. The spotlights rendered him sightless.

Thankfully, they left him before Nemean said "go," and so he had a moment to properly prepare: to look out over the sands, to size up his opponent.

Shorter than himself, by a long shot; this meant nothing in terms of his chances of success. He'd learned that by defeating larger foes, himself, and by seeing the battles of creatures such as this one, such as Pollen. Skill would matter, here.

It was dark-colored, large-eyed, parts of it thickly-furred (or was that hair?) and it had a tail, for counterbalance. It was armed, as he was.

The Sentinel had practiced against other spear-fighters, before. He'd been taught by them, sparred with them. He judged that he had a good chance, here, so long as he kept his distance and used his reach: if he did not let the smaller fighter reach him, then logically it could not harm him. But it might be nimble as well as smaller...

...Further thought proved impossible, because innate Chaos chose this moment to chime with the heartbeat roar of the drums and the call for blood. He began to stride forward to meet his enemy across the field, the lurching urge to destroy and rend and kill boiling over in him.

@Hunter (hunter can totes have the first strike)

Deep breath. Hunter hadn't gotten much in the way of recovery time; the day had been long and draining, although his life had been threatened many times he had managed to squeeze his way into surviving by narrow margins that others... hadn't. He had seen them fall.

Knowing that this was the finals filled him with a grim determination, if nothing else. He barely had time to catch his breath as Nemean's magic wiped away the burns, leaving his forearms with deep scars that would take ages for fur to grow back on. They had been kind enough to give him another weapon, another spear. This one was crafted from a strange, light but sturdy metal shaft and was tipped with a razor sharp purple stone. It looked like a gemstone. Maybe it had come from a chrysalis shard, once upon a time, maybe it had...

No time for that. It was a weapon, a bit heavier than his wooden spear had been, but the durability was likely worth it. Hunter paced into the arena as his name was called, and though he heard Nemean drone on about his success, he didn't really listen. His thoughts were elsewhere, turning a blind eye to the images that flashed above the spotlight.

Get on with it, Hunter's mind demanded with an unusual sharpness. I have a fight to win. It made his skin crawl. It made his heart pound. His fingers tightened around his spear as his opponent stepped out on to the blood stained stage. This one was not a beast, but a man; by Hunter's approximation. A huge, towering man of blackened armor and spines. Another one of the valkhounds, though even as Hunter recognized the pattern he wouldn't have been able to name them.

The Sentinel against the Hunter.

His foe charged, and so in turn did he. His feet pounded against the slick sand, rushing toward a collision that was sure to come. His enemy had a polearm as well, and longer reach-- if they were to crash, Hunter would surely be struck first.

He was determined regardless. A game of chicken: he waited until the narrowest margin to suddenly drop into a slide, aiming to sweep his spear to his opponent's legs as he whisked by whatever attack his opponent would have thrown.

ROUND 1/5

ATTEMPT: Slide past with a sweeping trip!
DEFENSE: Quick on his feet, thick mustelid pelt
INJURIES: All patched up for the billionth time today

@The Sentinel

He almost didn't see the attempt, through the blood haze in his mind. Chaos churned and whispered, but the enemy was meeting his charge. Rather than some great overhead swing, then, he kept his halberd close, eyes locked on his opponent.

It was this moment--the difficult instant in which one had to try and predict, and then react, not only with incredible speed but to attain the best result--it was this moment that defined battle. Hunter dropped low, and the Sentinel--knowing he had but a fraction of a second to react--moved to slam his halberd straight down, haft-first into the dirt, hoping that the strange creature would strike spear-on-spear rather than spear-into-legs.

There was no time for anything fancier--for sweeping around for some sort of counterattack--and the Sentinel would still be left on the defensive. At best, there'd be a loud clash of weapons, and he'd stagger around to face Hunter, jerking his halberd back up from the dirt and moving to face his opponent once again.

Round: 1/5
Attempt: Block the spear sweep by jamming his halberd's haft into the dust to intercept
Defense: --
Injuries: patchwork of healing deathmatch injuries

@Hunter

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas was, quite literally, at the edge of his seat.

Granted, said seat was comparatively small, so that wasn't hard to accomplish, but regardless he was tensed at its lip, massive hands gripping the stone railing set before him. (He was careful not to lean on this too hard, because the stone was just about ready to crumble with age and he didn't want to pitch down face-first the twenty feet into the arena...)

The creatures of Chaos had performed quite well. The ragtag groups of random-spawn creations had mostly fallen before their trained violence like wheat before a scythe or some similarly-cliche simile, but that wasn't really what mattered. Not who lost, no--but who won. He had watched many of them clamber atop the bodies of the fallen and survive, pushing ever onward and upward. Some had fallen at the last moment but he hadn't lost anyone outright, which was good; their designs would linger still. Most had performed quite well even in a loss.

He, like Nemean, was noting the change in 'meta.' The bipedal creatures had all done surprisingly well, the armed ones even moreso. What was it about dexterity and weaponry that allowed for so much more adaptation in the ring?

Hunter was an unknown aspect, though, and as the strange, striped creature swept to meet the Sentinel's stride, he looked it over. Smaller, but compactly muscled; quick. He didn't recognize it immediately, bar that it held a Selenite, but there were plenty of those around. The Hunter's creation, perhaps--or a spawn of his spawn? The only bipedal selenites wandering around did seem to be his; Vargas had two of them in the Chaos Forge already. He could hardly, then, be bitter if this one somehow pulled a win off.

But if it did, he hoped it would not kill the Sentinel--he had use for that one. It had also performed well, though it had barely scraped by in a couple of its matchups.

Galleon he'd liked to learn more about--he'd never seen anything really take on Draconua and win. Even he had to use trickery to fight her down, and he was wary of engaging her in combat. This thing had flat-out disemboweled her, despite its eventual loss. Anyway, it is good she was... removed, if at the last minute, or neither of these two would have stood a chance.
At least, he didn't think so... but then, they had surprised him several times today already.

He leaned forward, bellowing down advice not only to the Sentinel, but to both parties: "LONG ARMS: USE YOUR REACH! SHORT ARMS: GET INSIDE OF IT!"

A drop, a sweep for the legs, a slam down of a halberd haft to intercept.

..."BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!"

Hunter's spear was nearly jarred out of his hands from the impact as he managed to slam not into shins but into a weapon as hard as his own. His arms stung with the effort as he was stopped dead, having only a moment to get his feet under him.

The crowd jeered and shouted. Someone cried for him (short) to get within his foe's reach, though if that advice registered past the drum of his heart it was hard to tell. He let one hand go of his spear and instead grabbed for his opponent's, trying to pull himself up and into the towering statue of a man. Dog-man. Man-dog. Y'know. That guy.

Of course, if the Sentinel was fast enough to break off, he wouldn't be able to get in close enough to attack... but if he was quicker, then he could throw himself at his foe, unleash a lash of claws at his foe's chest, throw an elbow or a knee in there, maybe even snap some teeth down-- Hunter was really just a rabid beast at this point, flinging himself forward to try and find purchase.

The Sentinel looked tough, solid. He had no idea where to even hit the guy, so a volley of attacks to test the waters-- hopefully before he got buffeted back to the reach of his spear, which he still clutched in one hand but couldn't use at such a short range to any degree of usefulness.

ROUND 2/5

ATTEMPT: get some quick hits in! try to find a weakspot!!
DEFENSE: Quick on his feet, thick mustelid pelt
INJURIES: All patched up for the billionth time today,
fingers and arms jarred by the block

@The Sentinel

The smaller creature was fast, faster than he'd thought. If it wasn't some form of Creation, then whoever had given it its loose skin and posture had also given it quick speed and what looked like a nasty tenacity. No sooner had the Sentinel turned to face it than it was snagging for his spear, and he was surprised at its boldness.

He called his power, jerking at the spear as Hunter came up and came at him with claws, teeth, elbows. For each thrown attack he was forced back a step, struggling to keep up with Hunter's barrage. The halberd's haft was lifted, jerked this way and that as the Sentinel tried to block the attacks coming at him.

The innate power thrummed through him, and pushed him toward a tactical victory: short thrusts in each block brought the metal smashing toward those teeth, claws, elbows. With any luck, the damage Hunter had intended to inflict on him would injure the strange striped creature itself, instead.

Round: 2/5
Attempt: Series of blocks, but like, transcendent blocking-
Defense: --
Injuries: patchwork of healing deathmatch injuries

@Hunter

Hunter's rapid attacks of teeth and claw, jabs and slashes, seemed to be landing... Only, the Sentinel's hard armor didn't seem to relent under the blows. Instead, the hound-man seemed to become a perfect blur of motion, meeting him strike for strike.

Worse, Hunter could feel the own bite of his claws and the jarring jabs of his own strength being reflected on to him. It was one thing to be striking tough hide and not finding any purchase, but the fur on the back of his neck stood on end against his longer hair, prickling down his wriggly skin. Something felt wrong.

If Hunter was more experienced, he might have known that he was simply being outmatched. But something about the sensations he felt each time he connected rubbed him the wrong way. Was the Sentinel... cheating? Hunter shot a glance toward the roaring crowd. Magic could be hard to detect, had he managed to sneak something under the Master's noses? If so, he could get in serious trouble.

As it stood however, Hunter was the one in trouble. He didn't dare call out the Sentinel on his cheating-- in case Nemean deemed it appropriate to "step in" (considering what she had done on accident by squashing a chicken with a cartoon anvil only an hour prior, Hunter was rightfully concerned about what the consequences would be)-- and instead figured he knew how to put an end to that quick.

He'd learned this trick from his father. A quick strike, especially to a stone...

Hunter jerked back, swinging his spear up, and quickly grasped the hilt with both hands tight, throwing the sharp point toward the glimmering oilstone that sat square in the center of Sentinel's chest.

ROUND 3/5

ATTEMPT: strike Sentinel's stone! stop him from using "magic"
DEFENSE: Quick on his feet, thick mustelid pelt
INJURIES: All patched up for the billionth time today,
fingers and arms jarred by the block,
scratches and bruises from reversed attack flurry

@The Sentinel

The hit was quick, again a strong testament to Hunter's blood: a whip-fast strike that cracked against the Sentinel's gemstone with a jarring stab of pain. He staggered back, a low grunt escaping him, his whirlwind of strikes stopped dead.

Is my stone harmed-? he wondered, immediately alarmed. And if it was--what would that do..?

There was no time to look, to point his nose downward and to expose himself to further injury. Instead he snapped his own halberd out, fighting to go on the offensive--thus far he'd been defending himself, and often just barely, against Hunter's surprisingly fierce onslaught.

It must be strong, to have come this far.

He lifted the halberd and thrust: a simple maneuver, a strong one, but Hunter was fast. He didn't know if it'd be enough to catch the creature, or not: but if it did, his aim was simply damage. As much as he could inflict with a strike of the spear-tip and blade-head.

Round: 3/5
Attempt:
Defense: --
Injuries: patchwork of healing deathmatch injuries, strike to gemstone

@Hunter

Hunter's eyes went wide as the Sentinel immediately thrust his weapon forward. The fuzzy humanoid pushed back on to his heels, turning into a back pedal. He tried to swing his own spear toward the oncoming strike, but where the Sentinel was like a machine built for fighting and defending, Hunter was like a cornered animal: gasping, rasping, heart pounding so loud in his ears that the chorus of cheers and jeers from the throng of spectators were impossible to keep track of.

His spear hit the shaft of the halberd and with another jar of his fingers, bounced off of the straight shot. The point of his opponent's weapon struck him in the shoulder, piercing hide-- and already on the back foot, he was knocked backward, falling to the ground with a yelp. His weapon went rattling off into the sand beside him, as his palm shot up to the open gash.

Hunter's nerves were shot, the sensation of pain not nearly as bad as the sudden inability to move his opposite arm without making that pain much worse. Something was broken-- collarbone, maybe? Shuttering, he held his hand firm against the wound that was now gushing hot, sticky crimson from a major artery, and tried to swallow down the whimper that tried to crawl out of his throat. Focused more on his life threatening injury (and the sudden shock of it), Hunter barely registered that the threat of his opponent still hung over him like a guillotine.

But, Hunter was at the end of his rope anyway: how much longer could he realistically keep this up?

ROUND 4/5

ATTEMPT: deflect the Sentinel's halberd
DEFENSE: Quick on his feet, thick mustelid pelt
INJURIES: All patched up for the billionth time today,
fingers and arms jarred by the block,
scratches and bruises from reversed attack flurry,
cracked bone and gushing wound on shoulder

@The Sentinel