"AND FOR OUR NEXT BATTLE-MONSTER, WE HAVE A PROMISING UPCOMING BRUTAL MASTER OF DISASTER, THE THUNDER ON FOUR HOOVES, THE GORE-HORN HIMSELF," (Nemean checked her notes. She had a name written down, but she didn't know what it meant. It had "Luchador" noted next to it. Eh, fuck it.) "ABADDON, THE DEMOOOOOOLEDAAAAR RUBIIIII!"

The stone door churned open, and very much exactly like the start of a bullfight, complete with dirt arena and black fighting bull, Abaddon came charging out. His head started low, tail tassel lashing behind him, his musclebound charge sending up plumes of sandy dust behind him. Then he looked up, around, slowing; the heavy metal and roar of the ground and flashing spotlights was terribly confusing, distracting, chaotic. It was too much input for his simple "eat grass, gore things that move" mind to handle, and he began to turn this way and that, regarding the crowd with dull surprise in his dim, red gaze.

He was much larger than your typical Spanish bull, but apparently he'd gotten the Spanish wrestler name tacked onto his. He didn't know what it meant. What any of it meant. He'd only given his name; apparently Nemean had decided to spice it up a bit. He didn't know, nor care; all he knew was that the noise was aggravating, the lights infuriating, the scents of meat and blood on the arena floor irritating.

Abaddon spun, this way and that, jerking his head to and fro--looking for something to fight.

@Agate Two-Three-Six

Now, you might be asking, how the hell did we get here?

Facing down impossible odds, with a high likelyhood of a bored Master flipping a kill switch to drown, roast, or toast the competitor if they weren't entertaining or successful enough. Gatto's feathers ruffled, straightening themself as they made their way from the back room. Yes, the fizzy drink, the popcorn, it had all been wonderful, and possibly poisoned. Nemean was the sort that would definitely make fighters shit themself midfight, wouldn't she?

"AND THE POOR SOUL WHO HAS TO FACE HIM," See, Gatto should have stayed far, far away from anything that announced itself with "Death" in the title. Given how often they had brushed with death in the past, if anything, they should have had a heaaaaalthy dose of fear.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, enough for the cockatrice, they did not know the definition of fear. And in fact, they LAUGHED in the face of danger. So when Nemean was announcing them, their feathers fluffed up, and they chuckled at her announcement. They were even feeling a bit giddy-- maybe that was the caffeination.

"-- THE DEFIER OF DEATH, THE UN-KILLABLE CLUCKING MACHINE AND HYDRA CHAMPION, AGATE TWO-THREE-SEVEN!"

Gatto strutted out into the arena, feathers fluffing and tail swishing with ribbons fluttering this way and that. Their keen eyes looked up and out at the crowd, chest puffing up, and politely, they raised their voice to call out: "It's six, actually! Ta-who, thRRee, SIX! But darlings, to you all, I am Gatto! Expect me--"

"SAVE IT! FUCKING KILL EACH OTHER ALREADY!"

Ah, well, if she insisted. The Agate's eyes turned finally toward their opponent, and suddenly, they felt the oppressive heat of the Hydra from several caves away.

This was a familiar feeling. The feeling of impending doom and death breathing down their neck.

"After you," The Agate crooned, spreading a wing and giving a dramatic bow to the bull... Fully expecting the big burly beast to charge them like a matador waving a red flag.

@Abaddon

The bull was nothing if not predictable, and the moment he saw the Agate (past the haze of more Words and Lights) he did exactly that.

He charged.

Horns dropped, and the slow trot turned into a haunch-pumping, chest-churning charge, dust pluming up around his hooves. Cloven hooves on thick legs sent him barrelling toward Gatto. He had charged and missed enough times, in the past, to expect his foe--his target--to dodge; and to that end he was ready to toss his head left or right, and try to catch them if they moved. But he was thickly-muscled, not a creature of agility; his dull red eyes burned with only blind fury.

These noises were too loud.

A cascade of thundering filled his ears--the sound of his own hooves--and just as he reached Agate, he stumbled over his own two forefeet. His momentum carried him forward, down, skidding nose-first into the dirt; he tumbled, downed by his own tangled legs and briefly in perfect range--and total exposure--for Gatto to land a strike.

Round: 1/?
Attempt: Go for the gore (typical bull charge)
Defense: none
Injuries: none

@Agate Two-Three-Six

Gatto could feel death breathing down their neck, the heat of the crowd roaring to life at the grand Master's goading, and as their heart began to race to the wonderful, macabre music of one's own brush with their end, how they embraced it as though an old friend.

The cockatrice's eyes gleamed, stepping into a wider stance with a ruffle of their feathers. The bull charged, and their muscles tensed, ready to jump out of the way at the last second (for, what would be a show without a bit of tension?) but it was not meant to be. The chaos, and perhaps the slick of blood from previous contestants, caused the massive bull to crumple under his own weight.

"Nothing personal, you see," Gatto squawked with a wince.

And in the next breath, Agate sprang, their body streaming up into the sky with a powerful kick of their legs and a quick series of flaps of their half-feathered, leathered wings. The ribbons of long tail feathers fluttered dramatically behind them, and from the rippling wave of them, a spiked, razor thin tail came whipping out, with a vicious spade at the end that was slashed toward Abaddon's fallen body.

ROUND 1/5

ATTEMPT: take flight and slash abaddon with their spade-tipped tail
DEFENSE: fluffed up feathers and THEY HAVE THE HIGH GROUND, ABADDON
INJURIES: a fresh spring chicken

@Abaddon

He was slow getting to his feet--a snorting annoyance, a shake of his head. And as he shook his head--as he tossed it to the right, blinking and trying to clear his vision, something whipped into his field of vision. He hardly had time to see it; and then he saw nothing on that side, bar darkness. Magic?! he thought, with another grunt that lifted into a short bellow of frustrated anger. Then he was on his hooves, and the stench of blood was in his nostrils-... And, belatedly, a sharp pain seared his right eye socket.

Agate's strike had ripped clear across the right side of his face, etching a deep gash from ear to nostril and taking his right eye with it. A ruin of blood seeped from the empty hole, its dull red glow extinguished.

Infuriated, the bull bucked into a frenzy: thrashing, throwing himself horns-first and kicks-in-the-air every which way. His form, though heavy, became a bloodied dark blur flinging itself in every direction.. If Abaddon were very lucky, it would most likely strike Gatto a single blow; but it was not the devastating attack a trained fighter would have offered. He was trying to throw off the pain, to destroy anything close--not close in for a kill.

It hurt.

Round: 2/?
Attempt: Mad Thrashing
Defense: none
Injuries: none

@Agate Two-Three-Six

Whoosh! And that, my friends, is certainly a... ahem, a start! Wings fluttering, the Great Gatto hovered above Abaddon for a hesitant moment, considering what their next best move would be for taking down such a... beefy beast.

Then the bucking bronco became enraged, thrashing his head and kicking out in a wild, all out attack. With wide eyes, the Agate fluttered their wings and tried to twist out of the way with a whirlwind of their dramatic plumage-- all for the show, yes?-- and unfortunately, their talons splayed out in the motion, and the bull's horns slammed into their thigh, tossing them off balance.

They were less majestically escaping their fate and more thrown from it, knocked through the air with a panicked squawk. Blood streaked from a shallow cut, but much worse was the immediate bruising and possible other damage to the limb, which was already making the cockatrice hold it close to their body as they landed on the opposite leg with wings flapping in a panic.

It was fine, they had their wings. A noisy, bawking laugh came from their throat. "Ah, so you give as good as you get, fellow! Well, have at thee!" ... Really, though, that bull could do a lot worse if he calmed down and put his mind to messing Gatto up.

ROUND 2/5

ATTEMPT: play keep away
DEFENSE: fluffed up feathers
INJURIES: damaged leg

@Abaddon

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

gore

(eye damage specifically)

He spun, and the pain of something so small as air against his shredded eyeball left him bellowing again, his distress evident in the sound. He felt the impact of his head against... something, something just large enough to jar him a little in his thrashing, almost to stagger him. And he heard words, too, though they were an unpleasant flow against his mind, which was locked in anger, faint fear, and agony.

Who knew damage to an eye could hurt so much? It was like... an eyeball papercut. But times a thousand.

If the idle thought (had it been that) of 'Really, though, that bull could do a lot worse if he calmed down and put his mind to messing Gatto up,' had been heard by a Narrator, that Narrator would have immediately responded with a dire: "BUT HE DID NOT." Abaddon was no trained fighter; he was very much a primeval bull thrown into the bull-ring, and he was spinning--pawing at his face with one massive cloven hoof, then looking around with a single, blinded eye and a stupid gaze as he sought out the opponent he was unaware he had tossed away.

It took him a moment to spot them, and even then it was only really those lingering, finishing words that clued him in.

His hooves dug into the sand, shoving at the arena floor, the stains of blood clinging to his legs. He charged, again--it was all he knew--head dropping low, silent aside from the thud of his hoofbeats and the snorting of his ragged breath.

Oblivious, bestial, idiotic: he ran for where he'd last seen the Agate.

They could just fly. They could easily attack him before he'd realized that they'd moved. But he was a bull; did he care? What was his alternative? He couldn't fly. He just charged for the stranger, mindless with fury and pain, intending to probably trample--or impale, or gore it--once he got there.

But first--he had to get there.

NOTE: he's gotta get over there first, so feel free to attack before he does--this attempt is purely playing catch-up and there's no damage attempt

Round: 3/?
Attempt: Charge
Defense: none
Injuries: none

@Agate Two-Three-Six

"Aha! Look at you!" Gatto cried, hopping backwards on one leg as the Abaddon lowered his head and charged. All those horns and hooves could certainly mess up the cockatrice if they got close enough. As much as they would have loved to get in and start pecking and biting and shredding the bull to pieces, well.. they were less of a direct fighter, themselves.

In the Hydra, you usually didn't survive by being tough and facing things head on. Now, Gatto wasn't trying to make this boring, a silly game of keep-away until Draconua was unleashed upon them... Listen, Gatto could easily outlast whatever chaotic magic was thrown their way if they could survive the Trials. That wasn't why they were here! They wanted to put on a show! They wanted to make it interesting, and prove that they could defy death a hundred times over!

Killing a bull was not about grabbing the horns, at least, not when you were an oversized chicken.

Instead, Gatto squawked loudly, backing up toward the wall as quick as they could, and baited Abaddon toward them. "You'll have to be faster than that!" They goaded in a high pitched crowing, taking flight as the bull drew dangerously close. If they weren't fast enough, they would be made into skewered meat pinned to the wall-- but, they were quick, and they had confidence, and they had the style to pull it off, too.

ROUND 3/5

ATTEMPT: goad abaddon while backing up to the wall and fly out of the way so he hits the wall instead
DEFENSE: fluffed up feathers
INJURIES: damaged leg

@Abaddon

The bull fell straight for it: a charge right for Gatto, picking up speed like the slow, powerful churn of a steam engine. Chug, chug, chug, except each cycle of his engine was a surge of black-swathed muscle and the pump of four thick legs.

The healing wounds across his underside were now aching, but they were healed enough; it didn't slow him down as he barrelled for the flapping, feathered, squawking-

-wall?
The thought was a blank, fraction-of-a-second realization before he struck stone, a crash of hefty bulk into rock, his entire two-thousand-pound weight hurtling into the worn and ancient wall.

One horn snapped off at the center, the end falling away and blood spattering out of its splintered cuticle; the other shattered at the tip. Abaddon went down, and for a moment it seemed he might stay down--he struck the wall, slid down to his side in a thick plume of dust, and then lay there with his heavy legs swaying dizzily in the air out to one side. The healing scars across his chest and gut, shiny and hairless, were clearly visible; he let out a low, distressed bellow and slowly, blinking (or was that winking?) his single eye, staggered back upright.

He looked dazed; his tongue hung out, his gait staggering.

It was possible that all that was needed was a coup de grace; it was also possible he could turn the tide in an instant of uncaution from the smaller Agate.

Given the way he began a lopsided lumber toward Gatto, uncertain or confused, it was far more likely to be the first.

Round: 4/?
Attempt: Get back up
Defense: none
Injuries: none

@Agate Two-Three-Six

”GET 'EM, ABBADON!!”, Vanyel shouted, wings flaring as he leaned over the railing to see better, ”DESTROY THAT FUNKY CHICKEN!”

He sat down heavily and grabbed someone's popcorn, taking a big mouthful of the delicious stolen treat. Everything tasted better stolen, it was fact!

A banana formed in his hand and he lobbed it, aiming for the chicken's head. Though his aim was greatly affected by his state of inebriation, and probably wouldn't hit. Oh well, banana peels provided the perfect slippery surface.