Primetime Ring

Stage8: Gold Mountain Casino

Primetime Ring

This is it!

The ring is how it always has been, and how it always will be. A regulation fighting ring, lets say boxing for this exercise, in the centre of the casino. Roped in, raised, excreta etcetera. Screaming fans are everywhere, the lights are hot on the fighters, and nothing can quite make the ring floor seem clean again. This is the fighter's holy ground.

Terrain

General - Ring floor, ropes with elastic give, four posts. What did you expect? It's THE RING.

Weapons - Man up and use your fists (note, you are not required to use only your fists).

Bonus Effects - The roar of the crowd, the love of the game.

"...looks like it's time."

Backstage was a place for getting ready. Sometimes it meant fancy makeup and reciting lines, but more often for this stage, taking weight and warming up. That had been part of it, as ever. The team had come, and made preparations, splitting up and working as the general chaotic, un-united whole they seemed to be. Kael was honestly surprised by the amount of cohesiveness there actually was, with the unfamiliarity and lack of uniting, greater purpose driving the team. It wasn't a machine with a single all-meaning task like Fracture, it wasn't a gaggle of friends living it up like Swords!. They were... just there. Yet he still counted on them. And for each of them that had any real reason to be here, it had to be right then, more than almost any other time, the lull right before the fight started, that whatever personal meaning it all had came out most to each of them. It was a time to be alone a bit if there ever was one. Maybe that's just how Kael felt though. Instead of trying to keep with them, he'd warmed up, gotten dressed for the occasion, stretched again, and sat waiting on a bench just down the hall from the walk of glory.

The people they were fighting. One of them he hadn't been able to help hearing was from the team that had won last year. He'd seen them there, and this guy hadn't been on the field. Almost none of them had, and the other team's "win" had been as indecisive as they came. The time might not have been opportune, but it was no great defeat. There was no drive, no reason to carry anything from it. It was funny, reflecting on how much he put into it all and thinking; he had no grudge, no regret, no envy. He couldn't have cared a great deal less.

He tipped back his water bottle, screwing on the cap after one last drink, and dropped it as he stood and turned down the hall.

The crowd was already cheering, things had already opened up, but they weren't all the way there yet. That was okay, Kael didn't care so much to make the big show topper of himself right now, trying to go and outdo whatever spectacle or sheer air of arrogance the rest, of either team, might put out. He was just gonna set the stage for whatever was gonna follow.

Dark.

The hall was dark, it felt almost like a tunnel, coming out, seeing the lights at the end. Just as suddenly, there was no more ceiling and the slowly approaching light suddenly bore down on him like a torch. The spotlights were up, they were set, everything was all in place for the crowd to turn and see the very first of the other team coming in, marching forward alone. Arrogance. Show. Emotion.

How much of any there was supposed to be, it was hard to say from the thousand angles, lit dramatically in a different way each, the thousand prying, glued eyes and starving cameras eating it up. His face was a shadow- all that blinding light cast a sharp contrast from the way it made a ghost of the abused, faded western style hat on his head and the deep, dark shadows the rim cast over his scarred face. Pulled forward, there was practically nothing in sight of his face but a shadow of his mouth.

Just a tight-pulled grin.

He didn't stare straight ahead. No, he looked to one side, enough light to give a hint of the face creeping in for those lucky spectators, as he raised one arm lazily, met with sweeping cheers down that side of the wall, and gave a repeat performance to the other half. He fed the crowd, giving each part a little something to grasp onto and gobble up, sowing the seeds of excitement all around, restraining himself from making wild, dramatic gestures or turning to full on face them, keeping it more down to earth. No, walking, that wasn't the real spectacle, there was no reason to play it like it was.

The long, thick-built duster cut just enough wind on his wide strides to make a ghost of a flair, it's own weight mostly keeping it hanging. Underneath, there was no shirt, and he looked as worn as the hat, sporting for the world the very tail of the scars dragged in off his shoulder, and more obviously the line up the center of his stomach where last year's eliminator had stabbed him with his past-and-present teammate's own blade. The rest was typical, it was the coat and hat that were the show. The standard leather belt and worn in jeans, the heavy boots the pants hung over, and the heavy leather and steel gloves one could see peeking out of his sleeves were practically a part of the man for the crowd, things he was almost never seen without. The gloves, at least, that much was pretty true. It was nice though; no one ever noticed a little thing like gloves, even if they never, ever seemed to come off.

The roars trailed as he left them behind. Quietly, almost as if concentrating, he stepped up to the side of the ring and laid a hand on the ropes. With a single long step up, he put a foot on the stage, and hoisted himself up to following lifting his other leg high. The ropes sagged, straining to hold him up as he hoisted his weight forward on them, standing up, tall, high above the ring. For a moment, he hung in place, and thought to himself he should have made a look one way or another, given the crowd one more reason to cheer while he stood high above it all. He passed the easy entertainment though. They were to put on a show. Yeah. He'd accepted that much.

But he could only stomach so much flare.

His eyes were glued forward, from all the way up there, suspended on the ropes, across the ring. Over where the other team marched their way in. One gloved hand came up and gripped his hat, sweeping it to the side and tossing it to the ground outside the ring, exposing his unkempt hair and face. There was nothing to see there that hadn't been expected though. The serious, almost hungry eyes already searching, the closed-lipped mouth hinting at a grin, the scars. His mouth slowly cracked open, as if he had something to say. An announcement. Some kind of challenge, while he stared down the other team across the field of battle to be.

Nothing came though. Just a long, moment of silence.

Kael simply stepped up and then forward, landing standing tall in the ring, feet spread, arms down, heavy and loud.

-WHMMMMDD-

The show had begun.

Somewhere, whether it be within the many pockets of the deviously dashing man's black overcoat, tucked away in his hotel room or in a locker somewhere in the casino, James Black received a lone text message from a little Priestess that was getting into trouble as usual.

He'd find 5 simple words waiting for him on the screen but hopefully - hopefully - he'd get the unspoken volumes behind each simple syllable from the worry wart that sent the message. She was a person that expected some things to be understood without words... Though some things were definitely important enough to be said.

Code: Good luck. I love you.

Brief Translation: Come back to me in one piece, James Black.

The noise...the cheering and chanting.

If this had been her getting ready to get on stage to give a concert, Lucind would've sprawled out on a couch, sipping something warm, estimating how many people were waiting for her. She would've been relaxed.

But over the last week, the Siren's mood seemed to have dropped below zero: every shot the media teams got of her was a variation of the woman's notorious glare. Therefore, Kael and the others would hear her mumbling things like, Should be me getting ear plugs, or, Let's rough the others fast 'n' good so we can get outta here, while stretching and warming up.

When it was time to leave their backstage room, Lucind sighed, even managed to produce a sarcastic grin: "Time to rock..."

Patting Brendyn's shoulder, she followed right behind Kael, though once in the arena, the Siren would walk over to her team's seating corner, which was - much to her delight - pretty much shielded, at least in her back.

Well, well. It was time to inspect the other fighters from nearby.

Somewhere

Crawley was PISSED that his team didn't get the ring.

Wtf HoH staff?

At a, suddenly by comparison, measly five-foot-ten, Kael wasn't exactly imposing, but he stood firmly like he was supposed to be, turning an ear to Athan as he spoke to him, holding steady.

"Yeah..."

He didn't really react much more than that, still watching the... rather tremendously tall woman, never mind that he'd seen Athan fight an 8-foot man-croc, Katie just looked big for a breasted sort... and man in the suit march their way up. Despite the inherent double take on the amazon, it was the guy suffering even worse than Kael from a dwarfing-effect proximity to HUEG was known to cause whom his eyes stayed on. Though, considering the comparative chest-level and gender, "suffering" might not have been the right word.

In any case, the chap looked damned familiar.

As if to keep him getting too serious just yet, a moment later there was the springing blur and resounding landing of the third and final male member of Mythos to pull Kael back to the ring, the crowd, the team. They sure seemed to be enjoying themselves, the two of them standing up there with him, absolutely soaking in the attention. Athan, at least, he knew would enjoy the fighting just as much.

Tough face be damned, Kael couldn't help but just smile. It was a fine day for a bit of fun and a dash of blood.

Someone was climbing into the ring, the little guy.

Uh. The guy. The one who looked little next to the freaking huge woman.

Little details like that aside, it had Kael's attention. He was expecting a challenge, maybe insults a call out, some kind of declaration, or "good day sir"- and when James opened up his mouth and called "Captain!" instead, Kael was a bit lost. Was he poor guy supposed to be cuing his captain for the world's most failed dramatic entrance? Looking for him, or maybe partly deaf and trying to talk to the HUEG CHIK? Maybe he was just-

The repetition made it clear as he got around to the idea, and looking like he hadn't a care in the world Kael stuffed either hand into the respective pant pocket, hooking his thumbs over the tops, and started moseying his way on over to a proper stare-down distance.

"Knew you looked familiar. Not so much s'prised to see you as that it's in the ring."

It was the voice that had done it, and tapped the little bit of memory into it's appropriately shaped slot and put the face with the memory. This was the guy from the ship- or from two ships, rather, but that wasn't as much important. What that meant though, was very little, beyond that he had a knack for words and presentation, and that this guy was a friend of the bird's. Most of that, though, was less than of consequence.

As long as they had actual matters to discussed, he kept on walking forward, into the more hostile half of the ring, still smiling sunny as the morning as he stopped at a nice talking distance from his sharp-dressed fellow, so they wouldn't have to yell. His hands didn't move, and while he for a moment considered what it was like to be here, chest bared, in something just outlandish enough to be labeled a get up talking to a guy who looked properly respectable, until he got a nice mental image of himself standing in the ring in his only set of good clothing- the tuxedo from the opening ceremonies.

He held in a laugh, cocking his head to one side and leaning on to his left leg, relaxed and comfy staring down one of his foes-to-be. After all, the only way they had to be uncivil today was with their fists.

"Shoot;" in the affirmative, rather than expletive sense, "I'm all ears."

In spirit of good competition, it seemed, showing off their arsenal- or a small portion of it, Kael didn't doubt- he had to smile as the guy rather ignored the pleasantries and got right to business. Not the most friendly of attitudes, but most people were outright hostile. Hell, he could respect this.

As the mic turned his way, Mythos' captain made a small motion as he pulled his hands out of his pockets, standing straight, and swept back the sides of his long coat, hands setting on his waist. Of course, next to all the straps Black was showing off, all Kael had to show on his belt with the motion was a single sheathed dagger hanging on the right side of his belt, with a duster-style guard, falling short of the protection something like a main gauche might have offered, but it was still a lot of hand protection for a knife.

Kael looked first at the mic, quickly, to the audience, and then back at James, a bit bemused by the way the whole thing really did remind him of the sort of act he'd have expected to see in a real professional wrestling match. Calling challenges, to the point, faced off mid stage with one man taking the lead on the whole deal. Following along didn't exactly feel rewarding, and it sure wasn't buying him too many points with the crowd, but all the same he gave James a quick nod and spoke into the microphone.

"Let's give 'em a show to remember."

"Eh?"

-CRACK-

The microphone hung just overhead, calmly reporting over every speaker system around the indoor stadium the sickening sound of dull steel colliding with flesh and bone.

The hit landed clean, snapping the Mythos' captain's head around a full ninety-degrees as the sound of the hit ricocheted off each wall, bringing the whole crowd to the edge of their seats on the very first hit of the round. With the excitement of the hit out of nowhere, every set of eyes glued on the ring would see his body teeter backward as if in slow motion, and finally stumble backwards several steps, wavering as he recovered, head hung, steel plated back of one hand laid to the site of impact. For those who hadn't been watching, by the time eyes snapped into place James Black and Kael would be a few long strides apart, the latter looking like he'd just come off a roller coaster, wondering what had happened.

His balance came back quickly, but something didn't look right about him. It'd been a good-enough hit and caught him clean right out of left field, but Kael wasn't wavering, rather, his shoulders, for those in front of him, his whole chest was shaking.

Red eyes rose slowly, passing two tiny red droplets on the pristine blue floor in front of him, and up to James. His left hand dragged away from his face, showing a grin, but not like before. Sharper. His eyes were focused, angry, and his face was taught, more like a mockery of a smile. Wolfish. Hungry.

And right in James' face, as the mic continued to drag up to the ceiling, Kael burst into harsh barks of laughter.

Funny.

The grin drew more taught. He looked... excited.

I had something like that in mind.

"Nice Guys, huh?"

[[Hardcore Superstar - Bastards]](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oV8xpEqURuE)

"Charmed."

As soon as he spoke Kael's head lowered and his shoulders came forward, and he barreled straight for James like a kamikaze, gauntleted fists clenched just below shoulder level, face wide open. James was free to take the perfectly clean shot he was being left. All he had to do was stand his ground, throw his left, and take Kael's gauntleted right square on the lips.

[1/17]

[1/51]

Right shoulder forward, right leg forward, down, left shoulder forward-

Self preservation.

-left leg forward, down, right shoulder forward, right foot forward-

The gentlemanly thought was not something Kael would have been terribly able to identify with, but at least from what it all looked like on the surface level he could identify with what James did. Almost everyone, every one of the crazies, the metas, the xenos, the other words Kael hardly knew well enough to be able to use himself, the magical or just super persons, none of them wanted to die. They didn't want to be hurt. Given an opportunity, they'd defend themselves, backward or forward. Some didn't seem to feel pain, or to fear, the same way they did, but all the same, regardless of their personal desires, not a one had self destructive instincts. Mother nature was a b***h like that- defy the gods themselves by your existence, and all laws of logic and science, but come programmed to cease existing and you'd get right where you were headed damn fast. Backward, or forward, there was a response programmed in to prevent extermination.

-down, right shoulder forward. Like a spear, the punch was thrown, striking Jame's stiff guard, follow through absorbing in and slipping off. The punch began to retract as Black started to come forward, in slow motion almost chasing the punch.

Fight or flight. If you were prepared to deal with a danger you either got out of it's way or took it head on. Things were ignored, refusal to react, stunned state, a mutually-assured-destruction plan of attack, but these weren't typical. Most jumped aside and tried to take a pot shot, but today James Black was no coward. Maybe it was the single instance, and not an appropriate reading of the man, it was all the same, he stood and took on that flashing red light. He was a fighter.

Left shoulder forward.

Kael didn't have time for solid thought or planning as Black stepped in. His body was programmed to react faster than the mind, and once he prepped it for action it often took over in crunches like these. All he got in way of thought was a quick surge of panic, natural reaction, fear in response to a danger, followed by a heavy hit of his own "fight" instinct. His head started to retract, turning and coming away with the rotation backward of his right shoulder.

That was where the bullet time philosophizing and the crawl of progression would end, reverting to real time, ironically, right where slow motion replays would be called for from all the cameras best suited to capture the moment.

The elbow shot forward and collided hard into Kael's head, plenty enough forward momentum of his rush left even with the attempted halt last second. Plenty enough force between the two of them to snap his head back hard, once a gain, with a sharp ring and a sudden blurring quality to everything.

Left fist forward.

Lagging fractions of a second behind a second massive blow exploded in Black's exposed right side. In the two of a one-two combination, the natural swinging back and forth motion produced in the run, the body's pendulum swing, would drive Kael's left side forward as his right came back, and even while the world before his eyes exploded into stars for a moment, his body followed the program it had been told to start, hips twisting, left leg pressing, and landed an absolutely tremendous liver shot.

To give a sense of how powerful the blow was compared to how it would normally have landed, thrown with the leading arm with a boxing glove, instead of gauntlet, attached, wasn't to undersell the hit Kael had taken though. He knew just enough about what he was doing to understand something of the effects of a solid hit to the liver, and every ounce of his instinct as an aggressive fighter should have screamed for him to press the advantage.

Instead, he wavered as if to topple, himself just asking for a little shove to put him on his back, until he finally caught balance and stopped in his traditional stance, leg's spread with the left leading, hands up just below the nose level in a tight guard. He stood there. The red eyes that'd been sharp a second ago were foggy. While he had enough practice for the tiny shards of mind still connected to his muscle memory to cue the defensive fighting stance, what he saw was a blur, his mind spinning as it tried to register the massive hit to the head he'd just suffered. The pieces fell back into place, and relatively quickly. He was an experienced fighter, and dealing with the absolute wreckage such strikes caused was part of his experience. "Fast" was relative though.

All the cheers that had burst to deafening as the blows were exchanged would slowly dwindle to nothing again in the seconds he just stood still.

Or, well, would. Would assuming he was left long enough to be able to answer who he was, where he was, and what day it was again.

[2/17]

[2/51]

"Always gotta make things confusing."

He shook his head and exited the ring shortly after the declaration had been made. Of course, halfway into removing his swords from his back he caught sight of James cocking back and unloading a pair of brass knuckles into his captain's face.

Athan showed a great deal of restraint in holding himself back, only getting close enough to press his chest against the ropes before he thought better of coming to Kael's aid so early in the match. Instead, he chose to shout encouragement.

"C'mon Kael, SHAKE IT OFF!"

Of course he knew that his teammate wasn't going to be out on his feet for the rest of the fight, it wasn't in his nature. That didn't mean that a little support was useless, though. Sometimes people just needed that extra outside influence to push past their limits, if only for a split second.

And then Kael was back in the fight, surging forward. It allowed Athan to remove his second sword from his back, where it joined the first in a pile at ringside. That was soon followed by Athan unhooking the Berserker's gauntlet from his waist and fastening it to his left hand, flexing his fingers to make sure that it was aligned correctly.

"What th-"

How those girls managed to get past the security railing was a mystery, but there was no denying that they were on all sides of Athan. Were he not standing on the apron of the ring, he probably would have been swept up in the sea of estrogen. Lucky for him he had the high ground. The girls should have known it was over.

He turned around, though, because it was something worth investigating. Also, maybe if he paid some attention to them they'd go away.

Athan spun around, still holding onto one of the ropes with his right hand as he leaned towards the squealing women. Then he leaned back away a little bit, because one of the girls had some mean looking eyes.

"Look, ladies, I'm a little busy right now. Just wait at the entrance ramp or the Crimson Hawk. You'll all get your autographs."

WELCOME back to GSPN's semi-exclusive coverage of HoH. As previously said our coverage brings us to the Gold Mountain Casino where team Mythos is headed up against team Honestly, Nice Guys. And now to our ringside commentators!

The camera would cut to a fairly relaxed looking man in a blazer tapping his headphone mic and waiting for his cue. Light came on and he turned to the camera and put a silly grin on his face.

"Good evening folks, I'm Joseph Brown and I'll be one of two commentators providing your guide to this here match." A cut away to the ring in previous years, "The Gold Mountain ring is considered one of the coveted arenas in HoH, a place where fighters are free from inane nonsense getting in the way of a pure test of skill. Tonights match-up is near perfect for this, as both teams are known for cutting out the redundant flashy stuff in favour of simple efficiency."

Cut back to brown who now had his hands clasped.

"To further complicate the matters, team captains James Black and Kale Aeritides... Arei... Kael the guy who everyone loves as a wholesome guy, have decided that this match will be a tag team event." On screen eight silhouettes of each fighter appeared underneath Joseph, "Now this opens the opportunity for some interesting matchups, as there are three HoH-classed heavy fighteres between the two teams, while light and middleweights make up the rest. Will we see a matchup of strength versus strength, or perhaps fast versus tough? The only two wild cards in this match are both on Mythos, is the combined metamagical force Brendyn and Lucind enough to make up for the sheer size and feroicty of honestly nice guys? Will we see a matchup such as Ebris versus Athan, unstoppable force versus immovable object? Well, the match is already in progress, so only time will tell."

A brief break to sip some water.

"Now between my raw charm and frightening lack of knowledge on the subject matter, I'd be classed as what you call a colour commentator." There was a sufficient snark to his tone, "While my companion is just as colourful, he makes up the expert portion of this team."

"Yes good Brown!" The voice started before the camera guys had a chance to change shots, "I have witnessed the most brutal of wars, participated in great duels, and oversaw the greatest tests of might! Surely my expertise on this form of sportsmanship and combat knows no bounds! Surely there is are few with more wise words to say than I!"

The camera cut to what appeared to be a man in full armour, with a headset mic akwardly resting on the helmet, banging his fists against the table and making emphatic gestures with each word.

"We are in the presence of greatness! GREATNESS! People from far and wide have travelled to see some of the combatants we share a roof with tonight. Every one has travelled to high heights, picked up after losses, and proven they are amongst the greats! Not only THAT!" A dramatic pause, "But we get to see those who have yet to debut, surely we bear witness to new feats as greatness desires company!"

Cut to a view of the fight.

"Alas, early on we see the doing of dastardly deeds by James! A punch not expected or provoked, some may say a COWARDS move! But hear me listeners! Do not fear, Kael immediately snaps back from and returns with a volley fuelled by fighter's instinct and natural advantage!"

A cut back to the announcer who was no practicably vaulting over the table he was propped up against it so much.

"This is no one sided contest, no James Black is no coward! Watch as even under the threat of a misplaced guard he nimbly returns for a partial block! Yes! This is a reminder to us all that a hero is nothing without his foil! Without a trickster pressing the advantage we cannot see the best in either fighter. Without this there would be no rivalries, no true spirit of contest!" He trust a fist into the air, "What we have here is the white knight versus the black knight! So different in approach, but so matched under the banner of history!"

And the figure sat down completely calmly after he finished speaking.

"Thank you Mr. Roxs..."

"SIR!"

"Right." Joseph mugged the camera, "And now a commercial."

Ohshit, sneak attack.

For a brief second, Athan thought this was James doing the grabbing. After all, he was supposed to be the guy in the ring, wasn't he? Damn his wandering eyes, they had betrayed the big guy yet again. He was grabbed, or probably more accurately, choked from behind. That almost certainly should have eliminated James, unless the guy was using the ropes to negate the height advantage.

The voice solved the mystery, though. Katie was this mystery assailant, but did that mean that he had been tagged in?

All of this wondering didn't do much to keep Athan from defending against the punch to the head, which caused a moment of disorientation, causing him to lose his grip on the rope and faceplant right in between all of the fangirls. thankfully there were mats all around the immediate vicinity of the ring, or he would have been eating his own teeth.

Athan rolled onto his side, grabbed onto the ring apron, and hoisted himself up to his feet. He didn't even bother to look up at Katie, he knew who she was.

"Why don't you come down here and greet me face to face?"

He reached out, grabbed her by the ankles, and just pulled straight back towards himself. Suddenly having her feet removed from underneath her would probably cause her head to snap backwards and smash against the floor of the ring. Then he'd step to the side, and just pull even more, quite literally dragging Katie out of the ring and throwing her to the floor, where she'd either come to a rest just at the security railing, or at the feet of her little entourage.

"No need to be shy."

[1/17]

[4/51]

Well that was more like it. Less sneak attacking, more straight-up fighting. Now that Katie didn't have the drop on him, though, she was going to have to be a bit more strategic than that. Athan saw Katie charging, and had she not enjoyed a half foot height advantage, he would have probably obliged her with a charge of his own. But Athan just waited, balling his left hand up into a fist as he did so. At least now he felt like everybody else did, being charged by a bigger opponent.

"Aww come on. You're gonna hafta do better..."

Athan stepped in towards Katie with his right foot just as she crouched down, turning his body slightly profile to the amazon before swinging his hips back towards her, shooting his left fist practically straight upwards in a sharp uppercut directed in the general vicinity of Katie's chin. It was hardly a technically sound punch, considering he was sneaking it in inside of Katie's grabby hands, but then again, hardly anything Athan ever did was technically sound.

"...than THAT!"

She'd get off the hook a little bit, seeing as how Athan's gauntlet didn't cover the fingers, but the lack of metal wasn't going to change the fact Athan was producing enough force to lift even Katie up off of her feet. Athan was kind of hoping the single punch would have ended things, but he was pretty sure the amazon was made of tougher stuff than that.

Sure, if she weathered the blow she'd still be able to find a strong handhold on Athan's armor, considering its lack of rounded, smooth edges and all. And sure, he'd still end up being deposited onto the mat back first, but at least he wasn't going to be needing some dental work after all was said and done.

At least, not yet.

[2/17]

[5/51]

When Katie and Athan started fighting, Brendyn simply stepped aside. Sure, he could've gotten involved. He knew a backstab from there would've been easy, but that wasn't his concern. The big guy could take care of himself, and hell, even if he couldn't, they weren't in the ring. His eyes were on the action under the lights.

James had started the fight off... well, much like Brendyn would've, and had controlled the fight from there. Despite everything he'd found out about the man, it turned out he was a competent brawler. He was easily Kael's equal in that regard. Then again, his captain was a swordsman; he was clearly no martial artist. Brendyn thought back to his spar with the man, the fight that had earned him his spot on the team. They had been roughly equal then, but he had no doubt that had Kael forgone his sword, he wouldn't have stood a chance. He could only assume, from what he had learned in the short time on the team, that Kael was being "nice", and the thought of intentionally disadvantaging oneself sickened Brendyn. It was really hard to respect the man when he wasn't willing to do what it took to win, no matter how well he fought under ideal conditions.

Either way, he couldn't allow this to continue. He would give Kael another chance to gain a measure of control, and then he would take matters into his own hands.

James' move to the side had been enough to slow Kael's reaction to the point where he hadn't been ready to defend against the knee strike. In truth, coming from the side was less of a maneuver to get around Kael's guard but more of a preventative measure in case the Mythos Captain decided to throw any more metal-reinforced knuckles in his direction. Up until now James was dominating the fight by keeping Kael against the metaphorical ropes and away from the literal ones - if he slacked off on using every advantage that was available to him he wouldn't have been able to hold the lead in this fight as well as he had been.

Even so, throwing up his knee caused a spike of pain to shoot through his right side; so much so that he nearly forgot to bring his leg back down after striking with it and fell a few inches forward into Kael as a result. The metal knuckles on those gauntlets weren't something that he would be able to shake off so easily if he gave the Captain any room to throw a clean punch, but James knew that the same could be said about the weapon in his own hand.

Damnitall... go down already.

The two fighters fell into each other; Kael stumbling forward in his dazed state and closing the distance with his guard held tight. James never lowered his own either, having the same sense of caution that Kael did about the other throwing a fast shot from point blank as soon as any opening was given. It was like a game of chicken in reverse, neither of them being bold enough to take a risk until they collided.

Hurry up and go down.

Psychofish Wrote:

His body lurched forward, seeming to somewhere between lean and slump forward toward James. But his arms stayed up. Rather, they came forward- arms coming out ahead of him and practically pressing his guard in toward Black's arms, simply running interference, preventing any quick strike toward the head until he was close enough to be protected just by proximity. A clinch, as the boxing terminology went. The right wrapped over his shoulder, trying to get a hand near the neck to hold himself in place while he gripped at the shoulder holster with his other.

Falling straight into James, Kael grabbed onto him in order to keep his feet underneath him. They were too close now to be throwing punches. Rather, James was too close to continue his assault on Kael's senses even with the man's guard now absent. There was no room at all for him to punch with in a clinch, and if he let the Captain recover for too long his advantage would disappear.

Will you just...

A bandaged hand grabbed a fist full of brown hair and ripped Kael's head backwards. A clinch was effective in boxing to stop an opponent's punches... but this wasn't boxing.

"...GO DOWN!"

James stepped back suddenly with his right leg and turned, taking away the majority of the support that he was giving to Kael at the same time as he tore violently to the side with his hand full of the Captain's hair.

James knew, he didn't hope but he knew with the self-serving conviction that Kael should have gone down. It was the kind of truth that exists in slot machines that only pay out once you've given up and in football plays that would have worked if the quarterback had stayed in the pocket a half second longer. Knowledge that things would have gone exactly the way a man envisions them if not for someone ******** things up. That someone was Kael.

Thunk. Thunk! Hrk!

The first sound to come from the mat would have been Kael's body dropping to the ground. The second would be James falling on his right knee just beside him. The third would be the sound of James cringing as a shot ran up his right side after his knee hit the ground.

With his fist still gripping Kael tightly by the head James threw his other knee up onto Kael's midsection for a top-mount and leaned in with all of his weight onto his right fist; pinning the Mythos Captain to the mat by his head for the time being.

Sorry, but I don't have time to be playing around so I'm gonna have to...

James cocked back his left fist and...

Bust you up!

...let fly.

WHACK!

WHACK!

WHACK!

WHACK!

With his back on the ground Kael was at a serious disadvantage when it came to punching power. He might throw a few body shots and cause some damage but it would be nothing compared to what was about to happen to his face. Even if he brought his gauntlets up to guard his head wasn't going anywhere; all James had to do was keep cocking back and slamming down, bringing those metal knuckles raining down with savage fury until they forced an opening.

He wasn't looking to knock Kael's teeth out, or slug him in the jaw, or the cheek, or the temple. James had one target in mind and that was the bridge of Kael's nose - the same place he had slammed with his elbow just a few seconds earlier. The forehead may be one of the thickest parts of the human scull but the skin would tear, the nose would break, and the shock of his head being slammed straight into the mat with no room to roll with the blows would bring an end to this very quickly. Blood from his forehead would start running into Kael's eyes to blind him. Blood from his nose would fall back into his sinuses and begin running down his throat to choke him. Even if he only got one clean shot to bust up Kael's nose as long as his head was pinned there he would slowly begin to drown in his own blood.

...and that was exactly why James kept glancing over his shoulder.

Kael was too far from the ropes to tag out, and he was in one hell of a bad spot. Athan was a goddamn far cry from a ninja but Lucind and Rogel were another story, which made them a liability.

[ 4/17 ]

[ 7/51 ]

Athan was practically beneath her, catching the blade on his gauntlet. She grinned down at him.

Designated Hero Wrote:

After absorbing the initial impact Athan's arm was already feeling sore, and the bottom portion of the artifact was actually pressing against Athan's head.

That's when Katie would put the pressure on and push forward, bracing her arms, expecting him to work his way out of it.

"Oh, Athan, I wasn't trying to knock you out, yet. I love surprises! I thought you would enjoy the same. Don't take it so SRSLY."

Sure, Katie looked like she was out to kill Athan, but she actually respected him as a fighter, so what seemed like the eagerness to kill was the eagerness to finally get that chance to fight him.

Designated Hero Wrote:

Athan pulled back with his left arm while dropping his elbow, the blade catching 'spikes' unhooking the edged portion of Obsidian just as the sword was pulled away from Athan's skull, allowing the sword to fall without much momentum onto Athan's armored shoulder.

And without fail he came back with some push and shove. The blade pressed against the gauntlet, small sparks flying as the two metals slid across one another. He was going to make a move. She would have done the same, but she had to anticipate it.

Designated Hero Wrote:

Just as Athan released the sword, he took a step to the right and moved his right hand to the back of Katie's head, where he grabbed a handful of hair.

Oh yes, here it was. Her sword slid rather quickly from his left shoulder, more quickly then he should have expected because the moment he went to step to the right Katie was stepping to her left. It still brought Athan behind her. He would still get her hair, but as his right hand clasped down she brought her left elbow back to smash it into Athan's face, since his left side was wide open.

She made sure to keep her elbow at shoulder level, something learned for being as tall as she was. Most people aimed slightly up, but she aimed right around her shoulder level. It should easily smack Athan into the face, probably giving him a nice nosebleed and a moment of disorientation.

The most that probably happened was Katie was still sent forward, but not nearly as gracefully as Athan had wanted. Her face would miss the turnbuckle by a few inches or less as she came to a clumsy halt.

"Tug my hair harder next time."

Lol. She loved her hair pulled.

Designated Hero Wrote:

"Lighten up, toots.

And enjoy the fight."

"I don't think you understand that I am enjoying it."

Oh no he din't just walk away from her. ]=<

She turned, dropped her sword to the mat and bound those few feet towards Athan. Her armored legs were light against the mat, not nearly as loud as her footfall should have been. She dropped just slightly, bringing her left shoulder forward as she did her dash move. Her right hand locked onto her left wrist to prevent jarring.

Quote: Dash: It's a push move where Katie uses the force of a powerful push with her arm and shoulder or a weapon to ram into the person and send them flying about thirty feet.

Thump, thump.

CRASH!

She would come up on Athan's left side to slam her left arm and armored shoulder into his side and probably keep him from entering the ring as he was sent sailing.

[4/17]

[8/51]

It seemed that tag team was just being put slightly on hold, that was all because Ebris hadn't made his presence known just yet. It seemed Colin was too busy trying to pick up some wimmenz or something.

So, Katie decided to get s**t started with Athan.

After Katie's shoulder crashed into Athan it took her a few steps to slow down, putting her right by Athan just as he rolled away.

"Dammit. How much do you weigh?"

She figured he was around the same weight as her, not MORE.

Her shoulder throbbed beneath the armored shoulder. Granted, the armor helped it from being horribly damaged, but there was some throbbing in the joint. She rotated her shoulder as she watched the area that Athan landed then rolled.

What the hell was he up to?

She walked over towards the edge of the ring and crouched, peering beneath it. It was dark and messy under there. She could see where the big guy was situated.

"Oh, Athaaaaaaan~! Are you SCURR'D?!"

She would smirk. It would just be plain stupid to go crawling under there for him.

"Don't make me come under there where it's dark to rape you."

Oh, lawdy. The innuendo was dropped. Little did Katie know that Athan had been essence raped.

[5/17]

[9/51]

Damian Felheart Wrote:

When Katie and Athan started fighting, Brendyn simply stepped aside--

Whereas Lucind, utterly pissed off by those fangirls, simply returned to her team's seating corner, not too far away from the ring, to watch the match from there, an icy expression on her face. Leaning back once more, she would follow each fight, ready to jump in should somebody of the guys need help.

The little thundercloud over her head was almost visible, and one could only hope that nobody addressed her in the wrong way.

What? Tables weren't meant for fighting. What was this girl. crazy?

"Now, look."

Athan straightened up as he came out from underneath the ring, sliding the table out along with him. As Katie dashed for a steel folding chair, Athan swung the table out in front of himself, kicking out the legs only to set the table upright directly in front of him. He wasn't rushing to get the thing set up, but he wasn't taking his eyes off of Katie and that chair, either.

"We can either waste our time out here wailing on one another for no reason, or we can get back up there and do this fight the way it's supposed to be done."

He dusted off the table with his right hand. Seemed this thing hadn't been used in quite awhile.

"Everyone in the crowd is watching those two go at it, so what sort of notoriety are you getting out of this? Not a bit, that's what. So whaddaya say we take a rain check, and wait for the tag?"

Rare bit of diplomacy there on Athan's part, but he had some ideas now that he had a ladder and a table at his disposal. Also, he wasn't sure if any of this fighting was going to get his team carded or disqualified, since it was technically occurring outside of the match itself. Also, it was pretty hard to get a ladder and a table set up while you had a giant freakin' amazon trying to wreck your face.

((I'm not counting this as a fight post, since there isn't any fighting going on and it's outside the designated fighting area. PG, you should do the same with your last post.))

There was a reason he was holding on. Kael might have been too out of touch to expect exactly that, but as James grabbed his hair and yanked back, the swordsman's head jerked back, halting with a cry of pain when it halted. But he didn't go down.

His hands gripped tighter in reaction to the tight pain, fingers on his right dug inside Black's collar, the left still holding onto the shoulder holster. He was desperate not to lose control of the one thing he had keeping things under control, as his mind got a sharp jolt from the sharp sting of the yank on his scalp. His eyes snapped open, suddenly just a bit more lucid. Enough more.

It's not enough.

Hell if he even knew if that was directed at himself or James.

Just in time to slam shut again as the world he was looking at suddenly spun to the side. His legs scrambled, struggling to get one underneath himself as Black pulled him around. Pulling hard, trying to keep as close to chest-to-chest as he could manage, just enough to get one foot under him. He went down, but only to one knee.

Clinging stubbornly like the world's ******** biggest leech.

Like hell this'll stop me.

He had enough clarity to know that the Nice Guy was going to try and force him onto his back so he could pound the s**t out of his face, simply because it was precisely what he would have been trying to do in the other man's place. If there was anything he'd managed to really learn about James so far it was that he was fighting a helluva lot like Kael would have tried to. Only Black was superior in the technical aspect. He pushed back up with his leg, trying to force them upward, to their feet again, and forward against James, but that was only stalling- with a handful of Kael's hair, his opponent would win that fight. He needed a way out, and his mind scrambled for one, when suddenly, his hand delivered, giving him a little reminder.

Wolf-man's claws didn't stop me getting back up.

Kael did the closest he could, circumstances given, to lean to his right, yanking with all the might in his dominant arm to tug Black that direction by his collar. His left hand, on the other, well, hand, had suddenly let go, sweeping over the contents of the holster it'd been bumping against.

One thing was certainly true; this sure as hell wasn't boxing.

I've survived these crazy ******** for years.

The left snapped in at the elbow, making as if to deliver a little blow to the side Jame's neck, aiming high to be sure he got over the collar, throwing it blind, even if it meant hitting his ear or jaw instead. Only it wasn't steel plate and leather Jame's would feel hitting him, it was something quite a bit smaller.

You're gonna have to do better.

Kael depressed a button, and gave Black a good taste of his own taser.

Bizzap.

The goal was simply to make Black let go, and if he relinquished his grip Kael made a point of making sure he'd have been shoved onto his back by the time he recovered from the shock. Away, at least. If he didn't let go, well, Kael obviously didn't give up easy. He'd keep wailing on the side of Black's neck and head with the thing, depressing the button each time, even though it more than likely needed a chance to recharge before it could deliver another good zap. He wasn't able to hit very hard like this, but a rain of blows on the neck, or even the ear, was nothing to scoff at.

Right then, as much because Black had depressed him and made him more cautious as that he was expecting a desperation-fireball to his face from the better dressed brawler, Kael had no intention of mounting up and taking up where James had been heading. He just wanted to get apart and get to his feet. Once he was there he could worry about making sure Black didn't do the same.

[5/17]

[10/17]

It worked.

In fact, it worked damn well. Maybe it was just that Kael had been expecting more- James had impressed him, backing him into a tight spot that fast, and Kael had been expecting him to beast through the thing at least enough to need more discouraging. It might have been that after that he'd been expecting him to be something more than human. He wasn't entirely sure, except that as he couldn't help but simply stare at James as he stood.

Made him think, that for all the pressure he'd just gotten from this guy, he might not have been so different from him... at all.

I dunno if that's encouraging or not.

Somewhere on the sidelines, Brendyn was probably going nuts watching his captain simply step calmly, taking his time, back next to James as he started to struggle. Looking down at James, it was a strange feeling. Not quite pity. But it was a sad state. Disappointment. He had gained some fast, not so pleasant, respect for this guy, and in an instant he was reduced to something so vulnerable, so ripe for the picking.

And, likewise, he couldn't just sit back and let it all slip away.

"...get up."

He didn't snap, or snarl, or say it condescendingly. Just calmly. A suggestion. Gently, in a way that Kael sounded almost...

...sad.

-whuck!-

Kael spoke, raised an armored foot, and stomped his heel down with a resounding crack on James' ankle. Or perhaps a different sound. He didn't care, ankle, achilles, shin. He wasn't going to walk too close, even now, and risk being grabbed and dragged down.

"If you want to keep going,"

He calmly raised his heel again.

"-stand up."

-whudt-

It was painful to do. He couldn't bring himself to just finish the guy off while he was still getting the hang of breathing again. He couldn't let himself watch him simply recover unharmed, unhindered, no, he'd gotten himself far too much s**t for being that extensively kind in the first round last year. It was a matter of business. He was pretty sure his 'buddy' would understand, after his colorful start. It wasn't fun though.

Kael wasn't smiling anymore.

"C'mon."

A nice pause after each stomp before he'd calmly step up if James had started to creep away, aiming another, focusing on his lower leg, or his hands if he let them splay out that far, going for exposed targets. Crippling him. Taking kicks toward the ribs or curled up legs if he started gathering himself up defensively, calmly keeping away from anything that looked like a surprise-legsweep or ankle-grab waiting to happen. Half of him hoping he'd give in to the pain and ball up, call for mercy. Stay down. Half hoping he'd roll away and stagger to his feet before Kael could come to deliver the next bit of punishment.

"Show me how much heart ya' got."

[6/17]

[11/51]

Bloody pissing dykes...

Colin finally made his way into the area surrounding the ring, plain white hoodie pulled up and covering his black hair, a plain black shirt and his favored acid-washed jeans completing his rather bland decor. He was still wearing those kicks he'd grifted from that pansy emo ******** that had made some kind of deal with Beelzebub himself to get a gPod that could live through that much abuse and still play emo piss beats. Hands stuffed into his pants pockets, Colin looked at Katie as she made her remark about wads and girls.

When y'said make me a man, I only thought it was for effect. Din' know y'were actually a bloody minge muncher.

Colin shook his head and walked over to where the rest of his team was loitering. He'd have been here earlier, but he'd had a little problem back at the hotel. A problem called memory. See, after being told that he'd been killed and brought back from the dead, some things started to resurface, and with those things came a voice that he faintly remembered, but could not place. It wasn't strong, and it was barely there, but when it spoke he heard it, and that was pretty much all he could do. Colin and this voice had had a little conversing done back at the Hawk, and it had taken a little longer than Colin had thought. but he was here now and that was all that mattered.

The voice had first shown an hour or so after the confrontation with Ryke had occurred, and it told Colin to go back to the labs and collect his things. It'd be a shame to just leave all of those weapons behind. Over Colin's left shoulder was his duffel, and from it came a very strong smell of iron. Letting the strap slip from him, the duffel thumped to the ground with a muffled sound, and the punker would lean back against the railing that separated contestants from spectators. With a sniff, he'd look over at Katie and frown.

Pissing dykes...

"That their captain up there? The suit?"

"Him? Oh nono, She told me it was that big guy, the really mean looking one, who seems to be perpetually grumpy. Ohh goodlord why can't I recall his name at the moment. Well, anyway, I don't know where he is but that there is umm, hold on." There came a rustling and crinkling sound, and the female of the two voices slipped a folded up piece of paper out of her pockets to open it up.

It had the brackets listed, teams, names of members, things of the sort all scribbled on the otherwise neat page suggesting that the writer hadn't very tidy handwriting.

The male, taller than the female who was tucking a stray blondish orange piece tendril of hair behind her ear, she hadn't dyed it in a while and her natural color was shining right through; he peered down over the rims of his glasses, black rectangular frames, to glimpse at the paper and made a curious expression that including creasing a dark colored eyebrow.

"Lissy, please tell me that's not your handwriting..."

The female snickered, and smirked. "No Dor, it's Zan's and besides she was in a hurry leave her be. Anyway, that would be Mr. Black I think, and the giant girly over there is umm, Katie? Goodness she's a tall one, bet she kicks some serious a** though. I think I'll root for her." The little smirk curled into a playful grin and she passed the paper to the one she called Dor.

Short for Dorian of course.

"Of course you would. So, the team's name is what again? Nice Guys? Something to that effect?"

The little femme, Lissy or rather, Lisselle, bobbed her head, turning her eyes to the ring excitedly though she didn't neglect to answer Dorian's question. "Mm. Honestly, Nice Guys. Amusing isn't it? I think it's clever." She watched the two men exchange blows, and then grew all the more excited when Katie started shouting after rooting through the Suit's jacket pockets.

That's when some irritable grumbles caught her attention, spoken with accented words that were very hard to miss. She knew who was on the team, but it'd been some team since she'd seen the Brit-Irish punk her sister had been, more or less, courting? No no that wasn't the right word, regardless they'd had something going on, until that something was abruptly thrust to a halt over some terrible misunderstandings.

Of course she knew what had happened, twins shared everything.

She spotted the man in question, tucked away in a corner of the ring and frowned not in discontent, but disappoint that he and her sister were having some problems. It was hard, to see her sister miserable though she could understand both sides of the situation and only hoped it worked out for the better. So, forgetting those thoughts she put on her best smile and did some light cheering for all three fighters of Nice Guys.

Dorian just studied the brackets quietly, a casual, easy going grin on his face while his sister cheered excitedly. Sure they were both technically spectators, but he had other business aside from just watching.

The crowd was quiet. They could have been roaring for all he cared, he heard his own breath, the sound of his heavy footfall. James crawling away.

...are you going to run?

He stood one step behind, watching silently, blank faced with cutting eyes. His head still ached, his scalp stung. A moment ago he'd had the worst of it. Maybe he wasn't one of the Honestly, Nice Guys. Maybe he wasn't the most concerned with winning, with the points or cash. Hell, there were a hundred different reasons why it wasn't the same, but he stood back and quietly watched. He hadn't been kind to James, but he'd given him a bit of mercy. A chance. To stand up and fight. Be it for the win, or just to go with some dignity. And the first thing he did, was try to run away.

Maybe I shouldn't have let you go at all.

His fists balled tight. While one hand struggled up over another, gripping the next rope and raised Black's body up a bit higher, Kael looked ready to start kicking him in the back of the head. In the crowd, a few voices were calling for him to do just that, and some were already horrified at him stomping on the diplomat while he was down. Despite the few outcries, the general hush pervaded, tension growing at a hush, just as James moved. Doubtful many knew just what they were looking at. That kicking certainly didn't come out of someone concerned with honor. It couldn't have had anything to do with winning. And it wasn't about the crowd.

It was like he couldn't take his eyes off of Black any more than the crowd could look away.

If you're going to run, get on...

The thought didn't finish in his head.

A hand had latched onto his coat. In almost visibly painful movements, he turned, and grabbed another hand of the duster, pulling himself over. Almost immediately the look on Kael's face changed. The anger melted away, replaced by...

That damn smile,

"Heh,"

...excitement. Anticipation. The swordsman's body interpreted danger, turning on hints of fear, the alpha-male fight instinct, adrenaline, wiring him up to tear it down. His heart sped up, shooting blood through his body, beating a small, painful rhythm in his head. The attitude of defiance. The gall of the grin. James was in a hell of a bad way, that was obvious. And whether he had a card up his sleeve or no, he'd decided to come right back to the fight. He couldn't know what was actually in the other man's head, but Kael thought he understood.

So is this what it's like on the other side?

"It's not polite to touch other people's property without permission."

He grinned. His lips spread, faced tightened without even trying to wear the face, carving out the same hungry, almost bloodthirsty smile he'd started out with. His right hand shot up and grabbed James' tie, right at the knot, holding them together, pushing his face forward hard, not a headbutt, but pushing in nose-to-nose, forehead flat against forehead with Black.

"My mistake."

His left hand snapped outward, and with a small clatter the taser tumbled across the mat and fell to the floor beside it. No sooner did the sound come than Kael's left shoulder cocked back, just a hair, and with a sharp exhale to punctuate it, slammed his fist, palm upturned like an uppercut, into the other man's ribs.

This is how it's supposed to be. Give me ever ounce, whatever tricks, you got left.

It wasn't really fair. It wasn't nice. It wasn't the most spectacular. One his part, it probably wasn't even intelligent, it was likely as not he'd pay for it in a few moments, but he'd decided to worry about that after the fact. His fist cocked back once more.

Right back where they'd started.

He threw the punch.

"C'MON!"

[7/17]

[12/51]

It was funny, he thought, the way it'd turned out, going head to head entirely in the literal sense. As he felt his fist make contact and the body shudder, straining to hold against the impact, he couldn't see a whole lot. Not the face. Not the eyes. Barely the body he was punching out.

The smile filled his vision. He could have laughed.

CRACK!

"Hhungh-!"

The brass knuckles to the ribs quickly removed that temptation. He had the luck of having this be his first hit to the ribs in the fight, but for a moment his legs seemed to shake, beyond his control, before he found his balance again, shutting an eye against the pain. No, instead, he laughed at something very different as soon as the air that'd rushed out of his lungs made it's way back in, a series of dry, hollow barks. He knew what it was now. He'd done this before.

"Hah. Hah, hah, heh-"

Air in. Arm back. And throw.

CRACK!

The force rippled up his arm, positive feedback on a successful, full on blow. This time, James' body seemed to give way, just a little. His weight fell even heavier onto Kael. The fingers pulled his duster, digging into his chest under it. Underneath it, Kael braced on his legs, to keep them up. And for what came next.

CRACK!

"Nngff~ fah, ah, hah ah-"

He'd done this. Before the magic. Before the swords. When that was all on the television and in other towns, or maybe the one odd man out somewhere in the school who stuck around despite his "talents" and showed off what he could make the flame of his lighter do. Before the tournaments, before dying meant more than staying away from the big time gangs, before the dead men in his head, or any of it. Just acting like punks in the streets after school. An arm over the other guys shoulders, and a fist underneath, whacking away at the bodies. A game. To see who hit harder, who was tougher. He didn't remember who won. It never matter. Both of you came away bruised, teary eyed, and giving pained-laughter a whole new meaning. Yeah, Rayner remembered that.

It was like a small, long overdue bit of home.

Even now... 'still... hurts like hell.

He ground his teeth together, showing through his open smile while his legs wavered under their combined weight, faltering before pushing back hard, straightening. He pressed off his back leg, twisted at the hip and shoulder, and replied with another wide hit straight into the Nice Guy's side. He didn't bother aiming for a new spot, no, he wouldn't have dead centered aim on the same spot, but close enough. That was the whole point of the game, to hit the same spot over and over. Make it hurt more and more everytime. To feel more and more pain each time it sunk into your side.

CRACK!

Half of him begged for it to stop, feeling the abuse he was deliberately putting his body right in the line of, to back off, fight smart, or even at the very least let his instincts drive him. It probably could have just been done. But he wasn't going to go down yet. It was his game. Give and take. Hit and be hit. To see just how damn stubborn he could be. To figure out if his mind could keep pressing even once his body gave out. He had a head start. He had an advantage of around twenty pounds, and of having the heavier set of metal knuckles.

CRACK!

He choked on a laugh, swallowing hard. Every bit of him pushed to just make the simple motions, to follow through the task at hand. Legs shuddering, taking longer to press Black against the ropes again, winding up longer, further. Lining up a bigger punch, and buying himself time to let a little more air seep into his lungs, to fight the pained scream in his side down. Even just now, he'd be coming out of it with a massive lump of living pain down his side, in all sorts of absolutely lovely purples and blues and blacks, maybe some greens and yellows if he was lucky. He'd be in pain doing everything from trying to bend over to put on shoes to drinking and laying on his other side trying very specifically not to hurt. Already, his ribs felt ready to collapse, his whole side preparing to cave in- he couldn't even imagine how he'd fight next round.

But half of him, the irrational kid under it all, really hoped that James would eat up the hits and keep them coming. This was exhausting. It was painful.

It's... worth it.

He twisted again, firing the fist all the way around and in hard, now feeling the fire shoot up his side, ribs protest even just to make the motion, the turn into throwing one more punch.

"Hyagk--!"

CRACK!

[8/17]

[13/51]

Ive got another confession to make,

CRACK!

Kael pulled his fist back, wheezing, arm flung clumsily out to the side more than tightly pulled, unwilling to be the one who couldn't deliver a hit back. It wavered for a second, trying to feel a bit of strength in his arm, mentally willing it to get the snap it needed to make it hurt.

I'm your fool.

James started to slip. He lost the ability to hold himself up, and between him sliding against him, and the sudden lack of the support of the diplomat and the ropes, Kael had all the weight on him.

Everyone's got their chains to break,

His head was foggy. Not in the style of the hits from before, but from sheer exhaustion his very thoughts felt heavy. He started to collapse, and desperately willed his legs to lift them up. He hadn't noticed as Black hammered his side into oblivion, with the pain welling up like searing water and pouring down his legs. As they tumbled down, he realized that he couldn't really even feel them. He wouldn't have known they were still there if it wasn't for the pain he'd been so hellbent on beasting through that he hadn't even noticed the condition of the muscles in his legs.

Holdin' you.

He collapsed right with James Black, the fox and the wolf, tumbling to the earth still at each other's throats. His knees struck the mat as if it was made of concrete, and the world just turned to fire for a moment. It was like someone had taken all that scorching liquid pain and installed piping, and with a flip of the switch sent it shooting through his body, lighting up his arms and lungs. He'd been attempting to ignore the pain building up until that point, but with the sudden burst there was only one possible reaction.

Were you born to resist, or be abused?

"Hnnk-- ahhah! Hah-hahk, haha-kkt!"

Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?

He threw his head back and laughed. He would have roared with it if breathing wasn't painful to where it came weak, some sort of cackling wheeze, and each burst shot pain through his chest that did its very best to turn it all to coughing.

It was also about the time something very hard slammed into his nose.

My heart is under arrest again-

But I break loose.

Laughter stopped sharply and his head snapped forward, bobbing threatening in place before he slowly drew it back up toward James. And started again. He couldn't help it. It was too goddamn funny. His shoulders shook, and the weak, wheezing sound came out. Funny, as blood ran in little one small, creeping wave out of his now somewhat crooked nose, covering his lips and creeping into his mouth, tossing flecks of red right back now.

My head is giving me life or death-

But I can't choose.

He gave a little jerk at James' neck, but it was barely even that. His hand was still there mostly because of his fingers hooking over the tie. His grip didn't have a great deal of strength left in it.

Right to the very end... this's been one helluva... something.

I swear I'll never give in-

His eyes bobbed slowly away, behind James, suddenly realizing just what was on the other side. It dawned on him slowly, dumbly that he was looking at the Nice Guys' side of the ring. Their corner. A moment later, he remembered it was a tag match, staring weakly back to James' arms

No, I refuse!

All he has to do... is raise one.

He'd be meat, just waiting for whoever came in next to finish him. And this guy would get off scotch-free.

No you don't. Not... not after all that. I'm not done with you.

His eyes faded back to James, hanging in place, watching speckles accumulate, and realized he was still laughing somehow. That- that was truly absurd.

It's real, the pain you feel-

His left arm. His punching arm. He couldn't c**k it for a punch. But he could lift it. Lift it up, forward slowly up, wobbling as he concentrated on keeping it going up, up, all the way up and onto James' head. All he did once he got there, was grab a handful of hair. Payback, in a way.

Your trust, you must-

His lips spread, laughter finally dying down, and he looked Black dead in the eyes. Giving him one last, good look at his almost smug mug, bloodied teeth bared in a grin.

Confess!

There really was something wrong with those two and their smiles.

Kael drew up every last ounce he had, first in his legs- meaning he got himself about an inch of extra height and a prop forward- his stomach his arms, everything, turning his right shoulder into James and collapsing forward into him, knocking the man over right underneath the ropes, and collapsing atop him.

That's not... I need to get... him out...

His glorious plan had fallen dead in the water, sitting there with his shoulder on Jame's chest, underneath the ropes, just short of halfway out. For a moment, he was just confused. His eyes went up, and then down again at Black, while his brain slowly worked out where it left him.

"Htch-tah-hakk-hak-"

He really couldn't help it.

Kael laughed, and rolled off the edge of the stage, taking Black along for the ride. A short ride, ending in a very painful landing for each of them, jarring his weak grips loose as the world exploded in white, hot, and pain.

I've got another confession my friend,

He opened his eyes, the world spinning and aching from nothing more than rolling off the ring and smacking his head on the ground beside. His whole body hurt now. His side had gone from an ache he could mostly get his mind to work around to a writing ball of fire in the landing. Everything was so bright down here like this. Lights in his face. He just... couldn't get away from them. Somewhere else. It hurt too much to even think about getting up, had he been able to feel his legs. No. Somewhere else to look. Just to keep the damn lights out of his face.

Kael's head flopped to one side. For a moment, he had some nice dark, and that was all he cared about. The world was spinning a bit too, but that was strangely comforting, almost rocking him to sleep. That was when he noticed James, unceremoniously flung across the ground just the same as he was.

I'm no fool.

This guy. Kael wasn't sure what to think, which partly had to do with his head falling to pieces no doubt. It was something. He looked at him, world wobbling and getting progressively more nice and shady for him, while he considered it. Like a puzzle.

He still had a bit of energy left. Kael knew there was some more juice. There always was, if he just ignored what his body told him. Just a little more push. He willed, and his arm moved. With all his might he pressed, he pushed, making a fist, aiming dead center.

Sliding along the ground, his fist pressed against Black's forehead gentle as a falling leaf, knuckle plate going flat, and stopped dead. He had the last punch.

"Hyakk-"

I'm getting tired of starting again...

[9/17]

[14/51]

This isn't right.

The ring shook as both fighters dropped onto their knees simultaneously; their combined weight making an impact that was heard throughout the arena. Though the fans had been unable to hold back as they watched the two men completely destroying each other every breath was held in unison when the two fighters went down.

One man leaning on the other to keep himself from falling, the other leaning back for the very same reason. There was no question anymore about whether either man could still fight... any other member of any other team would be able to defeat the both of them without breaking a sweat, any of the screaming bodies pressed up against the crowd barriers would be able to. Even gravity and time were enemies against which they couldn't even struggle. This was nothing but a cripple fight.

I shouldn't be doing this. This isn't me.

He couldn't even see Kael's face anymore. His vision was so blurred and streaked with sweat and tears that the only thing that he could see was that wolf's grin burned into his retinas. He couldn't hear the crowd nor could he hear Kael's choked laughter, the only sound in his ears was the dull thump thump thump of his own heartbeat telling him that he was still alive.

Still alive.

What would James Black do here...?

The pressure on his back tightened. The ropes pressed in harder against him... no, it wasn't the ropes. He could feel it somewhere else, too. Barely, everything was so distant feeling now that no sensations seemed to make it past the hell that was drawing each breath, but... the Captain. He still had the strength to move, enough to push forward against James and against the ropes that weren't going to hold -

His head was spinning far too much already to realize that they were going down until the side of his face hit the mat once again. It was his second time going down, but he wouldn't be getting up again.

Oh... right. In this situation James would -

"Ta-"

His arms were dead. Even this close, with his back to the ropes, laying at the edge of the ring, he didn't have the strength necessary to pick up one hand one inch.

So...

Flop.

...he picked up his foot. Sliding back one leg six inches to get it past the edge of the ring and tapped it against the side. It was the only movement he could manage.

"...out..."

The world turned again and for a moment he felt weightless. A second or an hour, he wasn't sure which it was, but it ended with a crash and... nothing else.

His body finally gave out, on the ground outside the ring wearing a bloody smile.

Psychofish Wrote:

He opened his eyes, the world spinning and aching from nothing more than rolling off the ring and smacking his head on the ground beside. His whole body hurt now. His side had gone from an ache he could mostly get his mind to work around to a writing ball of fire in the landing. Everything was so bright down here like this. Lights in his face. He just... couldn't get away from them. Somewhere else. It hurt too much to even think about getting up, had he been able to feel his legs. No. Somewhere else to look. Just to keep the damn lights out of his face.

Kael's head flopped to one side. For a moment, he had some nice dark, and that was all he cared about. The world was spinning a bit too, but that was strangely comforting, almost rocking him to sleep. That was when he noticed James, unceremoniously flung across the ground just the same as he was.

I'm no fool.

This guy. Kael wasn't sure what to think, which partly had to do with his head falling to pieces no doubt. It was something. He looked at him, world wobbling and getting progressively more nice and shady for him, while he considered it. Like a puzzle.

He still had a bit of energy left. Kael knew there was some more juice. There always was, if he just ignored what his body told him. Just a little more push. He willed, and his arm moved. With all his might he pressed, he pushed, making a fist, aiming dead center.

Barely conscious, James' lips moved one last time. Declaring his final revenge against the Mythos Captain.

"From hell\'s heart, I stab at thee..."

Psychofish Wrote:

Sliding along the ground, his fist pressed against Black's forehead gentle as a falling leaf, knuckle plate going flat, and stopped dead. He had the last punch.

"Hyakk-"

[ 10/17 - FINAL ]

[ 14/51 ]

[ Status: Tag out! + Kay-Oh ]

[edit] Minor edit for irony.

Some guy in the audience held up a sign.

"What the..."

Now, Lucind was on her feet, too - and about to do something when that woman of the other team started bringing the chair down on Kael's head.

"Is she ******** nuts?!"

The Siren took a couple of steps, when Athan appeared right behind Katie, ready to drag her away. Staring at the other woman in disbelieve and something close to contempt, Lu then watched the medics swarming in on Kael. She hoped dearly he wasn't ******** up too bad - Lucind would definitely go and check his status once the match was over.

Grinding her teeth, she walked back, but didn't sit down this time.

Well, Katie hadn't seen that one coming. She thought she was being nice by trying to avoid hitting Kael directly on the face. She didn't want to ruin his pretty face, but it seemed her attack had hit more then one nerve. Although, the moment there was blood it should have been some indication for Katie to stop, except she had gone beyond the place of reason, until..

Designated Hero Wrote:

"HEY!"

The force of being tugged by the base of her scalp was much greater then the force of her arms coming down. And the chair wouldn't even hit Kael the last time she went to bring it down.

"OOOOWWW!"

She was tugged through the ropes, still clinging to the chair for dear life with her hands. She would come down onto the ring, faceplanting. There was a crunch as her nose slammed against the floor upon impact. The chair above her head, hands still clinging to it.

Pushing up, she pressed her hands into the chair as she started to stand. One knee bent to bring her left foot onto the floor and sturdy herself a moment.

"When I said pull my hair harder next time. I didn't mean that hard."

The base of her skull was thrumming with life, along with her nose, and the one spot on her left temple where Athan had gotten her with the ladder.

She wasn't fully standing yet. Head lowered and hair hanging over her face while blood dripped off of her busted nose, landing with one slow drop after another onto the mat.

Yes, in her own way she was slightly crazy. Since she was a teenager she was thrust into one fight after another. This was what she had become, whether people liked it or not, but she had respect for most of these people.

So, what was her purpose here? Why did she hit that captain so hard after he was obviously already on the verge of collapsing? Not to mention that she was fighting people that she did or could respect.

It was too late for questioning now. She was in this until it was over.

"Maybe we could talk this over a cup of-"

Designated Hero Wrote:

"GET UP!"

Weeellll....she did just that. Her left foot would hold steady as she started to stand. Her right foot and hip was back, but as she was standing she rotated her hips to the left while swinging the chair in her hands around with her, using the momentum and force to come bludgeoning towards Athan.

"ARRRRGH!"

It would bring the folding chair to the left side of his face.

[7/17]

[17/51]

And people thought Katie was crazy. Athan looked like a maniac. At least she was in this to fight for her team, even considered some of them her friends, except Ebris. She was still waiting for her chance to pummel that guy.

The chair hit Athan in the head, denting it. Damn, he had a hard head. Harhar.

Athan got his paws on the chair and pushed it against her middle. In turn she pushed against it, thinking he was going to try and pin her with the legs of the chair, but as she pushed he suddenly pulled. It would easily get flung from her fingers to bounce out of the ring and that was when she saw both of his arms.

Her hands were at her sides and here he stepped in close to her, glaring like he wanted to kill her. She stepped in also. Suddenly so close to his face that she looked like she was about to kiss him, but what he didn't know was that when he yanked the chair from her hands she had already grabbed for her whip, stretching it between both hands and was bringing it between the two as Athan stared up at her.

Designated Hero Wrote:

"Hit me with something harder."

"You are cute when you're angry."

He wouldn't even see it coming since he was looking up at her. She would snap it up those few inches to bring the whip around his neck and push her hands around, so she would basically be hugging him while pushing her body against his. This would make it hard for him to move her, permitting it wasn't stopped.

If she got the whip around, the force of it, along with cutting off air circulation, he would have a hard time thinking about that next move. Not to mention the lack of oxygen to fire up those muscles quickly.

[8/17]

[18/51]

Oh yes, Katie knew Athan wanted her to hit him, but she wouldn't give into it. She refused to give him anything he wanted, for the mere fact that he was basing all his attacks solely on anger alone, but that was a good thing for some, not so much others.

She thought a punch. She could handle a punch, but that...

...that was...

Unexplainable.

The moment of impact was crushingly painful. Her armor crumpled inward, a few ribs shattered. She was flung, god knows how many feet from Athan. The turnbuckles broke from the pressure and the ropes fell to the floor with it. Her back hit the stands behind her in the moment of impact, but luckily all the people had moved before the moment of impact, leaving a stunned Katie groaning from the pain.

Her left arm folded in against her armor as she stood, nursing her ribs and wobbling a bit, until she placed her free hand onto something sturdy. A stadium seat that hadn't been crushed upon impact.

She hovered over the seat, head hanging low. Her hair covered her face, keeping the pain in her eyes hidden.

That hurt like a b***h.

[9/17]

[19/51]

The Amazon's fingers clenched against the stadium chair. ****** if this was over. This was not ******' over.

Her adrenaline kicked in, which was her pain inhibitor. It was what kept her going, even if she was clinging to a thread of life. This was what made her unusual, an animal. Yes, she didn't have power moves like Athan, but she wasn't easily stopped, even if she had a slow gait. She had no intention of stopping.

I can't escape this hell.

So many times I've tried, but I'm still caged inside.

Her head was still hanging low, staring at the mutilated stands she'd made a path with as her back had hit. She climbed down that, slowly. Her right hand came up, releasing her sword, which she'd picked back up after her first encounter with Athan.

Somebody get me through this nightmare.

I can't control myself.

Her sword hung at her right side, fingers clasped tightly around the hilt. Her left hand was still folded against her left side, nursing that side of her ribs.

There was an evil look to her eyes. She finally lifted her head to glare at Athan.

"I'm going to kill you."

She gritted her teeth, continuing to glare at the center of the ring while she slowly made her way towards the stairs.

[10/17]

[20/51]

[Edit: Fixed a typo.]

RATHIN' STRIKER

All this huckin' and jivin'.

All this grabassin'.

All this grodpacked grod that they rathin' called FIGHTAN.

They were all to busy playing some silly a** games to ask a really, really rathin' important question:

Where the rath was-

"JIIIIIIIIIIIMMMM-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Oh. Nevermind.

Despite the sheer noise of fanfare and shrilly butch wimmenz war cries, that single, bellowing report filled the entire stadium drowned out everything with the kind of pure, unrestrained rage only a certain individual could produce within the entirety of Heaven or Hell. Backup spotlights immediately flared to life and panned around to illuminate the figure that didn't stand at the entrance ramp for Team Honestly, Nice Guys, but instead waaay up top at the spectator entrance. You bet yer rathin' a** it was him.

Ebris Dhifi's startling, ANGR-filled arrival sent everything into a maelstrom of commotion, so much so that the pyrotechnic crew that had been waiting for the bounty hunter's presence to grace them were woke the rath up pretty damn suddenly, which caused them to set off every last bit of grod they had. Problem was, none of it was positioned around where the old man was, but actually around where he was supposed to come through. The resulting fireworks, smoke and explosions made it seem that Ebris' RAEG was simply so great that it caused random objects to spontaneously combust - and was something like that really all that rathin' unexpected? The lights and cameras put up Ebris' even-prettier-than-normal visage on the Jumbotron, revealing warped skin and a milky-white left eye, as well as the fact he was still missing most of his Throne-damned hair.

And it revealed he was pissed. Really, really, really pissed. Pissed even for the likes of Ebris Dhifi. And that was bad.

Little did Jimbos and Broads know, but the bounty hunter's fetish for technology backfired this day with the malfunctioning of the bounty scum's alarm clock. Well, malfunctioned when it went off and his fist went through it, but you couldn't blame the guy - the half-barrel of vintage amasec to make him feel a bit better and sleepy after some rathin' surgery. It also pissed him off that a new eye wouldn't be available to plop into his skull till after this grodpacked week passed. Because of that, when he finally woke up rathin' late as hell, his Frankenjeep was forced to cause even more property damage doing abrupt u-turns in the middle of the road to go back to all the left turns he rathin' missed due to his eye being done gone rathed up.

Yeah, he was really RAEGing right now. The doors behind him were buckled open from a forceful entrance, and casino security stood nearby nervously, both of which had narrowly avoided being trampled. Oddly enough, Ebris wasn't in his usual hunching/looming gait of a position.

It was something like this instead:

That probably wasn't good. In fact, the slight whistling and the very loud noise of what sounded like change getting thrown around in a metal box filling the air wasn't very good either, nor was the flickering silhouette of something gyrating through the air madly towards the center ring. It was too hard for most cameras to maneuver into position to catch what that thing was, especially considering it was up in the darkness of the upper stadium - for now, anyway.

However, one camera did catch something. It was positioned randomly to watch the one spectator entrance where Ebris burst through, to catch any sort of less-than-wholesome activities that may require security taking some individuals into the back room and introducing their fingers to Mr. Hammer.

It had picked up something like this:

And since Jimbo had been busy gandering at the Throne-damned competitor's entrance...

WHACHINGCHINGCHINGYOUWINNA~

Ebris Dhifi would prolly score a pretty rathin' awesome jackpot, and with it, many Injuns would be none too pleased. Regardless of what happened, the bounty hunter's massive feet would begin to lurch forward, form still mostly hunched from the throw, and begin a rampage down to the center ring. Of course, spectators would leap outta the way in the event his giant frame came into contact with any stadium seating, which would just get SHATTERATED. Ebris was full-blown RAPE TRAINING it to the center ring, and nothing was gonna get in his Throne-damned way.

[01/02]

"JIIIIIIIIIIIMMMM-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Great, THAT a*****e is her--

"HNK!"

Athan didn't even get a chance to fully turn around to greet the berserker. He was looking left, the freakin' slot machine was coming from the right, and Athan couldn't do anything but take the thing square in the chest, then the face before he wrapped his arms around it and went flying back towards his own team's corner. He hit the ropes, and they held for a split second, just long enough for Athan to stick his right hand out towards something before they gave way and Athan and slot machine went spilling out ringside, leaving the ring without any real form of containment, seeing as how two sets of ropes had just been taken out rather violently.

All across Gaia the live action was momentarily interrupted, considering the lack of any fighters inside of the ring. A replay of the hit followed, from about eight different angles, each one slightly more brutal than the last. Even some were in super slow motion, doing wonders to catch the complete and utter look of surprise plastered on Athan's face a split second before impact and his face was smashed in by a row of lucky 7's.

"My God! I've never in my career seen such total carnage in such a short amount of time! In less than a minute the ring has now been stripped of its roping, leaving it as little more than a stage! Look here on the replay as Athan Cole of Team Mythos hits the ropes with a slot machine clutched tightly to his chest, only to-- wait a minute, did I just see him tag his teammate in before the ropes gave way? Do we have a better camera angle?"

The camera swiveled around, then suddenly zoomed in on Athan's right hand, outstretched towards Brendyn. The fingers were practically stretched to their limit, but sure enough, Athan managed to slap Brendyn on the wrist as he went flying out of bounds.

"AMAZING! Simply amazing! Have you ever seen anything like that, Joe?!"

The camera feed suddenly switched to the booth, where the announcer (of GSPN 2 fame, considering Joseph Brown was busy on GSPN with Sir RoxSoHard), was joined by his color man Joe Sixpack, a veteran of Heaven or Hell analysis.

"Look, I've seen a lotta stuff in my day, but that was pretty disgraceful. After he went outta the ring, that Cole guy just went RIGHT THROUGH the Japanese announce table. Now Aiko Koke, one fine piece of sushi if you catch my drift, has nowhere to sit! C'mere baby! Joe Sixpack's gotta comfortable lap for you to do yer' sportscastin' on!"

"That's...that's just swell Joe."

As far as Athan was concerned, he was pinned between a crushed announcing table and a fairly heavy slot machine. As if to add insult to injury, coins started pouring out of the machine onto the downed fighter, covering him with Gaia Gold. It was going to take some time for him to muster up the strength or desire to push that thing off.

[10/17]

[21/51]

Status: Tagged out to Brendyn

Now why the rath did Jimbo done gone do that?

It was the whole reason Ebris had been raging so hard - despite him generally not knowing who the rath they were gonna fight (nor did he ever really rathin' care), he did pick up from one of his lackies that they were gonna be dukin' it out with Team Menthols or some grod. That didn't mean grod to Ebris until he had also learned that his favorite Jimbo in the whole wide rathin' world was in it. Now that meant some grod to Ebris.

But apparently Cole tagged out like a rathin' p***y when he was nailed by the Throne-damned Injun coin-barfing machine and sent flying outta the ring. And who did he tag in? Some rathin' pretty boy in a dress and holding some grodpacked knife! WHAT THE RATH WAS THIS GROD!?!

Some famous sumbitch said that ya shouldn't fire on the enemy until you could see the whites in their eyes. Well, in the case of Ebris, it could have been modified to "When you see the crease lines on his face start to shift around like tectonic plates, run the rath away." That'd be some pretty rathin' good advice, mmmhmmm, especially for the poor Jimbo up in the ring - he'd be able to see them nice and clear as soon as Ebris rumbled down from the stairway, grabbing a folding chair off to his right in the process. At this range, the sumbitch would also hear the growling, the muttering, the swearing and all that really awful grod rumbling up from the bounty hunter's chest and past his maw. Man, he really just wasn't in a good mood today. As he got close to the ring, the bounty scum passed by that dumb broad Goatsick, who done got rathed up by Jimbo. Ebris shot her one helluva mean look and slapped her upside the head as he passed on by, in essence tagging him in to make the PAIN that followed official and grod.

Coming up to one of the few sides that actually had ropes left, Ebris lurched his left leg up onto the ring's floor and reached up to grab one of the ropes with his left hand and yanked himself up, followed by his bulk stepping over the top rope and THUD, fully onto the ring itself with much shaking of it in the process. Tectonic plates could be seen slamming together in his mug, forming one of the meanest looks the Jimbo prolly would ever done see. The fact that most of his face was scarred, burned and hairless didn't help too much, either.

Slowly, now, Ebris began to stalk towards the pansy, right paw clenching tightly around one of the folding chair's legs, which was resting at his side but swaying with each step. The bounty hunter's whole form seemed to quiver and tighten with unnatural, almost painful-looking spasms under his attire. His thin lips pulled away from a MEANFACE into something that allowed him to actually speak.

"Tag Cole the rath back in. Now."

Didn't need to say what would happen if he didn't. Everyone knew what would happen if Ebris didn't get to face cave his BFF with his sledgefists.

Tagged Katie Out; Main Fighter now.

[02/02]

[01/17]

[21/51]

All sorts of s**t were startin' to go down now.

Katie was just startin' to feel good. The pain had started to subside. Her gait wasn't as slow. She was going to ******** Athan up, until she heard something from behind.

She barely had time to look and see the huge a** slot machine flying towards Athan. Her eyes followed its track, until it slammed into Athan. That was gonna hurt.

Paybacks are a b***h.

She was all proud, watching Athan get knocked clear out of the ring, in much the same manner as she had.

But, as she stood all proud and smug, she didn't see Ebris come running up behind her. The slap knocked off of her head and sent her over the edge of the ring to land with a thud.

And a lot of cursing.

"I'M GONNA KICK HIS a**!"

Hiss.

The ribs.

She slowly got up and walked back over to look for James coat. She needed to find that phone of his. Chinese take out sounded great, and she had a lot of cash stuck in the breast of her armor to cover for it.

Ebris took a step forward, the movement catching Brendyn's peripheral vision and setting off every red flag and warning siren Brendyn possessed. He judged the range, saw the intended plane of attack and

VWOOSH

the attack skimmed mere inches from his waist. Brendyn had begun stepping back as Ebris had planted his foot, and took another full step back to avoid the chair itself. As Ebris' gait was longer than Brendyn's due to their significant height difference, his two steps still only barely put him out of range. Then again, that meant there was less ground to cover for Brendyn's response. As the chair was still in motion, before Ebris would be able to reverse the improvised bludgeon's momentum, Brendyn rushed forward and to his left (Ebris' right), crouching low, and

-stab-

aimed a dagger punch just above Ebris' right kneecap. His Vision showed him the quadricep tendon that he was aiming for, plain as day. If he hit and severed that tendon, no amount of RAEG would allow the larger man to bend and straighten the knee. He doubted it would even support his weight after the cut, but there was no guarantee in that. Regardless of whether the stab hit, he would retract his arm and begin twisting his torso to the right, watching for the chair, or an elbow, or a sledgefist to come back from that direction. He was aware that the swing had been made one-handed, but was expecting Ebris' right arm, holding the chair and across his body, to get in the way of an immediate counterattack with the left sledgefist.

Ebris was right. Brendyn' was huckin' and jivin' for all he was worth.

(BP: 14, AP: 2)

[3/17]

[23/51]

And Colin looked over at Athan the Walking Plinko Machine.

He frowned.

Watching how one member of both teams after another got roughed up pretty well, Lucind made a face when the assassin jumped in for Athan, doing his best to fell that huge....hueg...thing...man...whatever.

Tilting her head, the Siren called:

"Oy, Brendyn!! Dontcha dare leaving a single cookie to that testosterone driven bulldozer! Understand me?!"

WHUD indeed.

Brendyn's aim would have been perfect had he not been forced into a collision with the brute. It wasn't that he had underestimated Ebris; he had simply failed to predict the particular course of action Ebris chose: continuing on right through him. His blade skidded of the side of Ebris' leg. Brendyn didn't care if it had even cut him. First blood didn't matter to Brendyn since it didn't help him win. LAST blood was what counted.

Brendyn was indeed off-balanced by Ebris' rush, but having already been in a lowered stance, nearly a crouch, he simple leaned a bit further still and let his left hand make contact with the mat long enough to push him back into balance. Although he had only taken his eyes off of the bounty hunter for a split second, he felt like that was too long to give a man like Ebris. He didn't expect Ebris to stop his momentum and attack that quickly, but it didn't hurt to play it safe. His balance restored, Brendyn piveted clockwise on his left foot, his right arm bent 90 degrees. If Ebris had somehow gotten himself back into range in such a brief span of time, Brendyn would snap that arm out straight during the spin, aiming the point of his dagger upward at his foe's remaining good eye.

Either way, the bullfighter image wasn't lost on him either. Once he was facing his foe, whether he'd been forced into making that attack or not, he would grin and say "Ole!".

Things were getting interesting. Brendyn hadn't even broken out his powers yet, and as legendary as Ebris' fighting prowess was, his hatred of all things "meta" was equally spoken of. At any point, Brendyn could test the depths of Ebris' rage simply by activating one of his spells. In a way, he was looking forward to it.

[4/17]

[24/51]

Brendyn's spin, along with a turn of the head, had brought Ebris back into his field of vision, and with that he saw his caution was misplaced rather than unnecessary. He kept his arm close rather than snapping it out, since there was nothing to hit. Ebris was still out of range. He was still also holding the chair. Brendyn knew that there were two ways that could go, since Ebris wasn't the type to just sit there and wait for Brendyn to set the pace: Ebris could finish turning and make his way back to Brendyn, who would have all the time he needed to prepare, or Ebris could

Whoomsh

throw the chair. While it wasn't necessarily the more obvious of the two, it was the only option that Brendyn had to worry about NOW, so as Ebris raised his arm and released, Brendyn began leaning back... and back and back. It wasn't a Matrix dodge because Neo had ended the maneuver on his back, which simply wasn't a position Brendyn was willing to put himself in when those massive boots were only a few strides away. Instead, Brendyn planted his hands on the mat behind him and waited for the metal chair to pass overhead, the air displaced from its near-hit causing his hair to blow back.

He had just dropped into a backbend, and from the sound of it the chair toss was only the beginning of Ebris' next assault. He never heard the boots stop moving on the mat even though he could no longer see the bounty hunter, and so he used the momentum of the dodge along with a spring off of the mat with his legs to launch his feet up and over his head, turning his evasion into an impromptu back handspring. He stayed just slightly ahead of Ebris' range as he came down in a crouch, and then unfurled his body in an explosive lunge forward to meet Ebris' lumbering form with a charge of his own. He knew that Ebris would be able to counter and probably knock him flat on his face or grab him out of the air, so as his springing charge began, he flicked his left hand, releasing a bit of spell power to manifest within the peripheral vision of Ebris' good eye.

Spell List Wrote:

Combat Distraction

1 point

A very quick illusion, Brendyn makes a flicking motion and the target sees an illusory blade coming at them out of the corner of their eye. It disappears as soon as the target actually focuses on it, providing a short window of opportunity for Brendyn to take advantage.

Brendyn was expecting that his opponent would be too concerned with the illusion of mortal danger to effectively counter now, so he extended his right arm forward, turning his hand horizontally so that it would fit neatly between the bands of metal reinforcing the flak jacket, between the ribs, and into Ebris' liver. The jacket itself would present little resistance with the force of Brendyn's entire body behind it. Provided Ebris didn't take him out of the air, Brendyn's dive would take him past Ebris' right side, where he would hit the ground leading with his left shoulder and roll back into a standing position.

(BP: 14, AP: 1)

[5/17]

[25/51]

And then everything went wrong, or at least not as he'd been anticipating. Ebris' metal arm had blocked the blade, and Brendyn had been unwilling to release it as it caught in the mechanical layer, expecting his continued forward motion to tear it free. He was as surprised as anyone to find that he never got to continue with that forward motion. The arm slowed him down just long enough for Ebris to catch him around the wrist. He knew it was likely futile to try to pull away, as the b*****d was STRONG, but as soon as he had his footing again after being yanked back around to the front, he tried, only to feel further pressure as Ebris grabbed with his other hand as well.

Brendyn was one limb down; the bounty hunter nearly had control of the situation. Desperate times, desperate measures, all that stuff. Brendyn released the dagger with his right hand and pulled, although not with his body. In fact, he pushed with his body and pulled with his arm, using his pinned wrist as a fulcrum to accelerate toward Ebris. His left hand moved back and then pumped forward, catching the blade in midair by the handle. At the same time, he picked his feet up off the ground. He was going to swing by his own suspended arm, propelling him under Ebris' guard. His left hand continued to pump forward and, because of the rotation of his body as he swung, slightly upward as well, gravity and centripetal motion lending power to a stab aimed directly up into Ebris' groin. He knew all too well that the man wasn't wearing armor down there and that there was nothing so anatomically different as to prevent sudden castration from meaning the same thing to Ebris as it would to any other member of the gender.

Scoring a hit would be nice. He didn't know many people that could fight through that kind of pain, although he wouldn't have been surprised to find that Ebris could. What he was aiming for, though, was for Ebris to prioritize protecting his manhood over maintaining his deathgrip. If Ebris released even one hand, it opened up options.

(BP: 14, AP: 1)

[6/17]

[26/51]

Whooooomf

Whooooomf

Whooooomf

WhoooooooOOOOOOOOOOOooo-

Brendyn's world had become a swirling mass of lights and colors as he was picked up and spun around not just once or twice, but a third time. Other than making him disoriented and slightly nauseous, as well as putting a lot of strain on his shoulder, it could've been a lot worse. And then it got a lot worse. Suddenly the direction of the spin shifted. Gravity was working against this rotation, at least at first, which could only mean one possible thing: this rotation was gonna end with a bang. Or a WHUTHUD.

Brendyn wasn't ready to let that happen, and thank the gods-he-didn't-even-believe-in that Ebris hadn't quite caught that the assassin wasn't just any acrobat with a blade. As the momentum shifted and gravity began to work with the spin rather than against it, as the mat and his body were heading toward an attempt at sharing the same space with disastrous results, Brendyn barked a single syllable. It didn't have any meaning, no more so than a key had "meaning" beyond being a tool to open a door. It was the simplest verbal incantation he knew, which was important because the spell it unlocked was intended for situations where nothing more than that would be possible.

Spell List Wrote:

Feather Fall

1 point

Cast during a fall with a single magical syllable, Brendyn floats to the ground and lands unharmed.

Brendyn had never actually used the spell against an opposed force, such as the downward pull of Ebris' arms. He knew, though, that the spell could prevent harm even when cast from terminal velocity. Its ability to stop downward momentum was powerful, so he was counting on it to at least neutralize the force he had built up during the wind-up, as well as the force of gravity that was still acting on him for the remaining duration of his trip to the mat. After slowing significantly and suddenly, all that remained was for him to hit the mat with a THUD rather than anything requiring any font modification at all. The impact still didn't feel good, as the spell was designed for a soft landing provided the caster landed on their feet and absorbed some of the energy, but it meant that he wasn't down and out yet. Somehow, through it all, he had even managed to keep his grip on his dagger. In fact, his knuckles had gone a little white. He wasn't certain he could let it go if he tried.

Brendyn didn't hesitate. The right arm that had given him such a dizzying experience wasn't a valid target since it wasn't real, but Ebris' left was still fair game. Brendyn jerked his own right arm up with Ebris' hands still attached, exposing Ebris' wrists long enough for him to punch his dagger across his body and up into the carpal tunnel region. He was looking to sever the flexor tendons. It would take surgical reattachment for Ebris to make a fist or do anything else that required bending the fingers inward, such as, say, holding onto an arm.

(BP: 14, AP: 0)

[7/17]

[27/51]

RATHIN' METAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS~!

Now things were starting to get bad for the Jimbo. At this point, if he had been a GOOD Jimbo and let gravity rath him over like any good, normal sentient being, then he would have gone in for some sledge fisting to his prone body. That would have led to a bashed-in face until he decided to stop wriggling around, and all he'd need afterwards was a bit of facial reconstruction surgery and he'd have been good to go! Everyone would have walked outta the ring a happier sumbitch.

But no. Jimbo done gone ruined EVERYTHING by doing some slow fall grod that made him land all namby-pamby and that just got Ebris' goat real good. Coupled with his right leg feeling a bit rathin' funny due to all the stabbins that went into it, Ebris was prolly the happiest camper alive right now.

Face went immediately from:

:}

to

:{

Faster than it took...

ERRRRRRCRSSSHHH

...WHAT THE GRODDY RATHIN' PISS WAS THAT!?! to happen.

Ebris had been too busy beating on the Jimbo to have noticed the buzzing and beeping coming from his left wrist, signaling that grod was gonna go down. In fact, as the rathin' Ambulance careened into the ring and up on top of it, the bounty scum spun - carrying Jimbo with him all the while - around in complete and utter shock. What the rath was going on!? In fact, the old man was so surprised that he accidentally flung the Jimbo directly into the side of the moving truck as it passed on by. COMPLETE ACCIDENT, FOLKS, HONESTLY.

Ebris didn't even pay rathin' attention to the Jimbo, who, after getting thrown slammed into the side of a very large, fast vehicle, probably wasn't feeling too hot, nor his bleeding left wrist, which nearly got a juicy tendon cut in half from a knife jab by the thrown faggert. All he could do was stare kinda blankly at the rathin' scene, wondering who the rath was that and what the rath to do now.

[07/17]

[27/51]

Brendyn was spinning again. He had heard a really strange noise, something like a series of crashes and a roaring engine, which didn't make any sense, and then he was spinning. Why was he spinning so much lately? And then he stopped spinning, but not in the manner he would've hoped for. The side of the ambulance, while moving, was not a place he would've spent time if he had a choice, but he really didn't.

-Kadunk-

-Kadunk-

-CRASH-

Brendyn's left side scraped off of the ridges for the access panel on the side of the ambulance, and then his shoulder went through the viewing window toward the back end. The glass tore deep furrows into the meat of his shoulder and his arm hooked inside of the window. The back end of the viewport caught the crook of his arm, the remaining glass shredding down to the bone, and tugged him along with the ambulance and out of Ebris' grasp, finally. Brendyn would go rolling across the mat and toward his team's corner. He was in rough shape, although once the shock of the experience wore off he would probably see that he wasn't actually worse off than Ebris, given the most recent stab wound he had administered. His left arm was bleeding profusely, but he could still move move it a little, so the damage wasn't permanent... hopefully. Using only his right hand, he pushed himself shakily to his feet.

"YOU!" Brendyn shouted. He leveled his right hand at Ebris, finger pointed. The epic calm he had maintained the entire match had abandoned him.

"YOU JUST HIT ME WITH AN AMBULANCE. YOU HIT ME. WITH AN AMBULANCE!"

Brendyn's dagger was gone. He had lost it during the impact, or the rolling, or... well, it was gone, regardless. Instead, he had gained a new weapon. He had come up with a handful of syringes that had spilled from the back of the ambulance. They were labeled with the names of various powerful sedatives and tranquilizers. What he had in his hand could knock out a small army, or possibly one huge angry man. His head still not entirely clear, Brendyn began to stumble and weave toward Ebris.

[8/17]

[28/51]

It was chaos in the middle of the match, with Ebris taking grip and preparing to manhandle Brendyn like he'd never been manhandled before- the giant's signature style of pandemonium. Grab something. Rip it up. Smash it. Throw it. Stomp it. Wreck it. The assassin wasn't down and out but things were just about assured to turn into all kinds of bad and worse in moments when the bit of chaos to trump it all came out.

18 4 WHEELS OF FURY

With a deafening screech of bits of machine being scraped off and a large vehicle bursting over terrain that wasn't built for automobile travel at all, nothing else but a big box of red and white, flashing it's signature colors everywhere, roared into the ring, jumped the stage, and crashed on the other side, sending spectators scattering and cameras flashing, reducing the whole area into confusion and robbing any thoughts of where the Mythos man had disappeared to with its passing to a reasonable "why the ******** is there an ambulance?"

The wail continued, drowning out any chance of the camera crews capturing the dialogue the two active fighters were fairly screaming at each other as the ambulance struck steel and stopped, open doors banging around as one last item shot out, jarred loose-

Brendyn, Athan, and Lucind probably wouldn't even notice their FIGHTERS now buzzing lightly as well. But there was only one thing speed-lines could mean.

STRIKER ASSIST

DEFENSIVE

Mythos' team captain, none other than Kael himself, shot out of back end of the ambulance in a blur, tearing straight into the path of Honestly, Nice Guys' own hulking captain, and right for him.

With all his own furious sound of a dull rattle, one arm dragging down near the ground, the gurney carrying Kael rattled and bumped across the rubble and torn up ground that the main ring's surroundings had become, wheedling its way about as fast as a brisk walk toward Ebris, steel corner banging into a knee with appropriate force to elicit an "ow" and maybe a little bit of a bruise, bouncing off and rolling back the way it came at an absolute crawl back past the ambulance and down the isle away.

Well, that was ov-

Two seconds later, another body came out the rear of the ambulance, dazed medical person stumbling as fast as his barely-functioning legs could take him out of Ebris' way and after the incapacitated Mythos' captain. The nature of the striker assist explained moments later as he caught up and picked up the hanging arm, deactivating the same striker he'd called with an accidental push of a button trying to keep the captain from rocketing out the back of the ambulance.

Effectively killing any sense of tension or dignity the looming man might have managed to scrounge up since the passing of the vehicle itself.

STRIKER ASSIST

DEFENSIVE

UNCONSCIOUS: END

Brendyn watched his captain go rolling by. He could've stopped the gurney, but he was still foggy in the head. Instead he watched it go past and do its thing. It was possibly the most anticlimactic fight interruption ever.

In the end, Brendyn continued as if nothing had happened. It seemed the safest way to preserve the pride of all parties involved.

"YOU'LL REALLY WISH YOU HAD BY THE TIME I'M DONE WITH YOU!"

He wasn't even certain Ebris would remember what Brendyn was responding to after the... striker, but the briefly interrupted all-capitals exchange was picking back up even as they were closing the gap between them. As Brendyn took more steps toward Ebris, they became less jerky and his weaving became less pronounced. The fog that had been preventing his body from obeying his brain as precisely as normal was lifting, and his fine motor control was reasserting itself. He wasn't ready to test his mangled left arm yet, but everything else felt intact, if a little sore.

Brendyn's last steps to get to Ebris were fluid and controlled. He shifted his grip on the syringes so that a strike with them would depress as many of the plungers as he could with his palm, provided they met resistance from the front, such as the sort caused by being pushed through skin up to the glass base.

Brendyn stepped inside of Ebris' range and almost immediately dropped into a duck, anticipating and attempting to preempt a sledge-punch before surging forward. As he reached Ebris, Brendyn exploded upward, his whole body driving as his legs extended, shoving the mass of syringe-needles at the left-front of Ebris' neck, his palm still forming a backrest for them that would eject the debilitating liquids on a hit.

[9/17]

[29/51]

And Athan, well Athan was nowhere to be seen.

Also, the ladder was missing.

Oh, the joy.

Katie was popping the bubblegum between her teeth, staring at the scene still unfolding. She hadn't expected to see James to come stumbling out of the ambulance.

She tossed his jacket aside and stood.

James approached, getting' all up in her grill and shoved his hand into her cleavage, which had to been difficult and awkward with her standing, the extra height and all.

But, she didn't shove him away. He looked like a rumpled mess, so she just grinned and let him take that money. He'd figure out that some of that money was missing when he counted it.

"I just ordered Chinese with that."

She then brought her right hand up and handed him his cell phone.

"You really shouldn't be on your feet."

With a huge hand, her left, she grabbed him around the tie, getting some of the collar of his shirt in on that grab, and forced James to take a seat where she had just been sitting.

"Now, SIT DOWN AND SHUDUP!"

Wide-eyed glare.

Brendyn was shocked at the effect of his syringe-stab. There was no doubt that it would have been painful, but it also wouldn't slow down or stop Ebris in the least, which meant it was only a small victory, a small victory entirely mitigating by the approaching knuckles. He was, in boxing terms, an out-fighter. He could counter and play someone's range with the best of them. As it was, this was an in-fight. He didn't have room to dodge, there was nothing left to counter with, and even if he COULD block such a punch, his left arm was too damaged to move quickly. All he could do was try to reduce the damage to survivable levels. At the last split-second before impact, Brendyn lowered his head.

CRACK

The knuckles hit him in the forehead instead of the face. Slow motion replays would show seismic ripples of force spreading from the point of contact... and then Brendyn was away. The punch had launched him clear off his feet and away from Ebris, sending him hurtling backward only to land with a bounce on his back. For just a second, he layed still, eyes closed. Was it over? Was he unconscious?

No.

Although the world had exploded into a haze of white, the shock of the landing had brought back the colors. They were blurred and felt distant, but they were there.

What happened? Where am I? Are those... people? Why are the lights up there so bright?

... boxing ring? Am I a boxer?

A fight. I... was in a fight, wasn't I?

THE FIGHT!

With a gasp, Brendyn snapped back to full consciousness. His eyes opened fully and he tried to shove himself into a sitting position. He felt clumsy, but he even managed to make it to a knee. He couldn't help but notice something glinting near his feet. Under the guise of still needing to support himself, his right hand rested on it. After a couple of attempts, he relearned how to actually focus his eyes on an object and looked at Ebris.

"Pansy. My gramma hits harder than that."

Goddamn, speaking made his head hurt. Ohwait, his head hurt anyway. HOLY ********, his head hurt.

[10/17]

[30/51]

CRACK

Oh yeah, that's the grod. Right there.

Pain welled up in Ebris' knuckles as they rammed into the skull of the Jimbo, but it was the kind of pain he rathin' ENJOYED. His sledgefists received the most damage of any of his extremities over the simple fact he constantly punched the living grod outta anything that happened to piss him off. Broken and set back and broken again, it was a process that hardened them into objects that earned them their infamous titles. Even if his right had been real, the sumbitch that just bounced off the floor and backwards would be feeling a HELLUVA lot more pain than the bounty hunter.

Reaching over to his left, Ebris clawed at the broken syringes with his right, yanking them out brutally and sending them scattering to the floor like so many glittering pieces of ruined hope. His left arm was starting to get numb, but the adrenaline that was constantly pumping through his veins counteracted the effect somewhat. His right, on the other hand, was completely good to go beyond the stab it had received earlier. During this removal of annoyances, Ebris began to lumber powerfully over to the Jimbo. As his blow had been aimed down at the punk, who had been rising up, it had caused him to bounce off the mat brutally and back a few paces. It wasn't as if it had caused him to go flying all the way across the entire thing, and even if it had, the scum would have been on him in mere moments.

That meant Jimbo barely had a chance to begin to sit up before he found a massive boot slamming into his chest with a rathton of force, only to drive him back into the mat with more than 300lbs of HAET plowing him down, easily enough to make his chest wish it belonged to someone else right about now. Getting down on his haunches, Ebris' mauled visage loomed over the Jimbo, a viciously feral grin wrought upon his facade. An object had also moved up overhead too, blocking out the lights from above and darkening everything for the punk.

"Sorry ta disappoint. Here, lemme show ya how hard my rathin' gramma hits-"

And then that object suddenly moved, barreling down to plant a soft, little kiss on his face.

WHUD

And after that was done, Ebris' right foot would shift back so that his shin and knee pinned the Jimbo down, and both sledgefists would goto work on making the sumbitch the prettiest durned fighter Heaven or Hell ever done seen.

[10/17]

[30/51]

Do all these rathin' Jimbos gotta struggle? Man, it was really gettin' his goat.

Instead of getting a juicy armpit to eviscerate, Mr. Stabbity McStabberson got a muscular, hard but still stabbable right shoulder. Like any good ground and pound operation, you had to throw your entire sides into the blows. This helped deliver the most power while getting nice and close. The movements also helped drive the beater's shoulders into any potential face blows, and in this case, a potential armpit stab. The blow was still incredibly painful, causing blood to spurt out and making Ebris swear louder than most of the stadium voices combined. If it had been the sumbitch's left, no amount of turning and driving down would have saved the pit. Since the Throne-damned nerve that controlled the biceps was actually where the sumbitch aimed, Ebris would find himself not able to move his upper arm, though his forearm, wrist and everything like that was still just fine. However, that would be all the grod after the blow - Ebris' full force was still being driven down into the guy's face, who hadn't done nuffin' to dodge or headbutt it.

WHUSPLURCH

Mmmm, face reconstruction rathin' completed.

As soon as the stab had driven home, the scum's left shot out while his foot slid off and put his knee down on the chest instead. The left would begin to control the sumbitch's right, grabbing a hold and yanking back and down to the side, bringing it to a position where his left leg could pin it down. As soon as that was done, he'd yank the knife out and toss it to the side. It was during this that Ebris would find out that he couldn't move his right arm too much anymore, and that really wasn't a good thing for either of them. That meant no right sledgefists beating down on the guy's face, but his left would pick up in fury of losing that limb, tranqs be Throne-damned. At least for the next minute or so, anyway.

Finally, there was some knee business to attend to. Rathin' Jimbo.

Well, Ebris had lowered his frame down high up on the Jimbo, as his boot had planted firmly on the sumbitch's chest. This didn't leave much room for the knee to slide in, as his waist was pretty far up the b*****d's body and lowered. Kicking out would cause the shin to rattle the brute's ballsack a bit, and boy would it hurt, but it'd only further make him anxious to get in a more secure mount position. Coupled with the loss of his right arm (which didn't hurt too much; yay for pain loss!), the pain in his loins and the numbness in his left, Ebris' rage was getting pretty epic at this points, which was made apparent by him bellowing like some enraged beast as his left continued to drive down into the pansy's face.

The brute was in a bad position, but Jimbo was in a far worse one.

[11/17]

[32/51]

Edit after some confusion

Pocket Gal Wrote:

Wide-eyed glare.

Wide-eyed glare back.

If it came down to a staring contest one of the two was hyped up on some serious s**t.

GRRR.

It wouldn't come down to a staring contest, though, since James was already devising a shockingly appropriate plan to get at 'er between rounds.

OH, THERE'D BE A RECKONIN'.

And there was the rathin' second blow, coming down with the last bit of full force it had left before the sumbitch's knife stripped away its power. Throne-damned pansy Jimbos and their limb cripplan.

However, it didn't seem to do the trick. Rathin' persistent Jimbos made Ebris reaaaally mad. Then again, he was already pissed off to hell, so did it even matter? Regardless, the pansy was trying to put up a last ditch effort to try and save his little a from getting ruined. Unfortunately for him, Ebris was rathin' done being fooled around with. This b***d was one of the first few asswipes to cripple his arm like that, and he'd make him pay. It also put Ebris on guard far more than he was before - he had been too cocky before. He was still an arrogant sumbitch, but not to the point where he would try and tank through everything.

As his left went to control the b***d's right and pin it with his left leg, his right was beginning to feel more funny and grod from the blood loss. Therefore, he let it slide off the chest so that his a was now sitting right on the Jimbo's chest, which allowed him a lot more control regardless. The right leg wasn't in position enough to pin the b*****d's left arm, but it was close enough to feel it start to wriggle around and grod, and Ebris knew better now than to brush that grod off.

During all this bullgrod, the bounty scum's right had been experimenting. Ebris found out he could still roll his shoulder and movement below the elbow was completely fine, so while he couldn't punch Jimbo face in with that limb, it wasn't entirely useless. Ebris had been pressing to his left side to aid in controlling the sumbitch's right, which was eventually subdued under the bounty hunter's left leg. While this happened, Ebris' right shoulder was jutting out forward, forearm up and doing grod to see how much stuff he could do with it. When he began to feel the b*****d's left arm start to do grod, the brute's eyes narrowed viciously. Sumbitch wasn't gonna trick him again.

As soon as the Jimbo's arm began to shoot up to try and grab the knife in his shoulder, Ebris' right pushed forward even more to the left. When the sumbitch's hand met the knife and began to yank it out - causing even more ANGR PAIN noises to bellow forth - he'd find the bounty scum's right clamping down on his forearm with all the strength it could muster (which was still a lot, as the nerve cut didn't compromise the forearm's strength). This maneuver had been possible due the forearm still having maneuverability at the elbow and the right shoulder/side pressing left, which brought it within range of the b***d's groping arm. The b***d's knife was in position to cut neat little grooves in Ebris' chest, but it would find it very difficult to try and stab the leg or any place vital due to the scum's grip.

A crazed grin broke out over Ebris' gnarled facade, spittle flying wildly downward as he suddenly spoke.

"Gotcha, ya slippery lil' sumbitch!"

Yanking his right side back to his right, Ebris then proceeded to lean in and use all the strength he could muster in his left to pound the Jimbo's face in even further. Blow after blow after blow rained down without mercy and Ebris would never stop until everything below him went limp and then some.

WHUD

WHUD

WHUD

WHUD

[12/17]

[32/51]

And Brendyn's final attempt at breaking free had failed. He had ******** up Ebris something awful, and if he were someone without access to the serious tech the bounty hunter could obviously obtain, the damage would've been permanent. As it was, he'd done enough. He'd hoped blood loss would've weakened the man further, but it seemed there really was no stopping Ebris if you didn't impose a limitation that wasn't absolutely insurmountable. Brendyn was in a lot of pain. His left arm was still throbbing after trying to use it, and his jaw ached something fierce, but he had fought through having his lip ripped clean off, coming back to push his opponent into unconsciousness too. He knew that after the accident of a striker his captain had performed, it was almost time for another one to become eligible. He would hold out. He would-

WHUD

Ebris' declaration had warned Brendyn of what was coming, and the way Ebris shifted only confirmed it. The first punch caught Brendyn in the chin, slamming it down against his neck. He knew Ebris wouldn't stop, so he began to shift his head every which way, not willing to offer him a straight on hit while he waited for a teammate to intervene, the round to end, or himself to go unconscious. Whichever came first.

WHUD

The second sledgefist caught on the same jawbone as before, and if there'd been any doubt about its condition before, it was clearly shattered now. Brendyn shouted in pain.

WHUD

The third caught him on the left cheek, ramming his head into the mat in the opposite direction. Hey, look, symetrical whiplash! Maybe they would cancel each other out?

WHUD

WHUD indeed. That one had to hurt both of them. It had hit his brow. He was looking at a serious black eye, but that wasn't a forgiving bone to hit with knuckle either.

Everything was beginning to fade to black, and he couldn't take any more, but it was time for SOMETHING to happen.

(If the round hadn't ended, the striker would've come in)