Wrecked Field

The team, upon arrival at the destination specified by their FIGHTERS, would find themselves greeted not by a man of any sort but by a trio of scaly green imps that barely stood taller than the patches of dry grass that grew sparsely through the gravel at their feet. The tiny creatures stood in the open where the members of team Bloody Pandas would have no trouble locating them, and they trembled openly with each approaching step that the men took towards them.

The boldest of the imps would beckon forward the group, chattering unintelligible words to itself and the others while backing away into the path that was carved through mountains of scrap. The two that remained were quick to follow, and faster to lead if it meant that they could put more distance between themselves and those that were following them.

On all sides there were continual flashes of movement, but nothing that would ever stay within view for more than a split second at a time. Other imps, like the ones that lead the group forward, were hiding within the ditches, the holes, the shaded overhangs of debris, and the broken windows of cars. They would peek for merely an instant and then hide once more from sight. Literally hundreds of beady red eyes were upon the team at any moment. The field was infested with the creatures like they were common rats.

The ones that lead them forward stopped in an open area. At least a dozen meters of clear ground stood ahead of the group, though the valley was half covered by the shadow of a towering pile of stacked Gaia Scion autos on the western side.

"Weeeeyt. . ." spoke the imp in the center, groveling upon the ground with its arms outstretched.

The imp on the right seemed about to wet itself. Its knees shook violently and it involuntarily made a wavering hiss as its hands covered the creature's hooked nose.

The one to the left abandoned everything and bolted back down the path from where they had come, shrieking uncontrollably.

BEEP BEEP

"OUTTA MY RATHIN' WAY!"

Like a bat out of hell and with a noise it could only make, a Willys MB 1945 Jeep roared put-putted its way roughly onto the field of battle. The equally-old and rough voice that accompanied the ruckus wouldn't be hard to recognize nowadays in Heaven or Hell, but in appearance...well...

Ebris Dhifi was not just a HUEG, irate hobo in appearance anymore - he was a HUEG, irate, mummified hobo in appearance.

Forgoing such articles of clothing as his padded vest and bandoleer, the bounty scum was instead wearing an obviously inordinate amount of red-blotched bandages and tape across his entire body. There were certain areas of the hunter's body that were especially covered - the chest, the back of his left leg and his lower face in particular. Ebris' facial hair had been burned away, and with his multitude of wounds, it actually made the guy even more ugly - a feat that was originally thought impossible. However, most of his wounds had been stitched up and thoroughly healed with several injections of bacta, which his body could finally accept again after a certain period without using it.

And then there was his mood - clearly, swearing and swerving to hit the little Imps that loitered about the junkyard was indicative of how chipper the sumbitch was.

"GREENSKINS! RATHIN' GREENSKINS! GONNA RATHIN' SMEAR 'EM!"

Due to how the little buggers looked - ugly, possibly green and with big noses - Ebris reckoned that they were them damnable Grots that always swarmed about the Orks. It didn't help the fact that they shrieked loudly and tried to avoid the Jeep like any sensible Gretchin would.

Finally, peeling out in the large field where they were supposed to congregate at, Ebris put the vehicle in park and hopped out. He managed to catch what Dzan was saying and simply scratched his head at what he said. "You know somethin' I don't?"

The bounty hunter had no damn idea what kind of huckin' and jivin' was gonna go down in a wee bit.

Panicked cries and scampering feet were the welcome that Ebris would recieve as his Jeep tore through the paths within the Wrecked Field. Though they were perfectly safe within their bent steel holes and their scrap-lined burrows, the imps hiding among the trash did not hesitate to flee even further into their hovels when the Jeep passed near to them. It was only after it had long passed that they would once again venture to the mouths of these constructed caves and stare out with their red eyes at what may become of these men.

The unlucky subject of Gamma's affectionate gaze felt no love at first sight. The coldness of the stare and the way in which its knees trembled uncontrollably caused the creature to lose control at last, creating a small pool by its left leg and nearly collapsing to the ground immediately after. With its baser instincts finally taking over, the imp quickly turned and bolted for the darkness beneath a half-crushed Volkswagon at the back of the clearing.

Of the three that had lead them here, only one remained. It stayed prostrate against the ground, its arms stretched out ahead of it and its face pressed deeply into the earth. And it trembled.

Skreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee~!

A shriek came from one side, out of sight but distant. Several howls followed it, much closer, much more spread out, covering everywhere as the scaly creatures that lurked all around called out in one voice. Another sound began to build behind it... growing... overtaking it as the howls died down and instead gave way to the dully, rythmic beating of drums. War drums.

Something bigger this way comes.

A shadow passed over. A shadow descended. A shadow fell upon the pitiful creature that had fled in fear. A shadow split the creature into three as it was ground into a red smear that was left in the dirt and a wet stain upon the heel of a dark figure's boot; the sound of the impact when it came down both wet and crisp.

Skreeeeeeeeee~! Skreeeeeeeeee~!

The dark figure then cast his eyes upon the Pandas. This figure was nothing like the ones they may have grown accustomed to seeing when the Heaven or Hell staff addressed them. There was no polished armor, no regal helmet, and no bright garments. The man's face was hidden from them, covered by a scarred and dirty hockey mask that had no doubt been salvaged from the yard around them; his head and neck were wrapped in a black mantle that reached to the ground behind him; and the armor that he wore upon his chest, arms, and boots seemed to be little more than scrap that had been bent around his form.

Struggling for freedom within the man's right hand, an imp fought valiantly against the grip.

Skreeeeeeeeee~! Skreeeeeeeeee~! Skr- Crunch.

Of the three that had lead them here, only one remained.

"Your task is done... begone!" the figure commanded. Without hesitation the sole imp that remained bolted hurriedly for the nearest cover; darting quickly between the legs of the Pandas to do so.

"As for the rest of you..." An arm raised, casting an accusing finger towards the three men that stood in the clearing. Blood ran down the underside of the figure's arm as the mangled body in the grip of his gauntlet swayed to and fro with each movement. Slowly passing from Dzan, to Gamma, to Ebris.

"In this round you will face me. You may all face me. I will choose one from among you to fight, though the others may aid him. If you are not willing to step forward now, you will not be able to do so later. There will be no Strikers here. For those who fight, there is only one path to the next round... victory. If you all fall by my hand, then it is I who will decide who among you will be able to compete.

You will be watched. Your score from this may yet save you from the fate that will befall one team from your number. Even if you are all defeated, it is this score and this score alone that determines whether you shall advance to the next round. If you... win..." the figure pauses momentarilly, letting out a deep, gurgling laugh at the absurdity of the idea, "then you will be spared from this."

"The stakes are higher here. A single red card will fell you as surely as I would myself."

Taking the body of the imp in one hand and the stump of its neck in the other, the man wrenched it swiftly and tore the corpse in two before casting it aside. His hands raised to the mask covering his face, and with bloodsoaked fingers he smeared crimson lines beneath the eyes, and upon the cheeks.

"Ebris Dhifi! I am CHIMERA! To fulfill my contract with the man called Noah... I must break you."

The hiver was met with an annoyed glare, revealing that he might as well have been Moonspeaking to the bounty hunter.

"Eliminator time? What the rathin' hell is an-"

Eliminator Wrote:

Skreeeeeeeeee~! Skreeeeeeeeee~! Skr- Crunch.

"...Oh."

Well, that answered that, and a whole heaping pile of other little gnawing questions. When the FIGHTER started getting all wonky a bit ago, Ebris figured that it was due to the beer he had knocked onto it by accident earlier in the day. Of course, he had forgotten that the things were water-proof in the first place, but Ebris never really bothered looking at the manual for the thing - all he cared about was making sure no sumbitch tried to destroy it and disqualify his a** from the tournament. If that were to happen, Ebris would make sure to take the punk outta the runnings with him, and certainly not through the painless method of destroying the FIGHTER.

Ebris gave one nice, long whistle at the sight of this rather. It didn't take any analyzing to know that the guy in front of him was serious grod. All throughout the tournament, Ebris had pretty much dominated all of his fights - even in the ones that resulted in double KO's had him coming out on top due to how brutal he was towards the chumps sent up against him.

This guy changed things. This guy made things interesting for the aged hunter. This guy was a rathin' challenge.

"Break me, eh?"

A hearty chuckle issued past the scum's lips as he glanced to the ground and shook his head. Random debris crunched noisily under the cleated boots of the hunter as he stepped forward, looking up now to take a nice, long gaze into those ruined, dark holes beneath the mask that may or may not contain eyes.

"Them's fightin' words, if I ever heard right."

The tension was palpable, like ozone after an electrical storm. No amount of posturing would get anyone in this little showdown to back down, but they still did it anyway.

"'Fraid I'm gonna have to disappoint ya there, friend," the hunter sighed, looking away as if in same of doing something very wrong, "yer gonna come to find out that ol' Ebris Dhifi doesn't break like many of the folk I'm sure ya've smashed to bits before."

Ebris grinned a harsh grin, revealing unnervingly white chompers as he thudded his way forward and past Gamma before coming to a stop just ahead of the mummy in a suit.

"Alrighty, lemme go over them ground rules s'more - seems Dzan is gonna just stalk about the match and hop in whenever, and I guess Gamma is hopping in too - I mean, grod, ain't like I can hold that crazy sumbitch back anyway!" He guffawed, reaching back and giving the other HUEG GAI a rough pat on the shoulder.

"Finally, them red card rules...a pure, absolute, rathin' shame! Like a knife through my grod-filled heart."

More gesturing, this time of how such a rule disappointed the old man.

"I mean, grod - that means we gotta play extra nice in a match like this - and grod, one helluva match it's gonna be! Rathin', rathin' shame..." Ebris sighed, shaking this head before looking back up at the eliminator and nodded slightly.

"I think that's it...oh! One last thing."

An arrogant little smirk crept up on the old, chiseled features of the man.

"There a real name to that one ugly-a** piece of grod you call a face, or am I gonna have ta call ya Jimbo?"

"It is decided."

The masked assailant wasted no time in attacking. Ebris had made the mistake of announcing his team's participation before he had asked the rest of his questions, and now he would not be able to safely run his mouth.

Whether it was the distance between CHIMERA and the Pandas or the diminutive size of the imps, but their perspective was slightly skewed. Dzan, of all of them, was at least a head taller than this man in front of them; and Ebris himself towered seven inches over the man when he straight. This was complicated even more by the way that he stood, slouched over with his shoulders slightly ahead of his body. It must have been the distance that had made the figure seem so large in their eyes, or perhaps it was simply that the men were able to see him the way that they should have; as children standing in his way.

CHIMERA cocked his right arm back at the hip and lurched forwards in a charge. He covered half the distance in a flash with two great, leaping strides and then launched himself towards the group with utter disregard. Ebris stood in front, and was the primary target. The cocked fist would lash out at his head with a blindingly fast hook that would lift him clear of the ground entirely if he were still standing in the path of the Eliminator.

If he were smart, he would move.

This would leave Gamma, who was standing behind Ebris, in the line of fire. For him there would be another surprise in store, as the figure would land in a crouch just short of the giant's toes and immediately fire a short uppercut with the cocked arm into Gamma's solar plexus. Much like Ebris, if this shot were to connect then Gamma would be lifted clear from the ground and slammed backwards into the windshield of their spokesman's new ride.

If he were lucky, he would move.

This would leave the Jeep, which was behind them both, as the recipient of a right straight to the grill. If it had airbags they would have gone off. If the parking brake were not on it would roll backwards at a decent clip. Otherwise, it would need to be taken in for body work after this.

[ Cognitive Genome ] Wrote:

"There a real name to that one ugly-a** piece of grod you call a face, or am I gonna have ta call ya Jimbo?"

"Jimbo...? Heh..."

Talking was not something that the masked man chose to do often. Exchanging words with inferior beings like these humans was a waste of time. It was only because of his obligation to the Noah that he had even given them warning.

"Bow your head and call me Master."

Yeah, Ebris had a big mouth. Things have happened in the past that have made the bounty scum almost regret it, but never enough to make him stop. The kind of punch he was about to receive would come mighty close, though.

The distance between the set of fighters wasn't that great, and with the guy's long-a** strides, Ebris wasn't able to do a helluva lot when the guy just exploded forward. Even though Ebris stood several inches over the guy and probably out-massed him significantly, his movements radiated a kind of power that sent alarm bells off throughout the old man's skull. Last time he had felt this way about how strong a guy was when he had a too-close for comfort encounter with a Throne-damned Astartes.

And that was not a good thing.

"Oh grod."

WHAM

Ebris indeed took off from the blow, his head snapping to the side and sending a nice, small jet of blood from his maw. The force, coupled with his huge weight, didn't make for happy Jeep when his a** collided with the front end of the vehicle. Now, them old Jeeps didn't have fancy-pants car alarms and air bags that those newer automobiles had, but when Ebris wedged himself out of the hole he had made on the front end of the vehicle, it was apparent that such non-existent features would have gone off like crazy - the damage done to the thing made it look like it was in an accident with a large, unmoving object at around 30mph.

Groaning, Ebris stood up before spitting out a tooth. Rather actually dislodged a tooth! That, coupled with interrupting his little speech about having to play nice, did not make the man very happy. Oh, and there was the main source of the bounty hunter's mounting anger.

"YOU BROKE MY RATHIN' JEEP!"

Bellowing furiously, Ebris turned backed to his ruined ride, bent down and grabbed a hold of the 5-6ft long solid steel bumper. Old Jeeps were meant to take on srs bzns and grod like that, so parts like the bumper were meant to hold up under a lot of impacts. That made them mighty fine beatin' sticks in Ebris Dhifi's Big Book of Beatdown Instruments.

rrrnnnnnkkkkk

With a mighty lurch, the hunter yanked the think right off the front end of the mangled vehicle, further racking up costs for whatever insurance company that was gonna deal with the damages dealt to the thing. Turning about, Ebris began to charge at Murdoc. He ignored the master comment, too irate to really care much about pithy one-liners at the moment.

"COME TO RATHIN' DADDY, JIMBO!"

Well, sorta.

The Eliminator felt the satisfying crunch as knuckles hit bone, and from behind the dirty mask he grinned maliciously. Ebris' head didn't provide much resistance and the man was thrown through the air by the impact... the blow was so clean that the recoil only shifted CHIMERA's trajectory a few degrees to the side.

Though there was still the matter of 20 lbs of flanged bronze that had stepped into his path and wanted a kiss.

Fw~ cck!

Without a loud crack the volume of the Eliminator's form quadrupled... or appeared so... The mantle that the man wore practically exploded as it was ripped away from CHIMERA and flew into the air in shreds; entwined upon the flanges of Gamma's Turkish mace. There was no blood, no broken bones, and no impact at all. There was no Eliminator in the path of the weapon, only a handful of black feathers that had been clipped by the edge of a flange.

Lochs of blood-red hair were still suspended in the air from his descent by the time the masked man rebounded from the ground. The twelve-foot span of raven-hued wings that had snapped to his sides had used the air resistance above him as a second ground to push off of and immediately dropped the black clad figure to the ground and below the path of the swing.

A cracking sound emanated as the black angel tightened his fists. It had nothing to do with his knuckles or his fingers, however. It was the sound of the metal plates on his palms being crumpled within the man's grip.

"Fly."

Already leaning far forwards due to the momentum of his previous charge, CHIMERA launched both fists upwards into Gamma's lowest rib on either side. Twisting upon impact, the jagged metal molded around his knuckles would tear into unprotected flesh with as much ferocity as the man had put behind his blows. Gamma would be launched clear over the hood of the Jeep and barrel through the windshield with his lower back before finally crashing down into the back seat... though not quite to the moon.

As for Ebris... the numbing effect he'd received from his blow to the head had spared him of taking notice of the bent pieces of scrap that the Eliminator was using for gauntlets. A deep cut and a small patch of missing skin over his left cheekbone would be the reminder he needed to recall what those knuckles had looked like while they sailed at his face.

Momentum was a powerful thing, and with 400 lbs behind his quick thrusts the Eliminator was not planning to stop. He'd gone straight through Ebris and Gamma in a matter of seconds, and with Ebris still sprawled in the dent he had made in the hood of his vehicle, CHIMERA swooped in with his left arm and grabbed the man forcibly by his bandages.

"Join him," the black angel would command distastefully; wrenching his body with a sharp twist to hurl Ebris sideways through the hole in the windshield and into the front seat.

Crrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...

From their relaxing positions sprawled out in the vehicle, the two men would have a pleasant view of the clear blue sky, spoiled only by the sting of their injuries and the gentle sway of the vehicle... and the sound of metal straining... as the front end of the Jeep was lifted clear from the ground.

With one hand acting as a jack the Eliminator stepped underneath the engine. His other hand went to brace upon the front axel, and he took another step forward. He passed his hands backwards again to place one flat against the center of the vehicle's underside, and with the other still placed upon the front axle the vehicle's engine was counterbalanced with the rest of the body.

Despite the significant difference in their weights, the man had no real difficulty lifting the vehicle over his head now that the center of mass was directly above him... for now.

Mr. Toad's Wild Ride took an unpleasant spin for the passengers very shortly after; pitching forward violently as the vehicle was tipped to its front end and literally THROWN out. The momentum of the swing and the powerful thrust of the man's back arm and legs hurled the back end of the vehicle in an arc; while his grip upon the front axle held that end generally in place.

Hopefully Ebris wasn't prone to carsickness.

Well, that's not right.

At no point in plan "Mace + face" was Gamma supposed to end up in the back seat of a jeep. He was bleeding from his sides, and he could feel a bunch of glass in his back.

Oh well. Life's rough, buy a helmet.

This wasn't the first time Gamma had been sent flying. He'd been kicked by bigger and better. Ambulatory tanks that weighed in with five digits that could armwrestle God. Things that could punt school buses through uprights.

Etc.

Of course, at the time, Gamma himself was a bit more sturdier and armorier. But the concept was still the same; you had to be really careful when dealing with things that could strip you in half like a wishbone. Not that that encouraged Gamma to rethink trying to stomp this guy's face in.

If the jeep grew wings and ended up in a pile across the junkyard, he'd be going with it.

If the jeep's flight was delayed, Gamma would lift himself out of the seat and up over the door. This was one of those fights you wanted to stay on the ground.

Any kind of jeepwrestling that involving Mr. Eliminator struggling with a jeep over his head would invite a two-handed mace to the legs from Gamma.

A standing eliminator would probably just have Gamma hammerthrowing the thing like he had so many times before.

Long story short: more macing.

And that meant two things - that either the guy was hanging onto the bottom of the Jeep, or there was Tomfoolery afoot.

Ebris, being the optimistic old fart that he was, chose the former.

"Hope ya like it rough, Jimbo! Ahawhawhaw!"

Shifting the vehicle into first gear, Ebris began to drive around like a possessed man, aiming to run over all sorts of fun things - broken car parts, bumps, sharp and pointy things, more Imps...you name it, Ebris swerved to hit it between and under the grill.

Ebris drove at his pleasure, whipping donuts in the confined area of the clearing as he searched for things to drive over. There weren't many... it was called a clearing for a reason. However it wasn't hard for him to find a few loose car parts or large stones to drive over. Perhaps he'd even hear a few satisfying clunks as something he'd driven over struck the underside of the vehicle, one of the tires, or something else underneath.

But this road was a dead end. Sooner or later, Ebris would have to turn.

Feeling suddenly top-heavy, the Jeep would lurch to the side suddenly as if it had suddenly been t-boned by another car. The momentum that it already had would continue to carry it... even when it crashed down completely upon its side and began to slide unnaturally across the ground.

Not going forward, the vehicle slid sideways instead on a straight-line course for a stack of compacted autos laying on the outskirts of the clearing. Still gripping the vehicle by the underside, CHIMERA intended to crush Ebris between the two cars.

Damn rathin' straight Ebris drove at his pleasure. Unfortunately, there really wasn't much to run over in the clearing, but there wasn't a complete lack of goodies strewn about the land - this place was a junkyard, after all. With each satisfying, muffled thump, thunk and thud that made its way to the hunter's ears made him all the more keen on finding new and interesting objects to run over and make the Jimbo below all the more cozy comfy.

That is, however, until Ebris did make an eventual wide turn, only to find himself leaning a wee bit too much to the side.

"Oh rathin' PISS!"

Mud, rocks and bits of debris began to splatter everywhere with the accompanying groan of metal and of it slamming into the ground. Not having his seatbelt on, Ebris quickly had to grip the steering wheel and brace his right leg against to the side as to not fall flat out of the thing. His favorite land vehicle was further ruined as it began to not slide forward like it should have if it were a normal spill, but instead it was being rathin' pushed up along the dirt. Choice words about metas were spat out viciously, knowing that that sumbitch Jimbo was doing this. This rather was the real deal - the first real danger he had encountered on this little mudball of a planet.

Rath, how he wished he had his gear right now.

Gritting his teeth, Ebris took a glance up from his currently sideways position and found out what the b*****d was planning - he was gonna make him the meaty part of a car sammich. Ebris reckoned that wasn't gonna be too good for his current status of alive, nor would staying in his current position - that would put his head right through one of the doors of the ruined autos just ahead, and that wouldn't be too cool. There was just a helluva lot of noise going on during this and it was giving Ebris one mean headache, but through it, he was able to notice the shrieks of protesting metal coming from the Jeep; from that, he knew then it's structural integrity was on its last leg. However, that gave him an idea - a risky, dumbass one that probably wouldn't work, but it'd sure as hell surprise Jimbo on the other side. So, as carefully as you could get while moving quickly, Ebris loosened himself up and allowed gravity to take hold.

"!"

It was close, but Ebris' boots hit either side of the side of where the passenger side door would be (since it was a doorless vehicle), keeping him within the vehicle - if he had been an inch off, he probably stood a good chance of getting dragged into the plowing dirt. At this point, the scum took another glance back.

Almost there...

He kept an eye on the stack of cars behind him now, as that was the key to the timing issue that was gonna occur. Bending low so that his frame fit neatly within the Jeep's own frame, Ebris stabilized himself with his left arm while cocking his right side and arm back, his accompanying hand tightening into a monstrous fist.

The tower was nearly upon him.

Then.

Go time.

Ebris sprung his legs up and back just before the Jeep met the pile of cars. The sound of his boots slamming and buckling the metal was barely heard over the sound of everything else, but it was there. As soon as the knees were bent enough, Ebris launched himself forward, his right side, arm and fist heading straight to the middle section of the Jeep.

The goal?

Plow right through the thing with his fist and right into Jimbo's masked kisser. It was the kind of blow that probably would have nearly knocked a normal man's head clean off their shoulder, and it should give the CHIMERA quite the smarting.

It was one helluva weird move, but it was aided by two factors - Ebris' strength and CHIMERA's strength. The Jeep, for all its worth, just wasn't meant to stand up to those kind of forces sammiching a specific point on it. The thing was old, and coupled with it already being weakened thoroughly by Ebris' driving antics, his crash landing and now the Jimbo's little push, it probably was gonna buckle in two.

Ebris was one rathin' strong sumbitch, but if it weren't for his opponent's own strength and momentum, this maneuver wouldn't have worked. His fist would be torn up from the metal (as well as other parts, as the Jeep would still be moving forward when Ebris' sledgefist smashed through), but that wasn't gonna stop the bounty hunter from opening a can of whoopass on the rather.

NEW CHALLENGER APPEARS!

+++Dzan was watching it all happen and was pretty much behind the whole scene as the fist would escape the metal and hammer into the man. He'd have that psychotic grin grow upon his features. As that grin grew it was about the same time that the eliminator would go to break Ebris's arm. Well, Dzan was jumping into this s**t. He took a hard push off of the ground. The right technoarm gripping the haft of the sledgehammer tightly as he crossed the distance in no time and swung the twenty pound sledge straight for the neck of his opponent. A normal man would be paralyzed by the strike, but what about this one? This would all happen during the time he was focusing on breaking Ebrs's arm so either he'd have to protect himself or take the hit in stride. Though, with momentum and the strength behind that right arm of his. The hit would send a person reeling. At least that's what he hoped.

+++Though, regardless of if it was blocked or anything Dzan would jump back with it before moving back out of range. Yet, he was shuffling backwards. His earthen hues studying the being before him. Just in case he made the thing angry. It seemed like the Hulk only smaller and less ugly. Well, with that damn mask on one couldn't tell. Maybe the thing was ugly as ********>

How disappointing. CHIMERA's expression noticeably changed for the worse when he did not hear the right sound out of Ebris. The blood-covered hockey mask that covered his face went directly from being a blood-covered hockey mask that covered his face to a blood-covered hockey mask that covered his face. It was the kind of expression that would make a mother cry in sympathy.

Behind the mask the man's face felt an unsatisfied twitch, but the emotionless expression that he had held since looking upon his opponents with disdain. This had not changed because his feelings for these cattle had not changed. Things had just not gone exactly as he had wished. It was only a delay, nothing more.

Ebag The II Wrote:

This would all happen during the time he was focusing on breaking Ebrs's arm so either he'd have to protect himself or take the hit in stride.

Dzan had given his teammate too much credit. A human like Ebris could never stand alone against Murdoc. There was no focus at all involved in such an instinctual movement. Ebris had offered his arm as a sacrifice, and Murdoc had accepted without a second thought. A single swift motion was all that it took to move both arms in unison like a pair of scissors threatening to shred the arm into nothingness, and it was not something to be dwelled upon.

Ffww-CK!

The sound of air parting preceded Dzan's swing; as the man was intercepted in midair by the sudden impact of feathers, flesh, and bone ramming into his right side as the extension of a 6' wing snapped outward. The weight and density of the large bone inside the wing made it feel like Dzan would have been cracked in the rib with a steel rod. The Eliminator turned his head only enough to look past his right side as the sledgehammer swung short and Dzan would be knocked out of the air.

"You wish to hasten your end?"

[ Cognitive Genome ] Wrote:

There was still another problem: CHIMERA was still holding onto Ebris.

This was true enough, which put Ebris in a very bad position to be in. With his arm lodged in a steel coffin he was more or less pinned to his own jeep and taken out of the fight entirely. With the way that the arm had been impacted it was his radius that had shattered, leaving his wrist nearly useless and taking out the stronger of the two bones in his forearm.

Ebris would feel the fragments shift under his skin as pressure was applied. Fingertips digging into his forearm like a man standing on his wrist wearing cleats. The monster squeezed down with his left hand upon the shattered arm and twisted it sharply; torquing towards the side that the ulna was on with the intent to snap the thinner bone like a twig now that it's twin was no longer there to support it.

There was no more need to hold onto the man's wrist, his arm was going nowhere. Instead the Eliminator stepped out and turned to the right, facing his side towards Ebag and casting an uninterested glance towards the man.

CHIMERA gestured tauntingly with his right hand and shook his head slowly from side to side. "Come then. I shall give you a matching coffin."

Apparently there was a hurled mace flying at the Eliminator's head when he turned against Dzan. A cyberpunk dashing full speed across the ground was easy to hear coming when you had superhuman senses. A $4,000 implement of warfare from the bronze age spinning through the air was not as easy.

The Eliminator cocked his head back and to the side as the weapon sailed past; ricocheting off the side of the plastic mask over his face and slamming heavily into the rear tire of the now deceased Jeep. As he straightened his head once again, a large chunk of plastic fell to the ground; creating a break in the mask that ran from the crack in the forehead across the bridge of the nose and under the left eye. Behind the mask a line of red streaked across pale skin, cut down to the bone but no further.

The lunging thrust was parried when CHIMERA turned slightly further to the right. The pole impacted a piece of iron that was being used as a breastplate and was diverted to the side after much sparking.

CHIMERA had no intentions of letting Ebris free just yet. For now he was locked down entirely... taken out of the fight and helpless as he would be forced to listen and not watch while the rest of his team faced against the Eliminator.

The hand squeezing upon the arm did not relent, and the man's weakened bones were not helped by the way he was pulling back at an angle like he was. If the gasoline running down Ebris' arm was enough to cause the Eliminator's fingers to slip, the grip would only slide down as far as the wrist where it would continue to twist and crush.

PAINPAINPAINPAIN.

Try as he might, Ebris Dhifi just could not seem to get out of the sticky situation he had been lodged into so gently by Mr. CHIMERA. The gas was helping somewhat by removing immediate pressure from his forearm by means of slippidy-slip, but that was only a temporary fix - the sumbitch was still latched on due to how big his fist was, which prevented the guy from slipping off entirely. Now the guy was crushing his wrist in addition to the damage he'd already inflicted on his forearm, further turning the appendage into a sack of meat.

Needless to say,

PAINPAINRATHINPAIN.

Spittle foamed through the bounty hunter's clenched teeth, flicking it all over as he hissed and grunted through the chompers as he pulled back. The cacophony of metal groaning and screaming began to fill the air again as the Jeep began to get wedged free from the stack of vehicles behind it. The metal beneath Ebris' boots and the side of the Volkswagen began to buckle from the pressures being brought to bear on them. Ebris' arm was gradually revealed to himself more and more as the Jeep freed itself, showing just how rathed up it was. However, Jimbo still wouldn't let go of his arm no matter rathin' what he did. At this point, the bounty hunter's wild, blue eyes seemed to grow a bit wider and pupils grow a little smaller.

The sumbitch ain't gonna let my arm go.

No sireejimbob, he ain't!

Mm-mmm! Nope!

Heh, Ebris is gonna show him. GONNA SHOW HIM GOOD.

RATHIN' GOOD.

It was safe to say that Ebris Dhifi was starting to get off his rocker. Just a wee bit.

"HEH, HEY JIMBO! YOU REALLY, REALLY LIKE THAT RATHIN' ARM, DONTCHA!?"

SNACKT

Yeah.

"HAH! YOU CAN RATHIN' KEEP IT, THEN!"

Just a wee bit.

CHONK

The mining pick descendeth.

Except, unlike what it usually was aimed at, it was aimed at Ebris' own arm.

The bounty hunter was sick and tired of being pinned up against the wall and having his arm crushed to hell, so his mind just kinda snapped and decided to end this grod then and there. CHIMERA gripped his arm so tightly that he wanted to make rathin' love to it, apparently, so Ebris went ahead and let the guy fulfill whatever weird fantasies he might have. The pain was far worse than what the sumbitch had been doing to his arm, but Ebris was a wee bit too insane at the moment to really notice - he was just kinda laughing and foaming through his teeth at the moment while he mined away at the arm. It'd only take a few blows from the thing due to how good it was at mining grod, so right before the last, bloodied blow, Ebris decided to give his arm one last parting gesture.

A universal gesture, at that.

And with a fountain of blood, away the arm went.

And with the arm, Ebris' pushing efforts finally got somewhere - with one last groan, the Jeep proceeded to obey gravity at its current angle and started to come right down on Murdoc's skull.

BEEP BEEP.

1400 KILOGRAMS OF JEEP.

Sometimes being late was fashionable.

It allowed you to miss the st beginning of the party where no one was doing anything. And you begin to think to yourself silently along with everyone else in the room: "Hey I wonder if no one else is coming". Of course if no one shows up then you feel really lame for going over to that guys house to begin with. That st is just awkward. You, and like three other people with practically nothing or occasionally an overabundance of food just sitting around. Might as well have just had sex with your cousin, that's about on the same level of awkward one might imagine. Anyway, yes being late sometimes was cool and what not but just not showing up at all until the last like ******' three minutes? What was that bullshit? Sometimes it wasn't your fault. You just didn't get the message or missed the phone call. Maybe your car broke down on the way there and AAA just took forever to tow your broken a ride to get fixed.

63's situation had been a bit different.

In reality, no one told him what was going on. These things were kind of important, especially when you had the understanding of a seal. An especially retarded baby seal. Granted his tri-core processors made up for that by substituting genuine intelligence with lots and lots of protocols. They could even simulate creativity and ingenuity simply by mixing and matching general knowledge. After having been dumped by his 'pals', the zombeh walked around the dump. Becoming lost, bored, sometimes even scared. Oh the catharsis! It was like ******' Bambi but Bambi redirected by Clive Barker. Hell, I'd pay to see it. Eventually he entertained himself by climbing up a literal mountain of Scions that no one wanted, finding great sport in climbing what was essentially a mountain made of st. But like all mountains, there was a peak and he arrived at it not too long after he had started. All he could do was sit upon the uppermost car and claim this land as his. Eventually he began to look around at all those below himself and noticed a particularly bigger opening than anywhere in the junkyard. Down there were men fighting, one even looked like fairy and not the good kind.

With his limited intelligence he wondered who they were and what lives they led and why they were fighting. s**t's getting deep right about here.

"-JIMBO!"

63's artificial ears picked up the word above all else, the computers thought it over a moment and literally came upon a BSoD. s**t. They just realized they had something important to do and obviously that was the team he had been lumped in with getting the crapped kicked out of them by fairy boy. The zombeh stood to his full height at the top of the vehicle, which made it shift dangerously forward. He barked, yipped and yapped loudly at them, trying to get their attention much like a dog would. After a moment though, he assumed that he was probably too distant for them to hear him over the battle. What was he to do? He needed to help them, but how?

...

He sat back down and pondered briefly, becoming restless and moody. As soon as he had done this, the car eased back down to it's original position much like a seesaw. 63 began to stand once more to get a better look and realized the car moved forward when he stood up. Like a fat kid on one side and a skinny kid on another. The computers took this bit of information and mulled it over, they directed him to stare down the "cliff". Ahead of him where the battle was going the mountain was incredibly sloped. If you can't figure out by now, shame on you because a practically brain dead cyborg did. Only a few seconds passed and he was suddenly in the car. Of course the engine lacked a key and would not turn on no matter how hard he beat on it. Which was sadly 63's main way of communicating, by beating on the person or object until it responded in whatever manner fitted his desire. Dieing was usually said desire. And no, that wasn't a p***s innuendo about him wanting to beat off, the guy lacks a peen. Zombeh dicks do rot off after a period of time.

Even so, the radio for some strange (suspension of disbelief) turned on and was tuned into 105.5 TOPGUN FM, and of course the only song that should be playing was indeed playing.

HIIIIIIIIGGGGGGHHHHWWWAAAYYYY TOOOO THE DAAAAAANNNNNGGGEEERRRR ZONNNNNEEEEEE!!!!

Regardless he had punched out the steering wheel to the point where the airbag had gone off and the horn was perpetually on. Just blaring away like that one scene in Little Miss Sunshine with Kenny Loggins blasting in the shitty speaker system. The windshield was already missing and he hadn't bothered with the seatbelt, that would just become a nuisance. By utilizing motion and gravity, he pushed up against the steering wheel as much as could be done. The car teetered forward and eventually just quite simply lurched off the starting line. It bounded, and crunched hundreds of dead automobiles under it's tires. Shattered glass and the force of the repeated, sudden and violent drops blew out all four tires. Stripping them of their rubber to the point where there was nothing but axle and wheel. Even these soon began to be crunched to all hell, and poor 63 was inside of this imported death trap. Regardless of how thrown around he got, or bruised from the repeated flailing, his grip on the steering wheel did not falter nor did the car flip. This hunk of metal, plastic and zombeh continued down it's predetermined course and built up a huge amount of speed.

Before he even knew it the ramp was there. The descent had finished and now the sudden and short incline began before air would take both driver and machine. They flew through the air in unison, zooming high above the clouds, metaphorically of course. By this time everyone would be made aware of the bastardized horn's dieing gasps and of course Kenny Loggins one hit wonder. With the ramp completed there was but one thing left to do: kill that b***d or at least wound him. Time seemed to slow ala Dukes of Hazard, just without the 'The South Will Rise Again!' mentality but more of a 'The Dead Will Rise Again!' one. Over the fortified wall of lemons and junkers the pile of scrap rose only to quickly descend once more. Everyone was sure to st their pants at the sudden arrival of their favorite undead pet. And then there was a great crash.

The car impacted with the ground, and used that to boost 63 out of the absent windshield. Allowing for slow motion action fueled adrenaline here, he corkscrewed through the relatively small opening. Having aimed the vehicle to be on course with the a** that was attempting to slaughter his allies. Continuing to corkscrew like some extremely gay diver in the Olympics, the zombeh puffed on his still burning cigar, chalk that up to magic. The monocle reflected the suns rays like gold and marked his incredibly fast approach. Cast magic missile? More like undead missile. With his arms crossed across his chest like a pharaoh, he held both bar maces out in front of him; the top hat still in great condition and defying nature by refusing to leave his head. Of course his suit was rubbish by now, but damn did it make him look good. If all worked out, he would collide into the back of this dude with the wings and upset the whole balance of this fight thus far. If of course being the word here that would decide everything.

+++"Well, gak..."

+++Dzan would roll away. The jeep crushing where he was. He had barely escaped it as he came up he began to spin slightly and let loose his sledgehammer. At the same time the 63's little car was flying down the steep hill and the severed arm was aiming for Gamma's face. A sledgehammer was flying through the air to try and slam into the being's body. He wasn't going to stop there. He had more to do.

+++"Damn, bounty hunter. Get that ******** mace."

+++He'd growl across the place as he began to charge towards the CHIMERA. He had no problem with this. If the wing would fly towards him, like wings typically do, he wouldn't have a problem with it. That little voice was talking to him again. It was talking to him and making him do things he normally wouldn't bother doing. Like running straight towards the Store-Brand Hulk. Yet, he was doing it right now and he was going to see where it took him.

c**kZOMBIEBLOCK

63's plan had all gone according to his extremely unreliable plan, up until Gamma's little spear was used against him. Before he even had a chance, the weapons tip was gliding down the length of his left (now right) bar mace. Sliding and generating an exorbitant amount of sparks, that flew in every direction and danced. Truly it was beautiful, or something. However this also posed a problem, acting as a guide for the point his mace was insured to lead to a stab. Nothing that the zombie could really do about it, but that is why he always remembered to wear those extremely heavy and armored gauntlets that just looked painful by the number of spikes on them. Regardless, the tip collided with his hand and shook the zombie up pretty bad, jarring him mid-flight and basically to the ground in less than a millisecond. All of those G's slamming into him was an extremely painful endeavor, and probably the vibrations from the metal would shake up that guys arm pretty good if he was still holding onto it. Without much elegance, poor 63 hit the ground with a loud grunt and snarled. Only to remember something that nearly everyone had forgot.

There was a one ton burning death trap doing front flips like a break dancer.

After the initial impact with the ground, the Scion had crushed it's engine and this set off a myriad of bad things within the junker. Whatever remaining fuel had detonated and set fire to the extremely flammable interior. Really, there was nothing good about this situation. The potential energy finally became kinetic energy as the heavier backside forced the vehicle forward over it's axis, after the first greeting with Mother Earth. This then created a domino effect as it continued to flip end over end and hit the ground. An inferno of steel and fire had been created incidentally and it was headed right behind 63, almost threatening to overtake the poor creature. Along with Mister CHIMERA just standing there in the line of... well literally, fire. Luckily for him though, the spear had stopped nearly all forward motion, so in an extremely cool movie magic moment the car flew right over his head. Mid-flip, and was most probably going to come down and do it's one and only purpose in life. Become a...

VEHICULARCRUSHER

Fen had moved, Dzan wasn't in the way yet, 63 was on the ground, Ebris was in the distance behind the two. Even if this guy could lift and throw a car as had been demonstrated just as he arrived. There was a minute chance that the damn thing could possibly stop this without taking at least some damage or the fire you know, setting his wings on fire. That would be lulzy to the extreme. In any case, 63 looked up in pure terror as the transportation vehicle flew right over him. There was nothing for him to do but wait and see how this panned out while beginning to role on his stomach in an attempt to get away and begin yet another offensive if this thing lived.

He couldn't pray to a god, he didn't have the mental capacity, but he still wished in that ESE sense of retardation that something would do it in.

+++Dzan would skid to a stop as he saw that flaming piece of scrap metal come flying in. That brought him out of the little bloodlust he was doing. The voice was dying off as his mental capacities were truly returned to him. He smirked to himself as the being would be distracted. With that he seemingly disappeared into the very scrap heats about them. 63 would eventually get up, and so would Gam. That would serve enough destruction as he went to do something that he had thought about at the very beginning of the fight. The only problem was...he had to figure out how to work it. So, he may not show back up in a little bit, but that wasn't too much of a problem. Was it?

CHIMERA would honor his request of a 'time out', for no reason other than that he had no intention of destroying these men in a war of attrition. Let them come all at once, let them come at their best, let them slink around like cowards in the night hoping to strike at him from behind if they wished.

"Let the one without fear be the one to step forward."

All that CHIMERA would do as he awaited their answer would be to take the metal pipe from the ground beside him and walk slowly away from the flaming wreckage. The oil smoke was making his eyes itch.

63 acknowledged everything that had just gone on.

And stood up.

Yep, he stood up and basically faced that big a** thing again.

He was only a few strides away given the nature of his attack and the averting roll, but meh there was nothing else for him to do.

They were all too busy playing around now? Ebris Dhifi too concerned with burning himself to put up a fight. Dzan the half-machine having already fled from view. The animated corpse simply stood and stared like the lifeless automaton it was. Only the burned man, the single most human among them, had the gall to step forward and attack.

Yet another trait that was most characteristic of humans. Jumping headfirst into battles they knew they could not win.

Gamma's sudden slash would be deftly evaded as CHIMERA tipped his head to the side, bringing himself just out of reach of the slash with the concealed weapon and leaving only a few strands of hair behind to prove that the attack had even taken place. His response would come with the flick of his wrist; cracking the lengthy metal pipe that he had taken from the man earlier across Gamma's chest. Though something about the response wasn't quite right... it didn't shatter any ribs...

Gamma's left knee slammed into CHIMERA's gut immediately after with a dull thud akin to if it had been driven into a brick wall. If Gamma had a sense of pain he would have felt a twinge running up the length of his leg from where the nerves had impacted something far more solid than ordinary flesh.

The Eliminator reached past the man's head.

One thing that was unmistakable about this man was that he was incredibly persistent. Once CHIMERA has decided upon doing something there is not much that can change his mind on the subject. He had decided before that the pipe would make a fitting necktie to accompany Gamma's torn-up suit, and with a sudden twist and pull on either end the pipe that had once been a spear was now looped around his chest, neck, and left arm in a half-nelson restraint.

Was this the part where he was supposed to make a witty one-liner or condescending remark towards the other man and his team? CHIMERA didn't care. For now this man was simply in the way.

Holding onto one end of the pipe the Eliminator quickly began to spin counterclockwise; gaining in speed and putting his weight into the spin for two full revolutions as Gamma was lifted clear into the air on the end of his steel life-line.

"Now..." CHIMERA would command, leaping high into the air with the bound man in tow; a powerful downward thrust from his wings providing additional altitude to the already tremendous leap, "...leave us."

With that he let the metal slip from his hands, and centrifugal force did what it did best.

+++Dzan would chuckle as he figured the st out. He began moving around the thing and even picked up a car...Wait?! Did he?! An evil looking grin would form upon the pierced lips of the cyberpunk as he continued picking up the car higher and higher...He was in a crane, if no one figured this out yet. As it got higher he'd swing the thing as hard as it would go before having the hook slip off of the car. What would happen? A random throw towards the center of the field where everyone was. He didn't care who got in the way. A flying car was a flying car! Though, he didn't watch it land as he was already slamming the st around to pick up another car for another throw.

(( Delayed, but done. ))

CHIMERA was still a good twenty to thirty feet off of the ground when the fourth car to be involved in this match (and the third flying one, at that) crashed into the ground somewhere nearby and tore up all the good topsoil. If someone had been planting petunias there it'd be a b***h to get them to take root now. But gardening wasn't the reason why any of them were here.

It couldn't be called flying. It couldn't be called hovering. It couldn't even be called gliding. What the Eliminator did once he hurled the third member of the Bloodied Pandas into low orbit could be best described as falling with style. He plummeted straight to the ground with his black wings outstretched beside him in a way that would do very little to keep him acting light as a feather; and the moment that the soil shook with his landing he was already moving forwards. The wings had snapped backwards with a sudden thrust and his legs, which had bent upon landing, sprang him forwards with the absorbed recoil from the fall.

Nearly all of his momentum suddenly went from vertical to lateral as the Eliminator pounded his way forwards like a freight train. Even the wings, now slightly back and at his sides, played a part in enhancing the speed of his charge as the low posture he took angled their top surface slightly downwards and created a downward push upon them from the drag that pressed him to the ground. When every step that he took was a stomp that caused the dirt to shake and the stones to rumble such a charge would have been done in leaps and bounds; but because he was able to keep the ground always within reach of his legs every fast and powerful step simply added to his forward momentum.

And so, by the time he realized what was happening Ebris Dhifi would find a 400 lb abomination coming at him like a landslide at nearly 60 mph; ready to shatter four of his right ribs with what beasts like this might call a "jab".

63 was the meatshield.

The whole reason he was on the team was to unleash hellish amounts of pain and take a beating that most humans would succumb to long before he ever would. Yet through out this entire tournament he had not come upon such a situation until now. This lumbering giant that had been set as their opponent was once more planning on unleashing unbelievable amounts of pain upon poor Ebris. 63 could not let this happen, the poor bloke didn't seem to have it in him to take a Brolly Punch to the abdomen. The zombeh was set to intercept blow as it soared in to wreck everything that lay before it. He slid in from the left and simultaneously threw both of his arms in towards the attackers punch. The blow landed.

Several ribs cracked but 63 did not move.

The chain that had connected his wrists together went devastatingly taught as the force of the blow attempt to push him away. This was not to be though as he had wrapped the length of it across the CHIMERA's armored wrist while it came in towards him. The zombeh really hadn't done anything but allow for the blow to come to terms in order to initiate this sort of lock down. There was no way it was going to be permanent, but 63 really only needed to hold the Eliminator still for a few seconds. A deep snarl was painted across the pallid monsters face before it roared up at the CHIMERA, flecks of blood and spittle left 63's mouth as this occurred.

Well, rath.

Ebris swore that the mace would have done some sort of damage, but it appeared that was not the case. The bounty hunter had no idea what kind of bludgeoning it'd take to get through to this guy, but it was obvious that despite their prowess against other tournament fighters, the Bloody Pandas wouldn't be able to beat this guy to death.

Rathin' sucked. Oh well - there was always mining.

And that's what he aimed to do - with the guy charging forward still with his left thrust forward, Ebris was in a pretty good position to do so. This was compounded by the fact he had bent nice and low to add stability/power to his throw, which meant that he was probably under the most efficient striking arcs of CHIMERA's right arm. Still could be hit from above or behind, but that was preferred than to the face at 60+mph.

With 63 keeping the guy's left in check for a moment, in addition to the fact his right had come up right before the two impacted, meant that there was quite a bit to hack away at. Due to CHIMERA's power and speed, 63 would probably be knocked out of the way and dragged along from behind by his chain, leaving the entirety of the Jimbo's chest/abdomen exposed.

You'd better damn believe Ebris took advantage of that. The mining pick was swung as best as Ebris could, but it didn't need a whole lot of initial swingin' - CHIMERA was already charging forward and would run right into it, and either Ebris would pull the weapon along the guy's gut and open him up wide, or the charging Jimbo would knock the bounty hunter to the side, which would still tear a hole in the guy to some extent.

The dead one had thrown himself between CHIMERA and his victim... but at what distance? Since he had intercepted the punch it would seem that he had jumped in at the last moment to block for his commandant. But if that were the case then the both of them would have been steamrolled by each other and there would have been nowhere for 63 to go after receiving the blow. If he had jumped in earlier than that the punch would not have been there to intercept, but he would have been far enough back to be dragged by his chains.

So in a world where dramatic tension adds precious meters to the distance between two people facing each other down in a charge, the corpse puppet had thrown himself into the line of fire and was now being dragged behind like a busted muffler.

So what would the beast do now that he had a monkey on his arm and the man he planned to make his victim had reared back his only remaining weapon in the only real way it could be used? He would attack, of course.

Slamming down with the left foot forwards CHIMERA snapped his wings to the front and threw his left arm forwards in a short uppercut... or what may have been one had there been a man close enough to be hit by it and not a skeleton with hydraulics chained to his wrist instead. The Eliminator jerked his arm back suddenly immediately after; alternating the wing beats this time with a quick beat of the left to the front and a snap of the right to the rear in order to provide a rapid twist. Being dragged like dead weight 63 would be hurled forwards like a skeletal flail... or a skeletal pick-stop... either way, the beast would follow it up with a right straight to the automaton's torso just as it came across the miner's body; driving the fist and the body into Ebris' smug chin.