His hit struck home. Jarring down his arms, running through his body like a thrill. The whisper of the halberd grew to a roar in his ears, demanding blood, demanding more. It threaded insidious through the roar of the crowd and blended with the Chaos in his blood until everything was violence.

Had they had time, the Sentinel might have fought it off, backed away, asked if the creature downed before him--clutching a wound, unarmed--surrendered. It would have been smarter, even, to back away and let his enemy bleed, rather than risk getting in close again when it wasn't necessary. But even without the threat of Draconua looming overhead, there was still the promise of Nemean. He did not expect her to go any easier on them. He couldn't afford to draw this out.

And in any case, this was Deathmatch. The expectation was not that of a spar. Not that of extending out a hand to help up your opponent.

Still, he hesitated--not for Hunter's sake but for that split-second needed to steel his own mind against the madness always encroaching on it. And when he brought the weapon around again, it wasn't for a killing blow, a beheading, an impalement. It was a twist of the halberd even as it screamed in his mind, as it whispered audibly.

The Sentinel brought the halberd down in an arc, turning it before it'd strike--would Hunter even be there, anymore? What would win out, that remarkable agility or the seeping wound?--in an attempt not to kill but to smash into one of his legs. To shatter a bone, perhaps.

To--without a doubt--remove his opponent from the battle.

It smashed down, crashed into--dirt, sand, nothing, a movement of the mustelid-creature or a failure of he himself leaving it slammed into the arena floor.

Vulnerable, for an instant, to attack--if his opponent was still ready for it.

Round: 4/5
Attempt: Break a leg (but not his own pls)
Defense: --
Injuries: patchwork of healing deathmatch injuries, strike to gemstone

@Hunter

There was a lot of blood, and Hunter didn't know how to make it stop. He could flee, but there wasn't much time-- the brief, thirty second window before ringmaster above found boredom setting in was winding to a terrifying close. Not to mention, fingers slick with crimson, how lightheaded would he be if he did manage to get back on his feet? Could he focus long enough to dodge the onslaught that was coming?

If the Sentinel had survived this far, then surely he-- with hardly a scratch-- could deal with whatever hellfire came from above and below much more easily than he could. His mouth felt strangely try, tongue rasping against the roof of his mouth as he swallowed another shaking breath and tried to blink the stars from his vision. Could he focus enough to even--

THUD.

The sound of stave hitting the dirt just beside Hunter demanded his attention.

Two odd-colored eyes raised, gold and violet, to meet the distant, not-quite-there cyan glow of his enemy.

If it was a show of mercy or a warning or just coincidence, Hunter didn't know. He could have died, right then and there... But he hadn't. Another near miss. His heart leaped into his mouth, mind spent from violent, earth-rending chaos after chaos. Maybe the ones in charge of this whole spectacle would be disappointed, but Hunter was rightfully terrified by what nothingness he saw behind those cold blue eyes.

"Mercy! He yelped, "I concede-- you win-- you're a better fighter, okay?!" After all that... Not a single fight of this day had felt like one he had actually won, and he didn't want to win just because some dragon (who at this point, unbeknownst to Hunter, was out of commission) managed to kill this guy first. At this rate, his odds weren't even good--

So maybe he was a coward. Tears threatened to form in his eyes and he blinked them back, shivering on the bloodstained ground.

ROUND 5/5

ATTEMPT: conceding!
DEFENSE: please no
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

The halberd whispered, loudly audible, its words coiling in the Sentinel's ears.

They weren't very creative words, mostly along the lines of kill and end it and the like. The Sentinel, with a force of will he'd long grown used to, ignored it. Not that it was easy, not that his many eyes didn't gleam with bloodlust as he studied Hunter.

It conceded.

He stepped forward, and offered it one many-clawed hand, to aid it back to its feet. He had no way to help the bleeding, nor did he particularly care to, but there was genuine respect in his gesture.

"It is a terrifying beast," he informed Hunter. And for all the ludicrousness of calling what by all appearances was a short, soft and sweet creature a 'terrifying beast,' the Sentinel seemed to very much mean it. The loose skin and the pure ferocity--he was quite certain that it would have torn him apart, had he not undergone the intensive training that he'd had. "It should join its strength to the Forge."

This was probably not the immense compliment he'd intended for it to be, but ahh well.

@Hunter

DEATHMATCH

Oh, YES. This was some rough and tumble action!

You see, Nemean had feared this finale would be even the smallest bit lackluster (for all the theatrics she'd put on for their introductions!)—and for good reason! Both competitors were much smaller than expected for the Arena, and they were kind of just... guys! With pointy sticks! The new meta was exciting, but she thought for a moment that she might need some Opera house binoculars to see if any blood was actually shed.

To their credit, though, the spear-on-spear violence was very exciting. She made sure the grating sound of metal was, in fact, louder than the invisible guitarist just absolutely shredding in the background. Maybe even threw in some spare OOH!s and AHH!s when the Sentinel made an awesome move blocking an entire flurry of attacks from his smaller, rattier-looking opponent.

Of course, Vargas's enthusiastic advice was drowned out when the halberd came crashing down. As it cut clean through flesh and bone... oh, if Nemean could've recorded her own screech of delight. That spray of blood was of EPIC proportions, and it had her flying out of her seat with a comically large explosion of popcorn. Her fists met her fellow Master's shoulders as he kicked her legs behind her, beyond thrilled. "LOOK! LOOK! DO YOU SEE THAT, VARGAS? HOLY SHIT, HE'S BRUTALLY EFFICIENT. TEACH HIM TO DRAG OUT A SHOW, WILL YOU???" Smack, smack, smack. "GYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

"BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD—" Koff! Koff! A-hem! "AN INCREDIBLE MOVE." The Hunter pleaded for surrender, his voice just barely overlaying her own Announcer Voice through an oversized megaphone she'd saved for just this occasion (because her magical amplification of noise wasn't enough).

"ANOTHER ONE-HIT CONCLUSION TO THE HIGHLY-ANTICIPATED END OF THE DEATHMATCHES! IS THAT A CRY TO CONCEDE I HEAR?" She cupped her paws over both ears for dramatic effect (the megaphone somehow remaining floating in the air as she did) before continuing with a toss of golden locks. "WHAT A DEVASTATING BLOW AND MASSIVE TANKING OF THE HIT! GIVE BOTH OF OUR CONTENDERS A BIG HAND—OR YELL, IF YOU'RE CIVILIZED—BEFORE I BLOW YOUR EARDRUMS OUT." No. She did not misspeak.

Consider that a warning.

Sunny eyes, dilated far too much, scanned the crowd—or relative lack thereof (how many of them had DIED?! She lost track in the hype)—before tossing in the most Creative Commons-sounding laugh track in the universe. All at ear-ringing volume, of course.

Then the music blared louder, louder, until nobody reasonable could hear themselves think. An absolute cacophony that shook the very foundations of the Arena rose. Nemean swore some plate tectonics occurred beneath the force of it all, and that merely encouraged her to kick into high gear. Clutching at her megaphone, taking in a deep breath, the sprite gave her best death metal scream:

"RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
Inhale. Totally normal voice. The music went back to a normal volume and more of a triumphant trumpet trio.

"YOUR FINALISTS, ALL YOU MONSTERS WHO SURVIVED AND THOSE WHO DIDN'T! SECOND PLACE—hey, not too shabby, buddy! Most little guys like you die after getting their shoulder mangled like that—IS THE HUNTEEER OF WILD BEAAASTS!" Spotlights bore down on said mustelid-hybrid at the point of a finger, and confetti rained down upon his form. Then, the lights and spectacle swung wildly to the victor, without regard for his light sensitivity and subsequent ability to strike a rad pose of victory. "THE SENTINEL OF THE FORGE, EVERYBODY—FIRST-PLACE WINNER OF THE FIRST ANNUAL NEW ERA DEATHMAAAAAAAAAAAAATCH!"
"We're doing more of these, right?" Nemean spared to Vargas in an aside before fluttering down to the Arena floor, confetti raining in sheets and nearly smothering her mid-flight.

Pausing before Hunter, she offered a harried handshake (and subsequent grimace at having TOUCHED his gross hand, wiping her palms off on the Sentinel's pebbly hide, if he hadn't moved away.) "PUH-LEASE go get patched up so we can talk about how not liable I am for that—" Gleeful eyes glanced toward the gaping shoulder wound. "—aaand also talk shop about your prize! Since you actually lived or whatever." Big and Tall didn't seem too bad for himself, but she offered the same sentiment. "You too, big-ass monstrosity! Congrats!"

_____________

DEATHMATCH WINNER: THE SENTINEL

Character: Hunter Age: +5 (22 Cycles, Capped) Magic Level: +3 (Brawler) ROUND 1 Attempt: +11 Penalties: - ROUND 2 Attempt: +17 Penalties: - ROUND 3 Attempt: +18 Penalties: - ROUND 4 Attempt: - Penalties: - Total: 54

Character: The Sentinel Age: +5 (15 Cycles, Capped) Magic Level: +7 (Transcendent Champion) ROUND 1 Attempt: +20 Penalties: - ROUND 2 Attempt: +14 Penalties: - ROUND 3 Attempt: +17 Penalties: - ROUND 4 Attempt: - Penalties: - Total: 63

NUMERICAL WINNER: The Sentinel

Stay tuned into the main DEATHMATCH thread for a little something extra for all participants!

Hint: It's that Secret Thing I told all of you about last year... hehehe...

@The Sentinel @Hunter

The-- his opponent, nothing more and definitely nothing less, offered his hand. Hunter winced as he tried to raise his arm, finding that his shoulder was definitely more screwed up than he had even processed. He hesitated about removing pressure from the wound, but he'd rather be on his feet, so reluctantly he took the Sentinel's hand with his bloodied own. "Thank you?" He replied, swaying on his hind legs.

"Uh-- well-- 'ppreciate it, and all, but... I got my family," he tried to let the victor down easy. He didn't know much about the Forge, but it definitely seemed like a place that was way out of his... general vibe, at the very least. Nemean's voice continued to screech above them, "-- I gotta look out for them. Maybe I can-- uh-- visit?" How much his slurring words were drowned out by the Master's howling congratulations, he wasn't sure.

... it sounded like she had some nice things to say about him, even though he had lost. That tugged a tired smile to his expression, at least until the air was filled with eardrum splitting, maximum volume hollering from both the crowd and Nemean herself. Hunter stumbled, cringing further.

Thankfully there wasn't much more fanfare to be had. Nemean came fluttering down and grabbed as his bloodied hand, giving it a violent shake that pulled him somewhat to the present, before instructing quite clearly (which was good, because Hunter was starting to lose track of what exactly was going on outside of the blur of lights and fanfare) for him to go get patched up. "Aye aye captain," he mumbled, giving the Sentinel another passing glance.

"You were amazing, so yeah," he waved a couple of bloody fingers, starting to stagger off toward the medics on standby. "I'll see ya around, yeah?"

@The Sentinel - gonna call that an exit unless stopped?

The Sentinel released his grip once the wriggly blue creature had made it to its feet.

It was not dying and that was good; it was not even chrysalizing, and the Sentinel looked it up and down, fascinated for a moment by its resilience.

He didn't know about the existence of mustelids. Had he, it might have explained some things.

He opened his jaws to speak, but then the crowd--illusory and not--had become a roar. He twisted his head back to look around him, and felt the twist and pull of Chaos at his veins. "It should visit," he said, the words he'd intended now spilling from his skull-face but he wasn't aware that he'd actually managed to utter them. Instead all his eyes were fixed on the stands, on the displays and the lights.

Violence tremored through him.

And then there was nothing: the roar fallen to a hush, into silence. The stands empty. The arena, dark, a blue silence with drifting dust and settling shadows.

The Sentinel blinked, and took a few steps away: to Hunter, to the crowd, it probably looked as though he'd lowered his halberd a bit and simply... wandered off, back toward the gate.

Reality snapped back a moment later and he blinked again, looked around, found himself. And strode--more securely this time--in that direction. He was almost alongside Hunter: he had no reason to go anywhere but back to the backstage, either, though along the way, he lifted the halberd high.

A crowd-pleaser, perhaps, for those who cared.

Ahh-... but Vargas was cheering at him, and he realized they would want more, perhaps, from their new Champion.

He paused, nearing the exit to the arena. Blue wings sprouted from his back, and he shot skyward, hovering there some twenty feet above the arena floor, parallel with the crowd.

He raised his halberd, and looked across those still sober enough to see him. And the Sentinel bellowed, a wordless cry empty of emotion, meant to imitate a roar of triumph.

He hung there, giving the crowd his due; and when a few moments had passed, he lowered himself to the arena floor, and strode out--and away.

exit too