Ninon vs Artist

Stage0: Preliminaries

Frostschild Memorial Park

The sun is shining, the audience is pumped, it's a great day to kick a**.

While in memorium of those whom disappeared in the tragic Unity incident, this park is a lively place. In preparation for the fight some HoH fans brought their blankets and barbecues to watch the fight. It's a good old fashioned cookout amongst the violence.

Terrain

General - The green grass and general outdoorisness, while nice looking, should be accounted for.

Weapons - Barbecues, grilling implements, potato salad, trees.

Bonus Effects - Watch out for errant spectators, they're not as contained as usual.

Red Player: Overlord Ninon

Representing: Team Reject

Played By: This Is Zen

Blue Player: Artist

Representing: Team Tourists

Played By: The Deus Ex Animus

“Hey, that looks good! Mind if I have a piece!?” Artist didn’t distinguish himself from the spectators with a flashy entrance. On top of that, he didn’t appear much like a real fighter. There was a dim look about his visage, and he carried himself around with a sluggish pace as well. He wasn’t so tall, and it was pretty apparent that his body wasn’t built for strength either. In fact, it appeared as though he belonged in some office building.

“Sure, go right ahead young man,” he had been lucky enough to find someone who wasn’t so stingy. With that, he took a plate and put a piece of grilled chicken on it, nothing more. “Thanks a lot,” Artist placed his fingers directly upon it, despite the fact that it was so hot, and quickly brought it up to his mouth so he could bite a piece off. After he did, the chicken fell back into the plate and he waved his hand around to cool off his fingers. “s**t, that was hot,” he spoke with his mouth full, and as he did, his steps were leading him on towards the center.

To begin with, most people that viewed him believed that he was simply placing himself closer to the center for a better view, “Hey a*****e! You better make sure you don’t block our views!” Those angry comments didn’t get an answer, because when he broke the invisible barrier that the spectators placed themselves behind, they finally realized that he was one of the participants. All went silent at that point in time, for just a couple of fleeting moments, and then everyone began to cheer.

“Sorry, I had to sample the chicken,” his eyes shifted from his food over to the girl who was now his adversary; the girl who was now an obstacle he had to overcome. “It’s really good," with that, his lips widened into an amiable smile.

While he brought the piece of chicken back up to his mouth, subsequently taking another bite from it, Artist scrutinized the situation. When she responded, he did as such as well, but with a mouth full, “Make sure you don’t take it forcefully or anything,” he realized that the barbecue before her had, indeed, been stolen from a family nearby. “The lady over there is really nice, and she’ll give it to you,” even while she tossed the meat upwards, Artist continued talking. “. . without excessive - - “HE STILL HAD FOOD IN HIS MOUTH. HOW RUDE.

She was sneaky; Artist hadn’t ever imagined what she was planning. While he didn’t really have much time to move his body out of the way, the one action that came to him with an unerring fluidity was the upholding of his hands, which had a plate in them, which he had been planning to throw at her from the start. SMACK. The plate shattered, and in the spectator’s area, an old lady stood up from her chair angrily. “THAT WAS MY ******** PLATE.” Its remnants dropped to the ground while Artist whipped his head back from the porcelain debris with his eyes closed.

That plate didn’t matter to Artist in the least, however, “OW WHAT THE ******** IS WRONG WITH YOU, RETARD?!“ seeing as how he was wholly busy with hurting her feelings. It didn’t take long for him to place his gaze back upon his adversary, and the lady in the spectator’s area should have never brought these kinds of plated to a barbecue. Old ladies were odd.

Those flying tongs, however, covered the ten foot distance between them so much quicker than her stride could, and when Artist saw her rushing him with that peculiar choice of weapon, his eyes narrowed and his body was seized by the monster inside him. Artist was no longer that meek, sluggish man with an undying love for grilled chicken; he no longer smiled amiably towards his partner in this dance. Instead, he watched her with a love for blood and pain and violence.

Before she was too close to him, the man began to back track while he held his right arm up. In a fleeting moment, a bright white flash encapsulated his right hand and, to everyone who was witnessing the situation, it might seem like the light promised something so very grand. Perhaps a beauteous explosion of sorts that would win him the match in a single moment, or perhaps he was about to fire a laser at her face, but that wasn’t the deal. ( But she didn't know that. ) An iron bat was summoned, as if from out of thin air, and his fingers curled around the handle in an almost loving fashion.

With his hand already held high above, he brought the bat down on top of the grill, where it would slam it into the ground. If successful, he’d strafe to her left side to get out of the way of the grill.

( Didn’t know where to fit this in, but uh, Artist is wearing a suit. You know, a tuxedo, blazer, the works. 5'10" height. )

1/10

Immediately after the grill was smacked into the ground, Artist strafed out of its way to avoid anything that might spill out from it, and when he did, opposite of him he saw that she was matching his movements. His lips curled into an ominous grin, and just when he was about to approach with a swing of his bat, she began to grasp at the air. Artist decided not to make a move, and he simply watched up until the moment that a halberd manifested in her hands.

“Nice,” Artist stopped moving entirely, and the bat in his hand suddenly dematerialized while he backed away, past the seven foot mark, and knelt down. “That’s a nice weapon you have there,” he spoke as he tugged at his pants, and after lifting them up over his shins, he revealed two military knives with seven inch blades on either ankle. He drew the two of them and held them with the blades pointing downwards from his grip. Artist had given her an even longer reach advantage, it appeared, but he had gained the short-range advantage.

“Let’s see how well you can use it,” with those words, his feet straightened and propelled him along towards her; the distance would be drowned out quite quickly, but that didn’t matter all that much. With a weapon that had that long a reach, Artist was anticipating something before he actually reached her. Both arms were held up at about chest level as he approached, and should she let him turn this into a short-range struggle, he’d eject his left arm and swing from left to right, and the tip was aimed to cut a horizontal line across Ninon’s gut from right to left

As for the grill, if it was turned upside down, there was a chance the fire would be drowned out because of a lack of oxygen. But some of the debris that spilled from it and landed all around the place would probably become a nice bonfire sooner or later. Maybe they could roast some marshmallows after this fight or something.

2/10

It was as he expected; as his eyes were trained on her position, and the movements of her hands, and especially the position of her halberd, he quickly perceived what her initial intentions were. When the bladed end of the halberd was sent in his direction, his position was shifted during approach quite swiftly ( to its left side ). If it hadn’t been a trick, she would have missed, but the fact remained that he had been tricked. Moving like that hindered his movements thereafter because he focused on closing the distance immediately, so when she swung it upwards towards his jaw, the time that Artist was allowed to him only gave him the chance to stop and reel his head back.

The butt of the halberd smacked slightly against his chin, causing him to squint his eyes in pain as he brought his head back down to place his gaze upon her once again, as immediately as was possible. Through this delirium, he scrutinized the fluidity of her movements and when she sent the piercing end forward once more, straight towards the general direction of his left leg, he knew to pivot on his right foot. That left foot was drawn back and his body spun so that his right shoulder was facing Ninon for a single moment before he shot forward.

Given how much strength she put into that pierce, it would probably lodge itself into the dirt of the park in its diagonal angle, hopefully, and now they were so much closer. Now his knives meant something.

I wont let her trick me again, his thoughts were rampant within the depths of his mind.

Artist swung with his right arm, horizontally, aiming to cut a gash across her stomach as he approached from her left side; the cut was coming from under her halberd. His hands were positioned in the same way as before. His left hand hovered just over his chest, and his body was low.

Aside from all of that, given the idea that one had a fixation with gutting his adversaries and the other wanted to stab kneecaps, roasting marshmallows after the fight was improbable. True.

3/10

Though she had made the right decision to get rid of the halberd in entirety, she didn’t make the right decision in remaining in her assailant’s way. Artist’s forward momentum was so much more than her backwards momentum could be. If she bothered looking down, Artist’s right hand ended up towards his right side per nature of his swipe, and if he ever decided to bring it back, he had the chance to continue the assail that had already been quite fruitful.

But he stopped.

Cutting her across the stomach like that bothered him more than he thought it would. “Uh, you forfeit now, right?” he let his arms lay lax at both his sides. Then, as her hand was lit on fire, he quickly tossed both knives aside, ( five feet away each) and before he knew it, she was upon him with that flaming fist; she was far too quick. All he really had time to do was widen his eyes in surprise, and grit his teeth while he lowered his body. The punch made contact with his ribs, but he managed to retain his breath.

In the beginning, it felt like a normal punch, but when the miniature explosive blast erupted from that fist, he truly realized what pain she was capable of inflicting him with. She was dangerous, without a doubt, and now he had to make sure he was careful, because he could lose this fight in a moment’s notice.

While all of those thoughts streamed throughout his mind, he recoiled and was sent to careen backwards. He stumbled for the most part, but ended up landing on his back about eight feet away from her, eyes aligned with the light blue of the sky. As he stared, his right hand made its way into its corresponding pocket and in there, his fingers curled around a metallic marble. It responded him with a sense of comfort, as though it sparked and came to life.

“I’ll beat you . . . you know,” his voice was but a gentle susurrus, raspy and replete with . . . weakness, but that belied the nature of the words he spoke.

Aside from his voice, the sizzling of his clothes could be heard. The crimson button-up shirt under his blazer had been singed onto his skin in some parts, and though it stung, Artist held onto his composure with a resolute fist. He wouldn't let go.

All he gave was a wince, and something akin to a hiss, which spoke of his pain. It could be seen on his face as he held up his head to see what she was doing. Eventually, he let himself go and the back of his head touched the dirt once more.

4/10

When he lifted his head to see what she was doing, he noticed that she was steadily walking towards him. He imagined that she was ready to dish out a beating while he was on the ground, but when her steps grew slower and slower, he realized that she was anticipating something from him. Artist sat up and leaned back on one hand shortly before bringing himself up to his feet; the hand that was once in its corresponding pocket was drawn out, and within the grasp, there was nothing. Instead, it rose to caress the singed flesh, and he idly tried to pat off some of the cloth. The end result had him wincing once more.

“Nice hit,” by then, his gaze was aligned entirely with her countenance. He could see that she hadn’t yet had her fill, despite the gash on her stomach. Every now and then, he’d steal a glance of the blood that should be oozing out of the area. “I was thinking about roasting marshmallows with you after our fight, but I guess that’s not going to happen, is it? With you bleeding and all,” Artist held out his hand once more, and after a brilliant flash of seething white, the bat he had summoned before was held firmly in his hands once again.

With his choice of weapon now in his possession, Artist tilted it downwards so the tip touched the grass under him. “In any case, I started round two last time. I should think it’s your turn to start us off,” he smiled as amiably as when he had some grilled chicken in his mouth.

In his pocket, the marble that he touched earlier was still pulsing, like a beating heart, growing more fervent by the moment. Eventually, he started pacing towards her, his eyes darting from one side to the other before he focused them on her position entirely.

"Come on."

5/10

It wasn’t quite what he had been expecting, no. When he was about to stand up, his eyes were suddenly aligned with what looked like a monster, and she was diving straight at him. At that point in time, Artist had absolutely no time to do much physically, but his mind and his magic were ablaze with the intent to fight back. Artist let his body turn to one side, and her tri blast made contact directly with the side of his skull.

Sometime during the moments that he let out a subtle cry of pain, the sound of crackling electricity may have been perceived, but by then, it would be much too late. The Grav Sphere had ejected a magic bolt into the ground, where it traveled in her direction and burst into manifestation right under her body; she was standing right in front of him, so it happened in a flash. As Artist was sent to careen backwards, vision blurry from what damage she had wrought upon his head, she would feel that her body was being forcefully pulled down towards the ground.

This time around, Artist didn’t fall all the way down to his back; he steeled his physicality and with double vision, he watched Ninon with a wide smile on his face. He could already feel blood trailing down the side of his head, but he embraced the warmth when compared to the cold look he saw in that demon’s eyes. “Yeah, the marshmallows idea is completely out of the question.” He looked about ready to collapse.

With that, the spell that had her pinned to the ground with did as he planned for it to do the very moment she summoned her fist of flames earlier throughout the fight. The two knives that Artist had tossed aside earlier had been placed where they were purposefully, and now that she had walked in his general direction, they will have been left behind her. As though an invisible hand graced them with their touch, those knives were silently drawn in towards Ninon.

Both were on a course with her back, where they’d embed themselves deep into the flesh. ( Knife 1: Kidney. Knife 2: Avoids internal organs. )

If successful, his voice would ring throughout the setting once again. "You're done now . . . right?" he hoped.

6/10

Artist was intently counting the seconds that went by as he listened closely to every word she was saying; his dim gaze scrutinized every emotion he could see on her visage, and his ears picked and studied at the tone with which she spoke to him. As she rose to stand, the force that had once been holding her down gave out, but even as he saw her summon these new weapons he hadn’t seen throughout the rest of the fight before, he knew it was over. She should have used them earlier.

It pained him to see that she was still so stubborn, however. Why couldn’t she just stay down? It would have been so much easier to do, and in addition, the quicker she dropped the quicker he could see her off in an ambulance. These thoughts were like a raging tempest within his mind, and as he stood there, very wobbly himself, with his blurred vision slowly becoming clearer than before, he frowned with a genuine sadness.

“Let’s roast some marshmallows once we’re both in tip top shape again,” it was clearly obvious that he had ignored her insult. With that, he realized that time was dwindling, and the setup that he had created to end the fight was slowly slipping away from him. It allowed for just enough time to finish it, so he thought, and now that her gaze was once again trained on his position, and his position alone, something else would strike her back. It was pretty clear to him that she wasn't expecting the same trick.

A barbecue lid had been attracted towards the knife, and upon contact, it would deepen the depth of the knife in her kidney, likely freeing her of what strength she still had left in her body.

If she drifted off into unconsciousness, she might hear his words ringing in her ear, “I need the extra points for winning,” he spoke to her like a brother would to a sister; very gently. “Sorry for being so selfish. You can kick me around for it later on, I suppose.”

7/10

Melancholy moment indeed; even the hype of the crowd had been sedated by the scene that unfolded before them. “Well . . . that’s that,” by then, his vision was acceptably clear, and his gaze was trained on the bloodied woman that lay on the ground. As he studied what weapons she had summoned in the end, and when he compiled all of the combat data he had just witnessed, he imagined that this tournament was the right place for this team. I imagine we’ll find something here, he could hear his voice in his mind as he began walking towards Ninon.

When he reached her, he scooped his hands under her body and lifted her. To him, she was as light as a feather. Why? For reasons unknown. “Someone get the medics,” he spoke while he walked towards the edge of the park, and there, a group of medics rushed to him. “Put her down,” Artist placed her on a stretcher, face down, and she was subsequently taken away for treatment. When she was loaded into the ambulance, one of them approached him as well, “You sir?” Artist shook his head and waved his hand towards him, “I have someone who will take care of me.”

The minutes went by and Artist got himself some rest before he got another plate with grilled chicken, apologized to the old lady who’s plate he ruined, and was on his merry way. The lady didn’t give him so much trouble because she found his actions towards his adversary absolutely pleasant.

The last thing the fans would hear was, “Wait until you see what my partners can do!” Then he was gone, equipped with a plate that had rice in it, grilled chicken, and in his other hand, he was holding some soda. Some good eating definitely sounded good after a fight like this one. Although, he didn’t appreciate the incredulous staring he endured as he walked; it was as a result of the blood that was still trailing down the side of his head.

Oh well. Time to get his eat on.