148 replies to this topic

[Showsni]

Ben watched as Skye stepped out onto the bridge, noting with horror that the ropes were fraying even as he looked. Sure enough, the ropes to one side snapped, and the entire rope bridge pivoted. Ben flung himself flat, trying to grab a hold on the bridge, when he heard the pistol crack sound of the other rope snapping, and the bridge was in freefall.

The next few instants were a confusing blur of images that seemed to last a lifetime, but must have only been seconds. With the supports at one side of the bridge gone, the entire structure would evidently swing flat against Ben's side of the gorge, smacking into the brutal rocks. With Skye near to the end of the bridge, he would at least be relatively close to the ground when it stopped moving (assuming he managed ot stay on it); Ben, in the middle, would be much higher up. With these thoughts in mind, Ben decided his best course of action was to try and land in the water.

With the bridge already skewed, thanks to one side's ropes breaking first, rolling off the side was a simple matter of letting go. Snatching a glance down below, Ben judged that he was hopefully over the shining ribbon on the valley floor, and closed his eyes before releasing his grip.

Wind whistled past for a few moments, then a sudden shock of cold told Ben he'd at least managed to land where he planned. At that height, hitting the water was almost like hitting solid ground, and the air was driven out of Ben's lungs by the impact. Flailing wildly he tried to make for the bright surface, and finally broke through for a quick gasp of air.

The torrent of water seemed, if anything, even fiercer than before, and Ben was driven along like a leaf in a storm. Lashing out frantically he managed to resurface each time he went under, but he was losing energy fast and his earlier wounds weren't helping. At least the water was relatively warm, testament to their actual tropical location.

Now, though, Ben could see that the small islets that had served as stepping stones were coming up, and now the water was rushing forwards in a true rapids. He felt like he was being pounded by a giant as he pinballed from one to the other, the sharp edges of the rock scraping his body raw as they bruised him. Finally his head smashed into a rock just below the surface, and he blacked out.

Edited by Showsni, 10 February 2008 - 02:26 PM.

[DarkJuno]

******

...and that's that. Let me confer with the judges and I'll be back.

[Ken the Wandering Soul]

Skye spent what felt like an eternity just breathing in and out. When he could finally move, he brought himself to move. He went along, hunched over and cluching his side in pain, trying to figure out where Ben was. His eyes finally settled on Ben's body, which had finally come to rest on one of the islets. Skye made his way over the interconnecting bridges to the islet, wanting to see the status of his opponent.

And not before long, Skye found himself standing over Ben.

"He is out?" he questioned of himself.

It seemed like that, but then for a second Ben started to stir. In the moment that his whites showed, Skye delivered the coup de grace across Ben's face. It was then, in that moment, that Skye knew for sure his opponent was out for the count.

"KNOCK OUT!!!" the announcer's voice boomed.

Skye only stood there, contemplating the unconscious body beneath him.

"I'm sorry..." he muttered quietly as the crowds cheered, as the medical personel made their way onto the battlefield.

Even as he was being taken away, Skye felt hollow about the victory. He nearly died, and the only reason he won was becuase of a shoddy bridge. The line between a win and a loss was a paper-thin one.

As the painkillers were being administered, Skye lowered his head and started drifting away. Today was no longer worth living--he would find the passion to stay awake another time.

[DarkJuno]

*****

So, new match? New match.

-picks names out of hat-

It shall be......CID Farwin's Mark vs. Ransom's Okere Fathom, at...

-picks name out of different hat-

...the marketplace field. Cool. Like always, post will explain it then, but both of ya'll have between Saturday, February 23rd 2008 and Wednesday, February 27th to show up there.

Have fun.

[CID Farwin]

Stephen had been in a coma for two months. Mark was getting bored in the hospital, but if he was anywhere else he wound up bored anyway, worrying about Stephen. He did go out a lot, though. After one sample of the Hospital food, he quickly ventured out to find better food. He also watched a few fights to scope out his opponents, but most of them seemed to disappear after the fights. Mark passed most of the time wandering around the island, catching looks at the battlefields, hoping to see something to use towards his advantage. He was especially concerned after the last battle, where the field had done most of the fighting.

He was venting most of his anxieties and theories and battle strategies and such at Stephen(the conversation was completely one-sided with Stephen in a coma.) when there was a knock at the door, and Diggins walked in. Mark still couldn't get over Diggins' appearance, as he looked almost exactly(and was dressed) like one of the suits from "Yu-Gi-Oh," one Mark's favorite TV shows.

"It's time." Diggins said simply with a glance at Stephen, almost imperceptible behind his glasses.'

"Really?" Mark asked, checking his watch, "Alright, then." Mark stood up, said "hang in there" to Stephen and followed Diggins to the arena.


The battlefield, which Diggins had told Mark on the way was the 'Southeast Asian Market arena' looked more like downtown China-town than a battle arena; Mark hadn't even noticed that it was an arena during his meandering around the island. Mark could tell that this would be an interesting fight.

There was no sign of his opponent yet, but there was still time. In the back of his mind Mark actually almost hoped for his opponent not to show, prolonging the time until he had to fight. Mark just dismissed that as pre-fight jitters and drew his sword. His shield felt awkward on his arm, as he usually made a shield out of air, but his body felt accustomed to the weight. To pass the time, Mark scanned the arena again, taking in the locations of everything, thinking of how it all could be used to his advantage.

[Ransom]

“Wake up darling!”

Blackness still filled Okereke’s head.

“Rise and shine precious!”

That voice.
Okereke couldn’t remember who it belonged to, but his still sleeping brain put an image to the voice.
Looming over him like a terror was a small female body with a giant alarm clock for a head.

“Wakey wakey!” the clock chimed, barring vicious teeth somehow.

Abruptly, it gobbled him up.

“Okee!”

His eyes snapped open.
There in front of him with a giant smile on her girlish face, stood Ling, or rather pranced, if one can prance whilst standing still.
Ling somehow managed it.

He sat up. “I’m awake.”

“Lucky ducky,” she said with a grin, “I was coming with the ice bucket!”

Instantly, her face grew serious. “You have a match today.”

He rubbed his eyes and gave a soft groan. His body had never taken kindly to being woken up against its will.
He got out of bed and began to dress himself, making sure he donned his lucky pants for the coming fight.
Ling kept talking and yelling at him about nothing, and then suddenly danced around the room.
He wished she was a giant flesh eating alarm clock again so he could kill it. He wanted to kill something.
Wait.
Good.
That’s good... he needed to think like that.
Aggression, dominance, calm, strategy, balance, kill.
Murder.

He had never thought of it that way. What if he killed his opponent today? Would it be murder? Would it play out in his head a million times over until he grew crazy and killed another and another? What if he was killed? Murdered.

No he couldn’t think this way. He wouldn’t accidentally kill anyone. If he wanted to kill, he would. If he wanted to die, he would.
He needed that confidence. Confidence could mean victory.
He knew from his days in Brazil that nothing could best the power of the mind. If he was psychologically in charge of the battle, then he could decide the outcome. he would decide the outcome.

He was dressed and ready by the time it took Ling to beat Super Princess Peach for the third time. They were out and on there way in minutes.

Ling decided walking to the arena would be a better warm up, so they did.

He breathed deeply, taking in the morning air. He musn’t betray anything to his opponent. Nothing. He would be in control. He would.

Somewhere in the background of his mind, Ling could be heard chattering away about some market she used to live near when she was little.

“Oh and I remember that time when me and my brother knocked one of the stalls down sideways, and they all fell down at once! Oh we got such a whipping that night! And then the time when…”

He tuned out again to get rid of that irritating accent. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but look at some of the other contestant’s aids and be a little jealous.

They arrived at the arena, and Okereke was surprised to see what the setting was. He had expected some kind of naturalistic fighting terrain, such as rocks or woodland. This was battle, Civilization wasn’t supposed to come into it at all.

The messiness of it all almost gave him a panic. He was used to clearly drawn out arena spaces, with clearly drawn out rules. Here he was practically fighting in a human dump with no rules or boundaries to lean on. He could do whatever he wanted, and that terrified him.

He composed himself and walked out into the arena.
He stared his more punctual opponent in the face defiantly. Mark was an interesting looking fellow, and reminded Okereke of himself. Good. That might help things along.
He checked his knives and equipment. All there.

He ran his hand up his lucky pants.

He had to dominate this.

Edited by Ransom, 26 February 2008 - 07:54 AM.

[DarkJuno]

A rather unwise place for a fight, the red headed referee thought to himself as he awaited the arrival of the two aprticipants in the market area. While there was a more modern, luxurious mall type area on the island with shops and restaraunts ranging from the common everyday stuffs to high class top of the line amenities, this was truly a market. With the soft glow of the neon lights shining upon the quaint, simple looking buildings and stalls crowded with visitors as well as off-duty workers, it was most assuredly a very fake and manufactured, yet almost eerily authentic recreation of the type of open air market. While it certainly wasn't real enough to fool anyone to thinking it was an actual shopping area one might find in Hong Kong, it was close enough to the depictions shown in movies to be "good enough."

Naturally, this particular arena would be quite a tricky place to fight, as none of the civilians seen can be hurt, though as far as buildings and stalls go....well, they're free to get. Naturally, most of the actual audience are actually standing high above the "street" that runs down the center, peering down from several bridges and buildings lining the unique arena, but thsoe who truly wished to be more inolved walk up and down shopping, hoping that a fight will take place that night. Old beat up automobiles and vans pass by, looping infinitely at various speeds and lanes - another easy hazard. Still, the referee supposes, after the end of the match, it won't be a far walk to dinner, as he smells the wonderful aroma of fried noodles and other culinary delights coming from one of the nearby food stalls. Noting the participants ahd arrived, he clears his throat and announces.

"This, the 5th Match of the 1st Round of the Stroke of Death Tournament, between Okereke Fathom and...Mark is about to begin! Remember the rules of the tournament, and in this arena I have to especially remind you that no civilians may be harmed under any circumstances! Now...begin!"


******


Ack, sorry 'bout the slight delay, surprise visit at work threw all of us out of whack. Anyway, Cid got here first, so he gets heads.

-flips coin-


Tails. Go on Ransom, and fight clean. Ya'll have from now till...eh, Thursday, March 6th, 2008 to fight.

Have fun!

[Ransom]

Okereke was nervous.
He couldn’t look anywhere without seeing civilians browsing shops and inspecting stalls like they had no idea a vicious fight was about to occur. How could A8 allow this? What if someone was killed?
A cranky old fruit truck rumbled past, inching along slowly through the crowds.
He was just going to have to watch his own back, or he would be killed.

“...Now...begin!"

Okereke’s eyes jolted upright. He had let his mind wander…. idiot! He had to concentrate and stick to the strategy.
Intimidation and confidence was important, so with an open relaxed stance, he glared across at his opponent mockingly and let a small sneer creep across his face.
Making the first attack would fit well with his plans, but he had to look at ease. Fortunately his opponent was standing stock still. He seemed to be waiting for something, standing on the balls of his feet, his stance ready for an attack.
Time to take a risk.

Striding over to the nearest stall, Okereke pushed past the small crowd - who were all pretending not to look at him - and grabbed an apple. He made sure to keep an eye on Mark as he continued his carefree act. He could hear whispers around him from the onlookers as he strode out to again confront Mark.

He bit the apple and chewed loudly and obnoxiously, all the while glaring across the street at Mark. Okereke couldn’t tell from his face, but Mark didn’t look put off at all.
He would have to make his move regardless.

Swiftly, Okereke rushed forward and then dashed to the left of Mark. He stopped as suddenly as he could and threw the apple straight at Mark’s head.
The gathering crowd gasped in surprise.
Not waiting to see the result, he drew his knife and dashed at his opponent, a fly kick forming in his head.

[CID Farwin]

Mark had been studying his opponent since he had walked in, and couldn't seem to get over the fact that Okereke had a rather large mole on his chin. He shrugged it off and observed everything else he could about Okereke. Mark was most surprised at his build; he was much thinner than Stephen, in an unhealthy way rather than Stephen's gangliness. Mark knew, however, not to be fooled by appearances, and continued observing.

He was quite honestly surprised by his opponent's lack of action as the ref announced the start of the match, but stayed prepared for Okereke's attack, waiting patiently as his opponent grabbed an apple. "Any second now," he muttered as his opponent chewed the apple quite obnoxiously at him and, sure enough, lunged forward. Mark ignored the apple, barely noticing the crowd gasp as it bounced off of his forehead, focusing instead on his now airborne opponent. As a reflex, he raised his shield and took the kick, (which Mark remembered in the back of his mind he could only perform underwater,) hoping for a crack as foot met shield, but was surprised as his arm rammed into his chest from the impact. He let out an "oof" as the air was knocked out of him, and he felt his body tense as his feet left the ground.

He hadn't thought of that; usually his 'air shields' took most of the blow.

He landed several feet away, and snapped back to alertness at the sound of a dilapidated engine and a car horn. He scrambled out of the way of the rusted-out van as he got to his feet, somewhat disoriented. He paused a moment to catch his breath and got an idea. He climbed on top of some nearby crates, and searched for his opponent, ready to pounce the second he saw Okereke.

[Ransom]

As Okereke’s body rose and spun with the motion of a fly kick, Mark was already raising an arm in a defensive gesture to block it.
Still in the air, Okereke grimaced at Mark’s earlier indifference to his decoy. The apple was supposed to have been a quick distraction, something to take his opponent’s eyes away from him for a split second so he could attack. Mark, however, kept his eyes on Okereke, completely ignoring the hard thud of the apple bouncing straight off his forehead.
That had been a hard throw.

As Mark’s upraised arm collided with Okereke’s foot, the force of the blow took him directly in the chest, throwing him several feet away. Okereke attempted to land on his feet but collapsed backwards as he hit the ground, his equilibrium broken.

He jumped to his feet and looked around him, scanning the area for Mark. He barely caught the sound of a car horn before he was slammed into the dirt from behind by that same old cranky fruit truck from before. Swerving around his limp form, it continued to chug on forward through the meandering streets, the driver obviously indifferent to whatever he had hit.

Still dusting himself off, Okereke backed into the crowd. Now safely surrounded by the multitude, he took the chance to look for his opponent. Across the street, an old van moved out of his vision, and he spotted Mark. Already recovered from the hit, he was climbing a pile of crates, probably hoping for a better view or the advantage of higher ground. He stayed up there ready and alert, his eyes darting about, looking for his enemy.

Hoping he wouldn’t be seen, Okereke did his best to blend in, moving with the wax and the wane of the crowd. He had time to plan.
Obviously his strategy for intimidation and psychological domination had failed thus far. Mark seemed totally unshaken by anything he did. That was unexpected. He just looked like a kid, kids were supposed to get scared easily. Fool of him to underestimate his opponent once again.
His main problem was the large amount of open ground he had to cover before he could reach his opponent. Mark obviously knew that, and was using the space to his advantage. Brilliant kid.

He needed a new strategy, something that would take Mark out of his comfort zone and into his.
But what was Mark uncomfortable with?
He had to find out.

Okereke cursed under his breath, but simultaneously made a decision.

He pushed through the crowd, making himself suddenly obvious. He stepped out into the road alone and looked up at Mark.
Waiting.

[CID Farwin]

He had to admit: at 5'11'' and having a rather large build, Mark would definitely have a hard time hiding within the crowd like Okereke seemed to be doing. Mark had even managed to catch glimpses of what he thought was his foe advancing, only to lose him again in the masses. He groaned as a surge of fatigue settled in; Now that his body had had a chance to recover, he began to feel the effects of an apple bouncing off his forehead as well as having the wind knocked out of him. If not for the shot of adrenaline from almost getting run over, he would probably still be on the ground.

Still scanning the crowd, Mark rubbed his forehead as a throbbing sensation grew where the apple had hit. That had been a good throw; If it weren't for the fact that he had had several objects much bigger and sturdier than apples thrown at him on occasion, or if his opponent hadn't moved immediately after throwing it, it might have fazed him more while it flew through the air. He had just thought about how the thud had probably been heard by the onlookers when his attention was caught by an obvious shift in the crowd, Okereke breaking through at last.

A wave of adrenaline coursed through Mark's veins at the sight of his opponent, accompanied by phrase of music crossing his mind. Before he could recognize the music, he jumped, letting out a shriek. His body had outpaced his mind, however, and the shriek came out as words, which Mark realized fit perfectly with the progression of the song in his mind. "MORTAL KOMBAAAAT!!!" he screamed, flying through the air, realizing too late as he remembered the way his opponent had marched out of the crowd that he had probably made a grave mistake.

[Ransom]

(haha. Mortal Kombat.)

Mark’s shriek rent the air as he came flying toward Okereke, legs out and arms splayed. The complete abandon and risk of the attack startled Okereke, and he did nothing but brace himself, arms over his head, ready for the blow.
Seconds later, Mark’s body slammed into his own, hitting no particular area but all.
They careened backwards into a scrambled heap and rolled out onto the road, both struggling for some sort of grasp at his opponent.
Their now scratched and bloodied bodies came to a skidding halt on the hard gravel road, only encouraging the messy fist fight, Okereke and Mark both throwing reckless punches at the other’s face.
Okereke, through his desperation, realised he needed to start thinking, or he would only get himself killed. but what could possibly be done in this situation?
Aha.
Mark's weight... he had to use it against him somehow.

Okereke thrust Mark’s body as best he could sideways and used the momentum to flip on top of him. If he could pin Mark down like this, he could turn the scrimmage into a slaughter.
The weight shift was a complete success, and Okereke was now able to use his knees to pin Mark down.

Finally Okereke felt in control, and with his opponent's body under his, he released his fists upon Mark, punching him again and again as hard as he could muster.

Oblivious in his mini-victory, Okereke didn't even hear the truck horn behind him.

[CID Farwin]

For some unknown reason, Okereke had stopped. Mark simply laid on the ground, breathing deeply, his face awash with pain, his body covered in scratches. He had indeed made a grave mistake; the last few minutes being a blur of fisticuffs. Somewhere along the line he had lost his sword, his shield, and most importantly: his hat, all of which he needed to recover.

As the initial wave of pain subsided, Mark coughed and rolled onto his front. Getting up to his hands and knees, he snorted blood out of his sinuses and spat it on the ground, disgusted. Taking another set of deep breaths he looked up, not knowing what to expect. Needless to say, he was surprised by what he saw.

The first thing that caught his attention was that bothersome fruit truck. Mark swore it was going in a loop, which as he remembered where he was, realized it probably was. Looking to the side, he saw Okereke, still laying on the ground. It wasn't hard to put two and two together, and Mark hoped his opponent could take a hit like that better than he looked like he could.

Looking back down, he saw his hat within arm's reach, which he grabbed and stood up, wincing in pain. It was impossible by now to ignore the pain, but it wasn't likely to stop him; he had fought while in pain plenty. He straightened up and dusted himself off, readjusting his tunic and re-donning his hat.

"OW!" he said loudly after another deep breath, loving how satisfyingly a simple expression said it all. He rolled his head and shoulders amidst many cracks and pops, and stretched out, testing to see if anything was broken. It didn't seem like anything was, except maybe his nose; he was lucky. Not that there wasn't plenty of pain to go around, but it was usually obvious when there was a broken bone involved.

His sword and shield weren't that far away, only a few small steps toward each. Looking around, Mark thought maybe the fisticuffs didn't last as long as he had previously thought. Grunting in pain, Mark limped over to his armaments, refitting his shield and taking a few practice swings with his sword. Looking over at Okereke, Mark could see that his opponent had managed to get up, too. A new fury flowed through Mark, brought on by the pain which now seemed to fill his entire being. He was done dinking around, and Mark charged, albeit clumsily (as full mobility was limited by the surging pain,) and aimed a a slice at Okereke's left arm.

[Ransom]

Okereke stood up and rubbed his head, and looking at his hand, found it was dripping with blood. Lots of blood. He was covered with it.
He might have dominated that short fist fight, but nothing showed that Mark had not held his own either. Scrapes and bruises littered his entire body, all of his injuries jammed pack with excruciating amounts of gravel and dust. His head was throbbing like some great tumour, and bleeding profusely.
How had he not seen the truck?
He had let it slam straight into the back of his head, knocking him straight onto his face, and more importantly, off of Mark.

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

No he couldn’t get angry at himself now, that would t help anything. He needed to channel this anger into calm, or resolve, or something. Yes, resolve.
Okereke noticed his belt had been broken and had fallen off during the tussle. Where were his knives?
Maybe if he…

*swwwshhh*

Okereke looked sideways just in time to see Mark’s sword cutting into his left arm. Pain shot through his nerves and he instinctively jumped back evading the rest of the slice. A fountain of blood was spurting everywhere.
Stabs of pain tore into his arm as the blood continued to flow, only adding to the crimson mess that painted the road.
Why hadn’t Mark gone for a killing stroke? He had had the chance, and had caught Okereke unawares. What was his strategy? Maybe to de-mobilise him until a kill could be assured?

Regardless, he would regret not taking the chance while he had it.

Mark's sword still moved with the momentum of his swing, and as it swung back, Okereke knew there would be a split second where Mark would take control of the sword, and use both arms to bring it back in front of him in a ready stance.
For that split second, his opponent would be exposed and defenceless.
That was when he had to strike. A well placed kick in the throat would end this.

The moment came, and Okereke lunged.

Edited by Ransom, 06 March 2008 - 03:06 AM.

[CID Farwin]

As Mark's sword sliced through Okereke's arm, Mark's eyes widened in horror. As blood poured out where his sword had been, his face flushed, and he fought with a sudden oncoming of nausea. With one small action, in the few seconds that were the duration of the swing, the world had changed. Mark's happy-go-lucky optimism had gone. The fury that had driven him to charge was gone. All that remained was pain. Pain and blood. It seemed that the whole world was pain and blood. As Mark swung his sword in recovery from the slice, he saw it was nearly covered in the blood of his opponent. Blood.

During the course of his journey, Mark had seen many fights, participated in plenty of battles, but none were like this. Nearly all of the battles Mark fought...the world he fought in was a video game. Turn based combat(though only part of the time), hit points, strikes that left no visible wound; those were things he was used to. Even the worlds that weren't video games...even then he had fought against monsters, beasts, demons, robots not...not people.

Stephen never had that problem; it had all been real to him, regardless of Mark's efforts to convince him otherwise. It had become a game, finding programming walls, defying laws of physics, trying to prove to Stephen what was going on (not that there wasn't fun in those things alone.) This place, however, this was real, too real. No hit points, no potions, ...no fun.

In his disgust, Mark let go of his sword, letting it's momentum take it away from him. He even gave it an extra shove as his hand left the hilt to hasten it's departure. The wave of nausea he had been fighting overcame him, and his hands flashed up to his face, shutting out the outside world. He was only vaguely aware when an impact again hit his shield, the snap he had hoped for earlier ringing in his ears. The sound brought on more nausea, and as he fell to the ground on hands and knees he was unable to contain it any longer. He heaved and his stomach emptied. More blood. It was everywhere, covering himself and his opponent, covering the ground, covering his sword. Everywhere. Blood.

He barely heard a thud, and looked behind him to see his opponent on the ground. Whether brought down by the failed kick or the broken bone, Mark couldn't tell; he was only grateful for the pause in fighting. The nausea passed, leaving a new surge of pain to course through him. He heaved again, this time at the pain, and was grateful that his stomach was already empty. Pain and blood.

He looked again at his opponent, who was still laying on the ground. At least he could use the time until his opponent recovered to calm himself.

[DarkJuno]

******

All right, thanks guys. Let me get to the judges...

[Goose]

Training.

---- Awn ----


*Cue Switchfoot - Meant to live.*

Running. Climbing. Reaching higher than ever before. Awn had to get into the shape of his life. He had to be able to dance like barishnakov, and sing like mariah carey. He had to fly through the air like a dart, Swim through the ocean like a dolphin and cliche like a cliche in the cliche.

He had seen a girl get her arm ripped off, and then use it as a weapon. Kinda impractical. But dangerous. This wasn't playing around. Awn was used to horses, and boats, but now he was on dry land. Without a horse. He had to train.

*Cue a steam train hooting past. *

No, not that type of train. The type of training that Batman did when he thought the bad guy was the good guy. The type of training that Sly has to do everytime he wants to come out of retirement and make some more money. Usually there are stairs involved and music in the background. Some call it a montage. But to Awn, it was training.


*Cue Awn running off into the sunset*

[Ransom]

If he had made contact with the throat, Mark would’ve been dead and the match finally over.
However, with unexpected quickness, Okereke’s opponent had raised his small arm-shield in a desperate defence against the killing stroke.
The shield had broken on impact, the thick material shattering like glass. Okereke was driven back by the hit, and he stumbled awkwardly. Trying to support himself on his right leg, it gave way, and he landed flat on his back.
He must have broken something.

This was Mark's perfect opportunity to turn things around. Okereke was on the ground, injured and defenseless. However, his opponent stood stock still, his eyes wide and staring into nothing. He was shaking and visibly trying to suppress it.
Okereke groaned and got up. He glared at his still stunned opponent, he had to finish this now, or it would drag on forever. At least now he wouldn’t have to kill him.
Mark stirred from his stupor and noticed Okereke. Nervously he prepared for an attack with a defensive stance.
Okereke limped over to him, trying to keep pressure off his injured leg.
When Okereke was in range Mark aimed a kick straight at his head. It was slow and laborious, signalling the end of Mark’s tether.
Okereke caught his foot in both hands, and swiftly gave it a strong twist, forcing Mark’s whole body flat on his face.
Luckily, he was light.

Okereke kicked him in the head with his good leg, knocking him out. He stepped away form Mark’s body, and the crowd gave a muffled gasp, that seemed to mixed with a collection of sighs. It was the first noise they had made since the fight had gone into the open road.
Okereke ignored them, concentrating on his injuries.
Exhaustion suddenly swept through him like a flood. And every little injury and incision burned with pain. His leg hurt most of all. It had been a clean break.
But it was over.
Finally.

Edited by Ransom, 21 March 2008 - 08:38 PM.

[DarkJuno]

******


...all righty, last match of round one! No need for the first hat since...well, there's only two combatants left.

Goose's Awn Daring and Poore's Benjamin Bowe will fight at...

-pulls name otu fo second hat-

...ah, good, the Industrial Arena.

Now, ya'll have from right this very second 'till......Thursday, April 3rd, 2008 to show up at said arena.

Have fun!

[Goose]

With his classical good looks, Awn struts into the Arena. His bulging muscles look like bumps of glory, big bulging bumps of glory. They'd grown since he'd trained. They'd become so big he'd given them names. The names he was thinking of at first were ones like "Des" and "Troy" but then he came to the conclusion that he was really a middle aged woman at heart, so his bulging muscles were now known as "Shirley and Laverne."


He wanted to let them out of their cage, and let them strut their stuff, but until his opponent showed up, all he could do was sit down and grimace. Not because he particularly wanted to grimace, but it was the general mood that people had to do before a fight. It was either grimace, or showboat, and Awn wasn't in the mood to showboat. There would be a time for that, but it wasn't now. It was at the pub, right after he'd won the fight.


He readied himself for the battle that was to take place, and prepared himself mentally for the carnage that would ensue.

[DarkJuno]

******


Well, I waited almost an entire week.

On account of Benajmin Bowe No Call-No Showing, Awn Daring wins by default, via forfeit.

Eh, oh well. Next round begins.....Friday.

[DarkJuno]

"So...." A quizzical, authoratative voice echoes across the ultra modern meeting room, finding its way into the several formal attired buisnessmen and women seated along the side of the long, equally modern woodern table with chrome edges and trimming. On the island, the night had come, as the warm tropical breeze had now slightly chilled, moving its way through the tourists enjoying the star filled, clear night sky in the many attractions offered. Here, it was a facsimilie of an old town American main street in the midst of some kind of festival, as banners and flags waved along the street corners, adorning the various buisnesses and restaraunts lining the sickeningly fake environment. Some of the youth were playing basketball in a chain link fenced in area on the corner of the main intersection, a their parents, friends, and any other onlooker watched on. More, ignroed the game entirely, reveling in the "expected" food one would get from this sort of scene - hot dogs and burgers fresh from the grill, fries and other assorted foodstuffs right out of the deep fryer, and hand scooped cie cream from an overly friendly street vendor. The only obviously off putting element of the scene was that, rather then a garage band doing covers set up on the small gazebo "theater," in between sets from the horn group, it was a ull fledged record signed rock band, enthralling fans with a rather intimate performance.

Located in the center of this mains treet that was actually not even a mile away from another street that represented a world thousands of miles away is the red bricked, two story headquarters of the tournament, made to look like a city hall. On this second story, behind the outer shell of simple times gone by lies the ultra modern trappings of Sol Alcott's base o operations - well, other then her own home a quick helicopter ride away, anyway. Given how said air transport vehicle was now parked on the definitely out of place helicopter pad atop the otherwise uncanny "City Hall" building, it was clear to all, worker or tourist, that the patron goddess of the tournament had descended from her hideaway to personally inspect the tournament since her initial appearance at the openign ceremony.

Sitting in her large, padded chair at the head of the logn table, she continues to face away from her boardmembers and other associates and continues to look out amongst the visitors having a grand time in the street below, and repeats her earlier comment.

"So.....how are we doing, ladies and gentlemen?"

"Well, Sol, thus far profits from the first round of the tournament have been, frankly, mind boggling. While the no-shows early on in the round did hurt, it didn't hit our bottom line as much as we had foreseen." Dressed smartly in her buisness attire, Sol keeps her legs crossed with her not too short but short enough skirt and nods, unseen to her comrades. One of the others adds,

"Still....if I may, Ms. Alco-"

"Sol."

"Beg your pardon?"

"I told all of you, Ms. Alcott is only to be used in public. In here, I'm just Sol."

"Very well, ah, Sol. While certainly we've been profitable thus far, it's still not exactly the vast amount of riches you promised this would give us. Certainly, we were all surprised that it's made as much as it has so far, but...."

"All of you are not quite sure if this will perpetuate, especially since our combatent lsit has dropped down to only 5 members due to the no shows?" Swallowing hard, the man nods and replies,

"Yes, indeed. We were pondering how to solve that problem..." Swiveling around to face the board for the first time that day, the woman flashes her hypnotic, pleasant, close mouthed smile, her streaked brown hair following with a short delay.

"Well, that's easy - let's just make this second part of the tournament into a round robin stage. This will easily dump that 5th combatent out at the end of it all, and from there we can procede with the Finals as planned. The board seemed somewhat confused by how quickl Sol had "solved" the problem, but....well, it was her tournament, so it's not as if anyone's cries or disagreements would matter much. Before anyone can even peep out any reply, she had already swiveled her chair back towards the window anyway, now eyeing the grand hotel in the distance rather then the street below. As far as Ms. Solidad Alcott was concerned, that was that, and the problem was solved. Well, that one was anyway....

"Oh, and let it be known to the last five participants...from this point on, I will be hand selecting whom faces whom, when, and where. After all, it's about time I had some fun beyond watching them fight each other on my screen at home..." With a decidedly different smirk, Sol keeps her gaze ont he hotel far away, the fireworks being launched from the grand high rise sparkling in her deep, azure eyes.

"Soon.....soon....."



******


All right, welcome to Round 2 everyone! As Ms. Sol has stated above, the rules now change - all of you who are left will now participate in the Round Robin style second round. For thsoe of you wo don't know what that means, it means that everyone will basically fight everyone - That is, Person A will fight person B, as well as C, D, and E. A loss will not totally knock you out of the torunament, as instead you will accumulate points for victories and loses. A win is worth 1 point, and a loss is worth -1. Whomever has the least points of ya'll five at the end is booted out, and the other 4 will go on for the Final Round.

...but let's not get ahead of ourselves. Anyway, Clone will provide a handy chart of who's already fought whom and whatnot in a bit, but for now, here's the first match!


...oh, and ignroe what Sol said about hand picking opponents, that's just for the story, it's still random "for real."


Anyway! First match of the Second round will be between.....

Shadow Link's Z and Ransom's Okereke Fathom, at...


-pulls name out of hat-


Huh, the "Court" Field. We'll see what that means later. Anywho, both of ya'll have from right this very second to Tuesday, April 22nd, 2008 to show up on the field.

Have fun!

[Ransom]

Okereke Arrived at the battlefield, not knowing what to expect. What was "the court" referring too?
How would he hold up against Z?
He had to admit the man looked rather frightening, if not in a somewhat ridiculous way. Huge swords will always be intimidating, and Okereke especially didnt like them.

The man was cocky however, and never really expected his opponents to put up a fight. Okereke suspected this was from a long life of oppressing those much weaker than himself for the joy of it. People like that always thought they were better than they really were.
Still he knew he had to be careful. Z's fight against Shazza had been brutally carried out, and he was probably more aware of the standard of skill that he should expect in the tournament now.
Okereke wouldn't be able to rely on that advantage to win, he was just gonna have to out fight the man.
If he he was up to it.

He absent mindedly scraped at one of the long gashes on his arm. His fight with Mark had been difficult, and he was healing well. but the injuries and bruises still needed more time. And his broken leg, well that had fixed itself up quicker than the rest, but it was in no condition to fight. Much less a hulk like Z who had taken half the damage he had, and been given twice the amount of recovery time.

Oh this would be a hard battle indeed.

[SL the Pyro]

Z had entered the arena long before Orekeke did, right from the moment he was called. He was eager to see what the combatants of the 2nd round would be like. If Shazza's persistence was any indication, this would be a hard match. But he was ready.

He stands near the middle of the arena, opposite Orekeke with his sword plunged into the ground. He is kneeling, using the hilt of his sword for support. As his opponent enters and stops moving, the Dreadlord tilts his head upwards to look at him, his red eyes glowing ominously as if gazing into his soul. He gets to his feet slowly and grasps the hilt of his massive sword firmly with his operative hand, pulling it out of the ground and holding it at the ready.

[DarkJuno]

Unlike the rest of the island, this particular area sure doesn't feel like paradise.

That's clearly the thought of the white haired, worn, yet rather headstrong looking veteran referee as he stands waiting in the middle of the so-called Court Arena. Unlike most of the other battlefields on the island, this one made no point in hiding the crowd - or at least, the entire crowd. With horns honking in the background as the sun beats down onto the ugly, asphalt covered surface of the field, the crowd roars in anticipation, visible behind a grimey, dirty chain link fence seperating them from the cracked, worn concrete surface of the field. This, indeed, was like the basketball court near the Island's administration office's, except gone horribly, horribly wrong. The audience watched in the dingy bleachers, witht he fence before them and behind them, seperating them from the hot dog vendors and even more onlookers peering in from the sidewalk and spilling into the street, complete with planted cars honking their horns in feigned anger.

Standing in the center where the faded cener court is painted onto the ground, the ref looks around at the field around him. The buildings on the other side of the street, similarly, are filled with people watching the place fo the fight, various faces of tourists peering through the open or closed windows, doing well to hide the fact that the ruined old buildings are actually posh, luxurious box seats. The court itself is more fo a double court, for use for two seperate games of pick-up at once, the four rather rusty, netless basketball hoops swaying slightly in the wind. In general, thsi was a far more simple, almost even battlefield then the prior ones, with it mostly being the large concrete expanse contianed by the double chain link fences.

Whatever the case, both parties had arrived, and it was time to begin...


******


Okay! Both of you have from right this very second to Sunday, April 27th, 2008 to fight. Ransom got here first, so Okereke gets heads, and....

-flips coin-

Tails. Start it up Z, and have fun both of ya'll!

[SL the Pyro]

With only a grunt, Z begins walking towards Orekeke. He decides to start things off with a hard vertical slash, ready to cleave him in half. He hoped his opponent was smart enough to get out of the way...

[Ransom]

A basketball court?
It altogether reminded him to much of his childhood.
As he looked around at the worn, rough surface of the asphalt, and the rusty old rings swaying in the wind, he could see all his childhood friends running in to secure a spot on the best side of the court, laughing and teasing each other. Next they would choose teams, and on account of his crazy old grandfather, Okereke would probably be last. They would play for at least 15 minutes before boring of the rules and deciding instead to play football or wrestling. He would be happy. He always was better at football.
Apparently his village had paid a lot for those torn up old basketball rings, but he had found it hard to believe. Most likely some of the older villagers had plundered it from some neglected court in one of their visits to the city. It wouldn’t have surprised him.

“Alright…. BEGIN!” the whistle blew, and the ref backed away.
The here and now came rushing back to him, and he saw that Z was already walking toward him, a brutish look painted across his face.
The man was a monster, even by the way he walked, Okereke could tell he was altogether too used to killing. His spiked armour, though rather ridiculous and medieval, was still somehow terrifying. He wondered how effective his knives would be against it.
Then of course there was the big ass sword. It was kind of scary as well, but luckily Okereke wasn’t admitting it to himself.

When Z was close enough, he finally attacked. He swung the sword downward forcefully, with the intention of cleaving his opponent’s head. Okereke sidestepped the attack, and strangely felt a sudden anger.

Okereke launched into a sweeping low kick straight off from his sidestep. Simultaneously he gripped his knives, ready to draw them at the last second.

Edited by Ransom, 25 April 2008 - 01:51 AM.

[SL the Pyro]

Now, this is what Z hated; low attacks. Having to keep this armor up meant that he had to keep steady footing, a difficult task when his legs were attacked. While he was much to heavy to fall over, he was brought down to one knee.

This foe seemed quick to find a weakness; he would have to end this fast. A good throw should turn this to his favor, he thought. Reaching out with his free gauntlet, he tried to grab Orekeke by his head with the intent of hurling him halfway across the courts. He would've preferred to put him in a wall, but he wasn't close enough to any of them.

[Ransom]

Z used his weight to brace4 against the attack and was only reduced to a knee. Coming out of the attack, Okereke swiftly unsheathed his knife, only to see Z's hand grasping for his head.
He swung his head out of the way just in time, but was unable to prevent his opponent from grabbing his shoulder instead.
As Z's powerful grip swiftly pulled him into a swinging motion, Okereke took a stab at his eye with his free arm.

[SL the Pyro]

Acting on instinct, Z also put his head out of the way, but was still cut in the cheek. Wincing but otherwise undetered, he threw Orekeke as hard as he could. Using the time he had, he steadied himself and got back to his feet. Bringing his sword to the ready, he started walking towards the swift warrior.