Wheel of Moderate Prices

"Welcome to the hour of power, the game show that makes Gaia's elderly feel like there's someone else there in their cold lifeless existence, where contestants can win up to hundreds of dollars in services and goods!

I'm Chuck Harker, and this is...."

WHEEL OF MODERATELY PRICE GOODS!

The blaring music played as cameras swept across the crowd, highlighting various members of the cheering throng, many of which had wings, horns, or strange combinations of both. At least a few of them were sporting ears that one would only find common in a place such as Gaia.

As the music died down, Chuck cut back in.

"Thank you, thank you... now, I have to say, we have some very special guests on today's show, which we'll actually be doing live!"

More cheering; Chuck waited for them to settle down and presumably put their shirts back on, the same calm smile on his face as always. "My lawyer and agent have also advised me that I should wear this bulletproof vest, codpiece, visor, and helmet, but don't let that detract from today's show! Now, Rich Harglemalfuson, who will be our first lucky five contestants?"

"xXDemonAngelTearsXx, come on down!"

A rather endowed demoness clad in purple bounced (Ha-ha, multiple entendre!) down the aisle to the first of the five podiums.

"Gunstar Blue, come on down!"

The woman was shortly followed by a man dressed primarily in white and wearing a blue headband, carrying an oddly shaped gun. For some reason he randomly threw a nearby member of the crowd into another member of the crowd.

Both of them exploded.

"Eric Clapton, come on down!"

That's right. Eric ******** Clapton. Got a problem with that?

"Jin Saotome, come on down!"

An odd-looking samurai strode his way quietly down the aisle, taking his place at the fourth podium. He said nothing, even as his hair blew in a wind that didn't seem to exist.

"And our very special guest today, Rage from team Fracture, come on down!"

A burst of cheering erupted from the crowd as the cameras searched for the fifth contestant, but the highly expected guest seemed to have disappeared.

"We... seem to have run into some difficulties--"

"Hold the hell on, I'm coming."

Cameras swung around not onto the audience, but onto the stage.

"Some jerkoff apparently got Chuck's Cuties to stuff me into this thing. I can't imagine who it was."

Chuck coughed uncomfortably as the furious-looking woman stomped over to the fifth and final podium - her feet were bare, and it was clear that she was very lightly walking on her left leg; perhaps it was simply pride that was even keeping her standing at this point as her shoulders dropped and a sigh escaped her lips as she stood waiting for the show to continue.

Nosebleeds abound among the male members and Sakura fans of the crowd.

More than a few cameras shirked their duties of focusing on the crowd to focus on other, more pertinent things.

And this is mostly fourth-wall-breaking filler.

"Well, let's get down to the bidding! Our first prize today is this bottle of Gaisol Cleaning Solution! We'll start with you, Miss Tears."

"Five dollars!"

"Gunstar?"

"KYAAAAAH!!"

"I'll... um, I'll put you down for seven then. We move on to Mister Clapton...."

"... like a candle in the wind...."

"Ten dollars it is, then, because that's probably how much you charge per second at your appearances. Next we have the samurai...."

The samurai said nothing as the audience waited patiently. His hair continued to blow into Sakura's face, who had just picked something out of her nose and seemed to be examining it closely. "Come the hell on! He bids zero, I bid one dollar, let's get this over with before I take that tiny microphone and jam it up your--"

"... and the price is ninety nine cents! Sakura, you're our big winner!"

More cameras. More lights. More music. More cheering. And more of Sakura as she walked out from behind the podium and onto the stage, favoring her right leg as she stood.

"Fine. Just... someone get me some pants."

"Christ..."

He'd caught some grief about it, but with all the special guest priveledges and such, he'd turned them around anyhow. After all it was noisy and crowded out there, and people were flashing cameras and lights every-which-way, which was fine and dandy once the fights started but he didn't care to have it all in his face before hand.

Which was to say, Kael was sprawled across the leather cushioned back seat of ANEWCAR, blocked from view of much of the audience by a curtain, though he still had a clean line of vision with most of the stage and everyone working behind the curtains. His boots were kicked up ontop of the door of the ANEWCAR, your standard tiny convertible in a blinding shade of red that said "I'd rather be noticed too much for being ostentatious and flamboyant than a little for having good tastes". Luckily, the leather interior was a nice tanned color that wasn't going to blind him through his eyelids while he napped, or while he had to look at... that.

Something else fit to blind.

It wasn't a question of how it all looked really. Sakura may or may not have been considerably attractive by many standards, but as long as Kael knew it was supposed to be Rage he found it more disturbing than anything to see his teammate in overtly effeminate outfits, or the like.

This... this was just too far.

"Rage, yo!" he raised his voice over the din, not entirely sure if it'd get all the way out there- waiting a second or two to let Rage retort to Athan and maybe bicker a little.

"You stay the hell away from hot water in that thing, hear me?"

"What the s**t?! Where the green-haired chick go?" A guy in the way back would shout after rage was done talking in the mic. The guy was visibly standing up from his seat to show how outragously confused he was right now. What was going on here?

(Don't worry, I'm only a confused spectator. )

[1/17]

There was something to be said for surprise attacks.

"You stay the he-"

That was, they were generally pretty good at catching you by surprise. Which is why one second Kael was making a half-joke at Rage's expense, and the next second his eyes stung and he couldn't see a thing, his mouth was filled with some kind of soft disgusting s**t, and everything was freaking freezing cold.

"-hklghf!"

Some where along the lines a curse turned into coughing and spluttering, choking on the s**t that was all over him as he sat up quickly, reflexive attempt to get up and away from whatever was putting stuff on his face turning into a reflexively curling up from the pain in his knees. He wasn't moving forward though- something had him under the armpits and all of the sudden he was moving backward, up and out, onto the floor with a grunt that resulted in more chocking and spitting, quickly turning over to try and get up as soon as he got released-

Something made a cracking noise- and all of the sudden the dark world was spinning and Kael could feel his head snapping up and around- an impact to the side of his jaw.

He didn't know what the hell was going on-

He collapsed onto his right elbow away from the effectively invisible assailant, left hand flinging itself outward-

-CRCK!-

A blow just below his collar bones, high on the chest.

Success.

Not that, obviously. Fox wasn't actually likely to be kicking at him slow as s**t like it seemed to sound, nothing was really moving all that slowly, nor was Kael congratulating himself at taking another hit. He had a hand on some kind of fabric- maybe flesh. This rogue's leg.

-he didn't know who the hell was hitting him, not even that it was a contestant-

He 't wasn't thinking about how security should supposedly have ninja'd down and clubbed some disgruntled spectator trying to ambush a contestant-figher as he cut off a third kick, grabbing a fistful and yanking as he planted the toes and balls of his feet, turning and rising with his shoulder going up into the high thighs- near the waist, where he'd wanted to make contact.

-he wasn't actually thinking about much of anything-

The quick turn around was effectively a bolt upward from a planted stance, knees and one elbow, into a horribly ungraceful but surprisingly fast shoulder tackle, low into the man's body, hoping to let him get the right arm behind his leg and effectively bend his torso over Kael's back, lift him off the ground, and carry him the whole two, maybe four, steps toward the front of the car where he'd feel the hips he was braced against slam into something- the side of the car, past the front doors- and then slam him backward onto the hood, and sit up quick to try and catch a spare moment of it to wipe the crud out of his eyes so he could see where to throw punches.

-but he did have a pretty good idea of what he wanted this ******** face to look like when he was through.

[2/17]

"-hggh!?"

Oh, that wasn't right. His torso wasn't nearly that heavy.

Kael stumbled backward away from ANEWCAR setting his feet wide to keep up on them as his hitch-hiker's wait put the blinded man off balance. His arms let go of the legs, starting to rise-

-CRACK-

"-gnff!"

The blow struck his chin solid and he felt his knees wobble, head flying up and quickly coming down, trying to tuck his chin down. The right hand clapped over the bicep of the arm holding him, as if reached for balance even while his left arm just faltered down by his waist, corresponding foot slipping back to help him with his balance.

-CRACK-

Which was apparently the wrong thing to do.

"-htcht!"

He reeled again, pressing downward on his assailant's right arm to help keep himself up, though he recovered more quickly this time- his head snapped back around and down and an eye cracked open, streaming tears and surrounded by what of the spray hadn't been flung off his face by the clean shots to his chin.

There wasn't any face, none that was distinct as blurred and warped as it was to his stinging eyes right then, but he made out a clear sillouette.

I SEE YOU MOTHERFU-

The right hand pressed down hard on the top of Fox's bicep near the elbow, forcing his arm to bend more at the elbow as he lurched forward into it, effectively pulling the man forward or at least making him lean in, just a little, partially to cut the distance. Partially unconsciously.

"-CKER!"

Partly so that when his left hand clenched into a fist and swung around with a twist starting at his hips, fist sailing from out away from his waist in a wide smashing straight, around and upward. Not a tight blow, but since his hand was already way out where it needed to be for it he'd be socking Fox fast, but mostly hard, straight on to the nose during that moment Kael was pulling the guy forward. Just a little more hurt in what was going to be a pretty painful blow all on its own.

What, with good muscles, a wide swing and good rotation and follow through for power. Oh, and the gauntlet's with steel plated knuckles.

Kael's sword was still sitting in it's scabbard on the back seat of the car where he'd been dragged out, but his gauntlets and armored boots were a bit more attached.

Would he stumble, or falter? Kael was hoping he would. If not, the swordsman was just going to stand nearly nose to nose with this schmuck, left elbow cocked way back so he could deliver a long series of short, sharp punches at the side of his head, trying to rattle the brains around until the guy just fell down.

But he was hoping he'd stumble.

Because if he felt/saw Fox's balance going out he'd slide his left foot around, leaning heavy on his right as he put the left hand to Fox's left shoulder and turned hard. With the two hand grip on the arm Kael was going to throw his weight into trying to yank Fox in a semi-circle around him, back first into the side of the car.

Mostly to try and get him leaned backward over the windowless back door so he could deliver another left straight with a focus on smashing downward at his face.

And then spit a wad of saliva, blood, and coolant onto the other man's face.

Yeah. He wasn't real happy.

[3/17]

He wasn't moving back- Kael didn't advance, but started to lean forward, readying his left arm as he kept pulling down on that left elbow, trying to put his forehead to the other man's collarbone. Starting to come close, he saw only a flash as suddenly something was obscuring most of his vision.

"-ey!"

Kael had always favored stability over mobility in his footwork, but even so, even if it wasn't showing, he was hurting from the headblows- his legs weren't responding 100%, the reason why he was doing so much leaning instead of stepping between the other man's legs and just trying to take him off his feet. It meant the same thing here, he couldn't step forward like that to help resist the hand pulling on his head or just tackle into him and try to unbalance his attacker again.

He immediately felt his legs fail, right foot sliding forward even more to help widen his stance out, but not enough, not in the right place. Unthinking reaction, in his helplessness to make the motions he wanted his left hand fell immediately down on the wrist of the hand across his face, cranking together with his right and left arms. What he meant to do was yank the hand off his head, but instead he ended up pulling his head further down and to his right.

Dumb luck, but not enough of it.

The world shook and thundered again, and but somewhere in all of it he heard a hard popping sound.

Yanking his head out of place and generally struggling against it he'd avoided taking the knee straight to the head, but not the side of his jaw hurt, and one side felt off. Slack jawed from the impact, he tightened his bite again quick, feeling the struck side of his jaw popping back into place from being partially unhinged. The fresh tang of more pain registered, but he honestly couldn't hear the second pop over the thunder ringing in his head.

"Le'-"

The left leg shifted forward, squaring off with his other foot, and his right hand slid off the arm, reaching over it and back around for his face- a second's adjustment, but fairly difficult to stop unless Fox were going to let go of his collar to grab at it.

Blindly feeling he was open for one second, his hand moving back for his head, two as leather covered fingers and thumb curled in over the middle and index finger. Half another as they dug in, tightening and then cranking back hard.

"-go!"

Yes, he was trying to break the fingers. He was being pushed to do some real fighting work before he'd had a chance to fully recollect himself from the initial assault, much less recuperate from the uppercuts, and panicked reactions were leaving him open to more pounding. The grip on his face was screaming danger in his mind more than anything else, the loss of control over his own mobility, inability to retreat or attack properly. And so the natural reaction was to neutralize that the quickest way possible.

And who said the world of professional wrestling was a dishonorable one?

Athan had no way of knowing where El Fantasma would be striking from. In fact, he was busy scanning the crowd, attempting to follow their eyes to whatever was drawing their attention away from Ragekura's temper tantrum and Kael's being ambushed.

By the time he turned around, he caught the tail end of the luchadore's battlecry. That would have been all well and good, if that was all George was planning on doing. But noooo.

The vases smashed against Athan's skull, sending a bunch of fine powder and shards flying up into the air. It was a good thing Athan's skin was abnormally thick, or he probably would have been cut up pretty badly to boot.

Eighty bucks down the drain, and Athan had only momentarily stalled by the surprise of the attack, not so much the damage done by it. George would be landing just as Athan's right hand shot back, blindly grabbing the first thing that touched his fingertips. In this case, a Blendtec™ blender.

"AAAAAAH!"

Bits of vase still clinging to his hair, Athan didn't think twice about who was attacking him. Whether it was Chuck Harker himself, security, or a member of Mata Leon, they'd be getting a full-sized automatic blender smashed against the side of their face.

[1/17]

"Yeah, I did."

Athan wasn't sure what was going to happen as his arm was grabbed, but he was fairly certain that he could handle a guy smaller than him in such close-quarters combat. It wasn't his specialty, hand to hand, but with so many destructable weapons lying about, he figured he could make up for it.

So the arm was grabbed, and Athan instinctively dropped the blender as their two positions were reversed. The two of them were never that far from the wheel to begin with, so Athan made a rather short trip to the wheel, his back slamming into the wheel and shaking the majority of the wall that it was attached to. The impact caused Athan to release the blender, and did a good number on temporarily stunning the big guy. Chalk one up for El Fantasma.

But just as soon as the scorecard changed, George would find a very big, very black hand securing a rather tight grip on his arm. Athan didn't skip a beat as he took one step forward following the grab. Simultaneouly pulling on George's arm and extending his left arm out, Athan planned on planting his unyielding bicep straight into the luchadore's throat, clotheslining the masked wrestler and buying Athan enough time to do the unthinkable.

Athan stepped over the body, knelt down in front of the wheel, and wrapped those two arms around the front of the wheel, securing a grip on the iconic object before pulling for all he was worth.

Little by little, that mighty wheel was being torn loose from its hinges.

[2/17]

"RRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!"

The roar was a combination of determination and sheer force of will. After all, Athan still had a number of hairline fractures that had yet to heal on his left arm, hence the light cast. Doctors had recommended he stay away from strenuous activity to allow the arm proper time to heal, but that was ruined the moment he had gotten into a fight. Now it was time to let it all hang out, and he wasn't going to be favoring anything if he could help it.

The wheel was ripped free with one last tug, the force of which was so great that Athan nearly rolled the wheel back over his head. If his grip wasn't as strong as it was, the thing probably would have launched into the audience.

So while Athan couldn't smash George right away, at least he could see where the luchadore was running off towards. Mount Discount was a fairly gaudy display, but in the end everything was wood and cardboard.

For some reason, as George made it up to the mountain, yodeling music started playing across the speaker system. The audience laughed, because the Swiss are just universally hilarious. Athan wasn't nearly as amused. In fact, he hated yodeling.

With another, slightly less intimidating shout, Athan stepped forward and hucked the wheel after the luchadore. It hit the ground, bounced, then started rolling across the stage at a terrifying rate of speed.

It probably wouldn't completely smash the luchadore, but getting hit by a giant wooden and plastic wheel wasn't a pleasant feeling for anyone.

Athan would not be following up the giant wheel of savings. His left arm dropped limp to his side, moreso out of pain than uselessness.

[3/17]

[4/17]

The arm bar hold Fox was looking for would be difficult, with one of Kael's arm's locking the wrist and pulling his arm in while the targeted right would be bent a fair deal at the elbow to try and pull backward on the fingers in his hand until the joints, tendons, something gave. On the other hand, the point of it was just to move him, which meant with the right arm hooked over Fox's arm was all kinds of easy to yank him along by.

Long and short of it, one moment he was standing there trying to ruin this guys hand and get it off his face, and the next the world was spinning around and-

-WMMPHT-

Something was echoing in his head again, something else had hit him. He could feel his edges wearing down, his body slowing up as he took one blunt hit after another to his head and face, addling his brains. It was as if the machine he was running on were getting jammed up. His hands came loose, hovering near the hand but not quite holding it as his feet set back to the ground and he started to sag, his mind began to shut down.

Until the knee.

It seemed as if he had been falling for a long time in that half a second, and in a flash his head snapped up from the impact, nose crooked and bleeding already. The blow was still there, and he faltered half a step, but the single sharp pain cut through all the dull pounding and fog in his head.

Waking him up, so to speak.

You almost got off easy there.

His eyes opened, red boring into the other man.

As soon as they were open he didn't waist a second in spinning back around toward Fox again- he was already fairly close to receive the knee blow, and his right arm had been up, spin of the torso and snapping outward- almost like for a jab- of the right arm delivering a sudden backhand aimed for Fox's ear. A blow that could be expected to rattle the brain for a moment if it connected, hinder balance some by proximity to the ear and fluids therein, but mostly nothing dire if left alone.

In entire honesty, it was cover for the real blow. Kael needed to turn and his right arm was already in place, so he was letting out the quickest blow he could manage with it where a feint might usually have gone, to cover his left hand as he turned and stepped in.

Left hand low, arm bent tight, hand turned over in a motion much like delivering an uppercut swinging for the other's side, hands steeled instead of padded like a boxer might have had in the ring sure to only accentuate the harm it might do.

A liver punch hidden in the wake of a strike at the head.

WARNING!!

Kael vs. Fox

Striker Approaches!

Rage

Special Moves:

Chairshot

Dragon Punch

Burning Knuckle

Comic Relief

Summon Diamondkatanamobile

[5/17]

Contact.

He could feel the clarity he'd been losing slowly coming back to him, fighting spirit replacing a dull sense of self and need for preservation. The blows landing stoked the fire, and Kael stepped in, arms dropping below what would have made a good guard- sloppy as ever, though nasty blows were about to follow, planning a bastardized left uppercut and some kind of heavy over hand follow up with his-

"Hhtcht-!"

Suddenly he had the guys arms around him. Off guard, he'd expected to catch a blow and try and out punch him in a contest of pure brute force.

Gotta remember, whoever this b*****d is, he's got advantage on me in skill.

He wasted the first second, struggling and taking it in.

"Din't know-"

He spat a mix of saliva, blood, and coolant over the other man's shoulder- mostly blood- and started the "wit", if it could be called that, up quick in the second, as first his left hand then right hammered against the man's sides. With his upper arms constrained he couldn't hit hard enough to count on causing any actual damage to the guy's body, but damned if he was going to give up the opportunity.

At least he was finally figuring out, with this tiny respite, that this was almost certainly one of the other competitors, not just some psycho.

"-ya' c'red."

Slurred speech continued in the third, with another blow from the left, the right coming back. But it stopped there.

"Tcht."

He quick stepped, trying to keep up with the turn, following around for sake of his balance instead of trying to resist, disadvantaged with his arms being on the inside and having no grip, and such.

And suddenly he was free.

Kael knew it was bad news. Didn't mean he knew what form of it this was gonna be in time to do anything about it.

"-HMMMMMMPHT!"

The kick hit him hard and Kael's body gave like he'd just been hit with a hammer. And maybe there was the kind of force to justify it, but there was more than just the blow's damage by itself to the way his eyes suddenly wide as they could and he gasped for air, tensed and leaned back against the car, clinging for support.

His eyes were fixed on Fox, yet he didn't seem to be able to move forward and pursue some kind of attack to take the match back into his hands.

Maybe it was because Kael was a wuss.

Maybe it was because he'd already been aggravating the sword wound in his stomach from the eliminations and Fox's kick had just landed right on it, spilling blood through the bandages to stain his shirt and drop a light spattering across the floor of the floor by his feet. Because his body was wracking with pain from it that wasn't so easily picked up and run with as the broken nose, trailing blood and beginning to show signs of darkening already- luckily his face hadn't swollen enough to obscure his vision, not so far at least.

Rage-?

Oh, he was flying almost right at him and the other man with a speeding, tumbling vespa in tow.

That was all.

-the hell!?

Arms and legs, attempting not to use his stomach he flipped himself backward over the door, landing on his back across the front seat of the car, legs kicked up over the door.

He gasped but steeled himself this time, hammering his heel down and busting the rear-view mirror loose, glass shattering, as he put his arms in place and tried to get ready to heave himself back forward out of the car again as soon as his speeding teammate had passed by.

[6/17]

Kael had meant to come out immediately after the vespa and skidded past where he would have been standing, but for half a second he just stood and stared.

Wait. Someone... other than Rage... is crazy enough to do that?

"Well... huh."

He pulled his right leg inside the vehicle, sticking his heel against the handle, pressing down, out- and kicked it open violently. Hands on the dashboard and the seat he pulled himself up, setting his feet outside, and stood carefully as Fox started to recover on the ground.

Carefully moving, he pulled his jacket off, hanging it on the handle of the knife at his belt as he peeled off his shirt- calmly watching Fox, giving up the time he might have been taking advantage of the other man's faltering. The shirt came off next, carefully removed to show the blood soaked bandages wrapped around his gut.

...it's not like when I got this. It's worse.

A grin started to form on his face, replacing expression of pain and weakness as he folded the shirt over and over into a tight paced square, and put it in his mouth, biting down, for a moment to pick the jacket back up and twist it until the fabric grew taught throughout the body. The shirt back out, setting it against the jacket, slowly placing it against his stomach, padding made from the shirt against his wound.

His face tightened, lips spreading to reveal clenched teeth.

And he yanked on the sleeves, body tightening up as he wrapped the improvised compact against his wound so tight it almost seemed to restrain his breathing, and tied it off.

"Alright,"

Kael reached around to his side, gripping the rearview mirror he'd smashed almost off the vehicle from inside with his right and ripped it off, holding the side with what remained of the smashed mirror forward. Sure, he could have picked up his sword or drawn his knife while he was there with that time, but maybe some retarded form of respect or pride had him using things the other guy could have used as weapons just as easily from their environment, leaving aside the things he'd brought with him except for the partial armor he was already wearing, covering his feet to knees and hands to elbows.

A deep breath, and he took a step forward, slowly lifting his hands up in front of his face, left high front and right back and further down by the jaw, a fairly standard guard.

Legs moved, testing motion, and he started bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

I've been making it worse, straining my gut too much, and now this... I can still lose too much blood to keep this up if I'm not careful-

"Let's do this."

By this time, Fox was easily back on his feet, but once he'd taken measures to check the bleeding of his wound, Kael didn't see any reason to allow him too much more time to recover.

His body was good to go.

-but no way am I stopping here.

So he charged.

The guard dropped a moment as he rushed in, picking his footing and guard back up again as he started to enter a long-unarmed combat proximity. Instead of halting and taking a slow approach he just watched for any warning signs of a kick until, rushing quickly in and turning his front left foot at the ball to try and generate some more power in a heavy handed jab let out as soon as he could reach. Power with as little straining in his stomach as possible.

It was frustrating to be given such a solid reminder of just how vital that area was to most of the body's motions.

[7/17]

There was no time to move, nothing to do. He was already devoted, and this was half a surprise, after all.

He took it.

Kael's head turned slightly with the punch, landing near his left temple, more because he wasn't braced against it than because he was intentionally trying to lighten the blow. All in all, it really didn't lessen it any.

His head came back around and the chin tucked down this time, red eyes open and sharp, smoldering, though it seemed as though he was holding himself back for such a fierce expression. The obvious explanation was that he had such a large wound in his side- he was fighting the pain as well as Fox. Kael's right hand stayed anchored in the the guard he had up, still holding that mirror forward, keeping defensive with the hand even though he seemed to have a weapon in it. The left hand was what kept moving.

Keep pushing it. Don't step back.

Recovering quickly, the swordsman pulled his left back again and bent his knees to lower himself slightly, flickering another jab, and then taking a partial step around without ever turning himself from Fox, another jab, another and another, all aimed at his head. If there were obvious openings in the guard Kael would aim for those, but essentially it seemed that his present tactic was just to keep light enough on his feet to try and prevent Fox hammering on him too hard and throw as many gauntleted punches at the other man's head and guard as he could until Fox did something to try and rectify the situation.

That was two punches thrown- but if things didn't change there were going to be more.

The luchadore was a bit apprehensive as he scaled the cardboard, wood, and plastic construct. He half expected the whole thing to collapse under his weight, leaving him to whatever fate the wheel had for him. It held; so he climbed. Simultaneously, the miniature mountaineer emerged from the far left of the display, bellowing out a prerecorded yodel with its pickaxe at the ready. The mechanical figurine didn’t get far before being snatched up by Fantasma's right hand.

This will come in handy later.

During the post-fight interviews someone would probably ask: “George, why did you climb Mount Discount?”

And George would say: “Because it was there, chica… because it was there.”

-WHUMP WHUMP WHUD!-

And now THE WHEEL was there-

“All right George, You’ve got to time this right…”

And he’s going to climb it… sorta.

What happened next was something straight out of Ninja Warrior! George lept from the set, just as the wheel plowed through it. His stands was a little wobbly at first, but years of lucha training had given the man extraordinary balance and acrobatic skills. One could only imagine the delight of the fans watching world-wide as the gold and platinum clad luchadore started backpedaling atop the wheel as it rolled along. Things became even more hectic once the cameras revealed the wheel’s projected course.

“Oh s**t, it Fox” Fantasma mumbled under his breath. That’s when the man had a pretty damn epic idea. George grinned, and slapped his FIGHTER.

STRIKER!!!!!! OFFENSIVE!

A whole lotta s**t was about to happen in a very short time period.

George leaps from the wheel once he’s “in range”.

The wheel continues on and has its way with ANEWCAR (Let's hope it was insured.)

George screams out the infamous Mata Leon battle cry: “CHESTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!”

Kael would be greeted by one hell of a body drop as George attempts to "slam dunk" the plastic figurine into whatever target presented itself. (Yes, it was leading with the pickaxe! Plastic or no, it was still pretty sharp) Flash photography lit up the studio like stars in the night sky. George's mid-air NBA-style pose with the mountaineer in his hand would be immortalized in HOH posters for years to come.

The studio is audibly saturated by a car alarm, s**t breaking, cheers, jeers, profanity, and yodeling.

[4]

[8/17]

Tch. That's to be expected.

The fist pulled back again, and Kael started to step in instead of maintaining the circle around-

Fox went low, then rolled.

Not around him, or anything like that. Just away. There was something else too, something loud that he'd almost written up to the roar of the crowd, but with Fox fleeing suddenly the rumbling, the scream, and the motion in the corner of his eye were a lot more significant.

Kael turned, only partly, not full around.

"Hoshi-"

His hands were already up but they rose more, squaring off at the plastic pick coming down on him- not that he registered much more than that something pointed was coming down while he was acting. The pick was practically at his head when the mirror got up in the way, smashing the glass and catching the thing, yanking it out of his hand, knocking it away and ruining the point of the plastic pick as it scrapped off the metal plates wrapped over the backside of his left gauntlet-

"-nnghf!"

Ragged tip on a firm plastic thing didn't let it pierce anything so much, but it was still something that could rip up bare flesh. Like how, sliding past the gauntlet it was now going across Kael's left shoulder, not so much cutting it as tearing a small furrow across the muscle.

His jaw tightened, trying not to let it distract him too leave himself too much more open by reacting to it beyond a sound of pain and his eyes watering.

But then again, he had a flying man coming at him. Planted feet weren't going to stop Dash slamming into him as he came in for the landing, knocking Kael stumbling backward.

"Cripes, why is everyone sailing through the air today?"

Glance at Fox. Back at George. To Fox.

He wanted to get back in the fight before he could lose his momentum, never mind that he was probably the one who could use this break the most, but he wasn't entirely sure if this guy was a strikering or jumping in just like the first one ha-

-wait. What the hell had happened to the car?

"...uh?"

Now this is all just getting silly. The hell is going on?

As the luchadore stood to his feet, he started to think that his attack may have not been such a hot idea. The giant hand suddenly lifting him to his feet confirmed it.

However, George wasn’t quite as unprepared as he seemed.

No, he was still very much armed and dangerous! As Athan went to spin the Luchadore around, Fantasma decided that a little payback was in order. In his right hand was the mangled mountaineer figurine. The close encounter with the Kael-Kind had left it a mangled mess of plastic, complete with sharp edges!

Shortly before the toss that would make even the best of Olympic athletes envious, Fantasma lashed out with his right arm, seeking to introduce the left side of Athan’s face with Mr. Mountaineer.

Man, George should really be more careful; he could put an eye outwith that thing... or create a nasty gash. Of course, George wasn’t able to admire the damage he had done (if any) as he had an important engagement with the pegged plinko board behind him.

s**t was broken, and more blood was drawn!

Fantasma grunted as his upperback and shoulders struck the board. Most of the pegs snapped under the impact, however, a couple of the more resilient ones actually broke skin. The luchadore collapsed to the ground shortly thereafter, steadying himself on his hands and knees while blood from his fresh puncture wounds seeped down his sides and back. They weren’t deep enough to do any major damage, but it still hurt like a b***h. And to further add insult to injury, the sound crew thought it’d be cute to play the epic “FAILURE” theme.

“…..”

Seconds later Fantasma was on his feet. As the cameras zoomed in the man, it was apparent that no mask could hide his anger.

“Okay homes, your goliath a** is mine!”

He made his way back towards Athan, taking care to pass in close proximity of the “prizes” awarded for the plinko event. He discarded the mountaineer as its yodeling days were long gone, and grabbed two new weapons.

Left Hand: A 32 oz glass jar BLUE CRYSTAL s**t ($25.55).

Right Hand: A “Sir Sucks-a-lot” portable hand-vacuum. ($57.99).

[5]

Fantasma had experienced many things during his participation in HoH. He’d been beaten by a Kevlar helmet, smashed by a bass drum, DDT’d off a building, exploded lobsters, and even had his face smashed into “eleven” demonic a. Now he had some crazy fool goin’ Debo on his a and throwing Jetskies!?

Dammit Crawley, I’m going to kick your-

CLANG SCREEEEEEEEEEEE!

Sparks and plastic shards scattered into the air as the recreational water vehicle carved a swatch across the studio, screaming like a banshee. George may have been a tough guy, but there was no way in hell he was going to try and iron man a jetski. He dove to the side with a roll, avoiding the projectile watercraft, smashing his blue crystal s**t in the process.

“********!”

Instead of a full jar, he had a hand full of broken glass and blue powder, along with several small cuts.

“****** **** ******…”

Another wound he’d have to contend with. Fortunately, he was prepared.

Proceed with vacuum and glass sounds.

George seemed oblivious to Athan as the luchadore vacuumed up his little mess.

“Sunuvabich…”

[6]

George’s response was pretty straightforward.

He switched the vacuum from “suck” to “blow” and shoot forward to his feet like a track star off the starting line. George hoped he’d judged his distance well enough to be able to step inside of Athan’s armswing and get in reaaaaally close to him. Now, from first glance this would seem stupid as hell because, let’s face it, Athan was much larger and stronger than the Luchadore. Then again, George had the vacuum.

Fantasma took aim at the man’s face and unleashed the full fury of the Sir Sucks-a-lot! Hopefully the face full of blue crystal s**t and glass shards would distract Athan and keep that sword from being accurate swung at him. If he could just buy himself that time he could then move on to the next phase of the attack-

A SPINNING HEADSCISSORS FACE BUSTER!

"YESSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

BOOM-SHAKALAKA!

[7]

All this mess aside, Kael looked to be incredibly distracted. Glancing at both of Mata Leon members while dealing with 200 pounds on top of him.

This is getting chaotic...But I can't sit back and watch. Fox thought.

Athan would also be there. Well this is interesting. Guest fighters or something.

''...Holy s**t...'' Fox mumbled, staring at the size and frame of Athan's body, IN PERSON. Fox had never met this guy personally, and to see how big he is was amusing.

Anyways, Athan picked George up and tossed him like a rag doll. Fox wasn't preoccupied. He knew George was going to be there. He can handle himself...Well, sorta.

So basically, Kael would most likely be standing up at this time. Lets hope he's still distracted and confused. Fox would attack as soon as Kael got up. Fox felt a little cheap...

I have to do it anyways!

...considering Kael was being fair this whole fight, he never took much advantage in this kind of situation, like a few minutes ago when Rage striker'd.

But I guess it's just a matter of style. Who knows? Maybe Kael would've done the same if they switched places.

Oh yeah, the attack. Fox would run towards Kael's left side, stopping on the right leg at some point, where he felt the distance and gap between them was right, and unleash a powerful Muay Thai roundhouse with his left leg, and he was a southpaw. Which meant his left kicks were dangerous. It was a middle kick, and it was aimed at Kael's stomach, where the left shin is supposed to slam against.

We all know why.

[9/17]

Normally, George would seize this brief moment of triumph and play to the crowd by performing some sort of obscene dance or taunt followed by a little bit of trash talk. Then again, George wouldn’t normally be facing a sword wielding maniac who can throw wheels and jetskis at him! He couldn’t afford to take too many more chances.

Fantasma made pace towards the “slightly” dinged up NEWCAR. While in route, he removed one of the gold streamers from his arm and used it to wrap up his cut and bleeding right hand. Whatever the hell Fox and Fish were doing in the area didn’t concern him, so he paid no mind to either of them.

George needed a weapon, something with a little more “umph” behind it. The vacuum cleaner was nice and all, but it exceeded its usefulness and had to be tossed aside. Fortunately, his armament of choice was just a few solid kicks and a tug away. Fantasma reached for what remained of the passenger side door of the car and pried it open.

It was time for “serious business”, and business doesn’t get more serious than a man wielding a car door ( retailed at $570.98 ).

Thanks to the unprecedented acts of THE WHEEL, the door was relatively easy to liberate from the mangled vehicle frame.

Hmm… perhaps they DON’T make’em like they used to.

Fatansma turned back towards his recovering foe, both hands gripping his weapon tightly.

There, in front of the Brand Spankin SMASHEDNEWCAR he stood.

He watched.

He waited.

[8]

Psychofish Wrote:

His face turned upward, red eyes back on Fox's again, body still hunched over. Shaking, but, with strain, sucking air in.

-won't!

Fox stood there, on a boxing stance, looking down at Kael. Maybe it was time to finish him off.

No, lets rack up some moar points...

STRIKER-OFFENSIVE!

FLASH! TENSION!

George stands there motionless and unwavering like a statue sculpted from pure badassium. Again, we have the flying Kanji and speed lines as a sly grin makes its way across the luchadore’s mug. His FIGHTER bleeps, and he knew it was time to roll.

Reguardless of how effective of an attack his teammate had initiated, this still didn’t change the fact that, off balance or not, a very large man was running at him and swinging a very large sword. Fantasma was probably going to pay for this later, but hell, you’ve got to seize the moment right?

The only thing between George and a severe case of separation anxiety between his upper and lower torso would be his wits, and the door that A BRAND SPANKIN’ SMASHED NEWCAR kindly donated.

Athan initiates his swing, George shifts the door to the appropriate side of his body. One hand grabs the little pocket located along the bottom 3rd of the door, the other grabs its outer rim, above the window and the rearview mirror. Next he pulls the door close to his body and holds it firm so as it absorbs the impact, the door itself won’t really slam into him and cause unnecessary damage. Simultaneously, he steps into Athan to move inside his swing, where the kinetic energy of the blade is considerably lower. Because, as we all know, the tip of the sword is usually the fastest moving part. As a final precaution, he angles the door at about 30 degrees to create a slope that will deflect some of the impact while lowering his center of gravity so he isn’t knocked off his feet.

However, just because he does all of this s**t still doesn’t mean he will escape unharmed. Oh no, this all comes at a price.

CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!

What glass in the window shattered, raining down over the luchadore with the faster moving fragments creating fine cuts along his body. Secondly, the force being transferred through his body, although reasonably lessoned, still ****** up some st. He’s fracture some ribs, most definitely and have one hell of a sore arm/shoulder for the rest of this fight.

But he stood his ground, he clenched his teeth, and he pressed onwards.

WHUD!

The obliterated door with George behind it acted as a prop to keep Athan from falling on him. Oh no, he wasn’t going to get out of this. George wasn’t going to just let himself get ******** up for no reason.

Fox was in position, and it was time to do this! George dropped the door and moved around behind Athan, taking up position next to his fellow Mata Leon member and grabbed the large man around the waist as well. What he planned on doing, he couldn’t do alone. 400 lbs of man was sadly too much for a single Luchadore. But with Fox’s help? HELL YES!

“DOUBLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

They heaved.

“BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACKDROPPPPPPUUUUUUUUUUUUU!”

And they ho’d.

[9]

[10/17]

Running... away?

His eyes narrowed and his teeth came off the lip, grinding against each other. Kael dropped his hands, onto his knees, and forced himself upright slowly, struggling.

"...ggh...tch..."

A sad sight he must have been. It couldn't really be said what Kael was angry about just then- partly he was simply angry. He had his own body to be frustrated by, not responding right anymore, his performance to be angered by. It wasn't much of a surprise if he was taking anything and everything as insult. Maybe not insult, exactly, but he was getting pissed about anything and everything.

He'd done it before. Goading, forcing himself on. There had been a night in the park, months and months ago. A hunk of flesh torn out of his side, his thigh shredded, his arm stabbed. He'd finished that. He'd had his sword in hand then, but that had been a several shadow monsters, or whatever they could be called. If he could survive that he could survive this. And he'd do it the same way.

Kael couldn't simply summon emotions, much less put himself berserk, but as long as he had them he nourished them, taught by the time in which he'd had to rile up the Chaos, being willing to pay the price that came with stirring it. The energy was gone, thank God, but he still remembered the feeling.

Collecting his anger, the violence of his emotions, letting the feral animal strength fill in the weaker parts of his humanity, reaching into the "baser" part of the human being and dragging himself toward the brink of the insanity, pitting himself in a struggle to keep his mind lucid.

There were two advantages. The first was to move past the pain, to struggle over that hurdle and move despite it. The second was to force his body to its limit and draw out the strength that wouldn't come to the conscious beckon. Strength to rise, strength to move despite the feelings of weakness and shaking setting in because of blood loss. He didn't have much time, and this would shorten it, but this way he could fight during that time, not simply stand and hope he might survive.

This isn't over yet. It isn't over Rayner, dammit.

Foot in front of foot, pounding on the stage.

One more roar rose in the crowd, half lost among the rest.

It won't end that easy.

Athan was landing, the wrestlers were recovering from the unexpected turn in their attempt to manhandle the relative giant. No one was going to be caught in the middle of that bit of exchange, but it might still have come as a surprise.

I'll finish it on my terms.

His arms up in some semblance of a cross arm guard, face contorted in some kind of hellish fury against pain and weakness, trailing spots of blood, Kael was rushing Fox full-tilt.

Right up to the man, ducking at the last second and launching himself forward using his leg strength, relatively great compared to the abdominal strength diminishing the more and more his stomach got injured, whether or not he was semi-berserking. The hands would uncross and come forward, diving into what seemed like an attempt to spear Fox around the middle. Only instead of his shoulder slamming into his stomach with his legs in the air, the left foot would land on the ground when the shoulder should have been making contact to allow him to continue driving his body's weight forward into it, and Fox'd have Kael driving his right fist forward, punch thrown as if he were trying to put it through the Muay Thai fighter, delivered straight to the solar plexus.

Aw, st. The striker had failed. Whatever Athan was doing to save his a, Fox would let go and return to what he was doing.

''a*****e.''

Fox simply turned back to Kael...And the guy was already charging.

''AGAIN!? YOU JUST WON'T STOP DO YOU!

IT'S OK, I LIKE THAT!''

Fox charged towards Kael too. They were pretty far apart though. Feet pounding on the stage as well. The crowd roared. This was going to be some epic s**t.

I don't know what he has planned, but, I'm going for it anyways...

As they closed the distance/gap, Fox jumped, leaping towards Kael...

'Running' Special/Finisher:

UUWWAAA!!!! BUSAIKU KNEEE!!!!

They would both crash like a bad car accident. You could hear the crowd going ''OOHHH?''

Fox's left knee would collide straight onto Kael's face. Kael's right fist would probably hit air, due to Fox's current position. If it hit something, it would probably be his chest, but still, it wasn't that big of a threat anymore.

Fox was the pro-wrestler and the athletic one here, so he was likely to do these moves and a lot of knee attacks, as seen throughout the whole fight.

They would both fall on the ground after colliding, logically, except Fox would still be fine, thats if nothing goes ******** wrong.

Could he finally put Kael out with this?

[11/17]

[11/17]

The swordsman's red eyes followed as if in slow motion, like it no doubt would on dozens of television channels, as the other man came off the ground and into the air, turning over backward with the legs swinging up and forward, some more graceful and close up version of the drop kicks Kael had started to try from time to time, his next step into hand to hand after just swinging away with heavy punches.

The knee came forward into the Kael's left hand, already moving forward, pushing it backward. The hand was pressing, trying to guard, but there was just no chance of it ever stopping the flying knee. The men, women, children, and whatever else Gaian's could be called of the crowd all gasped sharply together as Kael's head moved backward, turning to the right side, knee pushing in after it, and Fox would feel good, clean contact made.

Fox was several times over more acrobatically astute than Kael, and he certainly had the greater skill in the hand and foot fighting the two had taken to. Given some morphine and time to cool his head, Kael wouldn't begrudge the man admitting any of that. He'd been out maneuvered and out thought up until now, trying to adjust to a fighter that had a sort of versatility and ability he wasn't used to without bringing his sword or knife into the matter. It'd leave him with some deal of respect for Fox, one of the only other fighter's he'd encountered in the tournament who was making their way without magic, and a bit of personal embarrassment at his not having been quite ready for it, wound or not, that would likely drive him to finally pursue strengthening his weakness in that area as he'd been meaning to for a good while.

None of it registered as a valid excuse to lose though.

Time unfroze.

In a flash of blinding quick motion, the speed seen by those actually in the crowd Kael's head snapped around and his body twisted violently about with it, spinning on the ball of the left foot as the right lingered in air with no chance to stop the forward momentum of the two men bringing Fox around into him.

Spinning around, Kael's right foot planting wide on the ground to his side as Fox slammed onto his back partway through the circle turn, Kael's hands wrapped over the leg.

To the crowd, something seemed terribly wrong. Fox, Kael, and the men monitoring each move in slow motion and picking out a play by play and listing of which frames needed the most emphasis on their broadcast would all know exactly what had happened though.

The right fist and the knee had sailed past each other, no solid contact for the fist as Fox's knee met Kael's left hand, open and come forward partway from the cross armed guard he'd been using. Pressing forward and inward, to Kael's right, he'd diverted the knee, just slightly as his head pulled back, hand pushed into his cheek as he tried to turn his face from the blow, slipping off his face and his hand, slipping off the "parry" and glancing blow into a solid contact with Kael's right shoulder, spinning him around to his right as the hand's took a good grip on Fox's leg, the left just inside the crook of his knee and the right cross over his thigh. Holding on and pulling Fox through a partial spin with Kael's body, until Fox's back and Kael's right foot came down.

It left him leaned way over Fox, to hold the thigh, but after the initial brace from the shared hard impact he stood straight, sliding his right hand back to try and turn the grip over Fox's thigh into a grip over his shin.

Kael started to turn on the balls of his feet as if he were going to try and yank Fox around by the foot, but instead one knee would rise high, and then drive the heel of his armored boot down hard into Fox's lower ribs. Which foot and which set or ribs depended on which one of Fox's legs Kael had, as that'd reverse which direction gave him a clear shot for the stomp and which direction would put him in a bad spot, near Fox's free leg.

Well that didn't work out as well as he had hoped. Now Athan still had a little choking problem to worry about, as well as still being partially blinded and practically stuck in a turtle position with a luchadore on his back.

Plan B was go.

Athan hadn't wanted to equip the Berserker's Gauntlet, but at this point he didn't have much of a choice. His vision was already messed up. Teary-eyed with black spots already filtering into his vision, it took some work to unhook the gauntlet from his belt and slip it onto his left hand. Athan's right arm shot up once the metal glove had been secured, gripping hold and keeping George's chokin' arm in place. When the fingers on his left hand balled up into a fist, a faint hiss was heard over the roar of the crowd.

What happened next wasn't going to be too pretty.

Athan couldn't see well, but he had a good idea of where the arm choking him was. He'd punch into George's elbow from the side, probably not hitting all that hard from a punch perspective, but the resulting knuckle contact was all Athan really needed to begin with. The ensuing wave of concussive force was not nearly comparable to the punch that had leveled both walls and the Eliminator, but it was enough to put a rather sensitive area in a very bad position. Potentially even break the joint itself.

[11/17]

There would have been a witty retort on Athan's end, had he not been concentrating on getting his breath back by violently coughing and holding at his throat. He didn't seem too concerned about the luchadore he was crushing beneath his own weight.

That is, until he started getting punched in the side of the head.

The lack of oxygen was making the punches more effective than they would have been alone. Athan's head was rocking with each successive punch, and his already slightly-dazed state was only being compounded by the repeated blows to the head.

And then came a pair of teeth clamping down on his ear. Athan shouted, nay, roared in protest.

"YOU LITTLE RAT b*****d!"

Athan rolled to his right side, probably allowing George to tear lose a small chunk of Athan's ear right then and there. But Athan wasn't rolling off of George completely. There was so much blood on his face and in his eyes it made it almost impossible to see. But as Athan reached his knees he blindly reached towards George. The moment he could get a good bead on the masked b*****d, he'd plant a gauntleted palm on his chest, holding George in place before raining right hand after right hand into what he assumed was the mask with a flurry of not-so-precise but extremely damaging punches.

By the time he was finished, it was going to be hard to tell where his blood ended and the luchadore's began.

[12/17]

“Pytew!”

Fantasma spat the bloody chunk of skin and cartilage to the side. With all of that crushing weight off of him, Fantasma could finally appreciate just how much pain he was in. It literally hurt to breath, it hurt move, hell it even hurt to think. Whether or not that last detail was combat related though, is an entirely different story.

As Athan moved, so did George. Although, he didn’t really get far thanks to Athan’s hand grabbing hold and planting him. Fantasma’s right arm was completely useless, so there was nothing he could really do to escape. The Luchadroe’s eyes darted around, scanning the immediate area for something, anything that could save him. That’s when he saw it… the car door!

Well, not the door itself because there was no way in hell he was picking it up in his current position. What he spotted was the rearview mirror that had been broken off during the epic shield/door block of Athan's sword. He’d moved himself just within arm’s reach of it! Now it was just a matter of-

-WHACK!-

Then came the punches. The first one caught him squarely in the face, once again busting his nose. That makes what, three times now?

-WHAM!-

And there goes a tooth! If this kept up, George would actually need a prescription mask just so he could go out in public during the “off season”. Well, two vicious blows to the face were all the inspiration Fantasma needed to grab hold of the mirror with his left hand and retaliate by forcefully smashing it into Athans face, glass first!

s**t, forget the prescription mask for George… they were BOTH going to need masks when this was over.

[13]

More glass? By the time medical staff carted Athan away from this place, he could easily build a solid window from all the shattered glass stuck to his face. Thankfully the rear view mirror broke inward moreso than outward, leaving a nice little webbing where the rear view mirror smashed into his head.

Athan's face now had a nice gash across the forehead, joining all the smaller cuts across his face. Now there was even more blood, most of it on the right side of Athan's face.

"God...dammit."

Were he able to see the mirror coming he probably wouldn't have been taken out like he was. But Athan was actually knocked off to the side, rolling a few feet away from George before pulling himself up to a standing position.

As he worked his way to his feet Athan was busy tearing his shirt from his shoulders. Because he was in dire need of a face cleaning, and even if wiping his face off meant painfully adjusting the shards of glass still stuck in his face, it was pretty important to have sight.

So for a few seconds, Athan would only catch glimpses of George as he cleaned off his face, meeting with only half success as a fresh wave of blood flowed from the newly opened cut.

Damn that George. Athan was going to need a new shirt after all this. Not to mention all kinds of stitches.

[13/17]

At least… he got that mofo off him.

“s**t…”

George grunts as he rolls to his left and onto his stomach. He coughs, spraying the floor with blood, spit, and snot. The pain… so much ********’ pain! The world around him was more or less reduces to blurry lights and loud cheering.

“I liked this better when it was fake…” Somehow, he had to get back on his feet, and doing so would be pretty damn hard with just one arm. The BRAND SPANKING SMASHED NEWCAR wasn’t too far from him, so he crawled towards it, pulling himself forward with his good arm.

George hoped Athan was occupied with own wounds long enough to allow himself to pull himself to use the car as a prop and return to his feet.

[14]

Dashboard Wrote:

Fantasma took aim at the man’s face and unleashed the full fury of the Sir Sucks-a-lot! Hopefully the face full of blue crystal s**t and glass shards would distract Athan and keep that sword from being accurate swung at him. If he could just buy himself that time he could then move on to the next phase of the attack-

A Judge on the sidelines flipped through the rulebook in utter perplexion. He could have sworn that there was a rule in there about "throwing sand in the opponent's eyes" under the 'fair play' rules. As close as he could tell, hallucinogenic narcotics in irritable powder form were roughly equal to sand. For that matter, it would also rule that things like cans of mace and other irritants would be disallowed in HoH.

Would the use of this widely-spread street drug be grounds for a flag for use of chemical weapons?

Would blowing powder and glass into Athan's eyes be grounds for a flag for poor sportsmanship?

...OH s**t THE STARS! Hallucinogenic coma.