GTB III. Imported from live Gaia guild archive.
Description: The lobby of the hotel.
Special Rules: Anyone can join what's about to be a hectic fight. No holds barred, save for harming non-fighters, aka visitors. They'll be asked to vacate the premises when the fight goes once things get too over the top. The fight won't start until Omi initiates the fight.
Field Measurements: A large hotel with 16 floors.
Ten Count Boundary: There is none. Just run if you can't take anymore pressure.
Midus and a group of what looked to be reporters walked out of the adjoining room into the lobby area, the people trying to get some information from the man concerning the final round, the participants, and the current Heaven or Hell tournament that is taking place in a few weeks, a considered rival to the GTB.
"No, no, I assure you, I do not see myself as an enemy of that tournament. In fact, I tend to go there myself in a week or two and see if I can build up some sort of partnership to help contribute to the fighting sports community. With HoH's popularity and GTB's own wealth of resources, we may bring in a new era."
Midus came to a stop, his attention causing the reporters to do the same as he looked over at the desk, seeing one of the fighters standing over, making a very extravagant order. The golden-haired man raised his hand to his audience: "Excuse me."
He walked over toward Omi, speaking with a pleasant smile on his face: "Well, Mr. Barsait, I see that you're making one last order of food before you leave? Why not stay and watch the finals? Surely you're not feeling defeated enough that you can't watch the finals of a tournament you participated in."
Reyin Nova had been eliminated from contention for quite some time. He wasn't really bitter about it at all, chalking up his losses to his own lack of effort and commitment instead of attributing it to his opponents' dirty tactics. When he had left the tournament grounds, it had supposedly been for good. There wasn't much time in a wannabe hero's life to be spent waiting around in a hotel room. There was good to be done, dammit.
But Reyin realized all too late that he had left the majority of his belongings in his hotel room. Including his wallet, his bathroom kit, and most importantly, his sword.
So Reyin came strolling right into the lobby, hands jammed inside his pockets, whistling a merry little tune and giving casual waves to people who remembered his face.
The Haelstrom Fist Wrote:> His hair raised on end. > > It wasn't the fact it was too obviously the infamous Midus Sonners as his voice was a well known pattern in this tourney. Neither was it that Omi's order was being interrupted, given he'd already more or less made it save a nice, fitting drink to wash it all down. No, quite simply, it wasn't even the presumptuous accusation of his departure without the intent to see the tourney's end, nor the unneeded hinting of his earlier defeat; that was to be expected though perhaps not from the Sonners himself. > > It was the camera clasps and the hushed whispers that took the previously docile Omi Barsait, and nearly drowned him in sudden mind-splitting rage almost instantaneously. > > ".. of course not." Was the response in an almost exasperated tone of voice, as the [Serpentine Manipulation Artist] began to slowly turn about face in place with a calculated smile and a clockwise spin. "With all due respect, illustrious tourney patron - I need not a reminder of what I already intend to do, nor what I have failed to achieve yet. I'm the one who set in motion both, after all. Favorable or not.." Last words trailing off in a whisp of air, he was keeping his cool, yet it was still difficult to not feel unnerved at the sight of those almost mindless crowd-goers' eyes. A few disappointed faces pierced through Sonners' small following right into the long-haired semi-finalist's eyes, suggesting all too evidently that they expected Barsait to respond wildly and erratically here in this setting.. > > ..it was enough to tempt him to sate their wishes. > > "Now, if you'll pardon me, I've a rather lovely order of food to dine on - it was a pleasure talking to you Mr. Sonners, but I'm sure you have more pressing matters to attend to." Shoulders taunt, both snake-head pauldrons seem to jar forward just the slightest bit. Then all at once, he began turning around again, this time counter-clockwise. > > Normally, even with his almost euphoric rage brooding in him, he forced himself to stay calm when it counted. Right now, he had to acknowledge he was in poor spirits; clumsy words could have a profound effect upon him, so to let them so easily would be disastrous. Especially from the only Midus Sonners, after all. It would surely be an incident that couldn't be overlooked, and recalling the absurd staff Barsait had seen reside in this place of competition over the years.. well, it wasn't wise. > > Still, he could feel it. A low rumbling in him. His right fist, gauntlet sheathed, shaking just the tiniest bit to the point Omi could feel it. It wanted to strike something.. there was a pompous air threatening to choke Barsait's peaceful interests. > > ".. Unimportant!!" He reaffirmed his resolve to keep his cool, instead drifting back over the choice of delicious drink, as that very shaking fist found the fellow's chin, only a whiles ago smashed into by that opponent [Link], resting onto it in order to steady it. "Now- now.. nothing alcoholic, I'll be ill as it is. Something.. something soothing. A fine cider perhaps."
Midus wasn't low in wisdom and knowledge of a fighter without knowing full well the intentions and bodily motivations going through Omi. Just by his words alone, he could hear that inner loathing of those around him, something you would understand from someone who had just lost a tournament. However, it felt more beyond just simple anger. It was never that simple when it came to this man who know how to use his surroundings to cause all kinds of destruction. Truthfully, Midus never understood his motives. He just understood that the man before him was someone looking for something. Maybe glory. Maybe he wanted to be acknowledged. Or maybe it was something else, something he could never get. All Midus knew was that he was here to try to bring that something to Omi's plate.
The receptionist, already freaked out by the large order, was caught between her response to the man and the appearance of her high boss, someone she didn't get to see everyday. Loss for words, she stuttered, looking back and forth between Omi and Midus, trying to find the right words.
That is until Midus rose his right hand, a sign for her to calm down, and then lied the hand onto the trembling Omi's right pauldron as a way of comforting him.
"Easy, Mr. Barsait," the deep voice of Midus responded. "I know your pain, but like they always say: there will always be tomorrow. Just wait for the next tournament. With the experience you have gathered this year, you will surely return with more vigor than ever before. I can already see it."
Watching the woman flail her head about like a rag-doll hyped up on caffeine, Barsait's normally patient nature with patrons had ran rather thin. "The sundae, mind?" Proposing the "question" in order to jar her senses back into that of the duty ahead, he was rather eager to receive his order and skip on out of his spot. He did not wish to group all those minds together, but how couldn't he with those damned greedy eyes boring into him like animals waiting for a piece of meat to drop? It was enough to make him lose his appetite, were it not for the fact he could eat a sundae even if he was suffering full blown food poisoning.
However, the "Artist" seemed mildly distraught at the sight of the woman seemingly recognizing something and stilling her fidgeting a hair. So unusual! What..
"..!" A hand.
Normally, the sentiment would have been well appreciated. It was after all, what Omi himself thought. There was always the next time, with even more a chance to blast through the ranks. Yet.. something about being touched like that and explained it all like he himself hadn't learned it first hand, felt patronizing. Like this Sonners was trying to instruct a child how to react properly, and that..
".. I don't need to have tomorrow illuminated, Mr. Sonners. I've already made it readily visible. I've consistently made it rather far into this little tourney of yours, more so than any other I feel even if I haven't touched the peak yet." Words beginning to stream out of him with wide-open eyes and a more taunt posturing, Omi Barsait turned from the hand casually- then about face again, glaring into those eyes of Midus with tenacity few would dare show at this stage.
"That "Heaven or Hell" I've heard so oft whispered about amongst the lechers around here, I'm going to exceed in. When this tourney here comes around again, I'll exceed there. Nothing has ever been or ever will be out of my reach, Sonners. So I've faltered. Small shortcomings to my destined place." A step closer. This was more than some mere hot-blooded rage; it was a drive that couldn't be halted even if Barsait somehow did wish for it.
".. The Gaian Tenkaichi Budoukai IV is already mine. It, "Hell and Heaven," all such similar matters are going to be mere foot-notes to me." Shoulders popping into place audibly, the infamous [Serpentine Manipulation Artist] added: "Experience, Mr. Sonners? I gather experience every single instant I live; I right now am far greater than the man I was just yesterday, doubt me and without mercy, regardless of your title or person, it will be the very last thing you'll ever do."
Such heated words faded into a casual, toothy grin - hands folded at his sides. No doubt, die-hard fans of this tourney would take this as heresy, and that wasn't including probable guards abound given Midus Sonners' reputation and likely, transgressors in the past likely wanting to off him for fame or fortune or perhaps idle lunacy. This wasn't just being arrogant in the face of an opponent like many had been; it was easy to taunt someone you were in the role of smashing into stone. Anyone could show they're good and brazen in the ring, but to the head..
Considerably less so.
Omi was indeed breaking personal space, especially the space of the very man hosting this tournament. The guards were cautious, but at the same time, they didn't seem ready to leap in at a moment's notice as the tension was rising like the heat of the sun during the crawling mornings within a barren desert. For some reason, they wanted to stay back rather than go in. It was either fear of being hurt by Omi, that they wouldn't be able to restrain a man of that quality...or fear of what could come out of the interaction of a hostile action by Omi toward Midus. Clearly, the built form of Midus, the way the muscles sort of stretched his fine white suit, was a sure mark that maybe, just maybe the host himself could defend himself if he needed to.
"I agree," Midus responded, returning his hand to his side. "A man gathers experience everytime he takes in a breath. However, the scale of the experience of fighting in a tournament is different from experience gathered just by living, Mr. Barsait. We all grow a bit wiser as time goes. But you must acknowledge that you grow only through your wins and losses. And because of that is why I say what I say. You did not win the tournament this year because you haven't reached the benchmark yet. Only when you do is when you can finally claim the title that continues to hang just an inch out of your reach."
Midus spoke sincerely, but he also spoke with a tone that lost its courtesy of humbleness. At this point, he was talking purely professional, and that tone sometimes could be mistaken for being talked down on or even worse being bossed around. Sonners's stature, physically and socially, made this presence, that tone, possible. To say that he wasn't trying to provoke the fiery beast, well that was up to anyone's interpretation of the matter, anyone being a person who had the capability to look into the meaning of things.
Omi was explicitly the enemy in this confrontation of the defeated complaining to the higher order. He was the archetype of the loser who was hating the fact that he had lost and was here to drown his sorrows in a mountain of ice cream, and even getting the decency to show his qualms at Midus Sonners himself. But from a whole different angle, Midus could clearly be the one provoking the beast. Midus was an intellectual man. He was also a fighter back in the day, back when you ruled the lands with the power of your fists, your own personal strength. Therefore, his pride could easily be the motivation in speaking down on Omi, and thus spurring the intentional threat growing within the serpertine artist, like he was looking to get some inner thrill out of this.
"Does that make sense?"
"..Correction, you learn far more from losing. All you learn from victory is that you are superior." Leaning back against the very desk he had been leaning over earlier, was the wild-haired man's articulate glare. Fine and detailed, it bore into Midus like a surgeon's laser. "To that end, as depressing as it may all prove to be, I grow progressively less and less disappointed with it all as the years go on. Of course I desire victory more than you could likely comprehend-" A single 'tut.'
"..and yet.. perhaps had I by luck, skill, or both obtained victory already - I'd be in a higher place of power right now. Prematurely, before like you claimed, I had this theoretical benchmark! Wouldn't that be a damned shame, now?" Voice droning on out comically, the "punch-line" was hanging in the air like a rising poison with dire effects waiting to be executed in the minds of those abound.
A slight inhale, and it came: "Perhaps, had that happened, I would be quite like you, Mr. Midus Sonners. Wealthy.. successful.. a wide influence. A man of extraordinary reputation.." Rolling his head back, the amber brown pupils never left their target.
"..And a power-hungry simpleton who pretends to know what a fighter's merit is when they themselves haven't thrown their fist in many a fortnight, showing contempt and gluttony to everyone I come into contact with like a drunken lecher thinking themselves a sage. Showering my onlookers with ignorance and flashy, substance-less rhetoric, I would then eventually come upon a man attempting to order a sizable sum of ice cream and proceed to tutor him, like a complete and utter maddened fool - complete with a smug air like I were his better in every comprehensible way, when in truth, I would be nothing more than a clown swimming in undeserved wealth that blood-thirsty peons would shower upon me every chance they got! Now now, that would be quite the shameful deed, were I someone of that nature; perhaps then, I should count myself blessed by the divine. Such an existence would be, beyond words, distasteful!"
A wide, patronizing smile.
Competitions of the past had found one [Omi Barsait] to at times, lose his temper. His berserk sprees were too infamous to be denied; yet.. more often still was he a man who kept that insurmountable anger in check, or perhaps better still, channeled it in more fitting ways. Consistently, he has taken would-be "strategists" and thrown them into discord, utterly dominated those thinking their berserk nature is on par with his own..
He was not simply some mad man foaming at the mouth for blood. That status, he reserved for the crowd Midus seemed to surround himself with.
Capping it all out with repetition of the same line, no less emulating Sonners' tone yet wringing out dry any overly sarcastic tone to really lay on the insult, he added: "Does that make sense? Now, pardon the gender specific irritation, but.." Turning his gaze away from Midus despite their close proximity for an ultimate nonverbal act of disrespect, the Manipulation Artist called over his shoulder: "Oi' woman, the sundae? I'm paying enough for the damned thing to put a small child through schooling, and I haven't eaten in over a day. It would really hit the spot?
Many murmurs came about from Omi's words as the crowd around them muttered. Even the receptionist wasn't able to respond, a dropped jaw showing shock at the man's response to the great man himself, Midus Sonners. To try to order anything from her would do little to move her. This man, Omi, she just couldn't understand whether he was going to be allowed to stay in the hotel or thrown out for such disobedience. Everyone was appalled.
Midus stood there, having watched him with a brave face as he returned his retort back at him ten times fold. Such words could easily cause a man to become aroused with anger and deal out appropriate punishment for such a remark. Some of the people even believed that the fight was about to happen and that Midus would be the first to respond with a physical aggressive action. At this point, it was a high intense situation with no prediction of what was going to happen next. The suspense was unbelievable.
"Do you feel better,"Midus asked, keeping his composure as he rose a brow. Instead of lashing out instantly, he kept himself as still as a mountain in both the body and the mind. For him to not be moved by those words was a mark of skill in mental focus.
"Has your fury subsided? Or do you truly resent me?" He spread his arms slowly out. "I am but a single man who has sacrificed his time and his money to continue a tradition that allows men like yourself to express themselves in the best way that you can. I do not talk to try to bring you down, Mr. Barsait. I speak so that you can try even harder to appease yourself of that shining trophy that still acts as your beacon of accomplishment! It is true, my accomplishments, my reputation, can easily make me seem like a man who belittles those who participate in his tournament. But I do not stand here to act as a king. Merely as a mentor."
He returned his arms to his side. "Now, tell me. What is the one deep expression that you have yet to let out? A fighter who holds his grudge is a fighter who attacks the wrong enemy. Tell me, Mr. Barsait...what is your one true despise at this moment? I can help you get rid of it. Not as a sage...but as a friend."
Was Midus being truthful or was he merely trying to save face? Whichever it was, it seemed to have convinced the surrounding crowd once more of just how great the host himself was, merely argumenting his reputation that he already had before.
A thunderous bang echoed out in the hallway, right upstairs of the main lobby; the sound was of a heavy metal boot thudding against one of the thin hotel doors, and then a second later of it flying into the hallway and smashing the opposite wall. The dragon had awoken, finally, and decided his loss to Deitric Jocasta twice was someone else's fault. Why was it that Vince had won three matches in a row, only to be placed against the same opponent again? The dragon spit angrily from his extended jaw, and stepped heavily over the broken down door.
His heavy tail thudded against the wood angrily as he put his claws out and shredded the wall of the hotel, walking down the hallway towards the stairs. Of course, Vince had heard the argument downstairs with Omi Barsait and Midus Sonners before he'd kicked down the door, however, the sound brought a grin to his face as he slowly descended the stairs, ripping the sword from his back. Of course, his clawed fingers ripped into the wired hilt, causing rips and shreds in the finely made grip, but it didn't matter; he'd been waiting to shed some true blood, and so far, this was the only true blood he'd had a chance at.
"Ahahahaha. What is this? Midus is finally getting what he deserves? Sounds... delicious." With that, Vince descended the final step and walked into the lobby, his serpentine eyes locked on Midus.
"Fantastic.."
A large crowd had been outside of the illustrious hotel which served the guests and participants of the tournament. From the distance of about 100 yards, the voices and sounds of devices like camera shutters and vehicles could be heard as only mutters. More people started to move towards the hotel's entrance, moving quickly and hurriedly as they asked aloud to each other about what was happening. One of those people was standing still as others moved around and past him, though. From what he gathered something that was grand enough to be drawing media attention was occurring. However important it may have been though, he stood still and unmoving, his eyes seeming to trail off at the ground in front of him. Thinking of what lay inside only made his stomach turn. This person.. did not like coming into contact with huge crowds of people.
He rose his head towards the hotel somewhat reluctantly. His face and in fact entire features of his head were hidden behind a silvery-colored faceguard which left room only for his eyes. Covered by a large hood, only strands of his dark hair and his dark amber eyes could be seen. Covering his entire body was a long coat which may have contained a color in the past, but now was faded and weathered from continued usage and lack of upkeep. There were a few tears and slash marks in the coat, caused by thick thorns and underbrush rather than bladed weapons. Normally, he wore such a disguise because his normal features... drew a lot of attention to say the least. But now, the only feature notable about his appearance was the intricate spiral-dragon design he wore on the back of his coat. He had no apparent weapons on his person, other than his fists which were covered in knuckle gloves, with enough rigidness on the glove knuckles the give the appearance that they could be used offensively.
But despite his ominous appearance nothing particularly threatening stood out about the man. A few more moments passed before he moved once more. His right hand passed under his cloak and brought out something that his entire fist encompassed. Keeping his eye transfixed on the hotel, he opened his palm to reveal the object that he had pulled out of his coat.
An orb, which was 100% reflective was brought out and hovered in the air, hanging like it was glued to that position. It hung for a second before a bright green spot on it formed on it's top center, moving until it aimed directly at the hotel's entrance. It then shot forth a thing green laser-like projection directly at the hotel. "..." A sigh escaped the lips of the man who now grabbed the orb out of the air angrily and shoved it quietly back underneath his coat. He began walking towards the hotel, following the crowd at a brisk pace. "Damn crowds.." he muttered under his breath as he started thinking of.. why exactly this was his destination. The Mechions must be out of their damn minds.
It was true. Thanks to those like Midus, Omi was able to attain the outlet he needed without guilt - bashing skulls in and getting his own smashed about. Many could even claim that, in a sense, those like Midus created the [Serpentine Manipulation Artist]. After all, his personality changed radically through the rigors of sustained "friendly" combat. Living nearly for free during his stay as a fighter, making killings off frequently placing high up every single one he strolls into. After all, he was still by many definitions young at 19 years, yet was labeled a veteran in many venues searched.
Gold, fame, experience, bodily growth, constant mental stimulation, contacts, weaponry, equipment.. and with the [Gaian Tenkaichi Budoukai] being his most frequented tourney, it was no stretch of the imagination to claim that Sonners himself was the one most responsible for such aspects. Barsait wasn't the type to deny the evident 'lest good reason was given.
Yet the question seemed to drill into the core of his very brain, like a catalyst for some great cataclysm. Eyes dimming nearly shut, Omi could only reply slowly and in near-tranquility: "My one true despise..? Why, you have this so mistaken. I was merely ordering a sundae, Mr. Sonners. To claim I have an object of hatred is.."
All like a feverish dream did Omi himself appear before his eyes, albeit several years younger. Panting with his ribs heaving to the point he might have been a corpse, hands digging into a tree un-moved by his plight 'til the skin tore and blood softly oozed outwards. Then all at once, a magnificent series of crimson lights blasting out of what seemed to be damned near his every pore, fire emanating from the youth like hell being uncapped - second and third degree burns scouring him straight to the dirt below that simmered so definitively.
.. his narrowed eyes widened to their highest degree, Omi's face growing quite livid, an audible but incoherent sound escaping his lips of immense frustration.
"..!!"
To much of the crowd's dismay or interest, Barsait suddenly stepped in with the entire upper-body lurching forth to make there be near no distance between white cloth and black. That nose of his was nearly touching Midus' own, teeth barred like a beast about ready to tear into flesh - and then in the most booming, energized and vicious voice to ever leave those lips seen yet, did the man speak.
"I am a man seeking PERFECTION of self, who sees how limited I am more than your callous mind could ever comprehend. Every word let loose from my lips is flawed, every motion I make is less than ideal, and every single breath I take without clawing myself forward is one I shan't deserve." Breaking out into a near roar, the pale man seemed to gain hues of red all abound through his immense fury: "**TO THAT END "Mentor," I will best warriors in combat, I will smote kings until they weep at my feet, I will crush entire CORRUPT KINGDOMS into rubble below my soles, I will drag gods from their conceited thrones and smear their visages upon the gravel below 'til they lay broken and bleeding, made less than a common beggar by nothing more and nothing less than MY OWN HANDS-**"
Pupils boring into the enigmatic Midus Sonners own, Omi added in a suddenly low pitch whilst his dark gauntlets groaned with the tension placed upon them: ".. steps, Mr. Sonners. Consider yourself the grand orchestrator right now, but know you're nothing more than a step I'm going to crash above. You and your lustful peons that lick your ill-begotten heels, show them the image of a just and fair emperor whilst you profit from others' sweat and blood. Please, it suits you."
".. but don't give this sing-song act of benevolence when my eyes see right through you like a blade through paper, Mr. Sonners. I cannot stand being patronized, even if your crooked grin and generous pocket manages to keep these dogs begging for their treats - don't dare count myself in that envelope." A swift breath, then the hottest exhale - like flames were literally venting their noxious fumes out of him.
".. a man who can only speak yet never act, who claims to be generous yet sits idly by in his wealth like a gluttonous swine while obvious plights abound surround him - smiling while even now, chorus of screams aren't far away at all.. doesn't deserve to be seen, Mr. Sonners. They deserve to crawl in the hole whence they came."
Shoulders taunt and pauldrons resolute, he added one final phrase in resolution, showering the entire lobby with the intent's heat: "Recreants should be turned to ash-" His left hand thrusted horizontally at its full length, palm splitting the air in fury before reaching its extents and holding there like a claw.
"*AND BURIED!!*"
Midus looked upon Omi as he expressed his words true from the heart. And what did the head man had to say? "Then bury me...if you can."
Those words alone caused almost a dead silence to befall the crowd. Not even Vince's taunts seemed to be acknowledged or heard by those who watched the encounter.
The dead silence already foretold the mood. In a place full of crowds which should not be quiet... Even in a place where, supposedly, no fight should take place, the setting for a possible bloodfest showed itself in all its wonderful display of colors. The atmosphere complimented that mood, actually, with the crowd making up the supposed ring of where a potential - if not catastrophic fight - would take place.
For the swordsman, who was in the midst of leaving after the end of the GTB tournament after being defeated by Tenkai and Omi... He was walking passively down the stairs, his body fully adorned with his gears and weapons while the Halberd was slung over his shoulder - the head axe being wrapped with cloth to make it safe for traveling. Of course, hearing the sudden roar of a familiar voice echo from the main lobby as he appeared for departure, the swordsman, against his better judgment... Decided to check it out, as it was just along the way.
What he saw, however, was the former foe that beat him, Omi, preparing to duke it out with supposedly, one of the main supporters of this tournament.
".......???"
The silence made understanding the issue even more difficult than it already is. Was there something that is causing a spite to occur between the two? Or... Was it really necessary for the swordsman to even bother himself with this type of bullshit? He had areas to travel, and some people to meet again. With his defeat that revealed all the flaws and more within him, wasting his time here when he should look for some trainer or sparring partner to rebuild his skills is certainly something that he should be doing.
And not...being curious as how this might turn out...
"...."
Ah. What the hell. He'll stay just to see if his possible prediction comes true or not.